What’s Wrong With the Nice Guy?
Last night was the dreaded office holiday party. It was at some fancy hotel (hopefully that means someone at the party got some action in one of the rooms… isn’t that really the point of having the party at a hotel?)
Not that I got any. Not that I was expecting/wanting to get any. But I guess I have some sort of history (???) because before we left Blondie demanded to know if I had packed condoms in my itty bitty evening bag. No!! It’s an office party! OH MY GOD, SHUT UP!
Not that there’s anyone I’d want to do at the office. Any more. (scroll down to “Hot CoWorker”). And besides, I go to great effort to keep my naughty/real self hidden at the office, and it does not need to come out in all its sexxx-filled glory, complete with dumbass me pouring a bottle of wine on a co-worker’s head. Which I would totally do. Dead-sober, depending on which co-worker (and which wine).
