This Week on “Great Mate Debate”
I posted my response, LOL, Meet LMAO. XOXO?, to our latest question on Chemistry.com’s Great Mate Debate: Do you think you can really and truly “feel” chemistry via email?
Infamous Last Words
Monday’s mantra: I will not talk back to my boss I will not talk back to my boss I will not talk back to my boss
Tuesday’s mantra: I will not talk smack to my boss I will not talk smack to my boss I will not talk smack to my boss
Wednesday’s mantra: I will not smack my boss I will not smack my boss I will not smack my boss
Today’s mantra: I will not bitch-slap my boss I will not bitch-slap my boss I will not bitch-slap my boss
Tomorrow’s mantra: I totally bitch-slapped my boss, and damn it felt good.
The Triad Wants You to Take Off Your Pants
The Triad is made up of my brain, The Pussy, and I. No good whatsoever can come from this daily three-way battle. Oh who am I kidding–lots of good cums from this. For those of you unfamiliar with The Triad posts, go here for a proper introduction.
This morning I took my car to the mechanic again because it was making a weird noise. While I was waiting for the diagnosis (another part fell off? dead squirrel in the crankshaft?) I leaned against the wall and read a book. The little bell on the door rang. I looked up and saw one of the finest looking Southern guys I’ve seen on this side of the Mississippi River. The Pussy fluttered.
It’s Not A Road Trip Without Diesel Fumes And A Mexican Road-Block
In addition to spending many quality hours staring at cows and tin-box churches during my drive yesterday, I came across many types of drivers on the highway. The asshole on a cell phone, the bright yellow Porsche driving at 120 mph, the car that has smoke coming from its hood, and many others.
I’m sure I have flicked off hundreds of people in my years of driving, and every one of the bastards deserved it. I’m very precise in my flipping the bird. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been told I flick-off at the level of a 50 year-old asshole. Just ask my dad, he taught me everything I know about driving etiquette.
Thanks to my fellow Texans for being so inspiring, many of whom I address in this post. Fucking bastards. LEARN TO DRIVE.
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The Roads of Texas
I’m back from visiting my family for Thanksgiving. After spending hours on the Texas highways with bad radio reception and a dead mp3 player, I entertained myself by paying attention to all the things I normally ignore on the drive. So many little towns, farms, and sights that can be described as nothing other than good ol’ country style WTFs.
This Week on “Great Mate Debate”
I posted my response, Chemistry Comes In Layers, to our latest (er, ex-latest… my boss ate my homework, I swear) question on Chemistry.com’s Great Mate Debate: Do you believe in love at first sight? Have you experienced it – and was it “the real thing” or lust?
Happy Thanksgiving
I will be going out of town to visit my folks for the next several days. Although I will do my best to continue writing regularly, I’m going to post some links to last year’s Thanksgiving for shits and grins.
The FAMILY: Ducking The Guilt Stick
What I’m Really Thankful For
The Thanksgiving Fairy (I’d totally forgotten about this one, what a delight to find such a giggley gem in the archives!)
Happy Thanksgiving, my beloved readers. May all of your Turkey Days be graced with full bellies and happy in-laws.
xoxo
Vix
163 lbs., alcohol units 2 4, bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch 3, calories acknowledged 7
Since the previous post I wrote in the format of Bridget Jones was so popular and the movie has been in my DVD player for the last two weeks, I figured it was time for another dose of British-flavored lurve.
9:14 a.m. Arrive at office.
9:15 a.m. Wonder if have been seen, i.e. if too late to run back out and call in sick from car in parking lot.
9:47 a.m. Pants are tight. Bollocks. According to scale at gym, have gained ten pounds in last two months. Would blame boss for making me abuse love of comfort food, but ass still looks better than hers despite ten extra pounds concentrated in mid-section. Karma must be starting at my boss’s ass. Rejoice.
It Is Your Duty As An American To Buy Stuff
I am going to be completely shameless and try to get you to buy stuff. The more stuff you buy the more Oreos and books I can buy, both of which make me smile and the more I smile the funnier I am and that makes everyone happy. So please, I beseech you: buy stuff.
As the American readers out there are aware, the day after Thanksgiving, November 23, is Black Friday, aka the biggest shopping day of the year. Amazon.com sent me all sorts of goodies to share on Black Friday. Pssst… click on the arrow button on the right side of the banner to see more goodies.
When Is Nothing Something?
I saw Handsome Nerd Saturday night. I hadn’t seen him since the wedding months ago which finally got us some closure [this post has links to all other Handsome Nerd posts] on all the weirdness, at least so it seemed.
Earlier that evening Barbie had received a call from her hubby Ken asking if we wanted to meet up with him and his friends at a neighborhood bar. I didn’t expect Handsome Nerd to be there.
Respect The Power of Poo
Lately my job as a cubicle monkey has sucked a big hairy set of low-hangers. I’m pissy and would love nothing more than to throw my feces at a deserved target. I joke with my friends that if my boss were a boyfriend, this is the time we would “need to talk,” which would probably lead to “I think we need a break… like, permanently” and finally it would come out that “it’s not me, it’s you.”
Except at a point it stops being funny because it’s true.
Good Witch, Evil Bitch
My boss has been completely fucking with my head since I started working on this account with her. One day she smiles and says things like “please” and “thank you,” then the next (four) days she’s nothing but piss and vinegar.
It’s the modern-day version of Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde, although in this case I think they are more aptly named Good Witch/Evil Bitch. Except there’s nothing that good about Good Witch, she’s simply “good” in comparison to not giving Miranda Priestly a run for the “That’s All” award of condencension.
