|Blogs > regimental_kilt > Under The Kilt|
Whew...didn't even know I had it in me
Whew...didn't even know I had it in me
Been procrastinating. I apologize, and will take steps to apply negative reinforcement. No internet porn for me for...umm...a wee...*starts sweating*...3 da...*twitch*...30 minutes. There, doesn't my chastisement make you feel better?
Monday: Second shift has topped themselves. Not only an obscene amnount of old tickets left on the floor, in bins, hiding, etc, but they ran out of bins that had functional versions of the stick-on pockets that hold said tickets. Also out of the stick-ons themselves. So they scotch taped them on. Fine. We can deal with that. Walk over to the machine that handles high zip codes - where they just tucked the tickets in front of the bins on the racks holding them. Started swearing. Found the dozen without any tickets whatsoever. Added the phrase 'felch-mongering rectal warts' to my vocabulary. Add in the breakfast consisting of eggs, baked beans, fried taters, and spam (cue singing vikings) causing much pain to anybody in the vicinity of my lower intestines. Not a pleasant work environment. I did wax wroth, and had the concept of bottling a fart any merit, the booby trap laid for the second shift would have caused a great wailing and gnashing of nostrils.
Some people need their bungholes plugged with the righteous toe of appropriate correction.
Tuesday: Call of Cthulhu night at my only external social setting: a comic book store (I would embrace my nerdness, but it's had a stranglehold on me for years). No-one showed up but the youngling I bought a starter pack for a while ago. Played a few games, wherein I was beaten soundly. In walks cute young thang. Cute young thang picks out a Dungeons and Dragons (!!!) book. I fall in love for the 30 seconds it takes me to realize she must be all of 17. Feel like filthy old man. For those who know the jargon: rules lawyer experiences great guilt for channelling a hormonally challenged fatbeard.
Then played Hecatomb. Neat, pentagonal cards printed on clear plastic. Little windows allow bits to show through when stacking cards. Rules read like poorly translated taiwanese stereo instructions. Also a pain: shuffling pentagonal cards in any sort of non-stupid-looking manner. Worth it just for chance to kick someone's butt with a 'baby blood monkey'.
At work there was not much sorting to do, so I got to hang out hand-stuffing [with] the milfalicious coworker. Many ribald comments. Also got her to spend a while looking through the less-often used envelopes hiding behind the more-often used envelopes on the shelf, which involves her bending over whilst I ogle her. Continue feeling like a lech from earlier. Not entirely unpleasant at this point, since I at least have pleasant scenery to go along w/ my lechdom.
Wednesday: Milfalicious coworker shows up in khakis w/ camel toe. Make that 48 hours of complete lechdom. Sometimes I am truly upset by my lack of asshole status, which prevents me from doing more than occasionally flirting with a married coworker. Granted, this does help keep me from unemployment and sexual harrassment suits, but it does cut into my immediate gratification.
Got accidentally felt up by her later though, during a near pass while picking mail. Damn near went for my butt, although its status as an extremely small target diverted attention to my upper thigh. First time I've been touched by something female and attractive in something like 4 months. Damn I need to get out more.
In other news: The search for banana milk goes on. I've not posted it here before, but I have an unholy lust for the yellow liquid. I was very fond of the type with Tweety on the bottle, until it vanished from shelves, followed not too long after by banana quik. *sigh* I must use the equivalent of methadone, a drinkable banana yogurt aimed at the toddler market. Not too sweet, tart, and made with whole fat milk for that energy babies (and us scrawny bastards) need. Good, but not quite right. So I have humbled myself in front of a local group on here and asked their aid in locating the elusive elixir. There are days when only my overriding sense of formless guilt keeps me from thinking I have no shame.
10/27/2005 9:05 am
You need to get laid! At 28 it is hard to do? That is sad!|
10/28/2005 5:13 am
Sadly enough, it is difficult.|
1) I'm shy in real life.
2) She's got to be visually appealing. Pretty easy to do, but still.
3) She's got to have the ability to rub 2 or more brain cells together without a look of pain on her face. If she's stupid, I won't be able to stand being around her long enough to get my pants off.
3b) Assuming she's intelligent enough to converse with without my needing a mop for the drool, she's got to have an ok personality. if I don't actually like her, I'm not gonna fuck her.
4) Most importantly: She's got to smell right. My mating habits rely heavily on scent. Not perfume, mind you, but pheromone mix/personal scent of her skin has to be right. This is the hard one.
The odds are a tad stacked against me.