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Friday, April 29th, 2005 09:29 pm
i so need to not get out more
You have to have those moments where your enemies are safer than your friends.
Goign to lunch, I watched--er, ogled--the waiter for our table on Wednesday when we went out to eat for the leaving of our Worker IV. So I wasn't subtle. Missy, one chair over, asks for a pen, which some sadistic bastard handed over. Then she asked for my phone number. For the waiter.
It gets better.
After making a fool of myself promsing blood for her not to, I turned away to chat up some friends. The next time I turn around Hot Waiter is blushing and wandering away wiht a shell-shocked look on his face. Missy and my supervisor were pimping me out. No, literally, I was offered up like a tenderloin at the table. I have no words.
Their excuse so far is that my stress level needs to be reduced and getting laid can only help. I'ts not that I'm arguing the point. At this point, a small nuclear explosion would lower my stress level, and hell, maybe a quickie behind the bar would have helped. But still. It's not something you want to think about your supervisor doing. Worse is when L asked for my phone number, as she has a friend she wants me to meet. It's like the Get Jenn Laid Society has called a meeting.
Seriously, y'all, I can deal with being lonely. But I cannot deal with trying to date someone and fitting them into my life at whatever random corner they could go.
On the other hand, there's a new restaurant I can never, ever go back to again. Though God, he was pretty. I mean, just--whoa. Pretty. I comfort myself with fantasies that he's a total ass who eats babies in his spare time and doesn't respect the environment and sometimes beats up media fans in his spare time.
Goign to lunch, I watched--er, ogled--the waiter for our table on Wednesday when we went out to eat for the leaving of our Worker IV. So I wasn't subtle. Missy, one chair over, asks for a pen, which some sadistic bastard handed over. Then she asked for my phone number. For the waiter.
It gets better.
After making a fool of myself promsing blood for her not to, I turned away to chat up some friends. The next time I turn around Hot Waiter is blushing and wandering away wiht a shell-shocked look on his face. Missy and my supervisor were pimping me out. No, literally, I was offered up like a tenderloin at the table. I have no words.
Their excuse so far is that my stress level needs to be reduced and getting laid can only help. I'ts not that I'm arguing the point. At this point, a small nuclear explosion would lower my stress level, and hell, maybe a quickie behind the bar would have helped. But still. It's not something you want to think about your supervisor doing. Worse is when L asked for my phone number, as she has a friend she wants me to meet. It's like the Get Jenn Laid Society has called a meeting.
Seriously, y'all, I can deal with being lonely. But I cannot deal with trying to date someone and fitting them into my life at whatever random corner they could go.
On the other hand, there's a new restaurant I can never, ever go back to again. Though God, he was pretty. I mean, just--whoa. Pretty. I comfort myself with fantasies that he's a total ass who eats babies in his spare time and doesn't respect the environment and sometimes beats up media fans in his spare time.
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From:OMG -- Randy Harrison was your waiter??
*runs away*
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From:Not unless he grew a couple of inches and got a *hell* of dye job.
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From:OMG -- Gale Harold was your waiter??!
Hee!
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From:The Get Jenn Laid Society would be *disbanded* while I took care of urgent business behind the bar.
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From:Consider yourself lucky you have a society that concerned with your love life. I had a stomach ache the other night to which my father (my *father*) asked if maybe I was pregnant. It was said jokingly but the only thing that ran through my mind was a) my dad asking me that is creepy on levels I didn't know exsisted and b) after a year and a half of involuntary celibacy, I should *be* so lucky.
I'm at the point where Cottonelle's new brand of "Cashmere Toilet Paper" is like a friggin' religious experience for me.
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From:My God. *hugs for trauma* Yeah. No. Yeah. Very new levels.
I'm at the point where Cottonelle's new brand of "Cashmere Toilet Paper" is like a friggin' religious experience for me.
It scared me very suddenly that I have this urge to go out and check outthe new toilet paper.
Oh God, I do need a life.
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From:victimsubject in tow, prowling the streets for likely targets.Adding searchlights and tranquilizer guns to this image makes it even more amusing.
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From:Hey, he might be gay! *helpful*
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From:Then again, having seen so many fucked-up relationships (and so many that the woman thought was fucked up but the man was perfectly happy with), and having so many friends who are happily single and relieved not to be stuck in a less-than-satisfactory relationship -- well, my sympathies are not with the cultural forces that seek to force conformity and pair as many people off as possible, whether they're interested in being paired off or not.
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