Saturday, June 04, 2005

working stiff

You know that moment where you think back about something you’ve done, and you’re like: “How the fuck did that happen?” I had that moment this week.

I used to work a party slash sports centre, which is about 50 feet from my house. Pretty much the only reason why I wanted to work there in the first place. And I did fucking great on my job interview though. I was talking the guy’s head off about what a great company they had and how I always worked out there and went bowling and how I always noticed that the employees had such a good time.

Who the hell has a good time working? And I don’t mean feeling up your co-workers in the storage room, because that constitutes as a good time in my dictionary. Although you can hardly call that working, now can you?

Anyway, the first time I went to work there was this really hot guy. I got introduced and that was it. I then I met him again a few months later (I showed up once a month to avoid getting my contract flushed down the toilet) when we had to work together. We talked and we got to know each other a lil’ bit. He had brown hair, same hair-do as me (not as good though), just as tall as me, nice ass like me, hansom (what a horrible word) like me and he was pretty funny just like me. Let’s say he was a similar, but an of lesser quality version of me. And people say I am a narcisist.

Anyway, let’s call him Mr. Nine-Inch. Well, while working we had this whole sexual vibe thing going on and we there was the gentile touching of hands (okay, my hand on his ass and down his pants to be honest) and all that other cute stuff. Our colleagues were immediately trying to get us hook us up, but we decided to do things on our own terms.

A month later the whole centre was reserved for a big company party (something to do with vegetables…) and I had to work again. Mr. Nine-Inch looked very ‘dashing’ in his tux and looking all tough with his security man-like earpiece. His ass still looking fine as ever. That night we worked until 4am, had a drink with all the colleagues and around five almost everyone left. Mr. Nine-Inch closed up and there we were, all alone on the parking lot. Really, really bright lanterns lighted up the lot and showed way too much skin detail which also made him look the way my brother looks after 48 hours of non-stop online gaming, but it didn’t matter; I was tired as hell, drunk and had hormones surging through my body. Circumstances which always make me less picky than usual. So I went for the goods (and by that I mean my tongue in his mouth and my hand on his ass…not the 'goods’).

Eventually we went on a date. We had a wonderful candlelit dinner in a restaurant by de boulevard by the beach and afterwards we went to his house (of course). We watched movies and we listened to music. It was all very sweet and cuddly. Of course it was already too late to go home, so I decided to stay.

Good thing I brought my contact lens fluid, and I didn’t even bring it because I thought I was going to stay over. Kinda nice for a change.

Anyhoo, the first hour there was just kissing and feeling, nothing too dirty. We already had lots of talks about relationships and stuff, and about me not sleeping with just any guy I meet, and we continued to share (saliva).

Yes, I do have some standards when it comes to sex. But we all know how that goes; one thing leads to another and we ended up having a ‘blast’. For the not sexually perverted who don't get 'blast': we had some good old sex. Not, ‘actual’ intercourse though, just the stuff which doesn’t deprive you of the ability to sit on you ass.

Of course the sex part is where the Mr. Nine-Inch name comes in. I know, sue me for having not a scratch of creativity in this godlike body. And too much information you say? There is no such thing as too much information. Unless it concerns parents….or grand-parents, or your neighbours, or that smelly foreign exchange student. Well, you get it.

To round things up, it was just big, just really, really big. And you would not expect it from this guy. Okay, he is tall, but also kind of on the skinny side. It would probably look very funny in the light…

Moving on from the penises: we hooked up one more time although I can’t really remember what that was like. I’m pretty sure we hooked up…just trying really hard to remember…probably wasn’t that good.

Just as well, it all ended very sadly. I stopped calling and we kind of lost touch. After a month or two I got this text message saying something like:

“I don’t think this is going to work out. That time when we went out for drinks with the guys from work, I just didn’t get the feeling that we could have a conversation about life experiences. I’m sorry.”

What the fuck? Life experiences? Are you kidding me? He’s dumping me because apparently I can’t have a conversation about life experiences, but he can’t dump me, because I said I’d call you which I didn’t. And more importantly, I can have conversations about life-experiences, I just don’t want to hear yours. Christ, how many life experiences do you think I have had? My mom just stopped breastfeeding me (the purpose of this remark is to point out that I was very young at the time, not that me and my mom have this sick relationship. Don’t get me wrong, we do, but not in that manner).

Naturally is was very pissed and I called him up and told him was talking out of his ass and that he could shove it all up there. So that was the end of that.

Well, I know what you’re wondering “what was the moment?”. Or “why doesn’t he tell me more about the sex?”. Or “does this story get interesting and does it have a point?”. To answer the last two questions: ask me, and I’ll spill it all and my stories are never interesting and certainly do not ever have a point. Don’t you know me at all?

But I’m digressing from the point: 'the moment'. Well, see here, I probably forgot to mention this tine little detail that…Mr. Nine-Inch…was sort of…my boss and while I was barely eighteen…he was 30. Yes, the big three o, thirty. The word “gross” would fit in perfectly here. You are even allowed to throw up a little bit, I know I did.

And it just all really hit me this week (I'm slow) and I even got this shiver and that voice in my head saying "EEEEWWWW” over and over again.

Let’s recap shall we: I actually groped my thirty year old boss, I made my move on my thirty year old boss, I slept with my thirty year old boss, I slept with my thirty year old boss AGAIN, then I didn’t call my thirty year old boss and finally I told my thirty year old boss to shove all sorts of things up his thirty year old ass.

And you know what the worst part is (besides me saying 'thirty year old boss' over and over and over again)? A month later I got fired.


My social skills…


Does this constitute as a life experience?
Does one really need social skills?
Is thirty really that old?
Would it be different if I were actually a fifteen year old girl?
And if were a boy? (I am)
Am I just completely screwed up in my head?
What were my colleagues thinking when they were hooking me up with my boss?
Who was thirty?
Does my attraction to older men come from the fact that I’ve never had a father figure?
But I had two father figures?
Was that a stupid question?
Why do all other people get promoted when they sleep with their bosses and I don’t?
Is this what social skills are for?
Is nine inches really that long or is mine just small?
Do you think I should mention all this when the job interview man asks me why I got fired from that job?

Thank you


Kirsti said...

not to worry, Kirsti has answers for you:

1. Yes, definately.
2. Fuck no. One only needs pretty eyes and really nice boobs. Oh.. sorry. I guess you do then.
3. No.. Andy was 33, so NO!
4. Yes then you could sue and get rich.
5. Then you're screwed.
6. Not anymore than average
7. "hahaha let's see if he'll do it, that'll be so totally gross"
8. Your BOSS that you made a MOVE on and then SLEPT with and then SLEPT with AGAIN.
9. I don't know. Mine does probably, join the club.
10. The more the merrier
11. No dumber than the others
12. Because you're male.
13. back to the boob-factor..
14. yeah no reason to feel inferior there. nine inches is just overkill
15. Who knows, maybe he'll like you more and hire you

Kirsti said...

HI! We're gonna need an update. Soon. Thank you.