Side Comments That Have Nothing to do with Politics

In the meantime, today I am feeling...

1) Exhausted
-- because Nancy the crackhead neighbor was at it again last night. The yelling, the screaming, the slamming of the doors. When I first moved in, my lefty-liberal heart bled a little -- I thought to myself, "Maybe she yells because she doesn't feel like she has a voice." (Mimes finger down the throat). Now the bleeding heart has scabbed over and I think, "Maybe she yells because SHE'S A CRACKHEAD ASSHOLE." Now I look at her two year old with a jaundiced eye and think, "Future felon."

2) Cranky
-- because I'm exhausted. If I lose one more hour of sleep because of this waste of humanity, there will be a murder. "Hello, Archer? I'm at Rikers. I killed a crackhead and I'm not sorry."

3) Horny
-- because, well, because I'm always horny. Frisky. Bushy-tailed. It must be because I never got married. Do they make you hand in your libido when you sign the marriage license? Because, frankly, I work with a bunch of men who are always complaining about how their wives won't put out. It's one of the questions I've always wanted to ask. That and the blow-job question. "Excuse me, ma'am? Were those blow-jobs merely installment payments on the engagement ring?" I've asked my married friends that questions and haven't gotten a satisfactory answer yet -- why do the blow-jobs stop as soon as "I do" is uttered? (I was reminded of this by a recent post of Archer's).

4) Chagrined and embarrassed.
-- because I am starting to think that taking the HR home two months ago was a big, big, big mistake. Because now there is someone at work who KNOWS WHAT I LOOK LIKE NAKED.

It would be one thing if the seeing each other naked had continued past that one night. This -- well, I'm not sure what this was. I haven't had a one-night stand in YEARS. I know, I know. You'll fuck another woman's husband but you won't have a one-night stand? Call me nutty. Then I go and have a one-night stand with someone I have to freakin' see every single day. See, I can't even do that right!

And it's not like I can sit him down and say, "You know, HR, I have to confess to being embarrassingly drunk that night, and parts of the night keep coming back to me in flashes that make my entire body flush with (humiliation? erotic memories? who knows?). But I do remember really, really, really having a good time, not to mention whispering an awful lot of filth in your willing little ear. But, honestly, HR, there are a few, teensy, weensy vodka-soaked holes in the evening, and maybe I don't remember all of the things you said to me, but I do think I remember you asking if I would wait three months, and now, two months after the fact, I don't know what that means or even if it means anything anymore. I mean, you've got a whole shitload of crap to go through with this divorce and everything, and here I find myself - AGAIN - waiting like a good pet. Sort of. And, well, I wouldn't mind that so much if I could only REMEMBER what it is I'm waiting for, or if I'm meant to even still be waiting, so could you please just let me know? Either way, I'm okay with what you tell me."

Unless, HR, you tell me that you are getting back together with your wife, then I'll have to quit my job because surely at some company event down the road I would meet her, and every time I saw her I would be thinking, "I had your husband's penis in my mouth."