Yeah, so...

I think I was supposed to go to work today. That worries me, since I did not. Unless, of course, you count eating oranges in bed all day as going to work. In my defense, what company tells you to take Tuesday and Wednesday off but not Monday? Also, it's hard eating oranges in bed, you have to balance the plate and knife on your lap without getting the juice on your sheets or your laptop, which is also being balanced on your lap. And all that has to be done with one hand because you're totally using the laptop to watch fruit porn. (FYI, I didn't realize until I wrote that last sentence just how weird my mind is. And how much I maybe need to get some sleep. Eating in bed all day is hard, y'all!)

Dammit. Now I'm pissed that I'm only going to get paid for 2 days of work this week. And that I've started typing y'all, even though I'm not Britney Spears on GFY. Stupid fucking non-employee stupid job fucking with my fucking stupid head.

Merry Christmas!

SEX!!!!!!111!!!2!

I'm not a dream-reader kind of gal. I don't care what my dreams "mean" and see all the different possible interpretations of aspects like falling or drowning as evidence that nobody really freaking knows anything.

One thing I'm reasonably sure of, though, is that when I have sex dreams three nights in a row, twice with men I don't even find attractive, when previously I'd had no more five sex dreams in my entire life, it means something. And I'm sure you can guess what the meaning is: I need to get laid.

Like, now.

Jeeeesus (is the reason for the season)

Friday was my company's office party. Guess who I met there? Possibly Gay Monkey . Again. Some more.

I was standing with a part-timer I worked with in HR, and Possibly Gay Monkey came up to us and asked if we were with the XX group.

Us: Um, yeah. Because we work at XX.

Him: Oh! I thought you were visiting from another company! I am possibly gay and look like a monkey! Nice to meet you!

Part-Timer: Nice to meet you too.

Me: [GLARE]