What's the Point?

I ask you, what is the point of going over to your part-time special friend's house and not getting laid. I spent the night at a repeat offender's house last week and got nothing! Not even a poke in the back in the middle of the night! Before going to his place, I even asked him if it was worth de-fuzzing. He told me it was. What a waste of time!

I got up at eleven thirty the next morning, went to the bathroom came back to see he had sprawled out in the middle of his bed. I quietly picked my jocks up off the floor along with the rest of my clothes got dressed and walked out of his front door. I took the walk of no shame to my car and came home to relieve my sexual frustration.

It was a few hours later that I realised I had left my scarf at his place. Crap! I texted him that night to see if I could drop in and pick it up. He said he would leave it on the couch on his front porch for me to collect the next day. Ouch. What's with that? Pussy when it suits you hey? What about my needs? I'm over the head fuck. You're fired... Again! But probrbly not for long...

Wrong Number Sexting...

We all know what sexting is right? If you don't, I'll quickly give you the low down. It's where two people send each other naughty texts. Which can be fun to liven up a boring day or help get your mojo flowing. It usually occurs between two people that already know each other, and more than likely have already had some sort of sexual contact. Not so much in my case.

On the Monday after my short lived, one pint trip to Cookie I was a working hard, or hardly working when my phone beeped with a text. It was from a random number and it said, "You have the cutest bum! xo". It made me giggle. My ass is not cute. It's big and wobbly. I ignored the text. A few moments later, another text came through, " Don't be shy, remember Saturday..." I did remember Saturday. I went out for a bit, I hung out with my girlfriends and I was at home in bed before midnight. I had not spoken to any boys, nor had I given anyone my number! I politely replied with, " I think you have the wrong number mate. I don't have a cute ass!" Less than a minute later my mystery man had replied saying unless it was a small bum, it must be cute. He had my attention. My ears always prick up when I find a guy that likes fat chicks.

We began texting back and forth, to work out who was on the other side of these texts. It turns out he thought my number was a number from a girl he had met at a party over the weekend. The weird thing is, he was at a party not far from my house! Small world! It turns out he is 28, a truck driver, lives in Pascoe Vale and is 6'4". Hold the phone! How tall?! I love tall blokes. I don't know what it about boys with loft, but they just make me weak at the knees. I told him he was a whopper and that's when the sexting began. He replied to me and told me that he was "tall all over ;)". I'd be the judge of that!

As he was at work like I was, he asked for my email address so he could send me a picture of himself. I obliged and told him that I'd send him a few of me too. He asked if I'd like his pics to be clothed or unclothed. I thought I'd be a bit mysterious and told him to surprise me. The sexting died off as my workload increased and I kind of just forgot about my mystery sexter. I finished my shift, drove home, had something to eat and before I knew it, he was texting me again! Easy tiger!

He wanted to know if I had checked my emails. Dude, I had just spent the last ten hours tethered to a headset, connected to a phone talking to whiny customers and dealing with their problems. I like to chill before firing up my laptop when I get home. When I was ready, I fired the laptop up. I opened my emails. There in front of me were four emails from my mystery sexter. Each of them had attachments. I opened up the first. all I saw was a skinny man wearing what he was born in. All of his pics were the same. I don't know why he sent so many pics of basically the same thing. Around twenty pictures of a man from the chin to mid thigh. Get some creativity son!

I replied to his many emails with one email containing a selection of my best pics. I think there were four or five of them. Each one different, never two the same. I like things that way. The same old, same old bores me. And why would anybody want twenty pictures of exactly the same thing? He loved my photos and now he wants to meet me. I don't want to meet him. He's very skinny. I've seen whippets with more meat on them. I like my men with a bit of something to hang onto. Skinny boys just don't so it for me. Plain and simple.

It's been easy avoiding the "When are we going to meet up?" questions. As I work all weekends, he woks all weekdays, it's hard to get a time and day that suits us both. I've already tried to put meeting him in the too hard basket, and I've even gently suggested that I don't really want to met him, but he's like a dog with a bone. He texts me every couple of days. I need to let him know I'm not interested. It's cruel to let him believe that I want to get to know him. Off to the drawing board I guess.

Work to live. Don't live to work...

Hello there friend. I know I have not written for ages. It's been way too long. Sorry. I guess it's because I haven't experienced anything worthy of writing about. I seem to have acquired an annoying job that requires me to work permanent weekends, Monday and Tuesday. It sucks - big time. It has taken a major toll on my now non existent love life. Oh! and not to mention my nose diving social life too. Just a few weeks ago, I missed one of my best friend's Birthday celebrations, and I was pissed!

I work in and inbound call centre for a major telecommunications company. I start at 0800 hours and conclude my shift ten hours later at 1800 hours. The party was due to kick off on Saturday evening at 8pm, at Cookie in the city and end up where ever Melbourne's streets lead us. Part way through my shift, I asked my Team Leader if I could have the following day off or swap it for another day. His answer was short and blunt - No. I thought fine, I'll be the designated driver. I'll drive one of the other girl's cars, as I have a two seater ute and can only have one passenger. It's fucking sexy to look at and a dream to drive, but alas, it's not so good for car pooling.

I got to Digimon's pad where as usual, she was having a wardrobe crisis. Digimon had just returned from a short jaunt in Europe and whilst she was in Amsterdam, she bought a sexy green dress. It was a gorgeous jade green number that was short, but not too short and really showed off her awesome rack. She kept claiming that the dress was too short and made her look like a slut. It did not. She looked lovely and classy as usual. I picked out a handbag and a chunky black necklace to team with the sexy green dress whilst we waited for our other girlfriend, Malta to arrive.

Digimon finally believed me when Malta arrived and told her how hot she looked. She downed what was left of her glass of vino and we hit the road. I really don't like driving other people's cars. It's weird. You get use to your own car. You know as soon as you get in that your seat is in the correct position. The mirrors are all pointing in the right direction. You know where the clutch bites and you know where all of the gears are. It took me ages to get the seat and mirrors right. Then it took me another few moments to find reverse. Who the heck makes you lift up part of the gear knob to get into a gear? Fucking Euro Trash! Give me a Holden any day!

Any who, after a quick tutorial from Digimon on how to drive her car we were over the bridge and in the city in no time. Great, hook turns ahoy! Luckily for us, we took Spencer and Lonsdale Streets which don't require the services of you navigating and orchestrating a right hand turn from the left lane. I'd like to know who invented those fuckers, they are so annoying! We entered a multi storey car park, ditched the car and headed to Cookie.

It was pretty busy and it was only 2000 hours. We made it to the bar for a drink and then found the Birthday Girl. She was thrilled to see us, just as we were thrilled to share her Birthday with her. I had set my departure time for 2230 hours, as that would allow plenty of time for me to get back to the car, back over the bridge, car swap at Digimon's place and be tucked up in bed by 2300 hours. Perfect! We managed to find a square metre or so of free space near the bar were we propped for the duration. I drank my pint and mingled with the other party goers and before I knew it it was almost time for me to turn into a pumpkin! I found the Birthday Girl and said my goodbyes. By this stage Digimon and Malta were over it and wanted to catch a lift home with me, rather than fight for a cab a few hours later.

I safely and soberly drove the girls back to the West Side, swapped cars and headed for home. It was now 2345 hours, I got to my room, stripped off, set the alarm and drifted off to the Land of Nod. Before I knew it, it was 0645 hours and the alarm was yelling at me to get out of bed. I dragged my tired ass out of my nice warm bed, threw on what ever clothes I picked up off the floor and headed off to work for a 0800 hours start.

Work on this particular Sunday was dead. Calls were few and far between. There was seriously around ten minutes between calls. The Team Leader came around and asked if anybody wanted to go home. Was he fucking serious? I had asked him less than twenty-four hours earlier if I could have the day off, and his answer to me was no. I politely replied to him with the same answer. If I had known he was going to send people home early, I would have been naughty and stayed out all night drinking with my friends and called in sick. But because I'm a 'good girl' with a strong work ethic, I made the choice to leave early and trudge into work the next day.

Friends, life is too short. Work to live, don't live to work!