Good morning, groovy chicks and hep cats (and variations thereon, dependent upon gender / sexual orientation).
Don't worry; I'm not happy, merely sarcastic.
I had a weird nightmare last night. John Foster Dulles was still alive.
Brrrrr … I'm still shaking. If I ever visit Arlington I'm gonna stamp on that fucker's grave and make sure there's no soft earth where his nasty, grippy zombie fingers can claw their way free.
And stay the fuck out of my nightmares, you creepy shit! Get back to where you belong and burn.
Okay, so cold pizza and scotch was probably not the best recipe for a late supper …
However, this post is not about that.
This post is about scary witch-woman J…….
I put it off as long as possible but if I'm going to build the new junior school it's going to need Building Regulations approval.
Which means going back into the building where J…… now works as receptionist.
And where she hit on me a couple of weeks back.
And where I put her off with a jolly agreement to call her and meet for coffee.
And where, yesterday as I walked in the door every single line I was going to fob her off with fled screaming from my brain, leaving just the word "duh."
And after all that, she wasn't there.
So I stood in reception, grinning like a fool at her empty chair and suppressing the desire to giggle at my sheer dumb luck.
As quickly as decently possible I checked in the application with her colleague and sprinted back out of the door to the safety of the car park.
Where (you knew it) I bumped right into J…… coming the other way.
So … there I stood with my jaw flapping up and down and there stood J…… eyes shining; smiling fit to bust.
Did I take any of your sage advice?
Ha!
Did I buggery!
Instead, pathetic and craven dickwad that I am, I stammered and blurted out something about having to dash off to a meeting and escaped with no more damage than a quick hug and a peck on the cheek and a reminder to call her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can run jobs worth millions of pounds; I can play on stage in front of thousands of people; I'm pretty good at this stupid "life" business …
And yet when it comes to telling a girl I'm not interested in anything more than coffee and gossip all I can do is blather and faff.
I'm forty-eight years old and terrified of dumping a girl.
What a twat!
18 comments:
Mate, You have two choices.
Rock with this chick or become an Amway rep.
Either way, "do it, do it, just do it".
We've got nothing to lose, we're the voyeurs, and what a great post it would make.
Crikey, cobber, just jump the chick, we can hardly wait.
Ew!
No, MB; I'll take the coward's way out. I don't need to go near that building again for at least a year, so I'll just lie low.
I was about to say "Ew" as well to the idea of "jumping the chick," but you said it first, Dive. Hide, my dear. It's the brave thing to do.
I'm under the table, Robyn.
er … That sounded ruder than it was meant (hee hee).
Dive a negative conversation on any level is never pleasant! It is human nature to avoid unpleasantries. Just keep dodging!
Thank you, Prudence. I'll keep on dodging. The trouble is I really like her and would love to sit and gossip and bitch over coffee, but she wants more and I don't.
Hey ho. Life's a bitch and so am I.
Take it from someone who's had her heart crushed to a bleeding bloody pulp by a humans indifference. far easier to be honest and say you already have a girl, that you are flattered and would really like to retain the friendship. And then give her a peck on the cheek and walk away. Or to use the chickens way out, email her. If you really think she is worth having a cup of coffee and a nasty gossip with then do it and you may have an awkward moment but you may have also gained a friend and who can't use another one of those.
Sage advice, Kate.
But I'll take the route of all men and most governments throughout history: I'll ignore the problem and hope it goes away.
And what the hell are you doing up and blogging at three in the morning?
I can't sleep. Or more to the point I'm in so much pain that just laying there seems about as unproductive as my progress on the dry assignments i've set aside inorder to blog cruise. Besides, hubby is on the sofa snoring like a freight train and who can sleep with all of that noise.
Oh, Kate, you poor girl. You have my sympathy (for the snoring, too).
Cold pizza and scotch actually doesn't sound so bad right now...
I must admit, it does sound rather enticing … if it weren't for the prospect of spending another night in a stand up row with the man who gave us Vietnam and Mutual Assured Destruction. Boy, that was a fucking weird dream.
I'm not interested in anything more than coffee and gossip
I'll tell ya whats wrong with ya, you're either past it (very probable) or yer ghey (very probable) now you have two things to prove, go shag her blow yer muck all over the place then dump her. No this advice is free but take pictures for yer blog ya big gurls blouse.
Sounds like fate to me....or bad karma.
Just go have coffee with her and tell her all your particularly meaty stories that you have shared here. The especially gross ones should do it. Tell her while she is eating cake or a pastry. Eat some chocolate, let it slide over your teeth and then smile widely.
That should do it....
I'm so gay and so past it Old K.
Also, J……'s a scary psycho bunny-boiler type.
Besides, my girlfriend would slaughter me.
Maria: Ew! What an excellently disgusting image. hee hee.
You know, you really don't owe her anything. If you don't want to see her, then don't.
The trouble is, and you said it,
"The trouble is I really like her and would love to,,,,"
Crikey, mate, Were you never in the Navy?
As they say in the Northern Territory, "You'll never, never know, if you never, never go !"
So pull y' finger out; and move, baby, move. She might be a cracker,,, sailor.
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