I am having a truly tragic time of it lately, getting-laid-wise. It is as if my stock suddenly bottomed out, like as if they invented a new me for half the price per share and with a nicer ass. Anyway, my quest for a decent lay has led me to some shady places, I'm afraid, like the
attorney down the hall who races his BMW on weekends. Um....awesome. I guess. I actually told him that my stock was selling low and that I was a 'unique investment opportunity.' And apparently he decided to fuck one of our recently-divorced clients instead. It goes without saying that this is a mindblowing inversion of all I know to be true, i.e., I am infinitely more fuckable than a divorced mother-of-two whose husband left for the (male) cashier at the PDQ, but it pains me nonetheless, once I get over the
Dr. Who-ness of it all. So I was half crying on the way home, and when I stepped inside my beautiful condo and looked at the O-Man, my
Pembroke Welsh Corgi, all lookin' at me like this was the greatest moment of his life, I broke down and wailed. I figure that ours is the kind of love which can only end in a murder-suicide, but I have to say, ladies, the Big O is the best love money can buy. Later we went to PetsMart, him all sittin' in my lap with his front paws on the wheel, rockin' out to the Buzzcocks. Shit, life ain't so bad.
