So. Yesterday my eyes had the familiar fuzzy coated like feel, causing everything to look like it had been Photoshopped with a frosted glassware effect. Might have improved enough to trudge into work. Didn't give it a chance. Called out sick immediately. Flirting with a bartender until the gates came down the night before. Absolutely sexy, the only possible way I can describe her at the present moment; splendiferous fuck doll. Open the canal gates and christened a new vodka liver river. Apparently the booze don't help the sight. Would confirm that with the docs, but what's the point? As if I'd heed some sobriety advice. What's that doc? I couldn't hear you over my loud slurping of Stoli on the rocks. Congratulated myself for constructing a three day weekend by welcoming the work free day with a long wank.

I also had alterior motives. Rubbing my hands together and giggling like an evil bottle imp. I remembered that the stunning improv chick I want to possess and dispense heaping portions of pleasure on, mentioned on Sunday that she wanted to hang with me on Tuesday. Buddy ass chump workie schedule. Mutual groans from the both of us when I bring up the fact that I'll be slaving while she wants to be spending time with me. Dial her number, chest poked out ready to dispense the surprise complimentary notion that I told work to go pound sand so that I could be with her. Fascist electronic voice informing me that the phone I am trying to call has been temporarily disabled.

Obsessive subsequent calling every hour on the hour banking on the possibility of some service outage being resolved. My mood went surly. Spliff time.

What the fuck with all this pining crap. I am a grubby little beast. Instant gratification deeply ingrained so far up my ass that it even worries me on occasion. Rocking back and forth in my fucking chair when I'm not around her. Chewing on my fingers. Desperation in searching for stimulation that would distract my brain from thinking about her. Mr. sniper? Pull the fucking trigger.

Of course, none of this head shit deterred me from macking on a yummy chick the previous night. Look, if some incredibly curvy, instant erection producing scented, lip smacking young thang beams the minute I walk into the place and ignores the rest of the bar so she can smolder near me with "I'm already bending over for you" eyes, I'm gonna respond like the rutting animal I am. Back off therapy, back off!

Attempts will be made anon to comment on the non candyass parts of my life. I'm gonna buttfuck my id till it complies.