As per my established occupancy on the outer edge of the geek ring of hell, I had to work Saturday night. Extra double fudge stuffing was that I would have to fly solo. At this point I can man the com on autopilot. Still, no delegation of operation tasks, connectivity in Sweden biting the big meatball, mail servers committing seppuku, and random acts of databases going into retard mode, was annoying enough to not allow me to ignore the jobby for most of the evening. My usual distaste for the television was abated as I was priveledged with basketball madness. Not a Celtics fan, kinda want Jason Kidd and the Nets to head to the finals, but Boston coming back from a twenty six point deficit to win the game was awesome. If lager and barbeque ribs went better with keyboards and sensitive electronics I would have had a much more enjoyable stint at the slave.

Sunday morning, well, morning for me which is approaching one in the afternoon. Am awakened to the adorable voice of the chick I'm pining for. Launch from the sheets, scramble naked and half blind without my glasses towards the phone. Making plans making plans.

She was fiending for herb at that moment and her providers of green were not responding. After paging my guy, he calls me back from Montauk. Those of you geographically deficient in regards to the NYC metropolitain area, it's none too close to my crib in sweet sweet Manhattan. High times thwarted, can't be the burnout hero.

Chillin, watching the ridiculous end of the Lakers game. Fuck the Lakers over and under, up and down, cattycorner and across the street. Fuck them wide. Fuck them deep. Fuck the Lakers till their grandchildren have the stink of cock on them. And, fuck the officiating of the referies. Shaq can manhandle whoever he wants and the refs are busy checking out the pubes on their nuts, "what there was a foul? duh huh.".

So the pining chick calls me up and tells me I have to come have drinks with her. "I need you spanky poo." The banking god cashlocke has placed a cursed cloud of broke chumpitude to hover in my air space for a while. She's a westside girl. Couldn't cab it. She groaned it was gonna take me an hour by foot to make, spanky makes it in under thrity minutes. She's laying into some competition on her cell outside Daddy O's when I arrived.

Arrrrgh. She's fucking shopping around. Whatever. The competition blew it, I didn't. She was all hugs, kisses, fondling spanky's body parts. She's gonna be a confusing one for sure. She hands me a muscle relaxer and buys me a vodka on the rocks. I am ordered to catch up to her level of inebriation. Was in the mood for it anyway. The interrogation continues. Everytime we go out she asks those poignant questions, that are shrouded as wanting to get to know me. I know you ladies too well, these questions are simply to verify whether or not my cock is worthy of your orifices. I know the game, I play it well enough, truthful responses that show I'm a decent guy but I have a naughty side. We get fucked up quick.

Back to her place for more muscle relaxers and some casual touch. Pharmacueticals, liquor, and my magic hands had her out cold within minutes. Not just bragging here, I have sizable and strong hands with pleasure radar built into my fingers. My lips and my hands have always been my two best features. And I can utilise them with deadly accuracy.

Soon, I succumb to the effects of the pills. Out cold.

We wake up a few times to readjust sleeping positions and whatnot. While I was sleeping on my tummy, her cat took root in between my legs. She pokes me awake and tells me not to crush her pet, as well as to get the motor running for the day at the park she has planned. As I said, she's a confusing chick ( I defy you to find a respectable one that isn't ) and my brain is addled from attempting to promote myself as main man in her life. Details on park experience will have to wait.

Later.