By Christian A. Manson, Esq.
Or, as I like to call it: selling out. Tell me, are these lobotomy scars REALLY obvious? Big shout out to my boy Hong for calling me Suit this afternoon. Nope, I weren't wearing one, but I was rocking a midnight blue shirt and a yellow fucking tye. Hey, I wear my clothes, my clothes don't wear me. I may not know how to tie me a tye, but I do know how to occasionally match colors. Tomorrow, I'm going with a purple shirt. No idea what sort of tye. I like to play some things as they come.
Not real keen on the new gig. Spent today doing inventorying. Good Times. At least my new boss is fairly tolerable. And one of the other trainees (discount, so no; although...she's going back to Thunder Bay at the end of the week, so maybe) was flirting with me. Yeah, that happens a lot now. Sadly, the HB 7.5ish secretary that keeps floating around, teasing me with her perky little breastesses, doesn't seem to want to play with me. Yet. Not sure what her story is, although since my new boss (he's married; no it's not her) is friendly with her; I'll go all junior high and ask after her. Yeah, I care how it looks. Dude, whatever it takes to tap premium strange, I shall do. That's how I'm rolling now.
Speaking of which, haven't heard back from the 20 year old yet after I told her how much I love the way women smell, feel and taste. Will give her another chance soon. I'm just like that sometimes.
I'm out. Still have to eat 2X, call the 24 year old, and then go play volleyball in about 2 hours. Fuck but I miss working graveyards. And don't even get me started on how very much I hate daylight.