So fucking tired of BUllSHit

This ain't a political blog, and I'm not going to turn it into one. But you don't have to be a political blogger to care about who is running the fucking country.

He's a moron.

You know he's a moron. He basically admits he's a moron. He's got a political "strategist" and a VP who direct and control his every move. He runs like a pussy from any unscripted moment.

His strategy is to "reduce our expectations", so when he fucks up, we aren't disappointed.

We ought to expect more from our leader. We ought to demand more.

This isn't about John Kerry, and whether or not he would have done better. I don't know what Kerry would have done. But I do know what Bush has done, and I don't see one fucking thing to be happy about.

"He's a great wartime leader". No, he's not. There never was any proof that this country was in any imminent danger from Iraq, and a real leader would have recognized that. As a result of his mistakes, over 1000 Americans are now dead. Those deaths are on his head.

"When he makes his mind up, it stays made up." No, it doesn't. After 9/11, Bush said he wanted Osama "Dead or alive". And then, after Osama got away, it was "Well, he's marginalized, and I'm not worried about him." Well, that's great, George. I'm glad YOU'RE not worried about Osama as he plots new attacks on the US.

Bush didn't want a 9/11 commission, then he did. He didn't want Condi Rice to testify to congress, then he did. He was against a homeland security department, then he was for it.

This motherfucker changes his mind more than I change underwear. Anyone who says Bush "sticks to his guns" is a mindless parrot who repeats what they hear on FOX News Channel and the Rush Limbaugh show. And by the way, since when is it such a virtue to refuse to change your mind, even after you've been proven wrong?

The national debt accrues 1 billion dollars a day in interest alone. Think about that for a minute. Bush is not going to balance the budget. He's not INTERESTED in balancing the budget. He doesn't give a fuck about debt, only about avoiding blame for adding to it. So he just borrows and spends whatever he wants, then makes up excuses about why he had to do it. So why can't Joe six-pack do that? Why can't an average American just borrow whatever the hell he wants, whether or not he has any intention of paying it back, as long as he's got a fairly decent argument as to why he needs the money?

Hey George. Congratulations on your great victory. And oh yeah...

FUCK OFF!

The return of Lila, conclusion

Some of you readers really need an attitude adjustment lately. Just to prove a point, I ought to make you wait until Monday to find out what happened, but because I am a big softie....

**********

"I need to talk to you," I say.

"What do you need to talk to me about?" Stephanie says.

"Well, I mean, if we're really gonna get serious at all, there are things we need to discuss."

"Such as?"

"Like, jellybeans. I don't even know what your favorite jellybean color is."

"Mm-hmm."

"So you see what I'm saying then?" I say.

"I have a confession to make," she says.

"You ate more than one Lay's?"

"No," she laughs.

"You cheated on the People magazine crossword?"

"uh-uh."

"Yooooou...bought a box of cereal you hated just to get the prize?"

"STEVE!" she says, giggling. "Will you please let me finish?"

"OK."

"Remember how I left my jacket in your car last week?"

"Ya."

"I was talking to a girlfriend at school, and I said, 'I left my jacket in my boyfriend's car'."

I don't get it. WTF is she confessing for? What's so bad about telling her girlfriend that she-

OH SHIT.

She called me her boyfriend!

Actually, though, what's bad about that? We are together all the time, and we are screwing, and I do like her a lot, so what's the problem?

But then again, we do have some issues to discuss. Real ones.

"That was pretty bold!" I say.

"Are you OK with that?" she asks.

"No."

"NO?"

"You HAVE a boyfriend."

"So you want me to break up with him?"

"I don't WANT you to do anything. Do what you feel."

"OK."

"I'm not cool with being a boyfriend if there's another guy in the picture."

"Me too. That's why I'm glad you broke up with Lila."

"So you're glad about that?"

"Mm-hmm. I have you all to myself now," she says.

**********

Thursday, October 28. 11:00am. Dan Johnson calls.

"Steve, I've been speaking to a few of the managers down there," he says. "I guess you're pissing some people off."

"How so?"

"Demanding new reports, holding people to deadlines, cutting people off at meetings before they're done speaking..."

"It's like I say," I begin, "If you're pissing people off, you're probably doing something right."

"HAHAHAHAHA!" he says. "Yes! Yes! I love that! Think of someone like Iacocca; you either love him or hate him. There's no in between. Being disliked is an important trait. It MEANS something."

"If you're making everyone happy, you're either promising too much or lying," I say.

"True. I have to say it, Steve: You're doing a wonderful job. I'm very proud."

Thanks, Dan. Do me a favor: Tell Ross about that. And then, when he gets that you-just-kicked -me-in-the-balls look, snap his picture, ok?

I'm really happy that Dan said that. He's been somewhat critical of me lately, and I was beginning to wonder how he thought I was doing. It's good to know I am where I should be, performance-wise, but I've got to cut down on my workload. I'm working 60 hours a week, now, and sometimes more.

**********

Friday, October 29.

You already know what happened at the cemetery, but not when we got home.

As we race from the cemetery, Steph says, "YOU are sleeping over tonight!"

We get back to the house, and walk through the front door into the living room. We flip the light switch for a tabletop lamp. Nothing. Burned-out light bulb. We change it.

Steph goes into the bathroom and flips the light switch. Nothing. ANOTHER burned-out bulb. "WHAT THE HELL!" she says. "Oh my GOD, this is weird!"

"We really pissed somebody off," I say.

We watch TV for hours. It's 1:00 am.

The TV casts a pale, flickering glow over us in the otherwise dark room. We're both laying down on an overstuffed couch. I roll over on top of her.

I kiss her neck slowly. She's covered in goosebumps.

"The red tide is in," she says.

"Ew."

"I can take care of you, though," she says.

She kisses me, slowly, deeply.

"You really like kissing, don't you?" I say.

She smiles, and reaches her hand around my back, sliding it down to my butt.

"You have a nice ass," she says.

I unbutton and unzip. She slides her hand under my boxers, squeezing a handful of ass.

Her full, pink lips hang open. I can feel her hot breath on me. Her eyes are closed, her impossibly-long lashes resting on her cheeks.

She kisses her way down my stomach and slides a hand under my shirt, pinching my nipple. Yeah, that's working for me.

I lower my pants. I am fully hard. She lowers her head onto me.

I take a handful of her blondish-brown hair and flip it over her shoulder. It's a turn-on to see how wide open her mouth is as she blows me.

I rub the top of her head, gently. I never understood the concept of grabbing a girl's head and ramming it down on your cock. It just seems like a good way to get a lapful of puke.

Steph is really good at covering her teeth. To me, the best kind of blowjob is one where it's completely wet and warm, almost like you are fucking.

She pulls my cock out of her mouth and holds it in her hand, licking my balls, slowly, staring at me as she does.

She licks me again. I am throbbing now, my head going back, my eyes closing...

"You like that, don't you?"

"Mmm-hmm," I say.

She licks the length of my cock and swirls her tongue around the head. "I love your cock," she says. "You are SO nice and hard."

"You see what you do to me?" I say.

She plunges the length of it back into her mouth, all the way down to the base, then pulls it out slowly. Then in, then out again, then again, faster.

I am going to fucking explode. She can tell. She pulls me out and starts to rub, but it's totally unnecessary. She squeezes her eyes shut as she gets yet another facial. This girl is gonna have the healthiest skin in the world if she keeps this up.

"By the way," she says, "my favorite jellybean color is black."

The return of Lila

Tuesday, October 26.

Buzzzzzzz, goes my phone. Lee calling, it says on the readout screen.

WTF does Lila want?

Usually I go through a ritual every time I break up with someone: I purge her name from my cell phone and BlackBerry, and place any belongings she has left at my house into a duffel bag or pillowcase and bring them to her. I even let her keep the bag! Just my way of saying, "Thanks for fucking the Steverino! Please accept this lovely parting gift!"

I haven't quite been able to bring myself to "purge" Lila yet.

Maybe I won't answer the phone. But my curiosity is getting the better of me. And I really do want to hear what she has to say. I want to try and be her friend; usually, I break all ties and never think about them again.

It's on the 3rd or 4th ring. "Hello?"

"Steve." It's strange hearing her voice again. I haven't seen her in weeks.

"Hey! How are you?"

"Ok." She sounds sad. Sad I can deal with. Angry is harder.

"What's up?"

"You left your boom box here."

"Keep it, honey."

"I don't want it."

"I want you to have it."

"Steve, I'm just gonna throw it out."

"OK, I'll come pick it up."

"I'm going out at 7 tonight. Can you come before that, like around 6?"

"Yeah. Are you ok?"

"No."

"I wanna be your friend," I say.

"I know. It's just hard for me. I still think about you sometimes."

"Me too."

"How are your dad and your brothers doing?"

"OK. They're all asking for you. They're pissed at me 'cause we broke up."

"Tell 'em I said hi."

"OK," I say. "I..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I just... I miss you."

"Me too. Do you know what you said?" She sounds like she is smiling.

"Huh?" I say.

"Do you know what you said before?"

"No."

"You called me 'honey'."

"Ohhh. Sorry."

"It's ok. It was nice."

"I'll see you later, ok?" I say.

"K."

**********

7:15. I am running late. She said she was leaving at 7.

I ring her bell. Sophie answers. "Big Steve!" she says.

"Hey, Sophie. She still here?"

"Ummmmmm," she says, looking uneasily towards the kitchen.

I walk in. There's a guy standing there. "Sup, dude?" He says.

He's about 6'3", with a deep tan and curly brown hair. He definitely works out: His triceps are finely chiseled, and his shoulders bulge against his green polo shirt. He's got the puffed-up chest and thin waist of a two-hour-a-day gym rat. He's wearing jeans and $150 Nike sneakers.

I introduce myself, first and last name, as always, and extend my hand to him.

"Duuuude, how's it goin', dude? I'm Trey." He shakes my hand. Hard, like he's trying to rip it out of the socket.

Wow! Two 'dudes' in one sentence! This must be some kind of record!

"How do you do, Trey."

"You're her ex, right? Dude, man, she had it baad for you, man. I'm makin' her forget you, though," he smiles.

Lila comes in. "I thought you said six!" she says, obviously annoyed.

"Running late," I say, winking at Trey. "Trey and I were just chatting."

"No, we were just LEAVING," she says. "You know where the boom box is." She leaves the room. Trey rushes after her.

"Later, dude!" I say.

**********

12:30am. I can't sleep. Seeing Lila really made me think.

I feel like I should be looking out for her. I feel like I should be more protective over her feelings.

I feel guilty for.....ruining her life.

That's the phrase that comes to mind. Not that Lila was particularly well-adjusted when I got ahold of her, but I sure as hell didn't help.

She's been through some shit in her life. Guys turn into sick fucks when they're around girls who look like Lila, and she really is a little screwed up because of it. Still, it bothers me that I left her worse than I found her. Her relationship with me is going to taint every other relationship she has in the future; the least I can do is maintain a friendship with her so the taste I leave behind isn't quite so bad.

Seeing Trey actually made me a little jealous, too. I admit Trey is better-looking than me. He's more of a match for her, physically, and more her age, too. I never traded on the "gorgeous guy" thing. I'm not gorgeous. I clean up well, and I think I am handsome in an ethnic way, and I do very well for myself, as you know. But it does bruise my ego to know that some muscle-bound dude is probably popping the hell out of her right now.

Would she take me back? Could we make some kind of compromise? Shouldn't we have talked it out more than we did? Don't we owe each other that?

But what about Stephanie? What about the great start we got off to? Isn't Steph a better match for me than Lila? Don't Stephanie and I have a connection that Lila and I could never have?

I know the answers. They're obvious.

I pick up the phone and dial it. She answers.

"I need to talk to you," I say.

Mr. Haunted, I will never doubt you again.

My blog got its 50,000th hit yesterday! Thanks, everyone, for your support! Keep readin'!!

**********

I am back to being a week behind or more, but since Sunday was Halloween, I have no choice but to jump out of sequence and fill you in on my recent hair-raising exploits.

Friday, October 29. Stephanie and I are at her place, just getting back from a nice Chinese dinner. She's been very cool since the whole greeting-card debacle.

I ate way too much and I just feel like sitting around and not moving. I am trying to conserve energy because I know that she is going to be fuck-ready later. We have been screwing non-stop since that first time, and it is mind-blowingly good, too. Oh, and eating pussy is SUCH a treat when there is no hair involved... it's actually fun searching around for just the right spot. And you know when you've hit the right spot, too, because she basically rips a chunk of your scalp off.

We get to talking, as we always do. "Where do you go when you want to calm down?" I ask her. "When you are completely stressed, and you can't think."

"OK, this is gonna sound crazy, but I go down to the laundry room."

"In the basement?"

"Yeah. I LOVE the sound of the washer and dryer running. Sometimes I'll pull the sheets off my bed, even if they're clean, and wash them and dry them, and then put them back on the bed and take a nap while they're still warm."

"Oh, man, that sounds AWESOME."

"It is! How about you?"

"You know where I go? You're gonna think I'm nuts. Or creepy."

"Where?!"

"I go to the cemetery."

"Actually, that's not that weird...cemeteries can be really beautiful if they're kept up properly. Which one do you go to? Do you know anyone who's buried there?"

"No, I don't know anyone there. I go to Silver Lake."

Her eyes open wide. "On route 112?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my GOD! That place is CREEPY!" she says.

"It's not that bad during the day. But right now..." I look at her, smiling.

"What are YOU grinning about?"

"Let's go there now!"

"Oh my God! No way!"

"You are SUCH a chicken," I say. "What are you afraid of?

"That's not normal, Steve. You are weird."

"Come on, we'll just go for a minute."

"I'm not getting out of the car."

"OK."

"Hey," I say. "Wasn't your roomie into that Ouija board shit?"

"Yeah. Why?" she says. Stephanie and I got talking about this paranormal stuff the other night while watching The X Files.

"It's still here, isn't it? I think I saw it the other day."

"It's in the closet. I'm not doing that with you."

"OK." I open the closet and pull the box down.

It's 11:00. The round, white moon is small, shiny and distant, directly overhead. I turn into the cemetery, and it's surprisingly dark for a clear night with a full moon.

Loose gravel and pine cones crunch under my tires. The headlamps slice two neat cones of light in front of us as we roll slowly to a stop.

I open my door and climb out, Ouija board in hand.

"DON'T GET OUT!" she says.

"Why not? I wanna look around!"

"I'm not staying in this car alone!"

"Then get out and walk with me." She does.

She grabs my right arm with both hands and squeezes tightly. "You are sooooo weird, Steve."

I stop walking. The night is flawlessly quiet, unbroken by a whispering breeze, or a chirping cricket, or a trembling leaf. I can't hear a single sound.

I find a clearing with no trees overhead, where it's actually somewhat bright. I open the Ouija board and lay it down on the ground. I put the message indicator (planchette) on top of it.

Crooked gravestones cast sharp shadows. Damp yellow leaves coat the ground, chilling my backside as I sit down.

"It works better with two people," I say.

"Fine. But I'm not opening my eyes to read it."

"Deal."

We put our hands on the message indicator. "Let's start with an easy one," I say. "Is today Friday?"

The planchette slides slowly to the corner of the board and stops over the word yes.

"Wait a minute. Didn't that dude from that website say this is bad?" she says.

"Who, Mr. Haunted? Yeah, don't worry about it."

It's true. Jim from MrHaunted.com says that Ouija boards are bad, because they can release spirits into the physical world. Or something.

Yawn.

"Who is going to win the election?" I say.

The indicator slides to the letter "K" and stops. Then "E". Then "R". Then it doesn't move. Then "Y".

"Good call!" Steph says. "But this spirit can't spell."

"Thought you weren't looking," I say. "Hey! Let's ask it who it is!"

"Oh man. OK."

"Who are we speaking to?" I say.

Ssssssssss, I hear.

"What the FUCK was that?" she says.

It might just be the wind, actually.

The message indicator slides to T. Then H. Then O. Then M.

Thom?

"Are you buried in this cemetery?" Steph says.

Yes.

"Are you buried within 50 feet of us?" I ask.

Yes.

"Are you buried within 10 feet of us?" I ask.

No.

"How did you die?" Stephanie says. She is getting into it now.

F-I-R-E.

"How old were you?" she says.

That sound again, louder this time. SSSSSSSSSSsssssssssss.....

She screams.

"Shhhh," I say. "It's ok."

She looks uneasily from side to side. Our eyes have adjusted, but it's still very dark. I can barely make out the rotted, hanging pine tree branches and the chipped white picket fence next to the sidewalk.

She puts her hands back on the planchette. She is shaking. "We're leaving after this," she says. I get the impression that she is intrigued by the messages, but also scared shitless at the same time.

"How old were you, Thom," I repeat.

1-2.

"You were 12?" she says.

Yes.

"Do you know my mother?" I say.

Yes.

"Is she in Heaven?"

Yes.

Hot damn! There's hope for all of us!

"Hey!" I say . "Let's ask him who killed JFK!"

Snap! TokTokTok! SnapSnap! We hear from behind us, near the car.

"OH MY GOD!! let's go! COME ON!" Steph says.

I collect the Ouija board and start back down the drive.

A three foot long branch falls from a pine tree and lands behind the car.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!" she screams.

My stomach is filled with dread. Suddenly I feel like I did something really fucking stupid.

I start the car and back up, over the branch and into the street, turning on the fly and hurtling down the road at 80MPH.

"YOU are sleeping over tonight," Steph says.

Stevo 38, Monogamy 0

For those of you scoring at home, it's October 22, 2004, about 7:30pm.

After my talk with Stephanie, I head back to the office to catch up on e-mail. There are 85 messages in my inbox, 21 new.

I start to respond to the messages. From my keyboard, I electronically delegate, educate, and sometimes pontificate (why do I suddenly sound like Reverend Jesse Jackson?). It's amazing that I can get so much work done without even getting out of my chair. But it's also stressful, because, as the saying goes, "work expands to fill allotted time." If I finish all of my e-mail, something else will come up. It always does.

I get my inbox down to 14 new messages. I also clear my desk and feel a lot better.

My payroll manager and I (again, over e-mail) draft letters to the tax authorities to request that the penalties be waived. We owe a total of $3500; I hope to reduce that by 90%, but I'll take 70 or 80%. Once the initial hysteria subsided, this didn't turn out to be so catastrophic after all. Mona Lisa was right again.

I look at my watch. It's 10:20.

Holy shit! I'm supposed to be at Stephanie's!

I dash to my car and zoom out of the parking lot, dialing her number.

"Hey-y!" She says.

"Sorry! I got wrapped up in work!"

"No, not you!" she says.

"I'm on my way."

"Um, actually, you're probably gonna kill me, but.."

"What? You wanna do this tomorrow?"

"I have one more chapter I have to get to. Can you come in an hour?"

I can come in two minutes, if you know what you're doing, honey.

"Yeah. I'll be there about 11:30."

More work. Seemingly an instant later, it's 25 after. I call again.

"You still comin'?" she says.

"Ya, I'm on my way. God, it's 11:30!"

"I know. I don't feel much like drinking now. Or at least not going OUT and drinking."

"You want me to bring a bottle?"

"Mmmm, no. I have some stuff here."

11:45. Steph's house. It's a smallish beige and white duplex with two ten-foot squares of grass in the front, split by a concrete walk. She's got the bottom floor of the house all to herself.

She opens the door. "Hi, handsome!"

We hug. Her hair is pulled back into a hasty ponytail; her face looks drawn and her eyes are drooping. She's got a grey Champion sweatshirt on; it hangs down past her hips, and the sleeves are too long. Gotta be FBI dude's, I think. I can see the collar of a black shirt underneath. She looks....cozy. But exhausted.

"You look tired," I say.

"You too."

"OK, let's check Steph's liquor cabinet," she says, opening the wooden door under the kitchen sink. "Half-empty vodka, half-empty Jack Daniel's, flat, warm club soda..."

"What's that bottle with the red cap? That looks good!" I say.

"Lestoil," she says, laughing. She's on hands and knees now, her head in the cabinet.

"Hey, let's rock some Lestoil-and-tonics!" I say.

"Doubt it!" she says, her voice echoing hollowly.

"Do you have any Coke?" I say.

She pulls her head out of the cabinet and kneels on the floor. "I have Coca-Cola. If you want the other kind you'll have to call Lila," she says, smiling.

"And YOU'LL have to call Paul to arrest her."

"He's actually never arrested anyone."

"Really?"

"Yeah!" she says. "I'm telling you, it's nothing like you see on TV."

I pull a two-liter Coke from the fridge. A little puff of air hisses out as I remove the cap. "This is flat as hell."

"I don't drink soda. That's my roomie's."

"When did she move out?"

"Three weeks ago."

"Yikes."

It's no problem, though. In a properly-mixed Jack-and-Coke, the Coke is a mere formality, like when the quarterback takes a knee to run the clock out. It could be Jack-and-piss and you shouldn't be able to tell. Any more than a thimbleful is wasted.

I mix up the drinks and hand her one. "To.....stress relief," I say. We click glasses.

"DAMN that is strong!" she exclaims.

"This is extreme, hard-core stress relief," I say.

"Obviously! I hope I survive!"

I laugh.

"Hey! Let's check the TV Guide!" she says.

She runs back to the couch and starts flipping through the listings. "Ohhh! Look!" she says, pointing to an entry on the page.

2:00am, The Brady Bunch.

"We HAVE to stay awake for this," she says.

"I'm with you!"

I sit longways on the couch. She sits between my legs, with her shoulder blades against my chest. I put my arm around her waist, and I feel her heave a deep sigh and I know that she is totally relaxed, just like she was in front of the pond that time.

She puts her drink down on the coffee table. I see her and I do the same. I know what THAT means.

She turns around and faces me. "Thank you for coming over so late."

"Thank you for having me."

"I haven't had you yet," she says, huskily. She's not smiling.

"So take me now," I say.

She turns all the way around, so that she is up on her knees on the couch. She kisses me. Her lips are soft and succulent. I can taste the Jack and Coke.

Her eyes look all around my face, as if she's searching for something. I kiss her again.

I pull away from her. She's still looking at me.

She's thinking about it! She's feeling guilty, and wondering if she should go through with it.

"You ok?" I ask.

She nods, biting her lips.

"Did you bring one?" she says.

"Huh?"

"One of those things you left here."

"Uh-huh."

"You have to use one," she says.

"I will."

She sits up and pulls her sweatshirt off, and the black t-shirt underneath. She's wearing a purple bra. She reaches her hands awkwardly behind her back.

"C'mere," I say. She kisses me. I put my right hand behind her back and unhook her bra.

"How did you DO that?" she says.

"Beginner's luck," I say.

"Doubt it!" she laughs.

Her tits are not huge; I am guessing she's a 34B. But she is slender and proportional, and that is what really matters.

She stands up and slides her sweatpants down. She's completely bald down there. I love that.

"You shave too?" I ask.

"I do before I'm gonna have sex."

"So you did that for me?"

"Uh-huh," she says. She kisses me, slipping her tongue into my mouth.

"Are you gonna get undressed, or what?" she says.

Holy shit! I almost forgot!

I pull off my jeans and shirt. She looks down at my boxers and laughs.

"Are you gonna fuck me with your boxers on?"

"I was hoping you'd pull them off for me." She does.

"You have a NICE, big cock," she says.

Although I'm not tiny, I'm not impaling anyone, either. But after the toothpick-dick that she was used to, anything would look monstrous.

I open up the condom and roll it down. It actually feels really good going on.

I start to get up when she straddles my legs, lowering herself on to me.

I like to watch a girl's face as I penetrate her for the first time. I love the look of uncertainty, the idea that she doesn't know quite what to expect, mixed with the pure lust of being fucked by someone new.

Her eyes roll back; her lids close slowly. "God, I am SO fucking horny!" she says as I enter her.

She may not have had sex in a while, but she has definitely not forgotten how to ride a guy. I watch in ecstasy as her hips slide rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth.

She pulls up slightly, and I see my cock buried inside her. Her crotch is slippery and wet all over.

I press my thumb against her clit and hold it there, letting her thrusting do the work.

"OHHHHH," she moans. "Holy shit-"

I pull out of her. I have not had sex in a while, and I am gonna make this one count.

I stand up and walk behind her. She knows what I am going to do, and she lowers herself down on all fours.

I kneel behind her, between her legs, and take my cock in my hand. It is wet and gooey, covered in her juices. I slide it slowly underneath her until I find her opening, then push it inside.

She is tight. I can feel her flesh stretching against my girth. She stands up on her knees, turns around, and kisses me.

I pull her ass cheeks apart and brush my finger against her tight little asshole. It's tiny, no bigger than an eraser on a pencil. I squeeze her hips in my hands, pressing my thumbs into her tight, round, tan globes. This girl's ass is OUTSTANDING.

Now I am really wailing away at her, harder and faster. She is totally quiet, except for a little whimper that escapes now and then.

I pull out again and push her hips straight down, and pull gently on her side so she will turn over.

I am fucking her missionary now, her ankles locked behind my back. She closes her eyes and kisses me softly, her breath quivering in time with my thrusts.

Finally I come, and it's amazing: It's pleasure, and relief, and yeah, it's knowing that I just shared something really intimate with someone that I like.

Yeah, I said that!

Brit, it's over BACK ON!

So sexy it's frightening.

Every time I read another depressing story about Britney Spears getting married, or divorced, or making some dumbass comment, or getting married again, I just shake my head and say, "Brit, that tartan skirt and those braids were REALLY working for me, but at this point, I'd say you've basically reached your peak."

Then I see an ad like this one, and just like that, all of her trailer-trashy behavior is forgiven.

Note the smoldering dark brown eyes, and her plump, luscious lips, complete with deep arroyo down the middle of the bottom one. Guys, don't even TRY to tell me you are not fantasizing about having those babies wrapped around your pulsating johnson.

Oh, and Brit, to answer your question, yes, I dare.....

Gag me with a spoon greeting card

Fuck her. I don't want to see her face again.

Stephanie had been perfect the whole time we had been together, just perfect. Not talking about "us" or asking "where we stand". I actually LIKED that she had a boyfriend, because it meant that she would take it slow while we got to know each other.

I got the impression that she was conflicted, that she really loved that FBI dork, and that she was sorting through her feelings and needed time. And her being at arm's length gave me breathing room enough to start caring about her. And I did!

Now, the words "clingy" and "needy" come to mind. That card sounded like it was written by a lovesick 16-year-old. My brother Chris had tons of girlfriends in high school, and sometimes I would sneak into his desk and read his love letters from them, and they sounded exactly like Stephanie's card. And she's 23!

I don't like the idea that she is already talking about settling down with me (commitment-phobe, indeed!). What the fuck is she DOING?

**********

Friday, October 22.

I'll just dodge her calls until she gets tired of chasing me. I hope she doesn't come to my office and make a scene. She also knows where I live, but I can just ignore her if she shows up there.

Today is the worst fucking day in the history of my professional life. We have been converting to a new payroll tax system, and due to setup errors, about $80,000 in tax payments have been submitted late. I am looking at $4,000 - $5,000 in penalties.

Employees have been dashing into my office all day long, armed with penalty notices from the IRS and other agencies. Fran, our CFO, has been up my ass for hours, screaming at me over the phone.

6:37 pm. Fran calls me a "fucking idiot".

It takes a lot to piss me off. The best way to do it is to wear me down. If you really want to make me blow up, you have to eat at me, just drip, drip, drip on my head like Chinese water torture. I don't lose it easily, but when I do, you better head for the hills.

I feel myself snapping, but something interesting happens.

I look over at Mona Lisa. She's smiling, just like she always does. She's been holding that same pose for hundreds of years, through wars, droughts, famines, terrorist attacks.

She makes me think: Besides death, what is there, really, that can't be fixed? Is any tragedy really as bad as we think it is? There really is not much in this world worth getting upset about, is there?

Surprisingly, I take a deep breath and I am able to calm down. Still can't let this dickface off the hook, though.

"Fran, that is the first and last time you are ever going to disprespect me like that. You understand?"

"No, Steve, I don't."

"That's too bad. Because the next time you fuck with me, you're gonna regret it."

"Is that a threat-"

Click.

I walk outside. I have hours of work still to do. Fuck it.

I get in my car and start driving. I can't relax. My heart is pounding, I'm breathing heavy, and I keep fidgeting in my seat. So much for the Mona Lisa effect!

Finally, I pull over at a rest stop. I really need to talk to someone who can calm me down. I stare at my phone for a long moment. Then I call Stephanie.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I say.

"Hey."

"How are you?"

"OK, Steve, how are you?" she sounds afraid.

"I got your card."

"I... figured. I want to apologize, Steve."

"For what?"

"That was dumb. I know I came on too strong. I know I aggravated you."

"You do?"

"It's just that, I wasn't ready to sleep with you yet, and I didn't want you to think that I wasn't interested!"

"I knew you were."

"And, far be it for me to make excuses, but I had just watched 'An Officer and a Gentleman', so I was in an extremely cheesy romantic mood."

"Well, then I guess it was a good thing you didn't watch 'A Clockwork Orange'," I say.

"He he he!!"

"I hear ya," I say, finally. "Hey, look. I think we were off to a really good start."

"Absolutely. I'm sorry for messing that up."

"You know, something tells me you are not as cheesy as you look on paper."

"You mean on greeting cards?"

"Yeah. I guess I shoulda said 'recycled paper'." She laughs.

"I mean, you said some really sweet things in there. And to be honest..."

"Yeah...."

"I was actually really flattered. And I kinda feel the same way. In a way."

"Well, then thank you. In a way."

"Welcome."

I get back on the road. I am feeling better.

"Steve."

"Ya."

"I'm just gonna tell you: I promise that I am cool with the way things are. I mean, I'm not totally ready to get into something serious with you right now."

"OK," I say.

"OK. Hey."

"Hm?"

"I'm glad we talked," she says.

"Me too."

"OK, Steve, well I probably ought to get studying."

"OK. Do you wanna get a drink later?"

"I'll need a break around 10."

"I'll pick you up."

Ten o'clock is bootie call time, my friends. Methinks this is back on....

"Red Sox fans have longed to hear it: The Boston Red Sox are world champions!"

How cool is this!!

WU-HUUUUUUUUU!!

Ahem.

While I am out drinking champagne and partying my ass off, read this greeting card that I found under my windshield wiper the other day....


Dear Steve,

You better get some tissues to cry in, 'cause I'm about to get majorly sentimental on yo' ass...

I really just want to say "thank you". Not only because I feel like I have dumped on you big time these last couple of weeks, but because it's been really amazing getting to know you and spending time with you.

You've really helped me deal with all my stress at a time in my life when I felt like I was losing it, and you've done it by making me laugh, and making me think, and being such an amazing friend and confidante(sp?) as well as someone who makes me want to rip his clothes off (and mine too)...

Every time I talk to you, I feel "it", and I realize that THIS is what it is supposed to be like between two people who care about each other. It's supposed to be EASY, and you're not supposed to have to think about it. That's just how I feel when I am with you.

I've got baggage, and I know you do too, and I don't know what's going to happen between us. But I do know that no matter what happens you are going to make a girl really happy someday. And you know what? I really hope that girl is me!! (ok, stop freaking out, Mr. Commitment-phobe!)

Who can ask for more than what you have to offer? I mean you are good-looking, funny (always the comedian), smart, successful, and you don't like to show it, but you are a big softie deep down inside (I saw you tearing up at the end of "Field of Dreams", so don't even try denying it :) ).

I cherish our time together because you make me laugh, and make me relax, and you REALLY know how to show a girl a good time. You are charming and beautiful and intelligent and sexy and a million other things to me. There is no one else in the world who is just like you, Steve.

The things that used to get under my skin don't bother me anymore, because whatever it is, I know that I will have someone to talk to and "vent" to about it, and that you will listen, care, and understand.

Even if there is no solution to a problem, I still feel better knowing that I have someone to explain it to and that you are going through the same thing. Do you understand? Yeah, I thought you would understand...

And to top it all off, you've got really really good aim. You are just a regular William Tell!

I can't wait to see you tomorrow....

Love and kisses,
Steph

The fallout continues

I have become very adept at predicting what people are going to say.

I'll be walking across the office, on my way to meet with someone, and I'll find myself rehearsing what I'm going to say, and trying to anticipate what they will say in return, and how I would react to it. I do this all the time, and as a result, I almost never get caught off guard.

Sometimes I will sit an employee down in my office before a conference call, and say, "Now. When we say this, he's going to say that." And sure enough, we'll make the call, and as the person on the other line does just as I had predicted, the employee will just stare at me, open-mouthed.

So just imagine how my wheels started turning when Theresa from IT called Bonnie last week and asked for an appointment to see me. "She's acting very strangely," says Bonnie.

"How so?"

"She sounded...upset. Like she was going to cry."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"No. Just that, 'Since Steve has such an open door policy, I want to speak to him'. That kind of thing."

Theresa was friends with Lila. But they didn't hang around outside of work, at least not that I know about. I wonder if Lila talked to her about me.

I told Bonnie to give Theresa 15 minutes and to schedule something immediately after so I could make her finish up quickly.

Theresa walks into my office. She is pale. Her hands are shaking.

"Hi, Theresa!"

"Hi."

"What can I do for you?"

"Steve, I'm really upset about something."

"What's that?"

"Why did Lila leave the company?"

"Theresa, you know I can't discuss that."

"She is a REALLY good friend of mine," Theresa says, her voice shaking. "And she's REALLY having a hard time right now. And if what she says is true, then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Steve."

The temptation here is to ask what she has heard. But that gives Theresa a chance to tell her story, and I am not in the mood for a story. Actually, though, it might be nice to hear what Lila is telling her. What the hell. I'll bite.

"And what does she say, Theresa?"

"She says you were having sex with her, and you broke up with her. And that you were cheating on her."

Fuck. She found out about Kelly. HOW?! Not that it matters.

"Theresa-"

"Don't you think that's inappropriate, Steve? She's young enough to be your DAUGHTER! And you're the DISTRICT MANAGER! Do you think that's right?"

I've had this conversation a million times in my head, hypothetically. I know exactly what to say and how to say it. "Theresa, you do realize this is a rumor, right? You're confronting me on a RUMOR."

"Why would she lie, Steve?"

"I have no idea."

"Are you saying it's not true?"

"I'm saying I don't respond to rumors."

"Steve, that's such CRAP!" she sneers, raising her voice. "If it was not true, you'd just say so."

"Until next time, when there are three other rumors. And then I deny them, too, and pretty soon that's all I'm doing. But because I denied all the others, now I have to deny them all, otherwise it looks suspicious," I say.

"Yeah, well, that's a very clever answer. You should have been a lawyer, Steve."

Oh, thanks! Stephanie says so, too. Stephanie is the new girl I'm with, by the way. Since you seem so interested in my sex life, I just thought you'd like to know. By the way, any ideas on how I can get her to drop her panties for me?

Theresa is really starting to piss me off. I think it's time to end this meeting.

"Theresa." I say. "Your friend is having a hard time right now, and I can't tell you how sorry I am about that. But you are here as an employee, and I am here as the manager of this office. Now, if you have a problem as an employee, I'm all ears. But I cannot and will not help you with your FRIENDS' problems."

"You ARE the problem, Steve," she says, and storms out.

Something tells me this isn't over.

**********

Tuesday, 2:30. My phone rings. It's dad.

"Steve, we're having a family dinner this Friday night. I'd like you and Lila to come."

"Dad, why do you have those on Friday nights anyway? People go OUT on Fridays."

"You're the only one who didn't show up last time."

"Ahhhh..."

"Yeah. Ah," he says. "Steve, I really want you to be a part of this family. Lila too."

"Dad, we broke up."

"WHAT?! Steve, what happened?"

"Long story, dad."

"Oh, Steve. I think you're making a big mistake. I don't unders-"

"Hey dad."

He stops.

"If I need help living my life, you'll be the first one I'll call."

"Yeah, I forgot. You know everything, Steve."

**********

Friday night, 6:30. I pull into dad's driveway. There are cars everywhere. Everyone must be here already.

I walk up to the door and open it. I hear voices and laughter. Why do I feel like an outsider all of a sudden?

I walk up the foyer stairs to the living room. Six or seven heads turn to look at me. The conversations stop. No one says hello.

"Where's the babe?" Greg says. His wife slaps his shoulder.

"We broke up," I say.

"What happened," Nancy asks.

"Well, with work and everything, I just couldn't spend enough time with her. She really needs me around all the time, and I couldn't do it."

Dad shakes his head, frowning. "You found a beautiful girl, Steve. I think your priorities are screwed up. You would think with your mother dying you would realize that."

"Lila was so sweet," Janet says. "I can't believe she would break up with you because you're busy at work!"

"Yeah, Steve," Chris says. "Did you guys even talk about it?"

"I betcha he just dumped her," Greg says. "That's what Steve does. He just stops calling 'em when he gets bored."

"Did you even TALK to her?!" Dad says. Everyone stops talking and looks at me.

I don't have a bad temper. It takes a lot to make me lose my grip. But one way to do it is to second-guess me, or tell me how to run my life. I raised myself, basically, so the least people could do is give me the benefit of the doubt.

"Yeah. We talked." I snap. I walk to the kitchen and get a glass of milk.

"I don't understand this bit about not spending time with her," dad says. "There's gotta be more to it than that."

"Were you cheating?" Greg says.

"Steve, I think you're making a huge mistake," says dad.

I close my eyes slowly and bite my lower lip. God dammit, he is testing my patience.

"Dad, enough," Chris says.

"Do you want us to talk to her?" Janet says.

"Yeah!" says Nancy.

"Do I want you to TALK to her? Do I want you to TALK to her?!" I shout.

"Sorry."

"No. I want you all to leave me the fuck alone!" I yell. Then I get up and storm out the front door.

Hey, dad, I'm a bit hungry. Mind if I take some peas and mushrooms on my way out?

*gag alert* exploring my feelings

Good morning all, and don't forget to check out the t-shirt pix I just posted..... and check out the Mildly Unwell store for other cool designs!

**********

I can't ever remember feeling pressure like I've felt the last few months.

Work is just insane. Every day there is a new problem, another panicky VP who has a crisis and "has no idea what to do" about it, another employee needing "just five minutes" of my time, another meeting to attend, another turf battle that I must mediate, another angry phone caller to calm down.

My day consists of one meeting after another, and I leave each one with a long list of things to do - a list I can't act on, because I have more meetings to get to. My phone doesn't stop ringing until 6pm, so sometimes I work until 11 to get caught up.

Sometimes I wonder how Ross seemed so calm, so decidedly unbusy all the time, until I realize that he simply ignored a lot of the problems that cropped up; problems that are surfacing now that he's gone.

I know I'm being a whiny-ass. I don't need sympathy. I love my job and my life. My point is that I have been stressing out a lot lately. Then there was mom dying, and the horrifying realization that I had fallen in love with a very young girl, and the resulting breakup and subsequent work-related drama.

I know, I know. Whining again.

It's been great spending time with Stephanie. She is going through a lot of the same things I am. Just like me, she's always felt that she had life well in hand. Then she got to law school, and suddenly, the other students were just as smart, just as competitive, just as motivated as she was. Suddenly the work load got so heavy that the thought of getting the flu actually freaked her out, because losing a day of studying meant even less sleep, more eating at her desk, and more panic about staying current with the new assignments that keep piling up.

It's nice to know that someone else is going through what I am. It's comforting to hear her laugh, to see her take a deep breath and relax, because it reminds me that if she can do it, I can too.

Steph and I have had some really great talks. I've secretly wondered what her situation is with her FBI boyfriend, why he travels so much, why he is so cheap, why she seems so miserable with him, and why she stays with him. But you guys know me: I'll never ask. My job is to make her FORGET him, not remember him.

Every once in a while, she'll make a little comment about "el cheapo", or "that loser". I'll smile and nod; she'll move on.

Two Saturdays ago, we talked and sent messages back and forth all day, while I was working and she was studying. Finally, around 7:30, we decided to go out for drinks. While we were talking, she really opened up.

"I am so unhappy with Paul," she says.

I don't answer.

"I mean, I really love him, and I've been with him a year, but I am so unhappy. I feel guilty because he travels for work, and it's not his fault that he can't see me, and I feel like I'm holding it against him."

"But he calls you every day, right? And he e-mails you and sends you cards?" I know damn well he doesn't. But if she is going to insist on talking about him, I might as well make him look like crap.

"Ha!" she says. "He hasn't called me in two weeks! And cards cost money, so I can forget that."

"Why the hell is he so cheap?" I say. I can't help it.

"Do you know you've already spent more on me than he has?" she says.

"Come on!"

"I MEAN it!"

"After a YEAR?" I ask, incredulous.

"Yes. He is the cheapest man in the world."

"So where do you guys eat? Soup kitchens?"

"No, he either cooks for me, or he takes me to his mother's house and she cooks for us."

"OK, so if you are putting up with all this cheapness, he must be able to lick his eyebrows."

"Huh?"

"He must be awesome in bed," I say.

She shakes her head and scoffs, looking down at her cosmopolitan. "He has the Irish curse," she says, finally.

"What?"

She holds up her pinky.

"Well, don't they say that it's not the size of the wave-"

"He hates sex," she says. "I practically have to beg him to do it...I can't BELIEVE I'm telling you this!"

"I'm listening."

"He's totally disinterested. And when we do finally do something, he usually goes limp, or he doesn't finish."

Now, guys, you see EXACTLY why I never give a shit about whether or not a girl is "taken". If I were less experienced, I would have heard the word "boyfriend" and moved on to someone else. As it turns out, she is totally sexually frustrated, and in a dead-end relationship that she is just dying to get out of. She was probably just waiting to meet someone else before she dumps this clown.

Most guys are stupid. Most guys wouldn't even try for a girl like Steph because she is with someone. All the better for me.

"So he's small and he doesn't finish. I'm not perfect, but I don't have either one of THOSE problems," I say.

"I KNOW, dummy!" she smiles.

"So that's why you got hit in the eye. You're outta practice," I say.

She laughs. "I must not be doing my job if he's going soft on me."

"Let me tell you what you do," I say. "Go to Prints Plus and get a big framed poster of The Rock, and hang it on the wall behind you, and I betcha he finishes, no problem."

"Ste-eve!" she laughs. "He's not queer!"

"Why not?" I say. "It would explain his lack of interest, wouldn't it?"

"Why would he date me if he was gay?"

"Maybe so his overbearing, dinner-cooking mother doesn't pop a cranial artery."

"Ya, good point." she says. "Jeez, it's like you know him."

"Can I ask you a question," I say.

"What?"

"You said you love him. Why do you say that, if you are so unhappy?"

"Because, I just like the idea of being with him, of him having a good job and providing for me, and me never having to worry about money or a place to live. And I just felt, really, proud that he has such a prestigious job, and he's so successful..."

"So what you're telling me is that you're a golddigger," I smile.

"Yeah, a real golddigger. The guy won't take me to Olive Garden unless he's got a coupon."

What a total, complete fucking loser. But again, good for me.

I feel more and more comfortable with Stephanie as time passes. I feel like I can tell her anything. So maybe it's time to.

"Actually, there's something that's been bothering me," I say.

She looks down at the floor. "I know," she says.

"What am I gonna say?"

"You're mad that I haven't slept with you yet."

"I'm not mad!"

"You're disappointed."

"No..." now I am looking down.

"Steve, just be honest. It's ok. I know you're really angry with me."

"You gave me head. Why would I be angry?"

"You need more than head."

"I-"

"Don't you?"

I actually don't know how to answer. If I tell her the truth, I'll look like a pervert. Or a whiner. Or like I don't give a shit about her, only about getting down her pants.

"I wouldn't mind sleeping with you!"

"One thing you need to understand about me is that I really need a lot of trust before I can sleep with someone," she says. "It's a big deal to me. I hope you'll understand, cause I really like you, Steve."

"I like you too," I say.

"Will you be patient for me?"

"Sure."

Yeah, sure. Until the next one comes along.

Hot chicks wearing Steverino shirts

Keep those pix coming guys!


Rakkel


TL


Dark Angel

Steph's interview, Heidi's blowjob. Strike that, reverse it....

I feel very strongly that the boss ought to be involved in every single job interview.

Whether you are hiring an executive-level VP or a mail room clerk, it makes a difference to have the CEO walk into the room and introduce himself at the end of the interview. Remember, to successfully hire someone, you have to choose a candidate, and that candidate also has to choose YOU. Sometimes the person you want is fielding more than one job offer, and a smile and a warm handshake from the guy running the show sometimes makes a difference. This was one of the best lessons I ever learned from Ross. I didn't always agree with him, but I really think he got this one right.

I explained this policy about interviews to Dom, and he liked it very much. I promised him that I would be free to come in for five minutes once he was done interviewing Heidi.

Bonnie buzzes me. "Dom is ready for you now, Steve."

As I walk to his office, something occurs to me. I look across the floor, and see the rows and rows of cubicles, the huge picture windows, and the employees bustling around, busily solving a million little problems. This is MY office, I think. I am the fucking boss. ME!

I open Dom's door. Dom and Heidi stand up to greet me.

Heidi surprises me. Her glasses are gone; her eyes are big and brown. Her hair is freshly washed, a mass of big black curls tumbling down to her shoulders. She's wearing a long blue skirt and a beige blouse with matching one-inch heels.

Holy shit! She's cute!

"Good morning, Steve!" she says, beaming. She seems genuinely happy to see me. I'm very cynical, and she actually sells me. And her voice is just like it was on the phone: Smooth, clear, and pleasant. She gives me a firm handshake and looks me right in the eye as she does.

She sits back down, smooths her skirt, and looks at me. She's waiting, patiently, for me to speak. What happened to the chick who hates awkward silences?

"So, tell me, how did the interview go?" I say.

"Very well," she says. She stops smiling. "I'm really impressed by your company. I'm a little concerned about this position, though."

"Because."

"I don't like the idea of being someone's assistant," she says. "At my current position, I am an administrative assistant, and I work for the head of the department, but I'm not really HER assistant, per se."

OK, did this girl just use per se in a sentence?

Hey, honey! Who are you, and what have you done with the squeaky-voiced bimbo from the bar?

"You might think being someone's assistant is a step down," I say. "But in reality, it's probably a step UP for you. Yeah, you'd get Dom coffee sometimes. And sometimes you might pick up his drycleaning. But you know what? Assistants like Bonnie, who you met when you came in here, who have been with the company a long time - they are some of the most respected employees in the whole company."

"And FEARED," Dom says.

"And feared," I say. "Some people make the mistake of thinking that Bonnie is just a secretary, and they disrespect her in some way. People have been fired for it. The other executives know how important people like Bonnie are. A while back, she had had a bad year, and they all chipped in and bought her a mink coat for Christmas."

"Reeeally...." Heidi says, staring intently.

"Dom is the VP of operations, and his assistant is his eyes and ears. And in some cases, his hands and his feet. If we offer you this job, you might take it, and you might not, but don't let it be because it's not prestigious enough or not visible enough, because it definitely would be," I say.

"What can you tell me about the person who is in this position now? Why is she leaving?"

A long story, my friend. Actually, not long. I stopped fucking her. The end.

"She left for personal reasons. She was a great employee and we would have been happy to keep her around."

"What kind of experience did she have?"

Well, she was getting fucked by a 28-year-old when she was 14, I know that. She also smoked pot at 12 and snorted coke at 15. I guess you could call her a child prodigy.

This was just supposed to be a quick hello. Why the fuck didn't she ask Dom these questions?

"Believe it or not, she was an entry-level employee," I say.

"Wow!" Heidi says.

"Heidi," Dom says. "Based on everything I've heard here today, I'd like to offer you this position. I would go so far as to say that if you take this job, I would cancel my other interviews."

He makes her a salary offer. "It seems a bit low," she says.

"Dom," I say, after a dramatic pause. "I gave you a number before this interview, and as long as you stay within that number, I'm ok with whatever you want to do."

He looks down at a piece of paper on his desk, and increases his offer by $2000.

"I'll take it," Heidi says.

I probably don't have to tell you this, but Dom didn't have any other interviews scheduled, and I didn't give him any salary limit before the interview. It was all an act.

Looks like it worked.

**********

It's been a stressful week. I feel badly about Lila. She is a good person and I really hate the idea that she is caught in such a downward spiral, especially since a lot of it is my doing. I am going to call her in a week or so, when she gets her head together. I am actually hoping we can be friends at some point.

Yeah, I just said that.

Friday, 3:05. I call Stephanie. Voice mail.

"Steph, Steve. Please call." My famous four-word message.

Bonnie buzzes me. "Melissa needs to speak to you regarding the....bank balance?"

"OK," I say. Melissa walks in.

"Our statement is WAY outta balance," she says. We review some figures and it appears that $50,000 is missing. Holy shit!

My phone buzzes. I let it go to voice mail.

Melissa and I find the problem. She was forgetting to add in a credit transaction. We are in balance.

I check my voice mail. "Hi, Steve, it's Steph. My exam went well. I am ready to de-stress! Please call!" Then she kisses the phone with an audible smack! It actually gets me kind of hot.

I call her back. Voice mail. "Steph, Steve. Tag, you're it!" click.

I run to the bathroom to pee. And as Murphy's Law would have it, Stephanie waits until I've got my dick in my hand to call back.

I let go of my cock and grab for the phone. But my penis has a mind of its own, and it slithers this way and that, spewing piss everywhere like a runaway garden hose.

I let the call go to voice mail and wipe up the wall and floor with paper towels. Carl, one of our VP's, walks in while I am bent over, wiping the floor.

"You're supposed to pee in the urinals, sir," he says, unsmiling.

Gee, thanks. Whacko.

I check my voice mail. "Steve, Stephanie. AAARRRGH! Phone tag! Please call! Thanks babe!"

I call Stephanie back. She picks up on the first ring. "HELLO!?" she says.

"OH my God! Is this Stephanie's voice mail again?" I ask.

"No! I mean, Yes! Please leave a message at the beep!" she laughs.

We make arrangements to see Shark Tale tonight. "You want to get some drinks beforehand?"

"No. How about after," she says.

This could be good, actually. We watch the movie and get nice and cozy, THEN she gets good and liquored up. And just as her inhibitions are reduced to Johnny Knoxville levels, I take her home.

**********

Friday night. This ain't a movie review site, so I'm not gonna comment on Shark Tale. Suffice to say, it's a rental. As I watched the movie, I got an image of a bunch of studio executives sitting around a table saying, "We've got to capitalize on this underwater-themed-computer- generated-kids-movie-with-adult-jokes-in-it trend! Somebody come up with something! Anything! Quick!!" And Bob DeNiro is one of my favorite actors, but I have no idea why he continues to take work in such mediocre movies.

We didn't talk much through the movie, but I put my arm around her and she grabbed my hand when I did and held it the whole time. We whispered a few jokes back and forth, but the place was packed, so we were mostly quiet.

There's a quiet little bar about a mile from my house; I take Stephanie there afterwards.

Where you take a girl for drinks at a time like this is important. If you've already been together all night, and it's going well, you want someplace quiet and low-key where you can talk. If you're going out at the beginning of the night, that's when you want more of a party atmosphere where she will be tempted to drink, dance, and let her guard down so you can pounce.

Stephanie likes cosmopolitans. She has 3 or 4. I drink vodka-tonics. We talk the whole time, about college, and work, and our upbringings. I leave out the part about mom being a drunken whack job.

I'm actually having a great time. I think this bar was a perfect choice. But it's getting late, and now it's time to see where this is going. I have not had sex in what seems like a year.

"Wanna come over for a drink?"

"I'm drinking now," she says, smiling.

"Yeah, but the drinks are free at my house."

"Mmm-hmm. I doubt they're free," she says, smiling even wider.

I wave the waiter over for the check. She didn't say yes, exactly, but close enough. If she doesn't want to come over, she'll say something.

"Your house is beautiful!", she says as we pull into the drive. "You renovated this yourself?"

"A lot of it, yeah."

We get out of the car. "You wanna go for a walk?" I ask.

"OK," she says. She bumps her hip against mine and puts her arm around my waist. I do the same.

Stephanie looks really pretty tonight. She's wearing jeans and black cowboy-style boots with a fuzzy wool turtleneck. I love the way her hair flops in front of her face, and how she sweeps it away with a bent middle finger and thumb.

We walk around the block and stop in front of the pond. The "God, this is beautiful" pond. Let's see what she says when she sees it.

We stare at the water for a long moment. She doesn't say a word. But she takes a deep breath, and I feel her body relax.

Yeah, I'm getting laid tonight.

We get back to the house. "Your house is so clean! For someone who is so busy, there's nothing out of place."

"I don't like a mess."

"Oh really."

"Yeah."

"So why are you cheating then?"

I pull her to me. She pushes a hand gently against my chest. "Why do you always try to kiss me when I mention your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend. Anymore."

"What happened?"

"We disagreed on where the relationship was going."

Fuck. Now I need a good half hour to let things blow over before I move in again. This sucks.

I put on my "Forty Days and Forty Nights" DVD (Totally stupid, dumbass movie, but perfect for you guys who are looking to score, BTW). We watch for about an hour or so. Suddenly she is laying across the couch with her head in my lap.

I am insane with desire. I can't hear the movie anymore, just the pounding of the blood through my veins.

"Hey," I say.

She turns her head and looks up at me. I kiss her. Her tongue slides wetly into my mouth. Yum.

The kissing gets louder and wetter and faster and more urgent. I run my hand along her stomach and onto her tit. I squeeze, and she doesn't stop me.

Yeah, I'm having sex tonight.

She unbuttons and unzips me. I lift my hips up off the couch and she pulls my boxers down. My cock is long and hard, as if it's angry for being neglected for so long. "God," she says.

She looks up at me with her big hazel eyes. "Do you shave?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't like looking like a billy goat down there," I say.

"It's kind of nice, not having all that hair around," she says. "I like it!"

"How about you? Do you shave?" I say.

"Behave!" she says.

She runs her index finger up and down my shaft. If I don't come soon I feel like I am going to explode.

She looks up at me and smiles again, a beautiful, happy smile. I watch intently as she bends over and slowly feeds my cock into her mouth, working her lips over it like a giant stick of gum.

There is no popsicle-licking today. She is deep-throating me all the way. She's being more aggressive this time; I can feel the tip of my head hitting the back of her throat, hard, and there is no trace of a gag reflex.

The wet, squishy sound of her sucking makes me even hornier, if that is possible. She tilts her head back and stares at me while my bone slides smoothly in and out of her mouth.

I am going to come. There is no way I'm going to be able to hold out. I start to tell her, and she pulls it out. Some girls just know when a guy is about to blow his load.

Looks like I'm not getting laid after all.

She licks the tip, just a little, and strokes it gently with two fingers and a thumb. She looks up at me, smiles, and covers her eyes as I come. It's all over her cheek, and her chin, and the floor, too. And I am still hard.

I stop coming, and laugh out loud. So does she. She uncovers her eyes. "A-ha, you missed my eyes that time," she smiles.

"You shoulda told me, I would've let you borrow my weed-whacking goggles," I say.

Guess the password, win a whiner

I love driving in my car when I am stressed.

Sometimes I don't even turn on the radio. Or the iPod.

I bought one of those adapters that let you play your iPod in the car, and I am hopelessly addicted. I haven't listened to the radio in a month. I really hope they don't activate the Emergency Broadcast Sytem while I'm driving, because while everybody else is heading for low ground in anticipation of a terrorist bombing, I'll be bopping along to "Turning Japanese" by the Vapors.

The hum of the engine, and the rhythm of shifting the gears up and down, really calms me. It feels good to know that I'm not at my desk, and I can't hear my phone ring (at least not my office phone), and no one can stick their head in the door and tell me that they need me for "just a minute". Because it's never just a minute.

I'm pretty sure Lila gave me the right password. Something tells me she wanted me to come and see her, that she wanted to tell me how angry she was, and that she changed the password on purpose because she knew I would come to her to get it.

Once I get the spreadsheet opened, I really need to figure out how we are going to fill Lila's position. Lila answered the phone, and was really good at it. People loved hearing a real voice on the other end of the line. In the short term, we can go back to the automated attendant, but I really feel we have to replace her. Fast.

She also worked on a lot of reports and other miscellaneous duties for us. She was actually very productive, and loved her work. It's going to take someone really good to fill her shoes.

Back at the office. Four people are gathered around Lila's computer.

"'scuse me!" I say.

"Didja get the password?" Bonnie says.

"Yes. Move over."

"What was it? What happened? Why did she storm out of here?"

I start to type the password. Bonnie stares at my fingers. I give her a slow, angry glare. She turns away.

C-O-C-K-S-U-C-K-E-R, I type.

The spreadsheet opens.

"THANK GOD!" Bonnie says.

**********

Dom is sitting across from me in my office. "So how did it go? What was her deal?"

"She's nuts," I say. "Totally over the edge."

"I think she's drinking," Dom says. "She acted kinda drunk."

"Kinda."

"Steve, I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but..."

I look at him.

"How did you end up hiring her?"

"How did I HIRE her?"

"Did she apply, did she send you a resume..."

"Somebody referred her. Can't remember who," I say, dismissively. Move along, my friend. Nothing to see here.

"Was something going on between you two?"

"What?!"

"I know, I know. It's just that...I see her...looking at you sometimes. It's the way a little girl looks at her daddy."

"Ok, now that's just gross, Dom."

"No girl looks at a guy that way unless he's pounding her. Hard."

I roll my eyes and try to look disinterested. "If you say so, Dom."

"You were fucking her! You were!" he says, sitting up in his seat. "Of COURSE! It makes such sense now! You were dating her, and you got her the job here, and then you broke up with her, and she quit. Right?"

No. Actually, I WANTED to fuck her, so I hired her, and wore expensive suits and extra cologne for a couple of months until I charmed her into bed. Then my mother kicked the bucket, and I became a clingy little candyass, and spoiled her so much that I was doomed to shit with the door open for the rest of my life, lest she stress out over being "alone". But you get points for trying, Dom.

"If you say," I reply.

"I can't BELIEVE I didn't notice this earlier," he says softly, smiling.

"Are you done?" I say, impatiently.

He smiles wider. "You. Were. Fucking her! DAMMIT, Steve, you are good! You're incredible! And you never talk about girls, either. You like to work on the DL, don't you?"

"Dom."

"OK, OK," he says.

"Who are you going to hire to fill Lila's position?" I might as well try to delegate this one. After all, I recruited Lila, if you can call shopping at the Gap recruiting.

"I'm gonna hire Heidi," he says.

"Heidi WHO?"

"The one from the other night. You know, Megan's friend? She told me she was looking for a new job."

"WHAT?! That little chick? She's got diarrhea of the mouth," I say.

"She knows Access and Excel," he says. "She does a lot of work on the phone, also. Her resume is excellent. I also checked a reference and it was very good. I'm telling you, Steve, she's gonna be awesome!"

"I don't buy it," I say. "I cringe at the thought of her answering the phone here."

"She's gonna be a great employee," Dom says.

"Go get her resume," I say.

He leaves and returns with the resume. I dial the number on the cover letter.

"What are you doing?" Dom asks.

"I'm giving her an interview," I say.

"Good afternoon, DLR Securities, this is Heidi speaking, how may I help you?" a sultry woman's voice says. She sounds HOT. I am picturing a girl with thick, dark curls and massive, heaving boobs tucked precariously into a thin cotton strapless dress. And she's wearing those chunky sandals with the crisscrossed laces.

NO fucking way this is the same Heidi. It must be someone else.

"Hi, I'm looking for, uhhhhhhhh, Antonio Carrussio," I say. It's my seventh-grade gym teacher's name. I like it; it's poetic.

"I beg your pardon," she says. Her voice is neat, clipped and proper, like something you would hear on Masterpiece Theater.

"I think he works in your, ah, maintenance department," I say. Let's see how she handles a weird phone call.

"Ohh, I'm sorry sir, you've reached our investor relations department," she says. "Our maintenance department is at extension 3207. But I don't see anyone by that name in our company directory."

"That's ok, I'll check the name and call back. You've been very helpful. What was your name again, please?" I ask.

"This is Heidi," she says. And suddenly, she sounds just a bit familiar.

Holy fucking shit. It really is her.

She sounds NOTHING like the whiny, irritating girl from the other night. Nothing. She can take off one voice, and put on another, like you and I change hats.

I look at Dom. He folds his arms and gives me an "I-told-you-so" sneer.

Looks like we have ourselves a new secretary.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?!?!?!?

Red Sox 10, Yankees 3. Need I say more?

Four consecutive wins. Against the Yankees. And the last two at Yankee stadium, to boot. DAMMIT this feels good!

Look for Joe Torre and Brian Cashman to lose their jobs tomorrow, because as we know, George Steinbrenner only knows two solutions to any problem:

1. Fire people; or
2. Spend more money.

I won't soon forget Curt Schilling pitching his ass off with a tendon STITCHED to his skin, bloody sock and all, or David Ortiz pounding the ball into next week seemingly every time at bat, or Johnny Damon hitting two home runs in the same game. These guys are such an inspiration, overcoming the odds that way. And it makes me feel good, too, because they seem like genuinely good guys.

I am off to contemplate the gravity of what I have just witnessed....keep readin.....

Steverino

The office follies, conclusion

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The office follies, part 1

Wednesday. 1:00. My phone rings. The number does not look familiar.

"This is Steve."

"Hey, Steve, it's Stephanie!"

How the fuck did she get this number? Think, think.

I seem to recall giving her my business card at one point. I always carry 9 or 10 cards in my wallet, and I write my cell phone number on a few of them, for when I'm giving them out for personal use.

"Hey, Steph!" To be honest, with her having a boyfriend and with her blowing me the first night, I didn't expect to hear from her again.

I love leaving a girl's house and not asking her for her number, or where she works. I love not knowing her last name or where she's from. I love the feeling of power, the feeling of not being some weakling who is begging to see the girl again. That's just what happened with Stephanie. I figured there was not much chance of getting with her long-term, so I just said my goodbyes and left.

"How's your week going, Steve?"

"OK, yours?"

"Good! I can't see out of one eye, though."

I laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"That STINGS, you know. I hope you appreciate it!"

"Guess I better lay off the hot sauce, eh?"

She chuckles. "I am so crazy with studying. I have an exam on Friday." Stephanie is a second-year law student.

"What kind of exam?"

"Contract law. Boring stuff."

"Yikes," I say.

"Hey listen," she says. "You, ahhhm, you kinda, errrr, left something here the other night."

What could I have left there? I have my wallet, and my keys. It couldn't be anything important.

"Like what?"

"Well, it's, small, and square, and....I guess it fell outta your pocket..."

Holy shit! My condom!

I always carry one with me wherever I go. But when she was blowing me, my pants were down, completely off, actually, and it must have fallen out.

"Oops!" I say.

"Oops is right!" she replies.

"Hey, I just want you to know, I always carry one of those. I wasn't being presumptuous."

"Of course not! You didn't know you were going to meet me when you left home," she says.

"True."

"So, do you need this back," she chuckles.

"Nah, that one's used, anyway," I say.

"WHAT?!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA," I laugh.

"Ahhh!" she says. "Hey listen, Steve, while I have you..."

"Hm?" Is she going to ask me out?

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"Nothing much. Why?"

"God, I am gonna need to decompress after this exam."

"You wanna have a drink on Friday night?"

"I wanna go see Shark Tale!" She says.

I really hate going to movies with girls. If you're on a date, it's because you like each other and want to get to know each other better. And exactly how the HELL are you going to do that sitting in the dark? Now, of course, some interesting things can happen with the lights out, but unless it's some turkey of a film that no one cares about, or the movie is in its 15th week of release, there's gonna be seven teenage kids three feet away from you chomping popcorn, so your chances of getting anywhere are slim.

Plus, I love to comment on movies as I am watching. When Paulie and I get going, we are just as funny as MST 3000.

If I actually go to a theater and have to sit through a movie, quietly, it's going to be for something that looks really special. I went to all the Lord of the Rings movies on the day they came out, and I also saw The Passion of the Christ, (AKA The Jesus Ass-kicking Movie). These were major motion picture events. You'll never catch me at Bad Boys II or Pirates of the Carribean. It's just not worth it to me, timewise or moneywise.

"How 'bout dinner?" I say.

"How 'bout not?" she says. "I REALLY want to see it!!"

She hasn't made a good case, but to keep fighting it now would make me look petty. I think I will defer to her wishes, at least this time.

"Well, seeing that it's you," I say.

"Cool!"

Bonnie sticks her head in my office. "Steve, Fred McCrory is on line 6. He doesn't sound happy."

My office phone rings. "Who is that," I say.

Bonnie shrugs. "I didn't transfer it to you."

DAMMIT! I have very strict instructions not to transfer calls to me directly. "Bonnie, answer that and find out who transferred it," I snap.

She heads back to her desk and picks up the phone. My phone rings again.

What the fuck?

"Hey, Steph, I gotta run."

"K. Call me before Friday so we can make plans!"

I pick up my office phone. "This is Steve."

"Steve, goddammit, this is Fred McCrory!"

Shit. That was the call Bonnie wanted to transfer to me.

I didn't want to talk to Fred yet. I like to prepare for a nasty phone call by knowing all possible information. Now I'm stuck.

"Fred, what can I do for you?" I never ask how someone is when they are angry. We already know the answer, don't we: "I'm LOUSY!" Why give them a chance to say it?

"Steve, what the HELL are you guys doing up there? I have $3000 in reimbursements that have yet to be paid! I got bills to pay!" Fred says. Fred is our naitonal sales manager. Total head case.

"What the hell are we DOING?" I say, sarcastically.

"Steve, I-"

"Fred, we are running those through accounting to make sure there's backup on everything. It slows it down by a day or so. "

"When were you planning on telling me this? That's a lot of money, Steve!"

"What did Tim say when you called him about this?" Tim handles most of our accounts payables. This is an old trick, guys. I'm hoping he didn't call Tim first. Psychos like this guy usually go over people's heads.

"His damn voice mail is on all the time. He never answers his phone. I WANT my damn money!"

"CALL TIM, FRED." I say, firmly.

"You better get your act together up there! I don't know what the hell is going on-"

Dom is standing in the doorway. He is pale and frightened-looking. I pull the receiver away from my ear and look up at him.

"Lila just quit," he says.

Cliffhanger conclusion, rain-delayed edition

I keep forgetting to mention this, and I never say this kind of crap, but I just want to say "rest in peace" to Rodney Dangerfield, who was my favorite comedian growing up.

I laughed a lot at what Rodney said as he was going into the hospital: "If the surgery goes well, I'll be out in a week and a half. And if it doesn't go well, I'll be out in an HOUR and a half."

**********

This can't be good.

"What did you need to talk to me about?" I say.

Lila closes the door and sits down.

Ahhhh, shit. She's quitting.

"Steve, I just spent an hour on the extra commission report. It was a total mess!"

If a customer goes to one of our agents and asks for advice on who he should finance a car with, or if we reject him for a policy and he asks for a referral to another insurer, we have partner companies that we work with, and our agents get commissions for the referrals. Problem is, the reports come in every month from several different places, and for bookkeeping purposes we like to consolidate them all into one file. But the reports keeps getting longer and the consolidation job keeps getting harder.

"I know, Lila, IT [information technology] is working on it-"

"Those guys have been working on this since the summer!" She says. "It's totally bad, Steve! They have no idea what I'm going through on this."

"Let me check and see how they are doing," I say.

"Haven't you BEEN checking on this?"

OK, are we getting into a pissing contest here?

"I don't know, Lila. Have you been asking?"

"So I have to ASK you, otherwise it won't get done?"

"Of course not. But after I assign something I can't chase after them. If there's a problem I need you to let me know."

"How can that happen, Steve?"

"How can it happen?"

"How can you just assign something and forget it? It just got totally forgotten! I thought you were supposed to be this great manager, and the whole project just went nowhere."

"Like I said, Lila..."

"But HOW can it happen? I am wasting so much time on that report! It's so frustrating! I'm working on this thing like an idiot, and no one was even fixing it! No one even gives a shit! And now it will probably take another month before they're done and I'll be dealing with all this SHIT again next month."

"Lila. Will you let me call them and check on it? Please? Before you jump to any conclusions?"

"You just don't care, do you? You totally don't care if it takes me 5 hours to do that report! You don't give a shit! DO YOU?"

I look at her. She looks tired. Her face is hard, angry. She seems....older, somehow. Part of her youthful carefree-ness is gone. I wonder if it will ever come back.

"Lila, I'll have Bonnie check on it and get back to you. If it's delayed I'll have them prioritize it. OK?"

"Do whatever you want, Steve." She storms off.

**********

4:42pm. My phone rings. It's dad.

"Steve, I want you and Lila to come down here for dinner this Friday night. I'm having the whole family over."

Impeccable timing, Frank.

"I've got plans, dad."

Explaining the Lila situation to my whole family... what a fucking picnic that's going to be. How does this sound:

Well, you see guys, I like fucking. A lot. But if I fuck the same girl for too long, I start getting all fidgety, like I have a load of itching powder down my boxer shorts. So I went out and got a hummer from some hottie, and I'm pretty sure Lila didn't find out about it, but she's dumping me anyway....

I think it needs some work.

....aaaaaand, we're back!

So much for THAT experiment...

I really believe that template was going to work. I was planning on tweaking the colors and adding a third column, and I think we would have been there.

BUUUUT.......

...then I found out that all the line breaks were gone from my archives, and they were basically unreadable.

Back to the drawing board....and, until then, enjoy my old template!!

OK, this really sucks

On my old blog, I used to be able to hit the "ENTER" key once and it would make a line break. Now, I have to hit it twice.



Not only is this a major pain in the ass; it has also removed all the very nice line breaks from my past posts, as the lovely TL has pointed out....


If I don't find a solution before tomorrow morning, it's back to the old template for me.....