A Boiled Ham in Your Bed
2008-02-24, 4:27 p.m.
I took Sage Vivant's Erotic Personality Quiz and discovered I'm a Partier!
Oh dear. And there was me thinking I�d be �the perfectly respectable mummie� or the �not at all debauched, middle aged grown up�. *sigh*
I will confess that some of the questions I answered in a �taking my life-experience as a whole� basis, rather than what actually goes on in the Palace of Many Sins these days but even so, I surprised myself a bit. Blood will out, I guess. Despite my outwardly corporate, middle class air of responsibility and twinset wearing, I am still a dirty slut underneath (and sometimes on top!)
Lee has been away this weekend, and Jooj and Treacle are at Shagnasty�s, so BF and I have been taking the opportunity to spend a little time together have enormous amounts of noisy sex. Started rather badly on my part as Adman and Wife came over on Friday night. I was too tired to entertain them properly so we went to the workies for a couple of hours and then came back home for a little light supper. By �little light supper� I mean that I opened some packets of bourssin and pate and olives and pickles and chucked a couple of baguettes in the oven. It always turns into a bit of an epic when they come over as we only see them a couple of times a year and there�s always a lot of catching up to do. So as to not waste any catching up time in getting up from the table and getting more drinks, I set the whisky bottle next to me and just topped up as necessary. Three quarters of a bottle later I was waving them goodbye and the clock was saying 3am. I feel a little ashamed that I got off my face on Penderyn, which is surely to be savoured and appreciated as the superfine stuff it truly is. When you bear in mind I also had a bottle of Lidls bourbon (�6.99) and a bottle of JD (�16) it seems utterly senseless to be so wankered on the god stuff! BF and I smoked a teeny teeny little joint and went off to bed. I must certainly have intended on having sex as I got into bed in my bra and pants (yes, BF has a lingerie fetish. What of it?). BF followed me into the bedroom and started getting undressed�.and there it all went to rat shit as he tells me I had passed out was asleep before he actually had a chance to get into bed. Woke up Saturday morning bound up in bits of glittery elastic and ribbons, like a festive boiled ham. Sleeping in ones underwear is always a bad idea. Sleeping in normal underwear only results in a sweaty bumcrack and the risk of a yeast infection. Sleeping in �sexy�underwear usually results in ugly red welts which are still there the following lunchtime, and the risk of garroting or the loss of a limb.
If you don�t have any sexy underwear and want to appreciate the dangers, try this: Take an assortment of small pointy metal objects (a zip, a couple of hook-and-eyes, a strip of diamante etc) and lay them along the skin of your inner forearm. Take a selection of rubber bands, string, wire etc and fasten each of the pointy metal objects tightly to your arm. If they feel a bit pinchy and you feel just a tiny bit silly and pointless, that�s good. Play a couple of games of tennis to ensure that the pointy things really stick into your arm and the tying up bits are nice and tight. Wrap your arm in a couple of old sweaters (to emulate the warmth created by the duvet) and leave for 12 hours. At this point, you might be tempted to say that you only sleep for 8 hours and that 12 hours is too long. I say to you, that the occasions where you fall asleep in fucking stupid sexy underwear, you are generally paralytic drunk and so 12 hours is more likely to be reasonable. After 12 hours, attempt to dig the bits of pointy metal and string out of your forearm and go to work. Studiously ignore anyone who says �Fucking hell! What did you do to your ARM?� Got the picture?
Saturday morning, BF got up before me (natch!) as Trevor and Bryn were coming over to help clear the rest of the garden rubbish. Trevor thinks we need to take a tree down in the corner of the garden. He says its rotten. I think he just wants to get busy with the chain saw. Whatever. If he cuts it down, he can replace it with something a bit more attractive. Anyone know where I can get a twenty five foot sculpture of Tom Selleck in a pair of shorts?
Just as a sidenote, if you Google �Tom Selleck Naked� and hit �I feel lucky� you get this. Naturally I would love to register to see Tom�s dick for research purposes but I fear BF would have my head on a plate if I register for a site which will surely result in him getting huge amounts of p0rnspam. Again. *looks embarrassed*. Cant recall exactly what it was that I was looking for last time that happened but I had to do some SERIOUS denying.
Anyway, back to the story. Did a few chores around the house and then BF came in from the pub. I suggested we do something together for the rest of the afternoon. Here�s the rest of the conversation (BF in italics, me in bold):
Lets have sex
Cant you think of anything better than that?
No. Lets have sex. I feel horny.
��.wellllllll, OK then. But you have to roll a joint first
Why?
Because I cant have sex with you unless Im drugged
Why? Because it helps you get in a really filthy mood and makes you want to *whisper whisper whisper*
No. Because you are a minger and I cant cope with letting you anywhere near me unless Im off my face.
Ah. I�ll skin up then.
Just as we�d reached the point of no return and ornaments were crashing off the bedside table and passing motorists were turning to their passengers and saying �whatthefuck was THAT NOISE?�, the phone rang. BF said �no fucking WAY are you answering that�. So I didn�t. Afterwards, when I was downstairs wandering about in my dressing gown and BF was in a post-coital coma I did a 1471 and phoned Smash back. There�s very few friends that you can say �Sorry I didn�t pick up, dude. I was shagging.� to. Smash is one of them. In fact, Id recommend phoning him up just after you�ve had sex, just for the very purpose of hearing his big HAHAHAHA laugh when you explain yourself.
After dinner we scootled down to the workies for a few scoops. It was boring � the band the usual guitar-aoke. Two dudes, this time a father and son whose attempts at togetherness had also included a successful family-wide charisma bypass operation. *Yawn*. Their set list was impressive � or at least it would have been had they been able to actually play/sing any of the songs on it but, sadly, I sound more like Paul Weller than they do when they play �Start� and their �Cocaine� was more �Cocoa and slippers�. Oh, and dudes, when you do a song which has a two part harmony, not only are you not supposed to both sing the same part but, if you must, then at least make sure it�s the part which carries the melody line, yeh? Otherwise you just sound like a pair of incompetent cocksuckers.
Anyway. We went home and set up the laptop to watch some porn. Smoked a joint while we watched and then went to bed. As BF pointed out as we were cantering up the stairs as fast as our crumbling aged bodies would carry us, �this isn�t the main event. Its just to get us ready for the �proper� shag later.�
�Like�.umm�a �starter shag��
�preeee-cise-leeee�
Luckily for me, BF remembered a conversation we�d had earlier in the week, in which I�d said �could you do that again. EXACTLY like that. When the kids aren�t here.� Which he did. WOOOOHOOOOOOO! I love my boyfriend.
More whisky, more chocolate, more porn later we did the proper shag which was just as lovely and had �falling asleep� after it, which is always a good thing if you can possibly manage it. It beats �getting up again� or, heaven forfend �going to work�, hands down as a post coital activity.
So. I have actually got some other stuff to tell you about, which don�t contain the exchange of bodily fluids.
Firstly, I was at dinner with Slaveboy and Juicy on Thursday as part of our quarterly sales team meet. We were all sat together on one side of the table so it was just like being in the office really as we were just making fun of each other and scoffing our faces with �non diet� food. We�re still on the Departmental Diet, although we are all a bit crap at it. However, we have hit on a cunning plan to manipulate our weight loss figures into something more acceptable. We�re calling it Carb Offsetting. Ive managed to lose three pounds in the last fortnight, Juicy has gained one pound and Slaveboy has stayed the same. All in all, and using our new calculations method, that counts as a net loss of two pound for the team. Yay! We all win! We can lessen the Carb Footprint of, say, having a slice of apple strudel at lunchtime, by trading it off against the virtuous lunch of one of our team-mates. Juicy�s raw veg (I typed �vag� then. That�s not what I meant at ALL!) and hummus, negates Slaveboy�s Breakfast Baguette and Snickers. The perfect solution.
I made these this afternoon. I don�t think they�re actually very virtuous, even tho they look like they are. The eight two I have eaten were very nice. I may save them for later in the week and try to pass them off as low-cal cereal bars.
I also made a chicken korma for later in the week and the middle of a steak pie (pastry to follow!). Couldn�t decide what to do for dinner but think it may end up being Chicken Dolly Parton. Y�know, I thought that was a real recipe and I tried Googling it so I could post it for you, but it seems like it may have come out of my head instead � or at least, out of the head of the chef at Mr C�s in Southampton, where I first ate chicken breast stuffed with cheese and pate, coated in breadcrumbs and fried. Hardly diet food, I know, but I expect Juicy or Slaveboy are having some kind of salad so I should be ok. I�ll check in the morning � I don�t think its appropriate for a boss to text her staff in the middle of Sunday afternoon just to find out what they�re having for dinner.
On the subject of inappropriate use of telephonic communication tools, Slaveyboy has a new phone. It�s a Georgio Armani one, because Slaveboy is a label whore.* It comes in a little chocolate coloured leather box with Georgio Armani stamped on it and it looks very swish. Out of the corner of my eye on Friday I caught Slaveboy doing something I found almost too shocking for words�.
Slaveboy! What are you DOING?! You�.you�.you were��SNIFFING your phone!!!
I wasn�t! I��Oh, but it smells so NICE!
He passed it across the desk to me and I had to admit it did smell very nice and leathery but even SO! Ive caught him a couple of times since, with a glazed look on his little face, the phone held against his upper lip, like a toddler with a blankie. I like to let him get really into it, without looking over at him, and then to bellow:
�STOP SNIFFING YOUR PHONE, YOU FUCKING FREAK-BOY!�
* he SO is a label whore. �Hey Slaveboy, d�ya like my new shirt?� �Its OK� �Do you like my jacket?� �Yeh. Its quite nice�, �Its Ralph Lauren� �oh! I LOVE it� *sigh*
Poor BF has been working all day on a track for an ad for one of the biggest tourist sites in the UK (think Disney but a bit crappier. And raining). Its totally destroying his mind. That the melody is based around the �riff� from the Hall of The Mountain King has only served to firmly place it in the �earworm� category and will ensure that we are singing the bloody thing FOREVER. Ive been farting about here (and in the kitchen) all day which, as Smash pointed out when we spoke just now �is better than church and a fucking car boot sale� as a Sunday afternoon activity.
Our new wireless router thingy means I can post entries, surf the net AND watch sneaky bits of porn while BF is working instead of waiting fro him to go out � aint technology a wonderful thing. Me, Jada Fire, You Lot and a naked Tom Selleck�.what more could a girl want?
Later
S
x
PS Its UK Mothers Day next Sunday which means I will be running around like a blue arsed fly at work all week. I may not get a chance to update much so don�t worry that I have died or defected or something. Im still here, Im just harassed. Oh, and Ive got to pick the bridesmaids dresses up on Wednesday. Meh.
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