One down, one to go -- these silly articles that I've been pinned to a wall and told to write. The first -- a poem about spring fever for our anonymous "love" column written in alternating rhyming lines of english and french (fuck but it's hard to get english to rhyme with frog but they couldn't decide which language to write it in, so...) listing all the horny little bits of the season like nipples on the trees and the bunny rabbits multiplying. Apparently it sent the editors eyebrows into convulsions.
Crazy in-charge-of-this-stuff lady loved it. My name is NOT going on it.
The other article I have to write is about our "4-6 multiculturel" parties where once a month one of the cultures "represented" amongst the Gemplus population shows off their music, food, and most importantly, ALKYHOL.
I'm turning it into an essay on creative competition. Fucked if I'm going to write a tame account of food and wine. I'm pitting the Russians against the Italians against the Greeks. The Italians lose, btw. The ran out of Grappa.
I drank quite a bit of it before they ran out though, as the italians fed us full of tortellini last night.
I kissed David in the hallway late in the evening and returned to my desk to find that he'd written me a Valentine's day poem.
We'd discussed this. David is NOT, nor does he want to be, my valentine.
Princess is, but that's different anyhow... And half of my building is as well, but that's even more different. That's just because I love to celebrate and fucked if I care why everyone else is doing it. There are so many roses drying in my office right now that I can still smell them. (which is a step up from Peter's feet)
Point being, he wrote me a poem. A very sappy one with words like "heart" and "touch" and "teach" and "mine" and "yours".
But I liked his disclaimer:
(I actually wrote that this morning, but I been holdin' off sendin' it 'cuz I dinn't wanna make you uncomfortable at work or anything. I didn't want to overstep myself or do anything heavy today, but I also didn't want to ignore ya, and it was a good opportunity to take my first shot at writing a poem -- for better or worse! :-)
so I kissed him again and went off sex-shop-shopping with Tia where I helped her pick out mounds of very skimpy "shkanky" lingerie. I found the corset I've been looking for all this time. I'll be wearing it to the Club on Sunday, methinks, if anyone still wants to go with me.
I also bought a feather for David. I had to bring him something, I guess, but I wanted it to be small, so small... And the sweet little long lithe black stem with the feathers on the end was perfect. Because his skin is so sensitive, and bringing him a crop or any other sort of "official" toy would have freaked the fuck out of him.
But the feathers worked, and as I made my way to his house after a night out at the "St-Sulpice" for drinks and to bid Shane adieu (he's leaving for Spain), and proceeded to smoke WAY TOO MUCH off the fatty that Bruno rolled as I drove him home first... I looked out my window at the police car rolling along beside me as I drove 10km/h the remaining three blocks to Dave's... And thought "oh, what a shiny car!"
Thankfully I was too stoned to be paranoid. Heh. Hehehehehe. And David loved his toy and tickled me with it for hours as I lay there and giggled, unable to do much else. Apparently he likes me that way, apparently "I'm not as mean". Heh. Hehehehehe. Okay, so I'm still baked.
Jack is looking at me. My pretty little hippy man with his happy wife and children who still offers me the occasional line of coke when we both work late.
He gave me a big Valentine's kiss yesterday.
I could do with that line of coke right now as I respond to another one of Ms. In-charge-of-fun-stuff-at-Gemplus' e-mails at the offense she took when I asked her if we could meet so that I could present a few of the suggestions that various readers of our journal have made.
"Why can't they just come forward if they have complaints?!?"
"They did, they mentioned them to me and I asked them to think up suggestions so that they're helping rather than just complaining"
In any case, I'm involved in a battle of the egoes between people who hate the journal for all the stupid little inside jokes that run rampant in it, and the ego of an apparently twelve-year-old attention-starved girl who's running the thing.
And worst of all, there's some windows idiot (and he really is an idiot, despite just being a windows freak) doing a write-up about Linux. No one even looked at me when they handed him the article.
So I'm caught betwixt egoes and mine is screaming for some attention too, but I'm trying not to let that get in the way.
And my french teacher offered to give me private classes since I'm so ahead of the group and she loves my writing and wants to see me improve and...
...and I can't remember what else, but that hockey is in half an hour and I still have several reboots in between.
Princess? I'll see you tonight, but I'll be late...