Work...ridiculous...
Papers...filling desk...Idiot colleagues not helping...
James moments...few and far between. Husband has officially given up on my nether-regions. Expect to find 'Gone Fishing' sign down there one of these days.
Have developed uncontrollable crush on our new intern. So gorgeous. Would of course be a complete and utter craddle-robber if I did anything about it...but no harm in looking. Well, staring. Christ.
Currently distracting self from the never-ending spreadsheet that is my life by listening to Sinead O'Connor and eating Snack'a'Jacks (really not sure how to punctuate that). Finally managed to get a copy of Spotify without paying for it. Had day of 80's hair metal yesterday. Now feeding my ovaries with a bit of the said shaven-headed diva. They love it.
Hello to all my readers. I promise I will be back properly soon. But until then...
S xxx
Monday, 29 March 2010
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Valentine's Day nightmare
Like Martin Luther King, I had a dream. Unfortunately, it wasn't one about equal rights or a brighter future. It was about my sordid affair.
Picture the scene. It's Valnetine's day. I am supposed to be at work, but because James and I couldn't possibly spend the evening together, we are having a midday brunch and sex-fest at a local hotel. For some reason, we have decided to bring the two big breakfasts up to our room and, rather like that scene in 9 and a Half Weeks, are proceeding to feed each other.
Except this isn't 9 and a Half Weeks, and after 5 minutes, our room looks like a ram-raided greasy spoon - chunks of sausage and streaks of bacon lie strewn across the bed. One of my bra cups is filled with tomato sauce, the other with mustard, making me look like some futuristic condiment dispenser. James has three hashbrowns in his y-fronts.
At this point, my phone rings. It is Hubby, who is parked outside my work building across town.
'Happy Valentine's Day love. Just thought I'd come and surprise you. I'm at your office, but I can't seem to park. Do I need a permit?'
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
'Ermmm, hiiii love. I'm actually just on my lunch break at the moment...'
'At 11 in the morning?'
'Yes, well. You know me. Gobble gobble gobble'.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
'Okay...well. Do I need a permit or can I just park here?'
My mind is racing with excuses and possible explanations for my absence. I need something that will occupy him - at least for the time it take me to get in my car and drive to meet him...
'Yesss, yes, you do. It's actually quite a complex procedure though. Maybe just park in the NCP around the corner? Then I can meet you in Starbucks and we can have a coffee or something...'
'Okay, that sounds great'.
Saved. Just.
James, flustered by the phone call, just keeps nodding and before we can discuss who's paying the bill my suit is on and I'm out the door and in my car. It's 10 minutes to the Starbucks I mentioned, but Hubby is terrible at finding his way around. I pray for isolated traffic accidents, for street-stalking Evangelists. Anything that could prevent hubby from reaching Starbucks before I do.
Thankfully, when I tumble through the door of the cafe, my spouse is nowhere to be seen, so I grab a seat. Punters stare wildly at me as I collapse into a sofa and frantically fix my suit.
After about 5 minutes, I hear the door go, and a familiar voice say my name. Standing up, I turn around and am greeted by the shocked, open-mouthed expression of Hubby. He is staring at my face, scanning every inch, eyes frowning in repulsion. Turning to face the mirror on the wall behind, I see why. My entire face is covered in egg yolk, from chin to forehead, lumps drips slowly off my nose like a jaundice zombie.
I literally have EGG ON MY FACE.
No prizes for guessing what this one means, folks. Pre-Valentine's Day anxiety? Not me.
Seriously though. My subconscious can fuck off. I am going to have my cake AND eat it. And no breakfast-themed nightmare is going to stop me.
But it might make me a bit more careful. Yikes.
xxx
Picture the scene. It's Valnetine's day. I am supposed to be at work, but because James and I couldn't possibly spend the evening together, we are having a midday brunch and sex-fest at a local hotel. For some reason, we have decided to bring the two big breakfasts up to our room and, rather like that scene in 9 and a Half Weeks, are proceeding to feed each other.
Except this isn't 9 and a Half Weeks, and after 5 minutes, our room looks like a ram-raided greasy spoon - chunks of sausage and streaks of bacon lie strewn across the bed. One of my bra cups is filled with tomato sauce, the other with mustard, making me look like some futuristic condiment dispenser. James has three hashbrowns in his y-fronts.
At this point, my phone rings. It is Hubby, who is parked outside my work building across town.
'Happy Valentine's Day love. Just thought I'd come and surprise you. I'm at your office, but I can't seem to park. Do I need a permit?'
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
'Ermmm, hiiii love. I'm actually just on my lunch break at the moment...'
'At 11 in the morning?'
'Yes, well. You know me. Gobble gobble gobble'.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
'Okay...well. Do I need a permit or can I just park here?'
My mind is racing with excuses and possible explanations for my absence. I need something that will occupy him - at least for the time it take me to get in my car and drive to meet him...
'Yesss, yes, you do. It's actually quite a complex procedure though. Maybe just park in the NCP around the corner? Then I can meet you in Starbucks and we can have a coffee or something...'
'Okay, that sounds great'.
Saved. Just.
James, flustered by the phone call, just keeps nodding and before we can discuss who's paying the bill my suit is on and I'm out the door and in my car. It's 10 minutes to the Starbucks I mentioned, but Hubby is terrible at finding his way around. I pray for isolated traffic accidents, for street-stalking Evangelists. Anything that could prevent hubby from reaching Starbucks before I do.
Thankfully, when I tumble through the door of the cafe, my spouse is nowhere to be seen, so I grab a seat. Punters stare wildly at me as I collapse into a sofa and frantically fix my suit.
After about 5 minutes, I hear the door go, and a familiar voice say my name. Standing up, I turn around and am greeted by the shocked, open-mouthed expression of Hubby. He is staring at my face, scanning every inch, eyes frowning in repulsion. Turning to face the mirror on the wall behind, I see why. My entire face is covered in egg yolk, from chin to forehead, lumps drips slowly off my nose like a jaundice zombie.
I literally have EGG ON MY FACE.
No prizes for guessing what this one means, folks. Pre-Valentine's Day anxiety? Not me.
Seriously though. My subconscious can fuck off. I am going to have my cake AND eat it. And no breakfast-themed nightmare is going to stop me.
But it might make me a bit more careful. Yikes.
xxx
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Insider info
Rosie just sent me this...
http://i.illicitencounters.com/v/valentines_ebook.pdf
It's the IllicitEncounters.com e-Book. And it is very funny. Have a quick look on your lunchbreak ('Gifts for your mistress' is particularly LOL).
Much love xx
http://i.illicitencounters.com/v/valentines_ebook.pdf
It's the IllicitEncounters.com e-Book. And it is very funny. Have a quick look on your lunchbreak ('Gifts for your mistress' is particularly LOL).
Much love xx
Monday, 18 January 2010
Affair overload
Gosh darnit. I love having a lover, but I am strating to wonder whether I should take a break from James, if only to preserve my health.
After the snow meant our trysts were delayed, the last week has been spent doing major romantic catch-up (read : 2 hotels visits and a cheaky mid-morning fumble in my car this morning).
Hubby has now recovered from his mysterious illness and has since taken up a baffling interest in DIY. SO while he's banging about in the spare room trying to install some shelves, I can be downstairs on the 'net, Skyping pictures of my cleavage to James. Which is, of course exactly what Skype was intended for.
Nice to be back to normal again. Not that my routine is very routine!
And thanks for the sympathetic comments by the way - even though my situation probably shouldn't receive any sympathy. Naughty girl! Slap on the wrist! etc.
xxx
After the snow meant our trysts were delayed, the last week has been spent doing major romantic catch-up (read : 2 hotels visits and a cheaky mid-morning fumble in my car this morning).
Hubby has now recovered from his mysterious illness and has since taken up a baffling interest in DIY. SO while he's banging about in the spare room trying to install some shelves, I can be downstairs on the 'net, Skyping pictures of my cleavage to James. Which is, of course exactly what Skype was intended for.
Nice to be back to normal again. Not that my routine is very routine!
And thanks for the sympathetic comments by the way - even though my situation probably shouldn't receive any sympathy. Naughty girl! Slap on the wrist! etc.
xxx
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Snow is bad for my marriage
My garden looks like a postcard.
Inside, I am seething.
Hubby and I have been stuck in the house for the last three days and he is really starting to grate on me. You would have thought that a few days alone with the love of my life would be bliss. And I guess it would have been, if Hubby had not contracted a severe case of Man Flu.
The man has become Caesar-like, barking demands from his chair in the living room, from where he sits in his smelly bathrobe, watching reruns of ER. Every sentence is punctuated with a groan. He has a cold, and yet his appearnace suggests he is dying from some as-yet-unknown superbug.
This sketch from Man Stroke Woman seems to articulate my predicament pretty well...
Like a good wife, I have been running around, picking up his snotty tissues and pretending to sympathise with his hypochondria, but I have had enough. I am now upstairs, listening to Annie Lennox, and have told him to look after himself. After all, my bastard employers are insiting that I work from home.
Anyone else stuck? I hope not. Being housebound is a bugger.
xxxx
Inside, I am seething.
Hubby and I have been stuck in the house for the last three days and he is really starting to grate on me. You would have thought that a few days alone with the love of my life would be bliss. And I guess it would have been, if Hubby had not contracted a severe case of Man Flu.
The man has become Caesar-like, barking demands from his chair in the living room, from where he sits in his smelly bathrobe, watching reruns of ER. Every sentence is punctuated with a groan. He has a cold, and yet his appearnace suggests he is dying from some as-yet-unknown superbug.
This sketch from Man Stroke Woman seems to articulate my predicament pretty well...
Like a good wife, I have been running around, picking up his snotty tissues and pretending to sympathise with his hypochondria, but I have had enough. I am now upstairs, listening to Annie Lennox, and have told him to look after himself. After all, my bastard employers are insiting that I work from home.
Anyone else stuck? I hope not. Being housebound is a bugger.
xxxx
Monday, 21 December 2009
I saw this and thought of,,,
...all the naughty Mrs and Misses who read my blog...
Big LOL. Okay, okay...so it's a re-post. I promise I'll write something big and important soon. Hope everyone's finished their shopping. I have. *Gloat*
Much love and seasons greetings!
Michelle x
p.s - In response to a dear Peter Axtell who commented on my last post - I'm afraid, with one husband and a rather large bit on the side, I really am incapable of accomdating any more gentlemen into my already too-busy schedule. However, come back in a year and I might be available.
p.p.s - And it's Michelle, not Leah. Thanks.
Big LOL. Okay, okay...so it's a re-post. I promise I'll write something big and important soon. Hope everyone's finished their shopping. I have. *Gloat*
Much love and seasons greetings!
Michelle x
p.s - In response to a dear Peter Axtell who commented on my last post - I'm afraid, with one husband and a rather large bit on the side, I really am incapable of accomdating any more gentlemen into my already too-busy schedule. However, come back in a year and I might be available.
p.p.s - And it's Michelle, not Leah. Thanks.
Friday, 4 December 2009
I am in LOVE
With a woman.
Karen Marley, aka Serial Mistress and Downright Dirty Sinner, has done yet another fantastic interview, this time with Johnathan Vernon Smith on BBC 3 Counties. Fabulous. Her argument is very solid.
Have a listen. She's on about 2hr 5 mins in. Don't sit too near your radio though - the presenter does have a painfully condescending voice. Tempting to punch speaker and scream "Stupid stupid stupid".
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p005b6q1/Jonathan_VernonSmith_03_12_2009/
x
Karen Marley, aka Serial Mistress and Downright Dirty Sinner, has done yet another fantastic interview, this time with Johnathan Vernon Smith on BBC 3 Counties. Fabulous. Her argument is very solid.
Have a listen. She's on about 2hr 5 mins in. Don't sit too near your radio though - the presenter does have a painfully condescending voice. Tempting to punch speaker and scream "Stupid stupid stupid".
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p005b6q1/Jonathan_VernonSmith_03_12_2009/
x
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