100th post! Ooooh! I feel like I should have some kind of party or something. But I am at my desk and swamped in papers and if I do a little dance it's all going to fall on the floor and my boss will look at me funny. So...maybe I'll just celebrate in my head.
The magazine have confirmed that my piece is going to be out on the 25th. It's in Love It! magazine on the 25th of this month. I'm proper excited! I've had the photos through from the agency and they've successfully managed to disguise me without making me look like a survivor from some scientific testing lab. Or an ex-prostitute.
Things have slowed back into their usual lull. Doctor and I meet weekly at the moment, though I'm slightly running out of reasons to take sporadic evenings off ("Pilates" is exhausted...the physique is not helping me lie). My friendship with The Intern is actually wonderful. It's been such a long time since I've been friends with a bloke, it's stellar. We objectify women on mass. We eat crisps with our mouths open. I have sort of taken up smoking again, casually, just so we can hang out by the fire exit and complain about our boss.
I'm sure everyone in our office thinks it's weird that I'm so chummy with a 23 year old , acne-ridden graduate. I don't care. We are bound by our shared misathropy, like teenage goths. I council him about his missus. He councils me about how, despite the obvious beneifts and undeniable selfishness, maintaining an affair is actually quite difficult. I'm sure he judges me, but thankfully he does it really quietly so I don't have to think about it.
In other news, I went to a lady-only comedy night last week with friends, and it made me LOL a lot. I very rarely see good female comedians on TV so I was kind of shcoked that 4 really ace, rather unfamous ones were tearing it up on a Thursday at my local. One lady was Korean and reminded me of Margaret Cho. Which was good. Because Margaret Cho is amazing. Observe:
I am still celebrating in my head...
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
P.S
I know I have been shitty shit shit about posting. Soon I promise. But I'm filing right now and I don't have a hand free. And even if I did I'd probably only be able to type this...
mnbfsndmfsm bcdkfnd vsliflsalmncsjxz
Awful.
mnbfsndmfsm bcdkfnd vsliflsalmncsjxz
Awful.
Excited
So so so so so...I am going to be appearing in a magazine. Talking about my affair. And Bored Wives Club. Isn't that jolly?
They haven't finalised the date with me yet but I will totally let you know when I know. Syked!
xx
They haven't finalised the date with me yet but I will totally let you know when I know. Syked!
xx
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Michelle Sutton : Professional Adulterer
It as if the last few days grew a big mouth with teeth and ate me up whole.
The last 4 days have been rid.ic.u.lous. So ridiculous that the only way I can articulate it is to punctuate it like that. 2 dates in the less than a week with the Doctor. The despertate caused by him being on nights whelled up into some kind of lust-filled baloon slowly expanding in my chest.
I tell you one thing. My bottom draw of battery-operated friends has never had such a workout.
Anyway. On Sunday evening, I fobbed the hubster (do you like it? I think it'll catch on) off with a Mia-related excuse and escaped for a few hours in the early evening. The Doctor had a meeting on Monday so he checked into his holiday a day early and we ordered obscene amounts of room service and frollicked like randy rabbits. As a result, I'm not sure if I'll be abe to afford Christmas. I do not care. IT WAS THAT GOOD.
Then, on Monday evening, after all the nodding and scheduling and important conversations, my medicine man met me at a bar and we snuck away to have dinner on the river. Blissful. Blissful and drunken.
I then rolled home on Monday evening to cuddle up with the lawful one and eat TV dinner like a pro. Specially like a pro who's just spent the last two days decieving her sweet but uninspiring husband that she is 'out with the girls' while meeting up with a handsome medicial professional to have two consecutive sessions of mind-blowing How's Your Father.*
* Loose use of 'professional'. I am not actually paid to do this stuff. **
** If anyone would like to pay me, I'm open to offers.
The last 4 days have been rid.ic.u.lous. So ridiculous that the only way I can articulate it is to punctuate it like that. 2 dates in the less than a week with the Doctor. The despertate caused by him being on nights whelled up into some kind of lust-filled baloon slowly expanding in my chest.
I tell you one thing. My bottom draw of battery-operated friends has never had such a workout.
Anyway. On Sunday evening, I fobbed the hubster (do you like it? I think it'll catch on) off with a Mia-related excuse and escaped for a few hours in the early evening. The Doctor had a meeting on Monday so he checked into his holiday a day early and we ordered obscene amounts of room service and frollicked like randy rabbits. As a result, I'm not sure if I'll be abe to afford Christmas. I do not care. IT WAS THAT GOOD.
Then, on Monday evening, after all the nodding and scheduling and important conversations, my medicine man met me at a bar and we snuck away to have dinner on the river. Blissful. Blissful and drunken.
I then rolled home on Monday evening to cuddle up with the lawful one and eat TV dinner like a pro. Specially like a pro who's just spent the last two days decieving her sweet but uninspiring husband that she is 'out with the girls' while meeting up with a handsome medicial professional to have two consecutive sessions of mind-blowing How's Your Father.*
* Loose use of 'professional'. I am not actually paid to do this stuff. **
** If anyone would like to pay me, I'm open to offers.
Monday, 25 October 2010
I love
this kind of weather. Really crisp and cold and not a cloud in the sky. My boss informs me that tomorrow it will be pissing it down. What a killjoy.
The Doctor has been somewhat out of touch...even though I know his night shifts have ended. Don't want to machine-gun text as I know desperation isn't exactly sexy. And it's not as if he doesn't reply when I do contact him. He just doesn't initiate. I feel like, if I didn't poke him, he'd never poke me.
Anyway, rather than biting the rest of my nails off (read: I have already done this), I am getting my head down applying for new jobs. I need a change. This office is a reminder of how stale my life has gotten.
In other news, BWC got 19,000 hits last month. Woot!
xx
The Doctor has been somewhat out of touch...even though I know his night shifts have ended. Don't want to machine-gun text as I know desperation isn't exactly sexy. And it's not as if he doesn't reply when I do contact him. He just doesn't initiate. I feel like, if I didn't poke him, he'd never poke me.
Anyway, rather than biting the rest of my nails off (read: I have already done this), I am getting my head down applying for new jobs. I need a change. This office is a reminder of how stale my life has gotten.
In other news, BWC got 19,000 hits last month. Woot!
xx
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
Friday, 1 October 2010
The Intern
as it turns out, is actually rather sweet. Last night both of us pulled a late one in the office (older readers will know that late nights spent in the office with interns have previously ended in a rather unsavory, Post-Its-in-unfortunately-places fashion) and ended up have quite a deep 'n' meaningful about marriage and commitment.
Thankfully, said intern is lacking rippling muscles/knee-weakening smile/sufficient ability to groom himself to elicit my affections. Good job too. Any more men in my life and I'd have to start timetabling them.
Anyway, over hobnobs and a sneaky Stella we sat waxing relationships until about 10pm. Intern, the poor lad, is under increasing pressure from his ladyfriend to ditch his student digs and move in with her. This may be because of three reasons :
1) She actually has a genuine interest in moving in with the boy and starting an 'adult relationship' (*sigh*)
2) It's been a year, and she feels that moving in is 'just what you do'.
3) Girlfriend no longer wants to spend her days precariously navigating plates of 5-day old lasagne and XBox controllers, and would quite like to cuddle up to him in a place that doesn't smell like someone left a cabbage behind a radiator.
This got me thinking. When I was 23 (*looks wistfully off to the left in remembrance of cheap wine and legwarmers*), I idolised those friends of mine who were in Committed Relationships. And although I had no actual evidence that one would've made me happier than I was (shagging around with various friends of friends and generally having a rather good time both above and below the waist), I was a bit brainwashed. Cosmo said I was getting on. Time to make a move. Find a man, pin him down and play house.
I eventually did when I met Hubby, though luckily I think he's the closest I've ever and will come to 'The One' (not that I think there's only 1. There are probably 15). But I fear for girls like Intern's missus. It's shit being a young woman. The messages are so confusing.
Intern told me the sex wasn't very good.
I gave him some lengthy advice, which in hindsight equated to, "Get out now. Your penis will thank me later." Life's too short to be stuck in a sexless relationship...
...Yeah yeah...what would I know?
Thankfully, said intern is lacking rippling muscles/knee-weakening smile/sufficient ability to groom himself to elicit my affections. Good job too. Any more men in my life and I'd have to start timetabling them.
Anyway, over hobnobs and a sneaky Stella we sat waxing relationships until about 10pm. Intern, the poor lad, is under increasing pressure from his ladyfriend to ditch his student digs and move in with her. This may be because of three reasons :
1) She actually has a genuine interest in moving in with the boy and starting an 'adult relationship' (*sigh*)
2) It's been a year, and she feels that moving in is 'just what you do'.
3) Girlfriend no longer wants to spend her days precariously navigating plates of 5-day old lasagne and XBox controllers, and would quite like to cuddle up to him in a place that doesn't smell like someone left a cabbage behind a radiator.
This got me thinking. When I was 23 (*looks wistfully off to the left in remembrance of cheap wine and legwarmers*), I idolised those friends of mine who were in Committed Relationships. And although I had no actual evidence that one would've made me happier than I was (shagging around with various friends of friends and generally having a rather good time both above and below the waist), I was a bit brainwashed. Cosmo said I was getting on. Time to make a move. Find a man, pin him down and play house.
I eventually did when I met Hubby, though luckily I think he's the closest I've ever and will come to 'The One' (not that I think there's only 1. There are probably 15). But I fear for girls like Intern's missus. It's shit being a young woman. The messages are so confusing.
Intern told me the sex wasn't very good.
I gave him some lengthy advice, which in hindsight equated to, "Get out now. Your penis will thank me later." Life's too short to be stuck in a sexless relationship...
...Yeah yeah...what would I know?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
