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Archive for the ‘dating’ Category


72 (9)

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garden girl

My phone number belonged to a call girl before I got it from T-Mobile. She must have been really good because she still gets calls. I thought about answering numbers I don’t know with some themed response.

Since it was Christmas –

Do you want a one horse open sleigh or the whole team?

We’re running a two for one special on Santa’s Little Helper.

Would you like the two French hens and my partridge in your pear tree?

 

With this kind of talent, I should be writing erotica.

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green coat toon

Random scene that played out in my head while I was trying to sleep.

Pam’s heels clicked on the tile floor. We were headed to the Friday morning staff meeting. A couple of interns almost broke their necks trying to catch a glance at Pam’s rear. She was the kind of woman who attracted attention.

“Heads up,” I whispered, “Danny’s wife is going to call you.”

Danny had only been married for six months.

“Me, why?”

“She found out Danny and I slept together a couple of years ago.”

It had only been twice on a business trip to Rio. I had obviously lost my mind.

“And that involves me why?”

“I had to throw you under the bus to get her off the phone.” Danny’s wife had turned out to be the jealous type.

“Really?” Pam was still as cool as ever.

We entered the still empty conference room. It was way too bright without coffee, which I would have had by now if I wasn’t answering phone calls from Danny’s wife.

“I told her Danny slept with you, Marcie and Barb.”

“He slept with Barb?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Between you and Marcie.”

“Was he trying to make me jealous?”

“Yeap,” I chuckled.

“Huh, I didn’t notice.”

“That made it more fun to watch.” I slid into my customary seat and waited for the others to join us.

“She called me a slut,” I said, tapping my pen.

Pam laughed, not just chuckled, an outright laugh.

I continued, “Do you think I’m a slut?”

“You haven’t slept with a man in two years. That and a few Hail Mary’s and you’re practically a nun.”

Other consultants began piling in the room. The rest of this conversation would have to wait.

 

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I got a call the other night from a fan of the previous owner of my phone number, AKA a John. He was looking for Raxxxxl. Gentlemen, someone out there’s imitating men, giving you guys a bad name.

The conversation went something like this –

“Hello, what’s your hourly rate?”

“Excuse me?” (It was after all the middle of the night.)

“Are you still open?”

“This isn’t who you think it is. She changed her number a long time ago.”

“How much do you charge?”

“What? No, I didn’t take over the business, I got this number from <insert telephone company name here>.”

“Oh, okay. What are you wearing?”

“Really?”

“Are you busy?”

My imagined reply –

“Getting ready to ask some strange guy over who just called for late night sex. I’m at <insert address of older brother>. Ask for me, his baby sister.”

No wait. I’ll give him my address. This post could be rename to How to Meet a Serial Killer. Gotta run, I need to sharpen my axe before he gets here.

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3 (2)

My Boss has been curious about Twitter. His daughter has an account and he wanted to check out what she might be up to. So he created an account.

The next day he came to me and said, “I’m not sure how, but my daughter figured out I was following her.”

I asked, “What’s your user ID?”

He said, “His first and last name.”

“I think that might be the issue.”

____________________________________________

He sent me a text that said “What’s your phone number?”

I sent back, “I think you just texted it.”

____________________________________________

My boss has the same first name as someone else I know. I was going to be working late so I wrote the following email.

“Dear Tom,

I’m working late tonight. I’ll have to cancel dinner.

Love you, DD”

I accidentally sent the email to my boss, who wrote back –

“We need to finish all the test cases tonight. I’m going to pick up some pizzas.

Tom, your boss not the other one.

P.S. I love you too.”

 

I love my boss. He understands me better than most, nobody’s perfect.

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