I think my boss is trying to wring every last drop of usefulness out of me before I finish working here. Today I had to get in at 7 (in the morning!) to meet a courier picking up some equipment for a show, and tomorrow I will be here at 8 to do the same again. My usual start time is 9, so arriving at 7 was kind of painful for me (read: I felt like a six-years-dead corpse all morning). Walking here, the streets were empty except for the other workaholics – mostly men, with beige overcoats and bad haircuts. I felt very dissimilar, as I am a woman and have a black coat. (Although I am not too proud to admit that my hair is pretty bad right now.)

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This is gross, but I think someone broke into my apartment last night solely to take a crap. When I work up this morning and stumbled to the bathroom, I practically had a heart attack when I saw that the toilet had magically sprouted contents that I swear were not there the night before. Possibly I hallucinated this, seeing as it was so early, but somehow I doubt it.

I am frightened. Hold me.

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Remember last August, when I went on that work trip and got all het up over that older guy from New York? Well, all my coworkers are in Vegas right now for a show and so is he. I fought tooth and nail to be able to go, but alas, there “wasn’t room in the budget for a PA.” Am the Little Match girl apparently.

They did send the office manager in our Chicago office, who is my age. We are total BFFs. We IM and have squealy girly conversations about girly things. I {heart} her!

Of course when I heard that she was going to Vegas and I was not, I called her immediately and told her the whole story of the Hot Guy. She was very enthusiastic and told me she would call as soon as she met him, to give me the low-down on whether he was equally flirty with her (and was, therefore, a ho).

Dun dun dun! The plot thickens!

Last week, out of the blue, he emailed me, causing me to nearly break a window emitting a Darryl-Hannah-in-Splash “eeeee!” noise. Because I am that smooth. He asked whether I would be in Vegas, and I said no, and he wrote back that “that was too bad; he was hoping to see me.” (I shit a brick.) Also he said that he’d be in DC in May and maybe we could go out then? (I had a mild coronary.)

I wrote back and said that that would be great, but that I was moving on the 11th so hopefully he’d be around before then. And then I waited…and then I heard nothing.

What a flake, right? I was all “Whatevah, I’ll do what I want!” (tm Cartman) about it, because, I mean, he’s hot, but life’s too short to deal with such asshattery.

A few days later, the Vegas trip rolls around. Chicago girl (her pseudonym is going to be Glenda) calls me on Sunday, on my cell phone no less, to tell me that she had just met him and he had given her the same “Do you want me to seduce you, Benjamin?” look he was throwing at me that whole week. What a hussy! I cannot believe he is so shameless. Does he not know how much girls talk to each other? Hello? He is totally not going to be able to string both of us along.

And THEN, as if Glenda and I did not already have enough reason to be skeeved out, dun dun dun part two occurred.

The phone at work rings this afternoon and I answer. There is silence, then the rustling of a hand cupping the mouthpiece of their phone.

Glenda: Hol. Ly. Shit.
Me: What?
Glenda: He’s married.
Me: WHAT???!!?

No wonder he periodically drops off the face of the earth and then pops up months later – he’s a married, skeezy tool. Man, I so am not going to “hang out” with him when he comes to DC.

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Today was not all bad though. A freelancer working on another show for us, the one in town, came into the office to partake of our wireless internet. He is a nice guy; I met him a few months back. Very chatty. At the end of the day, my boss called in to say hi and he told me to watch out for that guy, because he (the boss) had told him where we hide the office booze. Yup, my boss keeps a bottle of scotch in his office. He also walks around shoeless sometimes. He’s special.

So I called out to the guy, “Hey! You gonna get into the booze?” and he goes, “YES. And so are you.” This is how it came to be that I tried scotch on the rocks for the first time. (It was pretty bad.)

After work, I was buzzed enough that getting my eyebrows waxed seemed like a good idea. (Pssst…don’t tell anyone, but I got my upper lip done too. It is so silky smooth! Ah, sweet wax.) The waxer lady kept asking me questions as she leaned over me, and I had to talk with my lips clenched together because I didn’t want her to smell the scotch on my breath and think that I was some crazed afternoon alcoholic girl.

Of course then my eyebrows and lip were all red and I was embarassed to be walking home amongst the crowds. I am paranoid enough to think that everyone was staring at the angry red moons where my Jack Nicholsonian eyebrows and moustache used to be. Thank god I am safe at home now! I can be alone with my pink welts and my scotch buzz. Good times.