The Fiendish Sex Lives of Coworkers

Okay, I don’t really know anything about my coworkers’ sex lives. Thank the Baby Jesus or I’d spend every day trying to put my own eyes out with my pinky.  I just thought it was an eye-catching title.  Besides, none of my coworkers seem to be the type to be fiends in bed.  Then again, I work in a library and you got to watch out for those library people because they are surprisingly freaky.

You ever have one of those dreams about one of your coworkers?  Yeah.  You know what I’m talking about.beeker  Good old sex dreams that lead to damn awkward encounters the next day and the inability to make eye contact.  I had one last week about a coworker and it was decidedly disappointing because it wasn’t about sex.  I’m not getting any in real life and evidently in my dreams I’m being denied as well.  In my dream, my coworker texted me (Jesus, technology has invaded my dreams….I used to have dreams about talking on a real phone to boys….then again, they were those kinds of dreams where my fingers wouldn’t cooperate and I could never push the right numbers) and said that I basically didn’t have any better options in life so I might as well start dating him.  The sad thing was that even in my dream, I cocked my head to the side and thought “You know what?  He’s right.  I don’t have any better options.  I might as well be his girlfriend.”  And then, before I could text him back and say “Yeah, okay, I’ll be your girlfriend” the zombie apocalypse happened and I had to hide with a bunch of survivors in a fortified bunker that Cloris Leachman owned.  My coworker may or may not have been lost out there in the zombie apocalypse.  Fucker never texted me to make sure I was okay.

I saw him at work the next day.coworker

I didn’t get all blushy and mumbly.  We didn’t do anything in  my dream.  He basically saw that I would probably end up as that 88 year old stink in the apartment at the end of the hallway with 72 cats eating my body and took pity on me and decided he should be a gentleman and tell me he was my last hope. I had to sit behind him in a meeting.  He’s not bad looking, kind of cute if you like that hipster techno-savvy  geek kind of thing.  I don’t. I studied the beginning of his bald spot, his orange skinny jeans, his ironic water bottle (I don’ know why it’s ironic but since he’s a hipster it’s probably somehow ironic therefore inexplicable to me) and tiny notebook he took indecipherable notes in.  He’s probably a nice enough guy for somebody to spend the rest of her life with, someone who doesn’t mind him being insufferably condescending when he sees her enter www before a web address.

I’d rather let my 72 cats eat my face off.

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About jkhughes2

I'm fat and I hate my job. Well kinda. Kinda on both of those. I love to read and work in a library where they don't let me read. But as long as I get to be around books I'm happy. I once wanted to be a writer and then realized that I'm too lazy to write a book but not too lazy to write a blog. And blogging is like keeping a journal except my posts are the equivalent of verbal diarrhea. And oh yeah. I have really low self-esteem. I have a dog named Max but I call him Maxhole. He's the first dog I've ever had. I find his daily life way more interesting than mine or most people I know. That's about it. I hate politics and computer books. I secretly wish I was Doctor Who but can't remember if that's "was" or "were." Now that's it.
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3 Responses to The Fiendish Sex Lives of Coworkers

  1. Laine Keeney says:

    Orange skinny jeans? Oh, God. Please God, no.

  2. Kathy says:

    And don’t forget the ironic skateboarding you would have to do with him. I think I deciphered some of his notebook writing- “This makes me look important when I write here.”
    You will have other options.

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