So there I am last night lying in bed trying so damn hard to get to sleep, and even after a Lunesta and half a Trazadone I was wide awake. So what do I do? Naturally, I pull out my favorite toy and decide to have a more personal moment. Things were getting hot and heavy, I had this great fantasy about Charlize Theron and the male materialization of me going at it when suddenly I heard a loud snapping sound. Suddenly, the good vibrations of my favorite pink toy ceased.
Mother fucker! And really, at a moment like that, it's all I could think.
So I reached into my reserves and pulled out my Rock Chick, but it had no batteries, so I dug into my atomic plutonium drawer to find some and wouldn't you know I had every size of battery but the size I needed?
So there I am, a sexualy frustrated girl with a broken vibrator and a great fantasy of Charlize Theron going to waste. What was I to do? The dog and peanut butter? No, I don't have a dog. The shower head? No, the water pressure is a bit too rough for me. The electric tooth brush? No, the bristles hurt.
BTW, I'm just kidding... About the dog anyways.
So here I am today, and everyone at work keeps asking me why I am so grouchy. I want to tell them that I am a sexually frustrated insomniac who spent the better part of my night talking sweetly to my vibrator in hope that some divine intervention would fix it so I could get off and pass out" but according to some employee manuals that can be considered sexual harassment. So instead I keep telling them all I have a severe case of explosive diarrhea because I just want to be left alone in my dark corner cube. And you would think diarrhea would be a great people propellant, right? Wrong! I bet they would still bother me even if I had the Ebola Virus or some infectious zombie virus!
Ugh! Can't a girl get a little peace around her at Sun?