I’ve had good days and bad days and going half mad days

I’m really annoyed today for a number of reasons. Who wants to hear them?

You don’t?

Too fucking bad.

Let’s start at home. As I’ve mentioned, our house is for sale. (Here’s the point where I hope Wombat respects my relative Diary Land anonymity) You see, we want to move. Far. Away. We’re trying to sell our overpriced house in an overprices state (NJ) and move to a lower priced part of the world. Namely, Raleigh, NC. If not Raleigh, then one of the many lovely surrounding towns. Yup…we’re headed to the land of Dixie.

You see, we’ve had it with New Jersey. It has rained every other day for the past 2 � years. Everything is wet. Our house costs so much that we can afford to live in it, but not do anything else. Our taxes are absurd. The commute is awful. Ask Best. Traffic. Reporter. Ever about it. He can vouch for it.

So, last fall, a neighbor had an open house, and we decided to drop in and see what they were asking for it. Well, they were asking a lot of money for it. We figured that we’d give it a try. We both dislike our jobs and aren’t going anywhere. We know that we can never afford to have another child. We actually don’t even know if we want another child, but know we can’t afford it now. That sucks.

So, we get the realtor (henceforth known as TheNinny) to come to our house to see what she thought of it.

Now, our house is nothing special. It’s a 4BR, 1.5BA Bi-level on .5 acres. We have updated everything in the house. We repaved the driveway, put in central AC, redid the bathrooms, painted everything and have kept it clean. And, as a bonus, the kitchen was redone right before we bought it. It has newer appliances and granite counters. All in all, a nice kitchen. The yard has a little stream (not a problem in our minds), and when hurricanes hit, like last fall, we get water in our garage.

That’s it.

Like I said, nothing special, but it’s also not haunted.

TheNinny tells us what we can get for it (over double our 1998 buying price) and that she can move the house in 2 or 3 weeks. 2 weeks later (I hemmed and hawed for a while looking for places to live and work in NC), we list.


It’s April.

We haven’t had one fucking bid yet!

We’ve had, I think, 8 open houses.

Not one fucking bid

We lowered our price and re-listed.

Not one fucking bid

So, we have one last-gasp open house on the 17th. We’ve been begging all along to advertise in the big NJ paper, the Star Ledger. TheNinny’s been running ads in some local in-town free paper. She’s been marketing the house all wrong. See, if you live in NJ, you know that everyone’s going west. It’s the only part of the state that’s remotely affordable. So, where’s she advertise? West of us.


See, we figured to be in NC this past January. We plan to get an apartment for 6 months or so, find jobs and then buy a house. JewelrySlut’s a chemist. Think finding work in the Research Triangle area will be tough? Me neither. I can work anywhere with my limitless skills. We were all set to pack up and go. We were going to make over $100000 in the deal and would be just about financially set once we got a house.

Not one fucking bid

So now, we know the house is not selling by May. Let’s say it sells in August. We move in September/October. 6 months later (finally buy a house), it’s April of 2006. It’s not June of 2005, as planned, it’s April 2006.

At that point, JewelrySlut’s not any younger. Not that she’s old, but she’s not any younger either. And, to be totally selfish, we’re celebrating 10 years of married bliss in 2006. We want to go back to St John and celebrate in style. That goes down the drain. Having another kid? Who the hell knows?

This really sucks. We’re not the impetuous types. This was a huge thing for us, packing up like this and heading into the sunset. Instead, we’re still stuck here, unhappily, in New Jersey.

Not one fucking bid

I don’t want to live here anymore!


I’m not better, but am better now.

Let’s talk about work again.

I’m not even going to mention the FatGayGermaphobe yet. He’s coming up later.

Let’s talk about management here.

As I mentioned, InventoryGuy is out. The good news is that he’s out of the diabetic coma he was in for the past few days. The dickhead’s too young to die.

So, in his absence, nobody’s doing his job. He’s in control, as you could have guessed, of the inventory here. We’re a printing and manufacturing division of HealthcareRelatedCompany, so we have a lot of stuff here.

Backing him up should be the job of DivorcingGuy who sits next to me. Except he doesn’t want to do it. BaldSuckup can also do it, but with EsteemedDirector leaving, he’s scrambling to find an ass to suck. WarehouseGuy could also do it, but doesn’t really want to. He’s new and is getting screwed here. They took a month to replace WarehouseHippie (the only true friend I’ve ever had at work. I’ll now pour out some of my MD2020 in his honor) As soon as WarehouseGuy started (as a no benefit-getting filthy temp), our manager quit, leaving him holding his pud. So, he wants to go to EsteemedDirector to complain about it. Riiiight. That will work.

So, we have 3 people not covering for InventoryGuy. I’m trying to do it. However, I don’t have the necessary software. I also only have so much time in my day. I need a good 6 hours of D-Land time.

So, MustachedManager knows that nobody’s covering and he plans to have a meeting soon to discuss it.


It’s already been 3 fucking days and nobody’s ordering replacement stuff. How does it take 3 days to make a decision? Just tell someone to do it until (assuming he does) InventoryGuy gets back and we’re all fine.

Nope. We need a meeting and to have 3 adults all say “It’s not my job”

I hate this place.

I really do.

I don’t want to work here anymore.

That should make me feel better, but I know I didn’t get all my rage out properly. I’ll have to go home and kick the cats for a while.

On the bright side, I’ll be in Cape May in a little over a week. Of course, it’s supposed to rain.

All over the map, just lost in space

I feel like rambling again.

My problem (among many) is that I do all these updates at work. I don’t feel like spending the time to do them at home. By the time I get home, get done eating, finish arguing with Shmuppie (which goes like this: “Honey, sit down. Honey, eat your dinner. Stop touching the blinds. Please eat. Stop spitting. Did you shit your pants? Etc (as any parent of a 3-year old or once 3-year old can attest)) , give her a bath, poop, ride the Nordic Trac, and say hello to JewelrySlut, I’m too tired to type.

Also, I’m a lazy fuck.

Really, it’s more of the lazy and less of all the other excuses.

Let’s talk about work again. I feel the need to post this portion of an email. This is real, and has only been slightly edited for content (client info and such). Keep in mind that I work for a HealthCareRelated Company. I’d wager that we manage at least some of your health-related benefits.

“When I look up the eligibility in for this client there are 2,371 bellybuttons which would coincide with the amount on the file that eligibility has advised us on. We’re not sure if there was an influx in eligibility since the time the brief was submitted to now. We are researching that.”

What the hell does that mean? Bellybuttons? What the bloody fuck?

This trail of emails reached up to 20 before I truly started ignoring it. Our company’s so damned email dependent. You can’t get anyone on the phone because then you can’t be hung by your words. I must get close to 100 emails per day. It’s a mess and a half. Yesterday, we had an email survey about the staggering amount of email that we get. Insert joke here

Now let’s talk about going to the bathroom at work. I go in to recycle some coffee a few minutes ago and see one of my most favorite people in there. There’s this guy here who actually does not have a job. And I mean, he does less than Wombat does. This guy may stuff envelopes. He may run the document shredder. He may work in the warehouse. The thing is that nobody knows.
***Rant Alert***
See, our production area is a Union shop. So, as I see it, you can’t fire anyone. So, people like this guy exist and collect a paycheck here for doing nothing. Except, go to the bathroom that is. The guy’s always in there. He’s got this awful kinda-afro that he’s constantly picking at and trimming. So, you get short curlies all around the sink. It’s quite gross. So, this guy, and about 50 others like him here, do nothing all day, collect a paycheck and take disability twice a year. Guess what folks? You’re all out of a job as of June 1! This is what you get for doing NOTHING for 20+ years. You get outsourced. Your jobs go to people who can do them for � the cost. To make it worse, they’re staying in NJ! That’s how ridiculous our division is. You can outsource to within the state with the 2nd highest per-capita income and still save a ton of money. This lovely union of nobodies actually thought of striking last year. With the writing all over the walls that we’d be closing down, did they fight for a better termination package? Did they fight for severance? No…they fought for the Day After Thanksgiving. They all knew they’d be gone by summer, but they wanted to make sure they got paid for the last Friday in November. Very smart.

Here’s another work rant.

I got into it with one of our supervisors last week. I was trying not to wipe out the inventory of one of our envelopes. See, our inventory guy, when he’s doing OK, is a mess. Lately, he’s not been well. Really lately, he fell into a serious diabetic coma and may not pull through it 100%. So, I’m trying to avoid chaos. For the purposes of this conversation, I’ll call the supervisor Fucker.

Me: How many 31544s do you use a day?
Fucker: I don’t know.
Me: OK…roughly how many?
Fucker: I don’t know. Ask InventoryGuy
Me: Why don’t you know? Can’t you guess?
Fucker: No. Why should I know?
Me: Because you’re the supervisor of the production area that uses them, that’s why.
Fucker: I don’t have to know that. You need to learn something about supervising.
Apparently, I do. Because I’d always supervised production with a working knowledge of what was being produced and in what quantities. I did not spend that time giving rim jobs to management.
Me: What? You’re the supervisor! The 2 envelopes don’t even look alike. It should be easy to tell the difference.
Fucker: I don’t need to know. We process over 1000 jobs per day
***Interlude 2***
No you don’t, assfucker. Ever since the company decided to stop wasting money on your department, you handle less than half of your original volumes. What used to take you 1 � shifts now takes until lunchtime to do. And you say you don’t know what’s going on.
Me: Fine. I’m holding back 10,000 envelopes. I don’t know how long that will last you.
Fucker: I don’t know how long 10,000 will last. It may not be enough.
Me: …walks away…

So, we have a production supervisor who has no clue what he produces.

This place is a fuck.

The latest defection was by EsteemedDirector. Now, me, the printing supervisor (another empty shirt. A nice guy, but someone who’s perfected the art of not answering direct questions.) and Wombat all work for nobody. We don’t have a boss and nobody knows what we do. That might be fine if it weren’t for all the insanity that we have to deal with on a daily basis. Our old manager (who left a month ago) was mostly useless, but he was a good buffer from a lot of the crazy shit here. Now it seems that I’m being elevated to some new unknown position. All I care about is keeping this job until I can find another one and continuing to add impressive-looking stuff to my resume.

Happy Easter, Everyone

Here’s what we did: We did go to the NoGoodParents’ house. It was as awful as expected. NoGoodMother, as I see it, either never knew how to cook, or has forgotten over the past 5 years or so. In that time, I’ve become a pretty good cook, so it could be that I never knew any better. Well, JewelrySlut and I spent all week trying to be able to cook for Saturday night. NoGoodMother kept saying no, that she’d handle it. So, to handle it, she sent NoGoodFather to the store. Now, he really tried hard and I appreciate the effort. Deep down, he now knows that his wife can’t cook (and probably no longer loves him). So, he had no idea what to buy. We ended up with sliced cold cuts and some cheese. NoGoodMother made watery lasagna. It was bad. So, I did what I know best; get hammered. Let me say that mixing, in this order, a nice Cabernet, several crappy margaritas and then a big bottle of Pinot Grigio is not a good idea. I woke up on Sunday (we’d stayed over for some reason) hung over like all getout. I spent the whole morning on the couch dozing and running to the toilet to shit my pants. Fortunately, I missed breakfast: some casserole made from cinnamon-raisin bread soaked in milk, a nasty ham and an awful looking fruit salad. JewelrySlut was not happy to be eating.

SecretAgentBrother was there too. As mentioned earlier, his wife has left him. He’s scaring me tough. He’s a little too unemotional about it. He seems too cold. He also has weapons training, so I’m more than a little frightened about him.

It rained yesterday. Our yard is now a small lake. This should make it nice for people coming to look at the house. Our realtor’s still a ninny. She’s now passed us off to her daughter because her daughter really likes us and wants to be friends. Sorry, folks, I don’t want friends, I want my house to be sold.

Who wants some NoGoodAdvice?

Don’t take Sudafed right before bedtime. I did last night and was wired for almost 3 hours. That was nice. I should have known better because medicine always hits me hard. In May, I pulled something in my back. I ended up in the ER and they gave me Vicodin. I too 2 over a 3-day period and slept for all but about 4 hours. I was knocked out for 3 full days. Meds hit me hard. They always have. So, now I’m dragging ass today because I didn’t get enough sleep.

Well, I’ve wasted enough time for now.


And then I got cornholed by the Garfinkles

What a fun couple of days we’ve been having.

And when I say fun, I mean they haven’t been.

As chronicled by Wombat the other day, spring showed up in New Jersey. As a result, it snowed like a mofo last night. My normally shitty 32 mile commute became a 2 � hour adventure in frustration. That’s always nice. I like it when I get to see my daughter for 40 minutes a day. That’s fun. No, really, it is.

Our adventures in real estate continue. Our realtor’s a total idiot. For some unknown reason, we extended our contract by a month. We did so after a price reduction and a reduction from the agent. I don’t think she likes us anymore. She’s not calling us to follow up on anything and last week, managed to put 2 ads for our house in the paper. One under the old MLS number and price, one with the new information. We don’t think she’s ever sold a house. If she has, it hasn’t been since the Ford Administration. We have a friend who works for YellowSignRealtrs and has offered to step in and get us out of the contract all together. I think we’re going to do that. It’s not worth the hassle at this point. Plus, I always thought the whole idea of trying to sell one’s house was to actually sell it. What the hell do I know from real estate anyway?

I hate Rachel Ray. As you all know, she hosts the hideous $40 a Day show on The Food Network. The premise, for the uninitiated, is that she goes city to city proving that one can eat 3 meals for under $40. Of course, you need to be willing to swallow mule and get your ass pounded to really effectively do so. So, on Tuesday, JewelrySlut’s all excited because Ol’Rach is in Orlando. JewelrySlut wants to see the episode because we like Disney and it, conveniently, is located in the Orlando area. I really wasn’t interested. I had by fantasy baseball draft going on and was doing my best to draft a team worse than your average NY Mets squad. So, we watched the episode. It was horrid. I hate her and her stupid show. I do, however, like to make comments from the perspective of the restaurant owner/waiter as she traipses about. The comments are mostly centered around the horrible sexual favors she has to perform in order to get all her food for under $40. So, while in Orlando, she’s at some fondue joint. She’s there sitting with some truly horrified family of yokels who don’t seem to understand why this twat has crashed their fondue snack. I figured that afterwards, Mr. Garfinkle would pound her in the ass; Mrs. would be making sure the carpet matched the drapes, and Rach would be introducing the 2 kids to the wonders of oral sex. JewelrySlut came up with a much better line.

As I bounce through this entry like a bunny on crack, let’s discuss Easter.

We’re off to the NoGoodParents’ house on Saturday. SecretAgentBrother will be there. This should be a horror show. SecretAgentBrother’s marriage has recently broken up and he’s coming up from DC for the weekend. I’ll add that his marriage lasted all of 21 months. Nice. Real nice. So, he’s now 25 and about to be divorced. Now, I’m not saying that you can’t get married at a young age. I got married at 22 and am thrilled to have done so. However, some people aren’t ready to get married at 23, and SecretAgentBrother is one of those people. So, NoGoodMother has decided that we should get together on Saturday and all drink our sorrows away. This should be mint. If I get too drunk, we run the risk of a major international incident. As the pariah of the family, I have a little bit of pent up anger. Like over how the NoGoodParents decided last summer to get a divorce. That lasted 3 weeks. They also said that while I wasn’t THE reason, I was a big reason. Excuse me? You’re blaming ME for 32 years of non-communication? Sure. Did I also mention that they were doing this while JewelrySlut’s mother was dying? Did I also mention that when JewelrySlut’s mother did pass away, they showed no emotion or support? Did I mention how pissed JewelrySlut remains about this? Oh, and did I mention how the NoGoodParents told me back in 1996 that unless SecretAgentBrother was my best man (he was 16 at the time), they wouldn’t go to the wedding? Did I also mention that in 2003 when he was getting married, SecretAgentBrother didn’t even ask me to be in the wedding party?

Yea…if I start drinking, it could get very ugly. VERY UGLY

And, to backtrack even farther…

We went to this retirement party last weekend for a coworker of JewelrySlut’s over at LittleBlueBoxCompany. This was interesting. You see, there’s a reason why all the races don’t have to get along and do everything in harmony. You see…we’re different. We do different things, talk in different ways, eat different foods, dress differently, and tend to enjoy different things. Anyone who wants us all to be together and hold hands and be happy is an asshole with no concept of reality.

The guest of honor is black. Surprisingly, her extended family also is black. They’re also from Newark, so they’re straight out of da hood. We, on the other hand, have a dairy farm at the end of our street. See the difference?

I learned the following on Saturday night:
I don’t have enough shoes. I need blue ones, red ones, purple ones, tan ones and all other colored ones. Te 2 pairs of brown and 2 pairs of black that I have clearly aren’t getting it done.

It’s never the wrong time to wear stripes. Multi-colored stripes. Stripes on big huge shirts.

It’s always Ok to dress like a pimp.

Capes/drapes indeed are in style. Especially if they’re of a multitude of colors.

I don’t love the Baby Jesus enough.

They really do like watermelon.

The party, from our perspective, was a fiasco. We sat quietly and ate and then left. The rest of the time, we traded glances and under-the-table kicks and pinches. We were seated at a table with a few family members of the guest of honor. They were straight out of The Klumps. Except, that is, for the woman next to me. The deaf woman next to me. The deaf woman with a mustache next to me. She looked like Latrell Sprewell. Once the music started, she hit the dance floor and seemed to be practicing her jump shot. She’s dance around a little, spot up a J, and continues dancing. It was beyond strange. The dance floor was a sea of rhythm. Needless to say, I was not among those on the floor. I decided, as I told JewelrySlut, “They got the dance moves; we got the higher salaries and larger houses. I’m OK with that.” Was that wrong to say?

Difference is OK. Once it’s accepted, we’re all off better.

Afterwards, we went to our hotel and drank a bottle of champagne and had sex. I guess that makes up for the party fiasco. And, we’d already had sex at the hotel before the party. AWESOME!

Oh…and I think I’m going to start adding comments to my diary since no one else seems to be doing so.


Like everyone else, this was supposed to be posted on Friday, but Diaryland Shat the Bed

With apologies to Bill Simmons , I’m calling this mess Ramblings.

I was reading Waiter Rant this morning. I like it. I like it because I think food server people have horrible jobs. Despite that, they usually do a very good job. I also like it because he works in NYC and deals with absolute lunatics.

Which reminds me of…

JewelrySlut and I have bad luck at restaurants. We always seem to get bad tables and/or retarted servers. Let me tell you a story:

Fall of Aught-Three we’re in Cape May, NJ. We like going there. It’s our place for weekend getaways of eating, drinking, shopping and sex. It’s a cute little town at the bottom of NJ. It’s so far South that you’re actually below the Mason-Dixon Line. I guess that officially makes it The South. That explains a thing or 3, but I digress. We like to go out of season because the numerous good restaurants are empty. So, we go out one night to The Blue Pig for dinner. It looked like it would be OK.

We arrive on time and our table’s not ready. Mind you, the place is maybe � full, but OUR table isn’t ready. So we wait….. Finally we get seated and I get the wine list. I pick a wine and order.

Waiter: We don’t have that
Me: (scrambling because the list wasn’t that god) What about this?
Waiter: We don’t have that
Me: (picking again) What about this?
Waiter: We don’t have that
Me: What do you have?
Waiter: We don’t really have any red wine.
Me: ?
Waiter: Yea…we only have one red. Would you like me to open it and let you try?
Me (This is going to be baaaaaaaad): Sure
Time passes…time passes…
He brings the wine. I guess in the technical sense it’s wine. It’s red in color and I can taste alcohol.
Me: Sure. We’ll have this
At this point, I honestly don’t remember what JewelrySlut was doing. Probably trying to swallow her own tongue.

We order and I order grilled lamb chops. I seem to always order lamb even though I don’t like it. I think it’s because I think I should like it and keep going back to the well. JewelrySlut orders Paella.

Our appetizer of calamari was dreadful.

Entrees come. Mine looks nice, JewelrySlut’s looks hideous. It looks like it’s been in a pot for days. There’s no rice, rather, there’s pale yellow sludge.

I try some lamb. It was bad. JewelrySlut tries some paella. It was also bad. She then noticed a shrimp tail. No shrimp…just the tail. It was as if someone had eaten the rest and pitched the tail back in the pot. I took a 2nd bite and nearly threw up. At this point JewelrySlut had given up. She may or may not have put her napkin over her plate to hide the sight of her “food”. The waiter came back.

Waiter: How is everything?
Me: I can say that this is the worst food I’ve ever eaten. Can we see a manager because I think we’d like to leave?
Waiter: _________ I don’t think he actually said anything

So, we wait and the manger comes by. We tell her about the wine, the calamari and the entrees. JewelrySlut holds up the offending shrimp as evidence. I say that dinner was very bad and that the whole experience was terrible. She told us she was new and had no idea what she was going to do with the place because this was happening all the time. I thought the woman was going to cry she seemed so upset. She told us we didn’t have to pay for anything. I offered to pay for the wine at least. She wouldn’t let us. We left and had ice cream for dinner. I’ll add that despite the lousy service and worse food, neither of us got mad or irrational. It was so bad that by acting totally calm, I think I scared them to death.

So, I treat myself to lunch twice a year. Yesterday and today, I go out for lunch. I sit in the local bar and watch the NCAA games.

Here’s what annoyed me:
Yesterday was St Patrick’s Day after all. You would not believe how many people were drinking Coors Lite. Coors Lite makes me mad. Don’t fucking bother. I drank Guinness.

I went back today and it was worse. I sat down and ordered a YingLing (I know it’s not spelled that way, but it’s more fun to type it that way). I got a short pull by about 1″. Let me tell you this. If I’d wanted the bartender to pull something short, I’d have taken down my pants and handed the guy a magnifying glass. I wanted a PINT, not 92.34% of a pint. My second came the same way. Ugh. The food also blew. How do you mess up a salad? Want to know? Use wilted lettuce. Double ugh. Then, for the kicker, CBS had magically managed to get all 4 games to go to the half at the same time. We had 8 TV’s of commercials. To boot, when they came back, the games were bad. Not good times (sorry Bill.

Know what I like? I like the GEICO commercial for sorry Tiny House. That thing always cracks me up.

Well…I think that’s enough drivel for now.
Tomorrow we’re gong to a retirement party for a coworker of JewelrySlut’s. I won’t really know anyone there. We did get a room at a local hotel though.

Hotel sex!


Sometimes the bug beats the windshield

I had a lousy day yesterday. I was in a funk and don’t really know why. The usual I guess: work sucks, commuting sucks, the 3 of us at the NoGoodHouse are tired and on each other’s nerves, our house has been for sale for 5 months and nobody seems to want to buy it, and the extended NoGoodFamily is a mess.

What I’m looking for is a break. Just a tiny little break. If we could just sell the house, so many things in our lives would improve. We’d be better off financially and would have a freedom that we never anticipated.

So, I was listening to some music here at my desk and put on a loop of Jimmy’s music. Certain songs from his last album take me immediately to our last vacation. We rented This house on St John, USVI and had the best vacation EVER. We went with (they’re going to love these names is they ever find this diary…) ChurchBomber and MerlotMan and really had a great time. Anyway…the songs take me there. Sometimes it’s only a vision, at other times, I can smell the island and taste the food we ate. So, I wanted to cheer myself up by posting in a few images from the trip as the go with a certain song.

The following has been reproduced without anyone’s permission. Thanks to Guy Clark for writing this. Thanks to Jimmy Buffett and Alan Jackson for recording it last summer.

Boats to Build

It’s time for a change
I’m tired of that same ol same
The same ol words the same ol lines
The same ol tricks and the same ol rhymes

Days precious days
Roll in and out like waves
I got boards to bend I got planks to nail
I got charts to make I got seas to sail

I’m gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
It’ll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I’ve got boats to build

Sails are just like wings
The wind can make em sing
Songs of life songs of hope
Songs to keep your dreams afloat
I’m gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
It’ll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I’ve got boats to build

Shores distant shores
There’s where I’m headed for
Got the stars to guide my way
Sail into the light of day

I’m gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
It’ll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
Cause I’ve got boats to build


That should make me feel better.

Well, I feel better this morning anyway because Dangerspouse is THE MAN. Let me shout that out from a mountaintop.


Wanna know why?
OIn WRNJ this morning, he gave me and Shmuppie a traffic report. It was for us and mentioned us by name.
As in “NoGood and Shmuppie, Route 80 shouldn’t be so bad this morning, but it still stinks” I’m trying to get an air check tape of it.

It was funny as hell and he’s put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. Nothing can fuck this mood up. Not even Wombat and his creative letter-counting can ruin my day.

Thanks again Man. You are a legend among men. I’m considering loaning you JewelrySlut for a night. Give her wine and cheese and she’s all yours.

Does JeweltySlut read this thing?

Shit, I hope not.