Yesterday, I went to work wearing a rock star ensemble. Actually, it was fairly mundane, with a purple t-shirt and black trousers, but it began to rain as I drove to work, so I threw on the red crocodile pleather jacket and immediately went from pony-tailed, letter sweater “Summer Nights” Sandy to “I got chills they’re multiplyin’ and I’m losin’ control”.
I was walking in with a team member and she said “Is this the rock star jacket?” and I grinned and said “Yeah, it’s the rock star jacket.” She followed me down the hall where Mo was hanging her coat up and Mo said “Ahhh, rock star jacket. Where are you going tonight?” automatically assuming that I had a Club Weetabix happening or some such, but instead I had to admit that my big evening plans were…
…scrapbooking.
Oooh. I live my life on the fucking edge, non?
To put the universe back on kilter, I specifically wore rock star clothes today, wearing all black and slutty ho glossy lipstick to match my blood red chipped nails. My hair is artfully messy (because I overslept this morning, taking exactly 10 minutes to get dressed and out the door), but not in a happy cheery Meg Ryan kind of way, but rather in a “I was dancing all night at a club and I woke up five minutes ago in the drummer’s apartment and couldn’t find my underwear.” kind of way.
You know, it’s sad when your metaphors have more fun than you do.
Anyway, this morning, I got hooted. At work. Let me repeat that. I got hooted at work. And this in an age of sexual harassment. Rawk.
Given my fabulous outfit, replete with backstory, I felt the need to have sushi today, so I went to the deli and picked up a nice salmon roll and cucumber nibbles. And then I picked up some strawberries because they looked divine and they matched my lipstick. Seriously. I’m this fucking shallow.
Then I returned to work and dined on my sushi, which always draws a crowd. They can’t imagine that I put such things in my mouth, it seems. If they only knew.
What? Get your mind out of the gutter. I ate raw sea urchin once, that’s all I’m saying.
Then I had the strawberries for dessert, but I was too lazy to walk to the cafeteria to get a fork, so sat there spearing the strawberries on the chopstick and eating them. And I had one speared through the top and was sucking on it absentmindedly when our vice-president stopped by my desk to chat with me. So, there I am, with a vaguely phallic thing in my mouth, the juice on my lips, looking like I bagged the drummer for “The Love Spank Monkeys” or some such.
I am going places in this company, of this I am certain.
