More Germans, Nibs and Sweatin' in the Holler

The gimp eyed weather girl on the Big City news station is calling for blistering hot temps in the holler today.

Ya'll know how much I loves me some heat.

Anywho.. guess who I had a message to call when I got back to the Asylum yesterday? The anal retentive, big headed German, who openly lusted for my bodacious tattas.

How weird is that?

He's still our controller, but he works at another location, along with the Cutie Patootie. I called him and ended up staying on the phone for 30 minutes. He'd left me the message because he needed some customer information... that took about 8 seconds. He then went on to tell me about this new fancy restaurant over in Big City, about how good he'd heard it was and gee wonky willakers wouldn't I like to check it out sometime. I just sorta changed the subject, trying to redirect the conversation to something less uncomfortable.

Big Headed German has been asking me out since I went to work at the Asylum, about twelve years ago. For the first five, he was my immediate supervisor and after witnessing several of his psycho freaked temper tantrums, resulting in hundreds of dollars of office supply carnage, I just don't think we'd get along.. that way. The urge to bitch slap him when he whined about the unacceptable quality of his paperclips was too difficult to fight and I just don't think I could deal with that on a regular basis.

Then there is that we still work for the same company and ya'll know how I am about people being up in my business.

It would just be doomed on so many levels.

Can you tell I'm trying to justify my decision to ignore his advances? Yeah, I go through this with him about once a year. There is a part of me that says I should go, the part that cries on those PMS charged nights out of fear that I'll die alone. The part that misses passion, sex and listening to a big oaf as he snores in the afterglow.

Then there's the German himself. He's sorta cute, a cross between Bill Clinton and Dennis the Menace. We're the same age. He's not from here, he has more money than sense, we listen to the same music. He has that slightly effeminate quality that I'm oddly attracted to. (Historically, they've all had that quality. During periods of self-analyzation, I've decided that it must have to do with the sexual abuse, my dad having been the body building obsessed, tobacco chewing, macho hillbilly from hell. I think I'm attracted to the ever so slightly girly men because I find them less threatening... somewhere in the dark, warped up, childhood damaged part of my brain. It's only taken me about twenty years to figure that out. How's that for TMI?)

Ah well. At least someone still looks at me on occasion. I should be thankful for that I guess. Big Headed German and I ended up talking about gas prices, his Cross pen collection (I shit you not, he goes to "pen shows") and the guy who does his "nib work." I think.. hope.. that "nib" refers to his pens. I was afraid to ask too many questions.

I've second guessed myself from the second I hung up the phone.

Oh well.. I'd better go hop in the shower and get dressed. I need to make a run to Scary Hillbilly Town before it gets too hot.

Ya'll have a good one!

Later Taters.