Monday 11th June: 14:45
Love this idea! Seán’s phone ban will not get us down. We shall prevail (even if it is by email). Besides, we’ll look extra-productive typing away to each other. Can’t cope with anymore customer services emails. Ugh! Please read the FAQs, peasants!!
Anyway, heard that the fella in accounting is no longer with the blonde one on the bottom floor (Emma?). Potential target? Please let me live through you. This ring on my finger is not only getting heavier, it’s getting tighter. Considering converting to Buddhism. Could die doing something exciting like pole dancing, and come back reincarnate as a skinnier version of myself. Thoughts?
Not much else to report other than that Naomi at reception is my new idol. Half an hour late this morning. THIRTY WHOLE MINUTES UNNOTICED! And she’s front of house! Vaguely upset my own record has been broken from the day I was late when I had to take Dave to the hospital after he gave himself a concussion when he fell over putting his pants on in the morning and hit his head on the dresser. Hopefully we can rectify the situation next week after you birthday bash and regain the title!
I see you shaking your head across the room. Hope John hasn’t showered in Lynx Africa again this morning. I’ll light a candle for you.
P.S. Watched Magic Mike last night on my phone while Dave was sleeping. Channing Tatum is a slice. Haven’t been this attracted to a man since Kevin Richardson grew into his eyebrows.
Lots of love from your platonic work wife,
HELP me!! I swear John marinated in a bathtub of it last night. Please turn your fan in my direction.
I’m looking down on the Lee and the water’s looking suspiciously brown but I might bite the bullet and jump if I keep suffocating here. They’ve got enough plants in here. It’s like a f***ing rainforest with that and the sweat at this point. Leaving Cert weather!
Regarding the man situation: Apparently the tall one is playing hard to get with the blonde one. Was stuck in the lift with them this morning. He was casual enough but she was just staring into his soul. You can’t get between that level of sexual tension, like.
Save those wingwomaning instincts for my birthday though! Saturday night we brought the new Spanish fella (abs) that moved into the house to Voodoo. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fantasizing about having my very own Vicky Christina Barcelona situation. Minus the Vicky, the Christina, and the Barcelona. And adding in the Kelly and the Cork, if you know what I mean!
Turns out his English is very sub par. Like, it is Tiger Woods in his prime, below par. Also, he is an absolute lightweight. Too much practice with sangria and not enough Guinness. He stripped after some tequila shots and I went over to help the poor lad when he fell off stage. He was so mangled he told me he “Burst his body bag” (he cut himself). I’ll admit the accent does hit me in the right spot usually but when One Direction is pumping in the background and I’m looking at a grown-up who wants me to put a plaster on a one inch long cut on his arm, I couldn’t care less if it was Enrique Iglesias whispering in my ear.
Is it me or is it men in general? Don’t answer that. I am perfect. Especially since I started ‘Bums, Tums, and Guns’ with Stacy in the Mardyke on Wednesdays. I’m only five abs away from a six-pack.
Also. I hear they’re doing in-house recruiting for the spot upstairs. You need to go for it. I’ve left the application on your desk. You’re welcome!
Also, also. Thanks for tilting the fan this way just now. I knew there was a reason you were my go-to woman.
TOMORROW: “I know you were saying after work yesterday you were going to give a Tinder a lash? I hope you had a good swipe last night...”