Mixed Messages

Do I send them? I told you the whole Kevin/David/Fred saga yesterday. I think maybe Fred likes me.

See, since I have my sights set on FF, I don't notice other men. I'm pretty obtuse in that area anyway. When I'm not interested, at least. So when I offer a plumber a blow job if he can fix my leak, I figure he knows I'm kidding. I AM kidding. I'd never do that. A hand job, maybe. Eeewww. What is wrong with me?!

Sex is not currency. Not even for health insurance.

Damn. This blog is all wrong. Back to Fred.

My phone rang today and I didn't recognize the number. Since I was with the Sprint man, I ignored it. Love the one you're with - that's my philosophy. He was downloading my data and slapped my had when I went for the USB port to answer. I swear - how in the hell did I take 578 pictures?

I left there $250 poorer with some kind of Iron Man 3 machine of a phone. It's worth it though. Sarita said I sound crystal clear. Now maybe FF won't accuse me of mumbling. And hopefully I won't have to press my head against the glass in the bay window to have a convo.

Oh, back to Fred. I had a voice mail from him. Just checking on me. Making sure I wasn't having any more problems. Oh, my. Is it normal for plumbers to make follow up calls? The lady from Comcast does.

I'm kinda glad I missed Fred's call. And that he didn't ask me to call back. And that I made it through the week, it's Friday night, no client meetings this weekend, I have a mostly mowed lawn and clean wet hair and cotton pajamas. A Daddy who heated up his own pizza and a cat who hasn't thrown up in two days. A bed I can get into. And a room of my own.