I've been absolutely inundated with a single request for something more about my boss. So here's a little snippet of joy that fell from his lips a short while ago...
OMO: I can't work out why my tax code is slightly different to other peoples'. I seem to be getting a miniscule tax break.
Boss: Perhaps it's for the AIDS medication.
OMO (frowning): Er... I don't have AIDS.
Boss: Oh, I figured all your kind had AIDS.
Another deathly silence ensues in the office.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
And The Winner Is...
Ah, we had the joy of the Mr Hoist 2007 contest to attend on Saturday, and we went along with The God (sigh!) and Daddy.
Unfortunately it's not an Oscar-style competition where awards are given out for "Best Blow-job" or "Most People Cum Over". Or even "Most Inappropriate Fart". "Most Piss Drunk In One Evening" would be an easy award, it going to the guy that sits under the urinals every week with a funnel. Every week! Doesn't he have a book to read or some hair to wash? Hope he's had his hepatitis jabs... anyway, as I say, it wasn't that kind of competition. I wish someone had told me BEFORE I turned up in a backless vintage Valentino gown. I knew white was a dodgy decision but I'm never going to get some of the stains out.
No, the Mr Hoist (NSFW) competition is a bit like a Butlins Wet T-shirt event. Some "Dolly Birds", or in this case "Leather Clad Men", get up on a podium and are ridiculed by the host, and made to perform pirouettes in their finery, to the whoops and applause of the baying audience. Or in fact, to the behind-the-hands comments like "Had him. Small willy", or "Arse like a ripped out fireplace". Fortunately for The Boyf and I we'd not "had" any of the contestants and therefore refrained from any comment other than "Shouldn't be wearing that", and "Ew! Blue rubber!".
There were two rounds, one of which wasn't "Swimwear". Shame. The only difference I could tell between the two rounds was that the contestants were actually allowed to speak the second time round, but only in answer to questions posed by the incredibly Germanic host. Answers didn't include anything to do with world peace or ending 3rd World famine, but did include "If I win I'll suck every cock in here" (as if he hadn't already), and "This used to be my Mum's wedding dress". Actually the second one is a lie.
Finally we got to vote. Of the nine contestants one was rather lovely and stood head and shoulders over everyone else. Unfortunately he knew it. Minimum effort given and very monosyllablic. That meant The Boyf didn't vote for him after all, as didn't anyone else apparently as he wasn't in the final three. I really rather liked No.2's chest so he got both our votes, and was placed second. The guy that won was the only one in the competition we actually knew, so we were rather pleased, as was he apparently. He was seen later the next day in another bar being fucked by almost everyone in the place as a way of celebrating. Added a new meaning to "Are you going to enter Mr Hoist this year?". (Actually, when we arrived at the Hoist The Boyf was asked by at least six different people whether he'd be entering the competition. Do you know how many people asked me? None. Nadda. Not one. Harumph).
After the competition everyone left. Oh! What happened to the sex? We left too, met up with The Drag Queen, and went to the opening of "Rise Up" at the Colosseum. We've missed the Colosseum since Beyond closed so it was nice to be back in the place after nearly a year, and the "Bear Square" rapidly reappeared (being an area of the dancefloor for the more hirsuite of us, where twinks get growled at, or occassionally eaten, if they accidentally step into it. We mark the boundary by peeing on the floor when we arrive, like real bears. (Kidding)). We rather enjoyed it all and will be going back for more methinks.
After that we walked (ok, stumbled) down the road to Fire for "Later" and had the usual good time, until my back started to ache and then seize up forcing an early exit home to bed. (We'd been out from 10pm Saturday til 2pm Sunday so I think we were due a rest anyway).
Another weekend well spent.
Unfortunately it's not an Oscar-style competition where awards are given out for "Best Blow-job" or "Most People Cum Over". Or even "Most Inappropriate Fart". "Most Piss Drunk In One Evening" would be an easy award, it going to the guy that sits under the urinals every week with a funnel. Every week! Doesn't he have a book to read or some hair to wash? Hope he's had his hepatitis jabs... anyway, as I say, it wasn't that kind of competition. I wish someone had told me BEFORE I turned up in a backless vintage Valentino gown. I knew white was a dodgy decision but I'm never going to get some of the stains out.
No, the Mr Hoist (NSFW) competition is a bit like a Butlins Wet T-shirt event. Some "Dolly Birds", or in this case "Leather Clad Men", get up on a podium and are ridiculed by the host, and made to perform pirouettes in their finery, to the whoops and applause of the baying audience. Or in fact, to the behind-the-hands comments like "Had him. Small willy", or "Arse like a ripped out fireplace". Fortunately for The Boyf and I we'd not "had" any of the contestants and therefore refrained from any comment other than "Shouldn't be wearing that", and "Ew! Blue rubber!".
There were two rounds, one of which wasn't "Swimwear". Shame. The only difference I could tell between the two rounds was that the contestants were actually allowed to speak the second time round, but only in answer to questions posed by the incredibly Germanic host. Answers didn't include anything to do with world peace or ending 3rd World famine, but did include "If I win I'll suck every cock in here" (as if he hadn't already), and "This used to be my Mum's wedding dress". Actually the second one is a lie.
Finally we got to vote. Of the nine contestants one was rather lovely and stood head and shoulders over everyone else. Unfortunately he knew it. Minimum effort given and very monosyllablic. That meant The Boyf didn't vote for him after all, as didn't anyone else apparently as he wasn't in the final three. I really rather liked No.2's chest so he got both our votes, and was placed second. The guy that won was the only one in the competition we actually knew, so we were rather pleased, as was he apparently. He was seen later the next day in another bar being fucked by almost everyone in the place as a way of celebrating. Added a new meaning to "Are you going to enter Mr Hoist this year?". (Actually, when we arrived at the Hoist The Boyf was asked by at least six different people whether he'd be entering the competition. Do you know how many people asked me? None. Nadda. Not one. Harumph).
After the competition everyone left. Oh! What happened to the sex? We left too, met up with The Drag Queen, and went to the opening of "Rise Up" at the Colosseum. We've missed the Colosseum since Beyond closed so it was nice to be back in the place after nearly a year, and the "Bear Square" rapidly reappeared (being an area of the dancefloor for the more hirsuite of us, where twinks get growled at, or occassionally eaten, if they accidentally step into it. We mark the boundary by peeing on the floor when we arrive, like real bears. (Kidding)). We rather enjoyed it all and will be going back for more methinks.
After that we walked (ok, stumbled) down the road to Fire for "Later" and had the usual good time, until my back started to ache and then seize up forcing an early exit home to bed. (We'd been out from 10pm Saturday til 2pm Sunday so I think we were due a rest anyway).
Another weekend well spent.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Ooops!
My (homophobic) boss is talking to the team about his birthday next week...
Boss: So, I'm inviting you all down the pub next Friday lunchtime for a drink or two. I've booked a space outside from 12.45.
Employee: Outside? Won't it be a bit cold?
Boss: They have those heater things. Just wrap up warm. I don't want people complaining - either come down for a beer or go home.
OMO (smirking): Go home? Are you telling us we can go home rather than join you at lunchtime?
Boss (annoyed): No! You know perfectly well what I meant; you can either come down the pub or stay at work. As an Associate I would expect you not ask such silly questions.
OMO: Well as a Partner I'd expect you to actually think about what you're saying before you open your mouth for a change.
A deathly silence ensues.
Oops.
Boss: So, I'm inviting you all down the pub next Friday lunchtime for a drink or two. I've booked a space outside from 12.45.
Employee: Outside? Won't it be a bit cold?
Boss: They have those heater things. Just wrap up warm. I don't want people complaining - either come down for a beer or go home.
OMO (smirking): Go home? Are you telling us we can go home rather than join you at lunchtime?
Boss (annoyed): No! You know perfectly well what I meant; you can either come down the pub or stay at work. As an Associate I would expect you not ask such silly questions.
OMO: Well as a Partner I'd expect you to actually think about what you're saying before you open your mouth for a change.
A deathly silence ensues.
Oops.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
No Rest For The Wicked
I had an awful nights sleep last night, Dear Reader.
I said, I HAD AN AWFUL NIGHTS SLEEP LAST NIGHT! Some sympathy wouldn't go amiss.
Oh, please yourselves.
I had one of those nights where I had one nightmare after another. The Boyf said I woke up with a shout on at least six occassions, plus once I woke up sobbing.
It was those bloody wolves again. I kept having these mini nightmares which seemed to comprise of nothing more than flashes of huge teeth and fur and eyes. Then there was one where a wolf was standing over my bed watching me, and then finally another where I was the wolf.
I think I've worked out what these are about since my spate of them some months ago. The wolves seem to be a symbol of my sexual side, and in particular my reluctance to truly let myself go sexually. Now, I know that's quite hard to believe, those of you who have actually been paying attention to my blog, but it's absolutely true. Going to The Hoist is a recent development, and most of the time I go there I'm a little stand-offish and don't participate (like last Saturday). The Boyf calls it being uptight, I call it being picky about who I have sex with.
But not all my dreams were about wolves. The one that made me sob was about my Mum being very old and frail and being in a care home. And her best friend had a major operation in America and came back in a box, with a small tv screen on the front which showed her face. Everyone in the dream apart from me was old and frail - all my friends and family - and I was the only one still young (and pretty. Ahem). And I ended up curling up into a ball and crying because I didn't want to see the people I cared about in this way, and because I was frightened it was going to happen to me.
Then I had a dream where I was a policeman chasing a serial killer who was draining the victims of their blood and making blood-bags. Charming.
And finally I had a dream about a locker room I couldn't find my way out of. It was like a labyrinth. This morning The Boyf said that it sounded more like Heaven than a nightmare, until I added that it was a girls locker room. Shudder!
So, the big question is; do I need counselling?
On an unrelated note, this happens to be my 100th post. Frankly I'm amazed I've made it this far, but I'm glad I have as I enjoy writing this blog. And I thank you, Dear Reader, for stopping by and having a look at my shoddily written ramblings.
I said, I HAD AN AWFUL NIGHTS SLEEP LAST NIGHT! Some sympathy wouldn't go amiss.
Oh, please yourselves.
I had one of those nights where I had one nightmare after another. The Boyf said I woke up with a shout on at least six occassions, plus once I woke up sobbing.
It was those bloody wolves again. I kept having these mini nightmares which seemed to comprise of nothing more than flashes of huge teeth and fur and eyes. Then there was one where a wolf was standing over my bed watching me, and then finally another where I was the wolf.
I think I've worked out what these are about since my spate of them some months ago. The wolves seem to be a symbol of my sexual side, and in particular my reluctance to truly let myself go sexually. Now, I know that's quite hard to believe, those of you who have actually been paying attention to my blog, but it's absolutely true. Going to The Hoist is a recent development, and most of the time I go there I'm a little stand-offish and don't participate (like last Saturday). The Boyf calls it being uptight, I call it being picky about who I have sex with.
But not all my dreams were about wolves. The one that made me sob was about my Mum being very old and frail and being in a care home. And her best friend had a major operation in America and came back in a box, with a small tv screen on the front which showed her face. Everyone in the dream apart from me was old and frail - all my friends and family - and I was the only one still young (and pretty. Ahem). And I ended up curling up into a ball and crying because I didn't want to see the people I cared about in this way, and because I was frightened it was going to happen to me.
Then I had a dream where I was a policeman chasing a serial killer who was draining the victims of their blood and making blood-bags. Charming.
And finally I had a dream about a locker room I couldn't find my way out of. It was like a labyrinth. This morning The Boyf said that it sounded more like Heaven than a nightmare, until I added that it was a girls locker room. Shudder!
So, the big question is; do I need counselling?
On an unrelated note, this happens to be my 100th post. Frankly I'm amazed I've made it this far, but I'm glad I have as I enjoy writing this blog. And I thank you, Dear Reader, for stopping by and having a look at my shoddily written ramblings.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The Drag Queen's Birthday Ensues
Ok, so it's The Drag Queen's birthday today, but she decided to start the celebrations last Friday, as is her way. So off we trotted to BarCodeV - myself, The Boyf, The DQ, and a straight male work colleague of theirs who we'll refer to as Mr X - where the Boyf and I found ourselves to be the subject of attention for a rather cute gentleman, who nevertheless refused to actually speak to us. After a couple of bacardi breezers, I mean pints of beer, we moved to Fire for "A:M" where we met up with OBM#1 and OBM#2, plus a handsome French friend of theirs, who everyone but me appeared to already know (he turned out to be one of the faces on the Megawoof poster, along with OBM#2). And much fun was had by all, especially after Mr X went missing for a while and, when we went to look for him, was found to be in the toilet being blown by a young lady. Then the rather cute gentleman from BarCodeV arrived and finally plucked up the courage to speak, in very fractured English, to reveal he was a German tourist. Unfortunately, just as The Boyf and I were about to "get stuck into him" his English boyfriend turned up and spoilt the party. So the only one of us to "cop off" was our straight friend. In a gay club, I ask you! What is the world coming to? We all finally left at around 7am, feeling much worse for wear, and The Boyf and I headed straight to bed and didn't bother getting up again til 7pm on Saturday to watch "Dancing On Ice" - sheesh - and comment on the various outfits/thighs/hair/whatever.
Saturday night was spent in The Hoist (probably NSFW), trying desperately to look interested but failing miserably. There just wasn't anyone around we liked, which is saying something for The Boyf, who isn't normally very fussy, the slut. It didn't help that the music was all wrong. "Funky Town" followed by "Dancing Queen" (I kid you not) does not make for a very sexually charged environment, I'm sure you'll agree. So we bid farewell to a friend of ours, who at the time was being fucked over the balcony railings in time with Madonna's "Jump", and made an early exit, only to come across (not literally, sadly) a very big, muscular and hairy fellow who was arriving as we were leaving. The three of us stopped and looked at each other, but he'd just paid to get in and we were already in possession of our coats, so there was a little stand-off and then The Boyf decided enough was enough and dragged me out. "He was totally up for it", I complained, "and I've wanted him for ages now". The Boyf countered that if he was up for it then we'd get another chance, and sure enough the next day the guy messaged me on-line to say he thought we were "a hot couple", so I have a feeling we'll be seeing him again.
Sunday was spent largely in bed, again, where The Boyf and I took our frustrations out on each other, and then went back out for Round 2 of The DQ's birthday, hosted at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. As usual we bounced up and down alot, perved lasciviously over a policeman we know (but not well enough, yet), and finally left to go to BarCodeV for a quiet drink before home and bed again.
And that, Dear Readers, was our weekend. How was yours...?
Saturday night was spent in The Hoist (probably NSFW), trying desperately to look interested but failing miserably. There just wasn't anyone around we liked, which is saying something for The Boyf, who isn't normally very fussy, the slut. It didn't help that the music was all wrong. "Funky Town" followed by "Dancing Queen" (I kid you not) does not make for a very sexually charged environment, I'm sure you'll agree. So we bid farewell to a friend of ours, who at the time was being fucked over the balcony railings in time with Madonna's "Jump", and made an early exit, only to come across (not literally, sadly) a very big, muscular and hairy fellow who was arriving as we were leaving. The three of us stopped and looked at each other, but he'd just paid to get in and we were already in possession of our coats, so there was a little stand-off and then The Boyf decided enough was enough and dragged me out. "He was totally up for it", I complained, "and I've wanted him for ages now". The Boyf countered that if he was up for it then we'd get another chance, and sure enough the next day the guy messaged me on-line to say he thought we were "a hot couple", so I have a feeling we'll be seeing him again.
Sunday was spent largely in bed, again, where The Boyf and I took our frustrations out on each other, and then went back out for Round 2 of The DQ's birthday, hosted at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. As usual we bounced up and down alot, perved lasciviously over a policeman we know (but not well enough, yet), and finally left to go to BarCodeV for a quiet drink before home and bed again.
And that, Dear Readers, was our weekend. How was yours...?
Friday, January 19, 2007
Doris And Hot Men Day
It was "Hot Multi-Racial Mens Lunchtime" at the gym today. I've not done a lunchtime work-out since the summer but, in line with my new years resolutions, this week has been "Back To The Gym Week". And I can't believe how much better for it I feel already. Well, you know, apart from aching all over.
Anyway, in today's gym we have:
1. Short (5ft 4in), very muscular guy in his early 40's, with a nice dusting of chest hair. Cropped fair hair, very English looking, and looked great in a suit when he left.
2. Hispanic looking guy on the running machine next to mine, who apparently could only walk, with a chiselled, brooding face only managed by Latin men, and that 5 o'clock shadow which appears immediately after they shave.
3. A slightly cross-eyed Turkish guy who was strangely wearing combats and what appeared to be a tie-dye t-shirt. With massive arms covered in thick dark hair I could forgive him the fashion faux-pas. After all, most clothes look the same when they're piled on the floor.
4. An Eastern European with the most incredible chest, and very slightly flirty eye contact, in a shy way. I could have died and gone to heaven on that chest, but couldn't quite pluck up the courage for anything other than a faint "Hi", as is usually the case when confronted by a hot guy.
So there was I, surrounded by a veritable cornucopia of beautiful man-flesh, trying my hardest not to get a boner on the cross-trainer, when I looked up to see what was playing on the tv's. It was a Doris Day movie. Apparently I'd arrived in Gay Heaven.
I'm not sure what the movie was, and the sound was off, but it appeared that Doris went to a laboratory wearing a white summer dress with a very bold red print, with matching headband and lots of very pale eye shadow, where she seemed to be shown "before and after" images which seemed to have something to do with surgery. She pulled lots of faces which all come labelled as "aghast". She then left and spied - by looking over the top of her big sunglasses - on a woman getting undressed and swimming in her pool. I could only assume therefore that it was about Doris being a transsexual Female to Male who was awaiting her op', after which she would lure the swimming woman into her bed and shag her senseless with her freshly constructed phallus. I can't seem to find a Doris Day movie on the internet with this synopsis so would be most grateful if anyone could tell me.
Have a good weekend, Dear Readers.
Anyway, in today's gym we have:
1. Short (5ft 4in), very muscular guy in his early 40's, with a nice dusting of chest hair. Cropped fair hair, very English looking, and looked great in a suit when he left.
2. Hispanic looking guy on the running machine next to mine, who apparently could only walk, with a chiselled, brooding face only managed by Latin men, and that 5 o'clock shadow which appears immediately after they shave.
3. A slightly cross-eyed Turkish guy who was strangely wearing combats and what appeared to be a tie-dye t-shirt. With massive arms covered in thick dark hair I could forgive him the fashion faux-pas. After all, most clothes look the same when they're piled on the floor.
4. An Eastern European with the most incredible chest, and very slightly flirty eye contact, in a shy way. I could have died and gone to heaven on that chest, but couldn't quite pluck up the courage for anything other than a faint "Hi", as is usually the case when confronted by a hot guy.
So there was I, surrounded by a veritable cornucopia of beautiful man-flesh, trying my hardest not to get a boner on the cross-trainer, when I looked up to see what was playing on the tv's. It was a Doris Day movie. Apparently I'd arrived in Gay Heaven.
I'm not sure what the movie was, and the sound was off, but it appeared that Doris went to a laboratory wearing a white summer dress with a very bold red print, with matching headband and lots of very pale eye shadow, where she seemed to be shown "before and after" images which seemed to have something to do with surgery. She pulled lots of faces which all come labelled as "aghast". She then left and spied - by looking over the top of her big sunglasses - on a woman getting undressed and swimming in her pool. I could only assume therefore that it was about Doris being a transsexual Female to Male who was awaiting her op', after which she would lure the swimming woman into her bed and shag her senseless with her freshly constructed phallus. I can't seem to find a Doris Day movie on the internet with this synopsis so would be most grateful if anyone could tell me.
Have a good weekend, Dear Readers.
Let Me In-A-Your Window-oh-oh-oh!
Bloody hell. It's Friday already.
So, Jade Goody anyone?
No, I think I'll pass. I really can't be bothered to join the debate. She's not worth the effort, stupid cow.
It's been a quiet week here at OMO Towers, apart from being blown about yesterday. Two of the girls at work were injured in their lunch break by a falling "To Let" sign and ended up in A&E.
Personally I quite like it windy. It makes my big coat blow out behind me like a cape, and I run along feeling very "Heathcliffe". Oh, ok, "Cathy". I did try to get The Boyf to go out and get lost on the moors last night, returning some days later and dying of consumption, but he refused. For one, there aren't alot of moors in central London, and secondly he didn't want to pander to my gothic romanticism. Having me standing outside the bedroom window, banging on it and wailing all night was quite enough for him. It was quite enough for me too; I got quite a chill up my bustle. We've decided to sleep with a Moor this weekend tho, to make up it. If we can find one anyway. They seem quite thin on the ground these days.
Tonight starts the month long celebration that is The Drag Queen's birthday. I won't tell you how old she'll be, not because it's rude to say a lady's age - frankly, she ain't no lady - but simply because I can't remember. Her birthday is next Tuesday, but this weekend we'll be joining her in various bars and clubs, starting with BarCodeV and then A:M at Fire tonight. So if you happen to see a girl covered in glitter, a guy singing "Wuthering Heights" in white chiffon, and two big, hairy tattooed bodybuilders that'll be us. And if you look vaguely Moorish and some guy's trying to hump your leg, that'll be The Boyf. Say hi and we'll buy you a beer. Perhaps you could be Heathcliffe to my Cathy, who knows...
So, Jade Goody anyone?
No, I think I'll pass. I really can't be bothered to join the debate. She's not worth the effort, stupid cow.
It's been a quiet week here at OMO Towers, apart from being blown about yesterday. Two of the girls at work were injured in their lunch break by a falling "To Let" sign and ended up in A&E.
Personally I quite like it windy. It makes my big coat blow out behind me like a cape, and I run along feeling very "Heathcliffe". Oh, ok, "Cathy". I did try to get The Boyf to go out and get lost on the moors last night, returning some days later and dying of consumption, but he refused. For one, there aren't alot of moors in central London, and secondly he didn't want to pander to my gothic romanticism. Having me standing outside the bedroom window, banging on it and wailing all night was quite enough for him. It was quite enough for me too; I got quite a chill up my bustle. We've decided to sleep with a Moor this weekend tho, to make up it. If we can find one anyway. They seem quite thin on the ground these days.
Tonight starts the month long celebration that is The Drag Queen's birthday. I won't tell you how old she'll be, not because it's rude to say a lady's age - frankly, she ain't no lady - but simply because I can't remember. Her birthday is next Tuesday, but this weekend we'll be joining her in various bars and clubs, starting with BarCodeV and then A:M at Fire tonight. So if you happen to see a girl covered in glitter, a guy singing "Wuthering Heights" in white chiffon, and two big, hairy tattooed bodybuilders that'll be us. And if you look vaguely Moorish and some guy's trying to hump your leg, that'll be The Boyf. Say hi and we'll buy you a beer. Perhaps you could be Heathcliffe to my Cathy, who knows...
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Showing My Age?
Oh shit, it's Tuesday and I'm completely unprepared to tell you about my weekend. I'm actually very busy at work, don'tcha know. It does happen occassionally.
So, my weekend then...
I SO wasn't in the mood for going out on Friday night, so I went straight home after work and crawled into bed for a bit. I'd had a hard week at work, and I deal with stress by sitting in the dark listening to music and drinking wine, or going to sleep. Unfortunately The Boyf deals with stress (he'd had a hard week too) by going out and partying as hard as he can. So I was suddenly beseiged by him, The Drag Queen and a work colleague of theirs who had been out drinking champagne since school kicked out, for no good reason that I could fathom. They'd come back to ours to freshen up before going to another bar and actually managed to cajole me into going with them, if only for a couple of hours. So, come midnight I bid my farewell to BarCodeV (after giggling unnecessarily at the hot doorman, who decided to have a good grope at my nether region) and drove home, leaving The Boyf to make his own way home later (which actually entailed him ringing me at 4.30 in the morning and begging me to come and get him cause he was stuck and didn't want an hours walk home). Harumph!
We took the unusual step of staying in on Saturday night and watching Kylie on tv, mercilessly mocking her outfits (what the fuck was that gold thing she had on?) and strangely wooden dance routines. We did wonder whether she'd simply been nailed to a skatebord and was just being wheeled around the stage, wiggling her hips occassionally. There was an early report of a sign being held in the audience which read "Show Us Your Tit", but we didn't see any evidence of it.
Sunday was a lovely spring day in the city. Which seemed odd, it still being mid-January an' all. So OBM's came over to our place and then the four of us walked along the South Bank, stopping at various Starbucks, Nando's, and anywhere that sold sweet foodstuffs (OBM#2 wasn't feeling well and decided to eat as many cakes as possible. I thought I'd join in so as not to feel left out). After a trawl around The Tate we decided we'd had quite enough culture and went to an amusement arcade to play air hockey and see how long we could last on the electric chair. Unsurprisingly I managed to take full power, eliciting much commenting along the lines of "Ah, now we know what you're into". Ahem.
And that was our weekend. Quiet, and rather lovely. It must be my age that I'd rather go for a walk with my friends than be stuck in a bar getting drunk somewhere. Well, if that's what growing up is all about then bring it on.
So, my weekend then...
I SO wasn't in the mood for going out on Friday night, so I went straight home after work and crawled into bed for a bit. I'd had a hard week at work, and I deal with stress by sitting in the dark listening to music and drinking wine, or going to sleep. Unfortunately The Boyf deals with stress (he'd had a hard week too) by going out and partying as hard as he can. So I was suddenly beseiged by him, The Drag Queen and a work colleague of theirs who had been out drinking champagne since school kicked out, for no good reason that I could fathom. They'd come back to ours to freshen up before going to another bar and actually managed to cajole me into going with them, if only for a couple of hours. So, come midnight I bid my farewell to BarCodeV (after giggling unnecessarily at the hot doorman, who decided to have a good grope at my nether region) and drove home, leaving The Boyf to make his own way home later (which actually entailed him ringing me at 4.30 in the morning and begging me to come and get him cause he was stuck and didn't want an hours walk home). Harumph!
We took the unusual step of staying in on Saturday night and watching Kylie on tv, mercilessly mocking her outfits (what the fuck was that gold thing she had on?) and strangely wooden dance routines. We did wonder whether she'd simply been nailed to a skatebord and was just being wheeled around the stage, wiggling her hips occassionally. There was an early report of a sign being held in the audience which read "Show Us Your Tit", but we didn't see any evidence of it.
Sunday was a lovely spring day in the city. Which seemed odd, it still being mid-January an' all. So OBM's came over to our place and then the four of us walked along the South Bank, stopping at various Starbucks, Nando's, and anywhere that sold sweet foodstuffs (OBM#2 wasn't feeling well and decided to eat as many cakes as possible. I thought I'd join in so as not to feel left out). After a trawl around The Tate we decided we'd had quite enough culture and went to an amusement arcade to play air hockey and see how long we could last on the electric chair. Unsurprisingly I managed to take full power, eliciting much commenting along the lines of "Ah, now we know what you're into". Ahem.
And that was our weekend. Quiet, and rather lovely. It must be my age that I'd rather go for a walk with my friends than be stuck in a bar getting drunk somewhere. Well, if that's what growing up is all about then bring it on.
Monday, January 15, 2007
The Monday Morning(ish) BlogBite
Is it just me, or does anyone have a little shiver go down their spine whenever they say something very intelligent and professional at work?
Just me then.
It doesn't happen very often.
Just me then.
It doesn't happen very often.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Try Before You Buy
We were round The Drag Queen's house for dinner. As usual this means that we turn up and the food is still in its raw state. Occassionally it doesn't even look completely dead. It then becomes The Boyf's job to cook it. It's not that The Drag Queen is a bad cook, quite the opposite. It's just that she's always far too busy to actually cook anything, and once we get there she always seems to find other things that need completing urgently. Like reading Cosmopolitan, drinking wine, smoking cigarettes and talking on her phone (all done simultaneously). So there we were on Wednesday evening, 8pm and The Boyf is cooking our dinner again.
Then the Drag Queen's flat mate came home from work (she's a nurse) and started telling us about her new boyfriend, who's just booked up a flight and hotel and is whisking her off to Italy for a romantic weekend. The conversation proceeds thus:
Nursey: I can't believe he's taking me to Italy already.
The Boyf: Why not?
Nursey: We've only seen each other a couple of times.
The Boyf: Must be keen on you then. What's he like?
Nursey: Welsh.
The Boyf: Oh. Pity.
Nursey: Yeah, but he's very sexy, and apparently loaded and generous. And I've not even snogged him yet. He's taking me to Italy and I've not kissed him properly!
(There is silence for a moment)
OMO: But you have fucked him, right?
(Nursey looks shocked)
The Drag Queen: Welcome to OMO's World, where you wouldn't have snogged your new boyfriend but would have screwed him almost immediately.
Much laughter ensues.
Then the Drag Queen's flat mate came home from work (she's a nurse) and started telling us about her new boyfriend, who's just booked up a flight and hotel and is whisking her off to Italy for a romantic weekend. The conversation proceeds thus:
Nursey: I can't believe he's taking me to Italy already.
The Boyf: Why not?
Nursey: We've only seen each other a couple of times.
The Boyf: Must be keen on you then. What's he like?
Nursey: Welsh.
The Boyf: Oh. Pity.
Nursey: Yeah, but he's very sexy, and apparently loaded and generous. And I've not even snogged him yet. He's taking me to Italy and I've not kissed him properly!
(There is silence for a moment)
OMO: But you have fucked him, right?
(Nursey looks shocked)
The Drag Queen: Welcome to OMO's World, where you wouldn't have snogged your new boyfriend but would have screwed him almost immediately.
Much laughter ensues.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Talking Bout A Resolution
Here at OMO Towers I've been desperately trying to think of some new year's resolutions which I can make and then break. I mean, that's the point, isn't it? So here, for your delectation, are things I'd like to do this year but probably won't.
1. Write a blog.
Er... (blink)
What I mean is, I want to write a blog where I'm not anonymous and can actually tell you EVERYTHING! Yeah, you should look worried. I'm trying to get The Boyf to come in with me on it, as he's far better at writing than me and I think it'll do him good to use his hands for something other than masturbating all evening. As long as it means he doesn't stop making my dinner everything should work out rather well.
2. Actually have a holiday that involves getting on a plane. 2005 was a good year; New York and San Fransisco. But last year fell a bit flat. We already have ski-ing in France booked for next month, but I want at least two other foreign holidays this year.
3. Swim with dolphins.
4. Learn to swim. Should help with No. 3.
5. Sleep with Bill Goldberg.
6. Get a new job.
7. Jump out of a plane. Preferably with a parachute.
8. Go to the gym properly and take it seriously, rather than the half-arsed work-outs I've been doing for the last year.
9. Sleep with my boss. He's homophobic. It'd be funny.
10. Learn a language. I'm thinking Spanish cause I did it at school for a bit and rather liked it.
11. Make my blog 20% funnier.
I do actually intend to keep most of these. Sleeping with both Bill Goldberg and my boss might prove tricky, but there's no harm in aiming high.
1. Write a blog.
Er... (blink)
What I mean is, I want to write a blog where I'm not anonymous and can actually tell you EVERYTHING! Yeah, you should look worried. I'm trying to get The Boyf to come in with me on it, as he's far better at writing than me and I think it'll do him good to use his hands for something other than masturbating all evening. As long as it means he doesn't stop making my dinner everything should work out rather well.
2. Actually have a holiday that involves getting on a plane. 2005 was a good year; New York and San Fransisco. But last year fell a bit flat. We already have ski-ing in France booked for next month, but I want at least two other foreign holidays this year.
3. Swim with dolphins.
4. Learn to swim. Should help with No. 3.
5. Sleep with Bill Goldberg.
6. Get a new job.
7. Jump out of a plane. Preferably with a parachute.
8. Go to the gym properly and take it seriously, rather than the half-arsed work-outs I've been doing for the last year.
9. Sleep with my boss. He's homophobic. It'd be funny.
10. Learn a language. I'm thinking Spanish cause I did it at school for a bit and rather liked it.
11. Make my blog 20% funnier.
I do actually intend to keep most of these. Sleeping with both Bill Goldberg and my boss might prove tricky, but there's no harm in aiming high.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Bits And Bobs
Certain small things either happened or came to my attention over Christmas/New Year that don't demand their own subjects, but are nevertheless noteworthy.
1. One of the presents I bought for The Boyf turned up after Boxing Day, even though I ordered it a week before Christmas AND paid for rapid delivery. I gave the parcel straight to him to open, with a cheery "Merry Belated Christmas", only to watch his face change to a look of puzzlement. Inside the parcel was a Spongebob Squarepants alarm clock, which was definitely not what I'd ordered. Thanks very much, Forbidden Planet.
2. The Greek God won't stop texting me, and has taken to emailing me photos of himself in compromising positions. Mainly with other guys' cocks up his ass. Apparently he can't stop thinking about me fucking him, and I'm rather flattered.
3. The Boyf appears to have turned into a bottom.
4. A friend of ours kept a guy in a box in his hallway for Christmas. His only sustenance was his own urine. The friend commented that he didn't really understand it, but that's what the guy wanted as a present. Odd.
5. I appear to look good wearing fur. Faux fur, obviously. Don't ask how I know this.
6. My favourite drink now appears to be sherry. A sure sign I'm getting old.
7. I'm starting to reminisce about dance music from the late 80's and early 90's, and keep suggesting to people that we start a club night playing old rave anthems. Another sure sign I'm getting old.
8. Twinks dancing freak me out. They're way too bendy and resemble rubber chickens having epileptic fits. And why do they wear sunglasses in nightclubs? What's that all about?
9. The trippiest thing I've ever seen was "The Polar Express" in 3D on the giant IMAX screen just before Christmas. And is it me or are the elves REALLY unnerving?
10. All tasks, no matter how trivial, become hysterically funny if you're wearing a Cyberman helmet.
1. One of the presents I bought for The Boyf turned up after Boxing Day, even though I ordered it a week before Christmas AND paid for rapid delivery. I gave the parcel straight to him to open, with a cheery "Merry Belated Christmas", only to watch his face change to a look of puzzlement. Inside the parcel was a Spongebob Squarepants alarm clock, which was definitely not what I'd ordered. Thanks very much, Forbidden Planet.
2. The Greek God won't stop texting me, and has taken to emailing me photos of himself in compromising positions. Mainly with other guys' cocks up his ass. Apparently he can't stop thinking about me fucking him, and I'm rather flattered.
3. The Boyf appears to have turned into a bottom.
4. A friend of ours kept a guy in a box in his hallway for Christmas. His only sustenance was his own urine. The friend commented that he didn't really understand it, but that's what the guy wanted as a present. Odd.
5. I appear to look good wearing fur. Faux fur, obviously. Don't ask how I know this.
6. My favourite drink now appears to be sherry. A sure sign I'm getting old.
7. I'm starting to reminisce about dance music from the late 80's and early 90's, and keep suggesting to people that we start a club night playing old rave anthems. Another sure sign I'm getting old.
8. Twinks dancing freak me out. They're way too bendy and resemble rubber chickens having epileptic fits. And why do they wear sunglasses in nightclubs? What's that all about?
9. The trippiest thing I've ever seen was "The Polar Express" in 3D on the giant IMAX screen just before Christmas. And is it me or are the elves REALLY unnerving?
10. All tasks, no matter how trivial, become hysterically funny if you're wearing a Cyberman helmet.
Monday, January 08, 2007
The Bedtime Express
It's Friday and I've just left work for the week. I'm catching the District Line east at Tower Hill, and it's busy as usual. Standing room only, 9 times out of 10 anyway. I step in my usual door. It's the one that puts me closest to the steps down to the platform I need when I disembark this train two stops later to change to another line.
I stand in the doorway towards the front of my carriage and I survey the crowd, looking for anything of interest to occupy my mind, perhaps even someone to flirtatiously make eye contact with. As is my way.
Of the four seats taken on one side, three are occupied by a woman in her 30's with a very severe haircut and angular face, and either side of her a small child; a boy of about 5 and a girl of 6 or 7. All other seats are taken by the usual commuter crowd. Mrs Severity has a book in her lap and is reading aloud to her children, in a clear, almost musical voice. It's a tale of high seas and pirates, but I can't see the cover to find out exactly what book it is. Both children appear absorbed with other things though, and don't seem to be paying alot of attention.
I notice the man next to the family is asleep. I look across to the people sitting opposite the family. A middle-aged businessman appears completely wrapped up in the story. He's obviously paying attention, but he keeps closing his eyes and then blinking them open again. He's having to make a conscious effort to stay awake. The other three passengers are asleep. Mrs Severity has managed to lull the entire end of the carriage to sleep, except for her actual children.
I close my eyes and lean back on a handrail, listening to the story. I nearly miss my stop. We adults don't have enough stories read to us.
I stand in the doorway towards the front of my carriage and I survey the crowd, looking for anything of interest to occupy my mind, perhaps even someone to flirtatiously make eye contact with. As is my way.
Of the four seats taken on one side, three are occupied by a woman in her 30's with a very severe haircut and angular face, and either side of her a small child; a boy of about 5 and a girl of 6 or 7. All other seats are taken by the usual commuter crowd. Mrs Severity has a book in her lap and is reading aloud to her children, in a clear, almost musical voice. It's a tale of high seas and pirates, but I can't see the cover to find out exactly what book it is. Both children appear absorbed with other things though, and don't seem to be paying alot of attention.
I notice the man next to the family is asleep. I look across to the people sitting opposite the family. A middle-aged businessman appears completely wrapped up in the story. He's obviously paying attention, but he keeps closing his eyes and then blinking them open again. He's having to make a conscious effort to stay awake. The other three passengers are asleep. Mrs Severity has managed to lull the entire end of the carriage to sleep, except for her actual children.
I close my eyes and lean back on a handrail, listening to the story. I nearly miss my stop. We adults don't have enough stories read to us.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
New Years Resolution No.1, Now Defunct
On our local TV news yesterday evening (being London Tonight, or something), there was an in-depth 2 minute article (!) on the rising house prices in London, and how people cannot afford to get on the property ladder in London. Sorry, have they only just noticed that houses are seriously over-priced in London?
Anyway, they interviewed an estate agent. He was basically a jumped-up, pin-stripe suited, Essex boy, with a mockney accent and too much hair gel. Normal estate agent round these parts. He rounded off the interview with (cue crap accent), "Well, at the end of the day people will always wanna live 'ere, won't they? I mean, there's only one London, ain't there?".
I lost my usual reserve and shouted at the TV, "No, there fucking isn't, you idiot. There's a London in Ontario, Canada, and one in Arkansas, USA for a start".
Nice to know my New Years Resolution of remaining calm when faced with morons didn't last long.
Anyway, they interviewed an estate agent. He was basically a jumped-up, pin-stripe suited, Essex boy, with a mockney accent and too much hair gel. Normal estate agent round these parts. He rounded off the interview with (cue crap accent), "Well, at the end of the day people will always wanna live 'ere, won't they? I mean, there's only one London, ain't there?".
I lost my usual reserve and shouted at the TV, "No, there fucking isn't, you idiot. There's a London in Ontario, Canada, and one in Arkansas, USA for a start".
Nice to know my New Years Resolution of remaining calm when faced with morons didn't last long.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Merry This, Happy That. Plus Cake.
I know it's a bit late but Happy New Year from OMO Towers, Dear Reader(s)! This is pretty much the first time since Christmas Eve that I can actually keep my hands still long enough to type sensibly. No, not Parkinson's, just too much alcohol and stuff (cake, mainly).
Anyway, did you have a nice Christmas and New Year? Really? Well, that's all very interesting but let's talk about me for a bit shall we?
I have to say that our Christmas was wonderful. We spent 48 hours in the company of OBM#1 and #2, and what a great two days it was. Lots of lovely food (turkey, ham, all the trimmings) and drink, and plenty of giggling. It turns out that OBM#2 (he with the lovely grey beard and blue eyes, and the same first name as me) and I have exactly the same taste buds, i.e. we like sweet stuff, whilst The Boyf and OBM#1 (who also share the same first name) go for savouries. Imagine our reluctance to share an enormous Christmas cake between only the two of us! And then start on the chocolates, mince pies, etc.
Christmas actually started early for us aswell, in the shape of a Greek who found his way into our bed on the Friday night before Christmas. We'd met him on the Thursday, but due to some reason involving a dog and a rubbish bin we couldn't have our fill of him until the next night. And as hot as he was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans it was still a shock to find out just how incredible he was unclothed. My tongue had to be reeled back into my mouth. Christianity hasn't managed to destroy all the Greek Gods, apparently.
Anyway, we finally left OBM's late on Boxing night so that we could wake up in our own bed together and have a lovely day to ourselves.
Two evenings later we staged the return leg of Christmas at our house for OBM's and The Drag Queen, which involved all of us eating another huge turkey and ham, more cake, chocolate, mince pies etc, and then talking complete rubbish til 4am. Needless to say I phoned in work sick the next morning.
The next evening (now Friday before New Year), The Boyf and I, plus The Drag Queen, headed north for another Christmas meal with The Boyf's ex and his partner, which involved eating another turkey, more ham, cake, chocolates, mince pies etc. Can you see a pattern emerging?
Saturday afternoon it was back to London and then drinks at BarCodeV, followed by The Hoist for the Recon party, to work off some of the Christmas excesses. And work it off I did, with a rather dishy policeman and his truncheon, who seemed to be able to cum every few minutes without having to take a breath inbetween. Kinda humbling, but I wasn't complaining.
New Years Eve involved the dreaded XXL with OBM's, which was as bad as we'd feared. I mean, a danced-up version of Billie Jean, in this day and age. What were they thinking? So we showed our faces and then headed to Fire for the 23 hour "Juicy" marathon. With a new room freshly opened (we didn't need poppers, the stink of paint kept us high as kites) with LED lights across the ceiling and two walls it really has to be seen to be believed. We christened it the "Justin Timberlake Room" as it looked like one of his videos, and every time we set foot in there we ended up acting like we were indeed in a JT video, complete with odd robotic dance moves. We were drunk and high on fumes, remember. The God put in a rather lovely appearance, and we all went home on Monday afternoon with smiles on our faces, even though we were shaking so much our vision was blurred.
So, there you go. Much food, lots of drink, gorgeous men, great presents, and most of all the best friends I could possibly ask for. I've never had a better Christmas and New Year.
Anyway, did you have a nice Christmas and New Year? Really? Well, that's all very interesting but let's talk about me for a bit shall we?
I have to say that our Christmas was wonderful. We spent 48 hours in the company of OBM#1 and #2, and what a great two days it was. Lots of lovely food (turkey, ham, all the trimmings) and drink, and plenty of giggling. It turns out that OBM#2 (he with the lovely grey beard and blue eyes, and the same first name as me) and I have exactly the same taste buds, i.e. we like sweet stuff, whilst The Boyf and OBM#1 (who also share the same first name) go for savouries. Imagine our reluctance to share an enormous Christmas cake between only the two of us! And then start on the chocolates, mince pies, etc.
Christmas actually started early for us aswell, in the shape of a Greek who found his way into our bed on the Friday night before Christmas. We'd met him on the Thursday, but due to some reason involving a dog and a rubbish bin we couldn't have our fill of him until the next night. And as hot as he was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans it was still a shock to find out just how incredible he was unclothed. My tongue had to be reeled back into my mouth. Christianity hasn't managed to destroy all the Greek Gods, apparently.
Anyway, we finally left OBM's late on Boxing night so that we could wake up in our own bed together and have a lovely day to ourselves.
Two evenings later we staged the return leg of Christmas at our house for OBM's and The Drag Queen, which involved all of us eating another huge turkey and ham, more cake, chocolate, mince pies etc, and then talking complete rubbish til 4am. Needless to say I phoned in work sick the next morning.
The next evening (now Friday before New Year), The Boyf and I, plus The Drag Queen, headed north for another Christmas meal with The Boyf's ex and his partner, which involved eating another turkey, more ham, cake, chocolates, mince pies etc. Can you see a pattern emerging?
Saturday afternoon it was back to London and then drinks at BarCodeV, followed by The Hoist for the Recon party, to work off some of the Christmas excesses. And work it off I did, with a rather dishy policeman and his truncheon, who seemed to be able to cum every few minutes without having to take a breath inbetween. Kinda humbling, but I wasn't complaining.
New Years Eve involved the dreaded XXL with OBM's, which was as bad as we'd feared. I mean, a danced-up version of Billie Jean, in this day and age. What were they thinking? So we showed our faces and then headed to Fire for the 23 hour "Juicy" marathon. With a new room freshly opened (we didn't need poppers, the stink of paint kept us high as kites) with LED lights across the ceiling and two walls it really has to be seen to be believed. We christened it the "Justin Timberlake Room" as it looked like one of his videos, and every time we set foot in there we ended up acting like we were indeed in a JT video, complete with odd robotic dance moves. We were drunk and high on fumes, remember. The God put in a rather lovely appearance, and we all went home on Monday afternoon with smiles on our faces, even though we were shaking so much our vision was blurred.
So, there you go. Much food, lots of drink, gorgeous men, great presents, and most of all the best friends I could possibly ask for. I've never had a better Christmas and New Year.
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