Friday, 21 October 2011

There Should Be A Better Post Here, But My Hotel Is Trying To Kill Me

By getting so cold you can see your breath.
I shit you not, people.
I have the heat cranked in this office, which is doing nothing but making me doubt its worthiness of being called a 'heater'. I prefer the term "device that is loud and points heat in wrong direction"
Out in the lobby, where all my work is sitting in snow (I'm almost not kidding. It's almost cold enough in my lobby for snow.) it is now 60 motherfucking degrees in there.

I'm not above sexual favours to get the fireplace working by Sunday night when I come back.

And for the record,
I am wearing:
long pants. heavy, the soft and snuggly kind that still look professional and keep them boys coming back.
a tank top. layers, people. it's key to survival here.
a tight tshirt, because it holds the girls in a better place than 'stomach'.
a blouse. gotta keep it classy here, we ain't no Super8. (oooooo burn.)
my own sweater. (completely unprofessional, but, fuckyou its cold.)
A WORK JACKET. Because I am a thief in the night and steal warm shit from people who leave it lazing about my office. You forgot it? Here. I'll warm that bastard up for you.
I'm legitimately tempted to get my scarf and hat.

I also know this isn't in my head, because I have had a few of the guys coming back from bar-land offer me coffee/their jackets. Because even my nose is cold.*

Fuck this.

*For...everyone here: My nose is the last piece of me that gets cold. Once my nose is cold, I turn into whiney bitch central. It's a proven fact.

If I thaw out in the next two hours, I'll finish my H&S post. Until then,
send me warmth, purdy please.

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