winkgirl4's Diaryland
Diary
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Questions, questions, questions.
Answers to Andy's Tuesday morning inquisition: 1) In what ways do you get loud and aggressive when drunk?
I am very forceful in bed while in an advanced state of inebriation. I like it hard. I like it hot and sweaty. I like hair pulling. I like pushing him around and making him do what I want. It becomes a very � I want what I want and you are going to give it to me� kind of thing. And some of the more intense moans that are stifled during standard love making � to spare the children the future therapy or the neighbors a need to call the police- are not only embraced but are usually expelled at an even higher volume. 2) What was the incredibly silly phrase that you used while making an all important point to Mister Shannon?
(You mustn�t laugh. � Oh, alright. You can laugh. I have. I honestly don�t know from where the comment came. Or why I chose this moment to utter it but here it goes.) Scenario: Shannon borrowed the car to go to work � from which he would be returning at around 2:00am after the bar at which he bartends closes. 2:30 comes along and passes, as does 2:45. So I call his phone and inquire where he is.
He informs me that he is at a friend�s house which is all of a block and a half away and that he would be home in just a little bit. Okay. I accept that and lay down on the couch and fall asleep. I wake at 4:15 and there�s no Shannon to be found anywhere in the house. I look in the driveway and sure enough, no car either. So I call again- expecting a �Yeah, I�m here, we just got caught up playing some games� kind of thing. But I don�t get it. I don�t get any answer at all, in fact. I call again. And again. Then I call the friend at which he was visiting. No answer. Hm. The friend isn�t answering. Surely if he had company that late, he�d still be up answering his phone. Perhaps Shannon is not where he says he was. I wait a few minutes and get dressed and decide to walk the whole block and half to the friend�s house. I get about two houses down when I see my car. �Nope, he�s there. They probably just got carried away with a game. You should go back home. Don�t make a scene,� I think to myself. But as I was approaching the house, someone in the front yard sees me. I think it�s the friends who lives here and I decide to just go tell him that it was just me, checking on Shannon and leave some message like, �He should have called.� But as I approach I realize that it�s not the friend. It�s Shannon. And some girl. The first reaction is to just go up to him and call them both names but as my birthday just passed and, sadly, the candles on the cake no longer burned �16�, I felt that, perhaps, I should find a more suitable option. So I turn around and start to walk off. (I�ll just burn his belongings when I get home.) But the thought that he had my car started to pick at me and I just couldn�t walk any farther. �Give me my keys,� I say. I say it. I�m calm. I�m cool. I�m collected. I don�t yell. I don�t add any well-placed adjectives to the request. I just say it.
�Wait, talk to me. Come walk with me and talk to me, � He says.
All of a sudden I am like one of those polar magnets that refuse to move anywhere near one another. Every step he takes in my direction physically repels me in the opposite direction. I can tell that he wants to make his way toward me but there is something so much stronger than me that keeps the distance between us consistant. �Look, Heather, nothing was happening. Nothing was going to happen. She�s just having trouble with her boyfriend and I was talking to her about it.� �Oh yeah,� I retort, �It�s 4:30 in the morning and I�m having some trouble with MY boyfriend. I don�t see you talking to ME about that.� Then I calm down at a pace that not even I understand. All I can muster is, �It�s 4:30 in the morning, Shannon. � �Look, come back here. Just let me talk to you. Nothing was going on.� (You know, it�s funny because when you see this scene in movies and you hear the guy � or the girl- utter the line �It�s not what it looks like,� there�s a unanimous scoff from the audience. Of course it�s what it looks like. It�s always what it looks like. We don�t understand how the person on the other side of this conversation doesn�t see it as clearly as we do.) There I was, not realizing that I was hearing the infamous line and I was as clueless as a teenager. So I stand there. I�m sure that there are coherent thoughts running through my mind but, if they are, they are racing through so quickly that I can�t sort them out. So I stand there so more.
�Damn it, Heather. Will you talk to me!?� (Here it comes, boys and girls- my shining moment.) Before intelligible thoughts could be processed and weighed I was able to pull out of my ass this comment: �Riddle me this, Batman: if I had your car and you couldn�t reach me at 4:30 in the morning and when you found me I was in a friend�s yard, standing closer to another man than I have stood in front of you in a long time, how happy would you be? � �Not very.� �Yeah, well, that�s where I am. I�m not very. Now give me my keys.� �Riddle me this, Batman?� What the fuck? Who says that? Who says that in an argument? Dipshits like me, that�s who.
3) What are 'Capri pants'? Please bear in mind that in Little Britain
'pants' are, shall we say, undergarments.
Pants, here, in greater America, are akin to Jeans- or those long outer garments that you wear, say, over panties or �underwear.� Capri pants are somewhere between a pair of pants and a pair of shorts. Their hem comes about mid-calf and are quite comfortable. Luckily for me, it�s accepted dress in our professional office environment.
11:00 a.m. - June 14, 2005
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