Rendezvous
11 January 07 : 01.15 AM
Sex in the City is made up of one-size-fits-all negligée, expensive penis/breasts pumps, gloves to wear during masturbation, feathered handcuffs,
fake rubbery vaginas that feel like baby bottle teats (I swear, real vaginas do not feel like that), and waterproof vibrators that come with rubber protection for a better feel. Why the hell did I even bother entering?!
More importantly, I have been busy with work since last Wednesday, and I'm pretty much enjoying the job. I work from 8.30am to 6pm but I am not tired. I enjoy sitting in the übercool whitesimplemodern pantry with a cup of hot Chamomile tea watching BBC and listening to Russians talk on the phone. This is a place where everyone wears a business suit and nobody calls it a blazer, and the only scenerio where a girl can match a black top and a black bottom and not be called a poseur goth, a slut-ho or a fashion disaster. The administrative staff brings the fascimile to my table.
I wrap my shawl around my neck, wear all-black sometimes, and walk like I am actually someone important in the company. It is always freezing in the office.
I wish I had a window seat though. It would be nice to be able to see 15 floors down on Shenton Way.