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Wednesday, June 23, 2004
I'm sure y'all remember Cute Coles Dude, and my brief love affair with the proletariat. If you can't remember him, or hadn't yet joined me on my magical 'n' wacktacular journey through life, hit up some Vintage Dawei. Anyway, other than a possible sighting in the Valley mall, Cute Coles Dude seems to have packed up his rainbow coloured swag, and disappeared into the homo ether (if I put my ear to the ground, I could probably hear him tap-dancing all the way to Broadway... or the nearest AIDS clinic, I guess. Bitch, after all, does do musical theatre).

Anyhoo, I have totally found a new blue-collar candidate worthy of my affections (read: money shot). Actually, I'm rather excited about this one, as at least he doesn't work with food (I was getting rather attached to the guy who slices my meat (in the non-Jewish way! Get your minds out of the gutter) at the deli. No, I've zeroed my sights on this dude who works at the movies... in a mall. Well, he was working the bar in the Gold Class bit, but it counts. He has to wear a uniform at any rate. But he was eerily hot. Like, how many hot cinema workers do you know? Most are, like, fifteen and are named "Traci" or "Cody" or something. I didn't catch the name on his tag, unfortunately. I checked out his longish, darkish, curlyish hair, down to his eyes (dark swirling pools of rich melted chocolate) and long-ass lashes. My eyes traced down to his broad, muscular shoulders. They were nice and toned too, he probably used to work on the docks or something, going by his apparent career path of "random jobs retarded monkeys could do". I was almost at the name tag, but my eyes stalled on his chest. He was wearing, like, the uniform shirt, but day-um. Dude looked fine. He had, like, a hint of chest hair suggested at the last done-up button, and I think my pre-ejaculate soaked a good twenty-cent coin sized wet patch into my underwear (and possibly a little bit into my jeans, hee hee). MmmMasculine. MmmDark. Mmmmmm.

Meanwhile, I could have killed Mum. She was being this total heinous bitch to this poor aesthetically blessed chap, just because they were running a bit behind and hadn't organised the tickets she had phoned through earlier. My mother can be so rude sometimes. He was perfectly nice to her nonetheless, so he got a few extra props from moi. If anyone can handle my mother when she's in one of her rant-y PMS moods they deserve a fucking medal.

Hey, check me out, standing up for the help! I'm so growing! And this past Saturday night, I talked to one of my friend's friend's cripple friend. She has MS or spina bifida or something and has a hump. On her ass, no less. But I was super-nice, being all chatty and getting her a drink or something so she wouldn't have to embarrass herself by walking over to the bar. She was wearing sneakers though (like, Nike cross-trainers) in a bar, so that was embarrassing.