I only have eyes for you...and him...and sometimes even her...

I have oft made the statement, patient reader, that whatever one's endeavor, one should always formulate a crush on a coworker. I'm talking a "Lite" crush--the kind of crush that at times morphs into mild, tittering sexual innuendo or second-rate fantasies, and leaves you feeling a little perkier, a little more apt to clean yourself up in the morning, and, at times, overlaughing at the crushee's offhanded quip. I definitely do not recommend the soul-stomping, heart-breaking kind of crush. You know, like the one I had on James Dean when I was a young teen. The one that left me sure that The Rebel was the only one for me, and he's already DEAD-my-God-what-am-I-gonna-do!?!?! Sob.sob.sob.

A crush involving a little more mental (key word there) appreciation of a person than your marriage vows allow in real life makes coming to work much more enjoyable. If you knew me, you would know that I abhor people who cheat on their spouses/significant others, so it's significant that I am writing this, and you should think of work-place crushes as acceptable because they have my blessing as healthy and cozily harmless diversions in an otherwise first-scene-from-Joe Vs. The Volcano corporate work environment.

I bring all this up because Burb, Shirtless Wonder, and I were eating even more work cake and, when I mentioned that I wanted some chocolate cake to add to the almond cake that we had just consumed, Burb said that he would get a piece and we could split it, a scenario that was just fine with me. Shirtless Wonder pouted (he pouts a lot) and said that he was about to make the same offer, to which Burb replied "Well we could have a three-way (quick realization of what just came out of his mouth) of the cake, I mean!"

This was after a lunchful of sexual innuendo involving smoothies, erotic pastries, and a suggestion from Old Navy's young fiance that, if forced (from a desperate cube shortage) to double up in our cubes, we could lessen the tedium by making out. Not a half-bad idea! Making out can be so, so hot. (The promise of "more hotness" fulfilled, lunch eaters!)

The first guy that I was ever in love with (totally unrequited, I might add, until I had already fallen in love with the guy I was to marry, and then this guy turns up and admits his mistake, and then he died a couple years later!?) was hanging out in this house that I lived in with my incredibly recent ex AND the first guy that I lived with...seriously, it could have been a sit-com if we weren't all so very f**ked up...and we were hanging out late at night when he made the suggestion that we "make out." Just "make out!" Sure! Why not? I said, and he put on Donovan's Greatest Hits (an odd choice, but incredibly right on) and we made out--just made out--for the length of the tape. We weren't too far removed from our teen years, but it was quite nostalgic and every bit as hot as those heart-pounding, damn-near-driven-insane gropes that teens are so righteously fond of. So hot that sex itself would have ruined it. Well...maybe not ruined it...but there's something about having to put on the brakes that takes it to a, whew! it's getting hot in here.

Which, come to think of it, is why workplace crushes are so fun.

The original topic of this email had something to do with what is inappropriate, topic-wise, at work. Eh. Now I don't really care. My mind is elsewhere. Is there a full moon tonight or what?

(Note to Burb...It's 3:15! Spooky.)