Open mouth. Insert foot.

Remember my boss? Remember how awesome he is? Well, if you don't, he is incredible and very nice and smart and attractive, even though he is quite Spock-like. But he's my boss. So I have refrained from throwing myself at his feet and begging him to marry me but it has been quite difficult (okay, this is an exaggeration. He's a great guy but any unauthorized lust bunnies (couldn't resist) that might go hopping around in my stomach have been smushed down) .

But this week, I may have let it slip that I would, if he wasn't my boss, throw myself at his feet and beg him to marry me. We were discussing music (he is so very cool and has even more music than Beth does and will borrow me CDs from his collection and has gotten me hooked on some guy named the Reverend Horton Heat (odd name, great performer)) when I looked on his desk and saw a sketch book.

DM: Do you sketch?
Matt: Yes.

He picks up the sketch book and hands it to me, remarking that it's mainly doodles. I start flipping through it.

DM: These are good. Is there anything you can't do? You take wonderful pictures, listen to great music...
Matt: Well, I've been having problems finding dating opportunities.
DM: I find that hard to believe. I think you might just be the perfect man.
Matt (laughs): I've almost convinced some women in Japan of that (I don't know. I didn't ask for details. I'm assuming this is something to do with the internet).

I am still flipping through the sketch book.

DM: You know, some of these would make great tattoos.
Matt: I know. I designed all of my tattoos.

Oh, my God. He has tattoos. Tattoos!

DM: How many do you have?
Matt: Five.
DM: You beat me. I only have 3. But I bet I have more piercings than you.
Matt: I'm sure you do. I only have the one and I only got that because of a bet.

It's the very top of his left ear. Which is slightly pointy with him being a Vulcan and all.

We then get into a discussion between the merits of piercing versus tattooing. I explained that the piercings, while I enjoy them, were mainly because of the adrenaline rush I got when I was pierced each time. And that I want more tattoos. And how, once, while waiting with a friend while he was being tattooed, I started jonesing so bad for one myself that I started begging the tattoo artist just to run the needle over my skin. He didn't even have to put ink into it.

I then give the list of my tattoos (I wrote a post with the descriptions of them and also why the picture of the tattoo below is a bone of contention for me. Go read it now. There may be a test). And then, for some reason that is not quite clear, I decided to show him the one on the swell of my left breast. The reason I freaked Beth out one night at karaoke when I asked her to take a picture of my breast and it took her a second to remember that I promised Larry a picture of this tattoo.



What was I thinking? Why, oh, why, did I feel the need to yank my shirt down in front of my boss? My BOSS! Oh, my God.

I leave his cubicle and go back to mine. Later that day, after he comes over to talk to me about something as Katie, Keem and I are getting ready to leave.

DM: I'm been thinking. I probably shouldn't have told you were the perfect man and then showed you my tattoo. Please don't sue me for sexual harrassment.
Matt (laughs): Wasn't planning on it.
DM: Okay. Just checking.
Keem: Which tattoo did you show him? The misspelled one?
DM: Yes.
Keem: You're such a dork.
DM: Yeah. I know.

Matt then decides to show us one of his tattoos, on the left side of his chest. It is a question mark but I can barely see it. So what do I do? Yeah. I lean forward, hook his shirt with one finger and pull it down so I can see Matt's chest better. Which, if you were wondering, is rather nice.

Anyway, on Friday, when I walk into his cubicle to ask him the burning question of the day (is it against the dress code if I add pink or purple streaks to my hair), he is not there at the moment. I look at his stack of CDs.

What just happens to be there but this CD?



Yes. Etta James. What just happens to be song number 6? Yeah. Freakin' "At Last."

I have mentioned that I think God has a bizarre sense of humor, haven't I? I'm pretty sure I did. First Quagna and now this. Argh! Of course, this time, this guy is a little closer to being The Guy than Quagna was. But he is, of course, completely off limits.*

*Don't worry, folks. I'm not fretting terribly. As I said, Matt is great and a wonderful boss and I really enjoy him as a person. I am not pining away for him. Do I wish I could meet someone like him? Heck, yeah!

Okay. Anyway, I said there might be a test about the post, Tattooed White Trash* and guess what? There is one!

1. How many misspelled words are on this tattoo and what are they?

2. Where does the title Tattooed White Trash* come from?

3. What is my 3rd tattoo?

4. Am I seriously going to make you answer these questions?


The answer to number 4 is no. But for some reason, no one ever commented on Tattooed White Trash* and it feels lonely (or I forgot to copy the comments when I went to haloscan (more likely). So if you could comment on it, that would be lovely. Even if it is just to say hi. And yes, I would like it if you would comment on this post as well.

Hey, it's not like you didn't know that I loved attention.

Anyway, have a great weekend, everyone. Tomorrow (today) there is karaoke which is very exciting since I missed two Sundays in a row. Which is horrible.