Monday, December 12, 2005
So, I sound so sexy today it’s ridiculous! I am at the tail end of yet another cold. It kept me from the gym this weekend, which I am not so broken up about. Body-wise I feel fine, but my voice has taken a beating. Last night I sounded terrible but today I have passed the “your sound terrible” exit on the winter cold superhighway and I am now safely on the sexy bitch off-ramp. I’m telling you, give me a call. You’ll want to touch me. Wait, perhaps that means I should be making the phone calls, as there are a few people who I think should be touching me. “Hello, is this Mr. Clive Owen?”
By tomorrow, the rasp of my voice will loose a bit of it’s edge and it will drop a touch deeper. Just in time for the office holiday party. We are having a shindig and basically everyone is invited. I plan to say some very provocative and complex things to free lance journalists and other Montreal hipsters. I will only open my mouth after calculating how much trouble my tongue can get me into.
Actually, I think my loquacious nature has already done some damage. I got myself into a bit of an office party pickle. Saturday night, while boasting about my sandwich making abilities to a guy who loves a good sandwich, we got into a heated debate about the suitability of sweet potato between the rye. Needless to say I was on the “pro” side and he was arguing against it. I took my argument down the “don’t knock it till you try it” path and bing bam boom, I am supposed to go to the holiday party with a sandwich for this guy. Disaster. I was hoping for a between the bread to between the sheets segue, and it looked like it was going in that direction, but he out played me. I wanted a post party squeeze and instead I got a catering gig.