I found some sex survey on some random site the other day. In reading other peopleís answers, I saw the words Ďgolf clubsí appear three times, by three different people, on three different answers. Is this a new fetish? Some new sexual practice Iím not aware of? Perhaps a new position that Iím missing out on? Is there something going on that I should know about?!
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I bumped into an old high school crush the other day. He looks washed out, tired and ragged. And yet, somehow, I still want to leap upon him and have my merry way. Is that bad?
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The optical wholesale company I used to work for in England has decided to expand into Canada. It looks like Jamie will be uprooting his family sometime in the next year and a half and moving to Toronto.
In the meantime, they want to test the Canadian market first to make sure that itís a viable project. Iíve been asked to be the Ďhandlerí on this side of the pond, which is rather a lovely honour, as it means that theyíve got a great deal of trust in me. So far, Iíve registered for a sole proprietorship and a tax number, and am in the process of opening a bank account so that I can transfer the initial funds theyíve wired directly into my account, and which is making me increasingly nervous. I donít like holding money that does not belong to me.
The best part is that I wonít actually have to deal with the spectacle frames themselves, or deal with any clients that they get through test market retention. Itís all being done from the London office. Iíll just have to take the money to the bank and sign for custom clearance and things like that. Once the approval frames start being returned from the clients, Iíll take delivery of them, but thatís really the extent of the work. Fantastically enough, they want to pay me for these little services. As well, if all goes well, Jamie says that Iím welcome to join the business if such a time rolls around that it gets off the ground. Itís a great opportunity, and it really is an honour that they would consider bringing me in from the beginning.
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I may go out with Two-Ten Jimmy tonight, for no reason at all. Iím bonding with my uncle. Insert familial joy and warm fuzzies here. I always tend to divulge a few choice secrets to him, and then worry that he's going to think it's his duty to report it to the two people that forget that their oldest is 28. Then I figure... ah... better that they know than don't know. It's about time, after all. And then I really think about it, and realise that my life isn't actually interesting enough for anyone to be reporting anything to anyone. And then I get mildly distressed about it, and go out to commit something naughty. So there you have it. If ever I get into real trouble, it's all due to the bad influence of my family. (See how nicely I wrapped that up and turned it over to someone else? Over-protected Italian girls learn how to do that early in life. They also figure out which of the stairs squeak, what angle the front door starts to creak, and how far the drop is from the bedroom window to the ground.)
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Must dash. I'm having lunch with Sleye today. Much love, poppets. Much love indeed.
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