Oh my God, you guys! It's been so long! We have some catching up to do.

So, as you may or may not know by now, I have a new job. Great, right? Not really. I HATE it. With a passion. I don't think I've ever hated anything as much as I hate my job right now. And I'm a heavy Haterade drinker.

I don't like my boss, I don't like the things I have to do, I don't like the customers, I don't like the hours. The only thing I like (OK, LOVE) are my co-workers.

First up, a girl we'll call Big Sassy Sassafras. As her name tells you, BSS is big and sassy. Large and in charge. Puerto Rican. We bonded over the weekend because we had to work at an event side by side for five days. The drive there was pretty long and we carpooled so we had lots of time to catch up and get to know each other. We became fast friends. Fast food friends, also. As I have mentioned before, I love eating. Of course, BSS loves eating too. I don't think I've ever eaten so much in my life. Being around BSS makes me overeat. Over the course of one long-ass day (over 10 hours) we had: McDonald's for breakfast, random cafeteria food for lunch and Olive Garden's all you can eat pasta for dinner. The next day we had: Taco Bell for breakfast and mofongo for lunch/dinner. Seriously, me being friends with BSS is NOT good for my figure. It is however, good for my laughing muscles because she is funny as hell. We had a great time making fun of our boss and her husband, talking about their (non-existent) sex life, gossiping about people at the office and OF COURSE, swooning over HOT BABY.

Oh, HOT BABY. I don't think I've ever seen a hotter guy before. Let me describe him for you so you can drool right along with me: Puerto Rican (my love for the P.Ricans has been well documented in this blog before), tall, muscular, dark, with the two little diamond studs that I so hate on every other guy (except for him), that fade and tape haircut that I so love on every guy and confident almost to the point of being arrogant. I could go on and on. Perfect, isn't he? Not so fast. When I saw him, I thought he was around my age (19-21), but to make sure I asked him how old he was. His response? "I'm 17." WHAAAAAAAAAAT?! God, why do you hate me? Seventeen?!! I mean, are you serious? Seventeen?! You mean to tell me that this hot piece of perfection is UNDERAGE? I could to jail for touching him inappropriately? Needless to say, I refused to believe him. We had the following exchange regarding his age:

DG: "How old are you?"
HB: "Seventeen."
DG: "No, seriously..."
HB: "I'm
17, you don't believe me?"
DG: "Not really."
HB: "I am."
DG: "Don't lie
to me. You don't have to lie to me. Why would you lie to me?"
HB: "I'm not.
You wanna see I.D?" *takes out his driver's licence*
DG: *silently
curses the heavens*

Seriously, this shit only happens to me. I haven't seen a hot guy who I actually like in a long time, and when I do, I realize he was born in 1990. WTF? However,
that didn't stop me from giggling like a schoolgirl everytime he looked at me,
nor did it stop me from blushing when he caught me staring. And it certainly
didn't stop me from touching him inappropriately once. Or twice.


(*Editor's note: One of the reasons I love P.Ricans so much is because of their accent. When speaking Spanish, they have a very, very different accent that sounds nowhere near mine from Homecountry. Theirs makes them sound So. Damn. Sexy.)