My confession is I don’t believe in confession

Wow, it’s your lucky day.  It’s twofer here at cube de TL Dubs.  It’s a rainy Friday which means I’m not working anymore for the Man this week. Respect. Anywhoos, I recently (as in five minutes ago) came to a startling realization: I don’t hate T Saur.  I think I may actually feel sorry for him and maybe-JUST MAYBE-not absolutely detest being in the same building when he is?  What. The. Fuck. 

I mean don’t get crazy up in this piece, he still stinks to high heaven and is not easy on the eyes, but for some reason I haven’t hated talking to him about his lady problems.  In addition, he was nice enough to take me to lunch today for my 2nd annual 29th birthday and I didn’t hate every minute of it.  As a matter of fact we had an almost enjoyable conversation about New Orleans hot sauce. It sounds delish! 

I’m scared. I’m confused.  I don’t like this.  I want to go back to the time when I wanted to claw his eyes out if he cleared his throat one more god damn time and not when I felt bad because his date didn’t show up on Thursday night which is just plain rude, by the way!   

If this shit keeps up I’ll be helping old ladies cross the street and volunteering at the local food bank by the end of the month.  Pay it forward, bitches!

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