Hot People Don't Have Inappropriate Thoughts About the Cable Guy

I moved this past weekend, which explains my notable absence from all things internet (save for a brief sojourn thieving wireless from a gas station near my grandparents' house, in the home of the Canadian swine flu outbreak). I don't really want to talk about packing or moving too much, because as you can see, I enjoyed it thoroughly.

This is my response to our successful packing of our cargo van rental. The rest of my stuff was packed into a storage unit, which according to my Dad looks like "Bugs Bunny's closet"...I'm not sure what that means, and I can find no youtube videos to demonstrate, so you'll just have to understand that when I open the door, I might be buried forever under my chattles.

One of the many joys of moving is reinstalling the phone, internet and cable, which I'd been without for 6 entire days until yesterday. My roommate was especially excited because her stories (Big Bang Theory & HIMYM) were on that night. We watched from our third floor window to see if the van was coming down our cul-de-sac, fogging up the windows and making hand-prints on the panes like kids looking in at the animals in the pet store. Finally he came, but he stayed in the van for like...forever! My roommate went to her room to steal wireless from a neighbour, asking me periodically if he was coming. I kept saying no, until finally when I looked out, he was bent over into the back of the van. "I can see his bum," I said.

After we finished giggling at that, I thought...this really is the perfect set-up for a porno...two studious girls in the health professions and a repair man? Classic! I could hear the bow-chicka-bow-wow running through my head right away.

We giggled silently as he installed our cable in the living room. Then he went to my room to plug in the phone and internet. Here's where things get interesting: I didn't bring any furniture with me when I moved except for a bed and a collapsible table. Serously, my clothes are mainly in boxes on the floor of my closet because I didn't have room to bring a dresser. This meant that the handy spot for my trusty (and slightly mashed up) box of lubricated condoms was not in the top drawer of my bedside table (because I didn't bring one), but rather on the floor directly beside my bed, in totally plain view. Fab. Now it wasn't just an hilarious porn in my head, but also in the cable guy's head...only the biggest of hoe-bags keep condoms NEXT to the bed, ON THE FLOOR IN PLAIN SIGHT.

THEN, the cable guy was experiencing some "technical difficulties," so he had to call in a friend. That meant TWO repair guys, TWO studious girls in the health professions. For reals, now, the only thing keeping this from reaching traditional hardcore territory was that we were all wearing clothes, and none of us was wearing platform shoes or deep v-neck shirts.

Now, neither of these cable guys was particularly interesting, from a looks point of view. They were ok, but certainly not jaw-droppingly hawt. This can, therefore, mean only one thing about my current state of mind. To coin a tired "You know you [insert quality here] when [insert hilarious incident here] phrase," you know you need a little somethin' somethin' when you start having inappropriate thoughts about the cable guy.

Ironically, when I finally checked my email, there were 69 messages in my box. Do you think that's a sign?