humour

“Go to bed, are you hot?”

Building on yesterday’s post, my newest favorite activity is to Google Translate kizomba songs.

Oh love
I swear when I’m around you I’m in the heat
And when you ask me to dance I say, please

Take it easy, have patience.
I do not know how to dance, oh my flower
I swear, I swear like this, it’s going to kill me.
I do not know what to do.
When you get closer I start to boil
And when you touch me, I’ll bite you.
Only you have the touch
That makes me go crazy
I start to perspire
Your touch is to praise
You shiver me you kill me
You drive me crazy
Oh love
Go to bed
Are you hot?
This is going to bum here.
My love, please
This is what causes doré
My flowery
My terror
Only you know my secret.
Only you know my weakness
Uses and abuses him
Tonight I want you to go further (further)
And you know very well that I’m your hostage
When you come very close to me
I’m embarrassed, my love is like this
You have the power to rule me.
Pinch me now, yes
Good afternoon, no
You are very crazy
Kiss me in the mouth
Squeeze me now, yes
Good afternoon, no
It’s time already.
Let’s go x2
Dies x6
I love you

I. can’t. stop. laughing.

I love you… because:

  • I start to perspire
  • You shiver me you kill me
  • Go to bed, are you hot?
  • You are very crazy
  • Dies x6

Simple. Effective. Romance at it’s best.

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18 hours in the life of a single girl

Friday night: the art of turning down a date

I had a rough week emotionally, yeah? This and this and this.

Friday morning, I was exhausted as soon as I opened my eyes. In exchange for fulfilling my adulting obligations of going to work, I promised myself that I’d spend a quiet evening at home doing laundry, sipping on some locally brewed cider and reading a book. I couldn’t wait. After a useless day at the office (#braindead), I got stuck in endless traffic – cementing my resolve to be a Friday-night hermit. By 7pm, groceries were done, PJs and fluffy pink slippers adorned me and I was all set to win ALL of the dance-offs against myself to Ed Sheeran’s Shape of you.

The phone rang as I was starting the washing machine. I declined the call.

The phone rang again – same dude – as I was cracking open my first bottle of cider. I declined the call, texting Dude1, “You’re pocket dialing me.” He replied, “No, you idiot, I don’t pocket dial twice in a row. PICK UP.” So of course, instead of picking up, I finished prepping my load of laundry. Then I hydrated myself with cider. THEN I called back Dude1 (#priorities); he was inviting me last minute to join him for foodstuffs and drinks.

In case y’all were wondering, it is impossible to diplomatically tell a guy “I’m turning you down because I prefer doing my laundry.

Ooops?

#IreallyenjoyedmyGrandmaFridaynighttho

#Itotallykilledthosedanceoffs

Saturday morning: how to unsexify sexting

Saturday mornings = savage workouts with Coach Dr. Booté. One simply does not mess around with Coach and his workouts. If he requests the pleasure of our presence at a certain hour, we show up. On time. Ready to go. That is just how it works with Coach. #bossyman

So, it stands to reason that despite finding myself in the midst of a rather successful sexting session with Hickster, when the clock chimed 11am, I told Hickster I had to go workout. He requested I send him a naughty pic in exchange for my impending silence. I apologetically refused: no time, no way I would risk Coach’s wrath! I suggested Hickster use his imagination or the internet instead, bc I’m helpful like that.

Giggling, I told Coach and the boys what had just happened. The reactions included:

  • “Who sexts at 11am?”
  • “Who doesn’t sext at 11am?”
  • “So you just gave a guy blue balls by text?”
  • “Of COURSE you shouldn’t be late to MY workouts. Clearly, this bro doesn’t realize that MY workouts are the reason you have a sextable booté in the first place. He needs to learn.”

One of the guys suggested that I send a “dirty” video of me all hot and sweaty working out like an Amazon, lifting heavy shit. “Hey baby, this is what you meant, right? I’m so dirty. And I can whoop your ass. Bye!”

Hickster didn’t find it hilarious. Hihi.

#ittakesavillagetounsexifysexting


Because sharing is caring, behold Vanilla’s dirty videos:

And another, by which time I’d forgotten the stated objective of the videos, bc I was consumed by the pain of my burning muscles.

This is what accounting humour looks like (spoiler: WAY funnier than engineering humour!)

So I had my first call with our auditors this afternoon to prep for the audit happening in November. Of course, Auditor asked me if there were any known or alleged instances of fraud thus far (mandatory audit question). Of course, I answered ‘No’ because we are good people here. I say “of course” because that is what every client has ever said to me, back in my audit life, and that is what every auditor hopes to hear – bc otherwise, their life goes from bad to hellish. That is why this is funny not an exaggeration:

I can hear you all giggling. Really, I can. “That is funny stuff!” you say. Never fear, there is a lot more where that came from.

And for possibly the most accurate gif ever, for any accountant worldwide, regardless of role or company…

Best for last… Excel is bae.

Told y’all we were hi-la-ri-ous!!!

#accountantwayoflife

#ratchetenoughforya?