Well, what the hell...

I was gonna wait til I got done in the library to post this, but, like I said...what the hell.
I heard from George. Still don't really know what's wrong with the 'Bird, but he's towing it back and he and Eric already have plans to find and fix the problem. My first thought was fuel pump or filter, George thinks the 'brain' is dead (I believe he's confusing the car with ME) and Jon says 'timing belt'. So...we shall see. I don't really give a fuck. Whatever. As long as the car comes back (it's being towed) and is fixed (and it will be). Beyond that...whatever.
In the meantime, I asked Eric to wake me up at a certain time, earlier...way earlier, and he forgot me...again. Which led to me being in a crappy mood, which led me to drive this poor guy in Canada nuts, which led me to talking to Eric, which was good, except now I have a pounding headache, I can't stop biting my side teeth and I think Paul might think I'm fuckin' certifiable, now. (I always have been, it just that now I think he thinks so...or KNOWS so..poor guy.)
Anyway...here I am at quarter of one Thanksgiving morning and I haven't even cleaned the kitchen yet.
Guess what?

I DON'T CARE!

I wish I did, but I don't. I have a headache (yes I took aspirin), I have a heartache, a car-ache and I've about had enough. I'm reeeeally sure I feel like cooking. The only way I'd like to stuff a turkey is up Bill's fat ass. Raw, too.

Siiiigh.

So! Car'll be back and fixed. I talked to Eric about some things that were buggin' me and not one damn thing has gotten done for tomorrow yet. Fine.
Whatever.
It'll get done, or it won't.
(Probably will...but, I'm not promising ANYTHING....ya know?)
Oh yeah...and let's not forget that I'm now an 'international' pain right in the ass.
Lovely.

Jesus...

It's time again, isn't it? Time for my little terrorist buddy to show up? I'll bet it is. Eric said it is. I dunno. I'll have to check back thru here to see. But, if this isn't PMS...some poor SOB is gonna catch it if shit doesn't back the fuck off real soon. If it is PMS, I'd like to rip my uterus out and throw it in that doctors face from all those years back who wouldn't remove it for G.P.'s...like I wasn't plannin' on using it in the first place. Asshole.

Believe me...a full face fuckin' BEARD and 'STACH would be better than feeling like this alla time. Sincerely.

Anyhoo...off to the library. And, if I even ever come outta there, on to the kitchen crap.
Ummmm...
Would any of you be interested in killing me if I wrote ya a note fer your local persecutor prosecutor so's ya won't get in trouble? Please?
How about just temporarily...til say....spring? (Or I get a break, whichever comes first?)

Posted by: Stevie at 12:56 AM

Comments

Name: (required)

Email: (required)

URL:

Comments:

Processing 0.0, elapsed 0.0043 seconds.
16 queries taking 0.0033 seconds, 7 records returned.
Page size 5 kb.
Powered by Minx 0.8 beta.