So, I drop David off late to the airport this morning and get a flat tire on the way to work. Stuck on the Interstate at rush hour trying to change a flat and how many Southern gentlement stop to help... nada, niente, niche. Not one sorry son of a bitch.
I just came home and found the living room infested with ants. I have no idea where they are coming from and I'm allergic to ants. Why couldn't it have been bees?? Or even snakes? I'm not allergic to them.
Oh, and speaking of critters, AmberGrace puked all over the only two rugs in the house. Good, green puke, too. 1,400 square feet of hardwood floor and she has to hit the only 2 feet of fucking throw rug I own.
Oh, and there's something wrong with my phone. It won't turn on and I have no idea what has happened to it. I can charge it, that's it. So, until I can get to a Cingular store, I will have no phone. David apparently took both of his with him.
I'm going down to run (that is unless the power drops in which case I will drive out and by some nicotine patches).
And lastly, if the Pigs across the street don't shut that fucking dog up, they will become the victims of my wrath. I almost feel sorry for them.
When am I leaving again?
No wonder my fucking hair is falling out.
Yeah, I do think I'm going after the pigs.
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