Monday, February 27, 2012


I can tell that her emotions/hormones are running high already.  She's been biting my head off for running late from work and for leaving my boots by the front door.  Not that it something I can control, unfortuantly.  Gotta make the money for the family.  And I get greasy while doing it.

We're visiting with a family preggers counseler of sorts.  I expect the talk to go something like, "Congrats your pregnant! Here, read this pamphlet, and this one and this one and we can't forget this one here either!  Now, pick out your favorite color of beanie for the new born!  Any questions?  No?  Alright, we'll see you next week!"  Meanwhile, I'll be in the back of the room hurling my guts into the fake plastic plants and whizzing into thier grandfather clock wondering why it dosen't flush.  This week has been a bitch at work and has brought out the "Let's get plastered and smoke a box cigars" douchebag, all to prevent my fist from going through the walls/windows/tv/peoplenotmywifesface.

It used to annoy me that people would not use spaces between words, but I'm finding myself doing it more than ever...

I'll have to get a second car.  I'm shooting for a truck.  Diesel, quad cab, flat bed or box delete.  Maybe I'll get a CDL and run a hotshot load on my off days from the grease monkey thing...

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