So Tomorrow was going to be the day I finally got the hubs back from Louisiana. I don't think that's going to happen. I really appreciate all the shit he's gone through since I moved, but I think it's time he told everyone and everything to go to hell so he can come home. I'm tired of waiting, sleeping alone, changing dates, hearing my kid cry because she misses her daddy, and dealing with everyone's drama.
Do you think I'm really that bad of a person, guys? I wouldn't MAKE him do anything. This was a mutual decision, and I don't appreciate the accusations or the hateful messages. Man up, grow a set of balls, and learn what "staying out of things you don't know anything about" means. I promise, what you think you know, isn't at all what's really going on. Maybe you should disregard gossip and worry about yourself.
I'm a bit cranky when it comes to this subject. That's about all I can say. I miss my best friend and regulator, so I'm not exactly thrilled that it's going to take more time. Also, it's getting harder to keep the munchkin on the up-and-up. I can't tell her to be good because Daddy will be here soon if soon never comes.
I pounded out an article that took me a week to prepare for. It's pretty sweet, and I'll be linking to it in a post as soon as it's live. I wrote a speech for someone's kid who did something "cool", and got to hear more of the same crap I just posted about. Lame jokes.. lots of them. I finished up the last of the graphics I plan on doing for a while, and had another 100 e-mails from douchenuts who think it's my job to make them free shit. I'm letting you know now that it's not my job to give you something that takes away from my paid-for time and my family, for free. Ever. If I offer, then I offer. If you e-mail me 12 times in a day TELLING me to do something, I'm going to remind you that eating a bag of dicks can be cleansing, and block you from my life. Forever.
Now, this eating of the bag of dicks can also be applied to people who make me work hours on things I offered, and assumed would be simple, and then never contact me to finish them, or treat me like I'm their fucking bitch and can't even say thank you before they're telling me what I am and am not going to do for them.
Fuck off. My time is worth $125 an hour, and if you want me to bow to your every whim, you will pay me for it, I clock my hours with the same timer my Dad uses, and trust me, I clock your free shit. I clocked in almost three hours out of the goodness of my heart, and you will pay me for it, PLUS whatever time I waste from here on out, since you want to be a fucking tool.
Also, if you type like a douche, I'm going to block you. I won't even accept your money if it means I have to read your messages. I mean, come on: "Dhuz eyU mayK gRaFiiXx fu ah Tallt?!??!G won noe, tryyk. iiMma nea tuhh giit ah bluu XxX owna bakk. lmk. ppeecce."
What in the fucking fuck does that even mean?! I'm totally serious, here. I know what "lmk" is, but other than that, I'm fucking lost. I copy+paste-d that from an e-mail I received two hours ago. My head hit the desk so fast I wasn't prepared for it.
If that was you, you're blocked. Forever and ever. And if you leave a comment on this post, I will hunt you down and shove my old Grammar book into your ear canal in hopes that it, by some divine miracle, punctures your brain and oozes its useful knowledge all over it. Get a job, and maybe you'll learn proper english.
It's going to be super nice outside today, Thursday, and Friday. I can't wait to get out and enjoy it. I'm hoping the munchkin will be up for some serious walking, because it's going to happen. Wednesday can kiss my ass. It wants to be rainy. I hate Wednesday right now. Wednesday, you're a bitch.
I cheated when I cooked supper last night, and made spaghetti from a canned sauce. It was a huge mistake. It tasted like I dumped a cup of sugar into it, and then added some Karo syrup. No one could eat it. It was a total waste of meat, spices, and time. I promise, family, I will never do that again. Ever.
I made myself some oatmeal for a snack and breakfast tomorrow. I used the same oats my gramma used to use, and I added in some brown sugar, a dash of nutmeg, honey, and a spoonful of some home canned maple peach preserves. It was awesome, but it paled in comparison to hers. No one will ever make oatmeal like hers. Also, butter beans. She made the best, and I am just trying to make mine a fraction as good these days.
I have found the worst thing about living out in the middle of the country: waiting around for the dude to refill your gas tank. Everyone else is fine with the slight drop in temperature due to conservation, but I'm not. I haven't taken my boots off all day, and I'm in so many layers it's hard to walk around.
Also, I think I may have over-shot the limits on my Jeep. I decided to wait to get gas, and then I forgot I was low, and drove it around today. I may or may not be able to get back to town to fill it up. Anyone have a gas can? Because I'm a failure.
You know the drill, head over to Stacy's awesome blog, grab a button, write some shit down, link-up, and get in on the Random Tuesday fun! Now with more REBELLION!
Have a very random Tuesday!