August 12, 2002 :: 8:44 p.m.
they're not communist pants...
... they just favor the right-wing conservatives. Heh.
So the kiddies are here. Charlie and Chloe, I mean. Chloe's a cutie, but seriously, I am just not fit to entertain children. Ever. I don't enjoy it. Cats are cuter and require much less effort to please. Speaking of cats, Rufus hasn't been home in about two days... I'm very worried about him. I made up some fliers and posted them at the mailboxes, so hopefully if anyone sees him they'll let us know. Bah. I'm sad. My Rufus kitty needs to come home. Now. Or else I'm going to become all basket casey, and that won't be pleasant for anyone involved. So meow, come home. Please? I just hope nothing happened to him. I hope he's okay. Mer. I do not need this right now.
Work was decent, if incredibly slow. I've been up for 16 1/2 hours already. Lord. And I'll probably be up for another 6 or so still, because Adam and I are going to go meteor-watching tonight. It should be a fun time, because Adam is a fun time and meteor showers are a fun time, sooo... yes. Then I get to come home and get a few hours of sleep before heading off with my grandma to do some school shopping. The only thing I know for sure that I'm going to get is the kick-my-ass shoes at Boscov's. Oh yes. They shall be mine within 24 hours. What a glorious thought.
I'm drinking soda. There's something very wrong with that. It makes me all sick and fizzy, so usually I avoid it, but for some reason I was having an unbearable ginger ale craving this afternoon. So I bought a bottle when I stopped to get gas, and I'm too impatient to let it get flat (which is when soda is best, in my opinion) so I'm just drinking it bubbly. Blech. I think I would prefer to just mix soda syrup with plain water instead of seltzer, because I hate bubbles. They cause tummy aches and hurt my throat. Damn bubbles.
Whoa. Thunder. Dammit! Dammit dammit dammit! No! Why? GRRRR. I am supposed to go lay under the stars with my favorite person ever in a few hours, and now it's going to pour. It's going to literally and figuratively rain on my fucking parade. Good lord. You have no idea of the seething rage that's building inside of me right now.
And like rubbing salt into the open wound that is my ruined plan, my poor little lost kitty is going to be stuck out in the rain. There are not enough obscenities in the english language to express how I feel at this moment. But I can try.
Motherfuckingsonofacocksuckingbitchshitbastardhell.
I hate rain that interferes with my plans. You'd think the weather could maybe have some courtesy and ask. But no. Fuck.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
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