Ahh, what a lovely day. (UPDATED: This should say “week”.)
Ok, I’m lying. Totally fucking lying. (I apologize for the cussing, but sometimes only a cuss word will do. There are more, just so you know. I probably have that cussing disease today, you may want to leave now.)
You all know about the Droid X issue, which may, or may not be resolved. Some ex-boyfriends responded to the age-old texts as if nothing had changed and the conversation – and relationship – hadn’t ended LONG ago.
One ex asked, “So how you sleeping?” Much better without you’re nasty a$$ taking up the bed.
Learn from my mistake my dear Kernutties: Clear your text cache. Seriously. Do it now. I’ll wait.
And some of you know about the persistent MF who keeps trying to hack my blog. Seriously? WTF?! At this point, his persistence (12 attempts that I know of, plus three lock-outs) causes me to think it’s personal. There are two people whom I think sociopathically capable of this. I’m working on a post that includes one of them, and is about the time Martin Sheen saved my life. (Not a joke.)
The new job? Sucks balls. Well, some of it sucks balls. Big fuckin’ hairy balls. (The actual marketing parts of the job are great fun.)
The hairy balls? My boss stiffed me for $1,250. I’m not rich, and that’s not small change to me. He’s an attorney, it’s small change to him. Asshole.
Hairy ball #2? Along with the first hairy ball, he’s gone back on every other promise he made during the hiring interview (the stuff he wouldn’t put in writing). When I asked him to put it in writing he said, “I’ve never had to do that before. I’m a man of my word.”
And that word would be “liar”.
God, grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway,
The good fortune to run into the ones I do,
And the eyesight to tell the difference.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to bury the bodies of those who pissed me off.
Lemme know if you have a good burial spot.
The worst part is my four-legged baby is sick, and not eating. Checkers, the Kibble Wrangler, has lived with me for 16 and a half years. Over sixteen years, my dear Kernutties. This is longer than I lived with either of my parents, or any human being for that matter.
For sixteen years she’s been my constant and loyal companion. She is the sweetest cat ever. She loves to be next to me, no matter what room I’m in. And I love having her next to me. She is the love of my life, she is my world.
UPDATED 11/21: She’s worse and we’ll be getting x-rays and/or scans soon.
One day, when she was about 2 or 3 years old and Buttercup (now deceased) was about 5, my boyfriend of one year was leaving my house after we’d had lunch together. Through the sniffles of his “allergy to cats”, he asks, ‘Can you get rid of your cats? They’re really affecting my allergies.’
I just looked at him, and didn’t say a word. My look said it all, “It’s been nice knowing you.”
He stuck around another year and a half, bought two cats for his kids six months after asking me to get rid of the babies. Oh, and the allergy? Deviated septum from a well-hidden drug habit. Ya, I can pick ’em.
Annnd, when I’m really stressed, like now, I get terrible back pain. I’ve got the TENS unit going, doping up on Flexeril and ibuprofen.
So, my dears, if you don’t see me around much right now, it’s because I’m either at the vet, curled up in a ball of sadness and fear, or, with all the added security, have locked myself out of my own blog (almost happened already), or I’m just way too doped up to write at my usual level of incoherence. Probably all of those.
UPDATED AGAIN: I’m sooo sorry if you, too, have been locked out of commenting on my blog. I think it’s fixed. There was a plugin update that seemed to be overly active. If you have ANY problems, please tweet me @kernut, ok?
Oh, and I promise to do a happier post soon. 🙂