...and so God sent forth a mighty deluge, what to punish the sinners and all.
my apartment is leaking again. but oh no, not from the same leaks. from strange, new leaks. fucking great. i deserved that, i guess.
my boyfriend is going to pick me up in a little while so i can move the rest of my shit out of his house today. we had a nice little talk early, ending with my storming out with the words, "very well then, fuck you and good day." so okay, i guess i had that one coming, too.
now i'm waiting to get fired, for my truck to break down and maybe for my dog to run off. good thing i don't have a truck, because i'm feeling oddly suspicious these days that i'm living in some old coutry music tune.
or perhaps a more poetic justice would be to find out i've developed a sudden and severe allergy to whiskey.
because that, my friends, would really ruin my day.
and for good measure:
-Hyena.
my apartment is leaking again. but oh no, not from the same leaks. from strange, new leaks. fucking great. i deserved that, i guess.
my boyfriend is going to pick me up in a little while so i can move the rest of my shit out of his house today. we had a nice little talk early, ending with my storming out with the words, "very well then, fuck you and good day." so okay, i guess i had that one coming, too.
now i'm waiting to get fired, for my truck to break down and maybe for my dog to run off. good thing i don't have a truck, because i'm feeling oddly suspicious these days that i'm living in some old coutry music tune.
or perhaps a more poetic justice would be to find out i've developed a sudden and severe allergy to whiskey.
because that, my friends, would really ruin my day.
and for good measure:
-Hyena.
As a fellow basement dweller, I sympathize with the leaks. Ugh...let's see, over the past three years I've had washing machine foam back up out of every drain in my apartment, water come down through cracks in the ceiling, flood water rush in under my front door and flood half the apartment two times, raw sewage rush under my front door and flood half the apartment once, and raw sewage rush under my bedroom wall and flood the other, previously flood-free half of the apartment. When or if we run off to Mexico, we're investing in a house on fucking stilts.
Should I congratulate you on moving out of the boyfriend's place? I mean, from everything I've read about him he seems like nothing but a bad thing for you, but let me know what brand of sympathy you want.
And I saw a shirt recently that said "I'm a country song waiting to happen". Maybe your dog will steal your job and your truck, and then you'll have to deal with drowning your sorrows after walking to the goddamn bar and being served whiskey by your own damn dog. (cue the steel guitar solo).
I didn't mean to remind you of your "not getting any"-dom (trust me, that's not the reaction I was hoping for!), but I can't imagine you don't have plenty of volunteers eager and willing to help you remedy that situation.
Did I drop that hint loudly enough?
[Edited on Jul 11, 2003]