Happy Effing Monday
I have mentioned before that I love Monday mornings, right? And I do realize this makes me a total freak of nature. Well, to be more accurate, it�s yet another contributing factor to my being a freak of nature. But no OPK until noon means I can get shit done. Especially with another �huge snowstorm� on the way.
I should take bets. Weather says 4-8 inches, I�ve even heard some reports out of Boston saying like a foot. How about this: �Yah right!�. I�m willing to bet we get 3 inches, tops. Mark my words! I�ll let you know tomorrow.
I�m glad I decided to go to the grocery store yesterday. The place is going to be a madhouse today. �OMG, it�s going to snow, we must stock up on canned goods, we might not leave the house for a day!�. It�s crazy, man, absolutely insane. And most of the time, it seems like I just happen to have to go there right before a storm. Not that I�m particularly worried about being snowed in, I just need food.
Here's something incredibly random: Up north a bit, there's a town called "Effingham". I can only think, whenever I see the sign for it, that it's their nice way of saying "Fuckingham". Remember, I'm 12.
Beavis�s partner in crime, Cornholio, has gone to Florida for the week. He left yesterday morning. I never realized what good friends they are, because yesterday all Beavis could do was mope and spend time on the computer. (He made himself a website, too. He wouldn�t let me help him with the shit that I know. He did take my advice and go to Sitemeter for a stats counter, but was impatient when I tried to show him how make it show up on his page. Fucking puberty). All he could say all day was �I�m bored�. Finally he called Robert and Rhonda�s youngest son, �Jon�, who he�s been friends with since they were 3, and Hub went and picked him up. So now I have yet another teenager here in the throws of puberty.
And tomorrow, weather depending, my favorite darling stepdaughter Hilda will be here. Fucking hooray. It amazes me that Hub is always so anxious to have her come here, whereas I am not, yet I am the one who ends up with her up my ass. WTF? So if I miss updating a morning or two this week, that�s why. And I get *slightly* pissy if I miss my morning update. So excuse my obvious animosity towards the �poor girl�. I mean, that�s not the only reason, it all has to do with the whole drama she started here a year and a half ago, but I won�t go into it here. I�ve done that before, in a long, drawn out entry back at the very end of October 2004.
I wish Hub would get a clue. Really. If I had a genie in a bottle, my first wish would be that. Grant my husband a clue. Maybe an idea, too, but that�s take up two wishes. I�d need those other two wishes for myself, one for the J-Lo belly and the other for the lottery win (preferably a large Powerb@ll, with the cash option). But wish number one would be for the clue.
I�m losing patience with him for every day that goes by. And vice versa. Being so detail oriented and being with a man who thinks details are not important is a recipe for disaster. That job list for the plowing? He wrote the date down at least, but he wrote it like this : 21-05-05. WTF? May 21? May 5, 1921? Lucky for me I�m learning his language. It�s all little things, but it adds up. I have no patience to listen to him talk anymore. He starts at the end of a story and maybe you�ll get the middle, but don�t count on the beginning.
Like, Smokey came over last week, right after we learned the business deal wasn�t happening. Hub had the Auto-finder book that he grabbed for free somewhere and was looking for a dump truck (because god fucking forbid he fix up the one he has already). Smokey asked, �Hey, what are you looking for?� and Hub said, �A dump. He fucked me�. Of course, Smokey had no fucking idea what he was talking about. I was like, �Hub, ya think maybe Smokey doesn�t know exactly all what�s going on?�.
He�s got a lot more going for him, of course. He is not quite as much of a moron as I make him out to be. But. I don�t know. I�m no rocket scientist, but it would be nice to have someone to speak to that has somewhat of a working knowledge of the English language and also the basic ability to communicate effectively.
Here I bitch about him, and he�s got that downstairs office almost all done. Truly, he is no drywaller. Maybe because he�s not French? (What�s the difference between a frog and a toad? A toad can�t hang sheet rock. This joke you most likely only get if you live in New England, but it�s based on the fact that like 90% of the guys who do drywall around here are French Canadian, most not even a generation out of Canada. Some of them still maintain residences there and just make their money down here. But I digress). But, it�s almost done. Now I just need a computer down there. That�ll be a while.
Anyway. It�s crazy around here. Hub�s home, Beavis and pal are hovering, and I need to print envelopes to mail out a bunch of billing. And I�m going down to the credit union, too. Fucking impossible to write with all this going on.
Happy Monday.
Sayonara.