"Decide you must what to serve them best. If you leave now, help them you could but you would destroy all for which they have fought and suffered".

Oh the fucking around on Flickr and Myspace (yeah, check me out, I made a link over there under �cast�) are cutting into my dland time. Time to write.

I�ve got this nasty angry hatred inside me today, and while for the most part I�m totally cool about everything, it keeps popping up here and there. I don�t like it very much. Even after three cups of coffee, I�m still harboring the nastiness. I may have to take one of the pins Smokey hooked me up with last week, even though I told myself I�d save them forever.

Thinking a lot about the marriage. I know that it is not such a bad thing, that Hub and I have probably the best thing either of us stands to have in life. But, I�m drifting. I know we should talk, I know I should tell him all the myriad of things that are bothering me, but it�s just so hard. I try to tell him, and he goes off about himself, and I just shut up and tune him out.

And before we all begin to think he�s an asshole, which he�s no so much an asshole as he is a clueless tard, every time I find myself bitching about him to my friends, their response is the same, �My husband does the same thing�. And I don�t think it�s men that are assholes, it�s HUSBANDS. Something changes when they get married, I swear. And, Guys, I won�t say the same shit doesn�t happen with wives, because it probably does.

I swear, I need a fucking boyfriend instead.

I have nothing else to write about except the suckage that is my life. I wish I had something funny to share. Or even interesting.

Last night, I planned on finishing up with supper, getting the kids to bed, and having sex with Hub later so he could finish what he started the night before (yeah, we�ve started having more sex lately despite my intolerance for all that is Hub), and then watching the Britney and Kevin show. Yeah, good plan, but as per frickin� usual around here, plans got fucked up.

Fucking Butthead with his mouth. RRRRRR. �I hate this house! We�re always in the way� (Yeah, well, you dumb shit, if I�m cleaning up the dinner dishes and you�re standing directly in my way and can�t possibly sit on your stupid ass, then, yeah, you are in the way asshole). Fucking move in with your mom, dickwad, how does that sound? (I wish I�d said that, but I didn�t. It�s sitting there, though, right on the tip of my tongue, and it�s one more wiseass remark away from being said) And where was Hub? Not here, of course.

So I chirped his ass. �You�d better get here soon and deal with your smart mouth ass of a kid because if you don�t I�m fucking out of here�. I just felt like, I have to deal with all this shit, Hub, the business, all the kids all the time, I get no respect AND I have to put up with Butthead�s fucking mouth? Can you say, �the last straw�? I told him this is not worth it to me, that on top of everything else, I cannot take the disrespect from Butthead. Period. So he says, �I�ll deal with it�. Yeah. This is how he dealt with it, �Just do what she says so she�ll shut the fuck up�.

Okay, I don�t know that for sure, but I do know that�s how he dealt with The Douchebag, and when I confronted him and told him I knew that�s how he �dealt with it�, he didn�t deny it.

Way to build respect. Thanks, Hub. I appreciate it.

So after he came home initially, when he came back in from dropping the asshat at his girlfriends so they could smoke weed and have sex, I was in the process of heading upstairs for a much needed smoke break, and I�d placed a pile of folded laundry of mine on the counter for a sec so I could grab a glass of water. Hub looked and said, �WHERE ARE YOU GOING?� all scared like I was leaving.

Dummy. Like I wouldn�t even put my clothes in a bag to leave, right?

Ugh. I wish I was leaving. I really do. Actually, no, if anyone�s gonna leave here, it�ll be him. I�ll keep the place. I�d struggle with the rent, but it�d get paid. Hub, on the other hand, would get evicted right away. He couldn�t keep up with the rent, even though he makes the money for it. You have to remember to have all the money ready for the first, EVERY MONTH. Impossible for him.

Anyway, so, yeah, no sex. He did keep in my face with the kissing and the hugging, but I really wasn�t into it. At all. Even when I�m trying to pretend he�s someone else, he speaks and ruins it all.

Enough of that bullshit. I have four glorious hours before I have to deal with asswipe Butthead. And it�s Wednesday, so I�m out tonight, and making every minute worth it.

Anyway, I do have something funny to share. My dad sent me my passport so I can apply for a renewal. The last time I used it was in 1984, when we went to England. Beavis and I figured out that I was within a month or two of his age when the pic was taken in June 1984. Holy hideous 80�s pic, Batman. Let�s look closely, ah! A Chamois (we pronounced it �Shammy�) shirt, nasty blue eyeshadow (and eyes lined with black eyeliner! Inside! WTF was I thinking?), and, and the obligatory �Def Leppard� badge on my chamois shirt. (�A pledge pin? ON YOUR UNIFORM?!?�). And don�t, just don�t mention the hair. I had a real tough time with the 80�s hair, and it was traumatizing.

I think the seventh grade pic of me up at Flickr is slightly more embarrassing, but Beavis assures me this pic is �much more 80�s� and therefore, cooler. Like that shit is cool. Ugh. It was another year before I could claim the title cool and became it�s queen.

Yah. Right.

I�m out, yo.

Listening to: The kids. The TV (Lazytown). The washing machine. The radio is on, but I cannot hear it.

Currently reading: Starting "Retribution" by Jilliane Hoffman today sometime.

Thinking about: Don't even get me started. The husband. Just came home. For money. Not even a hello. Dink.