So, I suck, I know…but in my defense life shizzle got in the way.
Friday, I spent the majority of my day at the San Francisco building department. And I know that most of are going to say, “But it was a beautiful day in the City!!” And I would say yes, with ONE BIG BUT….
It took me 3 GODDAMNHOURS to get 40 miles, I swear every major bridge that one can cross to get into San Francisco had major traffic accidents for Friday morning making me very late. So instead of having the top off my car and being nice and toasty warm and feeling Friday free, I was sunburnt, angry and had a massive cramp from holding in pee the size of Niagara Falls.
So after slugging my way into the City, I race towards the building department and proceed to hang out there for the next worst five hours of my life. I spent these hours with the biggest twatbadger that I could have ever imagined. Take one miserable county employee, embolden with the crankiness of 1000 grumpy old men and compress him into a tiny 30 something package.
Now normally, I can handle these guys a couple of ways, either I usually use my charm and smile and try to be very friendly or I put on my intense face on, the one that tries to show that I am really listening intently to every word that you have to say because I feel that you are impotent (and yes, I meant to spell it that way) Normally, this works…..but with this guy….he either
(1) got laid badly, (2) needs to get laid, or (3) will require a jackhammer to remove the stick stuck so far up his ass that he could open his mouth to roast marshmallows nicely for you. ARGH…I could of done bodily harm to him.
The fire guys….I love them, they were awesome as usual.
Then, my husband left me. I know, you are shocked huh….well, he left me for a week to go to some conference in SLO (San Luis Obispo) that will make him all important and so that he can be official when he is on TV and shit. And he left me…with a house full of bitches….for six days…..he will make homage to me when he returns!
So my “R” was going to be road relations, you know the kind of relations that can either get you in trouble or make the car ride nice and relaxing. My experience with road relations has been the trouble sort. See, on my way to Prom, my boyfriend at the time begged me to provide him with a little “road relaxation” and I did……much to the amusement of every trucker within CB radio distance that was able to view what was going up and down on I-80. The CB traffic was so lit up that apparently the CHP wanted to get in on the action, so they pulled the car over. Of course, by this time, I had myself all arranged and was trying to look very “innocent” in my prom dress. But no, I was asked to get out….and I was taken to the Chippy’s car where I was asked what was going on, after a couple minutes of innocent denial, I spilled my 17 year old guts. And I proceeded to get the best lecture ever, “Do you want me to call your parents and tell them that you died with a dick in your mouth???” “Do you….do you…young lady???” What the fuck am I supposed to say to counter that one, Officer Smarty Pants? Yes?? My dad would be so proud?? Yeah, so poor hubby – due to my trauma – hand jobs is about all I will offer.
As for “S” and “T”…..I have combined them into a wonderful, fabulous drink that I had on Friday night!! AGAIN!! Salt and Tequila (Patron – of course) See picture below…..
and I had TWO….and….and…and…I don’t remember much after that but Hubby and I did continue the party later, where I ended up accidently falling asleep in the bed in one of my “disappearing tricks” and he ended up in the hot tub alone. Sorry Hubby!!
Also, I wanted to talk Texts….because I got the best text from my friend Nat the other day….Nat of…NATurally Inappropriate
Nat: Men’s Underwear…Discuss
Me: Marky Mark wore it best
Nat: Boxers or briefs?
Me: Tight boxers
Me: No solids
Me: Not the cock but the boxers
I meant to say…stupid auto correct…that I like black or dark color tight boxers only…NEVER white…and it kinda came out wrong.
And finally, I am closing “T” today with a T-shirt that I am going to buy for my husband. We had an incident not too long ago, with “smelly” things in the bathroom. Since then, his key phrase has been that twatwaffles are never buttery.