Thursday, April 15, 2010
Whew. This is finishing up as a Totally Pooped Out Thursday and I still haven't dragged my son and my ass to his orchestra concert tonight. And where TF is the spousal unit? If she's not here in 10 minutes I'll have to drag my son's 10-year-old sister along -- fine by me, but hell for her. Spent all day blasting away at the freelancing, piling up -- ha, ha -- the big bucks, dollar by dollar. If the spousal unit would actually sell a fucking house already I wouldn't have to sell my soul to the company store. OK, it's really not her fault; the housing market sucks. Still. No Fedex from the nice agent lady which is just giving me the willies. Is she going to be any more attentive if she actually becomes my agent lady? And I haven't had any spousal cohesion, if you get my drift, in a fucking dog's age, first because the spousal unit had some kind of bacteriological/viral/unknown alien origin something or other going on with her lady parts, and after that it was/is a big old nasty cough that's put her off the mood -- it doesn't take much, anyway -- and so... Oh, crap. Gotta go to the concert. Bye.