There's nothing like a mandatory sexual harrassment seminar to make you want to come home and durank your face off. Especially when your AP makes an entrance mid-nonverbal sexual gesture determination clarification and takes credit for waggling his tongue at the pretty lady.
The feeling of living in a fishbowl is completely magnified as evidenced by yet the third drinking and driving bitchout that dh has to attend this month, meaning that instead of him returning home to me at whistle-blowin' time, he gets to stand out there in ball freezing weather and get yelled at. Fun Friday!
Dear JACKASS: Here's a hint. Ready ready ready?
225-RIDE
Psst...they also have this really cool thing? If you are off base? It's called ankle express, motherfucker. So next time you are so desperately in need of driving home while you are so intoxicated that you pass out behind the wheel hitting cars all the way uphill until finally your car stops, just lay your sorry ass self down in the gutter and sleep it off.
Can you hear me now?
Good.
This entry brought to you by a bored, lonely, and vain TCWH. Why yes, those are eggplant pants! Before I posted I thought, "Am I really that vain? To post not 1, not 2, not 3, but 4 pictures of my palefaced self on the internet?" Why yes, yes I am. If my husband were home, these kinds of things would not be happening. Just be glad I'm not pulling down my pants to show you WHERE I think my tubes are blocked.