Yeah, so I've pretty much secured my place in hell. And while I'm thinking about it, what is hell like?

For me, it would be being locked in a room with my ex-husband. Yes, that would be you, jackass.

As you can see I am full of love and smiles tonight.

No, not really.

But I am on the fast track to hell.

Reason the 1: I was a complete bitch to my friend's husband. Why? I don't know. He said that the weekend was his time off, so I told him that wasn't a nice thing to say and asked when her time off was. You know, from being a mom. Which is like, never. This is probably a remark that would have been more appropriate in my head. And since I am too much of an insufferable asshole to EVER apologize, I just apologized to her and walked out. Momma said that I probably did "irreparable" damage to the relationship, and I just don't know what to say about that, but it does fit into my pattern for ruining relationships. Hint: I think I almost have a formula for it, I'm so damn good at it.

Dos: I ate veal. Good GOD do I feel guilty. All I can think about is little baby cows with their legs all cut off struggling around in the crates on liquid diets but THAT MEAT WAS FLAWLESS.

As I type Lucifer himself is painting the walls of the room that I am doomed to spend all of eternity in with my ex-husband ochre. With stripes.

Pheh. I have no people skills, it seems. Which is probably why I'm a teacher. I only know how to boss little kids around, which is probably why my stepkids hate me.

I further greased the wheels for my trip by getting into it with my cousin, who is 23. And brilliant. But young. He thinks my life is all puppies and warm snugglies, which as we all know, it definitely is not. I guess he feels the pressure of being one of the only ones in my extended family to be successful.

So he goads me with, "As far as I know you're happily married, have a master's degree and...." whatever the fuck else he typed after that. When I said nothing is as perfect as it seems, he wanted me to divulge. How I fucked up.

Which brings me to my point: Why do some people think that sharing mistakes is a sign of friendship? The women in the office are like that. The more fucked up you tell them you are, the more they like you. My mouth stayed firmly shut. In both situations.

I've made lots of mistakes, and me telling you about them does not do anything for our friendship (or lack thereof). Period. When I told my cousin that he was doing fine, he was combative, asking me what the fuck I knew about him now. Okay, so maybe I don't know what color underwear he had on, but I do know that he's not curled up in a box outside somewhere with a crack addiction. What do I know? What do I know?! I don't know shit. I'm 30, for fuck's sake.

Eh, I hate this blog. I don't have the time to put into it what I did before. My design (THAT I FUCKING PAID FOR!) is all fucked up. I don't get any comments even though I have checked and RECHECKED the motherfucking setting in my inbox, which is why I don't answer them anymore, which is why I haven't maintained any relationships with other bloggers, which is why this blog fucking sucks. Getting on the wah-mbulance now.

I don't like feeling this angry.

Thus, I will shut up.

Until my mood changes.

1 thing I am happy about? The SEATTLE SEAHAWKS won the championship. I'm not a football fan, but after having the Carolina Panthers pounded into my fucking cranium (even at work! We had to wear jerseys on Friday! I was boo'ed for saying -quietly- that dh supported Seattle. It's his hometown! It's a team! Get a grip!) for weeks on end.

Blech. Weekend? Go away.

Time? Slow down. I still need to get some stuff done.