Tuesday, October 16, 2007


Arrrghhhh, flashback re: these pieces of shit. I lived in a basement FULL of these effers for a year of my life. The N. thought they would jump into his gaping maw as he snored slept; thus, he blames their presence on why he never (ever) drove out to the wilds of Fairfax to stay at my house. And explains how I put 8 million commuter miles on my ever-breaking-down Volvo that year. I drove 66 twice a day for 365+ days, added on to my typical daily work commute. Pain. In. My. Asshole.

I blame his absence not on the cricket infestation, but on his sheer laziness and the fact that I catered to his every dude whim. Man, girls are chumps. I mean, even after I moved 2 miles away from him in the ARL (a house which involved infestations of other sorts: fleas, rats, a possum in the chimney, woodpeckers in the living room; i may have mentioned this 10000X before on the internet) I still had to sleep my ass at his grody boy-house every night.

But then a few years later we got married and that catering bullshit stopped immediately. Right? Right. Or something. I did take the dog for a walk this morning (first time in a month). Wife of the year!

Update on the mousepad situation: Sommer has found me a clear frontrunner. It involves Ghost Casey Novak (she's transparent!)


Anonymous said...

this is a pretty nasty indictment against your husband who probably loves and adores you very much

the g said...

hi, sweetheart.