I sold Adam a house for us, we moved in on July 1st. Friday night he proposed the idea of making the house official with a marriage. It was pretty sweet really. I agreed, it sounded like a good plan.
Until like 5 minutes into the conversation. Apparently I look like Warren Buffett’s apologist. The tips of my ears are all red and I’ve been sitting in the driveway at least 15 minutes. What do I take for this? Booze?
Worst ad campaign ever. Also, I sure did. Like a small child, by a grown ass man in the capacity of my work so I couldn’t tell him to Fuck off. At least I didn’t cry in front of him. Win? When he told me to have a good weekend I did at least say. Yeah, Ok whatever.
I think I may be channelling the head of accounting today. Yup I’m dressed like a 50 something middle manager today.
So instead of burning my house down with a blow torch like dude in Seattle did this week. I trapped a spider and released him outside. Now where is my fucking parfe? Also, I’m lactose intolerant so an actual parade would be just fine.
Found out I wasn’t getting a deal this past Saturday. At least they said it with flowers. Now I’m just trying to count up underpants to see if I’ll make it until the 25th when the new laundry machines get here. Trying to make a midyear move/new start with clean drawers and it ain’t easy.