Not safe for work (cursing)
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Oy, I've been wanting to get that out. This fucking dog, I love her to pieces, but she must stop eating my shoes. It's only MY shoes, and it's only my EXPENSIVE shoes, and for fuck's sake, eat the fucking Old Navy, 2 for $5 flip flops, will you?! I went out and bought three new pairs of shoes, and I'm keeping them upstairs, under lock & key. She also ate two of Max's drum sticks today, and to that I say, "Bravo!" It's not like she doesn't have any fucking toys, either... it's ridic.
There was something else I wanted to cuss about, and now I can't remember. And where the fuck is everybody on my friend's list? Eh.
Oh, I remember. My dad is in eastern Texas (near Galveston, on the gulf coast), taking care of my uncle who just had his hip replaced last week. And, of course, they're directly in Hurricane Ike's path. And, I know they won't evacuate because they're a couple of stubborn fucks, and the last time my uncle evacuated was before my grandmother died (it was Hurricane Rita) and it was a fucking nightmare, and there was no damage, so clearly, that's a good reason to stay put. Fuck. I don't really want to have to worry about them.
My 9th wedding anniversary is September 11th. And I know how petty it is, really, truly, but it makes me sad that we just can't bring ourselves to celebrate our anniversary, on our anniversary, any more. So here's a hearty "Fuck You!" to Al Qaeda.