So. Freaking. Pissed.
You know what sucks?
No?
Well, I'll tell you.
What sucks is spending a zillion freaking years in the Houston airport yesterday, only to get home and be informed that your uncle has been having a string of affairs over the past ten years, told his wife in a screaming argument in front of your cousins, and was summarily written out of The Will (yes, it merits the capital letters) by your grandfather.
It's all very Italian.
So, guess who has to fly her ass back out to Texas? Yup. I don't really have to, per se, but I feel I've got a responsibility to be there for my cousins. My computer and I are shacking up in some Holiday Inn until this whole thing smoothes over.
Fuck. I hate this so much.
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No?
Well, I'll tell you.
What sucks is spending a zillion freaking years in the Houston airport yesterday, only to get home and be informed that your uncle has been having a string of affairs over the past ten years, told his wife in a screaming argument in front of your cousins, and was summarily written out of The Will (yes, it merits the capital letters) by your grandfather.
It's all very Italian.
So, guess who has to fly her ass back out to Texas? Yup. I don't really have to, per se, but I feel I've got a responsibility to be there for my cousins. My computer and I are shacking up in some Holiday Inn until this whole thing smoothes over.
Fuck. I hate this so much.
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