Just in case you weren’t aware, the proper period of mourning/getting your shit together/ giving up one of your “paying gigs” (which can include either babysitting or selling blood…or selling the baby’s blood if you’re an entrepreneur) in light of a hyperventilated verbal assault on hearth and home…. now stands at six days.
Or whenever the rubes run out of cash, beads, or shiny objects.
By the way, some girl in a bank parking lot called me a bad name today involving my mom and that most unholy of words. Since this involved both obscenity and family, when can I expect the Blog Publishers Prize Patrol to pull up in my driveway?