I hate the fact that I had to get out of bed this morning and I hate the fact that I can’t go back for at least another 11 hours. I hate that one dog won’t eat food and the other will eat anything that isn’t nailed down and some things that are and probably would eat the nails, too. In fact the only reason I got out of bed this morning is because she was chewing on the corner of another piece of art that we still haven’t hung on the wall – a cute little wooden sign that says “Welcome to the beach!” and how cruel and sucky is that – because I’m not at the beach, I’m stuck in my office trying to figure out what will piss people off the least today.
Oh, and meteorologist Amy Sweezy? If you ever again have the nerve to say on a Monday “if you don’t have to work today it’s going to be a GREAT beach day” I will hunt you down and kill you. Or at least petition for your immediate dismissal because what a shitty thing to say to your viewership on a Monday morning. Do you think that if we didn’t have to work we’d be up at 6:30 a.m. watching your forecast?
Plus, I’m really, really, really fat.
Barry somehow managed to mix up his acronyms and referred to my PMS as WMD, which I find strangely appropriate.