Tired & Pissy Is Sexy. In HELL.
I didn’t get home from work until midnight, I had to park on the other side of the complex because that’s all that was left, I’m starving but all the food I have requires assembly, my dog pooped on the floor, I still have work to do (nevermind the fact that I have been putting off ironing for two weeks and have run out of worn-once ironed clothes (why can’t I just go to work naked? I’m much smarter when I’m naked), there’s a painful pimple growing on my chin with roots so deep they pierce my soul, and let’s not forget the cream on top of the big piece of bitch-ass pie: when I walked in the door I was greeted by a horrific and painfully loud buzzing noise coming from the manual timer on the decrepit oven which is probably older than me, the handle to which of course of fucking course broke off in my hand (I may have been beating the crap out of it to get the damn thing to turn off (what? half the time it works) and thus required a panicked search for pliers (regular! not the needle-nose, they has no grip! where the fucking hell are the fucking pliers? ARGH my ex-boyfriend took my good pliers! HE DIDN’T EVEN OWN A FOUR-DOLLAR HAMMER WHEN I MET HIM), which after digging through all three trays in my tool box turned out fruitless, yet with a grand stroke of duh I found them sitting in plain fucking sight on the kitchen counter where they have been laying since I moved in over two months ago and yet it still took me several minutes of careful twisting, pushing, cursing, and smacking to get the damn timer to stop buzzing at me.
To top it off THE STUPID BOY DIDN’T CALL.
