I have the grue, as previously mentioned, but still have the joy and delight of prepping for the invasion of (maybe) 30-ish kids and their parental units for Liberty Daughter’s birthday party tomorrow. WTF is it with people who ignore a fuckin’ RSVP notice on the invitation? Not speaking Frog is no excuse, that damned acronym is in Webster’s, fer fuck’s sake. Yet they’ll all show the fuck up, ravenous, nosy, full of fuckstupid questions. Sweartagad, a parent at Liberty Son’s 10th bday party noticed my dual monitor setup and decided that A) made me a computer expert, and B) I would suddenly give a shit about her husband’s fucking network problem. Wrong on both counts, hoor.
Also, utterly screwed up and decided to make the cake myself after noting the price of a half sheet cake from the local grocery purveyor was half a C-note. Oh, and featured exactly NO Pokemon decorations, which is Liberty Daughter’s current obsession. The screwup came about not because I suck at cooking (I most emphatically do NOT), but because the grue still has me, and this morning decided to become The Grue instead. With big stompy feet in my head, cadres of grue-lets in my sinus cavities with blowtorches and feathers, and I sweartagad, the sandworms of Dune in my eyeballs.
So, this is likely the last post for today, as there’s buttercream icing to make, Pokemon figures to draw then recreated in icing, and various other things to be dusted and swept. Think of me kindly, people, tomorrow about 1PM EST, as I open the door to ravenous, rampaging heathens, and their children. And think even kinder of me about 4PM EST, as I root for my beloved Crimson Tide against those sleazebag, pee-pee touchers, the Florida Gators. We weren’t expecting a title shot this soon after hiring a new coach, but we’ll fuckin’ take it, and woe be to those foolish enough to combine the colors of blue and orange and get between us and it.
Roll Fuckin’ Tide
