TGIF
So, I got off work early, but there was so much goddamned traffic that it took me almost an hour to get home! And my office is 18 miles from the house. So I guess that means my average speed was a whopping 20 mph. @#$%!
Then I finally did the grocery shopping because my week has been all ass-backwards (drinking Wednesday, chores Friday?), came home and cooked some kick-ass chicken tacos with hard shells. I think I've got 'em down. Everyone licked their plates clean.
While I was cooking, I drank the last Corona in the fridge with a wedge of lime and a dash of salt. And it was goooood. And now we're out of beer! I know, I know, I was just at the store. I could have sworn we had more! This is the problem with having a husband that is home 2 hours before me every day. I would have to buy one of those mini fridges on the sly and keep it in the back of my Pathfinder to keep him from drinking all the beer. Not a bad idea . . .
So hey -- why are all the profile pictures in blogger blurry until you click 'em out to full size? I'm all distorted over there!
Mother of GOD the phone is ringing AGAIN -- my stepdaughter's little friend likes to call about 100 times a day when she is here. They are 11. What the hell do they have to talk about? And why can't they do it all at once? I'd rather she just have one 6-hour conversation than 35 calls in 6 hours! I'm gonna have to start hiding the phone and saying it's broken or something. :o) Well, maybe I wouldn't do that -- but I'd seriously consider it.
Alllllllrighty, then. The husband has plugged the electric into the big amp and I just can't listen to that right now. So I'm off to read. Or maybe get some beer. I wish there was a beer delivery dude. Maybe I should call the Toasty Chicks. Then again, they're all the way in Colorado and apparently are delivering food to construction sites. Have you heard about this? I'd post a link, but I try not to post links that I know are gonna expire. Google it. It's novel and all, and I realize I'm telling this from the perspective of a female, but after a time or two, wouldn't a guy get tired of paying more for having food delivered by some chick that isn't even going to get naked? Plus, construction workers' lunches are like 30-40 minutes, and not really flexible. What if the bitches are late? What if they get the order wrong? Someone else just needs to cut out the middle man and hire hot chicks to make and serve food -- but, uh, wouldn't that be what Hooters does? Okay, so I guess they need one of those "roach coach" kind of vehicles that goes out to job sites with the food in it, ready to order, and staff 'em with hot chicks. Now THAT makes sense! Yup, they just need to start rolling out Hooter wagons . . . or Hooter trains . . . Hooter-mobiles? Hooters on wheels? Hooter cruiser? Ah, well, just a thought.
Ciao!
Then I finally did the grocery shopping because my week has been all ass-backwards (drinking Wednesday, chores Friday?), came home and cooked some kick-ass chicken tacos with hard shells. I think I've got 'em down. Everyone licked their plates clean.
While I was cooking, I drank the last Corona in the fridge with a wedge of lime and a dash of salt. And it was goooood. And now we're out of beer! I know, I know, I was just at the store. I could have sworn we had more! This is the problem with having a husband that is home 2 hours before me every day. I would have to buy one of those mini fridges on the sly and keep it in the back of my Pathfinder to keep him from drinking all the beer. Not a bad idea . . .
So hey -- why are all the profile pictures in blogger blurry until you click 'em out to full size? I'm all distorted over there!
Mother of GOD the phone is ringing AGAIN -- my stepdaughter's little friend likes to call about 100 times a day when she is here. They are 11. What the hell do they have to talk about? And why can't they do it all at once? I'd rather she just have one 6-hour conversation than 35 calls in 6 hours! I'm gonna have to start hiding the phone and saying it's broken or something. :o) Well, maybe I wouldn't do that -- but I'd seriously consider it.
Alllllllrighty, then. The husband has plugged the electric into the big amp and I just can't listen to that right now. So I'm off to read. Or maybe get some beer. I wish there was a beer delivery dude. Maybe I should call the Toasty Chicks. Then again, they're all the way in Colorado and apparently are delivering food to construction sites. Have you heard about this? I'd post a link, but I try not to post links that I know are gonna expire. Google it. It's novel and all, and I realize I'm telling this from the perspective of a female, but after a time or two, wouldn't a guy get tired of paying more for having food delivered by some chick that isn't even going to get naked? Plus, construction workers' lunches are like 30-40 minutes, and not really flexible. What if the bitches are late? What if they get the order wrong? Someone else just needs to cut out the middle man and hire hot chicks to make and serve food -- but, uh, wouldn't that be what Hooters does? Okay, so I guess they need one of those "roach coach" kind of vehicles that goes out to job sites with the food in it, ready to order, and staff 'em with hot chicks. Now THAT makes sense! Yup, they just need to start rolling out Hooter wagons . . . or Hooter trains . . . Hooter-mobiles? Hooters on wheels? Hooter cruiser? Ah, well, just a thought.
Ciao!
posted by PlatinumGirl at 9:23 PM
1 Comments:
mmmm, beer.
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