The Year In Review
Weather: 95 degrees
Mood: Blind Fury
Number Dead: As many that stand in my way, but especially "1990s Dan" at the tag agency, he's one dead mother fucker.
Bullets Remain: The day's not finished and I've been spraying down bitches all day.
So let's review the first year of marriage:
Wedding.
Honeymoon.
Stolen Wallet.
Stolen Cell Phone.
Stolen money.
Baby.
No Baby.
The bank tries to rob me.
A friend has cancer.
Liver is bothering me.
Stolen purse, brief case, ipod, ipod case, disney shit, work keys, you name it and it's fucking gone.
This skips all of the friend-fighting, job betraying, backstabbing high school bullshit that composes the rest of my treacherous year. I am so pumped that we have 3 more months before we finalize this our first year as husband and wife. This just skims the surface of the sour stanky milk that is my life. At least the cop who came and took the report was sympathetic. He got to live. Broke into the car. In the garage. Someone should have told that sonofabitch that all he had to do was take five more steps and he could have walked right into the house and took anything he pleased, because we didn't lock the door. We don't live in "that kind of" neighborhood. Sarcasm. Someone go ahead and replace the journal that they took that was given to me by a student. Someone try and replace the UT Evidence CD. Someone give me back the notes that I took at every debate tournament that I went to, the notes that I create strategies from. Someone replace the Memphis pen that Count gave me or replace the DisneyLand pens that came from the Nightmare before Christmas store. Even go ahead and replace the gift cards, the Bath and Body spray, the vanila mint chapstick. Go ahead. Go replace it. They were gifts, presents, memories. Stolen.
And actually, some of those things can be replaced. But it means a trip to each of those places. It means doing more work that I should have to because some other lazy sonofabitch took what I earned. And once again, everyone seems to lack in the sympathy department. Apathy is more plentiful than the gas I have from last night's meal. I started to feel sorry for myself and then I started thinking it's not just me. Gender and Hater have had their shit stolen twice this year, too. Its so common now that people don't want to do a thing about it. Last time this happened, I was teary-eyed. I was upset. This time I'm not sad or scared. I'm just pissed. I don't like losing, and when it comes to this game, there is no winning. The purse and the ipod I knew was almost a eventuality. That's some hot shit. But the damn briefcase was unzipped and only had my journal and my school papers in it, along with some pens. I was at least hoping that would be laying on the lawn. I didn't get that courtesy. But we'll all just write it off and move on. Not worth getting worked up about, right? It's just stuff.
Motherfuckers.
Mood: Blind Fury
Number Dead: As many that stand in my way, but especially "1990s Dan" at the tag agency, he's one dead mother fucker.
Bullets Remain: The day's not finished and I've been spraying down bitches all day.
So let's review the first year of marriage:
Wedding.
Honeymoon.
Stolen Wallet.
Stolen Cell Phone.
Stolen money.
Baby.
No Baby.
The bank tries to rob me.
A friend has cancer.
Liver is bothering me.
Stolen purse, brief case, ipod, ipod case, disney shit, work keys, you name it and it's fucking gone.
This skips all of the friend-fighting, job betraying, backstabbing high school bullshit that composes the rest of my treacherous year. I am so pumped that we have 3 more months before we finalize this our first year as husband and wife. This just skims the surface of the sour stanky milk that is my life. At least the cop who came and took the report was sympathetic. He got to live. Broke into the car. In the garage. Someone should have told that sonofabitch that all he had to do was take five more steps and he could have walked right into the house and took anything he pleased, because we didn't lock the door. We don't live in "that kind of" neighborhood. Sarcasm. Someone go ahead and replace the journal that they took that was given to me by a student. Someone try and replace the UT Evidence CD. Someone give me back the notes that I took at every debate tournament that I went to, the notes that I create strategies from. Someone replace the Memphis pen that Count gave me or replace the DisneyLand pens that came from the Nightmare before Christmas store. Even go ahead and replace the gift cards, the Bath and Body spray, the vanila mint chapstick. Go ahead. Go replace it. They were gifts, presents, memories. Stolen.
And actually, some of those things can be replaced. But it means a trip to each of those places. It means doing more work that I should have to because some other lazy sonofabitch took what I earned. And once again, everyone seems to lack in the sympathy department. Apathy is more plentiful than the gas I have from last night's meal. I started to feel sorry for myself and then I started thinking it's not just me. Gender and Hater have had their shit stolen twice this year, too. Its so common now that people don't want to do a thing about it. Last time this happened, I was teary-eyed. I was upset. This time I'm not sad or scared. I'm just pissed. I don't like losing, and when it comes to this game, there is no winning. The purse and the ipod I knew was almost a eventuality. That's some hot shit. But the damn briefcase was unzipped and only had my journal and my school papers in it, along with some pens. I was at least hoping that would be laying on the lawn. I didn't get that courtesy. But we'll all just write it off and move on. Not worth getting worked up about, right? It's just stuff.
Motherfuckers.
posted by Unequivocal_Prowess at 8:33 AM
2 Comments:
WTF? I know I've been in isolation, but when did this throw down? What can we do?
It happened this morning and there's nothing anyone can do, thanks for listening to all of this. The Count and I spent the morning spending time together and just trying to make some positives out of the situation-opening a savings account, booking a room for our anniversary, etc. etc. I'm actually smiling as we speak, so...
I'll be happy for life to return to normal...
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