Four Score and Twenty Minutes Ago…

In an effort to move past the righteous indignation unpleasantness of earlier, and hit reset before I embark upon a glorious long weekend of marathon sex, impressive explosions, and hauling possessions from R’lyeh to the Sky Warren, I’m going to talk about awesome stuff, because BE MORE POSITIVE, RABBIT.

My plan is to knock this work day out of the park, go pick up the Jeep, hug my mom, get a bottle of wine, some chocolate, some gelato, and maybe some olives (whatever, don’t judge me I just like olives, ok?), and go up to R’lyeh and OWN THE EVERLOVING SNOT out of this evening.  We are going to put on some tunes, drink wine and rooibos tea, snack on delicious dopamine producing goodies, and shove a bunch of sh*t into the Jeep for transport.  I’m going to bring treats and a smile and my super cute tush.  Go on brush yer shoulders off.  

(Some) people are jerks.  It’s totally true.  But I don’t have to let it spoil my weekend.  Leaving behind WTF-ery is a crucial life skill, and I WILL MASTER IT SO HARD ITS ANCESTORS FEEL LIKE THEY OWE ME SOMETHING.  

Check this good sh*t out:

Tonight, I see my Love.  We will pack and goof around and consume yummies like the godless heathens we are.  Glorious.

I have tomorrow off from work.  Moving?  We will conquer it.  We will conquer it listening to Miles Davis.

Saturday?  Oh you know, no big deal.  Taking the train into the city to catch some time with my dearest of dears Felicity (who, like Tom, is also a bad bad man*, and therefore an excellent influence and delightful company), followed by explosions over the art museum and people dressed up like Benjamin Gorram Franklin.  I might talk Tom into letting me take him to the Barnes Foundation.

Sunday I get to pretend to be a gnome terrorist with some of my peeps, then I see AMANDA and her amazing Kid (and parents), and I might do the same shit again on Monday night after I drop some detritus off at its rightful abode.  

* Being a “bad bad man” is gender irrelevant.  You just have to rank low enough on the F*cks To Give Scale, and encourage me to tell trifling people and their selfish bullsh*t to bugger off, and laugh at me and pat my head when I say things like, “How do I tell this person they’re an *sshole, but like, Nicely? I don’t want to be mean. Can I not be mean?  No?  Why are you laughing.”

 

What UP Independence Day, you are like, such a metaphor.  Because waiting for shoes to drop is for dweebs who need more awesome crap to do!  I have an abundance of awesome crap, so screw that noise.  

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Four Score and Twenty Minutes Ago…

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