It's. Only. TUESDAY?

I figured out what I have isn't PMS, unless that stands for People are Morons and Stupidheads. And that doesn't even make any sense. But they are. And it's never been more apparent than this week. I'm not going to go into details, except to say it's all work-related and therefore boring. But I will say this. Having a Master's doesn't necessarily mean the person who holds the degree is actually intelligent. I've worked in academia a long time and it never fails to amaze me how many of these fuckers are published, yet probably have to sing the How to Tie My Shoes song to themselves every morning. One more thing. The people who run the South Carolina Department of Social Services? Very scary. If their phone skills are any indication of their social working skills, I'm frightened for the citizens of this state who might require their assistance.

I thought with the delivery of Girl Scout cookies this morning, I was going to be invincible against stupidity today. WRONG! But I just thought of something. I donate to charity every year by buying these over-priced, over-caloried, crack-filled cookies. This year my total is $10.50; can I write that off?

Thanks for all your thoughts and ideas about my redneck friends re: losing their house. I have a little more of the story now and I don't know if it's good or bad. The good news is they found a house to rent nearby and they've already started moving in. I'm relieved they found a place so quickly. The bad news; whether or not they can claim any money from the mold situation, they'd been in a shit-TAY mortgage in which they'd only paid down five grand in the five years they'd lived there. Were they some of the people who got into a house they couldn't afford and then got screwed with an A.R.M? I don't know. Either way, it seems like they just want to cut their losses and start over. I'm going to help the wife on Friday with whatever she needs me to do for her to make the physical move easier. If there's anything I'm a pro at, it's moving.

Anywhore, tonight is the night I go to the sex toy party. I don't like calling it that, but I'm not sure what else to call it. And if I'm uncomfortable just writing it, I don't think that bodes too well for the lady who's throwing the party to expect getting a sale from me. Not that they don't have their place in the world, but I've never been into plastic and rubber, unless you're talking about storage bins. I've been to one of these things before and wasted twelve dollars. (I used to feel obligated to do shit like spend money on things I didn't want; luckily I've moved well past that) I got this stuff that goes on the lips to I guess make them tingly and numb to encourage a blow job giver to blow longer. When I brought it home, Brian was like, Um, if it numbs your LIPS, what do you think it's going to do to ME?? Point taken. I ended up with some very expensive tingly/numby lip balm. Never again.

I'm bringing some friends with me though and since it's the same night as a birthday dinner, we're conveniently combining the two. We're going to this place called Mucho Margarita's, luckily AFTER the party. I'd hate it if it were the other way around, because while sober I can confidently tell you I wouldn't buy anything tonight, a couple of Margaritas could change my whole tune. And in front of my sister-in-law? Who knows I sleep with her brother? Thanks, no thanks.