ungh. ass, consider yourself kicked.
Aug. 7th, 2005 10:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7I hate Sundays, really I do. Whether I make a lot or a little money, they always leave me feeling as though I've been set upon by a gang of thugs in boots. Ow.
I'm ridiculously excited about this upcoming weekend, however. I was dancing around and singing from being excited at the prospect of having a weekend off. In Melrose. Yes.
Maybe Mom will make me a birthday cake. That'd be sweet. That, and chicken flautas, would make my day. Maybe I'll email her and ask her to.
Because it'll be only two weeks before my birthday, and I won't be able to go home again so soon. (I haven't even requested the weekend off. What's the point? I got nothin' to do that weekend. Y'know, I should probably make some friends in Buffalo.)
What's really bumming me out is the realization that no way in hell will I get Labor Day weekend off, which means missing out on both the Highland Games at Altamont, and the Great Schaghticoke Fair, and also the Buffalo Chicken Wing Festival. Maybe I can get to the Festival, if I can get the evening off on Saturday. It's OK, I can catch the Erie Co. Fair instead-- surely that goes more than a weekend-- but I'm really bummed about the Highland Games because one's year cannot be complete without witnessing the caber toss and at least some of the finals of the bagpipe bands.
Sniff.
Life, it is so much with the hardness, I know not what to do.
I need some ibuprofin. Oo, or bourbon. Oh wait, I'm out of bourbon.
Crap.
You know, however much booze I buy, I'm always out of what I want. It's just not fair.
I'm ridiculously excited about this upcoming weekend, however. I was dancing around and singing from being excited at the prospect of having a weekend off. In Melrose. Yes.
Maybe Mom will make me a birthday cake. That'd be sweet. That, and chicken flautas, would make my day. Maybe I'll email her and ask her to.
Because it'll be only two weeks before my birthday, and I won't be able to go home again so soon. (I haven't even requested the weekend off. What's the point? I got nothin' to do that weekend. Y'know, I should probably make some friends in Buffalo.)
What's really bumming me out is the realization that no way in hell will I get Labor Day weekend off, which means missing out on both the Highland Games at Altamont, and the Great Schaghticoke Fair, and also the Buffalo Chicken Wing Festival. Maybe I can get to the Festival, if I can get the evening off on Saturday. It's OK, I can catch the Erie Co. Fair instead-- surely that goes more than a weekend-- but I'm really bummed about the Highland Games because one's year cannot be complete without witnessing the caber toss and at least some of the finals of the bagpipe bands.
Sniff.
Life, it is so much with the hardness, I know not what to do.
I need some ibuprofin. Oo, or bourbon. Oh wait, I'm out of bourbon.
Crap.
You know, however much booze I buy, I'm always out of what I want. It's just not fair.
