It's Saturday. Finally. And I spent it in true Ging fashion. By setting my alarm to get up early, waking up at said alarm time, chowing down on some Cheerios, then crawling my ass back in bed until 10:00am. Superstar.
That's right. Read it and weep.
And Mr. Wookie is a champ. Whether he sacrificed his second cup so I could have a second, or whether he made an extra amount, after he left for work (yes, on a Saturday)...I scored the last drop. The super hot last drop. The it splashed outta the mug and onto my forearm which made me yell, "Son of a BITCH!" hot.
So on today's agenda...jack shit. Or jack turd. To-may-to...to-mah-to. *pinkie up*
I worked my ass of this week. And I deserve a day where I don't have to plan food for events. Where I don't have to configure table arrangements. Where I don't have to make sure the supplies aren't running low.
But I plan on having dinner in the pipeline for when Mr. Wookie comes home. And there's some laundry to do and put away. And we're outta dishwashing soap, so to the store I go. Oh wait, that sounds like work. So basically, I never get days off. If it's not working for the Man, it's working for the Wookie. Dammit. Where's that trust fund. This shit's getting old. I love you, Dad.
And now my coffee is tasting like bacon. This could be a sign. But again, we're out of bacon. $^%@!!!
UPDATED @ 1:00pm:
It smells like shit now. Like a fart from 1994 in which my brother had nachos for lunch and chili dogs for dinner. I think I see the white wall paint starting to peel. It's coming off in chunks now. I fear for my life. Okay, not really...but I maybe should have Google'd what the self-cleaning cycle for an oven smelt like. Because I may or not be regretting this. Or....maybe it's the push to get outta the house for a bit and hit up the FREAKIN' bookstore. Oh, yes. I like this answer. To the shower, Batman! Or maybe not. Because we only have a small shower stall. And that cape will take up waaaay too much room.
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