To my rude co-workers who will never read this blog:
I wish you a really bad toothache with a pus-filled abcess. (...and that's something i've reserved for my worst enemy)
Supervisor consort: You need a pedicure. I don't like you and someday, I hope a large african-american hugs you really hard and shakes your hand so that you can cringe in disgust and feel bad all over, cause Lord knows how you hate us so...
That is all I have to say.
On another note.
My B.F. who-better-get-his-act-together-before-his-ass-gets-dumped returns home today from speding the week with his kids (and the baby mama of course) in S.C. I don't know how i'll react to him, i've been toiling over it and I think i'm done, but who knows what will come out when he brings his ass in the door. Why did women get cursed with a period (even if it doesn't come) and emotions? I ain't complainint but dang...we got played.
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