You ever feel like your life (or events therein) is just like a big zit with a shiny, quivering head, ready to explode? Yeah. That's what I feel like right now.
So I've already bitched about the wedding of the century this week. I get a call from the husband today explaining why he can't come home tomorrow after taking care of the yard at the old house (the neighbor kid who is supposed to be mowing and trimming weeds is doing a shit-ass job)...I wanted him to come home so we could take one car over. That reason would be the SIX.PAGE.ITINERARY. that details the WOTC. Starting tomorrow and ending on Sunday. I'm surprised they didn't schedule when people were supposed to be taking their daily crap. I'm practically breaking out in hives with this thing. I wasn't this keyed up about my own damn wedding!
And then tonight, I get this email from husband:
"Stop thinking you have it bad... I'd pay to trade spots with you. I'm sitting in the living room with Dad watching "So you think you can dance". It's blaring at 1,000,000 decibels, and he's also farting up a storm. My mom is also showing dad the beginnings of her "hammer toe". Maybe when you are here you can give your opinion of it."
Aaaah. Four days with the in-laws. I can't. f**king.wait.