YAY!

I heard some wonderful news today. Some news that kept me smiling like a jackass for the last hour I was at work (QUITE the feat, you should be proud). Some news that made me draw YAY! in big, red block letters across the note pad I was using.

Man Friend FINALLY has a job to bid on in Columbus! AHAHAHAHA! Let us thank God for small miracles.

Now, this doesn't mean he has the job or anything and I don't have the slightest clue how long it will take for everything to go through but this is one GIANT STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION. Seriously. That? Probably the best news I've had in THREE GOD DAMNED MONTHS!

I need to find a new job.

But! Back to the glee at hand!

Man Friend's job, should he be accepted (and who WOULDN'T want that fine hunk of man meat?) would have shitty hours (3.30 - midnight) so once I finally, actually, for totally real this time, made it to Columbus, we wouldn't be seeing a whole hell of a lot of one another. Mainly just on weekends. Sort of exactly like right now.

But my mind, always with the calculating and the conniving (because I AM a woman and I HAVE to keep up appearances, folks), IMMEDIATELY jumped to only one possible scenerio. PUPPY!

If he worked mid-afternoon and I got home early evening... plus 5, carry the 1... that would mean the puppy would only be caged for 2ish hours during the day... and I would have something warm and soft and cuddly to come home to... que even larger, more obscene, jackass grin with a side of gleeful fist pumping every now and again when it all just got to be too much.


"My boss said that shift would be perfect for a young shit like me. Getting off at midnight on Friday before the bars even close. He said I could pick up a drunk girl and bring her home with me without even needing to buy her a drink."

"Did he now?"

"That's when I told him my girlfriend probably wouldn't like that. He said you'd be asleep and didn't even need to know about it."

"For the record, I don't like him."

"He forgot I was dating you. Besides, I'm too ugly to pick up girls at a bar."


Okay, now. Woah. That, my dear, sweet Man Meat.. I mean Friend! My dear, sweet Man Friend, implies that I have poor taste. And I most certainly do NOT have poor taste. My taste, in fact, is quite exquisite. Which, along with my AMAZING SENSE OF HUMOR is one of the MANY, MANY reasons you started dating me. And because I let you touch my puppies. Woof.