This Is Kate Freaking The Fuck Out

Not to be confused with fucking the freak out, which is an entirely different activity. One that is only suitable for the weekends when one has lots of recovery time.

But anyway.

I think there is enough time in the day to do everything I need to do, but that is yet to be seen. I have time to blog only because I made the executive decision to not go to classes today. This evening's activities will include (but are not limited to) cleaning my house (which I still haven't done even though it has been on my list of things to do for at least a month), playing with Travelin' Man, finding an acceptable English/Russian translation site online so I can send an email to Cowboy that he can actually read*. I also need to go grocery shopping. Right now my refridgerator contains mold and a jar of olives. And a half finished bottle of wine.

Tomorrow, sometime before 11am Boy is arriving at my house (hence I have to clean and get the guest room ready, which reminds me, I need to wash some towels fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck). Also at 11 I have to go the gym because I had to reschedule today's Tim appointment because the horrible woman at the career development center had to reschedule**. Then I have Marketing and Human Resources. At some point I'll have to write a 5 page paper about the Greek Restaurant***.

Wednesday morning I have to go find out if I have skin cancer and buy a lot of booze. Class, yadda yadda. Then I have to pick up Justine and Beaky and food if Chipper isn't kind enough to bring his hens. Then we shall all drink and be merry. Or drink and be maudlin. Whatever. So long as someone dances the Pony I'll be happy. And hopefully I won't start wall-humping again as last time it was pure luck no one took a picture of it.

Thursday I'll have to take Justine back to school, and take 2 tests that I will most likely not study for. But then it's all over. Except for babysitting Boy. We have no idea how long that will last. I renew my request that if my body is found shot/stabbed/maimed/mutilated would someone please tell the police that is was Boy. Thanks.

*Last week he sent me an email entitled "I sink about you," this week he sent one entitled "I remember you" which we think in context actually means "I miss you"

**If I hadn't met with her this week I would be stuck doing my internship in some shithole of a place like Arvada

***Beaky and I went back on Friday night and ManagerDude was giving her shots of ouzo in such quantities that he nearly had her convinced that dancing on the tables was a good idea