Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Is Bitchiness Genetic?

Yaíll I am tired.

We played really well last night. But we only had ten people to play the entire two gamesóno reserves. If you had to pee, TOO BAD. Actually, there was a rat in the bathroom (I was so proud I didnít scream and cry and freak out because that was my first instinct) so I didnít want to go back in anyway. One of the teams (and maybe both) that we played last night was a tournament team so just to not get our asses handed to us was an accomplishment. Side note: the girls on our team kick ass! We all had at least three hits apiece (including me with three singles and a double). The guys didnít play as well but anyone can have an off night.

I caught both games though. So I am dragging today. Especially since I didnít get home until midnight. Got up at 4am. I am more whipped than a submissive at an S&M club.

On my way to the Park-n-Ride this morning I had a horrible experience. I passed a run-over skunk right as I took a sip of water. Anyone wondering what that tastes like should have their head examined.

Got an email from my grandpa. Just to give him credit, the man is nearly eighty years old and LOVES his email. And the internet. I am not sure what he does with it all day but he cannot stand to be away from the internet. He is a Methodist (who doesnít even believe in drinking or cigarettes) so I am thinking that he isnít looking at porn. And he breaks his computer at any opportunityóJ spent most of our trip this summer fixing it. At any rate, got an email from him that looked like this:

"The weather here is finally cooling down for the end of summer. All of our flowers are dying. Went and looked at new carpets for the bathrooms. They donít seem to have the right shade of pink. Your grandmother says that itís peach but she is wrong. I am in here hiding from her. I just hate it when she keeps talking to me."

My grandpa just makes me laugh and laugh. Though he is totally kidding himself if he thinks he can hide for long. Unless some one runs a marathon of 60 Minutes. My grandmother has a serious addiction to 60 Minutes.

Of course my other grandfather planned ahead better. When he built their house, he made the doorways too narrow for her wheelchair to fit through. I would think that this was just an accident except that I am noticing that the rooms she canít fit into are his den (where he watches the Cubs) and the porch (where he plays cribbage with his brothers).

Itís possible that he is an evil genius.

Of course looking at my genetics I may be doomed to morphing into a horrible old shrew whose husband cowers from her. Maybe I should start now.

6:51 a.m. :: comment ::
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