2002-03-01 - 8:10 p.m.

I've used the term 'MOTHER FUCKER' so many times in the past week that my cats are starting to answer to it.

I spent a lot of money last week my car. When pulling out of the coffee shop last week my car sounded like a monster truck on steroids. Instead of checking to see if the souped up sounds were echoing from my car because something had broken off, I just drove the 20 miles home with my stereo up all the way. Little did I know that I was dragging my entire exhaust system down the road at 60 miles per hour. Needless to say, what would have been a minor repair turned into something major.

So when my battery light came on the morning after I picked my car up from the shop, I felt like driving into the largest tree I could find without wearing my seatbelt. When I got to work I unhooked my battery with the car running and it promptly died which meant the alternator needed to be replaced. And my pockets just wouldn't produce any more money. So I went to Pep Boys, bought an alternater and put the damn thing in myself. This project started the long string of 'Mother Fuckers'.

And now I am in the midst of a remodeling project. A few days ago when I reached a point in the work where I was too frustrated to go on any further I decided to peek under my carpets to determine the condition of the hardwood. Under the corners it looked fine. Then I got to wondering if the middle of the floors looked okay too. So I grabbed a steak knife and went to work, not really ever considering the fact that the floors might not look okay and I would have large chunks of carpet cut out of the middle of my floor. And that is exactly what happened. It appears that some of the hardwood came up and someone replaced it with plywood. And my dumbass self now has to live with a big, ragged chunk cut out of my floor.

All this work has made this week fly by. I hardly realized it was Friday today. And I'm pretty sure I haven't eaten a thing all week.

And the last 'Mother Fucker' that occured this week happened this morning. My friend Tricia, who is pregnant, likes to get my goat by flirting shamelessly with my fantasy boyfriend and then come in back and tell me how much he likes her and how she thinks he wants to have an affair with her. Of course, she is kidding and it is hilarious when she does it, but it does get me going. So today she came in back and said, "You know since I got pregnant and my breasts are growing, your fantasy boyfriend can't keep his eyes of my chest," a smug smile on her face.

"Well! I can take care of that!" I say while grabbing towels from the cupboard and stuffing them in my shirt until I am a buxom babearama. Then I start a progression of seductive poses.

"Keep doing that until Kathy gets back here," Tricia says as she's going around the corner to find Kathy, or so I think.

I keep posing, getting more and more into it as I go when I suddenly hear a hush fall over my audience and I look up to see that Tricia has brought my fantasy boyfriend in the back and he is staring at me with is jaw to the ground. I have somehow managed to give him the impression that I am very demure so seeing me with my butt stuck up in the air, my lips puckered and my hands running over my gargantuan towel boobs must have shattered that image he had of me. I was horrified, I let out a little yelp and turned bright red as I tried to escape the throng of people that had assembled around me. It was terrible. He could hardly even look at me for the rest of the time he was in.

I really need to get a new job.

Back to painting Mother Fucker.


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