I have just flipped out.  The cause of my flip out: a dirty coffee maker.  Now why would I flip out over this?  Well ultimately it is what it stand for.  It stands for my fucking cunting whore of a roommate and Steve making breakfast together and having coffee every fucking weekend (except the weekend I take off because oh yeah…they made plans).  There is really only so much of this I can stand and I’ve reached it.

Especially since last night Steve came home and knocked on Jen’s door to talk to her.  Not mine.  I wasn’t invited to the late night pow-wow.  If we didn’t live in the same place I would burn their fucking apartment down.  Everything they do is so backstabbing.

I especially loved Jen’s, Oh I feel like I have to call you if I’m going to CB6.  Fuck you.  FUCK YOU.

My little neighborhood bar is in trouble.  Buy a t-shirt.  Act like you know what it’s about.  Damn the man, Save Dexy’s.

Today we took an Indiana Jones teaser break.  Of course afterward all I could hear was the theme music.  Which is okay in my book.  A okay.

Last night my father answered the phone with the world is shit, fuck it all.  I said, not true I just got a free haircut.  But perhaps he was right after all.

I picked up my laundry last night, threw the bag in my room and went to watch KU lose to Texas.  Fine, no big deal.  Well, this morning I went to get a towel to take a shower and guess what…it isn’t there.  In fact none of my clothes are.  I have someone else’s clothes.  So I take a quick shower, air dry and head back to the drop-off to find my clothes.  They aren’t there.  I’m told, “come back later.  we try find clothes.  maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week.”  Great.  I have no underwear or jeans or towels or sheets (I pretended like I was a heroin junky last night & slept on the bare mattress).  Just fucking great.

This weekend I’m not going to work. In fact I’m not going to be a Mexican taking two entire days off.  This is going to be great.  This means I can go out tonight and not worry about how hungover I’ll be at work.  Sweet!

Superbowl and I hung out on Sunday.  It started out innocently enough.  A shot & a beer.  Then superbowl went nuts.  The next thing I know I’m dancing with the British Boys after the Giants won and lining up more shots.  Driving over to another bar where it is kickin’ and the British Boys are antsy to crazy make-outs.  Superbowl just sat back and smiled at its handywork.

A toilet full of puke, missing cell phone, rumpled bed, a misunderstanding about towels, and leaving the front door open Superbowl finally left and took whoever that was with him.  Superbowl isn’t allowed over anymore.