Or on the telephone

My head hurts. Not like a headache, more of an aching head. Not like little men with hammers are in my head, whacking away at me. This is more of an aching head. My scalp hurts. I started bitching about it last night to JewelrySlut. It went like this:

(Sitting on the couch, watching TV)
Me: My ear hurts (whining a lot)
JewelrySlut: Your ear? What’s wrong with you?
Me: My left ear hurts. Like a lot.
JewelrySlut: It’s your headset. You had it on a lot today.
Me: No…it’s not the headset. My ear hurts.
JewelrySlut: You’re a dumbass.

Fast forward to this morning:

Me: My head hurts. Ob the right side
JewelrySlut: Asshole. It’s your headset
Me: No, it’s not. My head hurts.

So, I come down here and pop my headset. Screaming pain on my left ear and right side of my head. Guess what?

1: I’m a dumbass
2: The headset was making my head hurt.

I seem to remember having something witty to write from yesterday. Of course, I’ve forgotten what it was.

At the gym the other day, I was getting dressed after my strenuous, sweat-inducing workout. They had CNN on the TV’s. Some dopey representative wants to tax gas companies 100% of their profits if they are deemed “excessive”. Isn’t making what you can when you can one of the mail tenets of capitalism? And, if there was no demand for gas, wouldn’t it cost less. They charge at least $3 per gallon because we’ll buy it, right? I mean, did anyone force you (the regal you, not you or you or you) to buy that SUV? If you don’t want to pay for gas, don’t fucking buy any. Start walking or taking the bus. Or just fuck yourself. In fact, I like that option best.

Here’s something else that pissed me off. And Dangerspouse would agree with me. I’m in the car, listening to crappy Raleigh radio, and a song by The Jets comes on the radio. I’m all like “ooh…1987. The Jets” and the DJ-ette is babbling about some thing or another as the intro plays on. Sensing what’s about to happen, I start yelling Hit the Post! Hit the fucking post you twat! Don’t fuck it up! She didn’t hit the post and talked over the first 2 words of the song. Fucking twat.

Wow…that was angry, wasn’t it?

So, I’m off to Baltimore tomorrow for a weekend of baseball and male bonding with my father. Except for the fact that my brother, his new girlfriend and his old roommate are joining us for dinner. It’s my first time meeting her. She’s my age and has 2 kids, ages 13 and 8. (I’m 31). They live with their respective fathers because …well, we’re not sure exactly why. Maybe because she couldn’t deal with it. We don’t know. What we do know is that they’re moving in soon and I’m betting that in 18 months someone’s going to drop a nephew or niece on our doorstep to raise as one of our kids. Awesome.

I hope my flights go well, but who am I kidding? I’ll be back at PHL on Sunday afternoon, praying for death.

For fun, in 3 weeks, JewelrySlut and Shmuppie are flying to PHL. We decided it was worth the $200 to have the 2 of them fly up on a Wednesday morning, meet my mother and have JewelrySlut fly home that afternoon. This way, she doesn’t have to drive to DC and back in one day. That would take like 15 hours at least to do, and piss us all off a lot. This way, we drop the kid off up North before the trip. JewelrySlut will drive to DC after we get back to claim the kid like a lost coat at my brother’s place.

All I know is that St John is getting closer and I can’t wait.

5 thoughts on “Or on the telephone

  1. Dude, remember that tank of gas I got right before heading to your house to drive you and JS insane? I finally had to fill my tank…LAST FRIDAY. And only because I was driving the car to and from Water Country. I so toally want a hybrid I can't stand it. You didn't wear the headseat when I was over…

  2. GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! Goddammotherfargin Communications Deregulation Act of 1999, my ass!! All the best (ie: paid) DJ's were let go in the interest of consolidation and bottom line, and all we're left with are high school intern board ops WHO COULDN'T HIT THE POST WITH THE BROAD END OF MY WIFE'S ASS! Jesus, it pisses me off when I hear that. I made an art of hitting MULTIPLE posts in any into when I had my show – and I did it barefoot, uphill both ways, in the snow! Grrrr. Goddam slackers. That's what kids are these days. Slackers. Hrrrmph. Oh – it's your earpiece, asshole. Just in case you tune your wife out like you're supposed to.

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