Caterwauling

Thanks to the cleaning crew for throwing out my dinner for tonight. It was in the freezer and clearly marked, but when we were told to have our crap out of the fridge by the time we left work today, they clearly assumed that we would be out before a certain time. Hah. So now I’m hungry AND cwabbers.

OK, let me explain “cwabbers.” My friend’s 2-year-old gets crabby, so we call her crabby. Crabby evolved into “crabbers” and now that she can talk, it’s “cwabbers.”

So I’ve got a good three hours ahead of me and 10 hours-plus (and a 90-minute commute) behind me, and PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD do not say the word “Monday” to me. Just don’t. Because you’ll want a pot of drawn butter with THAT level of cwabbers! 😉

Updated to include music!

The new Girl Scout cookies suck (the Cafe cookies). I think they aim to be snickerdoodles that nobody can chew. However, there’s something satisfying in gnawing ona whole box of some cookies as a stress-reliever. Although I am highly tempted to bake some of my own to erase my memory of these evil bastard wonders.

In other news, my publisher caught me sobbing today. But a vice president caught me rocking out (with headphones on, thankfully, lest I have to explain the two-decade-long Bon Jovi fetish). Yeah, I think it’s time for a weekend. …

At least they didn’t hear me singing Winger’s “Without the Night.” Well, I HOPE I wasn’t belting it out, anyway!!!

OK, who wants Friday tunage? (Warning: Depressing as all hell. But appropriate for me today, anyway.)

Sorry, Jesus, but the Girl Scout Cookies? They are calling. And I? Am answering.