Hot cross bitch

I may never get my A/C fixed after the rip-roaring message I just left for maintenance. I left my first one before the office opened yesterday; I walked in at 10:15 p.m. to find hot cat vomit and a thermostat registering 82 degrees when I’d set it on 70.

The only saving grace is that the apartment is gloriously empty. So, really, I have no complaints!

I had that tone of voice on the phone that I want to use with the no-talent assclowns that parade across my path, although I said the polite words. Just in a way that my teeth were clenched and I was dreaming of them all dying in a fire.

I did, however, say to kindly not bother sending me my lease renewal next spring, since the don’t seem to deem the A/C blowing HOT FUCKING AIR when the heat index is at 110 as an emergency.

Am ready to go sleep at work, since it’s morgue-like cold over there. Hmm. Not a bad idea, if I say so myself. …

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