|Monday, October 7th, 2002|
8:15a - You Like Me To Stroke You, Careful I Don't Choke You
Firstly, I would like to wish my favourite pussycatt a very happy, smashing, rated R movie-seeing 17th birthday.
So, guess what? I got up at six, got all fancy and professional looking, at seven-thirty, when it was time to leave, I reached for my keys and found that they weren't on their peg.
"Hm," I thought. "That's peculiar."
So I grabbed my backpack and looked through the front pocket, thinking perhaps they were still there from Friday, when Stefan and I saw Red Dragon.
I looked into the bag, I pawed through every last bit of junk, and still no keys.
By this time, I have begun to use the 'f' word excessively, and want to tear my hair out because I can't think of where they could be.
Then I remember. My CD's, as well as my keys, are sitting on the floor of my parents' Durango. I left them there by accident when I went and got my bloomers pattern. We bought this huge mirror and take-out for my father and the other one, so I couldn't grab my keys because my hands were full.
Now I have to go over to the middle school (using the spare key, thank god, we all need fucking cell phones) get my mom, and then get my keys. It is going to be a fiasco, I am going to be late for work, and I am going to lose hours and not make any money.
C'est la vie.
At least when I go to the middle school I can stop by Raley's and pick up lunch. We have run out of golden apples and that is my staple food at work.
There are a lot of October birthdays...
current mood: annoyed
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