When it rains, it pours.

So it really is true, a gal can meet guys at Home Depot. Tall guys, short guys, guys who just came in from someplace stinky, guys who's shoes cost more than mine, guys who cannot measure, cut, screw or hammer, but who looooove Home Depot. Oh, and divorced guys. Yeah. They hang out there because they heard you can meet girls. On the paint isle. The secret code word is "restful sage". Secret handshakes aren't necessary. We really don't know where their hands have been, after all.

That's right, I spent last weekend painting. I'd rather have had a rectal exam. I HATE painting. And the color turned out wrong. I am learning to live with "flesh toned putty" on the walls because I WILL NOT REPAINT. No, never!! Walls be damned. It was supposed to be a nice, normal tan, incase you're wondering.

If my landlord tells me One More Time that he cannot get a blow job from his wife, I will either scream or puke or both. Bastard. He's like the little brother I would've killed at birth, if given half a chance. This weeks WordsFromAnIdiot include, "Your boobs are big". And his point is???

Ran into J @ LaCazuela's. He was the Divorced Guy who mixed mah paint. He drank beer. I sipped tea, knowing I had to get up this morning and go to work, and prefering to do so without a hangover. I had two sips of beer. TWO SIPS, people. I have a headache. He told me himself that he has "sexy lips". Oh.no.he.didn't. Not by a long shot, buddy. And get those lips away from me. If I wanna be kissed like that I'll go lock lips with Shamu. His.lips.were.not.sexy. That is all.