Holy balls, what a fucking week… Yes, that nice British fellow is singing to his toilet. Just roll with it.
Anyway, things at work were ridiculous this week. The cow-orkers were at their very worst. I finally told my boss this afternoon that I was going to beat the guy to death with my shoe. She gently suggested I go home a little early.
Josh and I went and had dinner together at Famous Dave’s. I don’t care for their BBQ one bit, but I think their Sweetwater Catfish Fingers are DA BOMB. Doesn’t everyone get their Lenten Friday night fish from a BBQ joint? No? Just me I guess.
I’ve been wanting to try their “new” cocktails for awhile now, like preferably before they took them back off the menu. Except I didn’t think it would be a super idea for Josh to drink and I told him if he wasn’t drinking I wouldn’t drink. But tonight we decided all we really needed was one each – we’d totally be good. Totally.
Home (already) from a delightful dinner with Josh that included very tasty food, a lovely young waitress, and moonshine. I shall now either go serenade the cats or pass out on the sofa, I haven’t made up my mind yet.
I guess I haven’t done either of those yet.
Evie Cat is actually probably just wishing I’d leave her the hell alone. My sense of touch is just kind of heightened right now and her fur is soooo soft. Besides, Josh keeps smacking my hand away when I try to twist up his chest pubes with my fingers.
Ok, I don’t think I’m going to be able to match Sheena’s sheer number of pictures posted today, but I tried. And I’m way too tired to keep trying. Nighty-nite.