Miss Sarcasm and I decided that if that Santorum ass bucket were to win the election, she would move up here to be my neighboUr. On the other hand, if Obama wins, I will be moving down there. But then we decided that she and I would just combine and rule the two nations ourselves. The Stefanna Cheesedom of Canmerica. With a national dish of poutine and Beyonce (chicken, not singer) on our coins. And an "anti douche, anti idiot" statement in our citizenship pledge.
|Knock knock, motherfucker|
Hubby called me at work to report a suspicious vehicle on our street. It was sitting parked with the engine running for several hours. When an equally suspicious van approached, Hubby became particularly concerned. And so, naturally, he called to ask me if alerting the police was overkill. Because he's reasonable like that. As much as I wanted to avoid a repeat of last time, I do hate weirdos. "Hell, call the cops! Weirdos!" Although it turned out to be nothing, I'm glad Hubby is monitoring the neighbourhood.
Miss Sarcasm told me to "show boob." Wait, what? Ok, I have to do a presentation for a bunch of tenth graders tomorrow. I'm supposed to talk about my boring career. BORING. Unleeesssss I show boob. Boob showing is always the highlight of any presentation. Fact.
Hubby texted me to ask if I wanted chicken alfredo for dinner. This was good for two reasons: first, I was hungry and had no intention of making any food; and, second, I was upstairs in the bedroom. In other words, he offered to make me dinner, AND my kickass iPhone made it possible for me to accept said offer instantaneously. WIN/WIN. As an additional bonus, this was the best text conversation we've had in a while...