And The Hits Just Keep On Comin'

Making sure the top of the window was totally closed this afternoon...they have a tendency to fall when you open the bottom. Pushed on it a bit and... CRACK!

The house is very slowly falling down.

To All My Haters. All One Of You.

I was reminded recently, by someone out of my past, that I used to be a better person. This is most likely true. Weren't we all? I was thinking over the weekend that I'm becoming a mixture of Larry David, Frances McDormand's character in Friends With Money (rent it), and Liz Lemon when she bought all the hot dogs out of spite after some guy cut the line in front of her at the cart. So, no I'm not perfect. I have been a good daughter and a bad friend. I've been the best girlfriend in the world and a total bitch. I've been the life of the party and the sucking black hole that's killing the room.

I must be good at this though, because even my haters still read my blog.

Call me any name in the book, but please do not take joy in my misfortune, no matter how much you may dislike me or my actions. I'm not Hitler for eff's sake. I don't go around trolling on your blog.
It's not that my feelings are hurt, it's just that you have NO CLASS.
If it wasn't my dog that had died, but my father, would you have said "what goes around comes around"? If I had been badly hurt or killed in one of those car accidents (and I got hit hard, the rental was totaled), would you show up at my funeral to tell my parents "Good riddance"? Done a jig at my hospital bedside?

No class. None.

Any future anonymous troll comments will be trashed.

Drop The Puck

Hockey season started a few days ago, bringing with it Buffalo's renewed, neverending, useless hope for Lord Stanley's Cup.
Two years ago I returned from a late work meeting to the sound of a Sabres game turned up to ear splitting volume. That's odd, I thought, because Granny rarely watches television, and when she does she usually sets it on mute so she can read the captions. This is it, she's gonna be dead in the middle of the living room floor, having breathed her last to the sounds of ice skates.

But no, there she was, standing less than a foot from the television, fervently praying her rosary.

The Sabres won that night.