unfiltered

There are days, and there are days... like today, when even breathing seemed to put me in a pissy mood. It's those damnable newsletters that, oh, say, seven seconds after you hit 'publish', will reveal their dirty little secrets, like the wrong store hours, the lack of a date for a sale event, or just poor placement of written text...
and silently, you fume, cursing the gods of all that is unholy and electronic for not making you a better widget-mover/detail queen.

Then you stifle the urge to choke the next person who says you should send them out weekly.
As if I'm even allowed that much Xanax.

Other news of note: the new hoo-hoo seems to be healing up at the appropriate rate, and a launch date of mid-March has been approved by the surgeon. Not that I'm cracking a bottle of champagne over it, but as things go, some sort of fanfare will be expected. Someone kindly warn Herr Becher that there should at least be flowers...and steak. Mostly steak.

The weather since Saturday has wreaked vengeance on Clementine. She's discovered a new aptitude for tequila, and came home with a coffee mug from her favorite pub last night. I wasn't privy to the details, but she either charmed the bartender into the freebie, or we're looking at petty larceny here...

This week I made the mistake of committing to a 'fitness program'. *shudder*
Now I need to be off to sleep, if I'm to get up and ruin my day-full-of-promise with 45 minutes of cardio work in my scary basement. You go eat a cupcake. Then bring me one...