the twelve days of christmas start now.

well i m home — pajamaed, unbraed and westerberged. of course the guy whose spleen i was about to rip out called me as i was putting on my coat.

“i just got your e-mail,” he said (the one i had sent telling him i was leaving and out for TWELVE DAYS and good luck with all that).
“oh,” i said. “damn, i was hoping to escape before you called.”
“i haven’t even had a chance to look at what you sent.”
“right on!” i said. he laughed. “i’m sorry. i can’t even pretend that i care about anything at this point.”
“i don’t blame you,” he said. “i just want to thank you for all your help.”

and then i felt kinda bad for telling the internet how i wanted to rip out his spleen.

but now, i don’t care. at all. how can i care when i’m sitting in my jammies with back to back episodes of felicity on? the only thing that could make right now better is someone willing to perform oral sex on me.

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