Two-thousand-and-eight is officially the year that My House Fell Apart and I'm completely convinced Aaron hid the matches from me on purpose 'cause I'm ready to set the fucker on fire.
That or light a really nice candle. I'll let you guess which one.
So, yeah, I've become that person -- the one who rattles on and one about everything wrong with her house. This instance? The air conditioner broke. Again. Maybe I didn't write about it previously? But it broke a couple of months ago? I paid for it? With my job? Why did the house decide to break now that I've got a job? We're trying to decrease debt, not increase it. Why is she such a selfish little slut? Doesn't she know I'll be able to dress her up pretty if SHE STOPS NEEDING SURGERY?
So, yeah. Hi. Air conditioner broken. Thank Goddess for artificially-flavored fake-juice freezer pops.
It's fixed now. Temporarily, I'm sure. Since it has a leak. And yes, you had better bet your bottom dollar I'm gonna get that fixed because holy crap, just with the house being hot we were all suffering from heat problems -- rashes, tummy aches, headaches and acidic tummy-vomit. I'm sorry, I'm quite certain you'd want to know that last bit of information about me. Up at 2:30 in the morning. By myself. Throwing up stomach juice.
Had I known, I'd at least have a popsicle first so it was flavored nicely.
But! It's fixed nice! So now I can do stuff instead of laying about like a damsel in distress. Stuff like sticking my face in front of a vent and sucking the sweet, glorious cool air.