My last post was probably DANGEROUSLY MISLEADING. It’s nothing about my personal life at all, it’s professional life related stuff, and it’s boring and it’s still in flux. That is all.

Case is sitting on the couch watching the weather channel and bursts out with “WHAT? How can it be FIFTY?” (which would be 10 for my centigrade friends). She misses last week, which was 80ish (26.6ish). Also, expected to be windy today. Trading sunburn for windburn in less than six days. Peanut butter, motherfucker, indeed.

In other news, I’ve been hammering the shit out of facebook the past couple of days, just clicking ALL the damn buttons I could see. I discovered that some of you are on facebook using your real email address but aliases (lol whut?). Cue Hank Williams, faintly in the background, singing “Your Cheating Heart.” Shame on you fuckers (alright, so you’re probably just avoiding students or coworkers, that’s fine).

And now, for breakfast beer and pills. Shit, I’m almost out of both. This is an emergency. Send St. Bernards and Paris Hilton, immediately. And have the dogs bring a gun and some ammo (Paris won’t be coming back).

Text message acronyms ftw (for the win). I just checked my phone and see a whole bunch of people have called, and I’m sure I have email, and they’re probably all thinking the same thing. “Man, fuck Kris.” Either that or “what the hell, he’s like living on the moon anymore.”

The excuse this week (it’s a good one) is that we’ve got this annual fair thing Saturday that is probably our biggest selling day of the year (maybe second biggest, counting some day around Xmas, but it’s debatable). We’ve been getting ready for it. Poorly, so we’re rushing around and etc. at the moment. Two AM, I should have been in bed at ten. Ugh.

Anyway, patience is a virtue, and you guys will all be getting calls, emails, and in the case of mah boi who hasn’t been to the East coast in … too long, a big sloppy bear hug and one of those “I LOVE YOU, MAN!” moments. Looking forward to it–I’ll call uh Sunday night, probably, if I don’t keel the fuck over first.

I’m unreasonably distressed by a series (two is a series, damnit) of rattles occuring in my car. One is under the front dash, midway between the center control cluster hump and the defogger vents (according to the technical service bulletin I found and printed for the dealer when they were supposed to fix it the first three times I took it in. They failed, but only because the didn’t follow the instructions). I know what the fix is, I even have the right kind of foam needed to fix it, I just need to disassemble my dash (again) and actually do it.

The other rattle is coming from somewhere behind me, I think over my left shoulder, I think in the very rear of the car. Well, truck–it’s an SUV. I can’t reliably reproduce, locate, or fix the second rattle, and it’s driving me apeshit.

Casey thinks I’m an asshole for being so bothered by it. Am I?