Happy birthday…from my tattoo guy?

August 13, 2014 by ·

The first person to wish me a happy birthday this year was my tattoo guy. Usually it’s the guy I have our car insurance through or one of the many places I online shop, but this year the winner is Steven. Interesting…I either get far too many tattoos or I haven’t gotten enough and he’s trying to earn back my business. The fact that I have a tattoo guy probably speaks volumes about me, but whatever. I like him and wouldn’t consider going anywhere else.

But to digress a bit, here’s a quick story about BFF since we share Steven as our tattoo guy.

When we were teenagers, long before the fabulous Steven came into our lives, BFF got a tattoo on her lower back, not a tramp stamp, it’s off to the side and far more classy. She swears it was the worst fucking pain of her life and still insists the tat guy made her drop trou right in the front of the shop. So basically it ruined her and she swore up and down she’d never get another. She was like, “Sweet fucking Jesus it was like childbirth. Never again.”

But she’s pretty fickle and a bandwagon jumper, so when I got another one, she decided she’d give it another try. Especially since I told her Steven is fucking awesome. Going with her for moral support, she opted for a tiny tattoo on her foot. Turns out it’s not so bad. She survives and the tat is adorable. Yay for BFF, but not really.

A few days later is the 4th of July and she goes on a boozy bender where she wears no shoes, pokes at the tat with dirty fingers and hits up a few too many bathrooms.

Cue the next day while lying on my couch:

BFF: Do you think it’s infected?

It’s swollen and cratered and puss is forming. It’s as red as an Irishman with a sunburn. It’s totes infected. I feared they may have to take her leg.

Me: Um, yeah.

BFF: Ask Hubs B what to do, he’s in the science field.

Hubs B: *While watching TV* I’m not a doctor.

Me: I have some antibiotics in the cabinet from when I had a UTI. Take one.

BFF: Ok.

Over the course of three days I was texted updated pictures where I teased her without regard for the fact that she may lose her foot, about it being gangrenous and smelling like almonds. Eventually she had to see a legit doctor and not a fake one who has a degree in biology and was drinking a beer while watching TV, because it got mega out of hand. It healed and it didn’t stop her from getting two more after that.

So a shout out to Steven for that happy birthday and for reminding me I’m old, and also for making BFF and I want to get another tat. Mission accomplished, Steven. Well played. Here’s to gangrenous tattoos and my 29th birthday!

PM2

Filed Under: FFS, Fuck. Me., LMAO, What the hell is wrong with me, WTF? ·

Work…you make me wanna drink

August 13, 2014 by ·

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I’m back at work and it’s only been three days and I wanna have a really stiff drink or ten and sleep like a fucking baby. (And possibly wake up already retired.) My job always eases us back in or at least that’s the way they look at it. A nice welcome back breakfast of runny eggs, frisbee style pancakes, some mystery meat covered in a red sauce and soggy bacon, and oh yeah, what I thought would be the only edible item, fruit. (You know how I feel about fruit, but in this case I was glad to see it.) Except for the fact that it was pretty shit-tacular. Watermelon with seeds, sour as fuck grapes and mushy strawberries with the green tops still attached. (What the fucking fuck? Unless they’re dipped in chocolate that shit needs to be removed. These were not dipped in chocolate.) Needless to say I ate hardly anything. And I ended up drinking out of Work BFF’s glass because mine had some white chunky thing floating in it. (Let the illness passing begin!)

We then proceed to sit through a boring series of meeting and more meetings and once again meetings, where my boss lays down the law and has that come to jesus talk with the peeps she knows are gonna be fuck-ups. It’s by no means exhausting, but it is boring as fuck.

But the ease in ends two days later and I’m hit with that what the fuck am I doing feeling and sometimes I wanna ugly cry in the bathroom and reconsider my career choice. Anyone else have a job where their office is filled with 58 rolls of paper towels, 87 boxes of Kleenex, 58 tubs of antibacterial wipes, 87 gallon ziplock bags and their even more interesting counter part, 87 quart sized? The list is pretty much endless along with ever finding my desk again. But my personal favorite are the 1,870 UNSHARPENED pencils! Motherfucker…have  you ever tried to sharpen that many pencils??? And don’t even get me started on pencil sharpeners!

Dear Amazon,

Don’t call it industrial if it can’t make it more than two months before it needs to be replaced. Yep, I sharpen a lot of fucking pencils. A LOT!!! And when your sharpener craps out and only sharpens half a pencil, I’m tempted to stab myself in the eye with it just get out of ever having to sharpen pencils again.

Love,

PM2

But in the end, none of this a has anything to do with my job. No where in my job description does it say, collector of mass quantities of cleaning supplies, and writing utensils, sharpener of astronomical amounts of #2 pencils with a half-assed sharpener, owner of a million fucking glue sticks, (like enough to glue a fucking elephant to the ceiling) and controller of shear fucking chaos. Yet somehow this is where I find myself and after a drink and a good long soak in the bathtub, I’ll do it all over again tomorrow…because I secretly love it. (Not all this shit, but my actual job.)

Not like it’s a mystery, but take a guess what I do for a living??? 😉

PM2

Filed Under: FFS, Fuck. Me., WTF? ·

Food Love + Boycott = You don’t stand a fucking chance

August 9, 2014 by ·

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We have this little sandwich place near our house that we order from once a week, well, if I’m being honest, it’s probably more, but whatever. The sandwiches are good, but they have oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that are fucking unbelievable.

A few weeks ago I ordered dinner using their online ordering system and then left to run some errands before going to pick up the order. I arrived at the store five minutes earlier than my pick up time. No big deal, right? Well, clearly it was a huge fucking deal because a girl with a permanent bitchface greeted (I’m lying here, she basically said fuck off using her face) me at the pick-up counter.

After looking at her watch twice, she then said, “You’re early. Why are you early?” Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t know who you’re fucking with here, Bitchface. My response, “Do you need me to go sit in my car for five minutes and then come back in?”

Of course at the point she says nothing. Just orders some poor teenage kid to get my order ready. After ten minutes, which was now past my pick up time, my order is ready. But not really. They don’t have the fucking oatmeal cookies I ordered. I let it go, despite my obsessive love of cookies. I wasn’t interested in battling with Bitchface anymore.

Flash to a week later. Online order placed, cookies added and once again, I go to pick up my order and Bitchface is there. “We don’t have your cookie,” Bitchface announces as soon as I reach the register. What the fucking fuck!!??? I just look at her as the same teenage boy from before gets my order ready and asks where my cookies are. Bitchface turns around, glares at him and tells him they don’t have any, which prompts him to say, “Well, I put them right here when I was getting the order ready.” Again are you fucking kidding me?? Bitchface sold my fucking cookies before I could there!! The kid hands me my order and apologizes to me, all the while my eyes are staring right at Bitchface.

Glutton for punishment, a week later, I place the same order and head in there to pick it up. NO FUCKING COOKIES AGAIN!!! This time I’m fuming and Bitchface headed for the hills as soon as she saw me come through the door. I’m now dealing with the manager who must be married to Bitchface because he’s just as pleasant…a total fuckwit dickhead. Dickhead tells me he doesn’t have my cookies and my response was, “For the last three Fridays, I’ve ordered dinner from here and for the last three Fridays you haven’t had the cookies I ordered.” (Now, I may have ordered the last three Fridays in a row, but generally I legit order once a week. I’m certain I’m their best customer.)

Dickhead: You should’ve ordered earlier in the day, like at noon. We had them then.

Me: *Laughing* I wasn’t hungry at noon.

Dickhead: The food is on a first come, first serve basis.

Me: *Laughing even louder now* That’s some good business practices you have while running a restaurant. I’d love to see what happened if you ran out of bread since you serve sandwiches.

Dickhead: *Handing me my order minus the cookies* Can I get you anything else?

Me: Just the cookies.

Dickhead: We don’t have them.

Me: Since obviously you sell a lot of them, wouldn’t it be smart to make more, especially seeing as I placed my order an hour ago. That would give you plenty of time to make more.

Dickhead: It’s first come, first serve.

Me: I’m contacting your corporate office.

At this point Dickhead says nothing and Bitchface has now emerged from her hiding in the backroom. I give her a good long stink eye before adding, “By the way, your corporate office is the city I live in so you can guarantee I’m gonna be up their ass.”

I was fuming by the time I got home and Hubs B was just as pissed off about the missing cookies. Between my love of food and Hubs B’s boycotting skills, they’ve lost our business. And I’m certain they spit in my food as soon as my name comes up on their order sheet.

Standby because I sent a scathing email to their corporate office, in which I included a screen shot of a Google map of all the sandwich shops within walking distance of their store. I’m looking forward to their response.

PM2

Filed Under: FFS, Fuck. Me., Mmmm...food, WTF? ·

Naked and Afraid… Oh, hell no

August 8, 2014 by ·

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Sunday was the premier of the most recent season of Naked and Afraid, so what better way to spend a Sunday evening than marathoning the previous season with Hubs B and BFF.

For those of you that have never seen the show, let me break it down for you. Basically it’s where these two fuckwits, I mean survivalists are dropped into jungles and shit and are forced to survive…naked with a partner they’ve never met. They get to bring one survival, like knife or a fire starter, something to help them out and they have to last 21 days. They also give each contestant (I call them this, although there is no prize at the end. Just the gratification of completing this journey…fucking lame.) a PSR rating. A Primitive Survival Rating, which is how likely they are to complete the challenge based on their survivalist experiences. It’s a scale from 0-10 and most of the men are rated somewhere in the 7.5-8.5 area and the women somewhere between 6-7.5. (sexist…) It’s a complete shit show, yet totally addictive.

So, we settle in to watch the premier after watching three consecutive episodes. It wasn’t so much that the episodes were hilarious, it was more about the conversations we had while watching.

I find the people who go on the show fascinating because I have no desire to ever do anything outside, besides sit on the beach. I’m afraid of the dark, I fucking hate bugs, especially moths, I have an aversion to things that are wet, so that rules out anything that deals with rain, I LOVE food and not grubs and weird ass shit caught in a jungle setting (one woman ate the brain from a rotten bird head she found on the beach and then was shocked when she got the shits), I won’t go camping, I despise sleeping on anything but a bed, I don’t like hiking or anything that requires me to climb, seeing as I’m afraid of heights and (I say “and” like the list ends here. Trust me it could go on for days) I’m always cold. So to say the people on this show are out of my realm of reality, is a fucking understatement.

As soon as the episode started BFF, Hubs B and I created our own rating system. FBR and DBR…Fucking Bitch Rating and Douche Bag Rating since the people in the premier were just awful. The female contestant complained non-stop. Um, you fucking chose to go on this fucking show, so stop your bitching. And the male contestant was a smarmy asshole, who found himself far too attractive, like he was a catch or something. At one point claiming to his partner after she was complaining about his douchebagness, “Girls would kill to be trapped with me for 21 days.” Really? Only if they like douche bags with beer guts and receding hairlines.

When the episode started I asked Hubs B what he thought his PSR be. Now I think of Hubs B as pretty badass and resourceful, but his response was, “Um…probably a 3.” Looks like I wouldn’t want to be paired up with him. So then BFF asks me, how likely I would be to survive on the show.

Hilarity ensure from Hubs B and then he says, “I give the two of you together 21 minutes,” which prompts BFF to ask if she could bring pizza as her survival item. I then, interject that we could totes survive longer than 21 minutes, which again has Hubs B laughing hysterically.

Hubs B: You won’t even stay in a hotel that has the doors on the outside.

Me: Um, that’s not a hotel, that’s a fucking motel.

Hubs B: Ok, so please fucking tell me, what type of doomsday scenario would warrant you staying in a motel with with the doors on the outside?

BFF: So if it was either sleep in my car or stay at motel with the doors on the outside, I’d choose the motel.

Me: *Long pause* Um…I don’t know. I really don’t like motels at all. Only hotels.

Hubs B: I’m amending my original estimate. 21 seconds…max.

BFF: I don’t like to hunt for food.

Me: Me either. I don’t even know where pizza lives.

BFF: I love food.

Me: Me too.

BFF: I’d go on the show just to lose 30 pounds.

Me: Great diet.

Hubs B: *Shaking his head* You two are fucking hopeless.

In the end, we established that the people who go on the show are fucking nuts, Hubs B isn’t nearly as badass as I thought and BFF and I would likely survive a few second, unless there was pizza involved. Not too bad.

PM2

Filed Under: FFS, Fuck. Me., LMAO, WTF? ·

Professional? My f**king ass

July 25, 2014 by ·

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I’m sure a lot of you have hired professionals to take care of things for you at one time or another. For instance, maybe someone to clean your house, wash your windows, remodel a bathroom, design a website or blog, reroof your house; the list is pretty extensive and could go on for days. But recently I hired someone to take on a job and it went to shit in a matter of seconds.

I hire these people because they are professionals and I’m not. If you need some learning, I’m your girl, but construction, cleaning, blog design, fuck it, that’s not me. (And maybe I’m a little lazy, too.)

So, that brings me to my point, I have a hobby that requires the use of a freelance team of people and I have always been thoroughly satisfied with the people I’ve worked with. For some stupid ass reason, I opted to hire someone I have never worked with before.

It went to fucking hell in a hand basket after the first fucking email. Intuition told me to walk away, but thinking I was jumping the gun on firing someone so quickly, I stuck it out for 30+ fucking emails.

Here’s how it all went down. I hired this person to design something similar to the Girls with Potty Mouth blog, which went so well, I thought; why not give someone else a shot.

I started by filling out the lengthy design form that took almost an hour and I left a few sections blank. I waited and four days later I still hadn’t heard anything. I sent a courtesy email asking if the fucking novel design form I filled out was received. It in fact was and work would begin promptly.

Awesome! But not really…

Promptly meant two weeks later and I had to send two more “courtesy” emails that were becoming far less courtesy than the first. At this time, I received an email asking me to take on a portion of this person’s work, because they were, in fact, running behind in their work schedule. Are you fucking kidding me???No, I won’t do your fucking job because your schedule is full. I shot back a pretty heated email and got a return email explaining how it would help if I took on this portion because it’s my vision. I don’t fucking care! I gave you a few ideas and because you’re the professional I hired, I need you to create something from it.

But, because I needed this work done in a timely manner, I did what was asked. And again, a good length of time went by with no communication. Another courtesy email sent and again another response with far too many questions regarding my design idea. All of the questions were answered in the fucking design form I filled out.

Mentioning this in the email I sent back, I did eventually answer all the fucking questions again. And again the waiting game…

I finally got an email with the finished product!

Yay! But not really…

What the fucking fuck!!!???

Design form filled out, multiple emails exchanged about my “vision” and the fucking finished product is missing everything! Not one single thing I asked to be incorporated was in the design and when I shot back a very professional email, I was confronted with the same questions from the design form and the multiple emails, being asked for the millionth fucking time!

Learn to fucking read! I hate hand holding, I hate giving direction and I fucking hate people who can’t perform their job without someone giving them constant feedback.

By this point, I was done. Just fucking done. Enlisting the help of PM1 because I was so fucking pissed, she promptly fired her for me. (PM1 and I were working on this project together, btw.)

Lesson learned, cheap isn’t always better, hand-holding is for teenagers in love, not professionals, and when someone misuses the words its/it’s and then/than, you should walk run the other fucking direction.

PM2

Filed Under: FFS, Fuck. Me., WTF? ·

Why do I subject myself to this?

July 16, 2014 by ·

1344578729070_522530 There’s nothing I despise more than pseudo celebrities and I think that came across loud and clear in my rants about the Kimye wedding. But fret no more, now that the wedding debacle is past us, I have found something new to focus on.

Paris Fucking Hilton

Now Hubs B has always claimed she is hot and I’ve always begged to differ. And after her latest music video, I’m not sure how anyone can claim her as anything but an insipid twit stuck in the body of a thirteen year old girl.

This video is the biggest fucking shit show since the Ashlee Simpson SNL lip sync fiasco. In order to fully appreciate this post you must view the video.

Disclaimer: It’s going to be 4 minutes and 14 seconds of sheer what-the-fuck.

Ok, now that you’ve seen it, questioned why you watched and have picked your jaw off the floor; let’s go through my favorite parts.

The starfish bra…god, I fucking hope no starfish were harmed in the making of this video. They absolutely were!!! They were forced to listen to an auto tuned version of a song that outright sucks balls. And the extended pause between the words come and alive, make it seem nothing but pornographic. (Guessing that was the point…sex tape scandal, my ass…again.) She looks like a cross between a mermaid and a pixie and the tooth fairy and a small child playing dress up on a set where Rainbow Bright and Barbie had a bad bout with the stomach flu. You’re a grown ass woman, grow the fuck up. Oh wait, that’s impossible because you have far too much money to be required to be a responsible adult. And let me say, nothing screams adult like parading around in a field of cotton candy clouds wearing rhinestone panties.

But on to my favorite part!!! A unicorn!!! There’s a fucking real-life unicorn in this video!! Only Paris Hilton could land that kinda shit. I only wish I would’ve been cast as the unicorn; my disappointment is fucking epic. I would have totes used that horn to give her a few jabs back into the real world. (Maybe even one really swift one) She fucking needs it.

So in the end…who doesn’t have Stars Go Blind on their playlist? Make sure to add Come Alive. We want to keep supporting Paris Hilton. Well maybe I just want that unicorn to keep getting work. It’s gotta be tough, I doubt it’s the heir to a hotel fortune.

PM2

PS…Who ever created the ecard, no one is two words. Just sayin’.

Filed Under: FFS, What the hell is wrong with me, WTF? ·

True Blood…are you f**king kidding me???

July 7, 2014 by ·

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Ok…in keeping with my earlier, TV show obsessed post, I need to have a rant about the latest True Blood episode. As a warning, anyone who hasn’t seen episode 3 yet, stop reading. Not only are there going to be spoilers, I’m about to rant like a fucking lunatic.

Because seriously True Blood writers…

What. The. Fuck. was THAT?

Seriously? That’s all Alcide gets?

A random shot to the head by some fucking unknown loser hiding in the bushes who’s never held a fucking gun before, while Alcide is standing there buck fucking naked (so fucking hot) after swooping in with Sam to save the fucking day?

Fuck. Me. That, is total bullshit.

Yeah ok, I get what you’re doing, we all fucking do, it’s been blatantly obvious since this show started. I mean we all know Sookie is going to end up with Bill. It’s been destined since episode 1 peeps, long before the show stopped following the books and long before it went off the rails with it’s ridiculous storyline about fucking Lilith, the vampire demi-god or whatever the fuck she was.

But that’s not what this rant post is about. No this is about how un-fucking-fair Alcide’s death was. I mean aside from the fact the guy is a 6’5” man of fucking steel werewolf, he’s also a nice fucking guy, a guaranteed bit of eye candy and someone the fans love. He deserved more than that. He deserved an epic fucking showdown that didn’t just showcase his fighting skills and his abs of fucking steel, but also his huge love for Sookie and the rest of his peeps.

Instead we get some random dickhead accidentally-on-purpose popping a cap in his head?

Fuck, the least you could do was pan the fucking camera down so we could get the full monty shot as Alcide lay there dying and I sat on my couch screaming “NOOOOOOOOO.”

And yes I know this is the final season and shit’s gonna get real, but fuck me, what exactly did his death accomplish? All it did was undermine just how fucking awesome Alcide is and make him look like a motherfucking pussy.

Oh, and make me motherfucking pissed.

Take note True Blood. Take. Note.

PM1

Filed Under: Beautiful boy, Don't judge me, FFS, Fuck. Me., Holy shit burgers, Things that piss us off, WTF? ·

Oh sweet baby Jesus! GOAL!!!

July 2, 2014 by ·
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Yes, these boys play soccer…

Hubs B is a huge fan of soccer and with the world cup only coming around every four years, I let him indulge. Unless you were living under a rock, you know yesterday the US played Belgium in a game that would allow the winner to advance to the next round.

Hotsoccer

And so do these. Just imagine them all hot and sweaty.

So Hubs B and I headed over to our favorite little bar to take in the game. (Yes, Mini 1 and Mini 2 were with but you can’t judge me because the bar has a kids’ menu.) While I enjoyed a Harp Shandy, Hubs B sat on the end of his chair with his eyes glued to the television.

I have to digress a minute and wish my good friend and her husband a congratulations on the birth of their twin girls yesterday. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I would add this to my post about soccer. Well, you see, my friend’s husband is just as big of a fan as Hubs B and while the US was losing to Belgium (sorry…spoiler for those rock dwellers), they were welcoming their baby girls. A great end to a shitty day of lost soccer where I spent the rest of the evening in a bar with a bunch of semi-drunk depressed Americans. But lucky for him, he’s from Germany and I’m sure his loyalty still lies there. So rock on Germany. Kick some French ass!

But yeah, back to soccer. Now this post really has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the hot guys who participate. I have no problem watching soccer with Hubs B and would probably do it regardless, but all those hot, hot guys make it totally worth it.

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Lawwrrddd….someone hold me up.

Have you seen these men? Oh my fucking god. It’s the only professional sport that cranks out more good-looking faces and hot bodies than any other. But for the love of fuck…make the world cup happen more often than every four years. Stop punishing women!

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Good god, those eyes!

So in the end, here is the reason I really watch…hot guys and soccer junk. When I say junk, I mean the best kind. 🙂

Here’s a montage of some of my favorites. Enjoy ladies, or guys if that’s your thing. 😉

Hello!

Adorable ass.

Not sure what this is about but it made me laugh.

Last one…I promise.

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I lied… This is Oguchi Onyewu. I have no idea how to pronounce his name, which will make for an interesting attempt while I call it out in my dreams.

I think I have ADD.

PM2

Filed Under: Beautiful boy, FFS, Fuck. Me., Totes adorbs, What the hell is wrong with me ·

Don’t mess with old people and their golf

June 26, 2014 by ·

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Old people, golf and their brutal honesty; sometimes I find it downright laughable.

Mini 1 takes golf lessons early in the morning and generally the place is empty. But for some fucking reason it was packed this morning. Oddly enough, the weather was shit, so who knows. But yeah, back to my point…

Every day Mini 1, Mini 2 and I trek over to the golf course and while Mini 1 takes his hour long lesson, Mini 2 and I eat donuts and drink Gatorade. During this time we also observe the mass of old folks who frequent the driving range, putting green and golf course.

And like most old people who are retired, they think they own the fucking place.

Well today they got the shock of their life when the (their) course was filled with what must have been fifty teenagers on a golf outing. Now mind you, these seemed to be rather well behaved teens. No riotous hoodlums or anything. Just kids out for a good time.

Either way…Imagine all the what-the-fuck faces. But that wasn’t the worst of it; it was all the mumbling and swearing under their breath and the outright disgust these old peeps displayed that had me laughing. And when I say laughing, I mean laughing like, you can’t be fucking serious. One person even had the balls to complain!

Complain about what you ask? It was about how crowded the PUBLIC golf course was. Oh FFS…

In the end the kids played golf, most of the oldies left and I began to ponder what my life might be like thirty years from now. I already lack a verbal filter, I imagine it will be shot to shit by then.

I’m fucked.

PM 2

Filed Under: FFS, LMAO, WTF? ·

Game of Thrones, stop f**king with me

June 10, 2014 by ·

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Hubs B and I have a serious obsession with Game of Thrones. It’s one of those rare shows we watch on live TV. And just like last season (The Red Wedding…still bawling my fucking eyes out! WAAAAAHHHHHHH, ROBB STARK!), the second to the last episode of the season didn’t disappoint.

WARNING!!! SPOILERS!! Don’t read if you don’t want to know what happens!!!! You’ve been warned.

This is going to be a shit ass mess because my thoughts are still. But here it goes…

So Ygritte and her band of douche bag assholes Wildlings invade Castle Black in an epic battle that still has me screaming Jon Snow’s name. As the battle ensues, Jon leaves his post at the top of the wall to singlehandedly take on all 100,000 Wildlings in the depths of the castle. I’m bouncing on the edge of the couch, yelling and shielding my eyes. “Go Jon, you motherfucker! Kill them all!” Hubs B is the silent type, but trust me he’s just as anxious. He can’t die, right? But then it hits, this fucking show kills everyone and that brings me back Tyrion…OMFG I’m not going to find out if he dies in this episode! Back to the battle, fucking Ygritte that dirty whore, kills Sam’s friend with an arrow straight through his throat. So graphic and not a good way to die. But Sam stays with him and comforts him as he fades away, but then I panic again that Sam is going to die. At this point Gilly and the baby have come back and she’s hiding in the pantry and she made Sam promise he won’t die. So fuck me, he can’t die too! Jon, still in the thick of it, is now fighting like a fucking machine and during this time Sam releases Jon’s wolf, Ghost who proceeds to kill anything in his path and eat their faces. It was disgusting, yet somehow thrilling. Just as Jon has a leg up on all this shit, the king of Wildlings, that owl dude with the creepy eyes starts kicking the shit out of Jon. OMFG!!! He’s going to die!! But fate steps in and he goes down. Sigh of relief is breathed, but then that whore Ygritte shows up and now I know it’s over. NO!!! Please for the love of fuck, don’t kill him! Don’t forget Ygritte you’re the one who opened your legs to this hot ass man. And the next thing I know, she’s down for the count. This poor kid who’s been forced to run the elevator during this shit fight, puts an arrow in her saving Jon’s life. I could totes kiss this kid. Falling back on to the couch, feeling like I just ran a marathon, I turn to Hubs B and say, “It’s over already? Shit, check the time, I think that episode was only twenty minutes long.”

If you need me I’ll be watching the preview for next week’s episode on repeat until Sunday.

And that’s my take on this whole thing. Yep, I think I’ve lost my mind.

PM2

Filed Under: Don't judge me, FFS, Fuck. Me., What the hell is wrong with me, WTF? ·
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