*dies dead*

Dear Tax Season,

I hate you. Please die. Very very slowly.

No love,
An exhausted runner


Dear Lawyers,

All your degrees, all those years of study, all your prestigious awards and the expensive toys you worked years and years to afford--

And you can't manage to do your taxes until the last fucking day?

Would rather be poor but intelligent,
Me

Dear Cool Secretaries,

I love you very mucn and hope your lives are long and happy. With all sincerity, I would gladly do you any favor. The fact that you don't treat me like scum makes more of a difference than you know.

Much Love,
Megan

Dear Bitchy Secretaries,

I don't care who you work for, you ain't that special. I hope the high horses you're on buck you off and skoosh you.

Piss of,
Megan

Now I go home for to ignore the rest of the world for the evening. Vodka + movie + slash = ^_^ Megan.

And I suppose I should eat something. *kisses to all*

hee heeeee

NUMB3RS so totally owns me. And Charlie and sniper expert man? Heeeeee

That ficbit is getting written tomorrow.

Had burgers and booze and Mummy 2 and NUMB3RS.

And N was rife with slash (jeez, it was getting ridiculous. "I know you were much more than a teacher to him" <-- too easily misconstrued, kekeke).

Now I should probably go sleepy, because tomorrow is going to be a looooooooooooooong fucking day.