Loose-y Goose-y

So. I was planning on bitching and moaning about a buttload of topics. Or maybe just these two.

Like the fact that FPL (Florida Power & Light for those of you not in the know) is threatening to shut off my power if I don't pay them $98 by Monday. This despite the fact that they made me pay them a $500 security deposit in December because we had paid some of our electric bills late. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, well, you didn't always pay them on time. And I'd have to say, yes. I didn't always pay them on the due date. BUT I ALWAYS PAID THEM.

Or the fact that Mr. & Mrs. LeDouchetard had their son evaluated by a psychologist, and guess what? Guess who has ADD just like his teacher said? So. When I met with Mrs. LeDouchetard yesterday (Mr. LeDouchetard, praise baby Jesus, was stuck at home taking care of the vomit-y baby) to discuss the psychologist's evaluation, I was totally expecting her to be all sorry and you were right and I'm sorry for not getting you a card for Christmas because I'm so grateful that you know your business and you're not talking out of your ass. WRONG! This bitch had the nerve, THE NERVE, to talk to me as if she's INFORMING me about crap we've discussed, ad nauseum, for months and months and months. Once a douche, always a douche.

I WAS going to kvetch about all that, but I got the most delicious-est massage today. I feel like jelly. My muscles are all loose-y goose-y. And so. The aforementioned assholes can just suck it.

No point in killing my buzz.