What a week. I've been working my ass off for the record label trying to get things sorted for the next release (which is now-thank Christ-mostly in the bag) and the show we're putting on next week. Except I can't get a hold of the guy at the venue, so I'm not sure what's happening there. Also, my day-job has been extra shitty lately: no real story there, but trust me. Also, cash has been an issue, since I'm trying to save, which means tightening the belt, which means no fun. Then the fucking Oilers go and dump Ryan Smyth for a bag of pucks and a torn Shooter Tutor, which made me so upset that I ended up getting the heave-ho from my soccer game last night (two yellow cards for dangerous tackles, goddammit). Well, that's my excuse, anyway. (The other fun part of the Smyth deal is that it screws both of my teams: the Oilers lose their heart and soul and the Islanders gain a weapon to use against my Habs in the playoff race. Of course, both my teams haven't exactly been earning my affection, so maybe I'll just stick with cheering for their PS2 equivalents.)
Bah. Me grumpy. Me go away now. Fuck.
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