Dickhead

So I really think Blogger is fucking with me.  I could have sworn I had a new comment (and follower) when I was on here yesterday, and now the comment and follower is gone.  What the hell, Blogger.

It's 1:52 am Friday night.  I am currently laying in bed composing this entry on my iPhone and wishing I was asleep, seeing as I have to get up in about five hours for my ten-hour workday tomorrow.  Why am I up?  The people who live upstairs in the duplex next door got a brand new puppy I think today and they have it on their front porch and it has been crying for the past hour.  It is this loud, high pitched yipping that will go on for ten to fifteen minutes straight, stop just long enough for me to start nodding off, and then start back up.

Is it wrong for me to want to throw something at said puppy?  It added howling into the repertoire, and I'm exhausted.  I want to go next door and punch the stupid wannabe gangsta chick that lives there in the face.  It's bad enough she'll roll in from the bar at like three-thirty in the morning with the bass blasting and Gucci Mane personally waking me up with his latest little ditty about money, cash, and hoes (high fives to anyone who caught the Jay-Z reference).  Ugh ugh ugh.  I wish I didn't have a job so that I could fill all my time with being a badass bitch.  Really, it must be nice.

Well, Señor Puppy must have cried himself to sleep because I haven't heard him in five minutes.  I'm going to try to go to sleep now, darlings.  Good night.