I don't know for sure, but I think God might hate me.

Ok, so last week I tried to mow my yard.. My lawn mower looked at me and said quite clearly, "Fuck you." I figured it was the spark plug, I had had spark problems with it before and not knowing when it was last serviced it seemed the logical conclusion. I pulled the plug and decided I'd get a new one later. Fast forward almost a week later. I finally managed to get a plug this past Saturday. I gaped it, screwed it in, hooked the plug wire back up, primed it and pulled the string expecting to hear the sweet purr of the lawn mower. Fuck, I got nothin. Ok, do a little more maintenance, air filter, clean it up, pull the string??? NOTHING. Fuck, now I'm pissed. I do some calling around, all the lawn mower repair shops are closed, so I call some lawn mowing services, because seriously? My lawn NEEDS to be mowed. Badly. Guess what? They're all closed too. Double Fuck. Nothing I can do over the weekend. This morning I called my local repair shop. He's backed up for at least 2 weeks. Lawn mowing services? Already over booked. Great. I can see it now, I'm going to be cutting my grass with shears.
Second great thing that happened to me within the last week? The Capt. was playing with the dog Friday night and found something on his ear. I glanced at it "Looks like a skintag". No biggie right? WRONG!! I got up this morning and took him out and Oh My GAWD! It is engorged with blood or puss or something. Race back in the house and yet another Oh My GAWD! It's a tick! A TICK! On my DOG! CALL 911!! Get an Ambulance!! Get the emergency Vet! Someone! Call Cesar Milan! Because it's my fault! I have been to busy (lazy) to go to the vets office to get his Revolution prescription. (Read here: ASSHOLE) I called my Vet's office, made an appointment for tonight to have the tick (OMG! A TICK) removed, and found a car mechanic who will look at my lawn mower (because ticks live in long grass, so again, my fault the dog has a tick because I haven't mowed, because I can't). So today I get to take my lunch, run home and stuff my lawn mower into my Ford Focus, drop it off at the mechanic, run back to work, work until 5:30, run back down to the mechanic and pick up my lawn mower (if he can fix it), run home and grab the tick dog race to the vets office, have it removed while they look at me disapprovingly for not taking better care of my dog, pay my million dollar bill for said dog, and race home and try and mow my yard in the dark. That says nothing for eating dinner, cleaning my house or doing laundry. My god, I think my brains might just melt out of my ears today.


The TICK! It Fell OFF!

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