I'm so glad; I got the flowers watered before it rained.

There are a great deal of branches scattered around the exterior of my lady's house, beneath bushes that I just trimmed with the clippers that I bought, last night. I feel like I do when I put in a good workout at the gym. My muscles ache, a bit, but there is this healthy glow to the feeling.

I hope that I have trimmed the bushes correctly; that is to the specific desires of my girlfriend. Honey Bunny is out of town for two weeks, so any imperfections that I imposed upon her bushes, while she is gone, should naturally work themselves out in that period of time. I figure that fucking up a bush is somewhat like cutting yourself shaving; the flaw on your face soon goes away, as it should with any imperfections that I have cast upon my love's landscaping.

I have got to get this package off in the mail, today, to the financial aid office at the art school that my son is considering attending in the fall. These people actually asked, on the form that they sent us, how my son and I live on such little money.

I laughed.

Doesn't the wealthy art school realize that there are still poor people out there; albeit some of them may be ones who have chosen to "starve" for their art"

In my letter to them, I told them that if their school was a four year holding ground for little rich kids, that if all they were after was money, that they should count my kid out; but that if they are looking for a raw artistic talent, in the form of a well-mannered young man, then they should find the means, i.e. the money, to allow my kid to go their school.

Seems simple enough to me.

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Dear Love:

This was such a great day, until you just called, and said that your mommy said that I should put your car in the garage because it was going to hail, here in North Georgia, tonight. As I told you, before I hung up on you, your mommy doesn't run my life, as she all too often does yours. If it hails tonight, your vehicle and mine, will stand together, side by side, in the driveway taking whatever hard knocks that nature gives them, united like we should be, not listening to your mommy. How old are we now?

Thinking that your nosy old bitch of a mother is being driven by your house, by her caretaker, while you are out of town, so she can peek in on what is going on, while I am here playing your lawnboy, irritates me enough that I'll probably head out of here in the morning.

You are in California and she is still running your life, long distance. She won't run mine. I spent the day trimming your fucking bushes, raking your fucking flower beds, planting your fucking plants, changing your fucking lights in your fucking dimly lit garage and all I hear is that Mommy wants the car moved.

Fuck your mommy.

This is a lady who has three dogs in her house that shit inside and she doesn't pick it up herself. She lets her daughter pick it up. What a Queen.