To be honest, I shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, posting on my blog. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, I don’t know, but I am gidDY. As in, giving myself chest pains from laughing hard at nothing. And I’m pretty sure I’m on the fast track to effectively losing half of my twitter followers, so why not move the show over to the blog, too?!

It all started this morning when Henry and I had a fight about the furnace guy.

“He’s coming there at 9:30 with a new furnace,” Henry told me over the phone.

“TODAY!?” I shrieked. “While I’m here ALONE!?” Henry confirmed that yes, that was exactly what he meant.

I have issues with the furnace guy. I dealt with him once in 2006 while Henry was at work and honest-to-god felt my labia curling up inside of itself every time he looked at me. Sleazy Guido, is exactly what this guy is. He was just here the other night, inspecting the furnace while I was at work, and Henry confirmed that it was the same guy from back then.

Never will I forget that man and the way he inspired me to donate to RAINN.

“Call him and cancel. CALL HIM AND CANCEL!” My arms were already protectively guarding my breasts as though the Hope Diamond was shoved between them and Sleazy Guido wasn’t even here yet.

“We don’t have a furnace!” Henry hollered. “It’s going to be 20 degrees this weekend!”

“Well then bundle up, mother fucker.”

A few minutes later, Henry confirmed that he canceled the appointment. “Happy now, you little crybaby?” he sneered.

“One of these days, some guy is going to walk in here and rape me. Then you’ll be sorry!” I yelled.

“Will I?” he asked. He’s only this brave when we’re not face-to-face.

Later, I was going through my blog archives, looking for something random to post on Facebook because I just know none of my friends think that is annoying at all. (I have little else in life, OK? My blog is kind of my BFF, you guys. And I just want you all to love it.) I found one from 2007 where Henry left me alone for like, 36 hours while he was in Detroit for some Nude Faygo Fanatics Convention or something. In that post, I mentioned that he had apparently attempted to sext me, but I mistook it for a picture of poop. Did you know that, Motorola Razr? Your camera phone turns genitalia into indistinguishable mounds of shit.

So I tweeted that today.

Henry didn’t like that very much.

I let him simmer down for a little while before calling him again. This is all I do all day: disrupt Henry at work. But if he ever called ME at work? Hoo boy, you can bet he’d get a tongue lashin’.

“I got an app for Christmas shopping,” I bragged to him because he has some lame phone that doesn’t do shit. He can’t even control the DVR with it, what a loser.

“Paper and a pen,” he retaliated.

“Yeah, but this allows you to keep track of your budget.”

“Paper, pen and a calculator.”

It was a free app, give me a break!

I feel an urgent need for Manuel’s services right about now.

And I won’t even get into the war path I’m on against mommy bloggers and the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Though I will say I’m adding to my bio: “The only time you’ll catch me writing about cloth diapers is if I used one to smother a bitch.”