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Happy Valentines Day!

Danny, the bestest husband in the universe "surprised" me by bringing me lunch at the store, and as if slaving over a hot stove and cold candy aisle wasn't enough, Dan cleaned the entire house while i was gone, AND mopped, AND made me a card. I think he might just be the best.

To repay this kindness, i threw a fit about having the HARDEST FUCKING CLASS OF SCHOOL I HAVE EVER HAD TO SIT THROUGH EVER. Seriously, after straining to understand three hours of economics math that was NOT AT ALL EXPLAINED TO ME in the fashion that one might have called TEACHING, rather by plunging deep into the middle of a subject for which we should have been briefed by homework chapters if they weren't in FUCKING HYROGLYPHICS, i drove home to the realization that NO ONE GIVES A RATS ASS IF YOU TRY YOUR HARDEST, because sometimes your hardest equals complete FAILURE, YOU PATHETIC LOSER, and no matter how much you feel it is your right to FUCKING WHINE about how hard you're WORKING, if you don't understand the actual work, well, it's your actual work to understand it, you moron, that's your fucking job in school. (Wah, it's not fair! I try so hard! Leah, i don't know when you will understand this, but the world did not, does not, and will not owe you any favors for gracing it with your presence, so you'd better get with the fucking program because i'm tired of living with this fucking baby blubbering all the time and I'M YOU!)

In other news that makes me want to shoot myself in the face, we got our wedding album proofs back, big this time, and the big proofs reveal in a shot that is a full page of my ugly mug, the biggest roll of under-arm fat i have ever seen in a photo ever, you could call it under-arm camel-toe, i swear it looks like a female private-parts squishing out over my dress, because that's what i get for wearing a strapless dress and simultaniously being a fucking fatass. Seriously, when i saw this picture, the undulating roll of skin so perfectly framed in the EXACT MIDDLE of the page, i wanted to throw up so bad i almost started dry-heaving in my perfectly clean kitchen (where i guess dry-heaving would be most appropriate.) This is exactly what i wanted in the front of my wedding album: the proof that i will fail at everything i ever attempt (economics) because i have failed at everything i have attempled so far (not being a fatass in my wedding pictures by a) demonstrating disgusting underarm fat, b) not lifting my arm up to take this picture, and c) not seeing the disgusting barf-worthy fatness in the two previous rounds of proofs, where it wasn't such a pain-in-the-ass to change, you incredible retard).

After the triple failure of losing my job this week, school proving that YES PARENTS, YOU ARE RIGHT, I AM INCREDIBLY STUPID, and realizing that i will always be a fat disgusting eyesore above a hundred and fifteen pounds, i guess you could say that i'm having a bad day. Valentines day, with my incredible adoring husband who is the most wonderful person to live with in the whole entire world, only proves that it is ME, LEAH who is one-hundred percent in control of fucking up my own life, and i'm doing it, hard.

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