So, Rob brought me more transcription to do. A lot more. So I have spent my Saturday typing away. Well that and marveling at how utterly not smart some people are.
I actually heard a persona use the word, which is not a word mind you, conversate. Conversate. Not converse. Conversate. Der. Not.A.Word.
I still have yet more to do, but Rob and a friend of ours went to see the ugly James Bond so I am watching the ankle biters, trying to keep Spenser from melting down into utter nothingness, or at least a big old puddle of mean. They so owe me for this.
I so need alcohol, and mass quantities of happy drugs, because the bipolar wonder is grating on my ever fraying nerves.
That and well he and Rob were being totally mean to each other, so I had to calm them both. I hate that. Sometimes it feels like it is more trouble then it is worth to try to patch their rough spots.
On a different note, Spenser just came out and told me:
"My balls itch."
What the hell am I supposed to do about that? Not scratching them for you boyo. I did ask if he want anti-itch cream, he declined. So I told him to scratch them. WTH do I know about nut sacs? Nothing other then men and boy have them, and they are not pretty.