there is nothing passive about my aggresion.

The last week of the month """last week of the month""" is usually kind of rough for me, probably rougher for Chad because he has to deal with essentially a mentally unstable female. This past 48 hours though have been ridiculous.

I will now elaborate.

I applied for North Carolina residency, this involves a long winded complicated form as to which they want to know some inane shit like, hey how many times have you been on vacation since you have lived in North Carolina? what did you do on vacation? why did you go on vacation? how much of your money is in what bank and for how long and why? What did you do the last Thursday of June in 1996 and was it in North Carolina? Were you thinking about North Carolina that day? Do you secretly wish you could shape your head into the state of North Carolina? Isn't North Carlina the COOLEST STATE YOU HAVE EVER EVEN HEARD OF!? Also, please submit your tax return. Hey its cool though because I was all frustrated as shit while I was in North Carolina. Also, while I was in North Carolina yesterday I received an e-mail from Julie who is reviewing my application. She informed me that I, *I*, I submitted someone else's tax return with my application, someone by the name of Pergolotti, and if I could please resubmit *my* tax form, thanks kindly. I had to walk away from my desk as to not return Julie's email with the bad news that I was going to inform her halfway home that she is using again. Hey Julie, I understand sometimes stapling documents together is complicated, but I'm kind of impressed with your gall to blame it on me.

So I went to resubmit my tax return, and the application is set up as such that you have to

fill
out
the
whole
thing
again

and now to trump assholitis story #1 we will proceed to assholitis story #2:

this morning on my bike ride I was hit by a car. no wait. one more time for emphasis. this morning on my bike ride I was hit by a car. That's right, a car slammed into my left arm so hard their passenger side mirror broke. The car thusly gunned it and sped off.

The car behind them pulled over to make sure I was okay, and I watched this nice lady's face turn from a look of concern and worry to a look of worry and horror as the most delightful combination of explicatives were stitched together in a way that would have made George Carlin blush. The lady slowly drove off after I assured her I was more pissed than hurt, but still in the midst of my detailed explanation as to what would happen after I hunted this man down, and did she get a make on the car?

More importantly, this confirms what I already know:

I have arms of steel.