And now that that's out of the way.
I'm not happy about last night--but I'm not ready to fling myself off a bridge. I mean, hell. This is a road I've been down many many times before in life, so it's not like getting assfucked by the Fates is anything new to me.
By the way, Atropos, I like it with the 50-grit sandpaper. And no lube--can't have lube. That might actually make it enjoyable.
I never ever thought, in a million years, that I would come to hate the Oilers--but I sure hate them almost as much I hate the Red Wings now.
Do I believe the Hurricanes will lose? No, I don't. But, of course, it's a lot harder now. And who knows? Maybe the Oilers will defy all logic and chance and pull it off in 7 games--which would make me feel like I'm standing there watching the love of my life marry somebody else after I did everything I could to try to win his affections.
"Great, thanks, real happy for you. I'm going to go yank the flaming dagger out of my back and go take a lemon-juice-and-salt bath now."
Fuck y'all haters. Go Canes.