Attack Chickens

The wedding is beginning to become all consuming (both mentally and financially).
Just the trip up to Indiana with the Monster is expensive.

*think gas/hotel/chicken nuggets/milk/juice/diet cokes to last 1500 miles*

ugh

To make Wedding drama worse...

a) I've changed dresses at the last minute. (Looooooong story)

b) my wallet was stolen last week and getting new id's is stupidly expensive in Texas

c) D's annulment with the Catholic Church didn't go through so we lost our venue, music., and er....let me think...the entire Ceremony. (For the record this is not my fiance's fault).

d) My job is in no way a desk job. I don't have "down-time" or coffee breaks or even breaks for that matter. Anyone that is a social worker knows how it is. So, if you call me, email me, or text me odds are that from 6am-7pm I'll see it but either reply when I can or remind myself to reply and then forget. Don't get me wrong, not complaining at all. I ADORE my job. I mean, wasn't it you Jill that once asked me "how long I've loved AIDS".

Then this happened:

Trying to find a client I am wandering and looking and knocking on doors and...wait! What's that I hear?... (rustle, rustle)...(rustle, rustle)...

k8: "heeelllo...anyone there...My name is Kate...Hello!!!!"

So K8 lovingly wanders around the side of the house. (Pause for dramatic effect).
Inside K8 brain... "holy shit that's a bunch of chickens"..."holy shit they are are running at me"..."err they aren't running at me in an i-love-you-kinda-way"...."holy shit I will now start hopping and dancing like a weirdo trying to escape attack chickens".

That is what I did...

I squealed like a girl.
ran/hopped/skipped back to D's car where I pulled a Dukes of Hazard (only waaay less cool).
stupid attack chickens.

stupid.attack.chickens.