You can only kick a dog so many times

...before it gives up. How many times? Who knows? That's like asking how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. All I can tell you is that I (and by "I," I mean "Rob & I") am damn tired of getting kicked.

I won't go into specifics for two reasons. First, you really don't care all that much. Second, if you know us then you can probably take a well-aimed shot at what's wrong this time around and you'd be right. That said, I guarantee you're tired of hearing that same old song and dance so I'll spare you.

But I will tell you this: tomorrow, I have to go, hat in hand, and do something I swore up and down over a year ago that I would never do again. Tomorrow morning, I'll be staring down a barrel of disappointment, disgust, admonishment, disappointment, anger, possible refusal, and disappointment. Did I mention disappointment?

I'm hoping I can chickenshit my way out of this conversation by hearing an answering machine when I call. Then I can just say everything I need to say in about two minutes, tell so-and-so to call me back, and hang up like the phone is on fire. Then I'll cry. How I haven't broken down into a million sorry-ass pieces yet is beyond me. Maybe it's just the resignation of being in this situation again, wondering how many times we're going to get kicked before we either a) give up, or b) finally get a little more sunshine and a little less shit.

Anyway, that's all I've got for today. Well, that and I want some salsa. We were watching "Opportunity Knocks" on ABC, the kid had to taste-test some salsa and it made me want some.