frankmask

As I've mentioned previously I 've been tasked with planning the family trip to London. The man who is footing the bill, my father, is notoriously cheap, more than willing to sacrifice quality for a better price. I've finally gotten him to bump what he's willing to pay for accomodations up to something reasonable, but it's giving me a fucking nervous attack to deal with him. The man is both fairly wealthy and fairly miserly. On top of that he's got a short temper and, well...

I'm just a bit nervous and keyed up about the whole thing. If I don't push him about finances we'll end up in a crappy discount room that is no where near large enough to sleep four very tall men. If I do there is a good chance it'll put him in a foul mood, which I don't want to deal with, especially not when I'm stuck with him in a foreign country for a week.

Christ. I hate this. I'm going to have a fucking panic attack if I keep worrying about this.

I think I found a place that will work.

In other news, there are about twenty cultists meeting in the secret room in my closet upstairs. They're from a group called Young Life, some sort of denominatonally vague Christian thing. They're playing drums and stopping around a bit. They're nice people, but given my propensity to occaisionally throw up the horns and proclaim 'Hail Satan' in my best Mickey Mouse voice I'm really not certain how to address them.