We don’t live in the greatest neighborhood, but it’s not bad either.

When my eyes adjusted I realized I was staring at a man, jeans around his ankles taking a full on dump in the alley.

I really could’ve lived without see… bare ass… poo… dangly things… *shiver*

I don’t even know what to say… I just had to get it out.

… much like he did. *SNORT*

Well I should clarify… they either love me or are absolutely terrified of me.

Every day the deli lady throw free stuff in my bag… and always loads up my order to twice what anyone else would get… because I’m “very special cust-o-ma!”

Every day the valet always parks my car in the best spot possible for when I leave (and they aren’t there anymore).

And tomorrow I need my windshield replaced so the valet told me “YOU” can use reserved parking (executive parking) if I wanted to have them come here and have them replace it at work.  But just me, no one else can do that.

On and on, everywhere I go I’m loved.  Sometimes I feel like I piss sparkles and shit gold bricks.

So I ask you: What’s wrong with you people?

This is my yearly greed post.  My bday is on Tuesday, it’s pretty much your last chance to prove your love to me.  And what better way to do that than with really expensive wish list items??  LOL

http://www.amazon.com/wishlist/2OJHXOXMKKNE

P.S.  This list is for anyone BUT Curtis

“Not if that is a vacation request form in your hand.”

I held it behind my back and smiled as big as I could.  I spoke through my toothy smile, “Of course not!”

He looked at me, I looked at him, and then I just handed it to him.

“When is it for?”
”Next week.”
”All week??”
”No, just Monday and Tuesday.”

Rachel chimed in, “It’s his birthday!”

”Oh, right right…”, he drifted off staring at his calendar. “Wait, no, I have you scheduled for meetings both days.”
”Are you being a jerk?”

Rachel busted out laughing, probably to soften my bluntness.

“No, really, you have meetings on both days.”

Meetings?  Why don’t I know of these meetings??   I crumpled up the request form and restrained myself from beaming him across the head with the wad of paper in my hand or shoving it in his mouth and making him choke on it.

“What were you going to do on those days?”
”Cry.”
”It’s just the big 3-0!” 

It didn’t really help that he put it that way.

“Just wait till you hit 50, “ he said with a feel-my-pain smirk.
“I wasn’t planning on making it to 30.  Part of me still believes I’m going to fall over dead just minutes before midnight of the big day hits.”

The answer was easily solved when the lunch lady held up a hard boiled egg and a stick of string cheese and asked me which I wanted.  She likes to give me free things because I am “very special cust-o-ma.”

With an evil cackle rattling around in my head I grabbed at the egg… and then added it to a bowl a chili.  Which, is when Malcolm walked up, and gave me that Motherly ‘you know you’re doing something wrong’ look.

I think in a few minutes I should go sit by his desk and just giggle every little bit.

Get yer butts out there tonight, Seattle!

I hate you so much right now.  I visited your store today, bought a new bed frame,
dragged those heavy boxes all the way home, dragged them inside the house, and down
the stairs.

After removing my current bed and moving everything to one half of my room, I opened
the boxes to find wood and metal beams.  BUT NO SCREWS OR INSTRUCTIONS.

So I would just like to reiterate how much I hate you right now and want to thank you
for the opportunity of sleeping on the floor tonight.

I’m sweaty, gross, tired, my room is torn up and I have no bed.

Seriously, THANK YOU SO MUCH.

Please alert your Seattle area staff that I am coming, because I assure you that
they will not want to deal with me.

Daniel

In a few weeks I officially become old.  Like, super gay old.  Like the type of old that everyone rubbernecks to see walk in and whisper cattily among their friend “O.  M.  G… why doesn’t he just die already.”  Yeah, that kind of old.

And these daily little vitamins don’t really help forget that my death date is quickly approaching.

29 days and counting.   Perhaps I should prepare a list of all the things I want to accomplish before doom’s day.

I’m eating your Roasted Turkey entre and I’d like to know who the hell decided that it would be okay to put raisins in my stuffing… I’m sorry.. “cornbread croutons”.  Croutons DO NOT contain raisins. And here you are throwing them around all willy nilly.  You’re disgusting, knock it off!

Daniel