Greetings everyone! I hope you all survived the Thanksgiving turkey feast—mine was quite delish. I’m currently awake, kind of early, on this Sunday morning. Why? Because my dad doesn’t understand the concept of a vacation.
Let me tell you a short little tale, my friends. You see, I’m currently in the same city I grew up in. I’m staying with Buttons and her husband. Yes, my mom lives down the road. Yes, my dad lives an hour away. But neither of them will visit me. Why? Because, in the words of Kevin McAllister, “Families suck.”
My dad won’t make the drive to see me, however he is sending his life insurance agent to Button’s house so I can sign a few things. Really?
I set the time for this faggot to come over about a week ago. When I told my dad I scheduled the time for this dude to arrive at Burron’s house, he was like, “wow, that’s so nice of him to come to you.”
“Well, I’m on vacation. I flew here. Meaning I don’t have a car and I’m not driving around this shithole chasing a guy doing YOUR business.”
The guy called me at 9 am (2 hours prior to meeting time) making sure we were still on schedule and to see if there was a time difference.
Umm, yeah, you’re still on the schedule. I’m 25 years old, I know how to use a calendar, and an alarm clock but thanks for waking me up. Oh, and you’re the fucking professional here, you tell ME if there’s a time change. Like…why couldn’t this have been solved over a fax machine?
So yeah, I’m up and showered, hanging out with the cats, because no one in their right mind would be up on a Sunday waiting around for some skeez-ball to arrive.