My ticket-winning legacy, part dos.
My one claim to fame in life, they shall engrave on my headstone, was a curious affinity for winning concert tickets. Because twice = legacy, obvz.
Is it pathetic that I am nearly more excited about getting my hands on these at the little vendor cart than about seeing Carrie Underwood perform tomorrow night with the free tickets I won at work today? Probably. B-) I need a bigger purse to hoard the stash.
As a side note, it's amazing how people you never talk to or consider close personal buddies come out of the woodwork when trying to ingratiate themselves in hope of being invited along with your second ticket. They must really have a set of brass ones to think I have absolutely no one else in the world to bring but them. AS IF, M'FUCKAS. It's bad enough I have to put up with some of you for nine hours a day, five days a week. Suck it. >:o
And now, I must adjourn to bed, as I have embraced my geezerhood to the fullest extent (and slowly but surely become a collective stereotype of the money grubbing old people I deal with all day long), including a strict eight-thirty bedtime. All I need is an economy-sized bucket of prunes and an inflatable donut to sit on. For my hemorrhoids, you see. They should be arriving any day, now.
Is it pathetic that I am nearly more excited about getting my hands on these at the little vendor cart than about seeing Carrie Underwood perform tomorrow night with the free tickets I won at work today? Probably. B-) I need a bigger purse to hoard the stash.
As a side note, it's amazing how people you never talk to or consider close personal buddies come out of the woodwork when trying to ingratiate themselves in hope of being invited along with your second ticket. They must really have a set of brass ones to think I have absolutely no one else in the world to bring but them. AS IF, M'FUCKAS. It's bad enough I have to put up with some of you for nine hours a day, five days a week. Suck it. >:o
And now, I must adjourn to bed, as I have embraced my geezerhood to the fullest extent (and slowly but surely become a collective stereotype of the money grubbing old people I deal with all day long), including a strict eight-thirty bedtime. All I need is an economy-sized bucket of prunes and an inflatable donut to sit on. For my hemorrhoids, you see. They should be arriving any day, now.