Well Happy Effing Birthday.

Well Happy Effing Birthday.

This weekend I was supposed to go to Las Vegas for the second time in my adult life for a weekend of fun and debauchery. It was largely self-funded with money I had been managing to squirrel away here and there for just such an occasion over the past several YEARS (literally).

Then, over the weekend, I got in a fight with my . . . traveling companion . . . and all of a sudden Vegas is a maybe. A fucking maybe. This morning that maybe turned into a definite no. Yeah, the reason turned from ridiculous into legit (which ironically enough makes me feel like a total bastard for feeling pissed off about this whole thing . . .), but by the same token, I’m still the one who is out HUNDREDS OF DOLLLARS, who will be sitting at home alone for my birthday trip — or alternatively will be in VEGAS alone on my birthday trip, and am just generally fucked — AGAIN — on my birthday.



How often can this happen?

Let’s see how many people who SHOULD remember don’t (hint: it’s actually not this weekend).


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