Why Can't You Have Your Cake And Eat It Too?

Yesterday was my roommate's birthday. She also happens to be one of my good friends, so I spent the day scurrying around town trying to find her a purple shower curtain to feed into her unnatural obsessions with this horrid color. Seriously, I think that purple was sent to earth by the devil to make people so crazy at the sight of it that they would react by doing things that would land them in hell. Sorry, officer. I just saw that awful color and found myself going on a killing spree because of it. Chalk one soul up for the side of evil.
BUT...I love my roommate so my gift to her was, essentially, a purple bathroom. I ended up getting her purple towels which are now hanging up reminding me what a mistake I might have made.
After I found these, I made a cake. This is important because we had a small party and one of the most common phrases I heard were; "Happy Birthday," and, "I'm going back for more cake." Hey, it made me feel pretty damn good. I am what you would call a minor attention whore. I like a LOT of credit for things I do. I live off of people laughing at my jokes and telling me that the food I made is so good they are never ever again going to eat anything else that is not cooked by me. Seriously, people have starved to death because they just can't stand the taste of anyone else's food after tasting my cooking. And I eat it up everytime. (Ha ha.....ha.........ha........ok, sorry. I couldn't resist)
Also, I have a tiny apartment, so I ended up having party A.D.D. Just traveling between the kitchen, living room, and porch to get away from all the people packed in my personal bubble/space. It was entertaining to see who I could get to go with me on my ten foot adventures each time, though.

Guest Number Four Needs More Party Mix!!!!!

I remember when I was little, maybe fourth grade or so, my mom threw me a birthday party. She made me invite everyone in my class so that no one felt left out. Now, I don't know how much you know about children, but they don't always get along; much like you might not get along with some of the people that are forced into your life today.

Well, here we were, tons of other people at my house all to celebrate the birth of yours truly. I just wanted a small party, something that still stands with me today for the most part. There were several people there whom I would rather have stayed at home, but I had to entertain them none-the-less; and when I say entertain them, I mean that my mom told me I had to make sure everyone had a good time.

At one point in the party, in which I was grudgingly talking to everyone making sure they were doing okay, one of my friends got hit in the face with a basketball or something. I was in the bathroom trying to make sure that SHE was okay, and my dad came in and yelled at me for ignoring my other guests.

This parallels to EXACTLY what I have to do at my job now.

Is it any wonder that I became a server?