Same! But I fully intend to leave work early to minimize rush hour ridiculousness.
I went to a party a couple of weeks ago dressed as Louise Scissorhands (Louise Belcher as Edward Scissorhands).
I grew up in the opposite - a really rural area where houses are spread out and there are no streetlights. So of course everyone got driven to the housing developments closer to the highway on Halloween. It was the only option!
Recent text from mom (the day before my birthday):
"Enjoy your last day of being twenty-something! I'm almost over birthing you!"
And then on my birthday:
"Music please. ...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU.
..etc etc etc"
Note: she did not actually call me.
My first real job was at 15, at Radio Shack. I had a (guy) friend who already worked there; he advised me to wear something "sexy" to the interview to get hired. I did and I was, despite my clear lack of experience or knowledge about their products.
I'll never forget the time I was watching the store by myself (WHY?) and some lady came in to make a return. No one had taught me how to do that, so I told her she had to come back another time. Next day, alone in the store again, the same lady came in. She was not happy.
When my (terrible, sleazy) boss finally got fired and they transferred a hard-ass manager to my store to clean it up, I dyed my hair pink and quit. No regrets.
YES. I still get mad just thinking about the end of that book. God damn it.
Yup, in my line of work I am not infrequently around adults with DS, and they are certainly NOT all-smiles-all-the-time. Most recently, one such gentleman spent an entire morning giving the finger to a room full of people, for no apparent reason other than that he felt like telling everyone "fuck you." People with DS are PEOPLE.
Dad: Oh my god! I forgot to put the glaze on! Wait a minute, don't eat that last bite, let me get the glaze.
[Dad puts some glaze on my last bite of food, waits expectantly for me to eat it.]
Me: Oh, that is good, thanks!
Dad: Do you want a bottle? I bought a whole case!
“Bingo, bango, sugar in the gas tank" is a phrase that pops into my head with alarming regularity, delivered in the mechanic guy's voice and everything. Like, at least once a week.
I'm confused by this bickering about which of these men was worse than the other, when a perfectly reasonable conclusion is that they were both terrible people.