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Making pancakes, as I learned at AP's birthday bash at the beach this weekend, is an unbelievably tedious chore. I don't know why I...

Thursday, March 10, 2005

I Demand an Apology

Now that I have groveled and begged forgiveness, it's your turn. Normally, I am not the type of person to insist on an apology. Yesterday at lunch, I ordered an iced tea, but the waiter brought me water. I didn't say anything. Later, the waiter remembered I had asked for iced tea and brought me what I wanted. Sometimes things work out if you just keep your mouth shut and wait for people to realize their mistakes.

Last night at CC Slaughters, I asked for a Maker's Mark neat and received a shot glass of Maker's Mark. I didn't say anything, because the bartender is new and doesn't know I pay the mortgage for that establishment. But another bartender jumped to my rescue and showed the trainee how to pour me a proper glass of whiskey in a bucket, not a shotglass.

Today, instead of sitting idly by while people wrong me, I am going to insist on some apologies:

Billy Joel, I am so angry with you for writing that song "We Didn't Start the Fire," and I don't think I've ever forgiven you. That is not a song. It's a list. I fell in love with your early music, especially "Summer Highland Falls" and "Miami 2017", but you betrayed me with that stupid faux rap song. You and I are no longer on speaking terms, although you're completely unaware of my existence. Just thought you should know.

Jase, I am really angry with you for waiting to come out until after I left New York City. We could have shared something special.

Dan Renzi, how dare you taunt me in your blog. I thought you would be happy for me when I was nominated for a Bloggie. I never try to pretend that I got where I am on my own. Everyone knows you made me. You were the first to call me "nebulous, neurotic and never dull". Once I looked up nebulous in the dictionary, I realized you were complimenting me. That's why I credit you on my sidebar. But you betrayed me and mocked me publicly, so I want an apology from you, or at least a make-out session.

I also want an apology from my stupid coworker, Kimmy. You called and left me a voice mail this morning requesting lots of information. I called you back and, since you weren't available, left you a voice mail containing all the information you needed. Then you called me back and chastised me saying, "I left you a voice mail this morning, Todd!" So I responded, "Yes, and I called you back." You retorted that you hadn't checked your voice mail yet. So, how did this become my problem? Check your messages before you call and scold me, you stupid bitch. (See, I learned how to use the phrase "stupid bitch" from Dan Renzi. I told you he made me what I am today.)

And to those of you who read the details of my life and yet refuse to leave a comment, you owe me big time. You know all about my fear of Snapple lids and my obsession with The Rock and my crushes and trials and tribulations. But you refuse to participate in what could be a deeply meaningful relationship. Why do you spurn me and lurk here? Why do you stare at me in shock and horror like I am some bearded lady in the circus? Show yourselves, or feel my wrath.

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