They say there was one for every floor

Today was DRMS‘s 30th anniversary. Yes, it sounds rather meaningless, but only until I tell you that there was cake. I had four pieces outside of DRMS-P on my mailrun, and Carolyn manged to snag pieces for everyone, so I had two more after I came back from the post office/Stars and Stripes. Chocolate and white, but I saw no marble. Ah, but the cake there was sweet and moist enough for my palette. It kind of makes me wish that they could celebrate something like that every day. šŸ˜‰ Ah, maybe once a month, I splurge and buy a sheet cake for myself. Call it “Brian’s Monthly Splurge on Sheet Cake Day,” but invite no one else. Well, maybe one or two people, BUT NO MORE THAN THAT! Now, where was I?

Oh yes, I just wanted to remind everyone that this weekend is my big move. I’ve mentioned numerous times about my misgivings about the whole thing, but I know that now is as good a time as any. Tonight and tomorrow should be spent clearing the few things I have to have them ready to move. That desk in what was the computer room, my dresser, and my bed all have to be ready to move by Saturday. There’s also the matter of the TV, and that’s likely all I’ll be able to get for my apartment, unless someone is really nice and buys me a coffeemaker. You know how I could ill afford to live without that for too long. |P

It’s rather interesting that Heather (the lady who sold me my phone) wanted to call me. As Dad says, it was probably to sell me more accessories. I told whoever was at Centennial to have her call me back. I’m trying to remember if Mom had similar calls after she had her phone about a month. I don’t think she did. I must also mention that she sent me a little thank-you card (with the Centennial logo on it, thankfully) a week or so back. I just wonder if she could be seeking more than just a professional relationship, given her thank-you card and the fact she wanted to call me. What’s even more amazing is that she didn’t call me on my cellphone. I mean, I suppose it’s polite of her not to call me on my cellphone, but I wonder, she knows what that number is, and could’ve used it when she hit the land line’s voice mail. Speaking of that, Dad changed the password to something he says is “private.” He’s hiding something from me. I hate it when people think they have to hide from me, because it happens to me practically all the time. I want to be the helpful friend, but how am I supposed to be helpful if I have no socking clue what’s happening to people?

I think I was feeling much better when I was talking about the cake.


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