Pre-op Trannies and Assisted Living

Let's start with how much I hate blogs. I hate when people advertise their blog and say "read my newest post" and then I end up reading about how they're emotionally scarred and would have committed suicide if they didn't have a blog as an outlet to reach the world. I, on the other hand, would think that if I had posted all of my feelings on the internet for strangers to read, mock and critique, that would have been the causal factor in suicide. Whatever. I say whatever a lot, so I'm sorry. I think it's because I watched Clueless a lot at a younger age. You're probably wondering what the hell any of this has to do with trannies. No, I am not a trannie...and I do not live in assisted living. That's another cause for suicide. I do, however, work at a Chinese restaurant as a delivery boy. It's a pretty good time, as I work with a fleet of ninjas. Earlier this week, I was diligently working (having a dance-off with Bernice, a 7 year old Asian girl and drinking some Diet Coke) when I heard the bell ring for me to go drive somewhere and take some unappreciative fuck their food. I look at the ticket and of course it's the ghetto- mini-Africa style, not Warsaw style. Though, I would love to be surrounded by that many Jewish people. I love Jews. So I hop into my car and light up a cigarette and brace myself for what's next to come. Here is where I should interject about my lack of a handgun. I have been asking for a handgun for several years now and no one will buy me one. I feel like a handgun isn't the type of gift one should buy for themselves- it's too personal for that. I wouldn't be violent with it. I'm not the "school-shooting" type. I just want to scare people when I'm on deliveries so they don't pistol whip me and take all my money. I should also probably say that I'm 110 pounds, painfully thin and white. Anyways, moving on, I do have mace which I bring with me everywhere. So I get to the ghetto, and am very surprised. Not only is the woman I'm delivering to incredibly nice, but she's even hitting on me and inviting me for free drinks. Normally, I would have been flattered, despite the fact that I'm gay, but this time I wasn't. It didn't bother me so much that she was a pre-op trannie- I'm perfectly okay with that. It bothered me that she thought it was okay to wear booty shorts and a belly shirt. No one should ever wear that, even in their own home. I could stomach the leg stubble, the adam's apple, the happy trail and the bad weave. But the trashy belly shirt was too much. Needless to say, I didn't go to the bar that night for free drinks, but I did get a 5 dollar tip and a great ego boost.