Human Hot Dog
My nostrils are enjoying the constant smell of somewhat-baked-Danny-plus-campfire-smoke that has been infused into my epidermis over the weekend. I love this smell! Makes me feel like a human hot dog! Sooo tasty! I need me a bun and some steak sauce! And vegetables!
Actually, that reminds me I need to get groceries. 
I ate out last night. Overpriced but ginormous gyros sandwich. I skipped out on my morning muffin from the muffin lady today. I love to start the day by buying my muffin from her, and then heading upstairs to eat her muffin, but I had no appetite this morning. (Yesterday we did the chit-chat and I complimented her on her looks, thus, officially “flirted” maybe.) Darn you, gyros! But, instead of joining the work crew who headed to Whole Foods I visited the muffin lady for lunch, and consumed a bowl of chili and a fruit thingus. And read my book, Bulgakov’s “Heart of a Dog” and while doing so, noticed that there were attractive women checking me out as I checked out them. One read her own book, but what book that was eludes my memory. Oh man, I gotta get growing beyond the comfort of the muffin lady and into flirting with strangers. It will come.
I also gotta resist the urge to compare myself to a hot dog and talk about my muffin munching on the blog.
Or do I?
