Here Comes The Sun...damn it

One of the things I hate most about the sun is it's dependability. It seems you can't go more than a day or two without it rising in the east, bringing it's stupid life-sustaining light and heat, thus creating optimal conditions for getting out of bed. The kind of conditions that cause me to have days like the one I had Monday:

• Getting ready to leave the house (at the last possible second of course), I could not find my wallet. Obviously, I can't leave the house without it so I was starting the day running late. I hate being late. Worse, I live alone so I couldn't even enjoy the simple pleasure of placing blame for my problems on someone else. I finally found it but when I went to leave, all of a sudden I was like Jimi Hendrix at the Red House; my key wouldn't work. After what seemed like forever trying to force it in without breaking it, it finally worked, but it made me really late and really stressed. Like I said, I hate being late, even to places I don't want to go, such as...
  
• Work. Meh. You know the old saying: If you don't have something nice to say, you must be talking about your job. On the way home, I stopped at the...
  
• Grocery store where I was buying six items so I was definitely Express Lane eligible. There was just one guy in front of me and I thought I'd be out of there in no time. Unfortunately, he was buying hot dogs (hot dogs, why do you haunt me so?!?) that were ringing up at $2.29 a pack. He insisted that they should have been $1.99 a pack (yes, your math is correct; we're talking about a difference of .30). The bagger went to check the price and came back and informed the cashier and the customer that there were indeed hot dogs on sale for $1.99 but this gentleman had picked the deluxe "bun length" hot dogs, which were correctly ringing up at $2.29. This led to a debate about what the true intent behind the term "bun length" should be, highlighted by the customer holding up the package of hot dogs next to a package of buns and declaring that it didn't look to him that these hot dogs were the same length as the buns anyway. The bagger went over and got another package of buns which were in fact shorter than the hot dogs in question. The customer thought this was an unfair comparison, since he was not buying that brand of buns. Eventually a manager had to come over and explain that "bun length" was a descriptive term and not an officially recognized unit of measurement (reminder: .30). First of all, why is there such a thing as hot dogs that aren't bun length? Who in the world would possibly want such a thing? Scratch that, I don't care. So first of all, I want out of there in the worst way and would gladly contribute the .30 necessary to resolve the situation, except this had obviously become a point of principle to the schmuck with the hot dogs and he would have undoubtedly refused the gesture which would have caused me to roll my eyes so hard that they might have become permanently retracted into my skull. It was finally resolved when the manager told the cashier to give him the hot dogs for the discounted price, which is exactly the way everyone involved, including me and the 15 poor, doomed bastards now behind me, knew it would end. Unfortunately, the end result for me was that people who hadn't even planned on grocery shopping that day had come in, bought five times more stuff than me, gone home and cooked it all up and sent their kids to college in the time it took me to get through the "express lane" and get home where...
  
• The girls called and suggested we go to the casino. The crowd was pretty light so it wasn't overwhelmingly smokey like it usually is. I played poker while they played the slots electric gaming machines. I'm no Gadzooks, but I sat down with exactly $60.00 in chips and walked out 3 hours later with exactly $59.00, which I don't think is too shabby. That's a lot of entertainment for a buck and overall, we had a lot of fun there. So that part of my day was pretty great. Of course, this all happened well after the sun had gone down.