The Stalker's Guide to Mr. Fabulous

I am distressed. I have no stalkers. How can I be a blogging icon if I have no stalkers? Toward that end, I have decided to make it easier on y'all.

Here is where I work. I think my office is the third window on the first floor from the left in the picture. I think. You would think I would know. Of course, this is only where I work until the transfer comes through.

Eventually I will work here, across town at the branch. No windows. I will work out of a bunker-like office. It will be a race to see which will kill me first, the lead paint or the asbestos. Or the rats may overpower me and chew me to death one afternoon. Won't that be nice?

This is where I bring my work clothes. No starch on the shirts. The woman who works there in the morning is from Michigan. Why do I mention that? Because it is hard to find anything to say about a dry cleaner.

This is where I tan. This is where the magic happens. The home of the brown nipples!

This is where I get my gasoline and also where I get my big ass Diet Coke fountain drink in the morning. Every morning they ask me if I want a car wash and every morning I say no. But still they ask. You have to admire that kind of indefatigable optimism.

Here is where we get our groceries. I do most of the grocery shopping. I like plastic bags, I never get the paper. I felt you needed to know that.

I am in here a lot. Ice cream. Low fat. Low carb. And delicious. I usually get some variation of chocolate. I like chocolate. Yesterday I had chocolate cappacino.

And this is Casa del Fab. The Fortress of Solitude. My sanctuary.

Come on by. I'll leave the door unlocked. I like to encourage intruders.