Chocolate, flowers and wine

Yeah. Let me try and remember the last time a man brought me flowers. No, I don't think my memory can stretch back that far. Today I got flowers and chocolate (so I bought the wine myself, whatever). Plus, I was told that I looked great. It was the ninja outfit, I'm quite sure. Perhaps Big D was afraid that I might get out my poison tipped throwing stars or something so he was like, "Shit! Here's some chocolate!" and then while I happily played with it and got it all over my face and in my hair he tried to talk me down from my perch that overlooks the intersection of Stress Avenue and Anxiety Street. And we had sushi. And we watched "Priscilla: Queen of the Desert". I want to be a drag queen.
I currently have an accepted offer on a condo on First Street in North Van, so here we go again with the hoop jumping and paperwork extravaganza. I missed a call from my realtor when I was watching the movie with Big D and she left me a message asking me to call her and she sent me an email as well saying she has some info she wants to share with me. I couldn't reach her, so now I am going to lie awake as I mull over all this "info" that she wanted to share with me: their are bats in the belfry; the balconies are one step away from falling off; it's built on an old Indian burial ground; there's a monumental flea infestation; or possibly the building is starting to lean slightly. Yeah, I'll have some good dreams tonight. All I want is for the minutes to be issue free and for me to show up for the home inspection (wearing something bright and frothy with a boa and stilettos and a ridiculous amount of eye makeup and glittery lipstick) and have the inspector declare that everything is fabulous and then we'll all have cocktails with umbrellas in them on my balcony and discuss where the best place to get a mani pedi is in Lower Lonsdale.
Is that so much to ask? Is it?? And who put all these goddamn couches in my living room! What, do they come here to die or something?