Maggie, i just found one of your hairs in my pasta.
now, i'm not complaining, since you brought all the ingredients for, and made, the pasta.
well, almost all, i had the pasta. and asparagus.
but you brought eggplant and tomatoes and cream and cheese and made delicious alfredo-y awesomeness with shrimp, and even left a ton of it in my fridge! yeah, i am starting to <3 you. heh.
no seriously though, i like dating you, we should keep it up. : ]
also, know what makes me laugh? dating 2 people with names that start with M. (i'm really laughing right now, promise, you just can't tell.)
but jesus, i am having issues with my fridge. evidently it likes to freeze things. maybe i should turn the temperature down. but when i went to get my pasta it was all frozen, and trying to fork it out of the dish was like wrestling with a small recalcitrant child, and we all know how freaking annoying that is. also, i'm pretty sure one of my cats
stole one of my shrimp, that i flung to the ground accidentally in a desperate attempt to attack the frozen noodle-y goodness and get it into the microwave, and thus, my belly.
but at last, i have prevailed. although i may yet eat some more. and i don't begrudge the cat the shrimp, much. i bet Maggie wouldn't either. she loves kitties.
so, onto completely unrelated crap.
if anyone is out there reading this, you may or may not know that the original title of this blog happened because i was about to start a very corporate-hellhole-like job.
well, see, what had happened was....
yeah. what happened was my boss made me jump through a bunch of hoops, buy some shit i'd supposedly need (anyone need a day planner?), replace my nose ring with a stud (i liked that fucking captive ring and now it's ruined, ASSHOLE), and then proceeded to tell me his clients didn't like me and then NOT CALL ME AT ALL FOR OVER A MONTH.
so of course, i assume i don't have a job anymore (which i guess i don't, he still hasn't contacted me), and through vigorous craigslisting, found this ad: "looking for go-go dancers, call Heather at 504-XXX-XXXX."
my biggest downfall of all time, y'all.
talk about satan in sing-sing! fuck's sake.
i took the job because i was desperate, but here's the facts, ma'am:
(email sent to a dear friend of mine, in korea)
okay, now i am going to attempt to make you laugh, very hard. later, i should have a picture of this debacle for you to check out on my facebook page.
you know i'm completely stressed out about money/job...
i'd almost go to a foreign country for work right now if they'd just frickin' pay me. so.
well, i finally got a job, yesterday. it's not much of a job. in fact, i'm almost embarrassed to say what it is... almost. but it's not as bad as i thought it would be.
tank top, cut-off jean shorts, a la daisy dukes, garter, cowboy boots. optional cowboy hat.
yes, you read that right.
i am officially a "go-go" (HA!) dancer, at a bar. the bar is on bourbon street.
they play all shitty country music, all the time. really loudly.
as in, "boot scootin' boogie", and "she thinks my tractor's sexy."
i'm still not kidding.
to top all of this off, (oh, yes - there's more!)
they have a mechanical bull.
i spent 6 hours last night scooting around in my (really old, broken-down) cowboy boots with a garter around my thigh in the shortest shorts i have ever put on my body (and i HATE short shorts..they look fine but feel awful - like they're trying to strangle my thighs), listening to the worst country music ever. i mean, can you see me doing this? i still can't.
easiest job ever, there is a lot of cardio (i can haz weight loss plz??), and they pay cash, each night.
yeah. hey, picture included! (well, without the garter. garter is black, not lacy.)
you get the general idea. i will probably never regain my dignity. although, the job does have a few perks, like the fact that i've dropped a pants size already. wait, no, that's about it on perks, never mind.
and for the record, here's my take on country music: i like good country music. emphasis on good.
i like cash, emmylou, shit like that. but most of the noise they inflict upon my ears each night in this bar is firmly placed in DO NOT WANT territory. (i have recanted my position on "boot scootin' boogie," as it is BY FAR not the worst i have to hear, at all. i'm pretty sure that song would be "honky tonk ba-donk-a-donk". i LOATHE that song.)
the worst part of this entire situation is my "manager" - the so-called "boss" of the go-go dancers and shot girls, who is 22, literally dumber than a bag of sledgehammers, and can't manage to cobble together a schedule for 4 girls(including her, for fuck's sake!) to save her fucking life. why this is, i don't know.
so every week i have to text her this message about five times: "need schedule for this week please!"
i always edit this in my head to, "if you don't give me my fucking schedule right now i'ma KILL you, BIATCH!" but somehow she never grasps how much danger her life is in, if i decide to rage at her a bit instead of, say, keeping the job.
but all is (mostly) saved by my second job, that of the lovely coffee barista at a local coffee shop - it's awesome, it's like sponsoring my coffee addiction, and paying me for it - in short, a total job win! i'm pretty amused.
i also got up this morning at 6:30 (and that NEVER happens...) and i'm supposed to somehow work until 3 or 4 am tonight.... yeah. but i'm too caffeinated to take a nap..this isn't good!
on the other hand i'm updating my blog, holy sheep shit, batman!
caffeination tends to bring out my ADD side. that's cool by me, though.
also amusing me today, this particular text conversation with the Matt:
me: i'm starving, should i get something or are you heading back this way & should i wait for you?
matt: eat, i'm gonna go to [a bar] for a beer for lunch
me: oh, you bastard... take me? : ]
matt: i'm taking the girl at the booth across from me (editor's note: as this conversation is being held, he's on a lunch break from his job)
me: i am mentally giving you the finger now, just thought you should know.
see, sometimes my brain kinda sucks. and matt says, "i'm going to a bar to get a beer, my coworker is coming too" and i translate it as "i'm taking this girl for lunch," and then my head is all WTF dude i asked you if you wanted to go to lunch with me and you said nooo and i wanna go to luuuunnnch, NO FAIR! like a 3-year old, and it takes a phone call to sort out that no, matt won't be getting any tasty bar food either. the girl might, but that's her stomach's business, and i hear they get free lunch on jobsite anyhow. yeah.
ironically enough, i could give a shit if he was going out on a date with someone else...i would get mad over the food.
you may now call me "fucking strange," you would not be the first.
that's been my day! how is yours?
extra gratuitous photos:
evidently matt was taking photos when i wasn't feeling all photo-ready, so i decided to attack his face/the camera. that angry face is what my "boss" aka the now-named Bag Of Hammers girl should be fearing, every time she is blatantly stupid.
which, really, is all the time.