Pagliacci

So.

Haircut has been procured. I like it--and all the party-goers we had at the home on Friday should as well.

(More to come on the party.)

I have decided that drinking, no matter how much, no matter the reason, no matter how badly I want to, seriously needs to be weighed as far as pros and cons go before embarking.

Things I need to think about before drinking:

1)Have I eaten today?

2)What do I have to do tomorrow, i.e., is there a scenario where vomiting could be a really bad idea?

3)Will the people around me be drunk as well? (Drunk people are more forgiving of other drunk behavior. I drink, do drunk shit, wake up and feel the need to apologise to everyone I saw while drinking. In the case of having a party where 20 people were in attendance, this is something of a chore.)


I didn't really consider any of these things before the "We don't work together anymore" party on Friday.

Most everyone I worked with, with the exception of the non-drinkers (mostly, we had one in attendance), those with car problems and those who were out of town came to T's house Friday night to celebrate/lament the fact that we can no longer spend 60+ hours a week together hoping for death. (Oh, and one girl didn't make it because she just bought a new vibrator. I guess she is to be commended for not making up some lame ass excuse for not attending.) This came out to about 20 people, give or take.

I had not really eaten Friday. Half a sandwich. (Mistake #1)

I started on the wine a little early. (Read:The moment I walked in the damn door. Like, hadn't put down my purse or taken off my coat before opening the bottle. No hellos to the F/A conglomerate, no kiss for T, nothing.) (Mistake #2)

I didn't consider the fact that I was supposed to be out at bars continuing the celebration Saturday in the Metropolis with T's family. (Mistake #3)

Basically, by the time people started to really arrive, I was half in the bag. My saving grace? Those bitches love to drink--several of them arrived more buzzed than I. The rest played catch up.

Anyway, drunk. Fun, talking shit, drinking more, finding out incredible dirt on ex-coworkers. Boobs were shown, (not by me), making the party a complete success.

Anyway, I rolled into bed at 3am, and when I awoke several hours later, I thought I was going to DIE. This is by far the WORST hangover I have EVER HAD. EVER.

All day.

I felt like crap the whole ride to the Metropolis to my hair appointment. I wandered around the high-end salon like a moron, parts of my robe dragging on the ground, my mouth agape, wondering if I was going to vomit or die. (Neither happened.) (Oh, and Emily appeared to have perfect depth perception and no hooves could be found. Not the most attractive woman on the planet, but that doesn't mean anything.)

We then went to eat, which was a blessing and a curse. Food was great, as usual. The consequences of food? I ran into T's sisters house and banished everyone from the bathroom.

We did not go drinking. (Well, T's brother in law did with his brother, but that just means the earth was turning on it's axis.)

We did have a nice time, however.

My hangover finally quit YESTERDAY. (It would appear that I took shots at one point. I think that may have been my final undoing.)

What have I learned from all this?

My ex coworkers really like my hair.

I cannot drink like I could 5 years ago. This is ok.

We are a bunch of nasty people. Apply that in any way you see fit--It works.

People are sad that I quit. Part of me is sad too.

I seem to be far happier as an unemployed member of society. This is ok.

Oh, and everyone give a shout out to T's sister, A (I really need to start assigning different initials to people--I know a lot of A's and C's.) as she is the newest key holder to the blog. (What, do you think I'm just giving out the address willy nilly?)

Randomlings

I am very tired.

This does not bode well for my future--if you only look as far into my future as tomorrow. (Today. It's two thirty in the morning.)

I have to get up early to go get my nails done (Yeah? What of it?) and to purchase supplies for the "Hooray We're Unemployed" party we are hosting tomorrow night before I go to my LAST DAY AT WORK.

Glee really isn't the word for it.

Anyway, I am tired. Probably because I have a new blog obsession and just spent the last 3 hours reading the archives therein.

******************************************

I am cutting my hair this weekend. No, I don't know what specific haircut I will be getting. I'm walking into an appointment in an overpriced Downtown Metropolis salon and entrusting my mane to a nice woman named Emily, who hopefully isn't stricken with hooves for hands or no depth perception or something, and saying, "My hair is naturally wavy/curlyish, I have cowlicks here and here, I straighten it daily and don't want something that is going to be a bitch to grow out. GO!". Hopefully she is up to the challenge.

******************************************

Being that I assume most of my readership has ears, I would like to think that most of you have noticed the addition of a music player on this blog. One person has commented, and I know her in RL and we have similar tastes in music and she loves it....and, being that the majority rules, I think everyone does. So there. But you may have noticed a spread of some vastness--Bob Seger to In Flames? Who the hell is VNV Nation? Why, in Gods name, does she have a Timbaland song on there?

Because I like it. So there. My blog, my playlist, my music. Actually, I have toned it down quite a bit on here.

Oh, and FYI--Turn the Page is probably one of the greatest songs ever written. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

****************************************

Lastly, I stole this from C, who refuses to send me the rest of the pics from her trip out here until I send the pics from her trip out here last year. C is brilliant, but obviously doesn't know how deep my kleptomania runs when it comes to hilarious photos.





This is about the 12th trip to the grocery store while C was here. She is over caffeinated, and T is, well, a boy. Therefore, they "fly" through the aisles at 2am.

(C, I love you. Please don't be mad.)

Also, just to spread the love around, a pic of T in Vegas looking slightly bewildered and like he has a very large body or a very small head.



Again, I love you, and please don't be mad. :)

Endeavours

As I tell the regular customers at both the restaurants that I am quitting, and that our time together is drawing to a close, strange things are happening.

They all want to know why.

So I tell them the diplomatic version. Not the "This company is run by a drunk monkey rodeo" version, but the "I am off to better myself in a way that does not involve kissing strangers asses" version.

Secondly, they all want to know if I have another job.

I tell them no, which is the honest answer.

Then they want to know why I would quit my job if I didn't have another.

I tell them that I want to go back to school. That I awoke on my 26th birthday and realized that I had not realized any of the goals or dreams I had set for myself. That I realized that time is short--that I don't want to be my mother. That before I have children I want to live the sort of life that my grandchildren will marvel over. I want to travel, I want to write. I want to take pictures for real again. I want to wake up every day and have a reason to laugh and smile and things to look forward to instead of dread. I want to be the person I want to be, the person I was supposed to be before all the death and addiction and guilt and drama happened. That I will take those life experiences and turn them from something I receive sympathy for into something people will cheer over.

Typically, at this point, the conversation goes one of two ways.

Either the people cheer, clap, shake my hand. Tell me how great that is, how they wished they had had the same thoughts when they were young, before they were strapped with kids and mortgages and jobs they hated.

Or they tell me I am a moron.

I really want to tell them that the most moronic thing I could do was to stay stagnant in a job I hate, that is taking me nowhere and doing nothing but offending my sensibilities and sucking away at what little soul I have left.

These are usually the same people that tell me that they are not surprised I am a waitress. You know, because I don't really have family and all that. Wasn't born into money.

Oh well.

I think I am going to bed.

(Oh, and to clear up some confusion in the comments: Brian, obviously you have not spent a lot of time with metal heads and punk rockers. They are, by distinction, a stinky group of people. The idea of being in a small, hot, cramped bar with 400 of them who were recently freezing cold and soaking wet makes my nose hurt. Imagine being trapped in an elevator in southern Florida with your son's fresh, sweaty hockey pads, skates, socks and underpants. Now spill some beer on them, have someone smoke a joint nearby, sprinkle on some patchouli oil and mist a hint of vomit over the top and now we are talking. That is what I walked away from.)

Sailing, Scotch, and Sousa

Everyone should take part in one of the above today. Or all, if possible.


Happy Birthday, Dad. We're eating cherry cake today, and I might get it right this time.

When Nature Attacks

So, for a Christmas gift this year my friend A purchased tickets for us to go to the nearby metropolis and see Ministry. This is a huge deal. Huge. (For us and fans of that music of that ilk, anyway.) Since Christmas he and I have been quietly squealing into our fists out of excitement about going to this show--which would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Well, Saturday was the day of the show. We requested the weekend off of work, gotten travel plans solidified, cash procured, earplugs stolen from T's work....everything was a go. We awoke Saturday to a beautiful sunny morning--it appeared that everything was shaping up for a glorious day.

We were wrong.

First off:

T and I spent the night before drinking far too much wine and playing a hell of a lot of video games with F to celebrate our belated co-birthdays, which is something F and I have done for years. As usual for me, when I consume more than 2 glasses of wine in any given sitting, especially when a huge decadent meal is involved, I turn into a pumpkin rather early and consciousness leaves me where I stand. In this case, face down on F's couch with a quilt over my head while T and F raged ever onward with the game. I never lost consciousness, but all that did was make me really grouchy, so when T and I arrived home at 3am I all but collapsed into my bed (To T's relief, as he had just shouldered the thirty minute car ride home with my tired, grouchy ass). And awoke at 8am because I am often smited by the sleep gods.

This means that Saturday was a beautiful day in which I had a hangover. A red wine hangover, for those of you in the know. Red wine is for me in the top three of the "I'm afraid I won't die" hangover pantheon--the other two being keg beer and tequila. I don't get the vomiting hangovers--I get the complete exhaustion kind.

Anyway.

I rallied, and I and I took off for the show. We were going to park and then ride the public transport over to the city, which seemed like a good idea at the time.

The sky was black over the city. BLACK.

We arrived, and started walking towards the venue. It was beginning to rain by this time. We are now about a third of the walk there, nearing the "not great" part of the city, and A says to me, "It's not raining that hard." in an attempt to brighten my hungover spirits. I made a huge blunder at this point.

I poked fun at the weather.

I made the fake thunder sound, and mimed the skies opening up. We laughed and kept walking.

Two blocks later, as we stood at a crosswalk, thunder clapped. And the skies opened. Deluge of rain. I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. We don't get thunderstorms here! Lots of rain, sure, but never thunder!

The rain pounded us. POUNDED. We were so close to the venue we finished the walk, and then commenced with the standing in line. Which is when the wind started.

A and I are standing in line to get into a bar with about 100 soaking wet metal heads. We are wearing jeans and hooded sweatshirts which are completely soaked. Water is running down my face, smearing my makeup and covering my glasses. The wind is screaming and ice cold. I turned to A and said, "Do you know how bad it is going to smell in there when everyone gets warm?"

We left.

Seriously--just got out of line and walked away. And made the 15 minute walk back to the transportation hub, through the same deluge.

When we got back to the car it was snowing.

Nature did not want us at that show for some reason. It did want me to be two of my least favorite things for extended periods of time, however--wet and cold.

With a hangover. Poor A.

Trivia Questions and Redemption

Today is my Friday....Finally. Nine days in a row. Three days off, then one more work week and I AM DONE.

Not excited or anything. I hit overtime at 5pm today. Heehee. I will be done with work long after that.

Last night I had to stay at work for a retarded, super stupid pointless asskissing banquet. A large, monopolizing software company is staying at the resort for a conference and due to how huge and well known this company is, whenever they come to stay here we roll out the red carpet and start kissing ass.

I am willing to do this, because when one group of them were here last summer a small group of them (four) sat in my bar and drank, and when I cut them off and sent them home they tipped me $1000 cash.

So I kiss ass. (Whore.)

Anyway, this group was not of the $1000 tipping variety. G was tipped $0.83 on one ticket. G and I worked the restaurant as usual, and the software group was to arrive at 8:30pm and start their "reception" which involved the game Rockband and board games. And $600 worth of food and an open bar.

The arrived at almost 10pm. Shitfaced. Totally wasted. We brought them food (which they didn't touch) and drink, and proceeded to sit in the restaurant and wait for three hours.

Finally, when I went in to do last call, they were playing Cranium, and one superbly wasted chick was trying to hum a song so that everyone would guess it--None of them did. I did. I told them I knew what it was.....so they had me answer.

Rock the Casbah by the Clash. (Who doesn't know this song?) Anyway, we left them to their own devices and went home rather late.

BUT!!

As we were walking out, G made mention of the fact that his dog had sired a litter of puppies.....and T and I are probably going to get one.

Wait for it......

They are Chihuahua (regular pointy faced and "deer", which makes them bigger--No weird buggy eyes and wiffleball head)(Even though those kind are cute too), Dachshund and....Black lab.

They are black and white.

We will see.

I want to name the puppy something human--but I have to meet it first. "Jeremy", "Alphonse", "Kieth", "Bill", and "Steve" have all been thought of. Mostly because that's hilarious. But I have to meet it first.

T was not against the tiny dog, as I thought he would be, but more against the part lab. My mother laughed hysterically. If we get one, pictures to follow.

****************************************

I have found out why everyone I work with directly wasn't sad to see me go.

I got played, and played hard. My boss apparently intentionally tried (and succeeded) to turn my coworkers against me so that I would get mad and tattle on them for potential wrong doings. I didn't know this was happening, nor did I tattle in any real way, so I went from a schedule of 20 hours per week to 50. And everyone still resented me.

Now that I have quit, and have a lot to lose by doing so (benefits and the like) one person came forward and said they owed me an apology. I was confused and asked why. They then told me the above story. It was backed up by my floor captain, who said that "everyone that works here owes you an apology."

So at least my character is being rehabbed by quitting, I guess. (I made a Pun-ny.)

Yarr!

I'm not a pirate.


The word of my quitting is moved over to different departments. It would seem that everyone above me, as far as management, is sad to see me go, as well as most people in other departments. The only people that appear to either a)not care or b)be happy are the majority of the people I work with on a daily basis.

Interesting. It also is rather telling that these same people who appear to be pleased are soon to have their asses handed to them (more on that in another post, for this has not actually happened yet), as well as the fact that I look forward to not seeing them again for any real reason. Thanks. So no one need worry that my panties are in a bunch. Cause they're not--they (as well as the rest of me, wardrobe or no) is pleased as fucking punch to be out of there.

Gone are the long hours, the 17 hour days, the stay-until-2am-and-return-at-9am crap, the continual rudeness of the public as a whole, the guilt trips, the crap and flaming hoops one need leap through for time off, the general lack of appreciation or joy in my life......Thrilled, I am.

We have made plans to go to a large city south of here after I quit and visit my cousin, whom I adore. We have also purchased plane tickets to go see my mother, which promises to be several posts in and of itself. (the woman lives in an RV with two cats and a semi-functioning toilet. It promises to be a relaxing retreat, I'm sure. Oh, have I mentioned T's allergy to cats? And my mother's raging alcoholism? And insanity as a general whole? As well as her drug dealing, lesbian ex-con spawning, Valium dealing, ant infestation having Jesus freak of a neighbor who sweeps the snow in her pajamas, her ancient flaccid breasts flapping in the icy wind, a doily with the center cut out placed atop her head like a hat? Have I mentioned her?)

Yeah.