bonsoir

so, several things:

im moving to thessaloniki, greece this january for a semester abroad.

one of my bosses bought me an eiffel tower hookah.

and i've perfected my smoke rings.

(somewhat).

you think that working at a hookah lounge all these months i would have had decent practice.

but i'm always so self conscious doing them, because i'm afraid i'll look like a fish.

or miming a blow job.

i don't know, i've got issues.

whatever.

in other news, i saw a girl on a bike get hit by a car today.

by a woman driver.

typical.

hey, woman drivers-

you're making us look stupid.

put down the mascara

stop texting your boyfriend or rochelle or your mom or whoever it is that is diverting your attention

stop fiddling in your purse or singing beyonce

and just drive without killing people.


i really don't think that's so much to ask.

give me attention.

in the Absolutely Most Fucking Boring Class on Earth.

am seriously fighting urge to attack, kill, and eat professor.

a little motivation, however:

yesterday, whilst my mom was googling her name (like a huge creep)

she found my name on the dean's list for spring 2008.

honestly, i'm not sure which surpises me more

the fact that i made the list

or that my mom knows what google is and how to use it.


am quite pleased.


also, told the man i am hopelessly in love with and he seemed proud of me.

(and a little surprised. but will just ignore that.)


still pleased.

adulthood

so it has finally happened.

have been bitch slapped by the cold, firm hand of adult responsibility.

all semester have done no homework, and just now have realized how severe the consequences can be if continue to neglect duties.

in desperate attempt to fix situation, i set up meetings with all my professors to explain why work has been inconsistent and late.

am grateful;

were very understanding.


***what i have learned from this experience:

no matter what age you are, waterworks will tend to get you out of most situations.


thank you, college.

weave

i am bad at many things.

math, sports, singing, writting in cursive, speaking in french, handling responsibilities...

second year of college and mom still does my laundrey.

one thing i always thought i was good at though was shopping.

maybe because i love it so much.

listen, it's not like i thought i was going to go to the olympics for shopping or anything or win an award

i just thought i knew how to do it well.

until this week happened, and the money flowed from my bank account like the mediterranean.

wednesday night went shopping with gabbz.

walked by one of those small kiosks in the mall

and bought a WEAVE.

literally.

you know, the ones those asian ladies sell with all the jeweled clips.

don't get me wrong, my hair has never looked more glorious in my life.

it was just an expensive, ridiculous purchase.

and that emotional fuckwit finally asked me on a date last night.

to club rumor this tuesday.

so naturally, woke up this morning in a crazed panic over what to wear.

ended up back at the mall.

the next parts are hazy...

i think i blacked out, because the next thing i remember was standing outside of armani with a new outfit, couple hundred dollars poorer.

so now will go to club on tuesday with a total fuckwit, broke, wearing an outfit some peppy asian salesgirl "julie" swore was fabulous though am not quite sure matches, all the while worrying the stitches of my weave will show.


i am such a loser.

creep

as if couldnt possibly be any more consumed by facebook, the creators have invented

facebook chat.

now have yet one more item in life to obsessively check continuously, becoming elated with wild joy when see triumphant flash of a new message, or cruelly brought to manic lows when finding it bare.

which is exactly as have found it now.

empty, like the sullen, distant stare from the man on the subway you thought was a total creep but then later discovered he was blind. or had just died with his eyes open.

do you see what i mean?

and for the gentlemen, it's a whole, new medium of emotional fuckwittage.

am seriously sitting here, waiting for HIM to facebook chat me, like he's been doing consistently for the last week.

like a giant douche.

have been psychologically conditioned by all his facebook inbox messages, pokes, and chats to just regularly expect them, so now that he's suddenly witholding his attention, am practically gaging for it.

oh my god.

he is pavlov.

he is pavlov, and i am his classically conditioned dog.

didn't even see it comming.... thought self was in lead, considering he badly needs a nose job and he asked for my number first.

then today on newsfeed it said that the asshole had taken a new facebook wife, a different girl than the one he was in an open relationship with!!



should just kill myself, my life is pathetic.

18% is standard, 20% classy

i work at a hookah lounge.

i'm a waitress.

and i love my job.

i love my bosses, my co workers, and smoking free quality shisha, every day.

i just hate customers.

i hate every customer that has, is, and ever will come in.

the biggest douches i've ever had the misfortune of meeting have been durring my 6 hour shifts, running through the dining rooms holding hookahs and a flaming bucket of coals in stilettos.

i hate the customers that say "get me what i ordered last time".

i don't know what you ordered "last time".

it isn't my job to remember what you ordered "last time".

i probably wasn't even working. prick.

or the customers that walk through the employee only sign into the kitchen wondering aloud "is this the bathroom??"

i've been walking in and out of the kitchen holding hookahs for hours, what exactly did you think i was doing in there all night if it was the bathroom?

and have you ever even seen a bathroom?

unless your bathroom has a fryalater and oven in it, then you're a dumbass.

customers that yell at me in arabic, or russian, or turkish

or adress me as "girl"

or snap at me

or throw up in the bathroom (if they can find it)

or ask me for my number....

don't get me wrong,

i absolutely adore my job.

it's just the customers that make me want to accidentally trip whilst holding a bucket full of flaming hot coals and incinerate everything and everyone possible within reach.

tip your waitress.

antacid

went to a party last night with the kid that was the most popular boy in my junior high school.

was complete shit.

spent whole night sitting in musty room listening to crappy vinyls at full volume with pretentious kids who looked like they just came from shooting an urban outfitters ad, and then was projectile vomitted upon by some douche on acid.

felt like was in perks of being a wallflower.

and the boy that was so cool and unattainable in the 7th grade feels different somehow... now he's just some college bro with some really cheap beer in his backpack, mackin it to me through texts.

he's got no game.

seriously, it's like negative game.

from this experience, have learned that even though one may have been an awkward, ugly cretin in junior high, one can still be asked out years later by the popular boy all the thirteen year olds wanted to fuck, and then get thrown up on by some douche on acid.

that was life, and it happened.

all over my black shirt.