The thing I love about bartenders is, is they use terms of endearment when they talk to you, even when they see you every weekend and periodically during the week as well. They forget your name of course, I know that. Which is fine, because I call them by the wrong name and that's way worse. Tonight I've been Sweetie and Baby. That, I love. Sweetie is ok, but being "Baby"ed is better. I don't know why. It just is. Anyhow. I get that it's a marketing ploy to make single women hang out and drink more and tip bigger, but I'll take it where I can get it these days.
Hanging around waiting to be called "Baby" by a pretend friend is a little sad, but it's not as sad as banging yet another foreigner. I've declared this summer's tour as the No More Foreigners Tour - Summer '08. There will be merch.
Anyway. There you have it. I'm pretty much going home after this beer, I think. I can tell this is the mood I'm in when I start talking to strangers just to see what happens next, and that has never ended well. Plus, I'm running out of battery power. I wish this spot had an outlet. I wonder how much I'd have to drink to get a memorial outlet on this side of the bar. That would be pretty awesome. I want an ornate faux-gold faceplate with Bottecelli cherubs. Rococco. That's what I want. It would be very.
I heard this girl quoting lines from Heathers a while ago. I have to buy that movie. The whole croquet balls thing was a little OTT, but I love that movie. It makes me want to get a red scrunchie. Tara is the head Heather of this bar, except she's nice. She's Veronica at the end. I'm glad Martha Dumptruck didn't get killed.
Plus, I think I have to quit my job. I think it may crush the life out of me if I keep working there. It is in no way fun. Even when I was selling my soul shilling phone service, I still had fun sometimes at work. I haven't had a single fun day at this hospital gig. I'm pretty sure I'd like being in nursing school. I like anything where I get to learn stuff. But I'm not so sure I can take working at a job I am clearly not suited for. My talent does not lie in clerical work where I have to be nice to people when I am profoundly irritated to the depths of my soul. Seriously, people should file their own crap.
I got a talking to this week. It started out with my boss saying "People don't think you're happy." And I said, "I'm not." This is not the way to start a meeting. Also, apparently people are afraid of me. My first instinct was to say, "Good." I want them to be afraid of me. I want them to do things themselves instead of asking me to. I am not a naturally nice girl. I find it extemely difficult to smile when I am pissed off. Hiding what I'm thinking and feeling just to get along is repulsive to me.
Dang, I'm losing battery power just when it's getting good. I probably won't be able to pick up the thread later, but sweet merciful Heaven I feel much better for getting even this little bit out. It's been driving me nuts. See? It's terrible when you can't say what you think. Which is why you should boycott China.
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