ilovemikehunt

wow..
i woke up this 30 minutes ago to hear my boss leaving a message on my machine about how i should be at werk. i pick up the phone and have her tell me how she fires people that don't call to check on the schedule because they don't care. i told her that i was sorry and that i'd been wrapped up in skool. i then told her that she was supposed to call me about this fucking credit card check that someone didn't sign [now she's saying i'm liable, and i get to pay for their 2 bottles of wine and half of their dinner (the other half was sent back twice)...the funniest part is how i was appologizing to these people about their shitty food, and they were like nah, you're cool...we know it's not your fault, so they left me a generous tip, but ultimately, i think i'm going to end up having paid it to myself.] she told me she was too busy, and i dreamt of telling her that she need not be such a goddamn hypocrite. she let me know that i'm not werking for the rest of the week and to call her on thursday to see what's going on...she mentioned that saturday went horribly because i didn't know the menu well enough (huh???) i think she's blaming 2 bad steaks at one table on me; blame your fucking cooks and your dumb ass self for picking bad steaks out, bitch (i think the tanning beds, which she apparently lives in, that have turned her skin to a rich shade of orange have simultaneously ultra-violated and charred her brain...oops, too well done, is that my fault? i wrote the order down as one flakey ass overly 'tanned' bitch with a twist of snotty italian soccer mom...sounds like i got precisely what i never ordered.) was i supposed to tell my customers that they were going to give the lady 2 particularly fatty steaks? is that the knowledge i'm supposed to have about the menu? fucking please.
so, it's about time, right now, for me to take a shower, get dressed, and go look for another job....fuck the bullshit. i'm going to the vegan place, it'd be like werking in utopia...they're not going to fuck with me about my hair or my piercings, I DON'T HAVE TO HAVE PEOPLE ASKING ME HOW I LIKE THE TASTE OF FLESH WITH MARINARA SAUCE MULTIPLE TIMES A SHIFT (to which i have now to answer, i don't know, let me ask my homie,) and furthermore, it's full of gay people and freaks; they, thankfully, have no reason/excuse to sit on their capitalist pedistol and sneer down upon us other primitive beings...fucking A, B, C, and D!
on a brighter note, i had a lovely dream about a guy i thought i had stopped jocking like a week ago (which linda, so rudely, disrupted.) he's still hot, what can i say? he's still so cool too, just not really my type...he's also 34. but i can dream, right? in my mind he takes on whatever form i assign to him ...