teapots

The owner of my restaurant complimented me after I sang tonight, which is new. I couldn't help but be a little pleased with myself. You know.

A friend of mine from my ex-school is coming to visit me this weekend... she was supposed to get into town tonight... but there will be many adventures.

I'm wearing none other than Mr. Potato Head pajamas. There's mouths and glasses and eyes and a few actual potatoes, interspersed with "parts is parts". I am overjoyed. I stole them from a boy. He was an asshole, so I pretty much don't feel guilty at all, but he had some choice pajamas.

Someone asked me if anyone will want to see my spout.
I'm not sure what part of my body would qualify as my spout.
But if it's what I'm thinking... no, you can't see it

I'm getting hit on a lot at work, and it's almost entirely middle aged white men who come in alone. It makes me sad. WITH the exception of a very, very inebriated Naval officer who alternated between telling me he was gay and the internal struggle he was enduring... and asking whether or not he could a) marry me or b) bring me to New York City. I don't know who that guy was, but he was very confused.

I actually spent the entire day sleeping.
I am a lazy bum.
What I really need is to stop smoking so much reefer. But will that happen?
Ha, ha.

I feel less guilty because I'm actually making money, although it isn't very much and I'm looking for a second job. If my sister can hook me up at this tattoo parlor, I might be able to be their receptionist a couple of days a week, and, if I'm lucky, maybe start an apprenticeship. Then the Five Year Plan can begin, officially. Yes, I have a Five Year Plan. There's some motivation in there somewhere... hidden in the poosh...