SOVAY
Soooooo
Things just keep getting worse, don't they? It's like everytime things to be looking up they just crash right on back down. Kind of like taking one step forward and then getting hit head on by a truck that takes you about thirty miles away from your intended destination.
The new general manager at Rubys apparently didn't know about my whole not being eighteen situation. Which is some shit luck for me. I guess I'm not going to be serving anymore, or something like that. I guess the whole "Being seventeen, serving but not touching the alcohol" thing isn't going to fly for this guy. Which is some real fucking bullshit because there have been tons of people to start serving and now I'M getting fucked in the ass over it. Way cool. Way fucking cool. So yeah. I'm going to be hosting for awhile it seems. It also seems that I'm going to be making half as much money as I was making. Which is really really fucking cool, you know what I mean? I also can't fucking stand hostessing. So that's really cool as well.
All in all it's a pretty much devestating blow to me financially and I guess mentally as well because I loved serving and hostessing just stresses me out beyond belief and I can't deal with having the god damn manager up in my business all the time. Fuck that. So I have no idea what I'm going to do. No fucking clue. I'm really really really quite upset about it. Work was the last thing I had. The last fucking thing that was giving me that boost to keep putting one foot infront of the other. So....... now I have nothing to be quite honest. Absolutely nothing, or so it seems.
Um news in boys? I made out with one guy at a party, it was a good time. Haven't seen him since so I guess nothing will derive from that.
To be quite honest, I can't fucking wait till I'm eighteen. I can't fucking wait till the clock strikes Midnight on the eve of fucking May Seventh. I can't fucking wait. Because I feel like every problem right now in my life is happening because I'm six months shy of being a legal adult, which is a real crock of shit I tell you what. I'm so sick of it. I'm so fucking sick of it. A stupid fucking number is keeping me back from living my god damn life and I can't STAND the idea of that. I can't wait till I a number can finally validate my existance as a fucking human being.
Things just keep getting worse, don't they? It's like everytime things to be looking up they just crash right on back down. Kind of like taking one step forward and then getting hit head on by a truck that takes you about thirty miles away from your intended destination.
The new general manager at Rubys apparently didn't know about my whole not being eighteen situation. Which is some shit luck for me. I guess I'm not going to be serving anymore, or something like that. I guess the whole "Being seventeen, serving but not touching the alcohol" thing isn't going to fly for this guy. Which is some real fucking bullshit because there have been tons of people to start serving and now I'M getting fucked in the ass over it. Way cool. Way fucking cool. So yeah. I'm going to be hosting for awhile it seems. It also seems that I'm going to be making half as much money as I was making. Which is really really fucking cool, you know what I mean? I also can't fucking stand hostessing. So that's really cool as well.
All in all it's a pretty much devestating blow to me financially and I guess mentally as well because I loved serving and hostessing just stresses me out beyond belief and I can't deal with having the god damn manager up in my business all the time. Fuck that. So I have no idea what I'm going to do. No fucking clue. I'm really really really quite upset about it. Work was the last thing I had. The last fucking thing that was giving me that boost to keep putting one foot infront of the other. So....... now I have nothing to be quite honest. Absolutely nothing, or so it seems.
Um news in boys? I made out with one guy at a party, it was a good time. Haven't seen him since so I guess nothing will derive from that.
To be quite honest, I can't fucking wait till I'm eighteen. I can't fucking wait till the clock strikes Midnight on the eve of fucking May Seventh. I can't fucking wait. Because I feel like every problem right now in my life is happening because I'm six months shy of being a legal adult, which is a real crock of shit I tell you what. I'm so sick of it. I'm so fucking sick of it. A stupid fucking number is keeping me back from living my god damn life and I can't STAND the idea of that. I can't wait till I a number can finally validate my existance as a fucking human being.