My middle name must be "FUCK YOU".

Yeah, so I open up my hotmail (OH SNAP E-MAIL IN THE FUCKING HOUSE) and there's this message from "Rick". Who is "Rick"? Rick is a douche.

According to Lauren, Rick is also a bot who uses the face of a member of O-Town and lures unsuspecting friends onto his list with the promise of half naked So-Cal girls. Far be it from me to insult his business accumen and all, but holy shit. I'm normally pissed off enough as it is without having some wide smiling buck-toothed bastard staring at me through my fucking e-mail.

But I digress. Work is starting to really fucking irritate me, mostly because I feel like the oldest one there (with the exception of Sid and Ed) since I keep trying to diffuse the goddamn drama and goings-on that happen on a daily basis. Apparently the issue people have with me is that I keep asking them if they need anything, which is my job. So the only real answer to the problem is to avoid them completely, right? No. Because then I'm being "stand-offish" and not doing what I'm supposed to. That includes, mind you, waiting until they actually START work after slacking off for about an hour to do lines of coke in the main office while I sit at the bar waiting for customers to come in. I don't tend the bar, I bus tables. It's the fine distinction between a BARTENDER and a BUSBOY. Whatever, fuck them. I took their tips anyway, after threatening to break their arms and burn their house down.

To re-cap: Doing too much. Stop doing too much, people accuse you of doing nothing. Accusers are coke addicts who are probably stealing money out of the till. Violence is AWESOME.

Taking Thursday off to recover from what will no doubt be a horrible display of drunken foolery on Wednesday. Please God don't let the cougars and the tweens come after me again. I've been good.