in which I tell you stories about me being a skank

I jest. I may, perhaps, in the future, tell you of some of the skanky things I have done, but for the most part, this post will be skankage-free. The more you look at the word skank, the funnier it is. I merely mention skanks for those of you visiting from here, in case you were looking for some dirt.

So, I promised you the tale of my failed detoxification. It happened like this:

On Friday, I was hanging around and applying for jobs online (for those of you out of the loop, I am technically employed by a restaurant that has yet to finish its renovations, so I've been waiting around for three months. I am heartily sick of it, so I chose to start the job hunt process again). No more than an hour after I'd sent off a resume to an Irish pub downtown, I got a call for an interview. I go in for a Saturday noon meeting, and hey, presto! I have a job and start on Tuesday. MORNING. So I sez to myself, I sez, Susan, you're going to need a coffee to do that. But I could just add caffeine in, and continue feasting on brown rice and veggies, even though I was sorely tempted to just ditch the detox altogether.

However, it was not to be. We were going out to a martini bar to celebrate Tara's birthday, and, swept away by my celebratory mood and the tantalizing taste possibilities promised by a martini called a "Jazzmatazz," I got COMPLETELY drunk. I would say AMAZINGLY drunk, in fact. I had a hot dog, which is nowhere on my list of approved foods. (I don't know if this counts as skanky, but it was Taste of Italy where we were, so there were throngs of people everywhere, and I drunkenly critiqued their clothing choices and possibly hit on a few guys confrontationally. You'll have to ask Jo to be sure; that part of the night is a blur.) And then, when Jo and I got back to my apartment, we ordered wings and a meat lover pizza.

And then the next day was Father's day, and it takes a stronger-willed person than I to maintain a detox in my parents' house, especially when there's steak for dinner. And in case I had any illusions about going back on the diet, they were demolished by the fact that trainees eat for free at work. I had Guinness steak and mushroom pie and sweet potato fries for lunch today. It was glorious.

Less glorious is the fact that I have to wear a kilt and knee socks at work. This means shaving my knees every day and not sprawling around, limbs akimbo. But I'll tell you more about work later. I have a rant that's storing up about these servers having it ridiculously easy, but I'm going to wait until I've had some tables on my own, so that my pride isn't wounded when karma comes around and bites me in the ass.