it's almost as if my life will fall unless I see their ascent

Good solid times in the G-Spot this weekend. From what I remember, that is. Saturday night is a bit of a blur, to be honest. For some reason, I was letting people unhook my bra to see how fast they could do it--where I came up with this plan, I have no clue. I also got belligerent and yelled at randoms on the street (and then demanded their coats... apparently I was cold and belligerent). There's a picture on Facebook of me doing my bra back up, but so far that's the most embarrassing one. On Wednesday TJ's is having their staff Christmas party, but I hope to avoid being the newest grist for the rumour mill--in other words, I can't get so drunk that I let the kitchen guys at my lingerie.

Tonight was pretty brutal at work. Logic dictated that we be hurting for guests--it was crappy weather, we had no dinner rush, and it's a Monday in January. Instead, we got killed from eight-thirty until eleven-thirty, when it was only Ashley and I. There are these people that come in every Monday and are basically total whores. They either complain about the service or the food (or both). All the servers know them as "those assholes," and yet, they keep coming back. Even if you have all the time in the world to devote to their comfort, they still treat you like shit. So honestly, at this point, it really doesn't matter if you go out of your way to make sure their beer glasses are frosty enough (and I shit you not, they WILL say something about it); they just like complaining. If I go to a restaurant and I have severe issues with the food or the service, I don't go back. Simple.

I keep decorating my bachelor apartment in my head to soothe my tortured soul. Now I just have to find one.