Just got home from work. After about nine hours I start getting a little loopy. It's weird.

I was talking with one of the little girls there about deflowering virgins because she hasn't and I have. She asked me what my "number" was and I told her three because it's true and she was like, "Oh, it's okay daddy!" (note: it is really easy to get 17 year old girls to call you "daddy") and started hugging and consoling me. I was like, I happen to be kind of picky about the kid-touchers, drug-dealers and adulterers who I allow to enter my quivering woman flesh, okay?

One of the other servers went home early because he felt sick and started puking his guts out immediately after his dinner break. I should probably pack a lunch tomorrow. I should probably stop referring to other human beings as "servers". We're supposed to say it in our little script at the beginning of the meal but I refuse. Instead of "My name is Megan, I'll be your server." I say, "My name is Megan, I'll be taking care of you this afternoon/evening." Server sounds like I was born to refill diet vanilla cokes. Taking care of you this afternoon sounds like I choose to devote myself to others for nine hours at a time because I'm just nurturing like that. It's probably unhealthy that I've even thought about it that much.

Went to the Ocean House last night. Got the fuck down. There's nothing like getting drunk and shaking my ass and then filling up on doritos and vitamin water to make me feel good. I also like telling people I don't want to talk to again that my name is Emily and I work at Chili's. There are so many fucking Chili's around here that even if they ask if I know so and so I can say no, I work at the other one.

Man, I HAVE to go to the store and get some kitty litter. Toby deserves better than this.