Got fired this weekend. Pretty lame. I didn't really want to stay there much longer anyway but it would have been nice to quit with honor and dignity and maybe another job lined up.

Apparently two weeks ago, a lady came in at 8:40 when we were about to close but I'd started cleaning early because sunday nights are slow. I wasn't paying attention to the front door because I was tired, still sick and wanted to clean my shit and go. I guess this lady felt that I deliberately ignored her and her family when I never saw them and would never ignore them if I had. That's just rude. And that's no way to get a good tip. So she sent an email to corporate and I am fired. No other complaints or write-ups or any other kind of disciplinary action in my file.

Three things really bum me out about this: Number one: I wish she would have said something at the time, something like "excuse me, we would like a table please." or even something less polite, so I could have done something for her then. I would have hooked it up for them because that's what I do when I fuck up. Instead she had to be all passive-aggressive email on me and I am fired and the manager on duty at the time was also fired because they think he closed early again. Number two: the manager who got fired is a dad. That's just fucked up. Not that dads shouldn't get fired but come on dude. He'd worked there probably half my life span. Not cool. Number three: After I toughed out all the shit with my health, sucked it up day after day and continued to be a pretty awesome waitress, this is what I get. I am never sucking it up again.

That's what she said.

Getting my surgery did on friday morning. It is what it is.

I get freaked out if I think about it too much. Sometimes people I talk to about it try to calm me down by telling me about way worse things that have happened to them or other people. I know this isn't the worst thing in the world, but that knowledge doesn't change that it is definitely the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

Got my moles removed, on my wrist and on my calf. I'm all bruised and sore around where my stitches are but I dragged myself around at work all weekend anyway. I should probably get employee of the year. Aw dang.

Talking to Sarah B. tonight about going to Hill Street Cafe this week and now I can't stop thinking about the food there. I want their soup and I want it NOW. She's been learning about the tarot and she said she'd do a reading for me. I'm pretty stoked on it.

Is it so wrong that I'm actually really looking forward to having next weekend off, even though I will probably be miserable? It'll be really nice to have a damn good excuse to be lazy for a while.

Hurt my hand at work. Not sure if I should sue or ask someone to kiss it and make it better.

I'm leaning toward the latter.

My brother is here and it's pissing me off. I'm tired and grouchy and I want to be alone, damn it. He's watching family guy but I want to watch the ten and get drunk. By myself. So I don't have to talk to anyone. Grrr.

Weekends are brutal. I wish someone would rub my back.

I was thinking about Ray on the drive home from work. Whatever, it's fucking past midnight, I can think about whatever. I used to really hold on to his affection. Any little thing he did I would keep that thing, that hug, kiss, word, smile, whatever, I would keep it in my mind and just turn it over and over. I used to sustain myself with that while he hurt me in a seemingly endless variety of ways that he ultimately never understood and it mostly seemed to me like it was cool, normal, whatever. I can't do it anymore. Sometimes I wish that he would at least miss me but I understand why he wouldn't. His whole life is something I can never be a part of and if I was I probably wouldn't want to anymore. It was never his to give, I get it now. I just had to do things the hard way.

Silverballs put his arm around my shoulder and in the back of my mind was the thought, you are about the same size. I could nestle into your shoulder and stay there and everything would be good. But I won't do that either. I need to be better to myself. I need to get something to eat. I haven't had a meal since 1. I ate a spoonful of peanut butter dipped in chocolate chips around 9. I'm too tired to cook. I might just go to sleep. I'm too hungry to sleep. Work was shitty tonight. I just kept telling myself, "if you die in the nightmare you die for real." It really kept me going.

THERE IS ALWAYS MORE WORK AND THERE IS NEVER MORE MONEY.

/bitching about my job

Got my schedule together. Now I just have to start working on getting the time off to perform on the 23rd. Gonna have to start sucking it.
But for now I'm stoked to be attending Julia's bachelorette party on Saturday and seeing Thao play the Casbah on Sunday. This weekend is going to be fucking amazing. Oh, and I'm getting my hair did by Lissa. She just so happens to be the bomb.com. I'm really looking forward to cutting loose and looking foxy. Fuck yeah.

Sometimes I just get home from a long day or whatever and I just look at my cat and he makes me feel like nothing is wrong in the world. Look at that guy. He's just so soft and handsome and he waits up for me because he thinks he can sweet talk a snack out of me. And he can. I am such a fucking cat lady. But it's probably better for me right now if I'm practically a nun and take out all my affection on my cat than if I get tangled up with some drug dealer, kid toucher or man whore as has oft been my wont.

There's some bird shit on the rear drivers' side window of my car that looks like a small child I'm about to run over in my peripheral vision. I should probably wash my car sometime this year.

Saw The Dark Knight last night, in imax. Imax is too crazy big, or maybe I was just too close to the screen, but wow. Shit is huge. It was a really good, suspenseful flick, but I prefer a campier Batman. This one stressed me out a lot and all the obvious terrorism, patriot act parallels were distracting and irritating. At least I got to bask in the glow of Christian Bale and they replaced Katie Holmes with Maggie G.

Wrote some music and added words. I have a couple different pieces to work with now. It feels really good to be working that way again. Got out my acoustic guitar and wrote 3 pages of lyrics.

Stressing out about work. Somehow I have to get Saturday and Sunday night off because I have adopted the shoot first ask questions later strategy for my off time, namely buying my ticket and hoping for the best. I need to go to Julia's bachelorette party and I must see Thao at the Casbah. I'm just going to go in there and start shouting about who do I have to sleep with around here to get my life together? I'm sure Silverballs can help me.

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.

On my way to work, I take the lagoon road. It goes through the golf course, behind the Four Seasons and past a whole bunch of gated communities. Basically there's a crap ton of rich people who live there so there's never any cops and I can speed like a demon. True story. I go about 60 in that 35, no problem.

Last weekend I turned a corner on my way and saw this future president type guy: crew-cut, tan, apparently drunk in the middle of the afternoon, hanging between the shoulders of two other fratty looking guys who were dragging him into a gate community. People in front of me were all pulling over. From closer to, I could see that his chest was covered in blood. I kept going but I felt irrationally bad about it. I hadn't witnessed anything so I couldn't help with that. I'm not a doctor. All I could have done was get blood on my apron and get a demerit for being late. There was nothing there for me to do.

Remember that video where Tom Cruise talks about Scientology? He says something wild and woolly about how if there's a car accident he wants to be there because he's a Scientologist and therefore he will know what to do? I kind of wished for a minute that I was a Scientologist. Not that that would actually give me any idea of what to do that might be helpful, but just so I could feel like I knew what to do. This is how cults get started.

Last night at work I had a guy ask me how much he should tip me. I was like, don't ask me that! Seriously, how uncomfortable is that? I was like, hey, it's up to you. 20% would be cool but I'm not going to tell you what to do. He was like, you did a good job. You were cheerful, effective and very sweet. You deserve a good tip and you should ask for it. This was really frustrating because people who don't understand the way the world actually works are frustrating.

This is how the world works: I am taxed on a set percentage of my sales, whether I actually receive that in tips or not. I usually receive more than that because I bust my balls but only because I get enough good tips from people who appreciate me to cancel out the cheapskates and foreigners who don't know better. I have to be pretty detached. I can't do it with an entitled attitude because that leads to hissyfits and hissyfits lead to bad service. I can't say, I deserve this or that percent because no matter how much I try a lot of people either don't know how to tip or don't tip based on my service or anything I could do for them. I've gotten sheepish piles of quarters from people who just didn't have anything else. It doesn't bother me. I can flirt my way to a forty percent tip from someone else. Basically, I don't care about a bad tip as long as I know I did everything I could for that person to make them happy. That's my job.

So to have somebody talking to me about "deserving" or whatever was awkward and irritating. Things we "deserve" are mostly imaginary. He was old enough to know what a good tip looks like. He also chastised his date for ordering for herself. It was uncomfortable. At least he wasn't the guy who made out with his girlfriend until their burgers came, with his eyes open, ogling me. That was pretty fucking uncool.