5.23.2005
muse-ic : the CAKE CD - idk what it's called...
book _ oh come on now, i'm not done with invisible monsters yet
mood ! eh. or as georgette at work would say with her hand tilting side to side, "iffy."
09090909090909090909090909
rah rah, and work strikes again.
i REALLY need a vacation. i don't know, there's just something about a repetitive job that kills. it turns a bit mundane on the brain after a while [whoa that rhymed]. or as sam says, "i'd rather be smoking weed right about now than sloppin' this shit around." [sam happens to be the morning cook] right then. okay. and after i bought a $15 bag from him. just kidding. a bag of homemade jerky, weirdo. i'm not like that. at least, not at work. lol
so at work, while i'm getting baskets of breadsticks, gary [my bossy-wossy who is also a 29-year-old manager with an attitude of a college student, which he is] stops on his way out the out-door and asks, "so is rob home?" hold up. i did a double take and i said almost too quickly [please kick me], "i don't know, why would i know? i'm not his keeper." but it may have sounded more like, "idon'tknowwhywouldiknowi'mnothiskeeper." embarrass much? *sigh*
all he did was smirk a little. what. the. fuck?
then after i've clocked out and we're talking about whether or not i'm supposed to work tomorrow, whether rob's covering for me or whatever. then he calls rob up and leaves a message [because, if you haven't already figured it out, rob is: a. barely home. b. barely home. c. why the hell would he answer his boss's call? i mean seriously. c. seriously.]. he leaves a message with the words, "hey it's me gary, [insert random junk] me and miriam are standing here trying to figure out whether or not you're working for her tomorrow [etc. random junk]." yaddayaddayadda. so i have no idea whether or not i'm supposed to work tomorrow, but i do know i'm supposed to go and work for rob tomorrow who's working for marta since marta worked for him today - *fingers take a deep breath* - aah, so yeah, if that made any sense.
so i tell gary that he probably wouldn't check the answering machine, or if he would, he won't be calling back probably. i told him that when i was at his house, the phone would be off the hook and about %90 of the calls would be for him. "all girls," i said sarcastically, but gary didn't catch on.
"that's my boy," he says of rob. "he's a playa." errrr
so gary says, "i would have figured you were more well informed about him than i am, you know, since you and him are all TIGHT and SHIT." [sarcastic much?] okay. my boss just said that. um? and a few weeks ago he goes, while i'm changing the bags on the trash bins, "my mother is the worse singer ever. i mean, she's like mrs. cleaver, she's the classic t.v. mom, she has cookies and lemonade every time someone comes to visit. but when she sings, i swear to GOD - even the cats go 'what the fuck?!' that's how bad she is." yeah. word to ur motha.
;it's something sophiscated.
8:58 PM
