MLK day was Monday and I didn't write, thought about it but I think I ended up talking to a woman that ended up wanting me to write her about the time I was paid for sex. Well, she doesn't KNOW that was the ONE time I was paid for sex, but most people would probably assume, if I said I was paid for sex...since I'm male, and all.
Anyway on Friday the 22 I clocked into my office job at 7am, clocked out at 4pm and drove over to IHOP where I clocked in at 5pm (did some dicking around there, basically waiting for 4:55 when I can clock on as per our computers) and I clocked out there at 1am. 7am to 1am baby.
Was scheduled to work at 4pm today (okay, I was *ONLY* SCHEDULED to work at 9:30am tomorrow (Sunday) but my awesome general manager wrote me in for 3 more shifts (not sure where the disconnect between him and the woman who does the schedules is)) up from the 5pm the GM wrote me in for, the server I worked with Friday night is cool and we were both scheduled to be the 2 servers working Friday and Saturday night, so it was decided that I would close one night and her the other. I guess it was the manager on Friday night that decided we'd work the exact same hours on each day. Anyway, I seem to have rambled away from the good part of the story.
Got at call about 8am this morning that got me out of bed:
"Hey, Brian, can you come in and work today?"
"I work tonight..."
"I need you this morning."
"Yeah, it's just I worked last night, got out at 1am..."
"Oh, well then you can rest today..."
"No, I can come in, I just want you to know it will take me at least 45 minutes."
"So you can be here at 9?"
"I'll be there at 9."
And I was.
And I clocked out for an hour at some point during the afternoon and they made me just clock out and leave at 9pm, despite it being much busier than previous weekends.
I work at 9:30am tomorrow.
I am not a writer. Anyone who reads this and wants me to be should think about maybe getting me a little tape recorder. I'm not a bad orator. And what's more, even if I was actually going to write it would be helpful. Because I had so much energy on the drive home. I'm starting to lose it now, though. Maybe it was that sandwich.
I was amazed on the drive home how not only was I not tired, but I wasn't hungry. I literally ate nothing today. Maybe those shots of lemonade are enough for a man who usually only ever drinks water.
People worry I'm not eating enough, people think I should spend more of my money on food and entertainment. Why when I can get this high off of just getting hammered (I'm beginning to see the magic of editing, I was reading back through my first draft and it's obvious here that anyone who doesn't know me might think I meant hammered as alcohol...I never drink, hammered is a service industry term for "busy, very busy") and making a bunch of money? The Black Guy (I thought since Hot Black Girl was a "character" that I should name Black Guy too...there are actually three black guys at IHOP that I can think of off the top of my head, but they aren't as cool as the server I'm talking about, so he gets the "title") was asking me how much I made last night when I told him about the 17 top. Ah, Breakfast Club, there is another story.
It IS so easy to get sidetracked and not keep things straight. But maybe these one drafts are enough to have the parts to put something else together. But I don't know how, you see, I'm not a writer.
THE POINT that I so frequently take my sweet ass (actually, I've lost a lot of weight and have been told my ass sags now...not enough IHOP running I guess) time to get to is that I told Black Guy I didn't know. I hadn't counted the money, I went home and went straight to bed. Glad I did too, got plenty of sleep and got that call from GM today!
I still don't know. No clue how much I made at my 11 hours today either. Doesn't matter. I can count later. But Mr. Positive keeps pushing to write. I get encouragement other places too. Except from a friend with a self proclaimed lack of psychological aptitude who tells me I'm no pro and I share too much. Probably he'll spend the next few days worrying about who he knows who will read this and figure out who I'm talking about, because obviously those were very private things he shared and blah blah blah. Or maybe I just thought it sounded funny, I frequently error on trying to sound funny. But not always.
"Can you get drinks for that table for me?"
Mighty Mouse Hostess: "You bet."
MMH: "I don't know how to make the specialty coffees, is each one just four pumps?"
"Yes, just four pumps....Hot Black Girl, don't even say anything."
HBG: "Yeah, I was just about to say," (laughs) "You always know where my mind is. Brian, is that all you can take....four pumps?"
Later I realized I should have just said, "I already told you, my fingers are the best part," referencing a conversation we had had while we were made to deep clean the OJ machine. But alas, improv is hard.
Another point in the day...
Me: "Hey, Black Guy, will you take this to the hot girl on 41?"
(later, after the task was completed)
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't tell you WHICH hot girl needed it..."
BG: "No, you didn't, and thank you."
Tonight the cool server I mentioned (gonna call her OCD from now on) and I were swapping tables but she got sat a two top of women...at least one of which would fall into most men's hot range. I asked her if she needed me to pick it up. She was just confused and took the table. Later she wondered if she had been double sat. Where was Black Guy when I needed him? He would know why I wanted that table. Hell, HE would want that table.
As I pause briefly and think about what to write next I think of flirting with my guests, and I'll tell you what, maybe it's all in my head, but I think women are just getting more and more attracted to me. I'm losing weight. I'm working as much as I can. I'm motivated. I have passion. I'm fucking awesome with my fingers.
Okay, so they don't know that, and it doesn't even segue nicely into the story about when I was paid for sex, because she was one of those fuckers. I call some women I've been with fuckers because that is what they do. Oral and using their hands is just not their specialty. They're fuckers.
So, for those who don't know, I'm a huge gaming geek. I played Magic: The Gathering professionally. During the time my friends and I went to qualifier tournaments anywhere within 8 hours of Fort Collins I met a woman at a KC qualifier. Turns out she was a lawyer that lived in Denver. Turns out all I had to do was be the tiniest bit patient and I'd be over at her house fucking her on our first "date."
Am I vulgar, ladies? Okay, do me a favor. This can work for the guys too, but I always concern myself more with the ladies. If you think I'm vulgar, do me a favor and stick something up your ass. I don't care what it is, just stick it up your ass, will you? Then with it still in your ass, masturbate for me for at least a minute.
If you still think I'm vulgar after that, I'll take your advice under consideration. Until then, I'm not listening.
Okay, so I dated this lawyer. I was feeling monogamous, I suppose, because when she told me about this guy that was flying into Colorado from New York just to see her, not only did I know exactly why this guy would fly to Colorado to "see" her, but I didn't want it to happen. She ended up lying and told me she wouldn't see him. Then I asked her if she wanted to do something that night, and she said she thought she'd just stay in (was the dialog with quotations better?)
I took a nap, and when I woke up I just knew. People don't want to just stay in and be alone. I drove from Fort Collins down to Denver and knocked on her door until she answered (the guy was in her bedroom, haha) I gave her back a tape she had made me and told her I was done.
So I don't know how much time passes, but she wants to see me again, and I agree to meet her in Longmont, not only was it between the two towns we lived in, but I was seeing my parents there, who were at an RV park there for some reason.
Turns out she rents a hotel room and wants to "make up." I tell her if I'm going to be treated like a whore that I want to get paid like one. Turns out she'd rather just pay me $100 than argue with me (I can be really annoying to argue with).
So I THINK I satisfied two "writing assignments" with this daylog. I also think I should eat more and go to sleep. If you read this far, thanks.