KILLED IT (IN A GOOD WAY)

MANAGER: "You know *** isn't working tonight?"

ME: "Yeah, um, you make the schedule, but I'll be fine". 

Despite that slight hesitation, I seamlessly acted as a conduit between:

-4 Managers

-3 Servers

-5 Chefs

-4 Food Stations 

-2 Bussers

-1 Restaurant

-2 Bars

-70+ guests

-2 Floors

And no body cried, screamed or threatened to quit. To be honest, I was concerned. Ensuring quality and timely service to 70+ people isn't like climbing a mountain; and I don't want to let my head swell, but it's not easy keeping all these disparate elements together, especially when the majority of the guests arrive in limited time frame. 

Like when 50 people arrive within an hour of each other, ordering 4 courses (not including bread or drinks). Sure I have help. But besides the managers, my co-workers have their specific tasks. Taking orders, making drinks, prepping and/or cooking the actual food, busing tables, etc. I don't have to much of those things, but...hold the FUCKING GLUE together. 

While I was ducking for cover for a brief minute, this image popped into my brain: 

That is what I do. And also present the actual food to people, with lavish descriptions in hushed tones, careful to NEVER revel the back of my hand to plates I am laying ever so carefully down. OR letting anything fall out of place, lest the person paying $$$ for a 4oz piece of fish be let down. I actually take it to heart if a single piece of lentil falls astray. 

It's frustrating...but also really fucking rewarding. When things so right, as they did tonight, I mean...the money doesn't even matter that much (lies). What really does is just KICKING FUCKING ASS. And it's not that I am that smart, it's just that I have absorbed the knowledge other people have been generous to lend me, and me passing it on. 

Just an random example: this particular plate of scallops is accompanied by exactly 8 dots of japernero yogurt. This guy asked for more of it, "OK, no problem sir)". I knew it would be easy to ask chef for more...but how to properly present it? I ran around for 3 minutes, sweating, looking for the correct container, a tiny piece of ceramic I could blink and miss, buried in the kitchen that is four times bigger than my apartment, and found it. 

What I mean is, compared to the restaurants I used to work at, even if the money isn't too much different...I just GET OFF on being challenged. Sure, I might have a day or two when I just don't feel like working, but had I stayed busting out beer/burger joints, GOD - HOW FUCKING boring. 

PS - Best quote of the night = "Tonight's cheviche is..."

QUIET AND SATISFIED

2 weeks into my new job, and I'm feeling good. Although I have much to learn, I have gotten the hang of it fairly quick. It's totally different from my last job, in that I don't have to:

1: Change kegs (thank God)

2: Do dishes

3: Stock bottles

4: Work until 3 or 4am

5: Deal with a self controlling bitch boss that would watch my every move via security camera

Instead, I hang out in the kitchen and observe highly qualified chefs, and serve food to people that make more $ in a month than I would in a year, if not more. And I  got the tying the tie thing down, so much so that I tie other people's ties. 

It's not perfect; but I feel like I have elevated my job game. The first few shifts my voice was weak, in that I had to call out orders to people way more qualified than myself, but I found it (my FUCK YOU voice) and have successfully coordinated...

1: The Main Kitchen

2: In Room Dining

3: The Pastry Chef

4: The Raw Bar 

5: Shit Else

It hasn't been easy, and the money could turn out to be shit (doubtful), but so far it's been a trip, a GOOD one. It's been awhile since I've been this excited about work, and apparently it shows, in that my boss(s) trusts me to work alone, with little to no supervision. 

And when I'm done, I simply go home, avoiding bars and the temptation of stupid boys and the bars they frequent. Thus, my life as of now is quiet, simple and efficient. It's been awhile since I felt this way, but now that I do, it's the SHIT.  

  

Yesterday I was heading to the Loop area to see a movie with the EX when I got a text from a former co-worker, who currently tends bar at this swanky boutique hotel downtown. I actually interviewed there a few weeks ago but never heard back, so I figured it was a dead lead. 

Nope. 

He asked me to meet his boss last night, and after an interview that lasted no more than 5 minutes, he hired me...albeit on a trial basis. This is one of those trendy bars that are on the rooftop of a hotel, 16 floors up and overlooking the lake. It's beautiful. 

And...they don't serve draft beer! Which means no changing 150lb kegs. Whew. I am so fucking done with that shit. Plus, I am always wanted to work in a hotel for some reason. It's small, but super upscale (rooms go for $450+ a night) yet also casual. Almost a perfect balance. 

It could very easily not work out, but I am really excited, and surprisingly not nervous. Wish me luck!

MY OTHER "JOB"

For my penance, or in legal speak from my DUI, I am to perform 200 hours of community service. Working for free sucks, but at least I wasn't required to don an orange jump suit and pick up trash with the Sheriff's department looking over my shoulder (aka "Cool Hand Luke") as has been known to happen. That shit isn't cool. At all.

To repay my debt to society, I was allowed to choose my form of service; I figured what better way than to benefit the gay community in Chicago than donate my time and energy to an organization that directly provides health benefits to "family", as it were. So I work, for free, in a thrift store - the proceeds of which support said cause.

It's been years since I worked in retail, and although there are many tasks that need attending to, my favorite, by far, is clothing salvage. This task requires digging, sorting and laughing at the shit clothes people donate. Example: just today I was pulling stuff out of broken cardboard box, and mixed in with random GAP sweaters, I found...gasp...a leather thong!

The image above is what I started with earlier this week. It's about 12 feet tall, 22 feet long and 15 feet wide. It's a LOT OF SHIT. I sort through every bag and determine what can be sold in house, and what needs to be salvaged, that is sent to 3rd world countries, or recycled into what-the-fuck ever clothes can be remade into. Perhaps park benches. Or clothes for pets.

In three hours today I filled about 100 large garbage bags of shit that won't sell, but also found a plethora of quality stuff; in fact just today I found and bought a pair of black leather Kenneth Cole dress shoes - similar to a pair I bought years ago for $120, these set me back a not so whopping $2.75! So this shit "job" has it's benefits.

Far and away, the second best benefit is all these new people I've met. Punks, the Elderly, Lesbians, etc - every time I go in I meet a new and interesting person with at least a somewhat fascinating background. But on the real, it feels SO GOOD to simply help a worthwhile cause, at least in a minor way.

I'M GOING STIR CRAZY

The "Stir Crazy" phenomenon is common this time of year for people, such as myself that live in Northern Climates. Obviously, it's been made worse with my reduced mobility. Although I can get around better now with this it's still no, ahem, walk in the park. It takes a ridiculous amount of time to do the things I am accustomed to. Like walking.

And although the help I've received from my friends and family, not to mention the hot fucking things the guy I'm seeing does to me, I still prefer to do things for myself. I've always been independent; despite my shortcomings, I pride myself on getting shit done not only for myself, but also for others. Thus my current frustration.

I have at least 3 or 4 more weeks of hobbling around; money is an issue too in that, yes, I am receiving Worker's Comp, but it's not close to paying my bills - although I'll make it work. Oh, and my co-worker's have established a slush fund for me, which is amazing and so sweet of them. But I like to earn my money. Ugh.

In the meantime, I am attempting to embark on various projects, such as learning plumbing (my kitchen sink is screwed up), organizing my pictures and writing - or rather dreaming up concepts of how to apply my latent talents. That being said, I would stab someone for the ability to get back to the gym. Or be able to work my shitty little job.

Be grateful for your health!

MY LEFT FOOT

Months ago I injured myself at work while moving a barrel of beer; although it landed on my toes, I was lucky. Nothing broke and although my big toe is still bruised I emerged relatively unscathed. Unfortunately, I had a another, much worse incident last Wednesday, and I wasn't as lucky.

While putting kegs away, one slipped out of my hands and dropped square on the ridge of my left foot, instantly breaking it in several places. The pain of 150+ pounds dropping from 4 feet on a sensitive area of my foot made me cry like within an instant. Needless to say, I did NOT finish out my shift that night.

Instead I went directly home, in the process calling Ty to come over, but when I got home I passed out from the pain. The next morning I felt awful from the pain, but a very close second was realizing that Ty had stopped by and I missed 8 of his calls. I was worried he would never call me again.

But he did and came over the next night, the next two in a row (he's a sweetheart). Whew. My bigger worry is that I am going to be out of action, work wise for about 6 weeks or so. My boss and the owner of the place of employment assure me I qualify for workman's comp, but only for my hourly wages (not tips).

Money issues aside, I worry how I will deal with being physically incapacitated for a long, long time. Thank God I have a hot guy to keep me company, but, still, I am already so fucking bored watching television and movies or reading for hours at a time. I want to get out and about, not to mention actually work. Or be in terrible pain.

Fuck. Me. I know I'll get through this, and my friends and family have been great, but, ugh, Ugh, UGH! Not ideal to say the least. But I reckon this could be a blessing in disguise, in that it will provide me time to re-consider certain things, mostly my employment horizons, not to mention certain creative endeavors.

PS - I'm not taking anymore of the pills I was issued, they make me sick.

"SEXTING" @ WORK

Phone sex has always seemed like a slightly humorous concept to me, although the few times I have engaged said activity, I have enjoyed it - not necessarily in a "sensual" way, more like in a playful way. I've always injected a modicum of sarcasm within my romantic endeavors.

Anyways, last night I got this and the following texts from T:

[I should note he is still out of town]

T: "Are you at work?"

ME: "Yeah, but not too busy, what's up?"

T: "Well, I am driving and will be home soon and wanted to have phone sex".

ME: "I just quit and will be home in 5 minutes :)"

T: "Haha, maybe we can just send each other dirty messages".

To further the context of this situation, we have never done anything like this before, and with my boss looming over me, not to mention my co-workers, it was difficult to even begin to think of anything remotely dirty nor sexy to text T...so I went into default sarcasm mode.

ME: "I want to use your thighs as earmuffs...because it's really cold tonight".

T: "HAHAHA, shut up!"

From then on we actually started "sexting" as the kids call it, and my God, it was fucking hot! At first we both improvised fantasies that will probably never happen (not if I don't have my way) and then we brought it back back down to earth, describing the favorites things we have liked doing with each other, or rather, to each other.

And then he told me I made him cum. Mind you, at this point my boss and her boyfriend are on the other side of the bar, sipping beer, with the bartender next to me doing weird goofy crazy dance moves (fucking Improv actors - love 'em) and I'm trying to play it cool...but I have a massive B-O-N-E-R.

Thank God I wasn't wearing skinny jeans, and Thank God it was dark and Thank God again I was behind a bar wear no one could see anything below my waist. Besides the obvious bulge, I was leaking pre-cum like an off shore drilling rig operated by BP. I had to deftly excuse myself to smoke outside in the cold to calm down.

CAN NOT WAIT FOR HIM TO COME BACK TO CHICAGO.

THE UNIVERSE LIKES ME

Where to begin. Well, for one thing, "T" randomly visited me a at work yesterday. I'm not big on surprises, but that was an awesome one. He only stayed for a bit, we shared a smoke and made out in the alley like teenagers. That cute fucker left me with a massive boner. And I was wearing skinny jeans! So insensitive. But AWESOME.

Also, in last night news, I had my iPhone plugged into the sounds system behind the bar, and I tripped on the cord, smashing the glass on the face of said phone. Sucks, however it's over 3 years old, so I ordered up a new one today from AT&T...for 99 cents. Fucking awesome. I even sprang for priority shipping for an extra $5.

I decided to stay home for the holidays; roommate is flying to Poland for 12 days or so (broken ankle and all, but that's another story) and I elected not to join my family-in-law in rural Michigan. And "T" will be in Florida, so it's going to be a quiet one, but I'm really looking forward to it. Can you pronounce "Stay-Cation"?

My only complaint, as I see it, is that the fucking sun has decided to ignore the Chicagoland area this entire week. I'm drinking copious amounts of orange juice to compensate. Also, making out with boys and letting me fuck them. And working my ass off...and taking care of my roommate (she fucked her ankle swing dancing) and dealing with plumbing issues that I won't go into detail about here.

Basically, what I'm getting at, is as the year draws to an end, I hope you and yours had a good one (I didn't) and that next year is WAY BETTER than this one. I'm going to spend the next few days resting my body and my mind, and establishing goals for the next year. The least of which is not working in a fucking bar anymore.

So...H-A-P-P-Y-H-O-L-I-D-A-Y-S. Let's make 2012 a good one!

THE 3 GAYS

Last week, while at work I chatted up a 2 guys whom I was very attracted to, and whom I assumed might play for my team. Naturally I gave them liberal samples of beer and expelled my knowledge concerning such beverages. At some point they were joined by another gentleman, also very good looking. But I figured they were just 3 guys hanging out, which they were...but.

While I was waiting for the bartender to count his money/do paper work, I checked in on Grindr. I know, totally trashy but endlessly amusing. Right away I was messaged "hey are you the guy talking to me about beer?" I almost gasped. Not only was it the hot "alpha" of the group, but he lived 200 feet away, and his profile picture was of him only wearing football shoulder pads.

Anyways, so the guy on his left was his boyfriend that he lives with, and the one on his right was his "regular fuck buddy". I've never met a couple with an actual, honest and seemingly healthy open relationship...and they are apparently looking to add a fourth to the mix. An idea of which I'm reluctant, but very curious about. I mean, these guys are FUCKING HOT!

Last night the trio came in again, and it was...odd serving them beer and food. Mostly because they got me all horny, but really because I could feel their eyes on me, even from across the room. While I'm still on the clock "alpha" gay is texting me, and invited me to go out later to a gay bar. I declined.

I dunno. It's random, confusing and exciting - all at once! Story to be continued...

HOLY FUCKING CHRIST WHAT A WEEK I'VE HAD

Where to begin? For one, my computer monitor died last week, hence my lack of updates. I took that piece of shit in the alley behind my place and bashed the shit out of it with my fists. And boots. I just spent $136 that I don't have to buy a new one, and it took 3 attempts for Fed Ex to deliver it.

Work has been retarded annoying; I had a meeting on Monday morning that concerned the history of Belgian beer, and also how to properly poor beers. I peaced out after an hour. And busied myself with actual work. Then left and came back and took care of my drunk co-workers.

A large piece of my bathroom ceiling was about to collapse, and my Greek landlord is a cheap bastard, to say the least, so I spent the better part of this week waiting around for him to put a weak band aid on that.

My back is killing me, to say nothing of my knees. I got random creditors calling me, the weather has turned to absolute shit, my hot date for this weekend got canceled, I'm broke and UGH X 1000! At least my place is clean, and I got laid the other night. And I finally have a new monitor. So, it's not all bad.

I WANNA SUCK YOUR NUTS

The title of this post is a direct quote, from a regular, female bar patron that I have served, many, many times in the past. She is a lightweight, in that she drinks a Carlsburg and a Buttery Nipple (a disgusting shot of liquor that people that can't handle their liquor seem to prefer) and hits on not only me, but all the other guys that I work with.

Anyways, she came in DRUNK AS FUCK on Tuesday night around Midnight and said the following:

"Hey Jake (she forgot my name) let's DO SOME SHOTS".

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I've been wanting to suck your nuts for months".

After explaining to her how "flattered" I was at her drunken advances, the "gay" conversation took place, and she thought I was being rude and/or insulting. She is attractive, for sure but we all know how I roll, but STILL I have to convince people how I do.

So after reassuring her that she is a catch, and having to convince her that I would simply tell her to FUCK OFF if I wasn't interested in what she's got going on...she comes around behind the bar (GET OUT OF MY SERVICE AREA - huge pet peeve of mine) she fucking grabs my junk.

And wouldn't let go. Now, keep in mind that in my previous occupation as a bouncer/doorman, I've had to drag 2 women kicking and screaming to the curb. So, I think I exhibited admirable restraint in gently, yet firmly removing this drunk woman's death grip from my testicles.

If it was a guy, I would have knocked him out cold. OR at least tried to. Sigh.

It's really hard sometimes...convincing people I am being honest when I explain which team I play for, and not crossing the line when maybe it needs to be done. BUT since I do not advocate any form of violence towards women, it's a GODDAMN pain in the ass.

Oh, and I have a major boner for her brother-in-law, who she thinks is gay (as do I) but that's another story...

HOT MESS

We've been staffing up at work lately, in particular with regards to the Bar Backs (my position), and I really need to tell you all a story about the hot and FUCKING retarded guy they hired purely out of nepotism.

First, I will describe him. He is about 6'4", one of his arms are bigger than both of mine combined and covered in tattoos. He has dimples. That's the good. Here's the bad: he wears suspenders, ticks in his t-shirts and wears his hair in a pompadour.

Anyways, we were sitting at the bar yesterday and he asked me the following questions, each one increasing my HOLY FUCKING SHIT YOU ARE STUPID quota.

Q: What does IPA stand for?

I understand beer nerds can be assholes, and I do not consider myself one, but if you get hired at what is considered to be one of the best craft beer bars in America, Jesus fucking CHRIST you should know what an IPA is.

Q: When does that Asian chick get here?

The "Asian Chick" in question is a bartender, who is his boss, and also happens to be my "female" boyfriend, in that, she is someone I care about, in addition to being a good friend. We give each other metaphysical boners, and I will KILL for her.

Q: How much money do you make?

This is an inappropriate question regardless of the context, but especially so in the service industry. Tips are our lifeblood, and a closely held secret, but either way...don't ask your co-workers how much they make. I mean, come ON!

Fucking idiot.

I REALLY DON'T NEED THIS SHIT

Remember that waiter I briefly dated last fall/winter? Things ended badly, but we talked it out, and made it work since he still works next to where I do and it's just awkward...AGAIN. I though we were on the same page in terms of just being "friends", but he crossed the line last night, or rather tried mightily to.

For one thing, he was drunk as shit, so I won't take it as a compliment when he tells me I look "really cute". He still has feelings for me, and wanted to talk about it. That's fair, but...inviting me back to his place to spend the night, shit, I don't fucking think so. Or him inviting himself over to MY place. UGH.

I suggested a mutual place, namely a 4am bar so we can discuss this situation, but I didn't and don't want to put myself in a situation where more than talking can occur. Not helping matters is that he looked really cute last night. It was tempting, for sure, and I thought back to why and how I gave him chance to begin with.

Sorry if I sound harsh, or worse, arrogant, but I don't think work place relationships are a good idea. I realize the service industry is rife with such situations (booze + late nights = fucking, right?) but that doesn't mean I need to submit to this guy's advances. I'm under enough stress as it is.

I GOT TO BE A BOUNCER TODAY

And my God it felt good! And by today, I suppose I mean yesterday. Anyways, it was fucking crazy at work yesterday; not only did the Bulls come back at the last second (YES!!!) we also dealt with a large contingent of rowdy soccer fans. Easily in the top 5 of nuttiest days I've worked ever.

Anyways, I had that floor locked down, but around 3PM, my boss, several customers and myself noticed the pungent smell of strong herb wafting about. Process of determination lead me to the source, which was the hot as FUCK guy I presume either surfs or performs in gay for pay porn in his free time.

Which means he's really hot. And he was. Gorgeous, and I don't use that adjective readily. That being said, God, in his infinite wisdom may have blessed him with beauty, but he forgot to give him a fucking brain, and he thought it would be cool to light up a joint the size of my forearm right in front of the door to the bar.

Here's the approximate conversation that took place:

ME: "YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

PRESUMABLY RETARDED HOT GUY: "..."

ME: [ANGRY JUSTIN CHICAGO VOICE] "SMOKE THAT FUCKING SHIT ELSEWHERE YOU FUCKING SHITHEAD"

PRESUMABLY RETARDED HOT GUY: [Locks flowing in the breeze] "..."

ME: "YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

And he ran. I'm not into using my limited authority to invoke involvement of the police, but what a fucking moron. I mean, really. Smoke in the fucking alley if you need to, I don't care. But when you are smoking pot in daylight in full view of literally hundreds of people...use your head (or what's left of it).

SO, long story short, I was THAT guy today, the asshole bouncer, and Goddamn it felt good. Sorry if my recent antidotes stem from work, but it's much better than the sad/awful ones derived from my DUI classes.

That being said I will leave you, dear reader, with one chestnut. This guy claimed that he simply "pushed" his girlfriend. What he left out was that he pushed her from a 3rd story floor...my GOD. It's a fine line, much like the story I presented earlier...so yeah.

I'M NOT PAID WELL ENOUGH

...or so I'm told, by several of my co-workers. That either means I need to promoted, or stop working so hard. Unfortunately, there is no room to be elevated, and I have only one speed when I'm working...which is to FUCKING WORK. I like my job, don't get me wrong. And I don't mind going above and beyond when duty calls.

But it is frustrating knowing that deep down, I could be doing so much more. And it's not for lack of ambition; sure I could blame the shitty economy, but I could also be more pro-active in trying to find another job. And that, right there, I think is where I falter. I HATE looking for jobs, trying to explain how awesome I can be in the form of a resume.

And besides, the jobs out there are not only few and far between, but the difference between taking a chance on an un-known employer, versus the known quantity I currently am employed by...well, I guess I'm staying put for now. But this job has already lasted longer than I ever expected it to. Static. For. Now.

MY NEW ARCH-NEMESIS

My enemies are few yet various; Cinnamon is the chief culprit-it's implausible but that spice reduces me to a quivering mess. The lead singer from those terrible FreeCreditReport.com commercials is another, as is the entire city of Phoenix. I can go on, but I'll focus on my most recent arch-nemesis: MUZACK (see below).

That little green light glowing ominously at the top of that stack of A/V equipment is slowly draining my life force. Allow me to explain. One of the perks of my job (indeed-at times a requirement) is to set that bitch on fire with music via my iPhone. It's empowering to be able to make drunk people dance at the touch of a button. Really. Try it!

So it fucking sucked when the owner/Boss Man decided he wanted to provide our patrons with a more "consistent" experience, and installed a...GASP...Muzack machine. UGH X 100! One guy compared it to "trying to relax in the lobby of a Ramada Inn" and I can't agree more.

As a result, we turn that shit off and put on our own shit when the owner/managers are away. Tonight I got busted for doing this...I put on the Pandora channel for Arcade Fire... and was admonished. Are you fucking kidding me? Oh no! The National might come on next! Or maybe Interpol! Or Kings of Leon! The horror.

As a result certain co-workers and I will sneak on the contemporary Christian Rock channel, or 90's hits or...gulp, KidTunes, just to prove a point how awful an idea this is. And when the coast is clear, I pop on my iPhone, and FUCKING BLAST Kid Cudi, Screeching Weasel and/or My Morning Jacket.

And guess what? People love it. Attention bosses: it's called character. Being on the front line, communicating directly with the customer(s) and reacting according has always proved sucessful in my various occupations; whenever I'm over managed...things head south. And I'm only directly referencing music.

PS - I've invented various "accidents" to destroy that evil green glowing box, like spilling a pot of coffee on it, dropping a case of beer on it or disconnecting it and throwing at a bus. I'm open to suggestions, and will consider any and all that might be construed as an "accident". I'm only half kidding.

RUMINATING ON MY EDUCATION/OCCUPATION

After I'm done with my court mandated "alcohol awareness" classes, I really want to get me some new education. So far I'm deciding between being certified as a bartender, a food service sanitation expert or an auto mechanic. I've favoring the latter; I really miss working with my hands, and although I won't be allowed to drive a car for some time, I think fixing them would suit me well.

Fuck getting an MBA; I don't lack ambition, but I am ambivalent towards the business world (again, ironic since I subscribe to BusinessWeek and always read the business section of any newspaper first). I don't regret my existing bachelors degree in Film/Video production, but I almost wish I went and got trained as plumber, or something union oriented.

Le sigh. One thing is for sure, I don't want to be a fucking Bar Back for much longer. The hours suck, I lack any health benefits, and my back is always in pain. I want more out life than this. That being said, I am glad I have at least this shitty job...going in tonight! But this isn't sustainable. Then again, neither is being tied to a desk job.

HE'S A SPY

Last night I went out front of the bar for a smoke, and to stretch my Bar Back; little did I know that I was being watched by my DUDE on a security camera. Seriously.

His place of business is literally next door, and they have security cameras. So he watched me smoke, stretch and talk to myself. And he still likes me.

How cute.

When he was done with his business, he came over and I marveled at his ability to change the mood in the bar. I know it sounds like I'm being a teenage Queen, but whatever. I pretended to yell at him for non-existent issues...we had fun. And I got drunk. And made serious $!

PS-Making out on the clock is doubly satisfying.

PPS-I'm working, last minute, tonight and letting my Bro and his Wife borrow my camera equipment for their Honeymoon/African Safari. I wish I was going to Botswana for 3 weeks, but whatever.

HOLY SHIT, I'M TIRED

Worked another double last night; started at 9:15am and ended the night at 11:30pm. Against my better judgement I cabbed it to the my buddy's Halloween party, got super stoned, and waltzed back home. Less I oversleep, my Roomie and her friends decided to prep for some sort of marathom at 6:30am. There are few alarms more effective than a room full of Polish women.

I'm only typing this because I need to stay awake, until it's time to jump on a bus and get right back where I started. At work. By no means am I complaining; but I'm complaining anyways. My body and my mind are tired. [Note to self: never again shall I agree to be a Doorman on Halloween].

This is my life. On the bright side, I DID make out with my guy on the street and I'm sure to see him tonight...that's what's getting my by, the thought of seeing him again. Like tonight. 10 hours from now doesn't seem all that far away. And the annual Boystown Halloween Parade is always a fun time.

But sitting here, with wet hair, fighting the urge to collapse into bed, beating the shit out of my alarm clock...ugh. My knees hurt. A lot. My shoulder? Fucked. But as this job is my sole source of income, I shall keep pressing. And hopefully not bitch too much. Because, overall, it might suck, but there are happier times ahead.

THE NEW MAN IN MY LIFE

Shit, this happened fast, and I'm resisting labeling this guy as my "boyfriend", mostly out of fear it will all turn to shit. But it's true, I'm falling, hard and fast. "Sal", as i will refer to him here, is a waiter at the restaurant next to the bar I work at. He's been coming in for months, and admitted he's been crushing on me for 6 months [awwww].

It's kinda perfect; he's done with work, comes by, we try not to lock eyes (that much) even though everyone is aware of the situation, speaking of, my manager is dating his manager, so there's that. Did I mention he's tall, black and has dreads? And that's he's hot as hell? He is. So there. Not trying to brag, just figuring this shit out.

I have a hard and fast rule, in that I like to keep a clear separation between work and my personal life, but the more I am ingrained in working at this job, the more blurry it gets, and this, I suppose, is a case in point. It's a positive thing, awesome in fact, but I have to draw a line somewhere.

That being said, it's pretty nice going home at the end of the night with an attractive guy that refuses not to get me off. So there's THAT. Oh, and he lives around the corner from where my Bro and his wife lives. I was standing in the rain, waiting for the bus, texting my my bro, when I heard "JUSTIN! JUSTIN!". It was she. How apt.

Explaining my walk of shame is easier to someone whom I am now officially related to.

PS - As I was putting my pants on, his friend, this smoking hot guy, opened the bedroom door, and damn, just....damn. The thoughts going through my head right now will be mostly kept to myself, for obvious reasons.