My apologies long suffering blog

I apologize for the duration of my absence. Things have been a little nutty in bar wench world.

First I landed my ass in the hospital with debilitating stomach cramps and unrelenting vomiting. There are people who say that they threw up everything but the kitchen sink, I not only chucked up the kitchen sink but all of the associated pipes cabinetry. After spending four days with cameras stuck into every conceivable bodily orifice, morphine being shoved into my veins and a lovely saline/dextrose cocktail keeping my blood sugar from taking a much-needed vacation, the warden relented enough to send me home. You forget how good sleeping without an IV line to get tangled in can feel.

On the night I was released from prison (John C. Lincoln), I received the packet from GCC that I had been waiting for for over six weeks. The much longed for and long awaited packet of information that would tell me exactly what horrors awaited my future had finally come to me. I tore into it with excitement oozing from every pore of my being, and promptly had a nervous breakdown. Not only was the list of future stabbings longer than I anticipated, I had only two weeks to complete all of said stabbings before I had to turn the whole mess in to the nursing department. And on top of that, There is an all day orientation of July 9th, which just happens to be the day that I was supposed to fly to Des Moines to visit my brother and sister-in-law. After being in the hospital, in pain, exhausted, and utterly empty of anything even remotely associated with food, I had absolutely no energy or sanity left to deal with the overwelming number of things I had to do and the almost nonexistant amount of time I had to complete said list.

I managed to get all the crap done that needed to be done. Needless to say I was not pleased about all the required injections and blood draws but what can I say? Junkie track marks are the new ghetto chic anyway. I finally also completed all of the financial aid crap and went down to the FA office to pick up a loan application because for some strange reason the internet will not allow me to fill one out. I sat down with my pen, paper and useless cell phone calculator to figure out how much of the allowable loan amount I should apply for. Half an hour later I sat staring in horror at the most distressing math equation that has ever been written. The scary math told me that even if I take out the full loan amount I'm pretty much fucked unless I work way more than I want. Ah well, I guess trying to cut my work schedule in half was too much to hope for. If the stupid government didn't make me file my FAFSA under my parents I wouldn't have had a problem. But because I'm not twenty-four or married I have to file under them even though they don't support me (Like I'd let them) and they definitely don't give me all the greenbacks that the government seems to think they should be supplying to fund my future (Like I'd take it if they offered). I tried to convince my roommate that marrying me for just two years wouldn't be a hardship. That way I could file the FAFSA under myself and he could just divorce me when I turn twenty-four and no longer need to be married. He objected on a number of grounds and then flat out refused. I still think it was a good idea.

So now I'm on pretty much a constant low-level freak out. I'm working on it though. I apologize for all the tense errors. I'm usually kind of a grammar snob but I'm incredibly tired right now. I can't believe I stayed awake long enough to type. Go me!

On a side note, funny story. I was at work the other day and I was running the well (translation: Making drinks for bitchy servers who can't ring in the right fucking drink to save their witless little lives). One of the other bartenders (Hot Sauce. yes, that's his name) was serving that day and he was dicking around with a shot glass while I finished making his malibu hurricane. He filled the shot glass half full with grenadine and then topped it off with whipped cream. I looked up, saw the whipped cream on top of a shot glass and said "Hey, have you ever had a blow job?" I was talking about the shot people! God you have dirty minds. Anyway, he looked at me for about twenty seconds in shock and then smiled and said "Yeah, once or twice. Why, are you offering?" It was at that moment that I realized precisely what had just come out of my mouth and had an Oh crap moment. They teased me mercilessly for the rest of the day of course. I really need to think about how these things are going to sound before they come randomly spewing out of my mouth. They never sound that dirty in my head.

Procrastination

I swear, if I didn't know better I would think that gnomes were sneaking into my room at night to play lacrosse on my legs. That's the only thing that can explain all the bruises. I know that I'm a clutz and that I am physically incapable of walking in a straight line but I didn't really think that I ran into THAT many things. I woke up this morning and was putting on my shoes and noticed a real doozy of a bruise right across my ankle. I have no idea how I came by it. Occasionally I do something really stupid, like rolling off of my bed onto a trashcan. Those bruises I can understand. But really now, this is just getting ridiculous.

I have to go clean my kitchen.

Oh me, Oh my

My very first blog. How very exciting. I will probably not be able to write very frequently seeing as how most of my free time is devoured by either working from open to close or hugging virtual eggs to get hatchy points. I couldn't just leave the poor blog completely blank though. It would look too naked.
My mother made me start knitting. She dragged me kicking and screaming to the couch, hog tied me, pinned my eyelids open and made me learn how to knit, I swear. Now I have like fifteen projects that either I want to do or other people want me to do and I still can't even do a damn stockinette stitch. The fact that a psychotic two month old kitten keeps darting in to snap at my needles like a dog after an arby's roast beef sandwich in no way helps my endeavors. I am knitting a hat for my friend's daughter because not only is it her birthday but she just had brain surgery. Also, on a more selfish note, I figured that the one person who wouldn't care if she got a lumpy hat with uneven stitches was a little kid. It seemed like the perfect solution. Novae(the kitten), however, has already forced me to rip out my budding creation like four times. The other four times I had to rip it out were my fault but we're going to ignore that for the time being. The little shit for brains keeps dive-bombing my needles while I'm busily trying to purl. Grrrrr.... If hellion kitty does not stop I will never get my stockinette stitch right and I may have to gnaw on her little kitty ears until she begs for mercy.
Oh, and one of my "guests" at work yesterday told me that she was thinking about ordering desert but she was looking at my size and remembering that they were quite fattening.
....
I very seriously considered smashing her face in with a tray and then whistling to myself as I walked away from the bloody hole where her head used to be.
I comforted myself with food. =)