friday i worked from 10-4am. saturday i finished up youth in action's website, which involved my translating a lot of broken english into "logical, you-can-read-it english". then worked 10-4am again. i agreed to take jon's closing shift sunday night, which would make it my first by-myself close. i'm not a stranger to closing places by myself, though, so i didn't figure it would be a big deal.
i now officially hate super bowl sunday even more than i hate having to work minimum-wage shit jobs, which, let me assure you, is quite a lot.
check out my timeclock printout:
; you'll see that though i was scheduled for 5-12pm, i didn't leave until 4.30 in the morning. AND i had class the next day, ostensibly. all day, they'd been so busy that they hadn't done any prep (the fridge was empty, and over the course of the night i ran out of bacon, chicken strips, cold cuts, green peppers, and mayonnaise) or any dishes (when i left, i left all my dishes on the drying racks to spite them & show them how massive a pile i'd had to do).
a couple of guys came in after the game and were trying to give me things: a super bowl shirt, which i refused on the grounds that it was just too damned big for me to ever wear, a tip, which i ALWAYS accept, and this groovy pin (found in left of photo above) made out of a beer cap that has a little flashy red light in it. the guy who gave it to me insisted on pinning it on my shirt himself, which i agreed to since i really wanted a red flashing light emanating from the direction of my breast all night.
by the time i left that hole, i was sick of SEEING it.
i slept most of monday, gave my mangled feet and my aching back a rest, then went out for martinis on monday.
martini monday naturally culminated in a lot of pot-smoking and chuck and phil falling asleep together on our couch. we woke them up by pulling the stereo plug halfway out of the headphones jack on my computer so that it made a crazy loud hissing/buzzing/screeching sound, which i've found to be the most effective way of waking up boys in the depths of a beer slumber. is there any sleep deeper than a drunken-boy-sleep? i think not.
i had really hot sex with the boy and slept until ten the next morning. took a cab to planned parenthood since it was IMPERATIVE that i get my lazy, forgetful self some birth control, which i was supposed to have started sunday. i walked to work from there, got in at quarter to noon, braved the lunch rush AND the dinner rush, and didn't leave until after TEN. (i was scheduled until eight.)
of course, i had four postage stamps due the next morning at nine, and i hadn't even started. all the time i'd planned on using got eaten up by unexpected work hours.
so i stayed up all night, and produced these:
scaled-down versions are under the cut. they look better printed out at full size, but they seem okay at 1.5x1.25", so i'm happy enough.
of course, it turns out that they aren't ACTUALLY due until FRIDAY!
so i handed in my assignment and went home to spent the whole day sleeping.
i think i'm getting used to a schedule of "stay-up 48 hours, sleep 12".