Diner Done

It's round-about 3am and I just got home from work.

The last table I had kept me waiting on their drunk asses as one bleached strawberry blond girl in a too-tight sequin top told me how much she "appreciates" me in the typical drunk OC girl voice. All night it was busy and I'm pretty sure my sweater  is now more made of ice cream than of cotton. The hairs on my arms are plastered down with chocolate gunk, whipped cream crust, and overall dirt. I'm attractive in that way.

Somebody named "Chris" left me his number on the back of a dollar bill which I later paid the busboy with (unintentionally of course). I feel as if my whole body is one aching, sticky, sweat/sweet smelling cloud of diner. It's everywhere on my clothes which have been thrown into the laundry basket. My feet and shoulders ache and I've made plans to be up by 11am to meet with friends. I'm stoked, don't get me wrong, but I sometimes fear I'll collapse into a coma in the middle of some every day activity. What else did I do besides serve the masses?

I got an iPhone 4. That's right, not the one with the creepy woman robot inside...Siri? But the normal one...the one where "she's" not watching and waiting to answer my every request. Creepy ain't it? I bought it on somewhat of a whim to my mother's dismay (she's a droid fan) and am officially on the bandwagon of iPhoners. I never thought I'd be one of them, but here I am, eagerly awaiting its arrival at 3pm tomorrow! I was driven to drastic measures you see, for I have but the littlest of brothers of phones. He did me proud in the near two years I've had him, but it was time for an upgrade...and apparently smart phones are the only options these days.

Sleep well and shower in the morning,
 - I