The Hangover: Part Embarrassing

I have ended too many nights recently like this:

I have recently moved from the rural-ish town I was living in back to the glorious city I love and I was making up for lost time. I saved up all my drunk chips (you can purchase yours at drunkendisaster.com) and have officially cashed them in. It’s not that I think there is something wrong with going out for a night on the town and experiencing the many delights of the city, it’s just that there is a limit to what a person can take. And by person I mean a sleepy, petite, poor girl of questionable drinking stamina who does not know how to say no when there is a drink offered to her. The other night I experienced a new first when the lights where thrown on at the bar I was at and they announced they were closed. Looking down at my watch I saw it was 4 am, how did that happen?! But I mean, who cares it was a Wednesday after-all…Wednesday, wow, it was a Wednesday…yikes. Yup, I definitely need to set a limit.

It’s just actually really difficult to say no!! Can I get a witness!?

Reasons Why It’s Hard (that’s what she said)

1. I don’t have a job yet, so I have nothing to wake up early for

2. I don’t have a job yet, so I need I distraction

3. I don’t have a job yet, so it’s time to live it up before I am held back by said job

4. I don’t have a job yet, so I need to drink to feel better about not having a job

I’m looking for some pattern, something linking all of those things together but, call me obtuse, I’m not seeing one.

Ok, fine! I need a job, I need to make that my priority and then I will be going out a “healthy” amount of times, if “healthy” can be used to describe having a drinking contest with a 300 lb tourist on a dare. That was off the record.

So conclusion: job equals balance and money and purpose.

( Y )  …my sign-off that I totally haven’t used

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About Bank: I miss racial profiling

Yes, I stopped working at my lovely bank two weeks ago but, I’m sorry, there are still so many gems of poo I have yet to share. Here is an exchange I had with a costumer who did not speak dat Inglersh very well.

As I’m giving him his money and ending the transaction…

Customer: Puerto Rican.

Tootsie: Excuse me?

Customer: Puerto Rican? You? Puerto Rican?

Tootsie: Ohhhh, no. No, I’m not Puerto Rican.

…

Customer: White! WHITE PEOPLE!

…

Tootsie: Yes… I’m white. Have a nice day!

About Bank: “Adieu, adieu, to you, and you, and you-hoooo”

Today is my last day at my bank. Sad face emoticon.

Initially I had counted down the days to when my 2 month long 2 weeks would be up (it was really that long, I’m not being cutesy) but now I find myself being dragged out of the vault, talons out, baring my fangs, chest heaving, using a letter opener as a deadly weapon and stuffing money into my bra.

I DON’T WANT TO GO! DON’T MAKE ME GO! PLEAAAASSSEEE!

It feels like camp! You know that camp phenomenon where you can be having the worst time of your life, mosquito bites forming a veritable crop circle on your back, with enough shameful hand-in-a-glass-of-warm-water-until-you-pee-during-your-sleep experiences to wallpaper your bathroom, and then comes the time to go home and you just CAN’T. And there you are, with the same bastard that put your hand in the warm water, hugging and crying and asking for their screen-name so you can put them on your “buddy list” when you’re home! You also listen to THIS, a lot.

Well, that is exactly how I feel now and it is so depressing. The end of Cold Mountain, depressing, where (SPOILER ALERT) you watch the whole effing, 10-hour movie, waiting for Inman and Ada to finally be together and he dies. And so do your dreams. And your patience. And your tissue supply.

New Movie from Dreamkillers

What other job could I possibly have where I could come home with the stories that I have?! What I’ve had the opportunity to share in this blog doesn’t even scratch the surface! I mean, a customer once proudly showed me his stab wound!

And I’m also going to miss the people I work with even though they tormented me for months! Leaving Shamus, alone, will lead to a hard-core break-down that will most certainly include a self-deprecating, Cold Mountain marathon accompanied by the new Ben and Jerry’s flavor Schweddy Balls, which I’ve been dying to try actually…

mouth-wateringly good...?

So, as I begin the day, I must keep my chin-up, remember all the good times (like when that guy threw-up pure Vodka in the lobby at 9 am) and make sure I get everyone’s screen names so we can K.I.T (keep in touch) while we H.A.G.S. (have a great summer). Also, the fact that they are getting me drunk as a parting gift doesn’t hurt either.