no matter how much i may strive to be a "go-getter," "people person," or "nice," my inner slacker is watching, waiting, and anticipating the perfect moment to strike, henceforth sabotaging anything productive that i could possibly be capable of. though we may tussle for a bit, my inner slacker and i, slackey usually prevails and the two of us end up on the couch, eating junk that goes straight to my ass and thighs and watching bad reality television instead of doing something constructive. oh slackey..how i love and loath thee.
the preceding cycle is a problem i often find myself grappling with. there have been times where i have stayed in my pjs for over twenty-four hours, even when venturing out to do short errands or when necessary to nourish myself (ahhhh..weekend brunchies). there have been weeks that i have opted out of going to the gym in favor of an afternoon-to-evening nap. months where my bed has gone unmade day after day and years where i refused to believe the side ponytail was, indeed, out of style (the comeback is in the works..girl, you know it's true!). when monetary incentive is involved, however, slackey goes on hiatus and my alter-alter ego, money-grubbing whore, makes a hot little cameo.
it's pretty pathetic what i'll do for a little dinero when i'm bottom-of-the-bucket, hovering-just-a-skotch-above-the-poverty-line broke. since my keister is unemployed for about 8 months out of the year when i assume the role of student and have the necessary shred of morals left not to stoop to prostitution, i will take any employment that is offered to me when i am home for an extended period of time. there have been my adventures in temping, hostessing with the mostessing, substituting pint-sized hellions, servicing customers via telephone, papering or plasticing the components of the food pyramid..if i was getting paid for it, i'd do it. i couldn't guarantee i wouldn't be complaining about it to anyone who would listen, but when the mere thought of a pay day entered my cerebellum, it made any task..albeit menial and degrading..strangely tolerable.
with the dnc officially kicking off tonight and making boston a commuter's nightmare, i thought for sure that i would be riding a tsunami of job offers straight through the week. i could pick and choose which hoity-toity law firm to tool around at between 9 to 5, carefully select which desk job i would pretend to do for 8 hours a day. like blond hair and black eyebrows, i was oh so very wrong..for my sole income is stemming from my semi-weekly stints as a north end espresso wench. though i do enjoy bullshitting with the regulars and all the free gelato i can eat, i cannot subsist on witty banter and sugar alone (contrary to many of your beliefs). i need the reassurance that i am providing quality service..an encouraging pat on the back or chuck under the chin every so often to say "nice work, lex. keep it up."
basically, i need fucking tips.
i'm fortunate enough to have nabbed one of the coveted positions on saturday nights, where business is booming and the clientele is usually bombed following their (mostly liquid) evening meals. and what do most drunk people need? aside from the obvious filth your brain is currently stewing, the answer is caffeine and a calorie-fest. when the orders for cannolis, babas, cappuccinos, and mochas start pouring in, i welcome it only with the hope that i will be compensated with a washington or two in the tip jar. i'm not smiling like an asshole and biting my acid tongue the whole night for my health. the kid i work with, however, couldn't care less. he rolls his eyes when asked to whip up a few coffees. he sighs in disgust when milk needs to be steamed and frothed. he ignores any and all requests in favor of talking to his ass-clown friends, who are taking up three seats at the bar all night, instead of earning his keep. on a night when $200 could possibly be made, tonight our grand total was $51.32..discluding the canadian coins and napkins that were unwittingly thrown into the mix. don't get me wrong, the kid is nice to a fault and buys me snacks, but even a pleasant disposition and a slice from ernesto's is no substitute for cold, hard cashola. then again, few things are. it's nothing a judo chop to the jugular and threats to stick a biscotti where the sun don't shine won't fix. i'll keep y'all posted.
..money can't buy happiness but sure as hell can buy me cute clothes,
lex
the preceding cycle is a problem i often find myself grappling with. there have been times where i have stayed in my pjs for over twenty-four hours, even when venturing out to do short errands or when necessary to nourish myself (ahhhh..weekend brunchies). there have been weeks that i have opted out of going to the gym in favor of an afternoon-to-evening nap. months where my bed has gone unmade day after day and years where i refused to believe the side ponytail was, indeed, out of style (the comeback is in the works..girl, you know it's true!). when monetary incentive is involved, however, slackey goes on hiatus and my alter-alter ego, money-grubbing whore, makes a hot little cameo.
it's pretty pathetic what i'll do for a little dinero when i'm bottom-of-the-bucket, hovering-just-a-skotch-above-the-poverty-line broke. since my keister is unemployed for about 8 months out of the year when i assume the role of student and have the necessary shred of morals left not to stoop to prostitution, i will take any employment that is offered to me when i am home for an extended period of time. there have been my adventures in temping, hostessing with the mostessing, substituting pint-sized hellions, servicing customers via telephone, papering or plasticing the components of the food pyramid..if i was getting paid for it, i'd do it. i couldn't guarantee i wouldn't be complaining about it to anyone who would listen, but when the mere thought of a pay day entered my cerebellum, it made any task..albeit menial and degrading..strangely tolerable.
with the dnc officially kicking off tonight and making boston a commuter's nightmare, i thought for sure that i would be riding a tsunami of job offers straight through the week. i could pick and choose which hoity-toity law firm to tool around at between 9 to 5, carefully select which desk job i would pretend to do for 8 hours a day. like blond hair and black eyebrows, i was oh so very wrong..for my sole income is stemming from my semi-weekly stints as a north end espresso wench. though i do enjoy bullshitting with the regulars and all the free gelato i can eat, i cannot subsist on witty banter and sugar alone (contrary to many of your beliefs). i need the reassurance that i am providing quality service..an encouraging pat on the back or chuck under the chin every so often to say "nice work, lex. keep it up."
basically, i need fucking tips.
i'm fortunate enough to have nabbed one of the coveted positions on saturday nights, where business is booming and the clientele is usually bombed following their (mostly liquid) evening meals. and what do most drunk people need? aside from the obvious filth your brain is currently stewing, the answer is caffeine and a calorie-fest. when the orders for cannolis, babas, cappuccinos, and mochas start pouring in, i welcome it only with the hope that i will be compensated with a washington or two in the tip jar. i'm not smiling like an asshole and biting my acid tongue the whole night for my health. the kid i work with, however, couldn't care less. he rolls his eyes when asked to whip up a few coffees. he sighs in disgust when milk needs to be steamed and frothed. he ignores any and all requests in favor of talking to his ass-clown friends, who are taking up three seats at the bar all night, instead of earning his keep. on a night when $200 could possibly be made, tonight our grand total was $51.32..discluding the canadian coins and napkins that were unwittingly thrown into the mix. don't get me wrong, the kid is nice to a fault and buys me snacks, but even a pleasant disposition and a slice from ernesto's is no substitute for cold, hard cashola. then again, few things are. it's nothing a judo chop to the jugular and threats to stick a biscotti where the sun don't shine won't fix. i'll keep y'all posted.
..money can't buy happiness but sure as hell can buy me cute clothes,
lex
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