Hit or Quit?

After my most recent hit and miss with possibly the biggest loser I could ever hook up with, I am starting to feel a sense of power with every man I dispose of. It's almost addicting; with every "I can't put up with your shit" and "I don't have time for you" I feel as if I am only elevating my already heightened ego. Am I becoming heartless? I know thing for sure: I'm losing every sort of muse I ever had.

That was probably the worst statement I could ever utter. Clearly I am only inspired by my encounters with men. I refuse to be governed by any mishaps I may ever have with the Y chromosome.

Well what did I accomplish this Spring Break? I managed to get drunk beyond recollection, and hook up with some guy that I foolishly saw some potential with. At the time he was definitely just some guy. I was hesitant to reciprocate his feelings toward me because I was just grasping the concept of being single again. It wasn't until she came into the picture did I want anything to do with him.

Is that what it takes?

It takes someone else to want the person lusting after me before I get any affirmation that he's worth it? I never gave in, but she did. Not only did she give in, she begged, groveled, kissed ass, and sucked...up. Her annoying laugh at everything he said was more than I could handle.

So I'm sarcastic. I'm a smart-ass. My over-confident self believed that he still wanted me despite his drunken mistake with some bleach blond whale (I'm thoroughly convinced that she was once a nice girl, but that Peroxide can do some serious damage to the mind). I knew that his feelings for me were real, and that I'm way better than that pathetic girl. I expected him to call me, but what I didn't expect was for him to call me the next day. It's frightening, the amount of credit I give myself. I'm either irresistible, or he's a sleaze.

This is quite the predicament to ponder.

Long Hours Cut Short

After three months of hot coffee, trendy clothes, great food, hard labor, late hours, and fake smiles, I have officially quit my job.

No more folding expensive jeans and stacking them onto a 17-ft wall. No more exploiting the Juicy Couture, Dolce Vita, and Superga sales. Good bye to Junk Food, Lacoste, and Hugo Boss folding.

I will miss making my own iced lattes with soy milk. I will miss being a waitress and going home every night with tip money in my pocket.

Although I was never old enough to make our lovely drinks, I will miss seeing the beer tap that is made out of real men's jeans, the cute martinis, and the awesome wine rack.

I loved my co workers, and I will miss the lovable chef who always gave me samples of our gourmet food.

Goodbye to being a Sales Associate, Barista, and Waitress. Goodbye Java Jean Bar. We'll keep in touch.

Dramatic vs. Traumatic

I'm reading a novel about the history of philosophy and in it I found this quote:

"You can't experience being alive without realizing that you have to die, but it's just as impossible to realize you have to die without thinking how incredibly amazing it is to be alive."

Perhaps, after my accident in November, I have truly embraced the beauty of life. That fateful night could have been the reason why I am no longer fazed by the petty things that others tend to stress over. After staring Death in the face at the age of nineteen, I no longer have a care for acquiring anything but another step through life. Now that I have fully defeated any emotional or financial struggle from that day, I can finally plant both feet on this stable ground that I built for myself, and breathe a sigh of relief. Everything is perfect...

So long as I keep my eyes open.

Once again, I am speeding down the 10. As always, those two lights appear just in front of me, and, as always, my car slams into the one in front of me.

As my car skids out of control, my heart beats likewise. Unable to catch my breath, my eyes snap open. I take a look around and breath a sigh of relief as I realize that I am safe in my room. I watch as the sun illuminates my soft pink walls and, immediately, I am calm again.

No longer do I dream about the shattered glass or the flames engulfing my surroundings. The thoughts of my mom as I presumed my death are merely recollections of that night, and no longer do they lurk in my dreams. It seems to me that as the months go by, my dream keeps getting cut shorter and shorter. It's as if my subconsciousness hopes that one day my dream will be shortened to nothing but a safe drive home, thus matching the same effect with my memories.

Nice try.

I need to stop having these dreams, especially when I'm trying to take a power nap before going in to work tonight. At least I got a good hour in before my slumber was so rudely interrupted by that traumatic dream. I guess I should get ready for work now, seeing as it usually takes me a while to pick out what to wear.

P.S. One more week and I'm done with this place. My feelings? Mixed.

Considerations

After a night of intense studying, hot showers, tequila shots, and (of course) many cigarettes, I am finally in bed with my dog anticipating tomorrow and contemplating tonight.

Another friend of mine has been trying to introduce me to her dear friend with facial hair. My question is: why does the whole world feel so compelled to set me up with someone now that I'm newly single?

In any case, Face Fur was adorable. A smart right brainer with a nice smile. He seems very thoughtful and considerate. Good deal right?

He's taken.