By date, I obviously mean bone. I have a particular blend of social awkwardness and general stupidity that doesn't allow for commitment.
I'll tell you, random Facebook friend who noticed that I had posted about my blog in my status update but really meant to click on the Buzzfeed quiz of what your hidden talent is (I got painting. Apparently, guiltless late-night snacking wasn't an option). I'm telling you this because there are so many shenanigans that happen at that place, shenanigans that will probably wind up being worth writing about. Like these shenanigans, for instance. And anytime I mention going to the bar, or being a bartender, I don't want you to picture some young, charmingly broke post-college bohemian who values living more in her head than in a career, getting through her struggles with the drunken version of Arabian Nights. I want you to have the right idea about the bar I'm at. It's tiny, it's grubby, and every possible surface is covered in graffiti that is 45% penises. I do very much enjoy my job, and I'm grateful to even have a job so quickly out of college, but it has the pitfalls of any customer service job. Only with alcohol.
Victorious Vagina: http://blog.ewomennetwork.com/7-methods-to-achieve-balance-and-self-control/
Recovery drink: That would be me, in Brockport, NY, in November, 2012. Coping, as usual.
Undateable: Me again, failing at chair.
Bitchy customers: it's a screenshot from the Bitchy Resting Face video, which might possibly be the most hilarious and accurate video to grace the internet.
My cat: is my cat, 20 years ago. Yeah, she's still alive. That's some old pussy, ammiright?? That joke never gets old.
Robin Hanni: here to save the day, and all that shit.