Wednesday, June 9


I finally got back on my Zoloft. Thank God, even though it made me sleep until noon today.

Most of you don't know this, but I recently took a second job at a restaurant. It's the kind of restaurant where only old people go--not exactly a booming business, but I guess I decided it was time for me to work in public service (or something), because it's been a long time since I did anything but work with horses.

Quick background: around the barn, what needs to get done gets done, no matter who does it. If someone sees something that needs to happen, they do it--even if that particular project was originally given to someone else. Some days I start work at eight in the morning and don't stop until I go to bed; other days, someone else will come in and help me so we're all done by noon or three or whatever. Same thing around the house: whoever sees there is something that needs to happen takes care of it. It's none of that "oh, I thought you were going to do it" or "that's not my job" or...whatever stupid thing people spout off.

And obviously I'm a little bit too used to this idea of helping other people out because it'll come back around to you, because it doesn't seem to work like this in the real world (or at least not in the world of this restaurant that teenagers inhabit).

I spend five hours bussing other people's tables and refilling other people's table's drinks and cleaning parts of the restaurant that are not included in my list of duties for the night and taking the tables that no one wants and saying, "yeah, you go ahead and go home, I'll stay." Who does Mr. Manager yell at for not being finished when everyone else is? You guessed it. I almost told him to go fuck himself, but I don't like conflict, so I just told him that the reason I wasn't done when everyone else was was because I did half their work and not only did they skip out on helping me, they didn't even bother to say thank you. That's right, when all the little blondies were standing around gossiping (oh yeah, and did Mr. Manager fail to miss that one of the other girls' boyfriends was in the restaurant and she was going over to him every three minutes trying to get the courage to break up with him? Talk to her about time management), I was doing their work. I'm the bad guy here.

Regarding this, I really want to pull the whole discrimination card, but I'm not really sure if it fits or not. It's no secret that I'm gay--after all, the boyfriend comes in several nights a week to sit in the corner, drink coffee, and work--but I'm not really sure it's an issue, either.

But seriously. Costomers love me; in the month since I've been there I've got nearly 10 positive comment cards, and it's not that often that people take the time to write a positive one. I get less tables than everyone else and yet still make better tips.

--

Enough crying.

I went and looked at a horse on Saturday, and she's exactly what I want. Cute little chestnut quarter horse, sound, great on trails, will do anything you ask her to. She doesn't jump, but it wouldn't be a problem to teach her. Now I just have to convince the current owner I'm trustworthy enough for her to accept a payment plan. I'll be talking to her tomorrow morning. I'm crossing my fingers it'll work out.

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Also, I haven't been visiting any of my favorite blogs lately. Truthfully, my personal computer (with all my favorites, etc, on it) hasn't even been turned on for more than three days. It's crazy-busy over here, but I haven't forgotten about anyone (Keith and Jen especially).

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Libby, regarding the Iowa twins: they referred to me as a "white trash gay boi who couldn't get a date" and then one of them threatened to smash my head in with a platform shoe.

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