Sunday Night Bitchfest

Today was one of those days. I worked my crappy job yesterday (Sat.) 3pm-11pm. Got home around 11:20pm. Had to get up at 5:30am to be at work again at 7am. Naturally, I couldn’t fall asleep. Chatted with Princess Cupcake Assface Randy, John Norton & Bobby via AIM & tried for sleep for real around 1am. Finally, I was just about asleep when my phone rang at 1:52am. It’s Tricia, calling from a party that I didn’t go to bc of the whole 5:30am thing. It was at Chris Tryller, Mike Tuite & Matt Niegocki’s house in Miller Place (I guess I missed the memo when they moved out of Ridge). I haven’t seen them in a while so I should’ve gone. Alas, alack.
Usually, I send drunk dials to voice mail, for several reasons: 1) If I’m asleep; 2) If I’m bitter that I’m not the one inebriated; 3) The potential mockery/blackmailing of the recording is always promising. However, I had told Trish before she left work that if she needed a ride home, to just call me since MP is only like 10 minutes & I’d come get her if she really needed it. So I’m figuring that she’s either 1) drunk & needing a ride or 2) drunk & wondering why I didn’t end up going. Come to think of it, I don’t think I preferred it to be either of those, so I’m not sure why I even answered, but I did. Then I was AWAKE again. Meh. I think I fell asleep around 2:30am.
There was absolutely NOTHING to do at work that early. Bill (one of my managers) was really sick with a stomach bug so I just sorta sat on the counters & read Glamour for 2 hours. 2 hours that I could’ve been sleeping but instead was reading the “30 Things Every Woman Should Know About Sex By Age 30”. Very educational, particularly this one:

14. An oldie but a goodie: Kegels, Kegels, Kegels. If you do them, you’ll not only have stronger orgasms, you’ll also never again pee when you laugh.

I wandered around on break in search of Grandma’s Xmas gift (she wants a lipstick case of all things, go figure). No luck. After I got off at 3pm, Mom instructed me to get a manicure for an interview I have tomorrow. All I wanted to do was go for a run to destress & continue the lipstick case search at the mall. But I lose the battle & go.
Naturally, I’m there waiting for 35 minutes. When I’m up, I’m massively pissed bc I’m now starving from not really eating much all day (when I’m tired, I have no appetite) in addition to being pooped. To add to it, my mom was paying bc she was forcing me to waste my precious afternoon & I was instructed to get an appropriate, neutral color. Yeah, I’m one of those gals who love red & bright blue & purple nail polishes. This was not helping my mood. I also get the shitty manicurist bc the awesome one is of course busy. So I’m radiating little white girl bitch.
I continue tapping my foot in an impatient & obnoxious way when this woman walks in with some guy. She loudly announces, “I need two manicures, please! It’s my husband’s FIRST one! Can you believe he’s NEVER HAD A MANI BEFORE?!”
Picture this: Blonde, ditzy, loud, LI accent, about 35, track suit…She wasn’t all decked out by any means but she was a Shiela/Hera (2 characters Phil basically wrote for me in 05 & ’06 for Festival, one act student written/acted/produced/directed plays, mainly bc I rock at emulating the stereotypical LI Italian/Jewish housewife being that I grew up surrounded by them.) So yes, Shiela/Hera is taking her hubby to get his nails did & announcing it to the world. There was an assertion about him needing a bikini wax too, but at that point, I wasn’t going to ruin the sight of the poor guy getting his cuticles cut with the image of him & a bowl of hot wax.
I rush out of there & sit at every traffic light on 25A/347 on my way to the mall. I go to every single make up/accessories counter at Macy’s with no luck. I’m still hungry, tired & frustrated. I needed to pick up my cousin Matt’s gift, but I stopped to get a pretzel from Auntie Anne’s. The line’s long. I’m about to order when this little asshole punk about 10 cuts me. NOT happy. I start to say something when his fat, bossy mother appears. I turn to tell her that her brat needs to wait in line like everyone else. But I realize as I open my mouth that I don’t need to get into a fight with a pushy LI soccer mom a week before Christmas. So I just snap to the pretzel guy, “That kid just cut in front of me, right?” Then Soccer Mama starts yelling at him for giving Dudley a cinnamon pretzel when he wanted a salted one. (BULLSHIT, I heard the kid ask for cinnamon. Keep your fucking kid under control, lady.)
Whatever. I’m still in a shitty mood, pushing through the masses to get a damn Hot Topic gift certificate. Can I just say that it’s the most unorganized store ever? 3 people behind the counter, none of whom can figure out how to ring up customers in a timely fashion. And when did HT get such shit? I was never a HT shopper, but dug some of their stuff. Hell, the negleige I wore for Rocky Horror Show is from there & I looked f’ing hot in that thing. I have the “JEM” & the “Cowbell” shirt. Granted, I haven’t been in one in over a year, but damn, the quality has gone down. I’m still hungry so while passing by Lindt’s I figure “Hell, I’ll get myself a dark chocolate truffle to nurse my annoyance.” Yeah, so it came to like $.43 & I only had $.42. Does the girl cut me a break on the penny? No, of course not. I really wanted that chocolate so I sucked it up & broke the $1.
At least today is over. I “wasn’t allowed” to call out tomorrow for my interview, so I had to agree to go in from 8am-12pm THEN get on a train to go into Manhattan (why does it feel like I’m spending more of my non-Ann Taylor time in the city than I am on LI?) I need to finally move to Brooklyn with Amanda. Someone find me a real job, I’m getting tired of looking. Anything journalism or PR would be swell. Bonus if it involves entertainment or theatre. I’ll buy you TWO truffles. And have my little sister bake you brownies; she makes awesome brownies…
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