Laugh Damnit

My blog has been a bit too serious for too long. I present to you some of my favorite photos.

He’s our hero.

Who would win in a fight: Cat Norris or Chuck Norris?

Fat Boy of the Dance!

Pikachu, use ‘Virgin’.

 

Never trust the Narc-whal.

And that’s all you get for now. Just a tiny taste.

Standards

I’m at that point in post-breakup where I miss talking to Ritchie. I miss our talks, our text conversations, our emails of random information we found on the Interwebs. Then, I realize I miss them most because I have very little communication with people in the outside world. When I lived in Ohio, he was the one I went to for human interaction. After all, he was my boyfriend.

Now, I don’t have him anymore.

So I’m left here alone, my mind spinning and wishing I could keep it together without reaching out to people, clinging to them like they’re my floating device and I’m drowning. It makes me look pathetic.

Also, I find that I don’t have much motivation to do anything. This isn’t a new problem. But I broke up with Ritchie because of the stress, the depression, and my inability to pull myself out of it. I came to Tulsa to get my life together. Granted, it’s only been three weeks, but I keep seeing days pass by and I’m not doing anything with it. I don’t want to live the same life I left, especially when I’m starting to regret my decision.

I’m the only one holding myself to any standards. If you knew me, you’d know this as a bad idea. I’d rather sit around and let time fly by searching for attention or playing video games.

Okay. If you don’t know, I write these blog posts a day ahead of schedule. So when you’re reading this, I want to be at the office of Children’s and Family Services to apply for cheap therapy. It’s obvious I need professional help. Plus, I think it’d be good if I could talk to someone about the insanity brewing in my head. It’s been going on like this for a few weeks now, and it’s starting to really get to me.

I guess I just have to hold myself up to standards and follow through. Why does that have to be so fucking hard?

*sigh*

So watch my twitter. That’s how you’re going to know I did it. Also, it’ll be a guilt thing. If I tweet that I’m at Children and Family’s Services, it means I held myself up to some standards. It will be my first step towards doing something good for my life.

I can’t keep living life this way. I want to make this breakup mean something, for myself and Ritchie.

Note: I woke up to go but we have no money for gas and my mother needs all the gas she has. I plan on going Tuesday when I get paid.

Tales of a Night Auditor

Have you ever worked in hospitality? If not, let me tell you a few things about being a front desk agent at a typical run-of-the-mill, commercialized hotel. It’s pretty boring. Actually, it’s pretty random. You’d think it would be exciting, that it would keep you on your feet, and it does for the most part. But I haven’t experienced anything that makes me say, “I could do this for the rest of my life.” At least, not for what I’m getting paid.

Making barely above minimum wage, I work alone in a 64-room hotel for an eight-hour shift four days a week. My managers are usually gone. I’m left with housekeepers and I have to manage them without receiving the pay as a supervisor or the title, so they usually never listen to me. I check in customers, check them out, send them bills, set up wake-up calls, prep breakfast, give directions, assist in setting up the hotel’s WiFi, suggest places for them to eat or do laundry or get gas or shop (did I mention I’ve been gone for three years?), I clean, and I do laundry.

My hotel does everything in-house, including the laundry. During my downtime (and last night, I didn’t have much downtime at all), I’m to wash, dry, fold, and put away bins of linen and towels. We do not have laundry facilities for guests, nor do we offer to wash their laundry. Thank God.

So far, in my two weeks of being at the hotel, I’ve come across a cute Ukrainian who offered me a beer and some trail mix. When I told him I couldn’t drink because I was working, he looked at me like I was insane. “This is an American thing?” he said. Apparently, yes it is. Then, he invited me up to his room when I was done working to “party”.

Then, there’s Adam. Adam is a handicapped young man with thick-framed glasses, a speech impediment, and some facial scarring, I’m guessing from a fire. He’s apparently come around often to speak with Cat, one of the other front desk agents. He comes to use our “business center” (one computer in the lobby) to look up cases of missing women. He says he works for the FBI looking for patterns in the cases.

Now, let me spell this out for you: a disabled man works for the FBI to find patterns in cases of missing women (no other kinds of cases either; women only), but he has to use the computer of the local hotel and print off all these files to take home (if he even has a home). Yeah, I’m going to say he doesn’t work for the FBI. Instead, he’s a crazy mother fucker who has the hots for my coworker and she might need to carry mace with her from now on. I’m just saying.

Meanwhile, I can never miss a day. If anything dire happens, I better come in or I’m going to get a tongue-lashing from my boss because she “doesn’t want to work an 8am-10pm shift.” NEWSFLASH! Nobody does. But I also can’t help if my car dies (which was the situation a few days ago). Thankfully, my father found that it just needed gas and the gas meter was wrong. So I came in to work the next day no problem. But instead of saying, “I hope everything works out”, my supervisor goes into a hissy fit, telling me I’m making excuses because my father, who had a stroke recently, can’t fucking fix my car, and I can’t pay for someone to fix it because she hasn’t paid me yet (she isn’t late paying me; I just don’t get paid until Tuesday). So yeah, I’m just a bunch of excuses when my car dies.

Her solution? Take a cab. You have to be fucking kidding me. If I’m lucky, it’d be a $30 car ride, which is practically four hours of work (half my shift). I make barely above $8/hr and you want me to take a cab across town? It isn’t worth coming in that day.

So this is what it’s like working for a hotel.

Honestly, I enjoy my job. It’s easy. I have a lot of power so I don’t have a manager breathing down my neck. I do get to talk to interesting people. Plus, I get a work out during my shift, and I have to say that I enjoy not feeling fat. Oh, and money of any kind is always nice.