I have a piece of metal in my face. It's a flat, small, holey thing. My skin will end up growing through the holes, making it a permanent fixture. I can see its faint silhouette beneath my skin but I can't feel it when I press my fingers to my cheekbone. It's strange to think about it being there. Sub-dermal jewelry. Weird.

Songs I am listenin' to

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBEAS913xlc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7eq4RFf0Sc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1HDZNR9cY4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUsbpmQ9-mc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nxO-yPQesA

I am so angry. I want to punch things. I want to scream and howl and cuss until I have no voice! I want to light my head on fire and rub my fiery self all over every asshole I've ever met. I am not really going to do that. I am going to take deep breaths, and then I am going to read House of Leaves.

A conundrum:

On the first day that I started my cocktailing job, I was told that I would make better tips by pretending to be single. I tried this out for the first month. I did not like it. Acknowledging that one is single is apparently like saying "Why yes, I DO want to fuck you!" When I'm "single" I get groped and pestered constantly. On the annoying-but-not-harmful end of the scale, I get invitations to parties and requests for my phone number. On the more obscene side, I get hands up my skirt and comments like "I bet you'd really like to suck my dick!" Ah, the audacity of drunk men!

For the first time, last night, I decided that I would be honest. I was serving a group of young men and one of them pulled me aside and told me that his friend, John, was in love with me and wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. I told him yes. The next time I came around to their table, John got up and started yelling at me about how I only wanted to take advantage of him and steal his money. He then stomped off to a different part of the club and sat by himself and glowered. When I went to ask him if he needed anything (because he had a tab with me), he could only scowl and insult me. He then stormed off, making it very clear that he didn't plan to leave me a tip, and never came back. As much as I dislike not being tipped (I only make 4.25$ per hour), the joke was really on him, because I still had his credit card and ID and he probably woke up the next morning with a nasty hangover and no idea where his shit was. What a douche.

Do you see the problem here? If I lie, it's assumed that I'm fair game and I can't get any peace. If I'm honest, I don't make money. What am I supposed to do? I mean Jesus Christ. I'm just a waitress. I just want to serve drinks.

Today I feel like:

a used condom melted in an oven rolled up with some dryer lint lit on fire and tossed into the freeway

OR

most synonyms for blue (according to thesaurus.com, these include disconsolate, obscene, cold, cheap, and ecchymotic)

Last week, a man on the bus passed me a note. He did so silently, and got off the bus right after having given me the note. The note read: I can tell you the secret to your success. There was a phone number written at the bottom. Later that night I called it and asked how to be successful. The man on the other end of the phone didn't seem to have any idea what I was talking about, but maybe that's just because it was three in the morning.

Afterlife=internet?

Today is the one-year anniversary of the death of a friend. I hopped on over to his facebook page (which has not been deleted or changed since his passing) to mourn. As it turns out, everyone else was mourning via facebook as well. His wall had received comments upon comments: prayers and grief and well-wishing and stories about the things that have happened since he left. I started crying so hard after reading through a handful of wall posts. They were all so sad, and even sadder in the fact that it's fucking facebook and does anyone honestly expect dead people to check their facebooks?