WFI - Dad the Lawyer

My dad got a speeding ticket on his way back from the casino the other night.

He is going to fight it because he thinks it was malicious. And because he has a radar detector in his car and it didn't go off, so he believes the officer is making everything up.

I am siding with the officer.

Anyway, my dad has been buying law books. Law dictionaries, law for dummies, and, the book he is most wild about, some piece of shit by Alan Dershowitz.

He doesn't read the books though. They just sit on the table.

Oh well.

So I asked a professor for a letter of rec...

Either way though, she agreed to write it for me. Especially after I reminded her that I wasn't applying for a TEACHING position, but rather a SUBSTITUTE teaching position.

"Oh, well you're totally good at wielding power!" She said.

New Summer Games

whiitethrash
the othe rday we were so bored
sarah wanted to play the benadryl game
where we each take a benedryl and see who can stay awake the longest
hahaha
i said no.

jenni
hahaha
oh shit that sounds like my friend
but it's the nyquil game
and she plays it every day, by herself

house sitting.

On July 5th, my parents took off for Florida. A relative had died recently and my mom was the lucky one put in charge of doing all sorts of estate things; shipping furniture, renting out the apartment, selling the car etc. "10 days!" They told me. "Ten days and we'll be back!"


Well, it is now July 26th. And they are not home. Do you see that empty spot on the couch? That has been my life for the last 21 days. Me and those guys. Just us. 21 days. And counting.


There is no WFI here. I am not allergic to dogs.

Having a good summer.

gemath y: just watched asian porn
gemath y: thought of you
gemath y: hope you're having a good summer

vietnamese babies.

Vietnamesefriend:
im an aunt!
for some reason i really dont like the word aunt
it sounds too much like an old antique that sits in the attic

whiitethrash:
what's her name?
tha?
the?
tho?

Vietnamesefriend:
grace

whiitethrash:
thy?
oh.
hahaha
how racist of me!


Vietnamesefriend:
asshole

whiitethrash:
i take it all back!


Vietnamesefriend:
my dads name is tho
asshole

whiitethrash:
i dont know about you
but i'm laughing pretty hard over here.

Miss America 2009

Here I come!

friend says wha?

whiitethrash
you know about nathan right?
my friend nathan?
he's like my male sarah
i never understand
and i have never understood
a damn fucking word that comes out of his mouth on the telephone.
so when we make plans
i'm never positive what they are
or if i am picking him up
or if he is picking me up
or if it's something i even want to do
or is even legal!
i just kinda go over to his house and hit the bong.

gemath y:
and?

whiitethrash
well, to buy time
until i hear what the next move is
and then i usually say i dont want to do that
and he is always like, but you just said you would
and i have no idea, obviously.
i am telling you this because i just ignored his phone call
because i dont want any surprises tonight.

suicide note.

gemath y
aw
my cat just ran up
swatted me on my feet
and then ran and hid under the bed
then poked her head around the corner of the room and slowly tip toed to the hallway
and then took off running
it was hilarious
actually.
this is sad
I am telling cat stories.
if I kill myself today
this conversation should be considered my note.
whiite thrash
hahaha
...wfi!

a bad egg. a very, very bad egg.

Dear Kevin,

RE: Your wall post on my Facebook

It was a BFI overall. However my response was a WFI, as it has left me regretful. You know that Seinfeld episode where George comes up with the "jerk store" comeback long after the insult, and then tries to recreate an opportunity to use it? It's like that. I would love to get fired all over again.

See, I have been working for this restaurant (a chain throughout Arizona) since the first week in January. I always preferred serving breakfast and lunch as opposed to dinner or cocktailing because I would rather go to work at 5am and be done at 2, then go to work at 4 and be done at 11. Or whatever. I like getting up early, and even more than that, I absolutely love having an excuse as to why I can't go out at night. You see, "Oh, I'd love to but I have to be up at 4 for work tomorrow! Oh shoot!" is not only easier [read: less embarrassing] to say to your alcoholic friends, but they also mock you less than with other truths made up excuses like, "Oh I'm not a big drinker...", or "But there's a Degrassi marathon on tonight!", or, the worst, "But they're rerunning Lisa Ling produced documentaries on PBS all evening! You remember Lisa Ling, right? She used to be on The View, that show with Barbara Walters and all those kooky women! I mean, I totally hate Elisabeth as much as the next Liberal Jew, but Rosie really brought that show alive, and I'm a huge Whoopi fan. No, I know neither of them were on the show when Lisa was but still - no thanks, I don't drink, but that's nice of you to offer. No, really, I'm driving anyway. What? You don't even know my mom. Okay, I mean, just one. Is this a double? What does that even mean - oh it doesn't have more alcohol? Are you sure? Really? Okay...But just this one..."... So, when I moved from Tempe back to Tucson to live with my parents - which is a whole separate WFI for another day - I decided to try my hand at transferring from the Scottsdale location to one of three Tucson locations.

I loved where I worked in Scottsdale. Not only was everyone awesome in their own way, but everyone there knew how important their job was: not at all important!!! The restaurant was a transition place for these servers; people were working there in order to get somewhere else. Saving up to travel, paying for college, buying pot (important!), opening up a private practice, etc. etc. etc. They didn't live to be waiters, they waited to live!!!!! ...Not to mention I was well respected and appreciated and people laughed at my jokes there... But this Tucson location! Oh Tucson! With your recovering meth addicts, ex cons, strippers, and community college drop outs. I mean, not that I hold anything against people who are recovering addicts - I mean, good for you! Awesome! Ex cons getting their life back in order? Great! High schoolers - hey, make money money! But...zero aspirations?? Shit! With the exception of a few servers, barely anyone talked to me and when they did they were telling me what I was doing wrong and how I needed to "smile more, SERIOUSLY, IT'S A BIG DEAL", or "walk faster or you'll never make it in this business!" or "blahblahblahstupidblah". Give me a fucking break... I used the wrong size kids cup once and had a serious talking to - that began with "what the hell are you doing!!?" - in the kitchen about it. This place was a nightmare. And I was planning to quit in a couple days anyway.

But the incident! I knew something was wrong when the
manager, a big man with a goatee who looked like he should be running a nightclub and not a family breakfast restaurant, was standing outside talking to one of my customers as they were leaving. Customers that left a shitty tip... I had no idea what the problem could be though. This man had been on my back constantly for my "lack of smiling", so I figured maybe she said something about that. [The irony behind that is that I would often go up to my table and joke around about how the manager doesn't think I smile enough and warn them about how if I looked crazy it was his fault! It was a home run of a joke!] Turns out, that wasn't the problem...

What this bitch of a lady harpie was saying was that she heard me tell another table that the restaurant was a "Shit hole" and how I couldn't wait to get out of there.


WOAH WOAH WOAH. Is that lady a mind reader or WHAT!!1 But seriously...


Why would I say that to a table??? Why wouldn't the table I said that to tell the manager?? This lady is just a tattle tale! But even worse, she is a maker-upper of things to tattle!!

I was taken out to the back parking lot where the manager proceeded to cuss at me and pull the little man's complex on me. "THIS IS MY FUCKING RESTAURANT HOW DARE YOU FUCKING SAY THAT. BLAHBLAH CURSING CURSING I AM UGLY BLAHBLAH TALK DOWN TO YOU TALK DOWN TO YOU. I CAN FIRE YOUR ASS WHENEVER. I OWN YOU BLAHBLAH." And all I could say back was... "But I didn't say that?!" or... "Yeah but still, I didn't say that?!" Seriously, with the inflection of a question. It was just such a ridiculous accusation. This woman had no reason to lie, he kept telling me. And I kept telling him that maybe she wasn't lying, but she definitely misheard me, or misread my lips or something because that is just out of the question! He didn't care. My argument about how I don't even use the word "shit hole" didn't go over well either. Which is true! But the REAL truth was that I was talking to an Indian guy I knew in high school who randomly came in and his name, seriously, from afar, when coming out of one's mouth, could be confused for the words "shit" and "hole"! I AM NOT KIDDING.

I should have walked out right there. That is what I regret the most. I should have called him a fucking loser, told him his restaurant was a shit hole, and gone home right there; after all we were in the rear parking lot. My car was twenty feet away. But I thought that that would all look quite silly when I had to walk back to restaurant and go inside to the front register to get my keys. And then come back a couple hours later at 2pm to get my paycheck. Things just didn't work in my favor in that regard. Then after I went back inside and WENT BACK TO WORK I thought...why am I not throwing a fit? I should have yelled at that man, gone back inside and made sure he was scolding me in front of customers. Or perhaps said something to which he would respond with "YOU'RE FIRED GET OUT NOW" and then gone back to a table, and told them that I had just been fired for saying something I didn't say, and point at the manager, who would inevitably be watching me with fiery eyes, and let them know that he had just cussed me out and yelled at me for something I didn't even do and that I was sorry I wouldn't finish up taking care of them and to please tip their server! That would have stuck it to the man! "See that guy? With the bad earrings and spiky hair?? He just fired me cuz some old harpie told him I called this place a shit hole! Can you believe that? A SHIT HOLE. Hey, also, he used to be in prison for dealing firearms and drugs! FUCKING GUNS AND DRUGS. SHIT HOLE SHIT HOLE!"

But I didn't. And I'm left wishing for one more shot at the establishment. At that man. It would have made a much bigger statement than the "no call no show" I pulled over the weekend.

So, the BFI = I don't ever have to go back. The WFI = I didn't stand up for myself and I let a man get away with treating me like shit.

But at least I have my paycheck. [And I didn't declare my tips for that day...!]


Job hunting soon omg byob bbq bff lolz!!111!!!!,

Lewis

WFI: hotlinking!

I've been riding my bike.

For two weeks, I've taken the Southwest Corridor to work. I really like riding my bike and all the fears I had surrounding riding in the city are gone. It takes between 15 and 20 minutes to get to work, which is much faster than the train. On very hot days, riding is a cool breeze. At night, it keeps me from the temptation of taking a cab home. So, riding my bike: BFI.

I've gotten so used to the speed of getting around. A ten minute walk takes 2 or 3 minutes on the bike. So, after my 8 am doctor's appointment (you can guess the kind...) and trying to fit 40 minutes of cardio intensity into 30 minutes at the gym, I got ready like lightning and hopped on my bike like the wind. I always follow traffic laws. I haven't done a lot of research on biking rules or anything, but when in doubt, I always imagine I am a car and think, WWJD? If he was driving a car, that is. But on Thursday, I was running late to work.

Consider this map for a moment: MAP See where it says Newbury St? Find Berkeley St. Now Find Commonwealth Ave.

So, I ALWAYS ride down Berkeley (a one-way), take a right on Comm Ave, and another right onto Arlington (a one-way), so I can get onto the sidewalk in front of the former Ritz, which is now The Taj, and park my bike in front of work. This is the way Jesus driving a car would go. But you know, I notice a lot of people riding up Newbury St. the wrong way as a short cut. I know this is wrong. I know. But, A LOT of people do it. Every day, a lot of people break the law and I see them and they look like nice, happy people. So, the day I was going to be late to work, I decided, I would be less like Jesus and more like nice, happy people and go the wrong way up Newbury St, a one-way street. This is where the BFI becomes the WFI.

After about two car lengths of breaking the law, a woman I'd guess is in her early 40's, stepped out from between two cars to cross the street and just so happened to be right in front of me. I screamed, "WHOA" and swerved to miss her. Due to her inaction, we collided and I fell directly on my knee and ankle, ripping my jeans, scraping my knee, and spraining my ankle. When I looked over, she was on the ground as well. Before I could say, "Are you ok?" she started yelling at me. "Just WHAT were YOU doing riding the WRONG way down a ONE WAY street?!!?" I just stared at her, shocked, and said, "What were you doing not in a crosswalk." She didn't say anything. I noticed the rip in my jeans and the blood as I got up. I said, "We are both wrong. Leave it at that. I'm sorry. I have to go to work now." And started walking off in a daze. She followed me yelling YOU SHOULD GET A TICKET!!! In an unusual coincidence, there happened to be a motorcade of state troopers on the block at that moment. A mustachioed, aviator wearing cliche of a trooper walked up to me and asked if a car hit me. I said no, a lady walked in front of me and I fell. He seemed satisfied with that until whatshername huffed and puffed her way over and said to him, "She was going the wrong way down a one way street!!! I think she should get a ticket!" She was seeking justice, that's for sure, straight from the law enforcement themselves. The officer looked at me, the bike, me again and back at her and shrugged, "It's not a very fast bike." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" Then he snapped into action, "You know. You're not supposed to do that, you know. It's not a fast bike and you're not a messenger, but if you were going fast, you could really hurt someone." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" The woman wouldn't let it go. He just looked at her and deadpanned, "Are you alright." It was not as lost on me as it was on her. She began to answer with her voice all quivery, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little shooken up is all. I'll feel this tomorrow." To which the officer answered with a, "Wellp." And we all walked away from each other.

So, I ruined her day by doing something I wasn't supposed to do. She ruined my day by doing the same. We were even. It was all pretty shitty though. Especially the swelling and bruises on my foot and the oozing road rash on my knee. My friend couldn't come get me from work cause his car was broken. Waiting for a minivan cab took an hour and a half and cost me five extra dollars. Nothing good came from being less like Jesus.

Halfway through my first client, I realized I also lost my phone in the ordeal. So, goodbye all those phone numbers I had but rarely used! I'm currently trying to track down the person who found it and is calling a bunch of people. They can keep the phone. I just want my numbers. Seems like the person who found it has a lot of spanish speaking friends, so my guess is one of the construction workers at Brooks Brothers found it since it happened right out front. Or maybe I left it at the gym and the cleaning ladies found it and don't want to return it. Either way, I feel disconnected and as if time does not exist. In other words, lonely.

To take care of any bad karma accrued because of the incident, I have decided to be a monthly donor to Greenpeace. Perhaps stopping to talk to those crazy solicitors on the corners of Starbucks is going to bite me in my butt, but at least I'll help save some indigenous people of the forests up in Canada from having their land clear cut by Kimberly Clark. Perhaps it's another WFI. We'll see how long it lasts.

So, anyway. I haven't been riding my bike anymore.

but mandy moore IS pretty!!!!

sarah: my dad doesn't think mandy moore is pretty.
me: so?
sarah: my dad thinks I'M pretty!!! what does that say!!!!

i graduated from college and all i got was this lousy trip...

So Jackie has decided to attend a university in Georgia for grad school. And, since I plan on continuing my role as "Jackie's best friend" well into the future, this is absolutely not my first grad school pick for her because now I'll obviously be making semi annual trips to...ATHENS GEORGIA!!!!... instead of, say, San Francisco or Boston, or Austin, or New York City, or god forbid, New Jersey and basically anywhere else (although I guess I'm glad she decided against that school in wisconsin, eh eh eh??).

Jackie's initial invite out to GA involved saying something along the lines of, "my parents want to know if you will come out and help me interview roommates when I move into my house" which in Jackie language means, "I don't know how to make friends. Will you please come make them for me??" And you know what? I will admit, this makes me a little nervous because not only I have had a constant revolving door of shitty friends during my own life that I have chosen for myself throughout the years, but when it comes to my very best friends and THEIR friends/boyfriends/pets* I turn into some crazy jealous beast wreck of a friend. Like woah. So I mean, obviously I will only be making friends with huge losers and people who she cannot possibly like, respect or appreciate more than she does me. LET'S BE REASONABLE, PEOPLE. (*just kidding about the pets...but the rest = HONESTY)

Now, the only really nerve wracking part of all this is that when I asked her how long I should plan to stay with her she said, "as long as you want!". Yeesh. And although I know what the correct response ISN'T - and what the WFI is (srsly? i'll stay forever! i'm clingy and you're my best friend and i never want you to become less dependent on me because i will not become any less dependent on you!!! text me pls!!!!) I don't think I know what the correct response IS and what isn't a possible WFI (staying TOO long or not staying long enough!). This decision could ruin everything!!! And I'm still working that part out. The dates wouldn't even be that important except that... When I'm done at Jackie's I'm heading out to Boston to visit Gem!! And she absolutely wants me in Boston on September 4th to attend the greatest dance party in the history of Jamaica Plain.


whiite thrash: I' ll have nothing to wear!
gemath y: I like to wear jeans and flip flops with a tshirt that I've probably worn and slept in for 3 days
gemath y: can you pull off something like that
whiite thrash: thats ALL i can pull off.


That is the WFI you will have to wait for.

reason why i hate myspace #865:

like tom selleck, but different!

The Great Jalapeno Disaster of '08.

Friday night, I came home fired up to clean the kitchen. First, though, I wanted to eat something, but man, if I got into cooking, I'd get all sidetracked and lazy and not do a damn thing. The only solution was to eat Mary's half mini bag of jalapeño and cheddar chips.

They were good. Too spicy for me to purchase on my own, but a fun taste excursion nonetheless. I washed it down with some diet pepsi I keep at my house for when my mom visits. No one reading this knows my food habits, but chips and soda are the least likely things for me to eat, like, ever. Unless there's alcohol involved. That's just how I get down.

So, maybe it's the white trash thing to do or my chip eating inexperience, but there were those bits of chip shrapnel at the bottom of the bag and the only logical thing was to pull at the bag to create a nice crease so as to create a virtual chute to pour chip crumbs directly into my mouth, eliminating the need for a middle man/hand usage. After this, I'd get right down to cleaning the kitchen.

However. When pouring the chips into my mouth like a lazy, overweight, starved lonely, single white girl child, a jalapeño laden particle ambushed my poor left eye. In a panic, I began blinking because I knew the searing pain that was about to take place. Immediately after the realization that jalapeño oil was about to burn my eyeball, it did, in fact begin burning.

There are times in my life when imaginary life-threatening events take place and I am wracked with anxiety over how I will handle myself in those situations. Walking home at nighttime, for instance. Riding the train. Dreams. Will I be able to fend off a mugger? Is someone on the train planning to rape and murder me when we get off at the same stop? Would I actually RSVP yes to Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson's wedding*? But who knows what life actions to take to prepare oneself for pouring jalapeño chips into one's own eye?

My first action was to turn on the sink and begin throwing water at my face, blinking all the while. This helped, but with every blink, I was reminded of my contact floating around in there, jalapeño chip bit trapped underneath. Thoughts of corneal abrasions, blindness, the possible admission to whatever eye professional that I have been wearing this same pair of contacts for months...a year? longer? I don't know!!!!...began exploding in my brain. I rinsed my greasy fingers underwater and made the executive decision that soap wasn't necessary. Pshhhh, water cleans oil all the time. :rolleyes: I jabbed at my eye and fished my contact out of the water/mascara/jalapeño abyss my eye had become only to experience a second round of more intense burning. With my contact safely on a paper towel, drying to a crisp, I grabbed a small glass, filled it with water, held it to my eye, and threw my head back with all the finesse of a 20 year old on spring break doing tequila shot #10.

Oh sweet relief. My relationship with water has always been a loving, successful, and supportive friendship. Never before Friday had I needed water so much and never before then had it come through so valiantly.

With one swollen, bloodshot eye and a drippy nose, my first thought in the moment's respite following the entire ordeal: I'VE GOTTA GET PICTURES OF THIS. Battery's dead. Where's my charger? Call Mary! Use hers! Head-related injuries must cause rampant nonsensically frantic behavior.




Photo shoot over and done with, I vow to never eat those chips again. And to also close my eyes when I'm too lazy to use my hands to eat.


*The life-threatening aspect here being my eventual suicide from perpetual nausea and/or sheer embarrassment.

A short message of advice.

Do not, for a moment, think that anything involving dairy will make you feel better after eating something greasy that has made you feel ill.

Last week: french toast, frites, mimosa breakfast illness followed by m&ms (a pretzel) and some ice cream.

This week: chicken ranchero quesadilla with extra picante illness followed by peanut butter and banana smoothie.

Fool me once, dairy, 12 hour sleep it off session. Fool me twice? Blog about it.

attribute specifics!!!!!! (that's an order!!)

whiitethrash: you must see lars and the real girl.

vietnamesefriend: my friend just saw it the other day and said it was terribly depressing

whiitethrash: no!! it was heartwarming!

whiitethrash: your friend is autistic!

dear everyone who drives a smart car,


you look like idiots and i haaaaaaaaaaaaaate you.!.!

my best,
Lewis