Month: September 2006

Project Runaway

Posted on by nolageek

So every Wednesday I go to clover grill to watch the Runway and get a burger. Ok, and to obsess over yet another guy I think is cute and nice and such but is seeing someone else. Uhg. Why do I keep doing this? I keep getting infatuated with guys that are either straight, from out of town, obviouisly not that into me, or married/partnered?

Is this a recurring case of wanting-what-I-can’t-have-itis?

It was like, 4 weeks into the obsessathon when I finally went to make my move… I slying asked him if he ever went to Lafittes for a drink after he got off of work (my next question was going to be “would you like to go get a drink?”) and he dropped the “p” bomb.

“Sometimes. Sometimes my partner and I will stop off on the way home.”

Click Here

I still go by, just to talk about Project Runway and eat a burger and maybe some Pecan Pie ala mode. (Mmmmm, he makes it gooooooood.) But oh well.

Plunger Story Part II

Posted on by nolageek

I didn’t mention in my story about the urinal that I went across the street to Gary’s house to get a longer plunger after I told them I wasn’t about to use the mini-plunger in the urinal. I didn’t mention it because a long handled plunger isn’t as funny and it had no bearing on the story.

Until now.

I walked into my new job yesterday, after getting thurs. and fri off and my coworker Liz says to me: “Vincent. Was I halucinating or on Sunday did you run really fast past Clover Grill with a plunger in your hand?”

Uhg. Way to start a new job.

Today wasn’t so bad, actually.

Posted on by nolageek

It was probably due to all of the adrenaline rushing through my body, and helped by the fact that one of the bartender’s friends stopped by to help out, but today wasn’t as bad as last night… until about 7:30, then shit hit the fan. We ran out of backup well Vodka like, 3 times and a manager had to come from wherever managers seem to go just when they need to put the computerized liquer pourer doo-dads on and tape them down all fancy like.

That sucked.

There was like a bajillion empty bottles in the hall way waiting to be replaced and all the bartenders forgot completely about their obsession with limes and began to yell “WE NEED MORE VODKA!!!!!!!!!” over and over at the top of their lungs. It was like an episode of that suck-ass Danny Bonadeushie show except this time I actually cared.

Fags from Dumaine to St. Peter were sobering up quickly and damnit, we can’t have that at 6pm on a Sunday during Decadence.

Then….

Some foulness happened that even I was traumatized over.

I hear someone scream this: “VINCENT!!! THE URINAL IS OVERFLOWING AND IT NEEDS TO BE FIXED!!!!!!!!!”

Oh hell no, right? Nothing in my wildest imagination could have conjured up what I saw as I turned the corner into the men’s room. There is no fucked up Japanese porn that could prepare me for coming face to face with a brushed steel urinal trough with a foot of piss in it with a random assortment of condoms, empty cigarette packs and water bottles. Fuck you is all that came to mind.

Then the truly mortifying part happened when I ask for a plunger… I’m told to look in the breakroom’s bathroom. This seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestions until all I come up with is a toilet plunger with a seven-motherfucking-inch handle and rubber surgical gloves.

No amount of gloves, in the UNIVERSE, even fancy full length ones with rinestones and a fur fringe, would get me to go elbow deep into a urinal of piss and cum in a gay bar during decadence.

To borrow my favorite quote from Mrs. Joan “Oh no babe, I ain’t the one.”

They eventually closed the bathroom down until someone comes and fixes it in the morning.

My Feet… I Can’t Feel My Feet

Posted on by nolageek

Johnny got his barback

Oh my jesus. I feel like I should be in a Metallica video after tonight’s shift at Lafittes. My. Feet. Fucking. Hurt.

My shoes and socks are soaked to the bone with water, beer, juice and whatever the hell else is in the alley behind the bar. (Let’s not think too hard on that, please.)

The worst thing is I can’t really be all “oh my feet hurt” cause I’ll look like a total puss to the hardened SoDec veterans that I’m working with. *sigh*

So I’m doing laundry at the computer shop before I go home and crash. Hopefully I’ll be able to get out of bed in the morning.

Did I mention the other barback that is supposed to be helping me quit after Thursday?

Uhg. Well, at least I’ll be sore with no feet and a fist full of money on tuesday.

BTW, the dude that played the guy with no arms or legs in that movie that Metallica used for the “one” video turned out to be that hottie from “That’s My Bush!” Yes, I thought G.W. Bush was hot (albeit Republican slime) before he turned into the anti-christ.

Two more days to go!
I may have to actually watch that show.

I really didn’t sign up for this much work.

Posted on by nolageek

FUCKING LIMES!!!!Oh yeah, I did.

Shit.

Really, when they said “you’re going to work your ass off” I really didn’t think it was going to be this bad… and it’s not even Saturday. Sunday is going to kill me. Really. If you don’t see a post here for a few days, someone come by my house and feed lydia and plato, because I am probably curlled up in a fetal position somewhere moaning something about Miller Lite and limes.

Fucking limes.

I never want to see another lime as long as I live. Ever. I mean that. I will strangle a bitch if someone ever so much as shows me something lime green after Monday night.

Key lime pie, however, will be allowed. Mmmmm, pie.

Seriously, as completely devistated as I feel, it’s actually really fun. I mean, it’s not hard per-se. It’s just…. constant.

Limes. beer. cups. ice. beer. napkins. vodka. beer. ice. beer. straws. cut more limes. napkins. olives. ice. trash. vodka. limes. limes. beer. limes. cups. napkins. “VINCENT! I NEED MORE LIMES!” beer. ice. trash. vodka. olives and limes and lemons. napkins. straws. “I NEED LIMES!” trash. ice. beer. napkins. vodka. beer. ice. “MORE LIMES!!” Limes. beer. cups. ice. beer. napkins. vodka. beer. ice. beer. straws. cut more limes. napkins. olives. ice. trash. vodka. limes. limes. beer. limes. cups. napkins. “VINCENT! ARE THERE ANY LIMES?” beer. ice. trash. vodka. olives and limes and lemons. napkins. straws. “LIMES! LIMES! LIMES!” trash. ice. beer. napkins. vodka. beer. ice. “WHERE’S MY FUCKING LIMES!?!!”

The coolest thing happened tonight though. As I’m running around, flying through doors and such, this guy at the bar is watching me. Not like checking me out, but watching. (He was cute those, so I was hoping he was checking me out. :)

Then, as I’m in the back icing down the beer, he peeks in the door to the alley. I stop him and tell him he’s not allowed back there. He then says…

“Hey, I was watching you. I work at the Bourbon House(?) and I do what you do. I just wanted to give this to you.”

He hands me a $20 bill.

I had to have some weird expresion on my face, but I managed to say thanks about thirty times and he finishes it off by saying “You’re working your ass off, I can tell.”

It’s weird. I’m doing all of this to make enough money to pay rent next week, kind of expecting a ton of money but at the same time not getting my hopes up and that one comment made it all worth it if I don’t get squat.

I don’t think I’ve ever really worked this much before… and let me tell you, fuck this shit… Give me a desk job anyday. lol

No really. I didn’t get your name (edit: it’s Robert. I saw him tonight and he’s got a husband already), but thanks. Not to be a big whiney baby, but I haven’t really gotten any feedback from the bartenders… so I have no idea if they think I suck or not. None of them have really yelled at me or anything though and I’m pretty sure they know I’m not sitting in the breakroom doing my nails or anything. I guess I’ll find out on Tuesday when I get my money.