11.19.01 :: 10:59 am

I missed the meteor shower because I'm forgetful, and I don't even remember what I was doing in lieu of, but it involved My Boy no doubt and all's well that ends well.

He's growing a pencil-thin 'stache.

This needs to go away before Thanksgiving.

After a backbreaking six hours of serving people, after a table of seven who would sing "She's a slaaaaaaave for you," after I turned my back, after burning two fingers on a scorching plate, I am reminded why I waitress: $152 in tips, baby. Count it. One-Five-Two. One-motherfucking-FIVE-TWO.

Urban Outfitters, you addictive little whore, here I come.

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