Ball Of Confusion

Life seems to be happening at either lightning speeds or crawls by like a snail overdosing on downers. After quitting the less-glamorous job I had, I was feeling pretty good. I have a ton more sleep-in time. More availability for Cute Cafe (which they have already taken full advantage of, and I can't say I'm complaining.) But, of course, as if right on cue, the sneaky little c-word that reality is smacks me right in the face in the middle of my natural high in the shape of Mama Kass wondering out loud when I'm going to leave? What?

(Back story: I'm here in the first place because of my very generous friend I've known since high school offered me the chance to live rent-free for "three months" to get back on my feet after an awful stint in Virginia where my soul and wallet were robbed by a vulture of a man. Scratch that: a vulture of a BOY. Anyway, so here in Sinful City it's me, Mama Kass, my friend Luthor and her sister Hippie Helen. We all get along famously, mostly because I'm the one who does most of the cleaning.)
And from the get-go, I thought that I'd just come here, work so that I'd be able to pay my debts (which, by the way, I just took care of debt#1 out of 4. The rest will be taken care of come payday. Good credit, here I come!) and then I'd join the air force mostly because, ironically, for me it would be the easy way out. A good paycheck, "free" schooling, yada yada. But the thing now is, the more I think about it, and the closer the days get to becoming 3 months, and seeing the money I'm earning is making me realize something.
"Oh my god. I might be able to do this on my own."
Because god knows I do NOT want to join the air force. So at this very moment in time, I am currently in a state of limbo between the air force and independence. It's about time for something good to happen. Anyone know of an inexpensive apartment or condo complex in the Henderson area with air conditioning and a gym? Keep my gay ass posted.

These days, worries aside, I find myself smiling more. Especially at those men that like to frequent Cute Cafe. Especially at the bald-but-sexy professional man that announces he likes the way I smell. Especially at that lagoon-color-eyed man who touches my arm when I set his drinks down. Come on guys, quit leading me on and ask me out for a drink. Or should I be the one to ask them out? Is that breaking some kind of flirt-but-don't-date-the-waiter rule? And if not, should I not ask them out because I'm only 20? I have my genuine-fake (it's genuine because it's real it's just not me. But it works.) But that might be the hugest turn off for them, going out with some boy who has to use a fake. How immature. But the thing is I'm quite the opposite. I feel like I've grown up beyond my years, and it's not fair that Father Time should curse me with such a young age. Oh well. 4 months to go and I'll be alcohol-legal. At which point I'll have my favorite lesbian to take me to some gay joint for some gay cocktails (thanks 2nd person!)

Oh well. What is it with this constant state of waiting-thing? I'll just have to wait and see how things play out. Maybe next time I post, It'll be in a new apartment? Cheers.

No Day But Today

After what seems like an HOUR waiting for the damn password recovery email because my dumb-ass forgot it, I finally sign back in to begin my very first post. However, this will not be my first post ever... There is another "xanga" that hides deep within the depths of the internet that, thank blog, I remember the password for and change every post's privacy settings so only I can read my most intimate adolescent thoughts. How funny youth is. I digress.
It's taken me forever to have enough time and energy to sit down and apply myself to this. I work two jobs now to support my lavish spending ability that I manage to utilize so well, especially when I should be saving. I won't divulge any information at what I do; I'll just say I like the one better than the other. But I've been so exhausted lately that by the time I get home I have to fight my eyelids from closing on me. The upside to that is I've learned to squint without squinting.
Anyway.
I just moved to Sinful City in February thinking I was going to start over, build my own life again. Yes, I've done that, but having recently decided to join the Air Force has taken my life and massively tweeked it.
"A Gay in the military??? NEVER!"
I'm a little nervous, but the thing that keeps me going with this decision is the free education I'll be getting out of it. And who cares, after 4 years, I can move on to bigger and better things.
Anyway.
After the move to Sinful City, I bum it for a week. I don't even try to go job-hunting. Then wambam-thank-you-ma'am, the very first day I apply, I get an offer. I'm amazed at how fast I get hired and it makes me feel special, but I find out they were just understaffed. Ha. Then I decide I need more money, because that new Kenneth Cole bag isn't going to pay for itself (Don't worry, I bought it last week). And by the grace of the gay gods, I get a phone call from Cute Cafe (I wanted to work there in the first place) after a very disappointing stint at starbucks, and they offer me the job. Glory be!
Now this is a trip. It's nice in there, and I'm proud to represent the place, but some of the people I work with are quite the characters. Of course, I fall in love with with the straight Octapus right off the bat, mostly because he's funny and maintains eye contact. Then there's Indie Ian, who's 24 but still has that high-schooler complex about life, where anything you haven't heard about is cool until it gains a following and the question "what do you do?" refers to your hobbies instead of your career. It's laughable.
And so here I sit, in my state of anger/disinterested annoyance because Creepy Coworker had the nerve to blow ME off about my small request to carpool to our manager's "going away party" by not returning my 3 text messages and 2 phone calls (that were each un-desperately two hours apart.) I tried calling the host of this ''party'' for directions to go myself, but there was no answer. I think it was right down the street, but really, who walks to a party, or arrives alone for that matter? I mean really.