Day 17- Would you like a Triple Bypass with That?

Okay, okay. I know I should have read. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It’s not that I’m not interested in the story (I’m still in “The Things They Carried,” by Tim O’Brien) it’s just that after hitting up strip joints until 2 am and then working from 11am to 10pm… I just can’t get my eyes or brain to focus on anything important. 

However, I still made a promise to update every day for 100 days, so here we are. 

Let me just say, last night was probably not the wisest decision ever made. I consider myself to be pretty liberal and forward thinking about sex and the human body, but strip clubs.. well they’re kind of gross. And I’m not saying, “oh how disgusting these poor women selling their bodies for money,” but “that mirror that those strippers are leaning against so they can demonstrate that mamma got too much booty in the pants (!), has greasy hand prints ALL OVER IT…(A more accurate visual descriptor of what was happening can be found here:!)   Are you going to wash that pole before you hop on it? There were others before you…” and “ahem, excuse me, I realize we are both female, but that does not mean you get to stuff your face in my boobs… perchance you could give me a heads up next time, when you’re thinking about just diving in there?” …Perhaps it’s just my irrational fear of scurvy.

And I know some people think strip clubs are immoral or sickening, etc, etc, but I think you have to realize that the US spends 60% of it’s revenue beefing up our military so we can go out a kill people. And practically every one in Texas thinks this is a good thing! (Source: I went to Texas this one time.) I mean, killing people seems a little worse than gyrating in a topless bikini for cash. I’m not saying, “oh look how this cancels out any negative side effects of strip clubs,” or even, “women are actually empowered by being able to charge for sexual congress.” I’m just saying, there are worst things in this world that people condone, rather openly. (*See Toby Keith’s “Angry American”)

My roommate, however, had the time of her life at this club. Seriously. She made friends with every stripper and was the curiosity of the evening. Men were paying her more attention than the performers. (Incidentally, if you’re a female in a strip club that does not feature males, suddenly everybody is interested in if “you’re doing okay?”)

Incidentally, the strip club we entered stamped our hands with a crab stamp. 

If I ever consider employment in this particular avenue of performance, my first question will be, “do you have to use the communal poles, or can you just bring your own?” 

To be fair, I wish I had the upper body strength to climb like those ladies. I would be the boss of the playground during lava tag! (But seriously, lava tag is still awesome.)


On another note, since I worked both jobs today, I realize that I should probably quit one. My boss from my new job wants to give me more hours, and since I also make tips there, I should probably choose the job which actually wants me there. I am pretty sure my first job is trying to phase me out anyway. They are giving me so little hours, it’s basically like saying, “please quit so we don’t have to pay to fire you.” 

I don’t even blame them for wanting to get rid of me. I’m not good at retail, and I don’t want to be. I don’t want to convince people to buy things they don’t need, or pay for services they won’t use. FIGHT CLUB! 

Ahem, sorry, we don’t talk about that here. 

Also, I hate that I work for a corporation that takes business away from local stores and the community. I know, I know, bleeding heart stuff. It makes it really difficult to be good at my job.

There’s also the issue of general dickery. I’ve had to deal with some exceptionally shitty things. I don’t understand it either. All of my former jobs have been really positive experiences. You work hard, your managers aren’t shitheads, things work out. Even with jobs that I haven’t liked, (ie: produce farm) have been survivable because I was treated with a little bit of dignity. I also didn’t have to do bootlicking just to do my job. 

Above all else though, the rumor mill is insufferable. If I had actually slept with the amount of people I am rumored to have slept with, well then, kudos to me for getting more play than Tiger Woods, Magic Johnson and Gene Simmons in some sort of hebetating (not a word) Ménage à trois . Truly, mine milkshake doth bringeth the gentlemen to the yard. (Geeze, that’s the second time I’ve made that joke.)


On the positive side of this job that I’ve been hating for the past year and a half, it has been encouraging me to reactivate my creative side. To that I am thankful. I also have made friends with some pretty interesting people because of it, and a lot of my coworkers make it pretty tolerable. I probably would have quit a long time ago if it hadn’t been for “Africa,” by Toto loving, hipster-wannabe-but-not-quite-there-yet, people-hating fiends.   

Today at the new job, my coworker took the blame for an error before I even had a chance to claim it. T’was not such a good day, I was not on the ball and I made a ton of mistakes. I had already gotten chewed out by our boss, so I was incredibly grateful that I didn’t have that backlash coming back at me. (The one downside of having a boss that has her proverbial “shit together”.. she notices everything.)

It was a good reminder that I need to sleep so I can work. I’ll probably pass up the strip joints for a little while. I know; I know; life is rough.


Among things that were annoying today, this family of 5 came in 15 minutes before close. They were pretty big people, which normally I don’t give two flying monkey fucks about, except for the fact that they let their son order our double sized burger and a large fry. This kid must have been around 9 or 10. And I know it’s not my place to tell people how to raise their children, but I really wanted to be like, “really? you’re gonna let your 9 year old intake 1,000+ calories in one sitting?” I’m trying to decide if I am actually upset for the well-being of their moppet of Mephistopheles, or if I am annoyed because they made a huge order 15 minutes before closing and then spent an hour eating it. I’m sure they are nice enough people and I’m the real posterior orifice here. 

“So big cheeseburger with everything on it, large fries, large coke, side of onion rings, and would you like to add a triple bypass with that?”

This brings me to my next point: it’s a hamburger people. You don’t need to deliberate for a fortnight or the approximate amount of time it takes pluto to make a revolution ’round the sun to decide whether you’d like pickles or no pickles on that. God forbid I ask about the mayo. 


If you’re bored, you can click this link. You can’t unhear things, nor bleach your listenholes, so view at your own risk: (This gem brought to you by my roommate) 


One Comment Add yours

  1. Colton says:

    Bree, I love reading your blog. It’s like a direct shot of brooding hellionism (new word) right to the aorta.

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