Forlorn Friday

1) At 4:20 my mom calls me to tell me I'm bumped; my Dad decided he wanted to go w/my mom to Houston, so my plans for some time w/my mom, Rootie's time w/my Grandma, AND meeting a standard poodle (I want one SO BAD!) are all shot to shit.

2) 4:50 I asked my former supervisor if he could do me a favor and talk to a student for me. He said I should ask my immediate supervisor, la inefectuel herself, to do what I needed done. Basically, he said no. (I do not like that word.)

3) By 4:59 I had devised a plan to slay my diet, get a pizza, and drink copious amounts of cheap beer all evening long. I drive to Gatti's where the vato behind the counter pronounces my name "Nigh-toe". I look at him and say "Meskin, you need to be ashamed of yourself! My name is Nieto!" and his response? "You're meskin too?"

And NOW I've got to figure out how an old lady like me is going to get some sun soon. My people are forgetting me. To add salt to the wound, Gilbert, Gatti's Cashier Extraordinaire (raises pit bulls, but doesn't fight them, has a tattoo on his neck-his last name in old E letters-and a homemade tattoo on his hand that read "crips4e"), asked me if I'm from here, if I had kids, if I was single, and if I have a myspace page, all within the 20 minutes I was waiting for my order. I cannot imagine him to be more than 20 years old, and here he's asking granny out. Sighhhhh….. (NO! I DIDN'T!)

I'm off to drink as much Natty Light as will not make me ill tomorrow, and I'm still on the fence on wrecking my diet (the pizza is in the oven, haven't touched it yet, and it is prime to be frozen). All I know, that barring any hospital visits or mandated conversations with the authorities, my weekend is all up from here!