There's Faggotry Afoot.

Meet: Joey (AKA; Drinking Buddy/Rich boy/Part-time Roommate)

I'm a bonafide Fag Hag. Just look at my wonderful circle of friends and you'll find the entire rainbow, plus some. Joey is definitely a favorite. Three years running he's always good to talk to about all the heavy shit. He is that friend, the poor guy who always knows all the TMI. (speaking of which, him and Ryan are currently discussing the more intimate subjects of certain colors of certain parts. Perhaps I'm suffering of TMI)

As Ryan's boyfriend, he's around ALL THE TIME. Not that its actually a problem, he's definitely the definition of cool, but it makes him my part time roommate that never pays rent. Oh wells. Its worth it, he actually got his own key and everything. Hopefully we find him sneaking in at 3 a.m. (my cat would become a beast).

He happened to burst from the sperm stick a well off man and be purged from the womb of a well off woman he now, by default, is a well off kid. He enjoys the luxury of a pool in his back yard so obviously we're here all the time. So let me tell you, big house, pool, and mustang. He's definitely enjoying an envy worthy life, but you wouldn't know it. The dickery that generally follows money has eluded him. He's a very laid back guy with a genuine sense of humor without the Snotty-I'm-Better-Than-You attitude.

Now Joey is my go-to guy when it's time for a drink. He's my Shit-Faced Partner, nobody compares. When we get together, we run the party. And I mean own it, although we might not remember the ownage we exuded, we always enjoy the after party stories that surround us. I don't think I could party decently without him.

He fulfills my intellectual stimulation need. Logic is his thing, so much that even I am humbled. He's my therapist in a way, without the obnoxious price. Friendship with him is kind of a thing to cherish, he always knows how to make a person laugh. The most ridiculous scenarios play out in his head and he shares them without thought. For instance, while watching me type for this blog he proposes we advertise it... By getting signs and taking down the poor pizza guy and have an epic battle of signs (Sign Wars!!) until the street corner belongs. We're practically prostitutes.

The Consequence of Night

Oh night shift, how I do loathe you. Not because of the regular bull that comes along with the dark, but because of what you do to my sleep. How the night shift wreaks havoc on my circadian rhythm, leaving it impossible for me to sleep away the hours of the moon on my nights off. There's nothing to be done about it. Pills don't seem to work, and even so would be useless, tomorrow night I'll have to be up.

Being on a schedule opposite of the functioning world has its downsides for sure. One more sleepless night, and I'm not even getting paid for it. Damn.

Sh*t Happens

Meet: Ryan. (AKA: Roommate/semi-professional hair color-ist/piss pants)

Ryan is my Adventure Buddy. Oh yes. When broke and bored there is nobody better to hang out with. Good times are a given when we get together, making him one of my absolute best friends. No questions asked, any flaw forgiven. We both have the philosophy of shit happens. The philosophy that gets us through the bad days with at least half a smile, and lets us laugh about it the next day.

So we move into our new apartment Sunday. The most exciting/frightening thing to happen thus far. We're making just enough to afford our own place and survive. A daunting task for any jelly-spined teenager. Luckily, Ryan and I are buff with a "we've-got-this" attitude.

So let me introduce you to Ryan, the semi-professional hair color-ist. He's going to beauty school, eventually to be a color specialist. Tonight I submitted myself to his skills by asking his help in dying my hair. I've been on a purple streak, I've always wanted it that way so now that mums gone and I know I won't be fired for it, my hair is purple. I enlisted a 12 year old to help the first time (never again) and a friend, Joey, to help the second (also no go. Think globs of purple gel thrown at your head and splattered around the bathroom.) Ryan was, well, semi-better. The color was even and he had a nifty little apron thing to keep my clothes clean. What's not so great is my scalp, currently a lovely shade of neon blue-ish purple. LOL

And Ryan piss pants, my favorite. This is the Ryan that pulls out his Wang to pee on the side of the street just as a cop decides to drive that way. This is the Ryan that, mid stream, shoves his Wang back into his pants in order to avoid the Public Indecency ticket. This is the Ryan who ends up changing in my shorts because the night isn't over yet and we still have a friend to steal. (We'll meet Syd later) This is the Adventure Buddy Ryan who makes my day, every day.

Carpe Noctem

It's not just a Latin phrase worn out by the goth/vampire culture in bold tattoos and midnight forum names. It's the philosophy by which the shift workers adhere passionately too. If we didn't, nobody would receive there midnight snacks of burgers and fries without the choice words of tired employees. No, we live by seizing the night. Literally. The smiles are plastered on, the voice kept as composed as possible when dealing with the oh-so-funny teenagers, and the food is served politely so we can pick up the hours that boost the coveted paycheck.

I think the story of the night shift is a great one. An epic tale in the making. One that I've submitted myself to, just to keep my bank account alive and to survive in a world made of money. I inadvertently became part of the story, so complex that it's simplicity amazes me. We are the barely making it crew. Its the the reality of Glorious Adulthood that shrouds the fresh faces entering early adulthood. A slap in the face really, when long hours of unappreciated work is shouldered.

So after one ass-kicking shift, I decided to write. Not a story per se but a documentary of my life at minimum wage.