found a job, and angry to learn

pastry chef assistant (dumbo)


looking for pastry ass with experience
must be able to work week end
if you want a build you'r carrier in pastry we are able to teach you the right way to do french pastry
must be very serious and angry to learn
full time

g-chat; 12:35 a.m.

kiki
it's ashley
you, my love.
i miss you.
i feel like we need to live together again
all of us
you me nikki basak
we were like a power team
someday
when we're old
we'll live together again
and it will be grand
basak will shave her pubes again
and leave hair all over the bathtub
and you'll complain about it
and nikki will fart in front of guests
and i'll fall on the cat topless
again and again
forever
until we die
together
xo

i just discovered that my gym has a strict "no do-rag" policy. i am crushed. why god, why? oh the injustices of the world.

i am even further saddened by the fact that the typically fruitful google image search pulls no relevant results for a "guido do-rag." what with the success of the jersey shore, the subsequent birth of GTL & and all the beauty that is the halo of oompa loompa orange snookie-dom, i am truly devastated.

i salivate at the glory of a festive red/white/green do-rag, or perhaps one that swathes your cranium in a phrase such as "fuggetaboutit" (as sold at our local holy rosary italian festival each summer), or "7 days without spaghetti...makes one weak." methinks i have a patent on my hands. granted the ladies may have some qualms with hindering the height of their hair poofs, but it's nothing a little aqua-net won't maintain. mike "the situation" should be all over this. i would write him a letter suggesting it; however, i'm not quite sure he's literate. such is life.

vintage delights for the soul.

i fear for my future self. oh please spare me of lapsing into the life of regrettable 'little edie' status. prancing around and wallowing my voice dry with the psycho-babble of past misfortunes. to feel this hapless so early on does not portend of good things to come. first it may be unemployment. then comes job at the local dunkin' donuts. a curves and tanning membership. a subscription to 'ok' magazine. a bad perm and an addiction to hair gel and newport cigarettes. next thing you know you've bailed out of your romance with a gold-chained guido named tony and are flabby, farty, and forty years old living with your senile mother and twirling like a child in a swim cap and cape and eating ice cream in bed and watching your army of house cats shit all over your carpet. oh dear. breathe.

it will all be alright.

“La Gaita del Lobizon” by Cuarteto de Oro. Philips Records Argentina