2003-08-02 / 6:48 p.m.

"...I don't know. You want me to call you?" Well, yes, genius, that's what I've been trying to get at for about a month, thanks for noticing. He's so bitchy; I really enjoy it. We just fuck with each other all day long. He made me fucking dry lexans. For two hours. I would have liked to have seen Greg or Darrel try to make me do any damn thing in the kitchen for that long. This is why I like restaurants. Fun. Utter silliness all the time. Of course I like this alot better than the being open and having customers part. I want to be one of those people who gets flown all over to just open stores. Then I'd get lots of SKMs to fraternize with... I'm mostly kidding about that last part... truly truly bizarre that he has so much little shit in common with Dustin; thank fucking Christ he doesn't look like Dustin; I can't imagine the cataclysmic disaster that would occur from my being exposed to that four days a week. My head would explode. Or my ovaries. Possibly I would spontaneously combust while... I have to go now.

(And Patrick's so so funny... "What do you mean out? Out like you're not gonna be home all night out?" Well, dear, I can hope... poor Patrick. I wonder how many times the guns will be cleaned in the livingroom in the next few weeks?)

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