Sometimes I hated my life. I am horney as hell and I am not finding a single scene in this book that will get me wet enough to masturbate before I have to be at work. As I skimmed through the latest grocery store paper back, 'my one true weakness in life, not counting coffee or chocolate'. Don't judge me! I saw the same thing as always. This dipshit girl swooning over some guy saying that he looks like a Greek god, I want to ask this girl or the writer of the book if he's sporting a toga and carrying around lightning bolts or a trident.
How does one look like a Greek god anyway? I mean I have personally never seen one other than in statue form and even those are in books and not all that impressive. I mean really, have you seen the size of their package's on those things? It's sad. Even with shrinkage they could have made it bigger, the guy is supposed to be a god! But all he has are these big muscles, a strong jaw and a child sized penis. I have seen hotter guys on the billboard announcing a new medication for jock itch or rectal warts.
And yet I always seem to hear girls giggling over some guy and his Greek god status, the only thing worse is listening to a man being compared to an angel. Sometimes I want to fucking cut a bitch for using that comparison. The gushing, ohhh how I hate the gushing! It makes my head throb and my left eye twitch. I digress; flipping through the pages I see something that looks interesting. Three paragraphs later and I realize that she's just describing a hot build up and then they get cock blocked! Well that was a waste of time. I hate that shit. Now I'm horney and frustrated as I flip through more pages looking for the good stuff that will get me off before Alice gets home.
The house phone rings and absentmindedly I pick it up and quickly realize its Alex. He's my best guy friend and I use that term loosely. He's a good guy, but I know that he harbors more than friendly feeling for me. I also know that he won't ever grow the balls to come right out and say that he's secretly in love with me because he's afraid that I won't return his feelings. He would also be right about that. He's my go to if I need something fixed, painted, a body guard and a fill in for Alice on chick flick night. Don't look at me like that every SINGLE woman has one of these friends.
You know the guy that is always in just friend's status. Every girl has one. He's the guy that you know likes you and you keep him around because his fawning over you is an ego boost. He is the guy you contemplate screwing when your drunk because he is nice and there; if only you could find him hot when the beer goggles were off it would solve all you're problems. Even after half a bottle of Captain Morgan's is gone you can't make his buck teeth and mouth breathing attractive. However most women have a gay guy who is hot, has great fashion sense and is a great dancer. Not the single ugly duckling that is in love with you.
I shake my head because I am getting off topic here, I toss the book across the room, and this book sucks. After quickly getting Alex off the phone by saying I am in bad need of a shit I hang up and look for my go to. I only read these things for the sex scenes anyway, not that I would admit this to anyone! EVER! Don't judge me, I work at a gas station and have no money for porn. I pick up my favorite book and start flipping to my favorite scene and start reading the buildup. My nipples are getting hard and I can feel my pussy throb once than twice as he is licking her neck while he fingers her. As I am pondering the heroes hotness and this chick going on and on about it while I just want to live vicariously and sexually through this book. My lifelong best friend and hetero life mate Alice bounces through the door the exact moment the story gets hot enough for me to do something rendering me sexually frustrated for yet another night.
Alice is 4'9 and tiny everywhere. She looks like a little girl with her big blue eyes and choppy black hair that's tangled and sticking in every direction. Alice also has Turners syndrome. She looks like she is maybe fourteen but she's going on twenty four. She loves to play dress up and so on so I tease her from time to time and call her 'Polly Pocket' with the snap on clothes. When we first met in sixth grade and she told me how old she was I didn't believe her. I thought for sure that some kids little sister got lost while they were dropping off her older brother or sister. I'm not kidding I took her to the office while she protested the whole way and left her with the nurse for the lost and found. Explaining about how the kid was lost and didn't want some parent thinking that I kidnapped their kid. I thought I was doing the right thing…..I was wrong!
Five hours later in the day and she was in my home EC class sitting next to me. After the initial blow up about how I embarrassed her she introduced herself. Then she told me about her problems and what Turners was. The only issue she has had is that her hands and feet sometimes get puffy and she doesn't get her period all that often. I didn't care. I wish I didn't get my period all that often. She thought it was a big deal until I told her that women pay big money for birth control that only gives them a period four times a year. She seemed to relax after hearing that.
Alice was cool, sweet and funny. She thinks she knows fashion, but I think she is trying to live her life like sex and the city too much. I've tried to tell her that this isn't New York and she's NOT Carrie Bradshaw, but she just turns a deaf ear to what I have to say. I have seen the woman leave the house in a pair of neon pink heels a tutu skirt in purple with black leggings and a bright red off the shoulder eighties flash dance type of shirt with yellow writing. On her head she was wearing some type of straw bird hat and it had all the same colors she was wearing. Do I need to elaborate, didn't think so!
Right now however she is holding what looks like a double espresso in one hand and a bag from the thrift store in another. She's wearing an electric green dress that looks to be made from a rain coat, it might just be a rain coat and she didn't notice it, it wouldn't be the first time. She's paired it with her favorite orange flats, black, pink, green and grey toe socks that are pulled up to her knees and her beach bag she calls her hobo purse. She's chatting away as she drops the plastic bag she is holding on the couch and downs the last of the coffee bouncing a little. I'm not sure if she is talking to me or at me at this point, and I roll my eyes as she says she found something vintage at her place of employment.
Yes, Alice works at a thrift store. She also thinks that old clothes that smell funny and were found in some poor person's attic or great aunt who suddenly dies closet are somehow worth money. I don't have the heart to tell her that it was only worth the dollar seventy-five she paid for it and just because it's old doesn't make it vintage.
I feel bad for her so I smile, nod and congratulate her on her find as she holds up some salmon colored polyester 70's dress. She looks so happy as she sprints to her room carrying the hideous dress yelling about how Nordstrom's and Macys will be sorry for not hiring her when she makes it big. I toss the book back down and give up any thought of pleasuring myself since Alice is now home and I only have an hour to get ready and be at work for the late shift. I groan as I lift myself off the couch and drag my feet to my room. Alice is still talking a mile a minute and I have zoned her out as the water heats up in the bathroom shower.
By the time I am done getting ready for work, my hair is still wet and pulled back in some kind of bun with a clip. My orange and maroon work shirt that is two sizes too big are on and swallowing my figure as usual. My black slacks that I forgot to wash are on because (a- I have to do laundry and (b- I still had to wear pants.) Thank jeebus for whoever made fabreeze! My black shoes are tied and I notice that I have twenty minutes to walk to work before I'm considered late and I still have to find my name tag. So I start digging through my sheets knowing that it has to be here in my messy room somewhere. I dart from the house with only a couple minutes to spare when I hear Alice trailing behind me. Alice had heard me cussing and screaming at the missing name tag and brings it to me sprinting behind claiming it was on the stove. I remember last night's microwave burrito and chip dinner and nod in thanks dashing down the street trying to pin it in place and not stick my right boob again with the pin.
By the time I show up I realize that I'm working with 'weedy' aka Jasper. The guy is always stoned. The only good thing about working with him is that he's so mellow and relaxed that he doesn't stress that I'm a couple minutes late and he's not bitching at me as he starts making more coffee. I wave hello and he bobs his head back and forth as he shoves his ear buds in and tells me he's going to go stalk the cooler. I log in on the computer in the back room and run out front and long into my register before 'weedy' has a chance to leave yet. I know that's his code for 'I will stalk the cooler while I get baked'. It also translates to 'If I get too stoned and you don't see me for a while I'm asleep in the cooler' Or ' I'm going to get stoned and may forget that I'm supposed to stalk to the cooler and might just open a 12 pack of beer if I get thirsty'. Either way I don't really care so long as he eventually stalks the damn thing. It gets cold as shit in there and I hate doing it, not to mention I forgot my jacket again today and I don't want to wear the loaner jacket. It's brown, has food stains on the sleeves and smells like B.O, nasty and no thank you. So I wave Jasper away as I count my drawer making sure it has the correct amount of money to start. Last thing I want is a short drawer.
I often wonder why our boss keeps hiring people who are clearly under the influence. One would think that he would do drug testing, but alas if he brought that up to the big guy aka 'daddy' it might not go over well. I think our boss Jacob would start doing drug tests if it didn't mean that he would have to take one too. William Black let's his son run this store any way he chooses and if Jacob started drug testing his dad would make him take one too ; Can't be pulling favoritism in the work place. The thing is Jake is a special kind of boss. The guy likes his coke too much, and I'm not talking about the soda.
Hell most of the people who work here are on drugs or are dumber than a box of rocks. Let me rephrase, he hires idiots. A monkey could do this job better than some of the clowns that work here. That last comment goes out to Mike Newton. The kid has wet himself twice since he started working here and he starts to cry if the register doesn't tell him how much change to give back to the customer. It's not really that hard to give back change, it's basic math. A second grader could run this register. How hard is it to add and subtract. I even put a pen and paper next to his register when he works just in case he has to write it down. And yet he still has a break down every time it happens. It happened once when he typed in 100 instead of 10.00. I feel bad for the kid, but not enough to keep him around if his drawer comes up short again.
So what does that say about me you ask? Well I'm not on drugs or addicted to anything more than cigarettes when I'm drinking; and I don't have any mental illnesses that I'm aware of. I'm snarky and cynical but when someone calls me out on it I just say I'm a realist or blunt. I don't like labels. I do however go to school, even if it is only two days a week and at a community college. State or anywhere Ivy League was out of the question. It's not that I didn't have the grades, ok, so my grades could have been better than straight C's and B's and my act's sucked. Not to mention that my dad made too much so that ruled out student loans and Pala grants. Dad never started a collage fund and mom skipped out on us a long time ago, so I doubt she was saving up for my education.
To be honest I don't even have a real plan. I wanted to be a massage therapist or get my certification as a cosmetologist, but it turns out I don't like touching strangers so those two were out of any kind of career field along with being a nurse, not that I ever wanted to be a nurse. I thought that I could maybe go for criminal justice, but my teacher was droning on about so many things and it started to sound like I was listening to my dad talk. So that was out. I could be an artist, I heard that they sometimes made great money, but unless stick figures became popular that wasn't going to pan out either. So while I waited for my big ah ha moment I have been working to pay my half of the rent and bills plus tuition being an assistant manager for the sip and save. And while it pays my half of the bills for now, I still need a plan because spending my life at the sip and save sure isn't my dream.