Exhausted Burrito-Making Speed Demon Reluctantly Wipes Face with Ass Rag in a Horrible Laundry Mishap

I am realllly getting sick of driving. I drive every day. And not only do I drive every day, but I drive about 70 miles every day to butt fucking OLNEY, MD and back. I am really starting to hate Maryland. At least I am not training in the ghetto, but good lord, this commute is turning me into an evil and bitter person. And I find that I am SCREWED either way. If I take the map quest directions to 270, I hit traffic. If I take Conneticut all the way to 495, I hit traffic. If I merge onto 495 at 10pm, they are doing construction, and if it's at 6pm, there's plain old traffic. When I finally get onto the GW parkway or drive through DC to avoid the mess, I get behind idiots that go under the speed limit, or don't know where the fuck they are. When the clouds open and I see a little bit of sun shining on Rt. 50, I get a speeding ticket. And this is after driving 29/30 of the way. I am such a fucking idiot as to speed during my final stretch home.
This is my life. So I am now a bitter driver that is lazy and doesn't go out once I step foot inside my door.

With that said, I am *this* close to doing management stuff. Officially, that is. I think i am going to quit after a few months of the opening (gag), unless they severely cut my hours, or give me a big raise. I am a dipshit to take an offer while assuming my hours will be normal.

And I have discovered this job has made me lazy. If I have to cook anything I freak out, as I am around food all day and just want to avoid it. I hate doing laundry, although I try to do my clothes as soon as I get home so they don't permanently smell like the Mexican sweat hut. But this hampers on me doing any other kind of laundry. I have a load of whites up to the ceiling and therefore have no clean towels. I have been finishing up my showers with a hand towel the last three days. What are the odds that I am wiping my face with the same part I just used to wipe my ass?

So this is where the new job has come to. Not only do I have no life, but I am still broke. I guess God is trying to tell me that I am not cut out for a job and someone is just going to have to start paying me.

 

Mr. Toad's Wild Road Takes a Detour

Oh my god. So I was just checking out my blog and the blogger banners up top advertise Mexican restaurants and an ad for Taco Bell.
Fuckers. I think it's grand that we all get marketed to in every aspect of our living, but fucking-a, this one is just wrong.
I'd rather get the gas ex ads delivered my way, than the fucking Mexican patrol.

With that said, everything else in my life can be summed up to one word: monotony.
I work too much and settled for too little, eating one free burrito a day has lost its appeal to me. I want bigger and better things.

I met a guy last week. He was hot. He asked me if we could have lunch and never showed. I find that my professional life is cramping my personal life. =) Maybe he couldn't handle the fact that I am truly devoted to my craft.

My parents are living by the double standard and proving that raising kids and making decisions is a pain in the ass, further helping me realize that my decision to not have any is definitely a good one.

I finally got the brakes fixed in my car. WOOOHOO. I feel like I stepped into another world as I got them done in Annandale, of all places. I am definitely old, since I waltzed in the shop at 11 AM. (AM!!!) On my day off! I sat on my ass watching Jerry Springer and then Maury, reading the Penny Saver ads as I am a dumb ass and didn't bring my own reading material. It's amazing how many hos sleep around and then accuse men that they are their babies' daddies. This lady and I got into one part of the show and were comparing noses and ears with the babies and their fathers only to be let down when it was announced that the mom was a whore and the kid would remain a bastard.
All of this hooplah for a free trip to the studios where they can humiliate themselves. And I thought I was pathetic.
I have moved up the ranks from prep person, to grill master, to quesadilla champ, to professional hot putter-onner, to cold stuffer, to expo perfectionist, and this week I will amaze the crowds with my skills as a cashier (if I learn to count by Wed). I have 2 weeks, officially in my training, but will most likely remain in butt-munching Olney until the store in Arlington is complete. They are molesting the ass out of the parking lot behind the Four Courts, by the way. There are more pot holes in the ground than ever and it's a psuedo offroading experience I recommend.

That is all. I have been out of commission drinking wise for about 3 weeks. I can't hold my booze any more and it's a little bit humiliating. I have a 3 drink max at this point, even though I never go out. I am bored with updating. Anything big going on this week? I need some excitement that doesn't involve tacos and burritos.

Little Miss Smiley Fights the Good Fight for Burrito Lovers Everywhere

One of my biggest pet peeves is being told to smile. I wish I had a gun (and a bullet) for everyone that fucking told me to smile. It blows. If I feel the urge to crack a wide grin I do it, I don't hold back and wait for someone to remind me. This ass at work keeps telling me to smile and asking me why I don't smile and I have been blowing him off, but today I had it. I cracked and finally gave up with the smart answers, "I'm smiling on the inside," "I am missing that muscle in my fucking face," "I had a stroke and now have a perma-frown." Instead, I told him to fuck off...:)
That put a smile on my face. Assholes.

For all of you that have the itch to learn how to bartend, but don't want to fork out the money for a retard class and don't want to get a job slinging the booze, this is worth checking out.

I thought this dude was hot that came in today, I have seen him in before. He is a tall white dude with scruff that is always wearing scrubs and comes in with a bunch of older ladies (co-workers). I think he works at the hospital down the street. I was talking with the ladies behind the line about how hot he was and one of the chicks, Mucha, (hah) said he is really nice, and comes in every day (this however, kind of makes him a looser, but then again HE doesn't work there. He works at a hospital and I am going to pretend he does something really great there...like surgery or something.

HOLY SHIT...Days of our Lives is getting intense! Bo Brady is gonna DIE. So cool...he's been turning into a really pompous asshole.

Ok, back to the hot guy. So we were all watching him eat his taco salad and he came over to the line and one of girls started talking him up. She asked if he had a girlfriend and he sighed and said there was a long story behind that one, but that he's single (OOOOH baggage), she didn't want to pry, so she pointed at me and said that someone here has a crush on him... *oooooh* and HE said, "Well, then I guess I'm going to have to start going to her store!" And I was all, "kkkheeeeheee heee." But we never talked....We'll see, if he truly loves me, he'll make the commute. He can stuff my burrito any day.

La Mujer de Tortillas no le gusta frijoles y pollllllloooooo.

I am starting to hate chicken...and beef...and rice...and fucking beans...and jalepenos...and onions...and salsa. Fuckin-A. Mexican food used to be one of my favorite foods ever. Dude...I feel like a burrito. Not any more. I hate em. I don't ever want to look at sour cream, tortillas, or taco beef again.
And this is my first week. Good God, what am I going to do? Working alongside food all day truly makes you not care about it. A steak doesn't look good when you have to cut up about 50 pounds of it and cook it all. And visualize your fingers getting chopped in the process. Rice doesn't have the same appeal when you make a vat of it that is half your size. This could be a great diet. Want to learn how to hate food? Fucking work in the kitchen of a restaurant. It's just a matter of time before you look at all of your favorite foods with a painful grimace.
Today I got to work the grill. I fucked up on some of the meat, but successfuly came home with ten fingers. I spilled a shitload of oil all over the back of the kitchen (ha) and cut open like 3 huge bags of veggies (only needed one) and started mixing chopped veggies instead of shredded fajita veggies (OOPS). I felt bad at first and then was like, what the hell. Not my money, I'm not getting paid by the hour, so fuck it.
Yesterday I drove one of the managers to the hospital after he sliced through his finger (to the bone). Keep in mind that this is the same guy that always jumps to my aide whenever I look like I am fucking up on anything. And to him, I am fucking up with EVERYTHING. It was dark humor-odd that he'd be the guy to dice too far and I was so sick to my stomach watching his finger bleed. I think I'd be the one to pass out if anyone hurt themselves on my watch. Anyway...I drove the dude to the hospital, he got all fixed up, and is still trying to help me in everything I do, despite his huge finger cast and bandages.
I feel like I am an adult now, with a shitty work schedule as I get up at 6 and work all day until 6. But then I feel like a fucking reject for the fact that I am in a restaurant. And a half assed one at that, due to the semi-fast/semi-sit down existance.
Every once in a blue moon I see a hot guy walk in...not going to meet anyone cool working at the burrito shack.
My future flame's friend: "Who's that swell girl you've met that you are going out with next week?"
Flame: "Oh...she's so cool! I met her at the Burrito Burrow. She works there every day. I guess the jeans and Tortilla hat are what really did it for me. That and she smells like my favorite food! I was smitten."
I am so screwed.
It's kinda hard to smile at the hot guy next to you when driving home, when you are covered in sour cream and wearing a black Taco hat.
I think I am going to pretend that I don't know English during my stint in the back of the house for my training. It works for all the Mexicans, they TOTALLY know what I'm talking about, but they act like I am a bumbling idiot. Even when I say, "Me GUSTA frijoles y quessssssoooooo." They look at me all funny.
Fuckers know what I'm talking about.
Whenever I pop out of the back it is quite odd to see who comes in to eat. And they always give me looks of pity. I wonder what they are thinking.
Taco Eater: "Wow...look at that, a 20+ white girl scrubbing dishes and scooping out beans and rice...what is she doing back there?"
Burrito Eater: "I wonder if she has a criminal? Can't speak English? Can't read? Failed out of school? Has a crack problem?"
I don't really know how long this is going to pan out, but I can pretend that I am 15 and hope for the best. If I get a shitload of acne like all the stereotypical meat flippers then I am high tailing it out of there.
ahahhaha. I am watching a weird movie, Die Mommy Die! This dude just told his mom that he was kicked out of school for starting a homosexual orgy...etc. The mom (guy in drag) is like..."Be honest. I'll be there for you 100% of the way...Are you a cocksucker?" =)

She Slices, She Dices, She Chops her way to Stardom

Day 2 in taco heaven, I smell like burritos already and in the 2 days I've worked I leave covered in EVERY thing that I touched in the kitchen. Sour cream and salsa both seeped into my shoes and I had my first fajita nightmare the other night. Well, by night I mean during the three hours of sleep I got from 2:30-5:30am this morning.
With that said, I semi-like being in the kitchen instead of the front of the house. However, I also like feeling my fingers and having the piece of mind that I will always have ten. (Sidenote - I am watching this movie, Wonderland, and despite a lot of criticism, the soundtrack is awesome.)
It's painfully obvious that I never worked in a kitchen before, from hosing myself while washing dishes, to spilling everything I hold. I almost wiped out carrying two huge buckets of some dressing-esque stuff that I spent about 30 minutes making and 40 minutes cleaning up. (The floor was slippery and I am a klutz). I caught myself, but all I can visualize when walking in the kitchen is my ass on the ground in an embarrasing attempt to walk.
With that aside, I have like 4 people telling me what to do, or mostly, what I'm doing wrong. Rightly so in some aspects, as I look like I just had my first encounter with a knife, even though I bonded with it for the 10 hours I worked yesterday. Apparently I have been cutting wrong all my life and people were scared that I was going to cut something off. Eh. So I've picked up some skills since my wobbly knife show. I NOW know how to cut 8 quarts of jalepeno peppers, onions, garlic, etc. I now know what a tomato corer looks like. I know how to make salsa for an army. (Today I made enough to fit in a container bigger than a full keg.) I did a whole lot more, but I will refrain from boring with details.
I have come to the conclusion that my new place of employment borders between fast food and a sit down restaurant. Hmmmm. Great. Everyone seems cool, but I have a beef with the second crew of kitchen ladies. They don't seem to like me very much, but I can't tell what they really think, because they talk so damn fast and my Spanish skills are about as good as my chopping abilities. But I DID grasp the fact that they thought it was funny I was in the kitchen with them, and my goofy Spanglish wasn't helping. Eh, the morning crew are cool enough.

And there it is. I am now a fiend in the kitchen and the sky is the limit.

Ten toed clutz narrowly escapes impeding discovery in jungle

So I decided to be useful this afternoon and de-weed our "back yard." Oh what fun, but I have my mind made up that I am on a mission. I head downstairs to go out through the back door to find that our careful to the point of paranoid roommate (Jason) has quadruple-locked the door and literally thrown away the key. The ONLY key to open the back door. Now I don't know if he literally threw it away, but it's dead bolted, bar locked on the top and bottom, and locked on the knob itself. Hmmmm. I never got the key to the deadbolt. So...I decide to walk around the house to do my dirty work.
I cross land minds of weeds and grass clumps and spiderwebs and start mowing my way through with the hedge clippers. i got like 3 inches and desided my efforts were futile. Then I started doing a sweeping motion with the clippers like a machete, while teetering on the planter wood thingie and almost cut off my toe. I was wearing sandals, which Omar would later shake his head at and say I should never do any kind of labor with bare toes. To which I think, pish posh, I like being bare toed. So...with the narrow escape on the toe front, I decide, "Fuck it, I am buying a weed wacker." So, I decide to cut the dead vine hanging on our fence, and am kinda walking around with a huge set of clippers looking all weird and kind of shady as I am walking around the common area of our back yards, as opposed to walking INTO my fucking house like a normal person. I decide that I'll cut off a part of the neighbor's vine that is growing on the outside of his fence (The house is vacant and totally a jungle, ours is shameful beside it.) and grow roots on it and plant it somewhere. Well I freak out cause the part I cut had a bug on it and I think I semi-screamed like a little bitch and saw something move in the next yard over. Someone was WATCHING me through the cracks. That really made me freak out and I tried to run away, but tripped on a root and semi-falled, semi-gimped AROUND my house with the clippers in one hand, and half a branch in the other. Fucking nosy neighbors.