Dear Diary, last night after another /fabulous/ night at the restaurant I wandered over to my favorite dive bar. The kind where you walk in and it stinks but at least the beer is cold. It just so happened to be the bartenders birthday. Even if I hadn't been told prior to visiting said bar, her sash and tiara gave it away. To distract myself from my own self-loathing thoughts I decided to watch everyone else wasting their Monday night. Unfortunately that meant me, some weird guy, and the birthday girl. It's nothing against her, she's perky and an absolute sweetheart. But, all I could think was "shut up the fuck up!". Like can't you tell I don't want to talk to you? Of course I didn't express any of these emotions because there is no need for me to be a raging bitch to a perfect stranger doing her job and trying to make the most of what had to be the shittiest birthday night ever. The more I thought about it the worse I felt for this poor girl. 30 and bartending at some shit bar in some shit neighborhood.. all alone. She had two "friends" join her and one even brought a gift. Sweet right? Not really. It was a custom shot glass with her face on it.. not the birthday girl.. the "friend". Maybe its just me, but I wouldn't even consider that a gift. Do you stock-buy these shit glasses and hand them out to people so they think you care? Maybe I'm just cynical. After all, I spent my birthday completely alone. Even my brothers didn't call to say Happy Birthday. Or my Dad. Yikes.
Here let me start over.. "Dear Diary, I hate my life and everything sucks all the time." Does that sum up the first paragraph a bit better?