Strain and Pain

The next six weeks went by with the same pattern as the ones before. I worked Thursday through Sunday every week, and Brandon worked pretty much every night. We hadn't been able to find a car we could afford, so were driving my mom's minivan to work. The van was fine, but the jobs were driving us insane.

Brandon was always exhausted and hated working for Wal-Mart. He was starting to take his work issues out on me, and it was causing a lot of fighting. However, it wasn't all his fault. Waitressing was turning out to be a terrible fit for me. I was a very social person, but got very little interaction with the customers. I did all the scut work for ungrateful senior servers, who took all the tips despite the fact that I busted my butt to deliver the entrees and clear the tables of all the dishes used. At a buffet like ours, that meant that I was making at least 5 trips to each table. The amount I ended up getting for this was less than 5% of their nightly haul. The cooks were perverts, the managers were perverts, the dishwashers were perverts...everywhere I walked someone made a lewd comment or whistled. I wished I had gotten into a restaurant where they didn't have the "senior server" and "server assistant" distinctions. Most of my friends were servers at other restaurants and talked about the relationships they had forged with regulars and how great their jobs were. My frustrations at work spilled over to my home life, and Brandon and I were fighting worse than ever about everything.


I was aware that I was being too sensitive, but I couldn't help it. Brandon's exhaustion had him snapping at me over minor things, which caused me to get angry. It always happened the same way...he snapped, I cried for a long time and yelled at him, he yelled back and then apologized, I accepted it...we circled around and around like that for a long time.

The breaking point came in mid-August.

We were sitting in bed on one of Brandon's nights off, watching a movie. Something in the movie reminded me of a comment made to me by the dishwasher, John, and I mentioned it to Brandon. His response was snappy and standoffish...it had become our way of life to argue at least twice a day. We were both stressed and tired.

"Babe, do you really have to snap over everything I say? It's getting old." He said nothing, which just irritated me further. "And ignoring me isn't going to do anything. It just makes you look dumb."
"Well, forgive me for being retarded!" Brandon was very sensitive about this topic, which I never thought about before talking. It was quite insensitive of me.
"You're not fucking retarded!" I slammed my hands against the bed, tears welling in my eyes. "I just don't understand why you had to snap at me."
"I don't understand why you always have to fucking talk about the jerks you work with. If they're so great, just go fucking run off with one of them."
"Sometimes I think I should...they probably wouldn't snap at me as much as you do!"
"Whatever."
"No, not whatever. This is bullshit...I know you're tired and hate your job, but I'm tired and hate my job too. I'm also tired of being treated like fucking dirt!" At this, he got off the bed and made to walk out of the room. I wasn't one to let fights linger, though. I had to talk about it until things were fixed. This obsessive attitude didn't sit well with Brandon, who always wanted a period of time to cool down. I should've given them to him and never did. That night would show me how much of a mistake my behavior really was.

I shot up off the bed and launched myself against the door, putting myself between it and Brandon.
"Move." His voice was deadly quiet.
"No." I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin, giving him an angry stare.
"J, just let me go."
"No, we need to talk about this. You keep treating me like crap...everything I say or do is wrong. I really don't see why I should stay around and put up with this anymore!"
"Fine, just fucking leave me then."
"Is that what you want? Cause I totally will...you can just go back to Savannah and be with all your stupid friends. Kurt would LOVE that!"
"Then fucking do it! Just let me out of this room!"
"No! You always run away from all of our fights!"

Brandon and I were both reformed self-mutilators...me because of the physical abuse suffered at the hands of my older sister, and Brandon because of the terrible mess left by his birth mother. That's why I was both shocked and terrified at what he did next. He reached down onto a shelf under our TV, where we had placed a kitchen knife set for use when we ate dinner in our room. He placed one of the steak knives against his arm and glared at me.
"Let me out and leave me alone, J." It was a threat, and my reaction to it was rash and stupid.
"Brandon!" I reached out and grabbed the knife to pull it away from him. Instead of disarming him, I instead managed to wound him.

We both stared for a moment at the huge gash I had left in his arm. It was about 4 inches across and had exposed the muscle.
"Oh my god!" I started crying hysterically, throwing the knife to the side and grabbing the nearest towel. I threw it at him and he pressed it against his arm, his face white. There was blood all over the hardwood floor in our room and I thought Brandon was going to pass out. "Baby, go down and get in the van...I'll be right down." I threw shoes on and ran down the hall to my parents' room, still crying.
"J, what's wrong?" My mom picked her head up off her pillow, her tone sleepy and concerned.
"I have to take Brandon to the hospital..." I told them the story, crying the entire time. My parents were obviously very worried, but did not spare me from their opinion...which was that we were both stupid. I agreed with them and then went down and flung myself into the van. Brandon was leaning back against the seat, his breathing a bit shallow. The cut was far up his arm, so I wasn't worried about anything other than him passing out.

I slammed the van into drive and sped to the hospital, cursing our move the entire way. Before we moved to the country, we lived 8 blocks from the hospital. Now we lived half an hour from it. I made the trip in 20 minutes, running two red lights and numerous stop signs on the way there. It wasn't a life-threatening injury, but I was a panicker.

We arrived at the emergency room, where I slid the van into a parking space and rushed Brandon inside. The receptionist took one look at his face, which was paper white, and ushered us into a room. A few minutes later, a nurse walked in. I was shocked. This was one of the worst hospitals in the area, known for their exceptionally long waiting periods. Brandon must've looked worse than I thought he did.
"Ok, what do we have here?" He eyed the towel against Brandon's arm as he started getting his vital signs. I told the story in halting phrases, tears flowing down my cheeks as I held Brandon's hand. The nurse's face went from pleasant to concerned to angry, and I sighed. I was the bad guy in all this. Jeremy, the nurse, directed his next question to Brandon. "Do you want her to leave the room?"
"No, I don't." Brandon squeezed my hand and I smiled weakly through my tears. The nurse looked disapproving, but said nothing else about it.
"I need to see the wound." He started to peel away the towel, and Brandon squeezed my hand. The towel stuck in a few spots, but finally came off and exposed the huge gash. "Oh..." Jeremy touched it lightly in a few spots and then nodded. "The doctor will be in shortly." He left.
When he was gone, Brandon started crying.
"Baby, are you okay?"
"I'm so sorry, love...I am so sorry."
"No, I'm sorry."
"I treat you so badly...you don't deserve it."
"Forget it, Brandon...please." He nodded and I got him a paper towel to wipe his face. "Let's talk about good times."

For an hour, we reminisced about the beginning of our relationship, and the two blissful weeks when we first met. Then a knock sounded on the door and startled us both out of our memories.
"Come in." A plump, matronly woman entered and looked at me pointedly.
"Hi, I'm Anne. I'm a social worker called by the hospital, and they'd like me to speak with you both." Anger welled up inside me, but all I could do was start crying again. "Can I speak with you first..." Quick paperwork check. "Brandon?"
"Sure."
"Could you please wait outside, J?" Brandon held my hand tight, but I pulled it away gently. I wasn't going to argue and make the mess any bigger than it already was.

I stood outside for about five minutes, and then Anne came back out and asked me to walk to the waiting room with her. I did. We sat down in the uncomfortable chairs provided and she began to ask questions about our relationship and if it was always "abusive". When she said that, I laughed. I didn't mean to...it just happened, and Anne glared at me.
"Do you find abuse funny?"
"No, I find the notion of Brandon and I abusing each other funny." Her attitude was beginning to annoy me. "He's far too mellow to abuse anyone, and I love him too much to lay a hand on him."
"Then what caused this?"
"We were fighting, he tried to walk away, I wouldn't let it go...he must've gotten desperate." I started crying again, and her expression softened.
"J, you have to learn to let go a little...let Brandon walk away, and he'll come back and talk to you when he's ready." I nodded, my face in my hands. "I suggested this to him, and now I'll suggest it to you. I think you two need a safe word. When one of you gets overwhelmed, you just say it and the other person has to go away for an hour. It might help prevent things like this in the future."
"That's a good idea."
"Will you try it?"
"Yes, I'll make sure we do." She nodded.
"Ok...you can go back to him now." I stood and walked back to Brandon's room, almost afraid to walk in. I opened the door and he smiled at me, which melted my heart.

"Hi, babe."
"Hi."
"What did she say to you?"
"That we needed a safe word...you?"
"First she asked if I wanted to press charges against you...when I said no, she suggested the safe word."
"Are we going to do it?"
"Yeah, I think we should." He reached out for my hand, which I laid in his as I sat down.
"What do you want to use?"
"I don't know..." We both thought for a while before Brandon finally spoke. "What's the Spanish word for love?"
"Amor?"
"Let's use that." I smiled.
"Ok...we'll use that, babe." I leaned over and kissed him as the door opened and Jeremy rolled a cart inside.
"The doctor will be in here in just a minute." We both nodded. Sure enough, the doctor came in a few minutes later and sat down in a chair on the left side of Brandon's bed. He chatted with us briefly about what he was going to do, and then began swabbing around the wound with iodine. Brandon squeezed his eyes shut and gripped my hand. I rubbed his knuckles as I watched helplessly, unable to assuage his pain. When the doctor starting stitching, I had to look away. Needles gave me the chills.

30 minutes later, Brandon was bandaged up and we were on our way home. There was very little talk in the van, but when we got home Brandon opened up. He talked about how he hated his job and wanted to quit, but was afraid I'd be disappointed. His anger and frustration and exhaustion were making him touchy and he didn't mean to take it out on me. I talked too, basically about the same thing (minus the exhaustion).

While we talked, I cleaned the floor. Scrubbing Brandon's blood off the hardwood made me cry again, which upset Brandon.
"It's okay, love...we'll be fine. We have our safe word now." I smiled at him, but secretly knew that we'd never have to use the safe word. My entire attitude about arguments had changed.

I had learned my lesson.

New Rules

I'm sorry, guys, I really tried to let it go, but I can't.

From this day forward, I'm going to be moderating the blog comments. It seems to be the better option, since my first reaction was giving up on the blog. While I love my regular commentors, and even honestly enjoy reading the negative reactions to my blog, I absolutely refuse to sit by and let immature people ruin the future of the blog. What I am doing today hardly matters to the current storyline, which is set in summer of 2006 at the moment. The things I am doing today will be covered in their own time. Until then, they are not relevant or appropriate to discuss.

I've made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life. That's why I started the blog...it's not always dramatic, and it's not always happy. I take responsibility for and learn from my stupid actions. I promise that I have a lot left in store for those reading, and it's kind of crazy. I really hope that you guys will stay and read, even if you don't always agree with the dumb stuff that I do.

J

EDIT: I would like to point out that both positive and negative comments will be posted. The only comments I will be rejecting are the inflammatory comments aimed at ruining my blog or distressing me personally.

"Car"-ma

The following night, as we were cleaning up the kitchen to close, I got next to Lexi.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, J...what's up?" I lowered my voice and told her about what Brad had said to me the night before. She smiled sadly. "Yeah, that's common...they'll do it to you no matter what you say to them."
"What about going to the managers?" She gave me another sad smile.
"I've tried that...they're just as bad."
"Why do you still work here in this terrible environment?"
"I make good tips and I need the money." We chatted more and I learned that she was a senior at the local branch of Penn State. Her education was expensive and living on campus was too much for her, so she and a friend were splitting the costs for an apartment. With jobs scarce, she couldn't find anything else. When she was done talking, I shook my head.
"That sucks..."
"I know...but you'll eventually learn to ignore them, J."
"Is that why you wear a jacket over your top?"
"Yeah, that's why." We finished cleaning the coffee pots and walked out.

Brandon was waiting for me in the parking lot, and I waved to Lexi as I got in the car.
"See you next weekend."
"Later, J."

"Hi, babe...how was your first day?" I hesitated briefly before answering.
"It was pretty good." Brandon, having been in my life for over a year now, caught my pause and the catch in my voice.
"Pretty good?" He looked at me.
"Yeah...the cook is a pervert."
"Well, you'll have those, love."
"I know..."
"Is he upsetting you?"
"Not really...it's just he seems kind of sure that he could get in my pants, which annoys me."
"Go to the manager and say something?"
"Lexi said they won't do anything...in fact, she says they're exactly the same."
"Oh...well, just ignore it and do your job. Maybe you could find something else soon?" I nodded.
"That is always a possibility."

We got home and relaxed for the rest of the night. Brandon was sweet enough to give me a foot rub...having been a mildly spoiled daddy's girl my whole life (no issues admitting it), I was not used to being on my feet for 6 hours straight.

The next day, they had given me off. I was only working Friday and Saturday nights for three weeks, until my probationary period was up. After that, I'd go to Thursday-Sunday shifts. Brandon and I chose the day to run a few errands we'd been putting off. He also wanted to apply for a job at the Wal-Mart near us.

We went out and I got into the driver's seat of my little red Cavalier. I turned the key and nothing happened. I was completely confused.
"Babe, what's wrong with the car?"
"I don't know...call your dad over." I got out and went to the front door, where I yelled for Dad.
"Daddy?!"
"What?"
"Something's wrong with my car!" He came up from the basement.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know...it won't start." He followed me out to the front of the house, where he attempted to start my car a few times.
"I don't know what's wrong with it either, J. I guess you'll have to take Brandon's."
"Okay."
"I'll call Haven and have him come look at it later."
"Okay, Dad." We got in Brandon's car and left as Dad was dialing his cell phone.

We got back later with some good news. Brandon had been asked by the manager on duty to come back for an interview on Tuesday. Dad, however, had bad news. Haven, who was Dad's go-to car guy, had looked at my red Cavalier and pronounced it dead. It apparently had a myriad of problems, which Dad listed while I pretended to listen. I had no idea what he was talking about anyway, and I was sad over my car. I'd had it since I graduated high school, and despite the fact that it was just a car, I'd really become attached to it. Brandon gave me a hug and smiled.
"At least we still have mine to drive, babe...it's not that big a deal." I looked at the white Cavalier and nodded.
"I guess you're right."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Tuesday, Brandon got his job at Wal-Mart. He had applied for a position as a second-shift cashier, but was offered a $2 pay increase to work third-shift stocker. He took it. He started Wednesday night, and hated it immediately. The other stockers were standoffish to him, which didn't bother him...he was not a very social person. What did bother him was the fact that he overheard them taking bets on how long he'd last. They gave him a week. When he told me this, I was livid. Brandon was one of the hardest workers I knew.

Friday came and I got ready to leave for work. It was pouring rain, which made me incredibly uncomfortable. The Cavalier my parents had given Brandon was a wagon and handled differently than mine had.
"Babe, make sure you have your cell phone."
"But it's dead."
"Fine, take mine."
"Brandon, I'll be fine."
"Take it." He pressed his phone into my hand, gave me a kiss, and then went back to sleep. He had work that night.

I got into his car and left, driving as slowly as I could to get used to his car. I was driving on the winding roads that led from our house to the main road that the restaurant was on, so I was a little scared. Once I got comfortable with the way the vehicle was handling, I sped up a bit. This was a mistake.

Suddenly, I began to hydroplane. I'd never really driven in the rain before...Brandon got badly carsick if he wasn't driving, so I rarely drove when we were going somewhere. Because of this, I panicked. I stomped the brakes, which caused the car to slide further. Even though I knew I had to calm down, I couldn't. I jerked the steering wheel to turn into a curve and went right off the road into the guardrail. The front of the car struck it hard and I wrenched the wheel back in the other direction, hearing the rough melody of metal on metal as the entire passenger side of the Cavalier scraped against the guardrail.

I finally got the car stopped and starting bawling. I had never had a car accident before and was completely terrified. All I could think was that Brandon was going to be mad at me for ruining our car. After a few minutes of crying, I finally realized that I had to call work. I dialed the number, silently thanking Brandon for forcing me to take his phone.
"Brennan Family Restaurant, how can I help you today?"
"Can I speak with Robert?" My voice trembled dangerously.
"Sure, hold on."
A minute later, he came on the line.
"This is Robert."
"Hey, Robert...this is J."
"Hi, J, what do you need?" I burst into tears again.
"I crashed my car...I might...might be a little late." I was gasping for breath and he waited a moment for me to calm down.
"J, don't worry about coming in...we have coverage and this won't count against you. Just get everything taken care of and we'll see you next week."
"Ok, thank you." I hung up and wiped my eyes. Then, with a deep sigh, I called my mom's cell phone.

"Hello?"
"Mom?"
"What's wrong?"
"I crashed the Cavalier!" I started sobbing all over again, resting my head against the steering wheel.
"Where are you?"

I explained my location to her, and could hear her rushing around the house over the line.

"We'll be right there!" She hung up and I got out of the car, pulling my hoodie tight around me. I walked around the passenger side, my black sneakers making squishing noises as I slogged through the mud. The front bumper was cracked and pushed backward, and there were dents and huge scratches down the entire side of the car. Seeing the damage I caused made me start crying again. I sat against the guardrail, ignoring how wet I was getting, and waited.

A few minutes later, my dad's red Tracker came speeding up. My mom jumped out and ran to me, starting to cry. I wasn't sure why she was crying, but I didn't care. All that mattered was that they were there. Brandon and Dad got out of the Geo after Mom, but walked over to the Cavalier while my mom hugged me.
"I'm sorry, babe!" He shook his head and extracted me from my mom so he could hold me. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
"It's okay, J...all that matters is that you're okay." He squeezed me for a minute and then pulled away. He had some tears in his eyes, which just made me want to cry more. We turned to see Dad laying in the mud, looking under the car.
"I think it's okay, guys. It looks like it's cosmetic damage." He got up off the ground. "Brandon, drive it home." Brandon nodded and then tried to open the passenger door so I could get in. It opened about 6 inches and then stopped.
"Babe, it's okay...I'll ride with Mom and Dad."
"Ok, see you at home." I got in the Tracker, followed by my parents, and we waited for Brandon to pull away. Dad watched the car carefully as we headed back down the mountain.

When we got home, Brandon put the car in the driveway. Dad pulled his car out front and got out, shaking his head.
"The axle's broken. It's not worth fixing." I teared up and Brandon put an arm around me.
"I'm sorry I ruined your car."
"It's okay, babe. It's okay." We went inside, where I sank down on the loveseat and sighed.

In less than a week, we were carless. Luckily my parents each had one, but it wasn't the same as having our own.

How much more stuff could I mess up?

Starting Work

**These are just a few comments on the incredibly long comment thread for my previous post...feel free to ignore them.

Number one, I never said that other colleges didn't expect high quality work. I also don't recall saying anything that insinuated that. However, the others who attended community colleges can back me up in saying that not all schools require high quality work. Mine sure didn't.

Number two, my readers asking for posts doesn't give me a big head. Actually, nothing any of you could say give me a big head. I enjoy the compliments I get, I try to ignore the insults, and I just write. I'd actually like to thank those of you who kept asking...I had a LOT of work to make up for management class, since our final was due this week, and your comments kept me working as hard as I could so that I would be able to get back to my blog as soon as I could. Even though I didn't post recently, I managed to garner a few new followers, and I was really looking forward to coming back and writing again.

And I just feel like saying this again...for those people who seem to come here just to comment about not liking my blog, don't feel like you have to come here or like you have to read my blog. No one is forcing you.

To my loyal readers who patiently waited while I dealt with the computer problems and my late management work, thank you so much! You're all wonderful!**



Over the next week, I learned to both love and hate the new house. I forgot my mental note to not go outside, and spent a lot of time in the backyard helping my parents clean it up. My dad mowed the lawn and got rid of the weeds, and my mom and I planted some sunflowers.

I also quickly came to regret forgetting my mental note.
"J, can you run down and turn the water on in the basement?"
"Sure, Mom!" I put my hand on the railing of the back porch stairs and began walking up. Unfortunately, there was a wasp nest under the railing that I was unaware of...my unawareness didn't last. They wanted me to know they were there, and succeeded in alerting me with three new stings in my already stung arm. I screamed.
"More bees?" My mom's voice floated around the corner as my dad dropped the weedwhacker and ran to me.
"Yeah, there's a nest here!" I tore up the stairs inside as my dad sprayed at the nest with foaming bee killer. Sniffling like a baby, I grabbed ice packs and held them against my hand and lower arm. It was a precarious balancing act. My mom walked in from the back porch, shaking her head. I heard my dad yelling outside and could only assume she was shaking her head at him.
"What's going on?" She laughed.
"Your dad has declared a vendetta against the bees." I groaned.
"Mom, make him stop!"
"You know your dad..." She took a rag towel out of one of the kitchen boxes, ripped it into strips, and tied the ice packs onto my stings.
"Thanks, Mom." I gave her a weak smile, tears still rimming my eyes. This whole situation was not doing anything good for my bee-phobia.
"You're welcome, sweetie." She started to go back out into the backyard, but stopped short when we heard a loud yell of pain from front of the house. I got there first, with Mom just on my heels. Tearing the front door open, I saw Brandon dancing around next to a cinderblock. He ran for the front door and slammed it when he got through.
"Babe, are you okay?"
"Yeah...I just got stung."
"Seriously?" Mom bent down and looked at his ankle, which had a large red welt with a small white spot inside it.
"I was pulling on the hose, and it was stuck under the cinderblock...guess they didn't like me jostling their house." I went back into the kitchen, grabbed our last ice pack, and walked back to front room.
"It's a good thing these things are reusable...I have a feeling the bees aren't done with us."
"If your dad has his way, they are."

Unfortunately, my dad's ways were often unorthodox and involved things no normal human would ever consider. I learned this a few days later, when I was finally starting my waitressing job. I dressed in a t-shirt and black pants, because I hadn't gotten my uniform shirts yet. When I was ready, I went downstairs to find Brandon. He was outside with my dad, who was working on something off to the side of the house. Before either of them noticed me, I heard a conversation taking place that made me very nervous.
"Roger, you missed a hornet's nest up there."
"Really? I have to get that one." I heard silence and then the back door. A few minutes later, my dad came back out with a flyswatter. I finally had to speak up.
"Dad, don't!" But it was too late. He smacked the nest off the back porch roof and a cloud of hornets swarmed out of it. I wrenched open the passenger door to my mom's van and threw myself inside. I frantically shut all the vents in my panic, even though I knew it would do nothing against them. They wouldn't come in through the vents, but my frightened brain didn't care. It could only process the hundreds of hornets swarming all over the van and the deck.
"Babe!" I called for Brandon, but he didn't hear me. He and my dad were laying on the ground laughing.

What seemed like hours (but was really five minutes) later, Brandon stood up and got in the car. The hornets were all on the deck roof again, presumably rebuilding their nest. Dad had gone in search of wasp killer to prevent them from doing that.
"You guys are idiots." I looked at Brandon as he settled into the drivers seat.
"Eh, it's fine."
"Until you get stung 100 times." He pulled out of the driveway and we headed up the mountain.

He dropped me off with a kiss.
"I'll be back to get you at 9."
"Ok...I love you."
"Love you too." I shut the door and went inside the restaurant. The hostess standing at the register gave me the once over before pointing me back into the open kitchen. I walked over to the office, where a younger guy was sitting.
"Hello?"
"Hi, are you J?"
"Yes..."
"Come in...I have some paperwork for you to fill out, then we need to get you some shirts and get you in training." I nodded and sat down at the desk in the cramped office. I filled out what seemed like thirty thousand forms while he browsed a rack of shirts on the opposite wall. "You're definitely a small...here's two blue and two red." He laid 4 shirts on the desk next to me. "You can go change when you're done."

I finished filling out the forms and went to the bathroom to change. The small shirt fit, but was very form fitting. I would've preferred a medium, but I decided not to make waves about it. All the other girls seemed to be wearing tightly fitting shirts as well. I went back out into the kitchen and poked my head into the office.
"Hi, I'm ready."
"Ok...hey, Lexi!" A tall, skinny girl with a cardigan over her work shirt came over.
"Yeah?"
"Can you show J here the ropes?" I resisted the urge to laugh. Who used that phrase anymore?
"Sure, Chad, I can." She offered me her hand. "Hi, J. I'm Lexi."
"Hi, Lexi."

For the next hour, Lexi taught me the point of my job. It was basically to make coffee, premake dinner salads, take entrees to tables, and clear dishes. I didn't get to take orders, enter orders, or collect tips. I was doing all the work of a server without any of the perks. Rather than get tips, the "server assistants" were given a small percentage of the nightly tips from the servers. It sounded like a crappy system to me, but I wasn't going to complain. I was making my own money, and that was what mattered.

I finally got to try things on my own, and I headed back into the kitchen to pick up some finished entrees. The cooks gave me admiring stares as I picked up the plates and took them out of the kitchen. I delivered the meals to the table and then walked back in. One of them, a guy named Brad, spoke up.
"Hey."
"Hi." I started wrapping some silverware, which put me right in front of their window.
"You new?"
"Yeah..." It was a stupid question.
"Forgive me for saying this, but you're pretty hot."
"Thank you." I ran out of silverware and moved on to slicing lemons for iced tea.
"Wanna visit my backseat during your break? I promise it would be worth your while." I looked at him with disbelief on my face.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think my boyfriend would like that idea." His cook buddies laughed, but he didn't look fazed at all.
"I don't see him here...and does he ever have to find out?" I set the lemons down and walked away to go collect dirty dishes. Being hit on was no big deal to me, but his attitude floored me. He seemed completely assured of his success.

Why did I seem to attract jerks everywhere I went?

Happy belated Halloween!

Hi, guys! Let me start out by apologizing as much as I possibly can for this weekend! I fully intended to have both a Friday and Saturday post up, but fate seems to hate me really badly. Please bear with me while I regale you with my awful story.

Saturday was easily the WORST Halloween I'd ever had. Friday night I had a huge assignment due for my management class, so I wasn't able to finish the post before midnight (that's when I get off work on normal days). So I rationalized that I would be able to put the finishing touches on it and post it together with Saturday's post, which I figured you guys would understand. I was also planning to write a 2 page paper for management class on Saturday, which was due today. Well, I came into work Saturday at noon, only to find that my computer had suffered a hard drive meltdown while our third shift girl was doing something for one of the servicemen. It wasn't her fault...it was a common action that we've done hundreds of times. It was just one of those things. But that's what I walked in to.

Then the girl here before me left without unlocking her computer, so I panicked...our dispatch Windows login only works on our broken computer. After a few minutes of freaking out, I realized that our payroll girl had left hers on and unlocked. I was happy, because my day was saved, and I alerted my boss to the issue with the computer and the fact that I'd logged onto our program on the payroll computer. 5 minutes after I finished talking to my boss, the power went out. (Told you that fate hated me.) So I lost access to any computer whatsoever. I tried to get on the blog on my phone to alert you guys, but even that wouldn't work.

I ended up having to do everything manually, which wasn't hard, but was annoying.

Sunday, I would've posted from home, but I had very long standing plans...I went to visit my friend Alex B and his fiancee in South PA. He and I have been friends since 1st grade and I haven't seen him since August when they moved to Ephrata. It was a nice break from my crazy work schedule, cause we went to Hershey's Chocolate World and ate ourselves silly with chocolate. I love that place so much!

So I'd like to apologize again for the posts being so late, but I won't be able to post them until tomorrow. I have to write the paper for my management class and get that in ASAP for credit, so I have to spend tonight doing that. Please keep an eye out for all three late posts tomorrow!

J

The Big Move

The next day I woke up at 8 and poked Brandon until he stirred.
"Babe, it's time to get up..." He grumbled and pulled the blankets over his head. I'd never met anyone as reluctant to get up as Brandon was. "I'm serious...we have to get up and start the moving."
"I don't want to..."
"Doesn't matter...let's go." I drug myself out of bed, got dressed, and then proceeded to drag Brandon out of bed. Once he was dressed, we threw the rest of our clothes into plastic storage containers and carried them downstairs. My parents had already moved most of the boxes into the front two rooms, and had begun loading up the cars. We joined them, taking boxes out and putting them in the trunks and backseats. My dad had borrowed a friend's truck to move the big stuff, so he and Brandon loaded it with the living room furniture.

After the cars and the truck were loaded up, we headed to the new house to unload them. After 3 hours of walking in and out of the double and the new house, I was remembered why I hated moving. It was noon and very hot.

We headed back to the double for another load of stuff, and I said what everyone was thinking.
"How did we get so much crap after the fire?" My mom laughed.
"People kept giving us stuff." She was right, of course. Her boss' daughters had given me bags upon bags of clothing, so I had more clothes now than I had before the fire. More and more boxes were moved out...all the bedrooms were empty, and the kitchen and living room had one last trip. Brandon and my dad loaded up the truck with mattresses and dressers and we headed out again.

3 hours later we were back at the double for our last load of belongings. We did a few sweeps of the house, grabbed some extra little stuff that had escaped boxes, and then there was just one large piece left. It was a huge microsuede couch my parents had bought that hadn't fit in the truck with the rest of the living room furniture. I waited impatiently as Dad and Brandon wrestled it down the porch stairs, tapping my hand on the railing. This was a mistake.

The inhabitants of that railing, a swarm of yellow jackets, were a little offended by my abuse of their homestead. They expressed that by coming out and stinging my arm. I didn't notice them until it was too late.
"Aaaaah!" I screamed bloody murder and clapped my hand against the sting. "MOM!" I burst into tears and shoved past my dad to get into the house where my mom was.
"What's wrong?!" I showed her my upper arm, which was red and swelling rapidly and she breathed a sigh of relief. "J, it's just a bee sting." I whimpered. Bees were one of my biggest fears. She opened the freezer (the fridge was staying in the double) and pulled out the remnants of a bag of ice. "I had to clean this out anyway." She pressed it to my arm. Brandon and my dad came running in a minute later.
"What happened?" Brandon looked at my arm and then gave me a hug.
"Bee." My voice came out small and I noticed him trying to suppress a laugh.
"Aw, love..." He hugged me as my dad smiled. My whole family thought I was crazy for being afraid of bees. They also felt the same way about arachnophobia and my fear of needles. Mom called them all irrational.

After that small bit of excitement, we headed out for the final time. Dad returned the keys to the landlord, who lived next door, and then we drove away to go to our new house. When we got there, we unloaded the cars (thankfully for the last time) and then started putting the house together.

The first order of business was to select bedrooms. My parents had chosen to take the bedroom in the back, which wasn't really a bedroom at all. It had been added after the house was built, and it was a second story sunroom. The room was two halves separated by gorgeous double doors, and my parents planned to use one half as a bedroom and the other as a personal living room. Joel got the room next to them, Emily took the one next to Joel, and Brandon and I chose the room at the top of the stairs. There was no fighting about it, which was strange for my family. However, I wasn't going to argue with calm.

We all started carrying boxes up the stairs and setting up our bedrooms. Once Brandon and I had gotten all our stuff in the room, I went to go explore. The house had been built in 1895 and was obviously in disrepair. My parents said that it hadn't been lived in for almost 4 years. The yard was overrun with weeds and bees, which was obviously a cause for concern with me. I made a mental note not to go outside at all. The kitchen was carpeted, for some reason, in an ugly green/maroon paisley print. My dad had already decided to rip it up. The house had been turned into two apartments by the previous owners, and my dad had also made plans to rip down the walls and make it into one house again.

That was like Dad...we could never live in a place without him trying to renovate it. His projects were extensive and very slow to be completed. He'd tear the entire house apart before fixing even one room.

We spent the rest of the night settling in. Mom and Dad ran out to pick up something for dinner, because Dad hadn't hooked up the stove yet. We ate in front of the TV, exhausted from the long day of moving. After dinner, Brandon and I went upstairs to finish setting up our room. Brandon's biggest worry was the TV...he wanted to watch Family Guy. I knew it was his favorite show, but it was driving me insane.

I unpacked our clothes and put them away while Brandon hooked up the electronics and hauled the empty boxes/storage containers to the attic. By 11 PM, we had our room entirely set up. I looked around with a small smile. As upsetting as it was to be almost half an hour away from my friends, I liked our new place.

I hoped the new house would bring around other good changes in our lives.

J's Job

*Just so everyone knows, the posts weren't here yesterday because my work was kind enough to give me the day off after I stayed up for 26 hours for them. Rather than turning on the computer, I decided to catch up on sleep and hang out with my family, who I never see thanks to my crazy work schedule. Sorry for anyone I upset by not posting.*

The following Thursday rolled around quicker than I expected. I woke up that morning around 11 AM and grabbed a shower. My interview was at 1 PM, and I was incredibly nervous. While I was a very charismatic person, I was also very talkative. That was a nice way for my friends and family to say that I talked too much. They teased me about it a lot.

I went back to my bedroom and started searching through outfits. I had a lot of jeans and t-shirts, but I didn't think that would cut it for something like this. Even for a laid-back restaurant interview, I wanted to look nice. I pulled out a blue sweater and rejected it. It was May, and was incredibly warm. The sweater would look out of place. After about 6 different outfits, I finally settled on a pair of khakis and a short sleeved pink blouse. It got a thumbs up from Brandon, so it was decided. I slipped on a pair of white heeled sandals and we left the house.

It was a long drive up the mountain to the restaurant, and I was terrified the entire time. I had never done a job interview, and so I didn't know how to act. Brandon was trying to reassure me, but it wasn't working well.
"Babe, you'll be fine...they'll love you."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're wonderful."
"You have to say that."
"Why?"
"Because you're my boyfriend. You have to think I'm amazing."
"But you are."
"What if I say something stupid?"
"Don't."
"Oh, that's good advice." We pulled into their parking lot and Brandon gave me a quick kiss.
"Good luck, babe."
"Thanks." I got out of the car and walked inside on rubber legs. There was someone standing at the register and I approached them.

"Hi...I'm here for an interview?" She gave me an appraising glance and then picked up the phone.
"Your 1 is here, Harry." I should've paid attention to her, but I was too nervous. A minute later, an older man came out of the back and shook my hand.
"Hi, Robbie?"
"No, I'm Harry." I laughed and blushed. What a way to start my interview!
"I'm so sorry...Robert told me he'd be interviewing me."
"He's out sick today...would you follow me?" He took me back into what looked like the banquet room. I took a seat across from him and we began the interview. I was even more nervous after my stupid comment.

He asked a few questions about what I'd been doing since I graduated high school, and I told him about my major and classes. We talked about a few other things and then, somehow, the topic of music came up. When he found out I was a trumpet player, he immediately perked up.
"Really? Me too!"
"That's cool."
We proceeded to talk about trumpet playing for a bit, and then he stood.
"I have a few other interviews to do, but I'd like to hire you. Can you start next Friday?" I was thrilled.
"Of course!"
"Great...we'll start you as a server assistant. If you show skill, you'll be promoted to a server." I nodded.
"Thank you so much." We shook hands, he told me what time to report, and I practically floated back outside to Brandon.

He took one look at my face and smiled.
"You got the job?"
"Yes!!"
"Congratulations, baby." He gave me a kiss and we headed back home. I called my mom.
"Mom, I got the job! I start next Friday!"
"Awesome...let's celebrate. I'll call your dad!"

When we got home, there was a cake and three half gallons of ice cream.
"Congratulations, J!" My family was standing by the table when I walked in. Our idea of celebrating always involved dessert.
"Thanks, guys!" We cut the cake and ate a ridiculous amount of it with ice cream, and then my dad had to go to work. The rest of us set to work packing. Our move was going to take place that weekend, and we were a little less than ready.

The rest of the night was spent in a flurry of packing and sorting boxes. We had far too much crap that we had collected in the months since the fire. Replacing our belongings had left us with even more belongings than we'd had.

When we went to bed that night, Brandon made it a point to tell me how proud he was of me.
"Congratulations again, babe." He gave me a kiss. Sleep for me came slowly, the upcoming move weighing on my mind.

I didn't know why it upset me so much.