A Sunday Morning worthy of Velvet Underground...

At the moment, I'm functioning on five hours of sleep for the "day" (I got off work at 4:40, chatted with cousin Anne 'til 6). But more if you count hours of sleep as accumulation. Most college students do. Otherwise, expressions such as, "I have had about 30 minutes of sleep in the last week," wouldn't exist and instead one might hear things along the lines of, "well today I got maybe a minute or two of shut-eye." Right. Like college students would actually use an expression like "shut-eye." Cousin D and her roommate Claire have gone to both Carolinas this weekend, and since their Betta fish, who I affectionately call Traci Lords in blatant disregard for whatever other name they gave this fish, cannot take care of herself, I am fish sitting. Traci is temporarily homeless, as her fishbowl was broken. She arrived in my care in a recycled gatorade bottle. As I was unsure of how she might feel about the restricted vision, I changed her water and relocated her to a smaller, yet much more pleasant Ragu Vegetarian Spaghetti Sauce Jar. Cleaned, of course. I consider this downsize much like moving out of a huge apartment in Hialeah and finding a quaint One room in the Village. Plus, now, when I "play" with Traci (ie- hold a mirror up to the jar), I can see what she is displaying. She doesn't always play with me and I am reminded how boring fish can be.
I am into my third day at work, still getting into it, but the environment is pleasant enough. It's a laid back working environment until about 2/2:30 when the clubs close and swarms of obnoxious, slutty, aggressive, stupid, silly, horny drunks mob the Pit and forget what they want on their pitas, or request some other type of bread, a wheat loaf perhaps. Sorry buddy, we only have pitas here. After the rush things die down, and then we become increasingly anxious for the door to quit opening so we can pull the chain on the Neon Open sign and start cleaning up. Always service with a smile though.