The "I Hate my Job" Blues and Two out of Three

Last August, I started waitressing two days a week. I got the job not only for that added cash in my pocket, but also to get away from Mads once in a while. I was in desperate need of adult conversation, and getting paid to chat for ten hours a week sounded like a good deal. Unfortunately, I have come to find that I have absolutely nothing in common with childless adults, therefore very little socializing actually goes on. Unless you wear a diaper and call me "bad cat" twenty times a day, I have nothing to say to you, which is why I am so over this silly job. Why didn't I just join a book club? Why did I ever think that hanging out with assholes and teenagers would fulfill my need for big people talk? I'm so over it.

Monday is my split day at work. I work for two hours, have two hours off, then work another three hours. It ruins my whole day, and I probably lose more money than I make when you factor in the commute. Strike two, I need to make a list. Anyways, when I woke up yesterday morning with sun light smashing me in the face, my only dream for the day was to take Babe back to the duck park. It was a beautiful day, and I felt that she had been semi-cheated the last time we went because of the yuck weather and the sweatshirt requirement. But yesterday? Yesterday was the perfect day for the park. Seriously. Perfect. I had an 11:30 in time, so my dream was quickly broken, and I grudgingly went through the motions of getting myself ready.

As I was doing my make-up, I realized that even though I couldn't get to the ducks, there was no reason why Babe couldn't enjoy the day without me. Before I left for work, I scribbled this note on the counter, highlighting the most important parts of the message so there would be no confusion:

While at work, I received this text message:

We just came back from the park but i forgot about pictures she wasnt all that into it she ate more bread than she threw and she is the tiredest

My first thought was that I should have just stapled the camera to Jeffrey's forehead (I was in a foul mood), but then I realized that even when forced to bring a camera, Jeffrey would still be unlikely to actually use it. When re-reading the message, I finally saw the word bread, and all ill thoughts were lost. He remembered the baby, and the bread. That's pretty good.

Although I have no pictures to show you, I can tell you that Babe enjoyed some bread yesterday.

So what's my point in this completely random post? Well, two out of three ain't bad. For real. Also, I'm looking for a new 10 hour job, preferably one that A.) does not interfere with duck time, B.) does not employ only drunks, sluts and high-schoolers, C.) does not require me to fake niceness to nasty tippers, and D.) involves little to no actual work. Any suggestions, or am I being too picky?