The word itself is stupid. Garnish. 'To add decorative or savory touches to.' Sadly enough, fifty percent of my diet these days comes from various food and drink garnishes stealthily consumed while working at Hell's Kitchen. My dinner last night consisted of a few croutons, maraschino cherries, and a coconut macaroon. Yuck. Oddly enough, it is my garnishment problem that makes me have to work at that awful place to begin with. Three months until those bastards at Discover Card can stop sucking my already shriveled corpse and drop me before moving on to the other boneheads that signed up for credit cards in college just to get the free t-shirts. Garnish this!

I'm really desperate to get out of there. I'm attracting way too many of the kitchen boys and it annoys the crap out of me. Why is it that I seem to attract cooks and dishwashers at every place I've ever served? I don't mind some of the attention, but most of it I can do without. I hate those disgusting I-Can-See-You-Naked leers. Though nothing is as bad as the Let-Me-Squeeze-Past-You-And-Rub-My-Groin-Against-Your-Ass-Accidentally-On-Purpose move. That one is really starting to piss me off. Next time I'm rolling silverware and some asshole tries to pull it off again I'll just have to try the Whoops-I-Didn't-Mean-To-Stab-You-With-This-Fork-And-Sever-That-Artery maneuver.

I have the night off today, but something tells me Sam's parents are going to take up most of my evening. There are still things in the house that they need, and I just haven't had time to dig them out. I'm also kind of reluctant to have them over again. I'm afraid they will take what little I have left of his things. I guess there's nothing that I can really do to stop them.