This blog post is dedicated to a young women who died that day: Allison Hortsmann Jones.
Source: Collegian.com
I vow not to tell you lies here, but I guarantee I will try and make you laugh your ass off. So, welcome to my relentless blog, which will totally be random, random, random. I'm doing this because my sober friend Missy demanded it.
I'm already 24-years-old with a bachelor's degree in journalism and my life is less than professionally satisfying. My professors warned me about the hideous job market I was entering and as the purpose of the physical newspaper dies, I'm at a point where I'll write the warning labels on the sides of Smirnoff bottles.
I just quit like my fifth internship at a daily newspaper near Denver--where I covered a four-wheeler crash resulting in a beheading, sex addicts enjoying the ascetics of pornography while in their cars, and my summer favorite, the local peach festival/bonanza/gala/sixth level of Hell. In turn, I am back to work at a popular Chinese-like restaurant that paid the bills through college and will now pay the bills post-college.
The restaurant job is a different kind of interesting compared to reporting the goings on at a community newspaper. Here, my fellow servers vary from the out-right disgusting (I worked with a guy who had a set of chompers that resembled pieces of blue corn kernels matched with a zesty, yet spoiled, lemon) to the out-right ridonculous (think of Omarosa to the 26th-degree).
Today is really a turning point in my life as a take a step backward into the restaurant industry, away from my passion of journalism. Maybe I can start a newsletter that not only outs who's making babies with my managers, but who is also snorting coke with them off the server's line? Too much?
