My life is kind of fucked right now but I'm still hanging on to the strength that the Welbutrin time releases into my bloodstream. I'm on a Temp Assignment for the next coupla days @ this University named for a Saint where I work in their cafe; biding the time until I hear about a Hawaiian job I'm up for for the summer and a gig in The Hamptons and a gig in Fire Island. All three are potentially relapse jobs but so is every day, I guess. Anyway, I've always liked younger guys; but It would usually be only 7-10 years older than them; not 20. Yet, I could kind of see myself being with a few of these newborns that I've met in the last couple of days. I'm an Aesthete, I know it. If your a bow wow chances are I will not recognize your glowing personality for a while; sad but true yet it is only a condemnation on the part of me and how sad a shape I must be in to think this way.
The place where I'm rolling wraps and 'dropping' fries is a dorm so you basically see the same people three meals a day, and frankly, my presence there had them all clamoring to know who I was and will I be replacing the guy who is out (who is from what I hear a real pervy skeeve who is high all the time and is scaring the co-eds. For it is because of their complaints that he is meeting with the union tomorrow to determine his fate). Today was day two, and I basically got 'hired' if these students have anything to say about it. "Dude, that was the best wrap I've had all year" and the like, meanwhile my mind is on the menu of my future restaurant and wondering if the broccoli rabe should be served with the Cavatelli or the Rigatoni and I wonder how much black truffles will cost by then. I mean, I was smiling when they were complimenting me and asking me to stay and I was not going to rip out a copy of my resume and ask them to sing "One of these things is not like the Other" comparing this gig with my former jobs. Like, even the studs were like, "Bro, your awesome, that was great." It was like when I was forced to cook for my three other brothers starting @ 9 years old and waiting for their approvals on how the meal was. It does feel good that someone enjoys what you made them whether it be a freaking Reuben or Chicken Cacciatore. It feels good because I grew up with the phrase that my mother always told me. She said; "You have to love to cook and you have to cook with love and no one will ever be disappointed."
I started off talking about guys and ended up with food. Typical Italian.