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Pet Spider’s perfect profile: 

My self-summary

apples, almonds, meat, sweetener tabs, coffee, club soda, pineapple juice, wine, lemons, green leaves, body lotion, soap,

with banana slices,

& throw your cigarette into the street, & walk away.

What I’m doing with my life

going badly, in a dry climate, with a sweet intention.

I’m really good at


The six things I could never do without

moody, dark, handsome, tormented, infatuated, idealistic.

I spend a lot of time thinking about

23, 33, 2009, beach, bleachers, branches, cleaning my room, dreams, driving, drowning, eating a light snack, five hundred miles a week, hanging blue lights, infectious, in her sleep, love object, wearing an avocado necklace.

On a typical Friday night I am

with a wilted bouquet of Eucalyptus leaves, with Diana Ross, with an empty water bottle, with a tire iron, with a paper grocery bag, with a crumpled receipt.

You should message me if

you’re a grubby Venus de Milo.

Pet Spider messaged me on Tinder with the same timestamp that I messaged her on OKC. I said “Poem” she said “Number” we met at the big metal industrial sculpture and drank Prosecco under a rainbow, in a storm, at sunset, under her umbrella.

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I have been thinking, there are 3 things I would love to do again in the near future:

1: Make out
2: Quit my job
3: Leave Santa Fe

To work at Geronimo is to interface with several superiors, who urge conflicting simultaneous tasks, and then yell at you for not attending to their task at a given moment. Both me and a peer who has been in fine dining for 15 years, but who is also new at Geronimo, were yelled at an condescended to by most everyone around us. At the end of the night we remarked that this system is odd and inefficient, both considering quitting as soon as possible.

On Tuesday night one of the senior waiters grabbed the appetizer plates I was carrying into the kitchen and yelled at me to do the other pressing work at hand. I went back to my section and noted that nothing needed to be done at that moment, making me appear flustered, which the manager picked up on.

Table 55’s entrees didn’t get fired by the waiter who took their plates from me, which got me in more trouble. When I cleared table 51’s appetizers, and tried to fire their entrees, I was yelled at by the kitchen because their entrees were not yet in the system. Everyone mistook this for my not understanding table numbers.

I was pulled into the office and told that this was unacceptable and that I had to memorize the table numbers. I didn’t make excuses. Instead I thanked the manager for her feedback,  complimented the elegant job she did, and quit.

One down, two to go!