We All Have Daddy Issues (Max Green)

Fuck My Fucking Life.

Fuck My Fucking Life.

“Baby girl, I’m sorry but you’re just not doing it. I can’t keep a girl who doesn’t satisfy the needs of a customer.” My boss, Mr. Albertini said while firing me.

“He wanted me to give him a hand job.” I stated bluntly. “That’s a sexual act, which it clearly states in our contract that I do NOT have to perform. I get on stage, I shake my ass, and I stop eating to stay thin.” I huff. “I don’t fuck men over a tip.”

“Tough luck babe, you’re fired. Get out of my office and don’t show up for work tomorrow. You’ll get a pay check for the rest of this week.” He said and he escorted me out of his office.

“Fuck you ass hole.” I cursed.

“Try your luck on the streets you little slut.” He said and he pushed me out of the club.

“Fuck.” I said and I sat in my car. I just got fired over something that, if I had the money for a lawyer, I could sue this man for lots of money. That’s just not right. I really hate my life.

My dad left when I was little and never speaks to me. My mom’s a drug addict who used to beat me. Max had sex with me when I was drunk and lied about it. Ronnie told me the truth and confused the shit out of me. My boss just fired me because I wouldn’t give a customer, though I know he is one of my boss’s friends, a hand job. I am jobless, a million miles away from family and I have no real friends other than a few guys who I met in a bar the other night. Fuck my life, man. Fuck it.

I’m thinking that I should drive to California and stay there for a while. I’ve always liked California better than Vegas anyways. It was stupid to move her. But then I wouldn’t have met Escape The Fate, or Max Green, the sexy bass player that I am totally crushing on even though we met two days ago.

You know as friendless as I was before I met these guys, I still had a job. But what do I keep saying? Happiness is the only thing that matters! Well a roof over my head and a stable job at this point might make me pretty fucking happy.

Whatever, I’m home. If I should keep calling this home, unless I find a way to keep up on the rent then this won’t be my home anymore. Maybe there’s another job I can get. Like maybe a bar tender, or a bouncer… wait, no, I’m too small for that. Okay, a bartender it is.

I guess I should sleep tonight. Sleep off the shit with Max and Ronnie and the shit with losing my job. I have to go job-searching tomorrow, because I am NOT moving again.