My name is Robyne Gallagher and Murphy’s Law is out to get me.

Yeah okay, I make it sound like my life is so rough and that I’m whining like a baby. Honestly though, if someone had told me ten years ago that my life would be like this, I’d have been the first one dropping them off at the loony bin.

Maybe to understand it better I need to tell you more about myself.

By day I work for a cosmetics company selling and applying cosmetics to women of all ages. My customers range from thirteen year olds who wear way too much foundation to sixty year old women who haven’t changed their eye shadow since the sixties. You know, the ones that walk around with the same color on their eyes (sometimes a horrible blue) and are desperate for that miracle cure that will make their lines and wrinkles disappear.

At night, I’m a coat check girl at a local club.

That’s right…coat check girl.

I'm not a bartender, or a shooter girl or even one of those girls that walks around with the trays. I sit at the door taking money, checking off names on the guest lists and handing out coats. It's as exciting as it sounds, though I have to admit there are some perks. Watching the people who get kicked out by the bouncers is always a favourite past time. And the tips can be amazing! Sometimes I make more in one night at the bar then I make in two weeks at my day job.

Take for example this one night a few months ago.
 
Paris Hilton had decided to throw a "Knickers n' Lace" party, basically a fancy name for everyone to show up in their underwear. She had brought her dog Tinkerbelle with her. I know, who brings a dog to a Nightclub right? Well Tinkerbelle got left with me. Yeah okay, I may hate Paris Hilton, but her dog is damn cute. Well the money that I made that night from Paris's entourage paid for my car, the money that Paris tipped me paid my mortgage for three months, and trust me my mortgage is the reason why I have this job in the first place.
 
The other perk has to be my boss, granted I don't really see him that much. The club I work at is called Onyx and it's owned by Justin Timberlake. 
 
Now you're probably wondering why I say Murphy’s Law is out to get me, but I'm getting to that.
 
I'm 23 years old for starters.
 
Most people seem to think that I got my job by going to Onyx a lot, but really I didn't. I hadn't even heard of the club until the job was offered to me. I know, that sounds really weird, to have not heard of a famous person opening a club. Well to tell you the truth, I don't really read magazines (unless you count video game magazines), I don't watch much TV (I prefer movies) and I listen to my I-Pod more then the radio. Now if you were to ask my friend Liz, she could name off which clubs are opening up this week and who owns them. But really, I got my job thanks to a friend of Justin's.
 
I had done her make-up for a wedding and she seemed to really like it. A few weeks later she phoned me and asked if I would mind doing her friend's make up for Onyx's club opening. They were going with a masquerade theme and apparently the girls over exuberant puppy had eaten her mask. I packed up my supplies and drove to the club to do her makeup for her in the form of a mask. Well one girl turned into five and Justin had walked in and saw my handy work. He quickly sat down and asked if I would mind doing the same for him.
 
What was I going to say? "Oh I'm sorry Mr. Timberlake, but I couldn't possibly touch that gorgeous face of yours!" Yeah right, I'm a geek, not stupid.
 
Well he asked me to return several times to do make up for the staff for different themes he came up with for the last weekend of the month. After awhile he offered me the position working at the door. I think it's so that he could stop paying me for putting make up on everyone.

Now you probably figure I got the door position because it was the only one left, it wasn't, I'm just not the right girl for the other jobs. 
 
I'm 5'11", which is damn tall for a girl; apparently I'm just shy of six feet. For my height I guess my weight is okay. I'm not toned, but I'm not fat either. Justin called it soft and feminine one day, God bless him. I personally call it having a spare tire, not much of one, but I notice it in the mirror. That's not to say I hate my body, personally I love it. My legs are long and definitely sexy, well at least the calves are, I have a pretty nice rack going for me if I do say so, and I'm told that I have a gorgeous smile. I was once asked by an actress if she could take my picture so that she could show her plastic surgeon how she wanted her lips to look, I took that as a compliment. My face is round, but I have what people refer to as "the most adorable dimples".
 
My hair is cut short in a pretty stylish bob, another perk of my job. I met Nick Aroojo a few weeks back when Justin treated the staff of Onyx to a day in his Salon in New York. Nothing like your boss paying one of the top stylists to cut and color your hair. It's a chocolate brown with panels of white blonde, kinda like the girl in Hairspray at the end of the movie, only shorter. I sound like I know what I'm talking about, but really I don't.
 
Again I know you're thinking "She's complaining about her life when she gets all these perks?"
 
Well if you've seen his friend JC Chasez, you'll understand.   

JC is one of those men that you want to thank his parents for creating such an amazing specimen of human flesh.

When I first met him, I managed to knock over my tip jar and all the change that I had just separated for the night. Smooth, I know. Luckily he was nice enough to help me pick everything up while Justin stood there and laughed at me. Asshole.

The second time I met him, he caught me spinning in my chair, throwing sharpened pencils up at the ceiling like darts. Of course the minute he said hello my aim was thrown off and I knocked five of them out and onto my head.

Sometimes JC will come and sit with me in my little area to keep me company. He’s fun to talk to and he seems to enjoy my sarcastic humour and the way I harass Justin and my co-workers.

One night he came and sat with me after a fight with his flame at the time. Me wanting him to like me even more was stupid enough to have our resident flower guy give some to her on JC’s behalf.

They of course made up after that and I spent the rest of the night calling myself every name that I could think of that was related to idiot. I was actually debating on going and raiding Justin's office for a Thesaurus when I ran out of name when JC arrived with a rose in hand and kissed my cheek in thanks. I became a blushing, stuttering fan girl in a second because of that.

Of course that made my tiny appreciation for the man turn into a full blown crush. Damn Murphy and his stupid laws.

Because of that little incident I've now become the one that JC comes to when he has women problems, I'm his "friend".

Damn you Murphy, you've screwed my life horribly!