My brother has this friend, cute girl about 15 from a poor family. She’s polite and well mannered and on probation.
Why is this sweet girl on probation? Prostitution.
Her mother, a trashy piece of shit, whores her out to older men and keeps the cash for herself. This fat fucking cunt couldn’t give a shit less about her kid and no one wants to do anything about it.
I was told about this last night and held back the hardest I possibly can from going over there and gunt punching this bitch. Who the fuck can do that to their own fucking kid? Need money? Whore your OWN ass out.
This kid is so “well trained” she can’t even go to the cops. It’s maddening.
These people don’t even have flooring. LITERALLY. They have sawdust on their floors. They beat her and their other kids. Yeah! OTHER KIDS! CPS HAS been called out on them and they do NOTHING. How the fucking hell do I get them on MY ass for a supposed meth lab yet these fucktards are whoring out their kid and get nothing but a quick check in?
This is Starfish on the war path. I won’t rest until this disgusting piece of shit is in jail or dead.
do you sing any of those Les Miserables songs in french?
I haven’t tried yet, though I’m sure I could. I took French only briefly, but fell in love with it (and Italian) I seem to have an ear for accents, it’s just my follow through in learning a whole language isn’t so great.
Today is my favourite day of the year and I’m hoping it’ll be one of the best days my little boy has. After much toiling and dealing with some not-so-bright know-it-alls, the party is all but ready to go off without too much of a hitch. Now it’s just a matter of waking the birthday boy up and getting him bathed and clothed.
My cousins are going to be there which is awesome as I haven’t seen them in months and a very pretty lady I have a very obvious crush on is also gonna be there (WIN!) along with the regular good friends and family that I didn’t want to invite but I had to because they’re technically family and you can’t choose your family unless you’re adopted and I can’t prove I’m adopted just yet. DAMN IT.
Anyhow, today. Fun, party, presents… tell me this kid ain’t adored.
Just had this old lady come in. She’s a regular whom I generally like. The conversation went something like this:
Her: I can’t believe it’s already been 9 years since 9/11! I’m putting together a memorial show for my church, and I’d really like it if you would attend. It’s early in the afternoon on Saturday.
Me: I’m sorry, it sounds wonderful but it’s my son’s second birthday. We’re having a party for him on Saturday and I don’t think I’ll be able to get away.
(Note: I’m being REALLY nice, considering I don’t do churches.)
Her: Can’t you re-schedule his party? It’s very unpatriotic and downright disgusting that you’re celebrating life on a day where so many lost theirs.
Her: It’s people like you that have shamed this country for ages. Selfish and uncaring.
Me: Seriously, What the fuck?
Her: All we’re asking is for a little consideration. Think of those that died for your freedom!
Me: Okay. Stop. Let me tell you how many of MY family members died for this country. Shall I start with the uncle that died from agent orange? Don’t tell me because I choose to celebrate MY sons birthday ON his birthday that I’m an unpatriotic waste of flesh.
Her: You mean to tell me that your kids birthday is september 11th?
Me: YES. September 11th 2008, 17:37 to be precise.
Her: Oh. I… ummm…. Thank you.
She takes her stamps and leaves. Seriously, what the fuck just happened?
I got here a little after 9, 9:13 actually. I know because I was watching the clock very carefully as I drove at a crawl through the N 101. 13 minutes late, I raced in only to find that my poor copy of the stores gate key wanted no part in letting me in. I found a note to pick up the good keys next door and I did, only to struggle with them too. It must be the locks.
The phone rang and I couldn’t get to it, being on the other side of the gate. It was my boss of course and she is LIVID that I’m “not there”. “I’m here!” I’m screaming in my head but what good does that do? I get the gate undone and quickly turn on lights and move displays to the proper spots. The phone rings again and it’s her.
"Are you there?" I’m thisclose to answering "No, I’m at home having the BEST sex you can possibly imagine with my left hand." I answer "Yes, of course. I’ve been here trying to get in. The gate was stuck and…" "No you weren’t. My husband waited there for you until 9:20 and you weren’t there. You just got there!" "wait, no… I’ve been here and the gate was being difficult when I found the note to go get the keys and…" "NO! He waited for you!" "But…" *click*
So, here I am and I know I’m going to get docked a half hour I supposedly wasn’t here. It’s just too bad I stayed 20 minutes after last night by myself and 30 last Thursday that I’ll never see an extra red cent for.
I do a lot around here I’m not supposed to by doctors orders. Normally moving 50+ lbs around the store isn’t a big deal. I can lift upwards of 130 without too much trouble typically but now it’s dangerous. REALLY dangerous. Instead of making proper accommodations as required by law, they MAKE me, the breathing liability handle this shit on my own.
I get talked down to a LOT. Nothing I say is ever believed. She doesn’t understand why someone with a baby can’t live on part time minimum wage. She doesn’t like my financial decisions. She doesn’t like my car. She doesn’t like that I moved into a bigger place because… oh gee, I don’t know, I HAVE A BABY ON THE WAY.
I do so much around here that anyone else would get paid massive bank for. Graphic and web design? Yeah, I do that and I mean far beyond little signs for the store and their ebay non-sense. I do ALL our print ads. I do the flyers, newspaper adverts, coupon inserts, business cards, letterheads, banners. I get nothing. I built and maintain two of our websites. One private lingerie business of hers and the one for the store. I handle the majority of computer/network repairs.
It’s absolutely ridiculous that I’m living off of nothing when I do EVERYTHING.
My only solace is that there are only three weeks left until my “temporary lay off”. Not only can I not wait to get the hell out of here, I sure as hell don’t think I’m coming back.
something deep... what do you think is your best quality?
Taste and consistency. Oh, not THAT kind of quality… I see.
I think my best quality is that I can survive just about anything. I’m not one to crumble under stress. It hurts, yeah, but I can deal. Out of all the pretty terrible stuff that’s happened to me thus far none of it has been strong enough to take me out and I take a sick pride in that.
I’ve been having this feeling all of 6 hours now. I’ve lived this part of today already and I didn’t like it the first time around. I’m unsettled and unsure and the only thing that can make that worse is the distinct possibility of a panic attack.
Oh, there you are. I knew you’d find me sooner or later. Sometimes when I’m not choking on my heart I get confused. Even writing this, I feel like I’ve written it all before.
They say when you experience de ja vue that your life is on the path it’s supposed to be. If that’s true that scares me even further. I don’t like the path it’s following now. If there’s anything I hate more than depression I haven’t found it yet.
I need to get out. Out of the house… out of the state. Whatever.