fuckin a…
i find myself saying that a lot lately.
for instance–i am at the folks house for today, in preparation for another grunt job interview (let’s not argue about whether i overqualified or not — to those people that know me).
first thing that happens when i walk in the door, wearing my wrinkle-free haggars, a t-shirt, and a fleece is my folks proclaiming what a shitbag i am.
telling me to shave my sideburns to a respectable length.
what is a respectable length, i ask?
“not down to your jawline!! and get rid of your chops!”
thanks mom–love you too.
“are you going to wear those clothes to your (grunt job lifting things, and moving things, and sweating a lot) interview?”
jesus christ mom—i just walked in the fucking door, the thing is tomorrow anyways—give me a break.
“you should wear a nice shirt to this thing–you never know what the interviewer will think–and don’t curse god, he is your saviour too!”
yeah, yeah, i heard it all before and i’m still none to keen on THAT idea.
well, since all i have is a polo shirt, my fleece (which i have to wear to hide my tattoo sleeves), there really is nothing else i can wear now, is there?
now is when pop breaks out his dress shirts, with no tie, which he then proceeds to tell me to leave the top button unbuttoned.
right now, you can call me a “what the fuck” junkie.
what the fuck—-all around me by now.
as if it isn’t bad enough that i have to even work these jobs anymore, i have to have my folks tell me what to fuckin wear.
so, pop brings this bugly (butt-ugly) dress shirt, tells me to try it on. so i do—and, as with most shirts you get at the mall, it doesn’t fit. my goddamned neck is spilling over the sides of it.
so i tell them that it won’t fit, if i feel like breathing (much less look like a normal person), and they say “i don’t care–wear what you want and don’t get the job…”
fuckin A
i don’t think i’m gonna go now–now that my folks have put this much pressure on me to dress like a pimp to get a job where i sweat a lot, rip clothes, and get dirty at.
fuckin idiots.
“i’ve done interviews before, and appearance is the first thing i look for in an applicant!”
how many grunt interviews have you done?
“none”
THEN SHUT YOUR FUCKING SPERM HOLE, SHITHEAD–GO BACK TO THE MALL YOU CAME FROM
christ–when can i get a fucking break?
i thought that your folks were supposed to have your back—not true anymore.
what a sucker i was for even thinking of living here for a few months, while i gained the money to make my trip……

comin to party es.
and it will be awesome.

if i wanted nagging non-stop, i’d get a wife, or i’d listen to the gap crowd telling me what’s “cool”
or i’d listen to the “law” that is “in charge” of me.

this shit is outta hand now—when you can’t even rely on your folks to say shit like “hey jesse, everything’s gonna work out OK—hell, it worked out fine in SOcal”
i just don’t get it anymore—here i am, qualified to make more money in a year than they ever were, and i still can’t get no respect.
i’m gettin job offers for next year, upwards of 40k, and my own flesh won’t even give me support–just frags from the nagging grenade.

but they’re never too proud to have me fix their crappy network, or fix their SHITTY winblows boxes. yeh, i said winblows–cause they do.

if anyone can explain this shit to me—explain away.
i can understand strangers being complete assholes and idiots, but not my blood.
blood is supposed to have a bond of similarity–not a bond of asshair.