Love. The greatest four letter word to some. It is the heart of every country song and on the mind of hopeless romantics. Something people dream about, sing about, and write about. However, it's really just word vomit spewing out of your mouth. Love does not exist, it's a figment of your imagination, something you have been told that you need to be happy.
But what is love? You can't touch it or hold it in your hands. It's not soft and fury. Some say love's color is red, but that is the color for hate, war, and anger. Conscience? You decide. They don't teach you how to love in school, so it must not be important considering we learn everything we need to know about life in school. You can't say what kind of love you have, A, B, or C considering it's pretty much like hepatitis. And no one wants that.
Emotions. Our ability to have them is the only thing that sets us apart from our brother primates, but do we all have the same? What you may see as love someone else may mistake for gas. What you feel as being smitten is another person's death. How do we distinguish between all of our different "feelings"? You don't.
Have you ever walked by that person so in "love" you want to ralph and completely lose that steak dinner you just shelled out for? They're farting rainbows, like something out of a bad T.V. show. They feel kindred to Romeo and Juliet, which is a a couple of idiotic teenagers crying over "love" or what I like to call hormones. I wonder if they know they are living a lie.
You may be shouting "CYNIC" from the rooftops, or perhaps evil, soon-to-be-cat-lady, but you're wrong. I hate cats. So don't kid yourself you might be in like or lust, but you are not in love. The end.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Getting the Shaft
Someone once told me that sweeping was beneath them. This really amazed me considering they didn't have the daunting task of sweeping up hair at a salon, a job that would literally have me running to the bathroom every five seconds to ralph, not to mention the tons of skin I would lose trying to scrub myself clean every night. But no, they had to sweep fitting rooms... with clothes, not sewage.
Despite the time that has passed since the aformentioned incident I have had a thorn in my side. Every time I think about those disgusting words coming out of that self-absorbed, narcissistic mouth my skin crawls. It is like acid thrown on me, poison in my veins.
It might seem slightly dramatic, however, I have known this person, Z, for over 12 years and I thought I knew them. Z and I grew up together, we came from similar backgrounds, and while I have never lied or felt ashamed of where or how I came to,
A seems to feel the need to overcompensate. It is almost a personal attack, since I am the last person to be fooled.
I do what I have to, work almost every day of the plus school and college classes, not a big deal, you do what you have to do. Do you think I enjoy washing jail trays with pubes in them?! That would be a big no considering my above mentioned quirk. So why do I? Because you do what you have to, simple to the point. I am willing and able to work for the things I need and want, not accepting handouts. Is sweeping beneath me? I believe not! I would thoroughly enjoy a job where I only had to sweep department store floors. How quickly would I be so bored and possibly suicidal/homicidal? Well, let's just say you would have to keep all semi-automatic weapons and sharp objects away from me.
Despite how angry and rueful I still feel about the comment Z made, I do feel sorry for anyone who thinks like that. How does anyone get very far in life thinking they are God's gift to the world? Without hard work one does not know how to appreciate the things they are able to get for themselves. When I see my paycheck, however measly (hey, it's minimum wage), I can remember the crap I had to do to earn it, the hours spent, the hard work put in and I am proud. It is one of the best feelings knowing that I am able to support myself with honest, good work.
Now, of course, the vengeful side of me knows that when I come to rule the world I will give out the worst jobs to those with their nose stuck up so high they can't see their Prada shoes. And those who have to suck up their pride just to go to work in the morning to make a living would get jobs where people don't treat them like the scum of the earth, they would get the respect they deserve for taking care of their families. They would no longer have to feel ashamed if while they were mopping our footprints they ran into one of their kid's or a neighbor.
Word to the wise, it wasn't your waiter's dream to serve you, and you aren't the king so throw in a thank you. Ask for things, don't demand them, and never be rude to the person with direct access to your food, "Waiting" need I say more? And smile, just because they don't speak English doesn't mean they don't have feelings and you aren't their American dream despite what you may think.
In conclusion, I wish I could write all my essays under the subject late-night rant, everybody needs to be brought down to earth-- so clean my house, and my car needs a fresh coat of wax. Those people you so ignoratly look down upon make things run and are people too. What does it matter what you did to get that paycheck, legally of course, as long as you can support yourself and those reliant on you. Think how dirty our floors would be if there was no one to sweep or mop. Or how hungry those inmates would be if I didn't wash their pube-filled trays after dinner. Clean floors and jail trays, well thats just American.
Despite the time that has passed since the aformentioned incident I have had a thorn in my side. Every time I think about those disgusting words coming out of that self-absorbed, narcissistic mouth my skin crawls. It is like acid thrown on me, poison in my veins.
It might seem slightly dramatic, however, I have known this person, Z, for over 12 years and I thought I knew them. Z and I grew up together, we came from similar backgrounds, and while I have never lied or felt ashamed of where or how I came to,
A seems to feel the need to overcompensate. It is almost a personal attack, since I am the last person to be fooled.
I do what I have to, work almost every day of the plus school and college classes, not a big deal, you do what you have to do. Do you think I enjoy washing jail trays with pubes in them?! That would be a big no considering my above mentioned quirk. So why do I? Because you do what you have to, simple to the point. I am willing and able to work for the things I need and want, not accepting handouts. Is sweeping beneath me? I believe not! I would thoroughly enjoy a job where I only had to sweep department store floors. How quickly would I be so bored and possibly suicidal/homicidal? Well, let's just say you would have to keep all semi-automatic weapons and sharp objects away from me.
Despite how angry and rueful I still feel about the comment Z made, I do feel sorry for anyone who thinks like that. How does anyone get very far in life thinking they are God's gift to the world? Without hard work one does not know how to appreciate the things they are able to get for themselves. When I see my paycheck, however measly (hey, it's minimum wage), I can remember the crap I had to do to earn it, the hours spent, the hard work put in and I am proud. It is one of the best feelings knowing that I am able to support myself with honest, good work.
Now, of course, the vengeful side of me knows that when I come to rule the world I will give out the worst jobs to those with their nose stuck up so high they can't see their Prada shoes. And those who have to suck up their pride just to go to work in the morning to make a living would get jobs where people don't treat them like the scum of the earth, they would get the respect they deserve for taking care of their families. They would no longer have to feel ashamed if while they were mopping our footprints they ran into one of their kid's or a neighbor.
Word to the wise, it wasn't your waiter's dream to serve you, and you aren't the king so throw in a thank you. Ask for things, don't demand them, and never be rude to the person with direct access to your food, "Waiting" need I say more? And smile, just because they don't speak English doesn't mean they don't have feelings and you aren't their American dream despite what you may think.
In conclusion, I wish I could write all my essays under the subject late-night rant, everybody needs to be brought down to earth-- so clean my house, and my car needs a fresh coat of wax. Those people you so ignoratly look down upon make things run and are people too. What does it matter what you did to get that paycheck, legally of course, as long as you can support yourself and those reliant on you. Think how dirty our floors would be if there was no one to sweep or mop. Or how hungry those inmates would be if I didn't wash their pube-filled trays after dinner. Clean floors and jail trays, well thats just American.
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