Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em

I find it amazing how, at the experienced age of 24, my father can still make me feel like a 5 year old on the brink of tears in under 5 minutes.

He gets jerked around by some foreign douche selling a car, and I get yelled at because all I do is "bitch" and he's "wasting" his own time trying to do me a favor...

So don't do me any more favors.  He wonders why I'd sooner sell my own body than move back in with him, when he's got me practically crying two sips into a beer I didn't really want.  How is telling the man I'm suspicious of a guy who doesn't have a real address, can't speak English, and sold the car you told him you wanted to look at in an under an hour, how is that "bitching"?  How is demanding that I spend $20 on a Carfax "bitching"?  How is demanding that an American made POS have less than 100,000 miles on it "bitching"?  And how is it, that needing a car to get a job, "bitching"?

Really...  and I'll tell you right now, I could be married, bare foot, and pregnant, be completely provided for and completely miserable in under 5 minutes.  Oh yes, I could put myself on Craigslist, and I'll tell you it would take less than 30 minutes for offers to marry me and own me.  But I don't want to be owned, and I don't want any little ankle-biters.  If all I have, coming into this world and going out of it, is my body, then I'm not ruining it by popping some little financial deficit, with no hope for the future, out of my potentially money-earning figure.  I'm not letting my tits and ass sag anymore than they otherwise would, so that I can raise some kid to be just as jaded, bitter, and desperate as I am.

But if I was a good Catholic, if I was a good Irish/Italian woman, I'd already have a ring on my finger and an apple in my mouth; stick me on the spit and turn me as much as you want.  Done.

We're all nothing more than pigs on a spit.  Sometimes the fire is too high and it burns, sometimes the fire is too low, and we char and dry out, but no matter how you cut it, we're all cooking.  We're all slowly being raised to the proper temp so that someone else can devour us and use us to fuel their own well-being.  Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed: at least at war you know the rules.  The problems come in when you're trying to live a "good" life, trying to be "civilized" and you can't see things in black or white.

Well let me tell you, my friend, I don't need a camo uniform to see the reality of it.  If it's me or the other guy, I'm taking the other guy down, because in today's world, it's survival of the craftiest, or survival of the richest.  I'm not rich.  Guess I better get crafty real quick.

Thanks for nothing, you stupid 5 years of college degree that I can wipe my nose with.  Why not get it framed?  Why add more damn money to a big waste of time?  Why not give me a job?  Oh, because I'll tell them the truth about the world, and hell, we wouldn't want them to be truly prepared for what they're going to come into contact with in the future.  God forbid we should truly prepare them, no, we should coddle them, so we can continuously repeat history, so they can spend tons of money going to school and doing the "right" thing, only to be let out on their face, in debt, in a bad economy, with no chance for anyone.

It's time for a little escapism.  It's time for the return of the alter egos...

Soon to be Craigslist add:

Mercenary for Hire:
Part elf, magic worker, no family, no ties.  You need a job done, I need pay.  Contract to be signed in blood.  Will travel.  Good at undercover and spy work.  Good at infiltration. Good at getting out alive. Will blow holes in any barricade, living or non.  Serious inquiries only, please.  No charity work.