For all the people who are probably coming here to see what a terrible "abel"[sic]ist I am.

I'll just leave this here:

I went from kind of feeling guilty about some of the lines in my original post being misunderstood, to being even less annoyed that these people were apparently finding reasons to being offended, to realizing that it's a lot more amusing to just sit back and let these people stew and rant. If I insulted anyone, it was the customer who I'm 90% certain is a crackhead. This bitch looked so tore up and her behavior was just wack//o//. People claiming drug-addicts who don't give a fuck deserve some respect because they're people? Hahaha, that's rich.

Although I hate bringing up some sob story bullshit or facts about my life that come off as giving me a pat on the back: My father, stepmother, and mother were all addicted to drugs and alcohol at points in their life. In fact, my father and stepmother met while they were recovering. Both of them have been almost twenty years clean, each. They council and sponsor people getting into the program(s), I've spent a good deal of my life among other people who cleaned up their act. I've gone and sat at numerous AA/NA meetings and listened to people talk about the worst times of their lives. I've heard countless people say they lost all dignity during those dark times. However, these people were able to not only recognize their problems, but make the effort to overcome them, which does merit respect. But if somebody wants to continue to throw their life away, content with the hell they put themselves in, then these people are hardly people in my book.

Also, let me tell everyone about halfway houses. There are a lot that genuinely try to help people get back on their feet but there are just as many ran by people who don't give a fuck. These people buy cheap housing and pretty much use it as a means to get money from the government. Drugs and alcohol still run rampant. Hell, I live within walking distance to two places that fit the latter.

Continue to reply to the post in customers_suck and stupid_free. I actually used to lurk/contribute regularly to the latter, before realizing the unforunate fact that a lot of the contributers/commenters were throwing stones while living in glass houses, and I guess it's a little refreshing to know that after over three years, that fact hasn't changed.

Hello again, friends.

Isn't it strange when you get on a nostalgia (okay, so approximately five years isn't really nostalgia) kick and you start looking up old places/people you used to know, and realize nothing really changed about them? I just wish I could say the same about myself and not be negative about it.

(no subject)

"... I feel nothing for you. I hold myself down. Keep to yourself. You shouldn't touch me. The skin peels off my bones. I'll give you a gift: take the skin from my stomach and stretch it across your face. Look in the mirror: I see myself through your eyes. My body's on the ground behind you. You use it to amuse yourself. When you kick it around the room you feel the impact of your boot in your stomach. Cry for me. Blame me for the fact you no longer recognize yourself. Lying here, I want the air in this room to consumme me, to pull my body in behind itself while you stare down at me uncertain if you've lost yourself in me. You're running your hands along the leather surface of your skin. The sound this makes changes pitch according to the area of your body you touch. Your thighs and your groin generate a low hum, the sound of my corpse releasing dead air when you kick me. Your face generates a continuous high-pitched squeal, the sound I make when you burn me. I take you over. You forget yourself in my body. When you chew a pice of skin from your finger you remember my body in your mouth. My bones crack between your teeth. I love you. When you lick your hand your sweat tastes like my blood. Conceal yourself. Close yourself off. Pull back into my skin. I'm inside you. The place on the floor where my body decayed left a stain on your memory. That's the signature of my love for you. You can't forget me without losing yourself. I'll never die..."

(no subject)

So, it looks like I did not get paid for the week I actually worked, and instead I'm only getting paid for the vacation from a week before. Brilliant. I suppose this might be as good a time as ever to quit.

Down and dirty.

I used to know this man mentioned in the article. I don't know if it's better or worse if I disclose exactly how I knew him. He was the live-in babysitter of a woman who ran a daycare center out of her home, that I had the misfortune of wasting three years of my life at. This woman, alone, has a lot of hilarious/horrifying tales associated with her. However, this Kip guy was pretty special as well.

My mom was friends with this woman, which was the only sane reason anybody would probably let someone of her caliber near their kids. Anyway, one of the things my mother did for this lady was fetching Kip after he would disappear for days. There were two places he could normally be found; at his sister's house, or at a nearby park, doing something my mom could only adequately describe as fucking trees. She found him, on more than one occasional, completely naked and humping the shrubbery.

He was also a drunk, and possibly a pedophile. The last time I saw him was one night when he got completely hammered, broke his electric guitar against a wall, slit his wrists with the shards, wandered around the home getting blood everywhere before disappearing.