The Snowy North

It's been a bit since I have written. Life happens...

We are moving soon. North. This makes me very happy, because north means snow. I love the snow and the cold. I love it because you can always put more clothes on... But when it's too warm there comes a point in the attempt to get cool that you get locked up for fanning your nude self in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. People don't like that, I hear it's a family establishment.

When I say north you imagine the far snowy north of Alaska or The Yukon where you can get icicles to form on your eyelashes just by stepping outside. But really I mean New Hampshire, which is, aside from Maine, as far north as you can get without needing a passport and an Idiots Guide To French. I don't speak French, and no matter how much I say I like the cold, I definitely don't want to be the moron standing in the street trying to read my Idiot Guide through the icicles on my face because I lost my hotel. Those Canadians can keep their bacon. I'm not interested.

That's one extreme. Then there is the other. Heat. You know what I'm talking about. Searing, cook eggs on a rock outside, bloody fucking burn in hell heat. I lived in Missouri for most of my childhood, there are weeks in the summer there where you can't go outside because the humidity will suffocate you and the heat is like an oven. Temperatures can get to be 115 - 120 degrees. Yes, you heard right. One Hundred and Twenty degrees. I've had ovens that didn't get that fucking hot. Granted that's when I lived in my meant-for-rats apartment, but that's beside the point.

I hate the heat. The only good thing about heat is that you can go swimming. Swimming is such a nice pastime. The whole family will get together and go to the lake, river, or ocean and spend the day getting burnt to a fucking crisp. Then you spend the rest of the week recovering with a bottle of Aloe clutched in your hand like it's your first born son and you forgot to paint your door red. Shit.

So to the semi-north it is. Where the snow is just right and the streets are paved with thermometers that don't raise above 90.

*If you are Canadian, you have bigger balls than I... Also, please send bacon*

Class Rules

This country has a serious problem. That problem is admitting there is a problem... 

I'm going to take a minute to talk about class rules. And yes *gasp*, class status still exists. Those who don't believe it does, have enough money to not give a shit.

Class rules are a lot like "the bro code". They are unspoken rules that all classes abide by. The rules that if you don't abide by you could end up punched in the face by a Broke Ass Bitch who would rather be in jail for punching your Rich Ass so they can get three meals a day. These rules are as follows...

1 - "Only poor people can call other poor people poor." - Don't make the mistake of thinking anything else is acceptable behavior. It's not, shut the fuck up or you'll get punched.

2 - "If you make more than 60,000 dollars a year then you have no right to complain about needing to make more money." - It's amazing how many people I find doing this. Bitch, if you get your stupid ass out of your 50,000 dollar hummer you might not fucking need to "make more money". Shut the fuck up, you're a douche.

3 - "Don't think you're poor when you're not" - One thing that really gets me, are the morons that act like they are poor when they are eating a four coarse meal for dinner, but cry because they can't afford their brand new 85 inch television. If you haven't had to wipe your Broke ass with toilet paper stolen from the McDonald's bathroom then shut the fuck up.

4 - "First world problems" - Oh yeah, we all have them from time to time. But it's okay when a broke ass bitch has first world problems, because they know what REAL problems are. But if all you have to worry about is that ding on your Volvo then shut the fuck up.

5 - "Only rich people own homes" - That's right. Worrying about a mortgage is a Rich Bitches problem. If you haven't paid your rent in spare change, or worried about the unwelcome tenants living alongside you in your "meant-for-rats" apartment then I don't want to hear about your "issues". Shut the fuck up, you're pitiful.

I always thought these class rules had no reason to be spoken, but those Rich Bitches don't understand respect. Fuck.

Something you learn pretty fucking quick when you're a Poor Mother Fucker is that class still stands. Rich Bitches don't understand this. They don't see you as any different than them. Until you have a headache and they don't understand why you don't buy a bottle of Tylenol. I can't fucking afford it that's why. But if you want to give me some of the stock you have in it I'll be happy. Rich Bitch.

*If you are a Rich Bitch... Fuck it, I got nothin'*