I understand the difference between social classes and why certain people stay away from others. It’s kind of like the older generations staying away from the younger generations. I personally think ‘kids’ nowadays are lazy little bastards that want everything handed to them. Anyways…
I work in an area where there is a LOT of people with a LOT of money. I refrained from saying ‘rich’ right there. Some of these people are down to earth and you wouldn’t realize any difference because of their income. Some of these people however, are rude and obnoxious and all kinds of things that I’m going to not say in this post. What makes them that way?
Little penis syndrome? What is it for women? No one has any right to treat anyone like shit just because there is a difference of money being made. The amount of money one person has (or the amount of things) is really just a number. It is something that quite honestly I want to quit writing about right now. I realized that halfway through this, I could care less about people that have no sense.
What I will mention is my secret love for the cool analytics of this WordPress site. I get to see how many people find my blog because they look up ‘yoga pants camel toe’… I also get to see who looks me up by name specifically. I can only imagine (cough, cough) who it is… I’m slightly flattered, and slightly annoyed on the same coin. A cool thing I came to the conclusion on… If you find my blog ‘consumption’ you might realize that I have a perfect exit strategy to deal with life’s biggest problems. Death.
Apparently my actions and inactions are making people’s lives hell. I mean, I’m such a spoiled judgmental brat. Sometimes I wonder why the hell I keep going, day after day… Being that I’m excited for the day to see where we go after we die, why couldn’t that day come sooner? No guilt trips, no hard feelings. I’ll leave all my junk to whoever wants it. Then I realize… If I’m perfectly OK with being done with my life here on earth, why not make the best of the time I got here? Hell, even if I end up in jail or maybe some Amazonian jungle tribe, I could still have a pretty good story to write? Couldn’t I?
I’ve done enough with my life to realize that I’m still bored out of my mind. Maybe I can live a life that when I die, I can get more than a few likes on Facebook for what I’ve contributed. Until then, I’ll be doing what I do, waiting for someone to push me over the edge. Except I may not be the one that falls because of it.