Ronald talks about school loans, advice about school and what he would be look like if he were a woman.
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Last night was my kid’s first softball game of the season. They won, it was awesome. I did notice some peculiar things though. Some were funny and some were more unnerving than anything. There were some things about the parents and a few about the kids.
Wife Beater Boy
I thought this fad was over a long time ago; wearing a wife beater, chain, and Oakley’s. This dude had to be at least 25 with a perfectly manicured douche beard, you know the one that’s a thin line from the sideburns to the chin to the mustache. I’m assuming he had this because his alpha friend had one. Then he had to solidify his hardness by wearing a gangsta chain from the 90’s. I like Oakley’s but if you wear them because you think it’s giving you swag, please just let someone go all pornstar on your face. And the wife beater? Awwwwwwww the wife beater. Let it go man. You simply cannot justify a wife beater for any purpose, even as an undergarment. It really serves no purpose. It’s not soaking up sweat and it’s certainly not swooning any “hoes.”
Desperate Tan Housewives
I love a nice sexy housewife. I do not love it’s only been sunny for 5 days this year and I have a mid-July tan in May. Sure you look okay now. Tell that to the beef jerky face you’ll be looking at when your 40. I guess it’s okay though, when you die of skin cancer your husband will be still be able to swing some ass from some younger model. You will be able rest well knowing all this.
I love that kids at the age of 6-9 have no idea people are watching them. I don’t know if it’s that they don’t know someone is watching them or if in their little brains, jamming their hand up the crack of their butt is normal public behavior. It also leads me to question the type/size of the underwear the parents are having their kid wear. Almost all of them at one point in time or another hand their hand in their butt. I’m also guilty of this. When I was younger my mom took a picture of me picking the underwear out of my previously owned 10 year old butt. Maybe it’s just part of life; sport wedgies.
40 year old grandma
By far the most disturbing thing that I saw last night was a 40 year old say, “That’s my granddaughter out there at shortstop.” Ew. Let’s just say this woman had her kid at 20. That means her 20 year old with a spiked bracelet on had her kid around 14-16. What the fuck is wrong with people? Sure have sex when you’re young, whatever, but don’t let dudes shoot loads into you at that age. I realize that is the optimal time for a woman to have a kid because their body can take it better but it’s not like you are running a fortune 500 company at 14. Besides you’re still in the, “I’m original, so I wear a spiked bracelet” stage of your life.
Where do you place things you don’t really need or just aren’t that important? We usually put them on shelves or in boxes. These things usually aren’t important enough to keep out in the open for immediate use. Neither are some humans. So where do we put the useless humans until further use? We call them office buildings. The human shelving units.
Most non-important humans are shuffled through life non-complacent and weak willed inside of tall buildings. Most of these people will become decaying, money spending material that will not be needed for further use other than crunching numbers or pushing billing collections through. We tend to see ourselves as; full of hope or go getters, when in reality you are nothing more than an aerosol can that will never be used after it was made and sprayed once.
The one spray was probably college when your life was actually being used. Now you sit upon your shelf waiting to be used again. The problem is, now that you sit for 8 hours a day your motivation to be all that you ever wanted, has diminished. Some of us will get lucky however, we will rise to a challenge because our number is called.
Your number will never be called if you don’t show that you can shine and be a part of something more than trivial office work. We sit and collect dust and begin to rust. Then hopefully one day something knocks the shelf over and we’re thrown out on to the floor again. What will we do? Will we be noticed? Will we want people to notice? We all know there’s a shine underneath the candy coated exterior of our office processed bodies.
Most of us are afraid. Not of succeeding but of having to go on our own and dominate. It’s a risky choice to take. To get up off of the floor and shake off some rust and say, “Fuck this shelf. There’s more to life than the hideous maximum security compounds of my cubical walls.” So instead of being picked back up, you roll out of the garage, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. Things never looked to good.
There’s a world out there. Most of us never really get to see it. My shelf is in the heart of a city. I’d rather be in the city than overlooking it through the glimpse of a window that isn’t even mine and that I can’t even see through when a certain door is closed.
That’s why they box us in here. So we can’t see out there. Where there’s a world; a place to be, someone to talk to, a new challenge. Life. We can resist it and stay on our shelves, but what fun would that be? Always knowing there’s security in your life? You aren’t really living then. What’s the point of living if you can’t lose it all or gain it all in the drop of a hat?
Get off your shelf and become someone people need. You aren’t needed in your shit hole of an office. You are replaceable. Be somebody. It doesn’t mean you have to be famous. Be important. Be needed and wanted or stay on your shelf and wait to be thrown in the pile of garbage with everything else.