Lifestyles of the rich and entitled

The country music capital of the world hosts two of the most extreme socio-economic statuses i've ever encountered. One end of the city is teeming with gobs and GOBS of old southern money. The other end supports the economy of toothless, dirty hicks that depend upon God's good graces to prevent their mobile meth labs from going up in smoke along with their only source of income. Being middle class, i hate both ends of the spectrum with a pinch more animosity towards the wealthy, since of course i'm quite jealous of them. Then again the hicks did steal my lawnmower. However, being surrounded by the artifical tits-wearing-Land Rover-driving 18-yr olds at my Privileged University, i had really begun to stereotype and classify all wealthy people into a very unpleasant category.

But then two things happened. First, purely by accident, i started hanging around with some seriously rich-ass old blue-bloods, who were entirely kick-ass and pretty damn likeable despite their gobs of money, champagne wishes and caviar dreams. Second, i started thinking. Socioeconomic status really had nothing to do with why i generally hate people. There was just a selection bias skewed toward the wealthy for a trait i find most deplorable in people. And many poor people possess this trait as well. Its called a sense of entitlement. When people think that the world OWES them something, that the rules dont apply to them, that because they are rich or because they have government-subsidized income that they DESERVE certain things and special treatment. For example, these spoiled little shits here at PU think that because their parents shell out 30 grand a year to send them to this school that they can leave trash in the hallways, piss all over the toilet seats, and just generally stink up the place with their filthy disease-infested genitals. Because you know, they're like, spending so much money that like, someone ELSE can clean up their crap. When tossing their half-empty Starbucks cup in the corner of the elevator, they'll say "well i'm paying that janitor's salary." These are also the same people that think they are entitled to receive an A in a class just because they show up, not because they actually passed a test or turned in an assignment.

And the dirty hillbillies are no better. You've got your disgustingly obese, stringy-haired basketball jersey wearing guttersnipe who's gonna "sue yer ass" because while HER kid was breaking into YOUR shed to steal YOUR weedwacker, they tripped over a rake and broke their femur. Or the Axel Rose looking muther-fucker in the grease-stained pants that publicly berates the waitress at Denny's because the kitchen took too long getting the meal prepared and there's a little burnt-looking french fry under all the others on his plate, because HE's paying GOOD MONEY for quality food and service (c'mon. you're at DENNYs), its ALL her fault, and of course, its the only sense of power over others he can exert in his pathetic little inert life (and of course he's also with his 7 kids and makes a point to tell them, "see, this is how you deal with waitresses that dont do their job right").

So FUCK people that live their lives under the assumption that they are entitled to everything, even though they didnt do a g-damn thing to deserve it. And i've determined that the dividing line between people is this: those with CLASS, and those who dont have an ounce of it. Wealthy or poor, people with true class do not assume entitlement to anything. They dont take for granted the work others do for them and they dont put unreasonable demands on others based on some silly perception of what they feel is OWED to them. People with class understand what it means to honestly EARN something, and realize they are paying for services and products and not someone's fucking soul. The biggest misconception in society is that having money means having class, and i think the wealthiest celebrities provide clear evidence against this assumption (think Britney Spears, in all her wealthy white-trash whore glory).

The moral of the story is this: if you spend all your time thinking you deserve things, you really probably dont deserve them. And no amount of wealth can hide the emblem of poor white-trash you wear on your sleeve when you point out reasons why people should be catering to you.

Nothing more refreshing than a delicious cup of C

Its not my birthday. And its not Christmas. I didnt see any stupid Easter bunny hippity-hopping its ass around here either. Surely this gift was heaven-sent. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Most girls pay a lot for surgery. I didnt spend a dime. Like Christmas morning, I woke up in a blissful haze and found that my meager little B cup breasts had transformed into massive jugs.

Its like having that B- you fought so hard to get in Chemistry raised to an A+ on your report card. Its like getting a tank full of 93 octane for the price of regular. Its like getting a free upgrade to business class, just because that incredibly fat smelly guy sitting next to you in coach oozed onto your seat. Its, its, its like waking up one day with C-cups for free!

Now we all know my giant ta-tas do in fact come with a price, but let's ignore that for now. C-CUPS, honey! I had to go out tonight and buy new bras because my ta's were slopping out of the old ones. Too much side-boob, and the straps had become high-tension wires, threatening to snap and cause bodily harm. And my new 34-C bras are nice and snug--these jugs aren't just "nearly" a C, but a holy-fucking-hell big brass balls solid C.

I'm off to check out my new ta's in the mirror now. They swing around pretty nicely--i'm gonna go try and see if i can hit the cat in the head with one of them. Maybe i'm just lucky, but perhaps if you girls say your prayers tonight, the Boob Fairy will come visit you too.

A 28-year timebomb

Hormones. They are the hired-goons of the brain. Most neuroscientists try to ignore them but as a graduate student i study them because its actually pretty amazing how these silly little substances can wreak havoc on the brain. All the while, never realizing that my own brain had hired these little bullies to push around my own grey matter.

Growing up, i hated children. Even as a child myself, i considered myself above them. As a teenager they represented the worst consequence of sex. As young married person, they were just one more stupid thing for relatives to nag about. Have kids? Are you fucking crazy? I dont even LIKE kids. I've never changed a diaper before and i wasnt gonna start now. I dont get "googly" around babies. I find their "dependency" repulsive. I always thought kids were the short way to wreck a great marriage and a fun life.

Tick tock. I turn 28, and just like that, a little explosion occurs in my brain that destroys my youthful defiance and any sense i have left. Suddenly, i am struck with the urge to procreate. I employ the pattented Lady Head Ignore It and It will go away plan. The urge only goes stronger, compounded by a new-found sense of complacency and boredom with my life. I had always believed that people only decide to have kids when they've truly become bored with their lifes, and here i was, treading water in a big pool of ennui. Fuck. I tried fighting it with rationality, but it all went out the window. This IS probably a good time to have them--i am chronologically young so its likely they wont end up too retarded and my body should be able to handle this better than when i'm in my 30s. I DO have a good handle on my graduate career--i'm finally on the downslope toward the PhD. My health insurance COVERS every little thing including pre-natal and delivery and post-natal costs. Logic was not in favor of NOT having a kid. Fuck. Okay, what about the husband? The Head has been PRO KIDS since day 1. Nothing to stall me there. Okay, fine, let's try this. We dont even know if our reproductive organs are tip-top. Lots of booze and confections and laziness may have given the gonads amotivational syndrome. One month later, i realize for lazy drunks, we are an incredibly fecund couple. Fate has a great sense of humor.

So here i am, 8 weeks pregnant. I still dont care much for babies in general, although i really like the ones' my friends' have. I still have never changed a diaper. And i'm not even gonna go into detail on how those fucking prick gangster hormones have essentially made my body their own private amusement park. And the reality of 9 months with no drinking has made me rather bitchy. It will be interesting to see how all of this pans out. I've seen a lot of friends come through this and still be quite cool despite all their new responsibilities. I've seen aspects of them change, but I've also seen the things i like about them remain the same. After all, one of my fondest memories of a post-baby friend was where she was breast-feeding her baby in one arm and slopping down beers with the other. I wanna be like that. So i promise this will not become a pregnancy blog. Hormones will not transform Lady Head into a complete douche-bag. But unfortunately, i wont be able to chronicle my epic drunkeness either. I'll guess i'll just have to rely on my other skill of perpetuating evil gossip. Did you hear that Fat Nick is a chronic masturbater? And that he does it while thinking of DUDES?