I’m sick of this crap! I hate it. I get roped into buying a fucking condo and even the condo assoc ass prez lady says they support the opera (whatevs, not in the opera officially, but whatever and she even promises me the London Bridge by saying I’d be able to sing in their esteemed and ugly-ish clubhouse) of course not, it’s only for a group of privileged ass men that she allows that with.
Anyfuckingway, I buy condo with hubby and our upstairs cunt/neighbor doesn’t like the loud singing, opera, karaoke, whatever. We really take it down several notches (like all of them over the next month.) Oh, the brief history; we moved in, in 2019. Then after a couple nasty run-in’s with this kuntage above, I realized that in order to live in peace, that…….
Singing would have to become null and void for all intents and purposes except the random occasional la la la, belt and one line lyric.
So during pandemic of course, the damn ass reddish hair fifty ish ass woman gaining weight (hey, I’m not hypo-fucking crite, I’ve gained weight too and I’m fucking 50)
but anyway, judgmental dicks, she’s gaining weight like an actual fucking pig and naturally is one of those American losers that begin working from fucking home, headset on head and up the ass I’m sure. (I don’t care if you are a nice person working from home. It is irrelevant.)
So, a couple weeks ago, I want to damn sing in my damn home (It is around 2pm, legal fucking hours in most fucking states-I think all of them in the U.S. of fuckin’ A)
I am starting to sing Stryper’s “Calling on You” talk about a religious fucking song, right? and then this asshole from above (no pun here, not God, but the slimy stay at home neighbor that we must adhere to) bounces down desperately at my door, while lyrics literally spouting out my damn ass mouth, Stryper and God be damned….
I see the behemoth at my door, headset on head, up ass, entitled because her fucking ass has the nerve to work at home. (Fuck you corporations!) I guess I would like it if I had a dream job at home from one of you assholes, yes I am a true fucking hypocrite. (but this neighbor ladies job is far, far, far from a dream job! Holy Hell, Crapitol One and all the debt people are in cause of your corporate asses.)
So this neighbor/fucker is desperately at my door, headset like a broken misshapen sacrilegious crown atop her head….I’m praying to God, to all Gods, that I can get one more fucking lyric out my fucking mouth before her fucking knuckles knock on my damn door. fuck me!
Then comes the fuckin’ knock of which my husband is surprised. Yes, I had seen the behemoth arrive. She says something to the effect of working and cannot hear the caller. Like I’m supposed to care. Do I? (Fuck me) She did look desperate. (Hey lady above, I’m desperate, I don’t even get to sing full session at home anymore. The desperation is fucking real.)
Anyway, I say quickly, that we have gone above and beyond for her, singing next to nothing at all. It does not even register with this cunt. All that is important right now is her fucking job……..
And I get that. I recently walked out of a six and a half year job. Could have been a stupid move, could have been smart, could be both of these things. I walked out for shitty/personal reasons. But hey, I do feel I was facing fucking prejudice. Okay? I know you don’t believe me and I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK THAT YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME. FUCK YOU.
I now started caregiving instead of this aforementioned fucking passport misshapen job above. Had been a fucking contractor non-governmental pion (pee-on) serving the government.
So I start caregiving but my blood pressure is up now. So I’ve basically decided to risk my fucking life to leave that fucking job up above for doing passports. So whatevs, can’t descend this into poetics, for I have forsaken this entire rant/essay.
They should add it to the bible as a sacred addendum/scripture.
After I had run out of the previous job/passport fuck center, a family member gives me this wisdom;
“Most people work to live, not live to work.”
And I’m bitter. I’m at an age, where it’s really hit home. Working myself to death, angry as fucking death that I can’t sing in my home fucking home (it’s a fucking condo, yeah, I know)
“Most people work to live, not live to work.” And I am one of those fucking people, from the former, not the latter. I’ve had a few glorious moments during my life, living to work, because I’d had (for the moment) a glorious gig/thing/job going. But it did not last long and alas, those shit jobs are usually longer running.
I made mistakes in my life. So if you have teens and children that don’t want to get real life skills and/or degrees, show them this fucking essay and say it’s not worth it.
Take it from me, the broad/lady/woman (only I’m allowed to call myself those things, if you do, I will kick your ass) the woman who’s had several hundred jobs in her life and no viable skill; brick laying, carpentry, welding, plumber, workable degree, you know what I mean, tell these teens, kids (that don’t want to get a viable skill and/or degree and/or are waiting for lottery and/or counting on going viral and being rich-
“Good luck” you don’t want to end up like this fucking lady on this flucking blog bitching about her upstairs neighbor.
And by the fucking way, the bitch ain’t even allowed to fucking sing in her fucking home-a home (condo) in which she pays her mortgage and homeowners dues on time and in full each month!