Women and the resulting parenthood

Fact of the day: Finnish people, on average, earn about 2500e a month. And they're fine with that. What a load of bollocks, wasting your life on an 8-16 job with minimum wage. Honestly, even the mere thought gives me the desire to leap from some 66th story window. And excuse me for not saying hello if you do catch me at that particular time: I'll have other things on my mind. The pavement, for instance.

Caught a girl's phone number at my work training this week. Which is kinda cool. And I haven't even filled my head with multiple scenarios of rejection. Indeed, my self confidence has never been greater. No sirree you won't be finding me admitting anything else.

Getting a girl's phone number made me appear somewhat a huge playah in some peoples' eyes. Which I obviously am. Women collapse in ecstasy in a wonderfully chaotic manner to my left and right. As a matter of fact, for sheer efficiency, I have a habit of moving about with my roehmy hanging outside my pants. I sometimes shag five or six times just on the way to the bus stop.

A customer, by definition, is someone involved in a financial interaction process. I don't think it would be unfair to add "a complete and utter idiot" to that description. I believe it is in the human nature to, while being serviced, take advantage of the slight upper hand created by the situation. Some people, thank goodness, don't mind this psychological advantage, while others take the opportunity to turn to complete assholes. Categorizing both of these groups into one collective term, customer, is just too generous.

Speaking of assholes, check out what just popped into my cell phone. A text message from the head of the family. Now, I'm not gonna whine about my parents like some unhappy teenager, so bear with me. The elders are on vacation far far away from here. We've agreed with the syster and bro to use the family's cars as we all see fit. And the French bread thing is sitting in my parking lot, waiting to get the elders from the airport as they return from their precious holiday.

So. As it seems, my father figure, although having no idea of what's going on back home, has decided to stir the peace. I've apparently taken the car without permission. And, as if that would amount to a shit's worth of help, this half-kobold has the audacity to send me a text message about this matter. Perhaps ring me up so this matter would be resolved? No. Ask my siblings to call me if they had a problem? No. Just decided to fucking ruin my evening by sending this purposeless text.

Sure, I can take the car to sit outside the parents' house. And it'll bloody well sit there while they're waiting to be picked up from the airport.