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If Oldest Son (fyi: 20 yrs old) doesn’t start showing some true initiative about getting a job, I’m going to come un-F*CKING-done. He’s got such a negative self-concept and world view, and it’s making him such a freeloader.

AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!
(Thank you – I really needed that!)

Every time I ask him about what he’s doing toward that end, he gets defensive and belligerent. Last time I asked, he said, “I’m just waiting on one of these places to call me.” That just makes me want to pop a gasket. Whatever happened to continuing the search until something comes through? Or, more to the point, what happened to keeping the hand that feeds you informed of your efforts to be self-sufficient (or at the very least, a contributing member of the household) so that you don’t have to be ASKED. Because – hello?! – if someone has to ask, that usually means they see no signs…hello?!

Exhibit A:
My parents have (mistakenly, I think) offered to fund getting the Beast running again and switch it over into his name. Their condition is he present insurance verification. Well, he thinks he needs the truck to get a job, but to get the truck he has to have insurance, and how’s he gonna pay for insurance without a job? The killing part of it is, he sees himself in a catch-22.

AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!
(Thank you – I really needed that!)

Fast food, I have been informed, is beneath him. (Choosy little beggar, ain’t he??!!) And, besides, the city bus system takes too long to get where you’re going. (Granted, our bus service in this city sucks butt big time in that regard, but…WTF ELSE are you doing with your time?)

Exhibit B:
This morning I go wake him up to tell him that I’m leaving and that Second Son is staying home today, as he was up puking through the night, so don’t be surprised if you see him sprint to the bathroom (and more importantly, DO NOT get all parental on him and accuse him of skipping school behind my back, I was thinking, but had the sense to not say aloud.) Before closing the door, I politely (yes, including ‘please’) asked him (for the third morning in a row) to take all the dirty dishes (that are not supposed to be out of the kitchen any-damn-way, also not spoken aloud) to the kitchen when he gets up. Thank you – see you after school.

About 11am, my cell phone rings. It’s him.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m up.”

“Ok.” (It’s about time!)

“Did you leave me any cigarettes?”

“No, why?” (Oh, you’ve got balls, little man.)

“Well, I don’t have any – it’s the least you could do.”

“I have to go.” (Snapped cell phone shut before 30-some highschoolers learned some new cuss words.)

AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!
(Thank you – I really needed that!)

It’s the least I could do?

Yes, you’re right, son. That IS the least I could do. But instead I choose to let you live here which provides you with:

  • a roof over your head
  • heat
  • hot showers and a clean toilet
  • clothes on your back
  • a washer and dryer to clean said clothes
  • food in your belly
  • access to a computer with broadband Internet access
  • free local and long-distance telephone
  • satellite TV

..but you want cigarettes, too.

You better be thanking your lucky stars you were born human, because if we were animals in the wild, I’d have done killed your ungrateful ass a long time ago!

An hour later, my cell phone rings again. He’s done the dishes, cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the living room. I say thank you, but I have to go – I’m in the middle of Pre-Calculus.

When I came home this afternoon – without cigarettes for him – he copped an attitude and left. Is still gone.

Good thinking, son.

Don’t start none – won’t be none.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

Suzanne

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