Rant.
Okay, as all of you know, I have work every Sunday morning 1 AM to at least 5AM.
It is about seven to eight o'clock in the morning where I am snug in my bed, asleep. Until I'm woken up by a bang bang BANG. "I want my gameboy" he cries like a fucking three year old. I hadn't had enough sleep yet and if I don't get enough sleep, I tend to get very sick.
So, in reaction, I get up. I open the door and glare at Pamela the mother of these "wonderful" children we've been taking care of, who'd stayed over the previous night. Then I glare at her son, the one bitching about his fucking gameboy that he probably couldn't play due to not being able to read anyway. I breif him to "shut up" and then I shut the door. It was not FIVE MINUTES LATER that I hear him screaming again.
Mike, being he knows how it feels to be dog-tired and be woken up by their screaming, steps upstairs and yells at Pamela, the horrid mother. "Hey, Treanna has to sleep. She works her ass off for the money she makes and has to get up at an ungodly hour. She works. You don't. So lay off." Pamela stayed upstairs for a good hour after that one. I am pissed. Pamela needs to get the hell out of my house and look for a godddamn job. What is she doing? "Hanging out with her kids". No. You know what she's doing? Free loading off my dad.
And to those kids, don't even get me started. I don't care whether they care if I get sick or not, but I am not going to lose sleep because there's a twelve year old boy who cannot read screaming about his "lost" gameboy.
It is about seven to eight o'clock in the morning where I am snug in my bed, asleep. Until I'm woken up by a bang bang BANG. "I want my gameboy" he cries like a fucking three year old. I hadn't had enough sleep yet and if I don't get enough sleep, I tend to get very sick.
So, in reaction, I get up. I open the door and glare at Pamela the mother of these "wonderful" children we've been taking care of, who'd stayed over the previous night. Then I glare at her son, the one bitching about his fucking gameboy that he probably couldn't play due to not being able to read anyway. I breif him to "shut up" and then I shut the door. It was not FIVE MINUTES LATER that I hear him screaming again.
Mike, being he knows how it feels to be dog-tired and be woken up by their screaming, steps upstairs and yells at Pamela, the horrid mother. "Hey, Treanna has to sleep. She works her ass off for the money she makes and has to get up at an ungodly hour. She works. You don't. So lay off." Pamela stayed upstairs for a good hour after that one. I am pissed. Pamela needs to get the hell out of my house and look for a godddamn job. What is she doing? "Hanging out with her kids". No. You know what she's doing? Free loading off my dad.
And to those kids, don't even get me started. I don't care whether they care if I get sick or not, but I am not going to lose sleep because there's a twelve year old boy who cannot read screaming about his "lost" gameboy.