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My Shit’s Fucking Real

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Since we’re on the topic of self loathing and the fakeness (<–new word)….

These are photos of my wedding ring, yes my actual ring. Notice the grime and the old lady hands, which is just great, since at 28 I want to have like 80 year old hands–> yuck.  I also have problem taking pictures, they always come out blurry, which is probably why my hopes of being a famous photographer have been broken like a good china plate…
Hello Granny Hands!
Good thing you went and did your
nails before you posted a picture
of your hand online…..
Now pray tell, why would I post a picture of such a lovely piece of jewelry? Well besides bragging rights………….
I have an acquaintance through a really good friend of mine. I knew her in high school, we were cool but indifferent. Well over the years my good friend got really close to this other person who we’ll just call Heather for the sake of me not having to say acquaintance in every other sentence.  So needless to say at my good friend’s functions there was Heather and her Husband, Mr. Stanford, as in “remember that time at Stanford…, or they say the hardest school to get into now is Stanford…” (have I mentioned I hate pompous pretentious assholes as much as I hate ignorant fucktards… they pretty much balance each other out on scale of fucking stupidity).  They are cool and polite. Distant and yet approachable. I can’t really wrap my mind around them, so for the most part I ignore them, until….
Heather looks down at my ring and goes, “oh hey that’s nice.” I say the usual thank you, and compliment her on her wedding ring, which bears a resemblance to mine but is not quite the same. I genuinely think it’s lovely. I give her a sincere compliment. She returns the compliment by saying very snobbish, “well you know it’s quite old, it’s been in Mr. Stanford’s family for awhile. What about your ring, has it been in the family?” Wow. That’s to the point I suppose. But I  brush it off, I’m practicing being nice, and I don’t want to start shit at my good friend’s party. So I say, “well, no it hasn’t. I did pick it out though, I mean the stone and the setting.”  So Heather (who’s been eyeballing my bling for awhile now) says, “Ohhhh. Well, what does your husband do for a living then?” Excuse me…. WHAT THE FUCK. I swallow down some vehement cuss words, and tell her, “He’s an Operations Manager.” Heather is bored now or something because she says in a very nonchalant voice, “oh, I didn’t think they made that much money.” At this point my eyes are bulging out of my head and I’m about two seconds away from shanking the hooker right there with witnesses around. Instead my voice gets really tight and I say, “what do you mean.”  Heather says, “oh, nothing. I just, well what do you do again?” I can tell where this is going, and exactly what she’s trying to get at. This is a thinly veiled attempt to say “hey bitch, I think your ring is a fake because there’s no way you could afford that shit.” The fucking nerve of some people.  This bitch used to cry at lunch time over stupid boys and then went out and acted like a freaking whore, literally. And just because she married some yuppie white guy she is suddenly better than me? Classier than me? (<– actually I might be willing to give her this one, because well…. it doesn't take a lot to be classier than me, but you get the point) FUCK. THAT. SHIT. It doesn't matter what the ring cost, if it's fake or real, none of that crap matters. You can't outclass me hooker, fuck that. If it's a game of words and slight insults you want to play at, game fucking on.
I say, “Well I’m an Executive Assistant for a small start up Biotech, in which I own stock, and get paid very, very well.”
Heather: “oh, so you’re like a secretary.”
Me: “Not really, I oversee all the Administrative Operations within the company, I head the Human Resource Department, etc.”
Heather: “Oh, so you have to work.”
Me: “Actually I don’t, I just don’t want to sit at home letting my mind get stale, or thinking that you know I’m entitled to be yuppie upstart while my husband makes all the money.” (Ok, ok, so I really didn’t say anything past “actually I don’t.” But I did think the rest)
Heather: “Oh.”
Me: “So anyway, I had this ring custom designed. I picked out the stone and everything. The setting is vintage Cartier, how about yours?”
Heather: “Uhh well like I said, it was in Mr. Stanford’s family.”
Me: “Oh how nice, so he didn’t actually but it then?”
Heather: “Well no.”
Me: “Oh, well the phubster bought mine, CASH. Which is nice, because you know we’re not like a slave to payments for it or anything. And I had it insured, you know just in case.
Heather: “In cash?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Heather: “Can I see that again?”
Me: “Actually I have to go now, the phubster’s probably looking for me.”  
At this point I jumped off my bar stool in the most lady like way I could (legs closed) and walked away very smugly.  So answer me this Snarksters… why are people so quick to assume the worst, or to be pretentious or just flat out rude.  First is started at the grocery store with me, and the encounters I have just keep stacking up out of my favor. It’s a quandary  If I were a thinking person I might argue something about Karma, and being a bitch before, but I mean who’s got time to ponder the infinite mysteries of the cosmos? Not I. Nay, not I. 
At any rate, haters, self loathers, pretentious asshole, fakers, losers all ABOUND and I am drowning in them. Which I hate. Don’t front what you ain’t got. That’s what I say. And here’s the thing about Karma, or just life in general. If you can’t genuinely be sincere, and give out nice compliments now and then you’re going to burn in hell. Even if you think your shit smells like roses for realz, stop to be kind, at least once a day.  You never know who’s watching (like the Devil, or God for that matter), and your one act of random kindness will make a difference. You don’t have to do a major “Pay it Forward” act, just something small.  Case in point, yesterday I opened the door at the Mexican taco shop for my phubster. He got the stroller stuck, and when he finally pulled it through I clapped for him, to which he gritted his teeth and said, “Really? Thank you.” Oh phubster you ARE so WELCOME. It’s the little things people, the little things. 
Lessons Learned:
1. My ring is fucking real. God Damn it. Challenge me and DIE.
2. How is it that 100% Asian girl, who only dated Asians marries a white yuppie guy and then thinks she’s the Golden Calf. Home girl’s about to get knocked the fuck off her pedestal
3. Be kind, Karma will get you
4. Stanford is not the be all and end all of colleges. FUCK THAT.
So got anything to share, got a hater you want to put on blast? Do so…. we can have a group shanking…………
And in case you’re wondering…. box wine did strike this weekend, but that’s a post for another day because I don’t know if I can handle talking about Passion Parties and Lube right now, which is another kindness I’ve done today. Shit I’m good at this stuff.
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About sars!

...new people with great stories to tell, anyone who will challenge my brain and not leave me feeling like I just sat through a two hour lecture on how to tie your shoe...

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