You Know You Live...

I've been at My place for almost two months now, and I am unable to deny one uncompromising truth: I miss living at my parent's house.

Psych!!!

I love being on my own. The freedom, and luxury of walking around in my underwear is amazing. The only person who habitually views myself in my disrobed glory...suffice it to say that she enjoys the sight.

That being said I live in the ghetto. At first I thought...nah this is no different than my home in the chats...not high class, but not bad. I am past all such delusions. I live in the hood. Here are a few reasons that have brought me to this unassailable proof.


Transportation

I am not above taking the bus. Back in my single days, while many guys killed themselves financially by purchasing these vehicles...I was quite happy to tell any girl walking that I was rocking a bus pass. Granted, I always shaded it with environmental consciousness (let me tell you girlies have a soft spot for a man who treats his mother well, why not Mother Earth?). Everything is all about the way you say it. Like Martha Stewart always says, "Presentation is everything". Boys, listen to that waspy bitch, the girls do.

The reason I believe that I live in the hood is not that people are too poor to drive so they take the bus, but rather that when I wake up and take the 7:30 bus to work, I can always get a seat.

I am the middle stop on the line to my metro (French-Canadian version of the subway), which means that most people in my town either don't work typical 9-to-5's, or rather that they don't work at all. They're either drug dealer's...or clientele.

Also, and this is a more humorous indication of the G-Level (ghetto level) of my town. There are a great many grown men who drive bikes...not as a leisurely activity, but as a primary means of transportation. Ghetto!!!


Child Rearing

First of all, I understand that every now and then a guy is in a dry spell, so he goes for the less attractive girl..everyone needs a slump-buster. But in true ghetto style, I can't walk down my block without seeing 2 things. 1) 3 liquor stores and 2) an ugly chick with a brand new baby, and who is pregnant as all hell. Only in the Ghetto are ugmos prime real estate. My Girly loves it that I live here, because she is absolutely certain that I would never approach any of the "females" (and I use that term extremely loosely, cuz god-damn) that live near-by.

I can't even begin to describe how many 6 year-olds there are hanging about outside of my place after 10, how evident the shotgun is at the corner store, because the Korean guy that owns the place (another ghetto warning bell) is sick of little hands stealing everything that isn't behind the counter (and some of the stuff that is, the sneaky buggers).

Also if you're chain smoking while pregnant with your third child while the other two still in diapers force feeding them marshmallows for supper because they scream bloody murder when they're in the presence of a vegetable (it doesn't matter if they're 3, and still can't string together a sentence), odds are you can forget saving up for college money, you had better save up for bail.


Location Location Location

It's true that my place is newly renovated, but the place next to me is still vacant, and the door has been kicked in (by the police or a rival drug dealer, I have no idea). I am a boy, so I care more about satellite reception than I do about interior decorating. Much to my girlies horror, I have put up a bed sheet to cover my Bay window. In the most ghetto proof of them all, one of my neighbors, a kind toothless old drunk black man, complimented me on my choice. He said the flowery motif added a natural flair to the building. It took me a few minutes to realize that he wasn't insulting me, the glint in his good eye showed that he was really genuinely happy to live next to such a high-class young man.


So when we go out to the bar, I'll yell out Cheers! First round's on...anyone but me! Unless it's any other day than the 1st or the 15th...cuz then no one has their welfare money.