My parents are rich. Like, very rich.
I grew up hating everything about my house. My cars, my bed, my cats, etc; you get the point. My step father, aka Hobie/Hoben/Hobes etc, owns a seemingly small residential and commercial contracting firm but makes a shit load of money. We live well below our means but own several fancy things that the general public normally doesn't see; except for our wonderful home (riverfront, brilliantly landscaped by my unemployed mother, a couple thousand cars etc).
Everything in my life has been about money. Or, rather, approached as if it were a business deal. My birthdays have been marked with extreme guilt and waffling over money. My life has been restricted by this rhetoric. My parents have paid little to no attention to my life pre-19 and self suffcient. In fact, my 19th birthday was a case of beer on my kitchen table with a note that said "Now I can treat you like a person - Hobie". It's wonderful.
So I never borrow money from my parents. Ever. If they give it to me I pay it back. I have money my grandfather left me when he died that I go to school/live off of aside from work. It's more of an insurance account.
I wish I could actually explain my childhood to you and this forum. It was what it was, and such is life. But to get it across would be nice.
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EX: Whats new?
ME: I officially love coffee more then you now.
EX: uh...
ME: So, not much.
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