Rant Day! Things Never Stopped Pissing Me Off, But I Forgot to Write Them Down!

Item 1: Welcome to grad school, where the rules are made up and deadlines don’t count. This whole MA thing might just take an entire year longer because they maybe won’t let me in the write-your-thesis seminar because I didn’t get a grade on one stupid other seminar in time. So fucking inflexible. But then I keep hearing stories that many girls just got in anyway, never mind that they were only halfway done with all their prerequisites. Look, I got everything done, I registered my topic, and I have a supervisor. Why can you never make an exception for me, huh?

Item 2: Had a very bad bout of depression about the state of women and the state of the world in general, and Boyfriend thinks I can’t read his thoughts. I know that he thinks its ridiculous, that’s why I don’t talk to him about it, even if he insists I talk to him about it. It’s not like he could solve the world for me. It’s not like he can even listen without an uncomfortable sigh or an interjection of “Well, men have it bad too, you know”. Yeah, well, that’s your own problem, isn’t it? Who’s creating problems for everyone?

Item 3: Boyfriend and my clothes. First it’s, “Are you wearing sweatpants?!” Yes. Yes, I am. We’re going to the grocery store, I’m not dressing up for that. It’s aisle 4 at the corner store, not the New York fashion week or some shit. Then later he said to me, “You could wear something like this sometimes” after seeing a woman presenter on TV in a dress. Okay, one: A guy who spent every day of the last thirty-odd years in jeans and t-shirts does not get to tell me how to dress. Two: Right, where? Am I going on TV? Am I getting paid? Do I get my own stylist? Are we going out? No, we never go out. So now I’m sitting here in my best red dress with all my jewellery on, and I’m playing Diablo III, and I’mma get my season char to level 70 before him. In style. Suck it, motherfucker.

Item 4: Overwatch is taking forever to get here, the alpha’s been out forever, come on, Blizz, I need something new to waste my life with!

Item 5: I’m so done with losing weight, I’m just going to pretend this is the fault of the Neanderthal DNA I no doubt carry in large quantities, they got a new study coming out in Bonn that Neanderthal DNA can influence your weight, maybe I should just send them a blood sample?

Item 6: I think I’m going to write a lengthy exposé about why school dress codes are fucking disgusting, because literally the only thing you’re teaching kids is that girls’ bodies are free to be policed by so-called ‘authorities’ at any and all points in their lives. So glad we don’t have this shit here, but who knows, stupidity is known to spread across the globe real fast.

Item 7: I’m not half as creative as I think I am, as evidenced by the fact that all porn parody titles I come up with already exist. Bet you didn’t know that “Whorrey Potter and the Sorcerer’s Balls” was a thing, eh? Apparently that one won an award.

Item 8: There’s an influx of graffiti in the ‘hood, so now I have to go out in the cold with my red pen and correct their spelling and grammar mistakes. Assholes. Everyone has a smart phone, but gods forbid they download a dictionary.

Item 9: So I looked at some what the facebook friends-of-friends promised me to be amusing pictures titled “Why my kid is crying”. Like the Queen, I was not amused. Most of the time I was thinking, Why are you snapping a picture when you should be slapping some sense into your dumb fucking kid? And that’s how I realised I’m still not ready for parenthood.


Rant Day! A Few Things That Earned Mine Ire, Oct 26 – Nov 1

Item 1: Brought to you by local news: So a guy punched a woman in the face on the subway in broad daylight, then slapped her boyfriend because she kissed her boyfriend and he felt provoked by that kiss because he hasn’t had a girlfriend in two years. It’s spreading! The stupidity is spreading! I told you this kinda shit would happen if we don’t put America under a giant glass dome soon! This level of entitlement is not indigenous, I tell you. People used to be reasonable here. No more so, apparently! Like, dude, really, you didn’t have a girlfriend in two years? Could that have anything to do with the fact that you like punching people in public, you fucked up asswipe? Can we bring back the pillory already? Or at least publish the name of this absolute tool somewhere, so women will know to avoid him forever. This is the kind of guy who’s stinking up the gene pool, don’t for the love of any god you care for let him breed. Spread the word, make it known.

Item 2: People on public transport, stop staring at me because I’m carrying a cake. Don’t you ever carry cake around? Sucks to be you, then, you probably don’t have any friends.

Item 3: I changed my thesis focus slightly and now I’m questioning everything I’m doing and have been doing and will ever do.

Item 4: Why do some amazon sellers insist on making their return policy as complicated as humanly possible? Okay, you know what, maybe I just keep this surplus item, this all seems just not worth the hassle.

Ahhhh. Actually, this wasn’t a bad week. Like, for me, personally. But now it’s November and I got a shit ton of stuff to do. So… don’t you get used to this.

I’m Lawrence of Underwearia, Bringing You the Gospel According to St. Trunks

So I’ve started wearing men’s underwear.

And Boyfriend had a mini freak out.

Story time! So I’ve been really frustrated with my underwear recently, because due to a mighty amount of squats the booty be bangin’ but my underpants fit no more. I’ve been having the wedgies from hell. I might as well wear thongs, only I don’t because that’s as good as having a piece of shoe lace between your butt cheeks and that’s hellishly uncomfortable. So I’ve tried to find cheap underwear in two sizes up, at which point things get really expensive. I’ve found some cute DC superhero ones, though.

At around the same general point in time, I had a doctor’s appointment one one of the hottest days of the week (32ºC at 11 a.m. What. The. Hell. Literally.), but cancelling was not an option. When the outside temperature approaches my body’s temperature I get really uncomfortable and sweaty and I have no idea what I should wear because ‘nothing’ is also not an option. We have semi-naked or naked women (yes, sometimes literally naked, no, we don’t even cover nipples around here) on every other billboard but somehow women can’t go out naked in public. Does this not make sense to anyone else? Anyway. So I don’t want to wear pants. I also don’t want to wear shorts and show my legs because I’m self-conscious. The floor length skirt is in the wash covered in cat hair from the previous day’s visit to grandma’s. The breezy joggers suffered a horrible ice cream related accident. Why don’t I own bermudas? Oh, right, because I look terrible in them. Damn you, vanity!

Conundrum! I could wear a dress, I guess, I have a knee length one. But I hate wearing dresses without leggings because I’m paranoid someone will try to peek or try to take an upskirt pic with their stupid cellphone camera which absolutely everyone has now (yes, I know, I’m really paranoid) and then I’d have to pepper spray and beat up someone and that will make me late for my appointment.

Problem solve? I could wear shorts under a dress, but that’s too damn hot. And suddenly, an idea strikes. What if I wore boxer briefs? They’re like shorts, but they’re also underwear. Best of both worlds! So I sneak on tippy toe to Boyfriend’s underwear drawer and purloin a pair. Have fun taking pics of acres of black shorts, perverts!

So I spend my day in a dress and boxer briefs and find… hey, this isn’t half bad. I mean, my legs are too thick for the boxers because Boyfriend’s a twig, but my entire ass fits in here. When has that ever happened? If they were a size bigger the legs wouldn’t even be a problem. Maybe I should nick some briefs more often (only to find that you should absolutely not wear them under skinny jeans). As you know from my previous posts, I wear a lot of men’s clothing with the exception of pants because they’re too tight around the hips and too loose around the middle because men are shaped weirdly. So by extension I never thought men’s underwear would fit me. Until now.

Another idea strikes. I shall purchase some trunks for myself! Only in a size Medium because apparently women have bigger legs than men. Or maybe it’s just me and the thunder thighs of doom. Anyway.

So off to the store I hop and get a three pack of black boxer briefs. I hop home (okay, I’m not actually hopping in case that wasn’t clear), throw my new purchases in the wash and tell Boyfriend “Oh, by the way, I got myself some boxers, they’re a size M though, so you know, please don’t get them mixed up with yours.”

And Boyfriend unleashes the bitchface.

“Boxer shorts?!” he echoes.

“I needed underwear,” I say, feeling inexplicably defensive.

“Why would you wear boxers? They’re for men!”

“They’re comfy.”

“But they’re for men, why don’t you buy women’s underwear?”

“It’s cloth and and they’re stitched together in the same sweatshop in Taiwan or somewhere, why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“It’s a real turn off.”

And I unleash the bitchface. “You oughtta know.”

Two days later, I’m in boxers and contrary to all my hopes the briefs do absolutely nothing to turn him off. Apparently the bitchfit was thrown on principle alone. I really need to talk him into getting his head checked, this shit ain’t normal.

Literally, it’s just stretchy cloth that happens to fit better. And the part in front, it’s not even hanging down or anything, so no dick required. I mean, I wouldn’t have a problem with him wearing women’s underwear. They’d fit him well, seeing as he has the right amount of hips and butt, namely zero. Really, I don’t know how manufacturers imagine the majority of the female population. Yes, some of us are twigs but some of us are branches or maybe even trunks, pun very much not intended. And I, for one, have this weird shape that goes in and out and was en vogue circa 1892. This is what I have to work with, now give me decent knickers, not those strips that barely reach my hip bones and only cover half my ass!

And until then I’ll buy myself a drawer full of boxers. I shall defend my right to wear them to the death! They can take my life, but they can’t take my trunks! Technically I could even wear them outside because it’s not really noticeable that they’re underwear. And no one expects the Spanish Inquisition a woman in boxers.

The Bloody Chamber and the Bloody Ridiculousness of It All

So we discussed the Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber in a class I had. For those of you who don’t know the story, it’s basically a turn-of-the-century (from 19th to 20th in case that wasn’t clear) retelling of the Perrault’s Bluebeard fairy tale (Charles Perrault, 1697, the story itself is a lot older and the older versions have a lot more female agency) only from the perspective of the wife, who is a seventeen year old girl trying to escape the poverty she lives in with her widowed mother by marrying an insanely rich and perverted Marquis who plans to kill her like his other wives. Go look it up, but only read it if you have a strong stomach.

Anyway, I really just need to vent, because I also have to write a paper on this and I keep coming back to the class discussion. This is going to be about gender studies, so if you don’t like gender studies a) screw you, b) bye.

The discussion was interesting, albeit not from a literary point of view but from a psychological one. I mean… people were going on and on about how the seventeen year old working class narrator didn’t marry the Marquis for love and called her a gold-digger and an adulteress because the young piano tuner was nice to her and she noticed he was pretty. But no-one, absolutely nobody, lost a single word about how the middle-aged serial killer Marquis didn’t marry her for love either, but to make her his next murder victim. I mean, perspective, please! And that got me thinking. I mean, I get the criticism that this is a first person narrator and first person narration is always unreliable, even if nothing points to the narrator lying, but let me get this straight: A very young girl living in poverty, trying to earn a meagre living as a pianist, wants to escape poverty by way of marriage – not that she actively pursues that because she doesn’t, it just so happens – so she and her mother will be taken care of financially, and everyone calls her names and goes on about how “weeeeell she didn’t marry for luuurrrve”; but a guy about fifty who wants to marry a teenager so he can fuck her and then behead her, we go “Welp!”

I mean, come the hell on! Are we really this desensitised to male violence that we basically shrug and call it Tuesday? Is this just something we expect now? Are we really not going to talk about a guy who marries one woman after the other just so he can torture and kill them in horrible ways, and who sets his latest wife a trap just so he has a reason to kill her too because she ‘disobeyed’ him by discovering his murderous little secret? Are we just going to ignore all this in favour of calling a teenage girl a gold-digger and worse? Oh, we are? Well, fuck all y’all, that’s what’s wrong with the world!

And then there was that special case of a dude in the back who was like, well, if the Marquis had only found the perfect wife he would have stopped killing, basically he was torturing himself, to which, thankfully, the entire class decided this was taking things a step too far. I think sometimes the most scandalous thing a man today can do is to respect a woman’s choices. Like, seriously, no one cares if a man murders women, but I’m sure everyone would be writing paper upon paper about a male fictional character who is just a decent human being. But then they’d probably call him effeminate or emasculated (like the narrator’s second husband, the nice music-loving but blind piano tuner) or just plain boring.

It’s bad enough that in the story the entire castle staff and the village know what’s going on, because killing wives and women is sort of a family tradition apparently, and everyone’s just sort of okay with that. Takes the narrator’s mother to put a stop to this. And you know how? She got a phone call. One single phone call from her daughter that wasn’t even about “Hey, I just found hubby’s former wives”. Actually, that phone call was before all that. And mom rushes in like a maternal avenger and just shoots the bastard without a single word. One woman, one bullet, all it took to end a few centuries worth of murderous terror. I’d actually be interested in hearing the mother’s side of the story. Now that’s the kind of motherhood I could get behind.

Yeah, yeah, I know there are a lot of other different aspects to this story but I can’t be arsed to discuss them here, I already have a full formal analysis to write, so don’t come in here with “Oh, but you’re missing the point of the story”, because I’m not, I’m just standing on one of them and I’ll move on to the others when I’m good and ready. Just really, really needed to get that off my chest before I can go back to working. Peace.

Rant Day! Things That Pissed Me Off, June 6 – June 12

Why do I think this week conspired with fate to make me throw myself out a very high window?

Item 1: I recently read an article stating that due to new analysis it turns out that 50% of buried Viking warriors in a grave were actually female. How do they know that? Because they finally analysed the damn bones! The bone structure and everything, which as every idiot should know, there are giant differences between male and female bone structures. Used to be, they just looked at the grave goods and were like “Huh, swords, shields, they were warriors. Obviously they were males!” I also read another article, where it turns out most stone age artists (the awesome cave painting artists) 40,000 years ago were actually mostly women! How do they know that? Because they finally analysed the damn paintings! Used to be, they just looked at the paintings and assumed they were made by men because obviously men were hunters so obviously they would paint animals as hunting magic. Why did they assume all this? I dunno, because men are obviously so much more logically inclined, I guess (it’s evolution, just like the fact that they have to sleep around whenever possible, dontchaknow.) And they just assumed. Because it was so obvious to them that women didn’t participate in society in the past, oh, 400,000 years. Which of course begs the question what else archaeologists and historians were wrong about because they based their claims on assumptions instead of actual evidence. If the fact that male scientists did not use actual science in a scientific discipline to back up their claims doesn’t convince you we still need feminism I don’t know what will.

Stop with the assuming and stick to good academic practice, damn you! End male bias in academia! When you assume you make and ass out of u and me.

Item 2: Printers. So we had to exchange the modem and predictably our wifi printer doesn’t work no mo’. So I’m like, no big deal, I’ll just install it anew. Except it is a big deal because it can’t find a connection on its own and the network cable is nowhere to be found. No big deal, I say, I shall purchase a new one. Except that I couldn’t find any store that had those very particular cables. No big deal, I say, I’ll order one on the Internet and print out my stuff at the library. Except that we only have two copiers in the library and the queue was very, very long. One girl was even nice enough to let me quickly print some files from my flash drive. Except that I forgot to print two files because I was in a hurry. No big deal, I say, I’ll print it after the seminar. Except that that printer was then broken and the other one out of paper. No big deal, I say as my eye starts to twitch, I’ll run down to the other building and print it there. Except that now my files weren’t working and thus not printable. No. Big. Deal, I say, now slightly frothing at the mouth and generally done with the world, I’ll upload them again and come back tomorrow, I say as I slouch homewards where I proceed to pour myself a very big drink. So I upload my files again. Go to the printing place again. Then the copier ate my copy card and still wouldn’t let me print.

But that’s no big deal, I’m sure the murderous rampage I went on after that will be ruled a crazy mass suicide by the police.

Item 3: Dear otherwise friendly librarian, don’t shush me just because I said thanks to the girl who let me use the copier. Those people around the corner you mention? They’re not actually working, they’re running around barefoot (!) and visiting with their friends. Go shush them!

Item 4: Potential employers everywhere: Don’t ask me to pretend your 10 hour a week job offer is my dream job. It’s not and we both know it. It’s not anyone’s dream job. You need someone to do work for you. I’m capable and diligent. Now let’s cut the bullshit, we both know I’m here about the money. Hire me, pay me, we could be so happy.

Seriously, I shouldn’t even have to write a cover letter for some 10 h/week temp job.

Item 5: I probably blew that postgraduate interview I was angsting about last week because I still have too little work experience in the field. Because somehow you always need work experience in a specific field before you can start education in this field. However that’s supposed to work, since everyone expects you to have this education before they can consider you for an internship, much less a job.

Item 6: “Hold on until Monday”. That’s my mantra until, uh, Monday. Then things will get easier and all I’ll have to do is write.

Some days I’m so done I pour whisky in my Ben&Jerry’s tub.