Welcome back to Awkward Situations! In this episode: The Shopping Expedition!

So while the world keeps riding a roller-coaster to hell, life still goes on. Which in direct consequence means I still have to deal with the nitty-gritty, wibbly-wobbly, wishy-washy nonsense that is life among other people. I think we can all agree that we hate people sometimes. Not me, though; I save on postage and hate them always. Honestly, I’d almost prefer a zombie apocalypse. Hell, I’ll be first in line when they’ll hand out the zombie virus. Lurching around without being aware of anyone that’s not food, sign me right up! At least as a zombie you don’t get accosted by salespeople.

In the course of these human events it became clear one day that I needed a new computer chair, because for some reason this old back is not getting any younger and all the yoga in the world is not helping. So, new chair it is. Can’t do anything about the chair at work, so I’ll have to get one for home. Only problem is, to find out if you like a chair you have to sit in it. Physically. Because they don’t have 3D scans you can do from home. So I need to actually go to an actual store. Any store have any good ergonomic chairs? Yes, Ikea and some other place, both stores at opposite ass ends of nowhere. Actually, one ass end of nowhere is now a huge shopping mall because we’re becoming globalised over here. So I lurch (actually take the tram, then the subway, then another subway, then a ten minute walk) to that horrid place full of shops and people and children and beating-heart zombies who can’t look up from their phones to watch where the fuck they’re going. And apparently despite my obvious discomfort at the multitude of smells, sounds, and visual input, I still look like I’m up to buy a 30 EUR hand cream.

A guy from a booth in the middle of the way suddenly calls me over and first I think I must have dropped something, but no. That guy hands me a soap sample. Out of total brain confusion caused by sensory overload I thank him in English. And then the gates to cosmetic hell open up.

The problem is, despite my best efforts and biggest dreams, and the way I yell at my computer, I’m not exactly a fire spitting bitch, but a nice, mild-mannered person whose greatest regret at the end of life will be that I didn’t tell enough people to get all the way out of my face.

No. No, suspiciously touchy-feely salesman. Thanks for the soap sample, but no. But I’m feeling okay, like, not in full on fight – kill opponent – flight mode, so maybe I can flee by doing my usual routine of pretending I’m not from here? No, not working. Dude’s making small talk, still in English. Asks me where I’m from, tells me where he’s from, tells me all about this nail file, then about this cuticle oil, then about the hand cream… all the while rubbing stuff into my hands and I’m just there like…awkward-girl-meme

Trying to answer the age old question of how to politely tell a person to fuck off, while orchestrating this huge lie about being a grad student from Milton Keynes (no, I don’t know what was thinking when I thought of that!) and I’ll only be here for a year. And he just keeps going. Like, I know you need to make a sale, dude. You were probably spying on me from behind the fake greenery as my directionally confused ass was trying to locate the furniture store, and the vision of a commission was dancing in front of your eyes. I know your kind can smell a tenner a mile off. Or blood. One of the two. But, but, but… I’m not shelling out 30 for a hand cream. I tell him so. I tell him I’ll think about it while buying my new office chair. He says if I have an Austrian boyfriend I could rub it all over his body. I say I don’t think said boyfriend would like that. I make a joke about maybe I’ll ask my boyfriend to get me the stuff for Christmas anyway. He asks me why and I’m just… well, just so. Didn’t he get the joke? He didn’t get the joke. And suddenly he launches into a mini tirade about control within relationships and how back where he comes from they have these men’s/father’s rights groups who restore order within families when there’s problems and at this point I’m like…

target-lady

Someone get me the hell outta here! Somehow the conversation ends with my usual marketer spiel of “I’ll think about it, byyyyyyye….” and I flee. Making a mental note to find another exit from the mall so I don’t have to walk past him again. Text my small scale trauma to my actually existing boyfriend because WTF.

And then the furniture store doesn’t have the chair I wanted to try on (try on? try out? One of those). They miiiiight wanna put that on their website. Like, if they haven’t had that thing for a week, you know. Might be useful to change the little sign that says ‘in stock’. Because at this point it’s a barefaced, clean shaven, bold font lie.

Whyyyyyyy?

It’s the little things that confirm my hatred for most of my species. Milton Keynes me also hates people. Everyone of my fabricated personalities hates people. I’m just not made for the public.

Also, please tell me I’m not the only one pretending to be someone else when faced with a situation I can’t handle.

Also also, an hour later when I was finally home I discovered that cream gave me a rash. My usual 2,59 hand cream doesn’t do that.

And now I have to retreat to my bedroom, draw the curtains, shut fair daylight out, and make myself an artificial night in which I can ignore the world. Cheers.

Rant Day: Tales of Urrrrrgh

Item 1:

Let’s talk about digital hoarding for a second. I’m sure you’re doing it. You, yes, you. Yes, you with the face. You’re a digital hoarder. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean. Are you trying to tell me you dont save millions of screenshots, pictures, recipes, conversations, thirty different versions of your résumé, and no longer relevant documents?

Oh, you really don’t? I’m so sorry!

And the worst of the offenders are of course us MMO playing wackos. Currently, I’m facing the mammoth task of… cleaning out my WoW characters’ banks. I could sing hymns of praise to our dark overlord Blizzard for finally installing a wardrobe so you don’t have to keep collecting outfits in like a semi-physical sense that clogs up all your bags. But I’m getting the same irrational separation anxiety I already suffer every year when I have to clean out my actual closet. But, but… what if I still need it?! What if it fits me after I lose some weight?! What if they get rid of this new feature?! What if the system crashes and I lose everything?! What if…

Yeah. I may or may not have a problem. Is it still First World Problems if it’s online? Do we call this First Cyber Problems? European Server Problems? Problems of a semi-millennial part-time digital native?

Item 2:

In other news, I’m fairly confident my thesis supervisor has fallen down a well somewhere. I haven’t heard anything from her since I sent her my theory part a month ago. She hasn’t had any office hours since mid-July. I feel like I’m at the beginning of an epic adventure film (parody) in which I will travel distant fantastical lands and battle demons and beasts and rare mobs in my quest to rescue my supervisor and thus can finally complete the main quest, my thesis!

Or maybe she’s just on vacation. But I like my version better.

Also, I still have at least 60 pages to go. I’m so fucking dead.

Item 3:

I just read today that Pokemon Go is losing players rapidly. I mean, I guess we should have seen this coming. It was new and innovative and new, and games don’t live long on the newness factor. After a while I guess people become bored or frustrated or don’t feel like bracing the sun and the rain and the group of jeering youths that mock you mercilessly because you’ve been trying to catch an ugly ass duck thing for five minutes now. Not that that happened to Boyfriend or anything, its just a random, oddly specific example.

The entire premise is discomforting anyway. I mean, look at it through the eyes of a peasant from the 14th century. You’d see a lot of invisible demons that might turn up everywhere, literally on your shoulder, and the only one who can control them is that weirdly clothed warlock with his magical handmirror. And maybe if you offend the warlock he’ll sic all the enslaved demons on you! Run!

Now there’s a movie idea. Forget Yankees in King Arthur’s court, fucking cart Arthur into the present! A present full of wizards! Witchcraft! The forces of evil have finally overtaken the land! And the good burghers think it’s a lark!

Item 4:

I made a mistake at work the other day and I feel like I should crawl under a rock and die a slow perfectionist death.

Item 5:

So anyway, y’all see the new Ghostbusters?

Actually, I don’t wanna hear it, I don’t care, that movie is awesome, my inner nine-year-old loved the everloving hell out of it and has also decided to marry Jillian Holtzmann when we grow up. I mean, mom would get used to her eventually and dad would be so proud because I’m sure he always wanted for me to marry an engineer!

And to anyone trying to come in here like, oh, but she’s not canon gay, I say she’s the gayest gay to ever gay! And it’s fucking obvious if you’ve been hit with the queer stick yourself! Chrissakes, she’s been hitting on Erin the moment she walked in the door! That was very obvious hitting-on! The only way to make it any more obvious was to hit her over the head with a phaser pack! While chanting “I want to get in your pants for sex purposes!”

Also, they shot that ghost in the boo-balls. Spooky nuts. Geisterklöten. I approve of that.

Abominable Blatherer Strikes Again! Who will save the city? Not me, I’m on break.

I’m going to name my first stomach ulcer after this guy.

Remember this guy? No? How ’bout now?

I don’t even know where to fucking start. He’s no longer satisfied with talking us to death, now he has upgraded to utter nonsense that, if this were a job in the so-called real world, would get him fired and thrown out on the street so fast his ass would leave cracks in the pavement.

Does he show up to any meetings? No, he cancels five minutes before. Does he show up for his assigned hours? No, he cancels without informing anyone. The work related thing that he absolutely wanted to do and whined about for weeks, does he do that? Nope, never shows up. Does he do any kind of work assigned to him? No, he’s got so much academic commitment, he’s busy, he just didn’t get around, and anyway, that’s your job! He’d much rather do this and this and this because that’s more important, that’s what’s really going to get this team working!

He’s acting completely on his own “authority” now. Going so far as to offer internships to high schoolers without so much as a by your leave, team! We do not offer internships. We have neither the authority, permission nor competence to employ interns. The higher-ups would be most displeased. We can’t issue certificates. Also, the Blatherer (who offered the kid an internship with him, not with anyone else, no, just him) does not work nearly enough for the kid to learn anything substantial. So I wrote the high schooler sorry, mistake, can’t do it, but maybe you can become a full-on team member once you graduate, and if you’re looking for internships herehavesomelinkstoplacesthatactuallyofferinternships! I was nice! I was personable!

In comes the Blatherer and e-mails the kid to disregard everything I said.

No, you don’t understand, he literally said ‘disregard’.

So then other people get on him and tell him not to pull shit like this. Definitely not without asking if it’s okay. Definitely not without asking if that’s even legally possible, Mister We-need-to-propose-motions-and-act-on-democratic-principles!

And what’s his argument? “Well, we never said we didn’t do internships!”

This is why common sense stipulations should be a thing. Like, a thing you have to sign once you turn 18, otherwise you won’t be recognised as a legal adult. ‘I hearby declare that I will use my brain before I do anything‘. Something like that.

And then he goes, weeeell, such and such official department said I could do that!

I e-mailed them today. Let’s see. I have the sneaking suspicion the truth content of this statement is comparable to “Yes, I read the terms and conditions”.

I just don’t get this guy. What does he want? Control? Power? Does that get him off? First he contacts a photographer without anyone agreeing; then blows up in the face of the computer department because they were trying to double check some data we sent them; now this. Also, he decided we should have a new team member! And he’s coming by tomorrow! Because!

No one of the other ones knows this guy. There’s no e-mail contact, nor phone call, nor nothing. Just because the Blatherer invited him without telling anyone. We have no way of telling the guy we can’t meet him on such short notice and without even knowing his name. The only thing we know is that the Blatherer apparently promised this young man to help him get his father from Syria (!) to come to this country. Which… how? We could pay the young man even nowhere near the amount he’d need for travel expenses for his dad. Civic participation and all… but we can’t do it. We don’t have the means! We don’t have the budget! We just don’t!

So now everyone’s pissed and the chairpersons are tearing at their hair and trying to come up with a solution. I already talked to the Blatherer a month ago about how he can’t pull shit like this. What did I tell him about unauthorized and unilateral decision? I told him not to do it! This should be easy enough to understand for someone who’s in his twenties! So now I say, let him crash and burn. Let him have his bloody intern, if the highers get his ass, that ain’t my problem. I tried being nice. I don’t give second chances.

Uuuuuuuggghhh. I’m so fed up. I’m so done. I was having fun, and then along came this guy. What am I being punished for, was my life too easy again? Someone please hit him with a rubber chicken, that’ll show him!

Standing in the kitchen at 1 a.m. like a confused velociraptor looking for food

I wish I would post more often. But then life happens. Why? Did I get a new squeeze? No. Did I get a new job? No. Do I have classes? Actually, no. Did someone die? Actually, yes.

Somehow between trying to get an ounce of sense out of my library books and procrastinating on contacting my supervisor, I’ve managed to paint the walls, write a guide, writing job applications, going to lectures about writing applications and assembling a modern CV, check out the Overwatch Beta, nurse Boyfriend through his nose drop high (I am being entirely serious), and… other things. Like becoming uncharacteristically depressed because I’m 106% sure my mother started drinking again which unearthed a whole host of repressed anxiety about our relationship. So I turned my phone on silent for a few days to get some thesis work done without thinking about the implications that I still feel like my mother’s keeper.

And then her mother died. This week is not looking good.

So my other grandmother died just two months shy of her 95th birthday, which seems to become a trend in this family because other grandma did the same. And they all die suddenly, is this supposed to give me hope or not? Like, the one time I turn off my phone someone dies, is this a sort of super power and if yes, does it only work with immediate family members or…? Because I have a list, so, y’know. But now mom and aunt are depressed because while their mom mistreated them their entire lives her absence still somehow hits them like an eighteen-wheeler. Probably because of all the missed opportunities to actually have a functioning healthy relationship with her. So basically, fantasy.

When all I wanted to do was level my next Diablo III season char. Guess what I’m not going to get around to for a while.

Also, everyone’s going crazy over the presidential elections. Two candidates and they’re both at roughly the same percentage. Best joke I heard all week: 100% of Austrians agree that 50% of Austrians are idiots. What am I doing about it? Well, I voted. What else can I do, sacrifice something to Satan? Or Cthulhu? Who’s more into politics d’you reckon?

Blagh. I’m getting a whiff of the human existential angst that makes you say “Everything was better in the good old days!” Yeah, damn right everything was better twenty years ago when I was a small kid and didn’t have to worry about politics and voting and which old white man gets to lord it over me.

So what am I doing? I’m in the kitchen where 50% of politicians would have me, and I’m eating everything in sight. Because if we go down, we’re going down with a stomach full of dessert. Kinda like my grandmother.

The Return of the Abominable Blatherer!

So I’ve been keepin’ busy. Our apartment building’s been getting new windows in and Tuesday it was our turn, and I can still feel the dust in the air. I can feel it because I’m allergic. I haven’t stopped sneezing in days. And no amount of airing and vacuuming will get it out.

I’m also preparing a workshop. I’ve never lead a workshop before. Safe to say I’m a nervous wreck. Never been more nervous in my life, in fact. I want this to be good, you know? I want to distribute knowledge amongst my students-for-the-day. I want them to walk out of that room at the end of the day going, “Jup, that helped.”

Somehow this master’s thesis is also not writing itself and I need to go see my supervisor sometime soon.

And the last thing I need in between all of this… is this guy.

I feel like Jack Nicholson in that old Batman movie: I’ve given a name to my pain, and it is Batman the Abominable Blatherer. Now, if my problem was Michael Keaton, I’d be overwrought with joy. Because it’s Michael Keaton. Instead, I’m settled with… this guy.

So last year, before he was here, the team decided against putting pictures of our faces on the website. Because seriously, the team is rotating so much you’d have to switch out pictures ever year. Like, I’ll be gone come summer. Also, some of us are very concerned with control of our images on the web because by damn did we learn from American examples. Then internet is no longer our own private hidey-hole like it was in the early 2000s, now it’s a public place. No, we don’t even put pictures of us partying on facebook. No, not even if our bosses can’t force us to facebook friend them. No, not even if it’s illegal for our bosses to even ask us for our facebook name (we don’t even use our real names! And all our profiles are set to private! Because!). European millenials know how the damn internet works, so we like to keep our faces to ourselves until we get a real job, thank you very much.

I mean, look, it’s one thing to ask a question if you don’t know there was already a decision on this. It’s one thing to ask again because after all, we do have some newbies as well who may or may not want some pictures of themselves. That’s all fine.

But the Blatherer went ahead and contacted a professional photographer and got an estimate for group and single pictures. Mind, he did that literally five minutes after he said “Hey, we should have photos!” and literally three days before he thought to ask the twelve other people on the team about this. And now he keeps going on about it via e-mail. “I don’t understand why we can’t have pics!” Because the rest of us said no last year. Just because you are here now doesn’t change the minds of everyone else. Also, money. Why should our collective fund go to something only one of us wants and which is no use to our target audience? Hell, I even offered to lend out my old reflex camera if he absolutely wants a damn picture of himself so badly. But nope, it needs to be professional!

Now there are about 30+ e-mails in my inbox of people going back and forth and trying to get him to accept a solution that does not cost more than a hundred bucks. Does anyone beside me realise how much this guy is trying to run the show? Is anyone else tired? Is anyone else losing their motivation?

Also, we need an emergency meeting to discuss the new statutes he’s drawn up.

Someone should talk to this young man. But why me? Don’t we have people to deal with this? Like psychologists? Or HR? Or hitmen? Anyone?

The Amazing Adventures of the Abominable Blatherer!

Okay, so, I’m breaking a bit of a codex here. I made pact with myself that I wouldn’t talk about work. More precisely, that I wouldn’t talk shit about my colleagues. Such pacts are all well and good until your gorge rises and your heart speed is suddenly in the three digits area.

Do you know those people who talk… but they’re not actually saying anything? Like, they just talk? And talk? And talk? And talk? And no matter how often you tell them to shut up they just won’t? Even if they’re labouring a moot point? Even if whatever they’re complaining about was already resolved? Even if whatever they want just makes things more complicated and less efficient?

I have one of those at my work place. It’s getting ridiculous.

Usually, we’re quite an informal group. Things get discussed, pros and contras are brought in, and decisions are made via a simple majority of raised hands, or just a round of ‘yeah, sure’s. Also usually, we’re unanimous because most of our plans are sensible.

And then there’s this guy.

He’s not against anything, per se. But he’s trying to turn us into fucking parliament. We can’t just make a suggestion for a project or something, no, no, no, we need to propose a motion. And to show us how this works, he puts forward a motion that we sponsor a fund-raiser for a history related project he’s doing. Problem being, the way our place is set up, we’re not legally allowed to take in money from people. Don’t ask me, it’s complicated legal shit. All we can do is ask for donations, but we can’t, like, sell tickets or something. So we discuss this, because we all think this is what he wants us to do, and we go back and forth for ten minutes, with him yelling in between about democracy, until we finally arrive at the conclusion… all he wants is for us to promote the project and fund-raiser, which he’ll organise himself, on our homepage and social media.

Okay? Why didn’t you just say that? I mean, the project is interesting enough for our target audience and it’s for a good cause so why all this legal mumbo jumbo about motions and compliance audits and applicable documents? Just send us your shit and we’ll do it!

Somehow, though, he’s convinced that our team has dire troubles with decision making and general leadership, never mind the fact that we’ve all been rather happy with the way it’s been. But no, we need some really strict guidelines. And we can’t just have simple majority when we vote on something, we need to stick to three-quarters majority. And why are there never any abstentions, eh? Is everyone being pressured into casting their vote on something they don’t want by our evil chairpersons?! This is not how democracy works, we need to act according to democratic lines, what we really need are decent statutes that list in detail how we vote and in which order topics are dealt with, and which kind of projects receive aid, and how we propose motions and how to carry a motion and how to reject a motion…

Meanwhile, we’re all over there like

And if we want him to stop talking we should just propose a cloture, a motion to close debate, which I do, because fuck him, let’s get a laugh out of this, and we got a three-quarter majority on that particular motion and yet somehow, he keeps going.

You know? That kinda person who keeps coming up with all sorts of rules which apply to anyone but him?

I leave that particular meeting early. Because fuck it, I said I got two hours time, I’m not getting paid anyway, so two and a half hours is all you get from this bitch. And I’m not in here to get yelled at about democracy.

Look, I’m all for trying new things and better solutions and faster processes, and I respect the guy’s dedication to order. The problem is, he’s entirely inefficient, and efficiency is the thing I’m dedicated to. He’s slowing everything down with his inability to shut the fuck up. He’s making everyone resent his ass, thus fucking up the work climate. He’s actively blockading any decision. Just because he’s so in love with his ideas about motions. Like, didn’t he notice that parliament doesn’t exactly run smoothly? And that the number one complaint in this country is the mass of bureaucracy you have to wade through just to get a simple thing done? Like repair a bridge that needed repairing for the last twenty years? (But that’s a complaint for another time.)

But this dude just doesn’t realise that this particular three-quarter majority is so not on board with his suggestions. Because he’s not making suggestions, he’s flat out telling us that everything we do is wrong because he says so, because obviously he’s the expert in all things conduct and guidelines and law and politics. To me he’s sounding like he’s using democracy and bureaucracy as a shield to mark the beginning of a personal dictatorship which he will achieve by talking relentlessly until we all just give in to make him shut up. I’m so not here for that.

I’m also wondering what his sex life is like. “Motion to receive oral pleasure!” – ” Motion denied.”

Next time I see him I’ll just toss jelly babies at his head while shouting, “Hold it! Objection! Take that!”

And before any of you come in here like, “Yeah, tough gal, how ’bout you tell all that to his face instead of talking shit behind his back?”, I have. I have, multiple times. Multiple times over the last half a year he’s been here. I tried it nicely. Then I tried it not so nicely. Then I started yelling because he gave me a headache. Do you honestly think that type of person listens? And certainly not to me. Jelly babies it is!

The Revenge of Dr. Daffodil

I’ve been gone and busy for a week again. And boy, did I have myself a time. It was such a time, you guys! Very time-y. I mean, what’s better than sitting in a draughty room for days on end listening to people present their latest papers on topics that may or may not make sense and be worth researching?

I don’t want to hate on people who are far more successful in academia than I’ll ever be actually I do, but uh… some of them I just wonder how they got in? Or if they ran out of ideas somewhere in the last three years because their current research focus is slightly bonkers?

I mean, we had a very special case. Being a good student, I took notes throughout the talks, even though it wasn’t required, but hell, I wanted to remember who I’m going to library stalk. And then this one guy came in, who I’ve nicknamed Captain Daffodil, though in hindsight Dr. Daffodil would have been funnier. ‘Cause he’s got a Ph.D. and all. Captain Daffodil gave a talk about nature poetry and… somehow he was really into plants. Like, reeeaaally into plants. To the point he was talking about the rhythm of plants and made us watch a short clip of grass growing. Needless to say, I was slowly breaking down. With laughter. And the only way I could contain myself was to write my feelings down in my notebook.

So without further ado… here are the original notes [with additional info because this is a written medium and you’ll need context] I took during this particular talk:

  • tradition of plant narratives (Plato, Aristotle)

  • plant life and poetic form

  • Greek stories of people being turned into plants

  • word “verse” connected with cultivating of plants

  • lack of plant agency in nature poetry (I can’t believe I’m writing this down)

  • Seriously? We’re watching grass grow now? This is a thing that happens?
  • [prof is reading a poem by Alice Oswald about basically stumbling over a mustard field] fucking mustard, didn’t even notice this fucking bright yellow plague! Now suddenly I’m in a fucking field, how did that happen?

  • Alice, who the fuck is Alice? Yes, we know you want to bone Alice, shut up about Alice.

  • Is Alice secretly Poison Ivy?

  • Like is that her new secret identity after she escaped Arkham?

  • I mean, no one would expect that.

  • Postplantism!

  • Is that a thing now?

  • Is he secretly a World of Warcraft druid trying to spread the call of nature?

  • I’m not writing from the perspective of a laptop, dammit, stop writing from the perspective of a vegetable!

  • Someone get this man a cactus, stat!

  • Can’t wait for the questions. Can’t waaaait for the questions.

  • Or maybe he’s Poison Ivy’s minion.

  • [Someone in the room asks a question starting with “I’m actually glad my plants can’t talk”] Yeah, it’s good your plants can’t talk. Who knows what those plants have seen.

  • Does anything contribute to your argument?

  • Wait, what is your argument?

  • Did he and Alice Oswald have a threesome with a rhododendron?

  • Oh, my mistake, was mustard.

  • [Somewhere in the back a screw falls out of a chair.] The chairs are falling apart for nonsense!

  • Oh my god, I’m gonna throw you in a mustard field, when is this over?!

  • I wish I had a burka so no one could see me laughing.

  • Official nickname: Captain Daffodil.

  • Maybe he’s a sort of plant zombie.

  • This some Batman shit going down right here!

Thus ends the tragic talk of Dr. Daffodil and needless to say, the audience was astonished. Stunned. Very stunned. Words could not express how stunned we were. I now have to go and read Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich to get all the bad poetry out of my head.

Rant Day! Things That Mildly Annoyed Me, March 5-12!

Item 1: This agonizing wait to find out if I can have a place in my last class!

Item 2: Nudity. No, not nudity itself. I’m very pro-nudity, nudity for everyone. But then there are lecturers who show a film clip, pause it in the middle of a naked woman swimming and go, “I’m sorry, I tend to forget to warn audiences about nudity.” Oh no, not the boobs! Anything but the boobs! Especially in this room full of people who have boobs! Seriously, there’s like 30 people in here, 25 of which have boobs themselves, including you btw. The other five have a 98% of having been nursed by boobs, a 80% chance of being attracted to boobs, and a 50% chance of having seen actual boobs in their life. I think they gon’ be fine. Now shut up, Kate Winslet is showing me her tits and I’m in love.

(Also, the males wouldn’t dare complain. They’re outnumbered, 50 boobs to none, we have them surrounded!)

Item 3: Kinda wanna dress up more, kinda wanna buy Nike sneakers and not give a fuck.

Item 4: Kinda wanna do something silly and teenager-y, like steal a traffic light, but that’s immature, but that’s fun.

Item 5: Diablo III is addictive as hell, and it’s also hard on Torture V, and those demons are hitting me, and Kormac, goddammit, where the hell you at, you supposed to tank! Move your shiny templar ass in front!

Item 6: Mom, thanks for trying to make me feel normal about my non-existent wish to procreate, but actually I wasn’t feeling weird about it. Like, at all. Look, your sister doesn’t have kids. Dad’s aunt doesn’t have kids. I grew up in a family where having kids is just one option. I know I’m approaching the age where you gave birth, but I’m fine. I can always freeze my eggs and have a child at sixty, you know how long we fuckers live, it’ll be great.

Item 7: I can haz moneys plz?! How long does it take you to pay my invoice? Come one, chocolate bunny season is about to start, I need cash!

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.

Clothes Make the Woman… Angry, That Is.

Clothing industry, are you and me gonna have a problem?

So as you may know I’m a human which means I have to wear clothes because otherwise small children will faint and I’ll get arrested. Also, frostbite. But how in the world am I going to avoid this quandary if you, clothing industry, keep giving me tissue paper to wear?

Seriously. I don’t have abundances of money, so I can’t buy like locally grown vegan clothing like all them rich ethical bitches. I don’t have any damned money. What do you need to get money? A job. What do you need to get a job? A job interview. What do you need for a job interview? Acceptable clothes. What am I not getting anywhere? You guessed it. I tried to buy a nice looking shirt on sale. Online, because y’know, grad school kicking my ass with some last exams and there’s no way I can just leave the house to do some shopping. Nice simple shirt, will go great with business casual or smart casual. Shirt arrives. Shirt is tried on.

Shirt is see-through.

What in the everloving hell?

Not sheer. That would have been too obvious. Just thin enough to be see-through.

Oh, I’m sorry, store, I guess I wasn’t aware of your stripper collection! You know, when they said everyone can be a star, this wasn’t what they meant, you know that, right? Andy Warhol was predicting YouTube and Twitter, not YouStrip and Titter. (Although…)

It wasn’t see-through on the store’s page. It just looked, y’know, shirty. But literally, you can see everything! I’m not sure I’m applying in the right kind of industry to wear see-through clothing to an interview. No, really, I don’t think my clearly visible bra is going to help me any. Especially not when apparently 90% of HR is female.

And even if I wasn’t too fat to be a stripper I’d refuse to wear almost transparent anything in public.

Seriously, I navigate across four pages of seventies style blouses with cut-outs so everyone can see your bra and flab just to arrive at the one decent looking shirt and then it’s fucking see-through?!

I mean, I know it’s going to be fucking summer in, hm, six months, but come on!

And don’t even get me started on pants. Pants would be the enemy if skirts were a feasible option. This is 2016! We all have giant mobile phones! How do we not have pockets on our pants?! What do you expect me to do, fashion industry, put my phone in my bag where I have to dig it out between my wallet, my keys, my asthma inhaler, writing pad, pens, assorted tampons, hand sanitiser, and my emergency snickers bar? Look, there’s a Greenpeace guy with a clipboard right there at the corner, I need to pretend I’m busy, I need my fucking phone! Now! Give me pockets on my damn trousers, dammit!

Also, I don’t know if you can see it under all the facial hair, but I’m a woman. I need pockets to sneak tampons into the bathroom at work because taking my entire bag is not fucking subtle, okay? You know what’s also not subtle? Walking around with a suspiciously clenched fist because I’m smuggling a tampon down the hallway. I might as well go around parading the tampon box over my head. No, I’m not angry because of my period. I’m angry because of the lack of proper pockets on my clothes! Forget penis envy! Ain’t no one want to deal with penis anyway! Pocket envy‘s where it’s at!

And Boyfriend wonders why I’m basically running around in drag. It’s no use. I’m going to wear men’s shirts until I die. And men’s pants, because they have pockets. Fucking pockets, man. Fucking pockets got me acting like a crack addict.