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.

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Rant Day! A short and sweet list on mid-December complaints!

Item 1: Last year I was full of good cheer and Christmas spirit. This year… nah. I don’t know what happened? Why am I not being all merry and annoying?

Item 2: My back’s been hurting for a week now and it’s not getting better. What’s happening in there? Not fair, I’ve been working out, I should not have back pain.

Item 3: Managed to pull a muscle in my arm this week. On the train. Because those hold-onto-sling-thingies they have in trains basically just exist for you to swing around better in case of a sudden stop. No really, they stop you from face-planting into the window by an inch but that’s the end of their usefulness, you have to do the rest yourself. Balance your body plus fifteen pounds of winter clothing. In a stuffed train. While holding a cake with the other hand. Somehow not that easy.

Item 4: I know it’s the holidays again, Boyfriend, but stop getting on my nerves about the marriage thing. I will not plan a huge event for your millions of relatives when I only have five, out of which three are able to actually show up. And don’t come at me with your newly-found practicality. “Oh, you’ll get a widow’s pension when I die!” Okay. That’s nice. But actually I wanted a reason to live with you forever, not a reason to kill you and make it look like an accident.

Item 5: Christmas presents. What do you do when your mom deserves an island and you can afford a candle?

Random praise: Thank you, Rap Critic on YouTube, for sharing my sentiments on Hotline Bling and expressing them way more eloquently than I could manage.

Soul What?

Leaving aside for a moment the pressing question of whether or not a thing like the soul even exists in any scientifically tangible way…

How do I define soulmate? What kind of tired TV trope even is this ‘soulmate’ business?

Okay, so as far as my understanding goes, cultivated by abundant amounts of American movies, a soulmate is That One Person who just ‘Gets’ You (or anyway the person you end up with in act three of every romantic comedy after the Big Terrible Misunderstanding has been cleared up with minimal to zero effort). You know, that instant connection, something-meaningful-to-connect-two-people-for-the-rest-of-their-lives-and-no-one-else-can-ever-be-this-special kind of tired ass bullshit. It’s bullshit because every kind of media would have you believe that your soulmate absolutely has to also be your One True Love.

I like to call this the soulmate romance fallacy. Let’s try an example: Imagine you know this absolutely wonderful person, you’ve known each other for years, you just click, you can talk for hours, if you are apart for a while you fall right back into your old habits when you’re reunited, you have so many things in common, you’re a comfort to each other, you complement and complete each other, you stick to each other’s side in good times and bad alike. But you can’t be in a romantic relationship because you’re both women and heterosexual. Now what? Back to square one?

This obsessive tying of soulmateship and romance is what I see as the principle problem of the entire damn concept. Nothing about the suggestion that a soulmate is the person you like best and that you have the most in common with and that you get along with the best suggests an automatic romantic or sexual connection, yet this is probably the only kind ever to be portrayed in media. So, because I’m notoriously unromantic, I’ll give you some other possible scenarios:

1)Soulmate + Romance

a) You and your soulmate are in a romantic relationship. Everything’s fine, roll the credits.

b) You and your soulmate are in a romantic relationship, but it’s not going well. Despite your many similarities, your sleep schedules crash, you have different ideas what a commitment is due to your upbringing, and your levels of OCD when it comes to household cleanliness are not the same. So what do you do? Break it off like every other relationship that is not working out or stick with it because you feel obligated because after all, this is your soulmate and you’ve seen all the movies and know how it’s supposed to go? Are you still soulmates if you’re not together?

2) Soulmate + Unrequited Love

a) You found your soulmate. For whatever reason, however, you can’t be together. They’re in a relationship. You’re in a relationship. Maybe they’re gay. Maybe you’re not. Maybe you live half a planet away and only communicate online while both of you are happily coupled with someone else. Maybe you live next door but there just is no sexual attraction for any number of reasons. What do you do? Become romantically involved anyway, even though it will not work out?

b) You found your soulmate. You’re in love with your soulmate. They very much do not feel the same for you, even if you are their most important person, they just don’t feel that way about you. So now what? Do you remain friends? Do you get over it? Do you do the awkward fade out? Do you obsessively try to make them fall for you because after all, you’re soulmates? Maybe they are in a relationship with someone else, would you sabotage that so you can be together?

3) Soulmateship vs. The Infinite Irony of the Universe

a) You found your soulmate. But you are not this person’s soulmate. No one ever said soulmateship had to be a mutual thing.

b) Your soulmate was born in a different time than yours, either having died before you two could meet or they are yet to be born, probably when you’re dead.

c) What if your soulmate is not even a human being, but, say, a cat? One of the twenty five you own because you’re convinced you never met your soulmate and opted for the next best thing, namely dying a crazy cat lady/man death? Or maybe it’s a place, or an occupation, or a book, or a culture, or, dunno, horticulture?

d) Your soulmate was born in a different part of the planet, or even on a different planet, and you’ll never meet.

e) Your soulmate is a giant squiggly ten-eyed tentacled alien from planet Zoon but you’ll never find out because you two have absolutely no way of communicating with each other even if you do meet. Star-cross’d lovers indeed.

4) Soulmates and Numbers

a) Where is it set in stone that everyone gets only one soulmate? Who decided this? First door on the right, one soulmate each? I don’t think so. So you have one and then they die, then what? You can never have a soulmate again? You spend the rest of your live in sub-par relationships because, after all, they’re not your soulmates but merely props to fill the void in your sad trampled heeeeaaaarrrrrt, so they can’t possibly be as meaningful?

b) What if you have multiple soulmates at the same time? But not all of them are mutual? And not all of them are in your time or your planet? This is getting pretty confusing.

5) Extra Credit

You’re your own soulmate. Boom!

And that, in a nutshell, is why the entire idea of a soulmate is doomed from birth. Too many variables. Too damn complicated. Also, too damn clichéd, go back to watching The Notebook if that’s what you’re into. Your soulmate sure as hell isn’t.

Rant Day! Things That Pissed Me Off, Sep 17-25

Item 1: People who can’t google shit. I mean, I’d kinda get it if this was an older person, but it’s not. We’re supposed to be a technology obsessed generation, pal. Fucking act like it and google your very simple quest for information. I learned how to scramble eggs with the help of the internet and so can you. Only that you weren’t looking for how to scramble eggs, but you get the point.

Item 2: Boyfriend, aka Mister Oh-I-have-to-study-so-much who spent the last hour on the sofa gently snoring. On a day were you got up at noon. I thought we had this agreement that when I go to work and it’s your day off you do the day’s chores? No? Oh, we never made that agreement the day we moved in? Funny, I was so sure. Maybe in hindsight I should have gotten that in writing. But I’m absolutely certain we have not agreed upon you getting up at noon and then playing on the computer the entire day, then when I come home and ask you to do one simple task like loading the dishwasher suddenly remember you need to study like yesterday. Then take a nap on the couch.

Item 3: My flat is a mess. I hate it when my flat is a mess. I don’t even want to venture into the bathroom anymore. My sort-of job (I consider it to be only sort of because the pay is the monetary equivalent of a warm handshake and a good-natured old-man “Run along now, kiddo, run along”.) is keeping me uncharacteristically busy and somehow tiring me out enough to throw my OCD-esque cleaning schedule out of whack. Well, at least I know what I’ll do on the weekend. Or maybe after I finished my tea.

Item 4: Autumn. Expectation: colourful leaves, nice cool breezes, some last rays of sunshine. Reality: WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE, WE GOT LOTS OF RAIN! WE GOT FUCKING TONS OF RAIN, BASICALLY JUST RAIN! And wind that can apparently knock over small children and old people.

Item 5: I don’t know if it’s the ‘hood I live in or if it’s because I’m getting older but I’m receiving markedly more male attention. And by attention I mean unabashed stares courtesy of the 40+ crowd. Did someone spray paint “I need a sugar daddy” on my face when I wasn’t looking? I mean, not that I’d be averse…

Item 6: I’m growing into the kind of age group where people like to share tips with me on how to save money in the process of a wedding. Okay? Thanks? Why? I mean, yeah, you just got married, nice going there, but I’m not gonna, so… Fuck, maybe I’m just old. I’m so damn old. I’ll be saying this for the rest of my life and it won’t get any untruer.

Item 7: Sometimes I curse my habit for ridiculously long and complicated passwords because like hell can I log in to anything on my phone without at least four tries.

Item 8: Look, dude, if you wanna plan an event, you have to plan it. Not just throw it out there in a facebook chat and hope that things will work themselves out somehow. Look, it’s three simple steps to planning: 1) present idea, 2) find people to go along with it (and that doesn’t mean asking if someone’s interested, but asking who could do things or bring things), 3) delegate tasks and set deadlines. All the time working on the assumption, of course, that steps 1 and 2 were carried out in a reasonable time frame, which might be your first problem. Maybe I should lead a workshop? I’m kinda good at whipping other people into shape.

Item 9: So apparently the thing in my eye is not an infection. My eyes are merely so dry that the cornea is scratched and that’s why it hurts. So now I have to drop stuff into my eyes multiple times a day for the rest of my life like my 91 year old great aunt. This can only get worse with age, I’d like to sign up for eternal youth now.

Random Positivity: May assorted celestial creatures forever sing the praises of whoever invented the beverage by the name of London Fog.

Item 10: I used to hate this song, now I’ve been listening to it all week:

Rant Day! Things That Had Me Going Round the Bend, Sep 5-12

Item 1: I don’t understand construction workers, like they just randomly fuck off for a week, then come back to start hammering at 50 minute intervals between 7 and 11 a.m. What. Are. You Doing?!

Item 2: So a potential supervisor for my thesis blew me off and now I have to find another candidate, but because uni doesn’t start until October no one can be fucking reached. This dealt a critical blow to my motivation, so I think I’ll just abandon all research for the moment and binge watch Elementary.

Item 3: I watched so much Doctor Who over the last few months I’m starting to feel surfeited by it, so now I have to go on a Doctor Who break and binge watch Elementary.

Item 4: I just found out Sleeping Beauty is Boyfriend’s favourite Disney princess and I find his lack of taste disturbing. Like why, that bitch was just lying around for an hour while four fairies were fucking around with her fate and three of them dealt the useless prince some epics! Cheaters!

Item 5: Boyfriend still hasn’t discovered the cats.

Item 6: I got another compliment… I think. Is it a compliment when the parcel delivery guy tells you you are becoming ever more slimmer? I mean, I guess it’s a compliment, so I waved it off with an “Nah, I’m just wearing ever larger sweaters” and proceeded to overthink, so I had to binge watch Elementary to calm myself.

Item 7: Because I’m still waiting for a call back for that job interview I had my life is at a standstill. I can’t sign up for courses or anything until I hear from them because if they do hire me I’ll be busy every afternoon and I have to plan around that and arrrgh! Just tell me already!

Item 8: So after spending half the week in a virtual coma, somehow on Friday night 1:30 a.m. I was suddenly feeling awake, alert, and ready to be productive. Trouble is, what kind of productive activity can you do at 1:30 a.m. that won’t wake the entire house? I settled on cleaning the bathroom. Yep. What the hell, brain? Couldn’t we just binge watch Elementary?

Item 9: I feel like I’m getting a cold. Yep, it’s officially autumn. We’re also expecting 28°C on Monday.

Item 10: Tampons cost too damn much. Why can’t I get them for free? I didn’t choose the uterus life, the uterus life chose me!

Item 10.1.: Yes, middle-aged woman, I am in the drug store buying tampons. Just tampons. I’m not hiding them in between other items because I literally only need tampons. Stop giving me the judgy stare or I’ll judge you on your choice of hair dye and body lotion. Also, old man, stop looking embarrassed. You’re buying ten bottles of the same shampoo. Yes, I counted. I can think of a very good reason to buy tampons. I can’t think of a very good reason to buy ten bottles of the same shampoo that’s not even on sale. Do you have a horse tucked away somewhere that needs a wash?

Item 11: Am I on my period? Are you really asking me that? I started my day by waking up in a pool of blood, is that how you want me to end yours?

In not-so-complainy news: I’m celebrating my period anniversary this week… by having my period. Do you know how rarely this happens and how beautiful it is when it finally syncs up with the date? I also realised I could hypothetically also be the mother of a teenager had I gotten pregnant at eleven. This thought is scary.

…what do you mean, that’s weird? Who doesn’t celebrate their period anniversary?

P.s.: Did you know that in order to get rid of the uterine lining during your period your body produces more testosterone and progesterone? That means during those days your hormonal make-up is as close to that of a man as it’s ever going to get naturally. By implication, this means of course a man’s hormonal make-up is like he’s on a super hulk period 24/7. Stuff to think about next time you catch a man crying over a sports game! (Give him a snickers and tell him he’s pretty.)

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.

Sappily Ever After

Happily ever after” falls into the same category as “Forbidden Love” and that category is called Tropes That Shouldn’t Exist.

Now I was a pretty dumb kid, but even I didn’t believe in fairy tales. I’ve never known any kid that believes this Happily Ever After bullshit, but I have seen grown ass women refusing to eat anything at a restaurant, much less anything that could be considered messy, because their One True Love might walk into the door and will never become their much coveted husband if he catches her with pasta on her chin. No, really, this happened. Kids are stupid about a lot of basic things but at least they’re not completely delusional.

You want to know what happens after the marriage? Snow White gets seven dwarves of her own, Cindarella has someone else to do the cleaning and is bored out of her skull, and Sleeping Beauty, weeeell, do we want to go with the Perrault version here, because no. The princes are out hunting all day or entertaining their mistresses. Meanwhile, the Fairy Godmother is having a spa day and can’t be bothered about absolutely anything.

I mean, what’s the deal with fairy tales anyway? Folk tales, now those I can get behind. Tales of strong-willed men and women outwitting demons and spirits and talking animals, that’s something useful. Stories that give you a laundry list to marriage? Not so much. How to score a prince: a) be royalty yourself and wait for your arranged marriage, or b) be the most beautiful girl in all the kingdom and having a really unusual shoe size helps, too. No thanks, I liked the story about a girl outwitting the devil to save her sisters from hell better somehow.

And it doesn’t stop there. From teenagehood onwards I was bombarded by a vast of rom-coms that rivalled Ren fairs in ridiculousness and Brechtian theatre in level of grotesque, and I’m not even going to go into an analysis from a feminist point of view here because that would take too goddamned long.

I mean seriously, who the hell writes this shit and why did most of the female friends I had lap that stuff up like manna from the heavens? So guy meets hot chick. Absurd non-conflict that everyone takes way too seriously happens that prolongs the plot to ninety minutes until they finally kiss and make up and get married. When an honest five minute talk could have saved us all the bullshit. (Looking at you, teenage rom-coms and every film with Meg Ryan ever.)

And then there’s The Big Misunderstanding that inevitably happens about the middle of the film so we spend the rest of the film “worrying” if they’re going to get together after all (spoiler: yes, they will, they always do, why is that even a question?). The Big Misunderstanding is usually one protagonist overhearing or seeing something waaaaayyy out of context. Now what do they do? Do they follow up with the romantic partner? Do they talk to their partner, be like “Hey, I heard [insert controversial half-heard thing that makes me think you’re a WHORE/ASSHOLE!], do you know what they were talking about?”? Nope. It’s an Olympic-grade jump to conclusions, a big argument during which one side has no idea what the hell is happening, a complete refusal of having a good old-fashioned healthy talk (really, rom-coms are not exactly sending a good message about the importance of communication in relationships), and in the end they still end up together, usually through no effort of their own, but because one of their goofy sidekicks friends steps in at the last moment to resolve this and more or less beg the intended breeding couple to engage in make up sex already.

It’s even worse when they throw in “Forbidden Lurve” for good measure. I  most cases the love isn’t so much forbidden as slightly frowned upon. So one of you is rich and the other isn’t, big deal. Your relationship isn’t worth much if you throw it away at the slightest hint of trouble, I mean what are you gonna do if you have kids and you want to tear your hair out with tiredness from all the sleepless nights? Stop being wimps, stand up to your douchey parents and do something useful. (Looking at you, The Notebook.)

Also, relationships. Just once I’d like to see a portrayal of a realistic relationship. You know, the time after they fell in love. When they find out humans are humans and not prince/ss substitutes. And when they find out that maybe they should have gotten to know each other better before jumping into this entire marriage thing. And then come up with an actual solution. But they don’t do that, instead they try a “twist” (an oooooh look at this twist, are you looking, isn’t it just so twisty! kind of twist) by doing a rom-com with an older couple. Which somehow makes the entire genre even more asinine because aren’t people in their fifties and over supposed to know better? And know when it’s time for a divorce because one of you is a douchebag and the other’s an idiot? (Looking at you, Hope Springs.)

Bonus points if they throw fantasy elements into the mix. “We can’t be together because of X thing!” someone proclaims. To which I reply, “Then stop doing X thing.” – “I CAN’T STOP DOING X THING BECAUSE OF REASONS!” Usually the script forgot to give them a reason. I mean hell, if you’re a vampire just rob a blood bank, George Hamilton figured that one out in the 70s. If you’re something other than a vampire I’m pretty sure you can work around that somehow. One honest talk and a bit of preparation, that’s all it takes! Or just don’t fuck humans, find someone of your own species, you weirdo. (Looking at you, every fantasy film with a romantic element ever.)

Also, they suck. Rom-coms suck. They’re badly written, the characters are flatter than a sheet of paper, the dialogue is bullshit, even kindergarten kids have more believable conflicts and heartaches, the resolutions are lazy, the setting is somehow always New York and the actors are just not that good.

So what do we learn from this? Well, this lil’ princess here is going to keep feeding the tower-guarding dragon scraps from her plate until it’s tame enough to fly her away to a film set where women have better things to do than ensnaring a maaayyyuuun. Preferably a place with more wifi and less stupid princes. So done with castles #sodone #cantbebothered #independent #grownwoman.

Manic Monday Freewrite: Too Much Damn Noise will Ruin What’s Left of Your Mojo

Racket and clamour and uproar and much ado about nothing in particular. My day is nothing but annoying noise. Noise of construction work outside. Noise of a neverending party in the house across the street that, yes, I can hear from here. I can feel bass pumping through the walls. Walls that are a a couple of dozen yards apart. Now noise from a football match in the background, Idontcare vs. Whothefuck, Boyfriend attending more closely to the ballchasers than to anything I said in the last two weeks. Now he yells “Incredible!”

No, the Higgs boson is incredible. Someone getting a ball into a really large rectangle? Not so much.

I saw A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night the weekend before last and it was awesome. Of course my inner linguistic nerd was sitting there sound shifts at the ready; the movie’s in Farsi. Farsi’s remotely related to most European languages. Know your sound shifts and you can reconstruct word and geek out over the fact that you just discovered a word that is similar to one in another language. It’s good fun, for a linguist.

Anyway, good movie, very different which is much appreciated between the comic book heroes and the umpteenth remake of some cheesy film from yesteryear, though at times, with some scenes (random guy in drag dancing with a balloon, what?) bordering on too artsy. Don’t you like Iranian vampires in ghost towns? Oh, and the soundtrack! Bit of an obsession there.

I also had chocolate popcorn. There is apparently a place in my town that sells all manner of weird popcorn flavours like apple strudel and strawberry and white chocolate and I give you three guesses where my spending money went.

Finding it hard to concentrate through the background noise and the ever possible threat of having someone looking over my shoulder. People are a disturbing presence. It brings you out of wherever you where while you were writing.

I’m still not enthusiastic about my next two presentations, not least because of the group setups. And the topics. I’m so bored this semester, yet always so busy. Busy with a dozen boring things when I’d rather finish my research proposal and start writing.

Now Boyfriend’s saying something that doesn’t interest me. He should know that. Is he talking to the TV again? I mean… so there’s people in blue and people in red hurrying after a ball, what is there to comment on? Isn’t it ultimately so whatever who wins? They’re all overpaid and their entire organisation is making the mafia look like a charity event.

And he just keeps talking! Why is he still talking? Stop talking! Yes, they do have funny names, your running men in colourful shorts, now stop talking! Turn that infernal nonsense off and stop bothering me!

Of course he won’t.

Is There Even One Chore I Like?

No, there isn’t, otherwise it wouldn’t be called a chore. Oh for life to be like an MMO! Move your hands over the fire and tada, food! Hack at some rock and receive ore. Twiddle your hands again to make clothes. Oh to carry a wand and not a broom!

Now there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with chores. After all, eliminating bacteria from your living environment is a good thing. But then again, it’s wooooork. I mean, who actually likes scrubbing toilets? And I’m sure only very specialised perverts like taking out the trash. And worse than the fact that it’s work, there’re the people who share your living space who seem to be on a constant mission to thwart your efforts. So let’s rank things according to groan-worthiness.

11. Laundry. Ranked lowest because I have a washerdryer I bought myself because fuck everyone, there’s no room for a decent dryer in my house and I’m not hanging things out to dry. Can’t get a decent load of laundry hung up on a drying rack.

10. Dishes. We have a dishwasher. I insisted we get a dishwasher when we moved in here. I fought tooth and nail because everyone told me, oh but you’re only two people. I said, you’re right, and got the dishwasher anyway. Early in our relationship Boyfriend and me decided that dishes should be his chore. And of course nothing ever got done because Boyfriend can be a lazy sack o’ something and the only way he ever did the damn dishes was by being nagged to almost-death. So I put my foot down and said, dishwasher. Thinking of course that this would free him up for additional chores so I didn’t have to do everything. Did that work? Nope. And as if to mock me he always, with military precision, puts his dishes on top of the dishwasher instead of taking the five seconds to open the damn thing and putting the dishes inside.

9. Kitchen cleaning. I usually wipe the kitchen counter any chance I get. Put something in the oven? Perfect time for a wipe. Put something in the microwave? Let’s see how clean I can get this sink in 60 seconds. Now wiping the fronts of cabinets, that’s a real chore. And one reserved for spring cleaning.

8. Taking out the trash. Now this is also one of Boyfriends chores and also involves a lot of nagging. Why nagging? Because a friendly “Could you please take out the kitchen trash when you leave for work tomorrow?” is always met with a groan of agony like I just asked him to get me peaches from Tibet.

7. Dusting. This is annoying because I have to do it every second day because I’m allergic. Of course being allergic doesn’t make it easier to dust. A couple times a year, usually somewhere around a holiday, I bite the proverbial bullet, get out the ladder and even dust in places my 5’4” ass usually can’t reach.

6. Changing bedsheets. I don’t know what it is with changing bedsheets and covers but I find it supremely annoying and time-consuming. Like I have to take everything off the bed, get the new covers, strip the old covers off, put the new covers on, take the old sheet off, put a new one on, then make the bed, then put everything that was on it on it again.

5. Bathroom cleaning. Who even invented shower cubicles and who decided they should be so difficult to keep clean? Also, why is there beard hair all over the damn place? I can have the bathroom spotless by mid-afternoon and by 6 pm at the latest it will be ruined again because Boyfriend showers and somehow manages to flood the room and get hair from various parts of his body all over everything.

4. Ironing. It’s not really the ironing itself, because I’m actually pretty fast. I can get two loads of laundry ironed and folded in an hour. What I don’t like about it is the fact that, because I usually iron on the weekends, Boyfriend just sits around in the same room, playing on his computer, leisurely as you please, while I have to do manual work that makes me feel like such a housewife. Dammit, I want some free weekend, too, dammit!

3. Groceries. One, everything is expensive as hell and I get severely depressed each time I see the numbers at the checkout. Two, so I make a list. A nice comprehensive list that takes into account this weeks meal plan as well as the kitchen inventory I did not half an hour before leaving the house. Then Boyfriend keeps putting things in the cart that aren’t on the list. And then I have to argue. I don’t like that. Just keep to the list.

2. Vacuum cleaning. The vacuum cleaner is heavy. I don’t like dragging heavy things around, especially not if they snag on every damn corner or door or whatever is lying on the floor again that I didn’t put there. And I always have to change the front part for another because someone decided you can’t vacuum furniture with the normal part. And then I lean the whole thing against a wall or something and it won’t stand still for one goddamn second and falls on my foot.

1. COOKING! OMG, nothing I hate more! Do people who don’t cook even realise how much mental effort goes into cooking? It’s small wonder I suffer from decision fatigue. Like, you have to budget. You have to make a more-or-less plan for an entire week because shit you have other things to do when you get home besides deciding what you’ll eat today (you know, like laundry and vacuum cleaning because ain’t no one gonna help you). You have to buy groceries accordingly and hope to heaven or hell that the thing you bought on Friday that’s supposed to be good for a week will not have gone bad by Monday. Then you have to consider all the other people who’re gonna eat the same thing. And then you cook, you chop your veggies, you agonize over too crisply cooked meat, you feel guilty because this meal is not entirely in line with your diet and you really need to lose weight and why do humans even have to eat? And then you serve and it takes forever to get the people who live with you to abandon their digital devices and come tot he table, and then they don’t like it. And then they don’t feel like it. And then they’d rather have something else, like X, you didn’t make X in a while. And this has to be done every day, over and over and over, until you finally snap, reach for the steak knife and stab your way into the history of great criminal cases.

And I don’t even have kids. Guess I better keep it that way.

How to Lose Friends and Alienate People: A Beginner’s Guide to Forever Alone, Part 2

Hey there, misanthropic folk and unpopular people, welcome back to another instalment of How To Lose Friends! Last time we looked at some quick and easy ways to rid yourself of old friends. Today, we’re going a step further. We’re going to find more advanced methods to lose those pesky humans.

 #1 The Bait and Switch (also called Two Birds With One Stone)

In the old tradition of fighting fire with fire, the best way to get rid of someone is by means of someone else. No, we’re not talking about hiring a hitman (though that is a possibility, albeit an expensive one). The Bait and Switch strategy works well if you have two or more friends you want to do away with. However, it is key that they do not know each other beforehand. Insist that the three of you meet somewhere. Hint extensively to both of them that they will just absolutely love each other. After the initial introductions take in the aura of the situation: Are they getting along? Do they have things in common? Are they talking the entire time, completely ignoring you? Good! Repeat the threeway meet-up two more times to cement their relationship. Once you’re sure they have each others phone numbers proceed to do a Fade Out on both of them. You now have successfully pawned off two friends!

#2 The Happily Ever After (Advanced Nookie Provider)

Want to get rid of all your friends at once? Here’s how: If you already followed the steps of Part 1’s strategy The Nookie Provider this should be easy. Badger, pester and deceive your regular nookie provider into marrying you. The wedding feast will give you the chance to see all your friends one last time before you release them into the wild. Weddings are the perfect opportunity for hurt feelings an unnecessary drama resulting in a complete cease of contact. You wanted to get shot off someone for a while? Don’t invite them. When they ask about it (because they will inevitably see everyone else being all excited about their invitations on Facebook) pretend it has nothing to do with them, you just “having a small ceremony”. Nevermind you invited your second cousin’s niece and her boyfriend. Once your friend finds out they will sulk forever and refuse any contact with you.

At the wedding make sure to make all your female friends jealous of your looks and fortune and make your male friends jealous with the prospect of all the sex you’re going to be having now by tirelessly reminding them of it. They’ll all get catty, bond with each other over a round of bitching about you and your attitude, and presto, you have a variation of a bait and switch. Maybe someone will even find a nookie provider of their own! Isn’t it nice to do something good?

After the wedding vows are said pretend you and your newly acquired spouse are in such a state of marital bliss you absolutely cannot accept invitations or indeed leave the house. If you do go out, take the spouse everywhere you go, refuse participation in girls’ nights or boys’ nights, and when the two of you make it out of the house never leave each other’s side for even a second. If someone does get you alone, tirelessly talk about your spouse and your marriage. Praise or complain, it’s up to you. Make sure to start every sentence with “My husband/wife and I…” or “Husband/wife thinks/says/does…” Follow these fool-proof annoying strategies and watch those invitations go back where they came from!

#3 The Work and Play

Realise that social interaction at work is the only kind you need. It’s unavoidable anyway, so why burden yourself further with outside-of-work friends? So throw yourself into your work with the fury of three premenstrual attacks! Life and, uh, work for work! Company über alles! Bury yourself in so many projects that you don’t even have to lie when you say “I’d love to hang out, but I’ve got so much work to do.”

Alternative for students: Aim for your perfect GPA. Do all your readings and assignments on time, nay, surpass yourself on any and all tasks. Spend your spare time writing elaborate treatises on the justification of, uh, something scienc-y, like the Great Tribble Hunt. Be the nerd you always wanted to be! Or at least pretend you are so you can watch Netflix in peace without all that pesky social interaction inherent in a school environment.

 #4 Miss/Mister Rude Thang

This strategy involves a lot of guts. In our society honesty is not best valued. On the contrary, lying is encouraged from an early age. “Does this make my butt look big?” or “Do you think I’m pretty?” are just the tip of the iceberg of Lietome swimming around in the giant sea of Socialconventions. Therefore, this strategy will take some willpower to overcome all your social conditioning. I recommend practising in front of a mirror. The trick is to just be blunt. Just be brutally honest. For once say what’s on your mind. Start slowly with sarcasm and work your way up from there. A small and insignificant “No, of course you’re not fat, hey what’s that, did you just acquire your own moon?” to your best friend will soon give you the courage to say “You’re boring me, I’m outta here” and “I don’t want to hang out with you anymore because [insert reasons]” to anyone else! And with a bit of luck you won’t even have to work hard; people will just leave on their own!

 

I hope you enjoyed this advanced methods to getting rid of friends. In our final part we’ll find out how to absolutely murder your social life! Stay tuned!