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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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 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.

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.