Archive for February, 2011


I didn’t like Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” song when it first came out. I felt it was unoriginal, beat you over the head with what it was trying to say, and was not Gaga’s best work by any stretch.

Today, I saw the video.

For a few moments, I sat there stunned. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what I had just seen.

Then I was upset. Angry. And I couldn’t figure out why.

Suddenly, I realized what it was. This song is portrayed as Gaga’s “love letter” to the homosexual community. The Little Monsters she gave birth to in this video are supposed to be perfect, they have no prejudice. They’re all accepting, all loving, and they’re oppressed by others, but that’s okay because they were born perfect. They were born this way, and that can’t be wrong. The perfect children she gave birth to must be protected from the evil she also produced because all things must exist in balance.

Here’s what pissed me off, and it may be so far off base I should be hit with a stick. The gay community is an exclusive, angry, clique infested community where I am. If you’re not gay enough for them, they fucking hate you and call you a poser. If you haven’t known that you were gay since you could remember, you’re not really gay. You can’t be bisexual– you’ll be gay eventually, you’re just confused. If you’re a gay man, there’s a mold. If you’re a lesbian woman, there’s a mold. You have the lesbians who hate men and will just scream at them because they have a penis and have the audacity to think that a woman is attractive, and you have the catty gay men that are as bad as women are in their drama and yet shriek at every opportunity that vaginas are gross.

I’m painting a fuck lot of negative stereotypes here. I know that not everyone is this way. I know there are some wonderful queer people– I’ve met some. But those ones that make me feel like I’m a fraud because I love boys and girls equally, that say I’m just experimenting or confused because I wasn’t making my barbies have lesbian love scenes when I was six– you’re a drag. You’re not a queen. Fuck you in the goddamn ear.

Honestly, I wish I could ask Mama Monster about this. I really do. I want that gay community she talks about– that they accept that I’m a bisexual, bigender, biological female. I’m me. I’m who I’m supposed to be. My hair isn’t short because I’m a dyke– it’s short because I like it. I don’t hate my breasts because my mentality is partially male. I am not an extreme. I am not a drag queen or king– If I was a man, I’d be this same way: some days I want a pin stripe suit, some days I want heels. I can fall in love with either gender, I love *people,* not what is between their legs. I’m just figuring this shit out, I’m so sorry I’m not like the rest of you and have known this all my life. I’m new, I’m still figuring this shit out.

I know I’m being a jerk here– that gay people are just like every other group of people. They have prejudices and fears they act off of, they exclude some people, include others, and some of them have a very specific view of what being gay is and some of them do not. There is no happy, all inclusive group of people.

Mama Monster, that’s what made me so upset. I wish this race existed. I really do. I wish I could walk into a gay club and be accepted instantly, that my girlfriend and I could just be, that we wouldn’t be mistaken for straights pretending because neither of us are particularly masculine or feminine. I wish more of them didn’t care. I wish I wasn’t afraid to talk to other gay people because I’m afraid they’ll tell me I’m not really gay– I wish I could have more people that are like me, that are just this odd mess, that some days want to bind and pass, but some days seem to be adhering to the heterosexual norm. It’s not because I’m trying to fit in because it’s easier– it’s because it’s how I feel that day. The next day, it’ll change.

Maybe that prejudice is the evil that Mama Monster gives birth to in the video. Maybe that is her way of acknowledging that in what could be a group that loves and accepts everyone, there will always be a problem with that evil– that that is the choice between good and evil she speaks of. The evils of wanting to find people like you– and of wanting to shut anyone that could hurt you because they don’t understand exactly what you’re going through. You have to either take the pill of evil to protect your group, excluding people and being hurtful, or you have to accept everyone and leave open the possibility that someone could hurt you and your group.

I was born myself. Not gay. Not straight. Not feminine. Not masculine. I was born a mess. I was born confused. I was born unique. I was not born as all I will be– I am always evolving, always changing, and I am never static. And I refuse to stick to one identity to make anyone happy.

“Born This Way” is an anthem for the outcast, for the different. In that process of being different, can we not exclude the people who are different in another way? Can we overcome the fear that we’ll be misunderstood and attacked?

I haven’t. I don’t know if anyone really can. But Little Monsters– when I come to Gaga’s concert, I hope you prove me wrong. That I’ll be able to mesh with you and we can all be weird together. That the straights will be with the drag queens, that the trans folks will be right in there with everyone else, that the gay men will range from bear to twink and everything in between, that the lesbians will be femme and bull-dyke alike. That for a few hours, Mama Monster’s perfect race will exist. That we’ll all belong.

What a beautiful few hours that would be. What a beautiful place to be. If it can exist for a few hours there, maybe there’s hope it can survive outside too, out from under Gaga’s watchful eye. Take me to that dream world of acceptance, weirdness, and beauty that Gaga seems to be trying to create for all of us. Make that world exist, if only for a minute.

My paws are up, Mama Monster. I just hope they don’t get smacked back down.

Who’s Running this Playpen?

Inspired by an essay by Michelle Sagara West “More Than a Marriage of Convenience,” from Finding Serenity

Where are all the adults on TV?

No no. Don’t point at anyone above eighteen years old. Where are the real adults?

Where are the people in real, committed relationships? Where are the people struggling to make ends meet, working two jobs, where are the people that aren’t dancing around in a “will they won’t they?” Where are those that are past that dance?

Firefly fans will know what I’m talking about with this one: Where are Wash and Zoe?

To explain for anyone unfamiliar with these two: Zoe is a kick ass, level headed “warrior woman” and a very reserve, private person. Wash is a pilot that plays with dinosaurs in his spare time, wears Hawaiian shirts, has a strange, slightly silly sense of humor, and mad piloting skills. On Firefly, we walk into their relationship after they have been married a while. They are disagreeing about if to have kids, they are not ripping each other’s clothes off at every turn (though that certainly happens occasionally), and they are out of that young love stage. They are very different, but they are very solidly committed to each other.

The young love stage of a relationship, the “honeymoon” stage, only lasts for two years on average. I’m hitting that end point in my relationship. I know that looking at TV for an accurate picture of life is a stupid idea, but it would be awful nice to see someone like my girlfriend and I on the TV occasionally. The only couple I can really think of that is even sort of close to that is Ellie and Awesome from Chuck, and that’s only up to the point I watched, which was the end of season three. Even then, they weren’t married yet, and the wedding planning stage seems to always fall solidly in the honeymoon stage, or even prolongs that stage if the couple was starting to hit the end of it.

Point is, I don’t know of any couples outside of sitcoms (why I refuse to count those is a whole other ranting post about what cheap, poorly written bullshit American sitcoms are are), that has a real, established couple near the center of the action, that are in every episode, not just visited occasionally as a subplot. And age is not a limiting factor here. There are plenty of adolescent relationships amongst legal adults– House and Cuddy are just one example.

I know, I know, it’s more exciting when everyone has butterflies and can’t keep their hands off each other, when they’re running into the empty closets and exam rooms to have a hot fuck when they should be working. That part of a relationship is thrilling, we wish it could last forever because it’s so exciting. Everything is so new, so wonderful– and you haven’t realized that they leave their socks all over the floor, that they don’t wash their dishes for at LEAST two days after they’ve eaten out of them, or that they’re clingy as fuck and will call you at three in the morning because they had a dream you broke up with them and want to yell at you for it (laugh at that last one and how crazy it sounds, but it’s happened).

The problem here is that television is the main media a lot of people consume, and because of that a lot of people mistake what they see on television for what their life should be. We live in a world centered around media, and in part due to that, the American Dream seems to have morphed into living like a movie star with all the scandal, money, and fame one could possibly have. The general impression seems to be that if you are a normal person, with a job that doesn’t make you famous (or infamous) and makes you enough money to swim in, you are a failure. And what type of relationship does that “normal” person have? A marriage, and not just any marriage– it’s a terrible boring marriage where no one cheats, they “never” have sex, and they have to actually work to earn a living. Who wants that when you could be rich and famous and fucking whoever you want every night, but always have some sap to fall back to when fucking around doesn’t work as well as you hoped?

Well, one could argue that any sane adult wants that former one. The problem is, that first “boring” marriage means that both people have to realize that there is something a more important to them than excitement in relationships. They have to admit they want someone to walk through life with, they have to admit they want actual commitment, not just the excitement of new love. They have to not just throw up their hands and leave their partner at the first sign of trouble.

In my experience, it’s that last one people have the most problem with. Not only are you out of that honeymoon stage, but UGH, your partner is being all… human. Not like the couples on TV. If they’re mere morals, WHY would you WANT to work so hard to keep them when, obviously, you deserve a REAL relationship, one filled with passion and drama and a man that looks like Patrick Dempsey. REAL couples don’t HAVE to work to keep each other. They’re soooo in love that nothing else matters. That’s how it should be. If you get married and it turns into that boring marriage, then CLEARLY you’re not with the right person, and you should get rid of them so you can find “the One!”

I know the above paragraph seems absurd. Looking at it on paper, it SOUNDS absurd. Everyone knows TV is all bullshit. Right?

Honestly, I’m beginning to think that many people don’t. That many people, due to so called “reality” TV, people have a distorted view of what reality should be. I honestly wonder if these type of expectations are why the divorce rate is so high. People encounter one problem and boom, they’re not the right person any more. If having a baby doesn’t fix whatever problem you have (because all couples with babies are happy on tv!) then off to court.

Now, let me say something: there are many, many valid reasons for divorce. People make mistakes. Sometimes, a relationship worked at the beginning but just doesn’t age well. No one should stay in a relationship they are not happy in. It’s terrible for your mental and physical health. What I AM saying is that maybe people need to redefine what they think an unacceptable or unhappy relationship is.

I’ve wandered a ways from Wash and Zoe here, but I have a reason for it. That boring relationship up there? That IS Wash and Zoe.

Wash does not look like Patrick Dempsey, he’s not a male model. He and Zoe fight. He and Zoe do not have crazy wild monkey sex every night, but they still have sex. Maybe infrequently enough to be considered “never” by some people, especially if they’re used eo sex most nights of the week. Zoe and Wash sometimes yell at each other, they sometimes get frustrated, and they sometimes can’t stand to be around each other. They have to work at their relationship. Sometimes they have to work to see why it is they put up with each other, and it is no one person’s fault. Zoe wants children and for Wash to stop trying to rule in on situations he knows nothing about, Wash wants his wife to rank his opinions above her Captain and old War buddy Mal and he also wants Zoe to realize that it is a really, REALLY shitty time in their lives to bring a kid into this chaotic world. So, Zoe agrees, begrudgingly, to wait on children for now. Wash, after a few choice events, realizes that his opinion does matter more than Mal’s– but Mal will always have authority on some subjects due to his experience. Both of them compromise, and both of them realize that compromising is not a slight against what either of them want.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what a real adult relationship is in my estimation. Furthermore, I think the process of reaching compromise is just as dramatic as the screaming fits of “WELL YOU DO YOU LOVE ME OR NOT?” that are on TV now. Just as much yelling is involved. Just as high of emotions are involved. The stakes are just as high. So why isn’t it on TV more? Where are the adult relationships that I can sympathize with whenever I want scream because my partner and I are fighting over something as important as where to move to, if we should ever have children, on who should be in charge of what decisions that are not the silly, dumbed down version of those relationships that exist on American sitcoms? I want to see two serious adults resolve serious problems. I’ve had enough of the high school drama of who kissed who in what hallway and s/he loves me, s/he loves me not. I’m bored, and it’s because I see that dynamic everywhere. I want something new and fresh. I get that those new relationships are so popular and such selling points for their “living vicariously” value, but if you watch more than one show religiously, you’re going to get tired of going on the same ride three nights a week for months.

One last question before I go: Anyone else notice that all those shows that try to hinge their popularity on the “will they won’t they” dynamic of one couple go down in quality faster than you say “Just fucking get together already?”

On the Internet and Being Wrong

*Sorry about the late update, ladies, gentlemen, and those that prefer to remain undefined. It’s been a bit of a rough week, and this will probably only be a quick, dashed off post to boot. Sorry. I promise a better one will come soon, and furthermore, that this one will be edited a bit better eventually.*

This post comes from a search term someone used to trip across my blog: “(Actor’s Name) insane.” Just like that. I laughed my tits off for about ten minutes. Some of you know why, some of you don’t. The why doesn’t particularly matter, but today I’m going to ramble about something I have to remind MYSELF about on the internet: Being wrong.

Now, here’s the deal. In my perfect world, right before someone made their first public post, be it in a message board, a blog, a service like twitter, whatever, a warning would pop up and say thus:

“By posting this content you take full responsibility for the ideas therein. You accept that someone may believe you to be wrong, and may even prove you to be wrong. By clicking continue, you promise not to go batshit fucking crazy if this occurs. You are human and therefore not infallible. Continue?”

In short: Why do we go nuts if someone challenges our views on the internet? I mean, take my flame from a while back. If that had been slightly less rediculous sounding and actually had given good reasons as to why I’m wrong, I probably would have gotten angry instead of laughing at it. Why?

I think it has to do with the permanence of the thing. Nothing ever truly dies on the internet. You can delete posts, tweets, hell, even whole accounts, or you can make those accounts private, but someone somewhere can still find some remnant of what you said or did. It’s precisely why employers take to the internet to screen out applicants– a process I believe is unethical and none of their business, but it is effective (There’s a reason why everything on the web should be posted under a pseudonym.) Due to this permanence, if we are proven wrong on the internet, it’s always there.

That terrifies people.

That means there is permanent record that you are not perfect. Permanent record that- holy shit- you were wrong once. It could be on astrophysics or it could be on how many kids Britney Spears has, but you were wrong about SOMETHING. In this image obsessed society, that can seriously fuck you. If you present yourself as utterly infallible, if some kid living in hickville kicks your ass in an argument when you’re supposed to be an adult and far wiser than them, it takes all the wind out of those sails. You were brought down by someone supposedly lesser than you– therefore, you must be lesser than them. Suddenly, you’re a shadow of your former self and you want to rip that stupid kid’s head off.

Does this make sense? Yes and no. It does in a way because yes, you were brought down by someone supposedly “less” than you, that is, someone supposedly less enlightened/intelligent/informed, but what does that really say about you as a person? That’s an isolated event. An isolated event out of a LIFETIME of events. Events in which you succeeded, failed, improved yourself. What it really says is that this one point in time, you were proven wrong. It happens. And yet we live in fear of it, because in this age of the internet where everything is permanent and appearances matter more than ever, if someone can find just one little thing you were wrong about, they can hang you with it. “SEE! SEE! S/HE WAS WRONG ABOUT THAT, HOW CAN YOU SAY THEY’RE RIGHT NOW! THEY THOUGHT BRITNEY SPEARS HAD TWELVE KIDS, SO CLEARLY THEY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HEALTH CARE REFORM!”

The example is intentionally ridiculous, of course. Why should it matter if someone talking about health care reform didn’t know how many kids Britney has? It doesn’t. It also doesn’t matter if a lawyer thought that babies come from storks, it doesn’t matter if a doctor thought that if you mix blue and green you get pink. They are unrelated. So long as that lawyer knows his law, that doctor knows doctoring, it shouldn’t matter if they suck at geography. So why is it so damn easy to suddenly knock someone down a few pegs if they happen to not be right all the time? The answer is a simple one: it depends on if their image depends on them being right 100% of the time.

To an extent, it’s the public’s fault. We want our leaders and role models to not have flaws. We want them to be perfect. So, to get us to like them, they pretend they ARE perfect, that they’re always right, that they NEVER inhaled and that they did not have sexual relations with that woman. The public expects a lie, so they lie. We know that no one is perfect– but we really REALLY want to believe that our leaders and role models are, because if they are and we follow them, nothing can go wrong. We’re safe. Nothing bad will ever happen again, and we can all sit and look smug because we can never be proven wrong by proxy. We know they are lying liars that lie and that their shit stinks just like everyone else’s, but if we can maintain that illusion, everything is great.

It leads to one of the great puzzles of humanity that I can never seem to unravel: If I know it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie, and he knows it’s a lie, then why lie? If everyone knows it’s a lie, what’s the point? Is it that we think that the truth is worse? What if it’s better? Why is it so terrible to know the truth? Is it because truth is unchanging?

Perhaps that’s it. It’s the fact that if you are proven wrong, that the truth is uncovered, that the truth will never change so you either have to continue to be wrong or change your view to recognize the truth. If that truth is a contradiction to a deeply held belief, one that you base a lot of things around, it can shatter what you thought was true, it makes the rest of those things you based on that idea wrong by extension. It means you as a person have to change, and people hate change with a passion, especially when it comes to changing what they think about something they deem important. Wars have been fought over people not wanting to be wrong, people have been killed and lives destroyed because they were proven wrong.

And here we are. On the internet. Where your wrongness will display for eternity.

However, I would like to offer a way out before I have to dart back off to class for the day:

What if we all start making no pretense that we’re perfect? What if we all start to have an open door policy of “come in and try to prove me wrong, and if you do, you get a cookie.” What if we changed when we found out the truth* instead of stubbornly clinging to what we thought?

…My, what a strange day on the internet that would be, if everyone had lively debates and no one tried to cover their ass to make certain they weren’t wrong because it didn’t matter. No one’s reputation hinged on it.

Is it sad that the closest I can get to this type of attitude, the attitude that it doesn’t matter if you’re proven wrong because time is still going to pass and life will still go on, is on 4chan…?

*When I’m talking about truth, I’m talking about scientific/hard facts. Philosophy, religion, whatever is in a different category. Hell, if you really want to say so, psychology and sociology are gray and fuzzy too. However, I believe that certain things are universally true in those categories, such as the idea (ideal, really) that everyone deserves respect as a human being and that mental abnormalities exist.

Tattoos and Stupid Girls

I am one of the older of the waitstaff at my new job. Everyone else is about 18-21, most trending toward 20 and below. After a few days of listening to conversation as I work, I came to a realization that both saddened and annoyed me:

I never realized how damn big the age gap between the age of 22 and 18 could be.

Getting drunk is still modern and cool to this lot. I’m not kidding, one of them will repeatedly whine at her friend on the staff that she wants someone to get drunk with, because “I wanna get sooooo drunk 2nite lol.”

Okay, look. The one time I got truly “hardcore” drunk was not on purpose (I underestimated how much alcohol was in a mixed drink. Never again.) and I really don’t see the appeal. Furthermore, I’m at a loss as to why anyone would think that memory loss and throwing up multiple times is fun. So, okay, fine, maybe I just don’t get that one. But honestly, I think it’s just forbidden fruit syndrome– it’s more fun because they aren’t supposed to do it and they’d get in trouble with mommy and daddy if they’re caught, which gives them a thrill. All right, fine. I can understand that, but you’re still an idiot. Frankly, I expect this type of stupid behavior from them. Most kids fresh out of high school are that way.

What really annoys hell out of me, however, is their attitude toward tattoos/piercings. They don’t want tattoos for a reason, they just want a tattoo. They think they are “SO hardcore” because they’re going out to get a piercing tonight, just because they can. Seriously?

For those who haven’t been to piercing places/tattoo places, a tattoo generally runs 50 USD minimum, because they make you pay for the cost of opening a new tattooing kit and new ink. Piercings, meanwhile, I’ve seen for under 20 USD. Makes it a bit obvious as to why they want a piercing: it’s the cheapest way to piss off their parents. Never mind that it can cause horrible infections, scarring, and even if you get it done at a reputable shop, your body can still reject the piercing and it is NOT pretty, nor pleasant. However, as much as they want the piercings, what they really want is (apparently) the Holy Grail of pissing off your parents: Getting a tattoo without their permission. A piercing they can make you take out, mommy and daddy CAN’T make you take off a tattoo!

“Why do you care, exactly? So they’re morons. Judging by your various angry tirades you think most people are idiots. How is this more annoying or surprising than anything else?” You ask.

It annoys me because I have a tattoo. I have a tattoo that I put a fuck lot of thought into, mulled over for a long time, and that I got because it means something to me. Ever since one of these idiots glanced it when I took off the wrapping (I have to keep it covered at work for dress code reasons), she won’t stop bothering me about it. It wouldn’t bother me except for the fact it’s very clear she cannot wrap her head around why it has/should have any significant meaning. It’s just a random symbol on an arm to her, and to her, just means I have a tattoo.

“So…?”

So, she thinks that because I have a tattoo, clearly I got it for the same reason she did: just because I wanted one and it’ll piss off mommy and daddy. In her mind, I’m lumped into her little group in some way and I object to being lumped in with a bunch of empty headed drunkards.

“And?”

Okay, look, I know I’m getting worked up over nothing. It’s a rant for a reason. I honestly just really object because of the fact my tattoo is there for a reason, and these idiots enforce what seems to be the general perception of a 20 something with a tattoo: They got it to piss off their parents, have no ability to think long term, will rebel in a structured setting, be it home, school or the workplace, just to rebel, and are generally an entitled pain in the ass. That is the exact reason you should always keep your tattoos covered around prospective employers. They see that, they will NOT hire you. They can use whatever exclusion criteria they wish, of course, but it still greatly bothers me that if I accidentally push my sleeve up too far because it is hot in the interview room, they glimpse a line on my arm in ink and I’m automatically kicked out. It doesn’t matter how qualified I was two seconds ago.

Forgive the ranting in frustration. It’s been a long week.

It has been a strange, partly bad, partly good week. I started at a new job and, to my surprise, my tendency to just be hated on sight by women in an office environment was NOT limited to my summer cube job or various random interactions– no, it was that way here, too. This was not helped by the fact that the woman kept going over and over how “wonderful” a Christian establishment this place was (wish they’d advertised that one a little better) and being downright surly toward me. You want to be religious, that’s fine, but when your workers can only wear some sort of religious medallion to work as jewelry, there’s problems. Not a good idea to stay here long, methinks. Here’s hoping things are better away from this woman, who is technically not in my department.

Upset that I had somehow managed to offend this woman simply by existing, while trying to be very nice, all smiles, cooperative, etc. I fucking risked my life to come in that day, with heavy snow, poor visibility, and wind chills of -20+. I asked my friends what it was that was wrong with me, that, despite all that, this woman took one look at me and started being short, curt, and in some ways, downright mean. The answers were, frankly, surprising to a pessimist like myself.

I got that I was pretty and she was jealous, that I was too smart and it annoyed her, that I had the “Audrey Hepburn Effect,” defined as a quiet elegance that made common people feel common, and thus, acutely uncomfortable. I was amazed that so many people saw some sort of good in me. When I seemed surprised at the outpouring, one person commented that “the hardest thing in life is to see our own beauty and worth.”

It got me thinking in what may seem to be an arrogant, self-absorbed fashion. I’ll try my best not to let it be.

The thought was this: If I accept this idea that these things are true, why the fuck is it so difficult for me to get a job at every turn? Why is it that when I get a job, women just take one look at me and decide I’m evil?

I heard a variety of theories on this one too, the most common of which was that if a younger female arrives at a job, the elder, higher up woman immediately gets territorial and assumes the younger one will take their job. Some proposed that these women assumed I was after even more than their job, that I would somehow turn people against them or take things away from them because I’m considered more “attractive” than they are, and the younger didn’t help matters. Another is that they figure that because some would consider me “pretty” that they have to be extra hard on me, lest I think I can get away with whatever I want, because, everyone knows, pretty girls get off everything easy. Especially with men.

Really? There’s a reason I prefer working with men. They’re not batshit insane. They don’t shriek that at every turn people are keeping them “down” or discriminating against them, or bitching that a man finding them attractive, even if it is just their eyes lingering on a girl for a few seconds, sexual harassment. They don’t piss and moan that life is so *hard* for them because they’re not Megan Fox or who the fuck ever the star du jour is today. Furthermore, you know what? Males get over what I look like. It generally goes like this:

Male Coworker/friend: *awkward*
Me: I’m taken, yes these are real, yes they’re D+ cups, no you won’t ever touch them. Hand me that box, please.
MC: *blink* oh! Um…
Me: Don’t apologize. I don’t care. Admire if you want, just don’t let it interfere with work.
MC: *gives box* Okay. [insert job smalltalk here]

Naturally, it doesn’t always go that way (The situation I speak of above is in a very casual environment, not an office and CERTAINLY not with a supervisor. But the point is, If I don’t give a shit, or try to play it to get favors, or whatever, they get over it. They leave me alone. They treat me like their male coworkers, complete with lewd jokes and everything else because I DON’T CARE. Women, however… if you aren’t a part of their church/branch of military/daycare group/have kids to chat about they just hate you. That was the main problem at my summer job: Lady, I don’t give a fuck about your kids. Frankly, I think it’s unprofessional you bring them to work and then walk them around the office expecting everyone to “aww” at them. No, I don’t care that you’re pregnant. I don’t care when you’re due. I don’t care about your wedding, or your friend’s. I care about coming here, getting my shit done, and being left alone to do my job.

I wasn’t impolite and blunt as I’m being here, mind you, I just expressed no interest and made no motion to get involved in the office gossip pool. I didn’t care. That bothered the living shit out of them. They LIVE on office drama, why don’t I?!

It’s really quite simple: I’ve got better things to do with my life. If you don’t, then I think you need a serious rearrangement of priorities.

However, I’m contradicting myself. I make it sound like they spoke to me often, thus contradicting my statement they detested me on sight. They DID speak to me. They did, in passing, after I had been there a while. Mostly to gloat and go “OMG, LOOKY I GOT ENGAGED” when they did so to everyone, despite not liking me. However, when I didn’t fawn over them, it reinforced, I guess, what they initially thought: That I’m a terrible, cold, stuck up bitch who doesn’t care about making friends because I’m out for their job.

My male supervisor? He was FINE. He called me in when I fucked up, complimented my team’s work when it was spectacular. My teammate and I made friends with the IT guys and joked around with them because they liked computers and vidyagames, especially Mario. Guys were cool, civil, decent human beings and didn’t expect me to take non-work time to discuss things that were non-work related. We saw each other on breaks, on lunch. They didn’t come around to my cubicle squealing to their friends “OMG, MAH BABEH JUST KICKED I’M SOOOO EXCITED!”

Women in the workplace scare me. It’s why I want to get (back) into a mostly male staff. They may ogle my tits when I first show up, but they’ll eventually get past it and act like a human being. Women just hold grudges for fucking ever, and in this case, there’s nothing I can do. I’m not going to cut on my own face and become a Reaver just because you have low self esteem. And you know why?

It’s honestly because if you stopped holding grudges and smiled more often, you’d be pretty too. I’m of the opinion everyone has some sort of beauty about them– yes, outwardly. You have something. It might be smooth skin, a type of grace, great style, quirky taste in accessories– but something about you is attractive to someone. So stop shitting on me because you think I’m “prettier” than you, if that’s what your problem is. I can’t change the genetic configuration of my face. I dress modestly at work, I try not to draw attention to my naturally large chest (but, frankly, short of binding, if I’m wearing a t-shirt there’s not much I can do), I don’t wear lots of make up or anything else. I just want to come here, do my job, and be left alone. I’m not here to steal your job, you fucking lunatic. I don’t want it, and even if I did, I’d much rather earn what I get than try to “seduce” someone to get it.

So how about you lay off the attitude and leave me alone, savvy?

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