Category: Rants


I’m pissed off. I’ve had a shitty, SHITTY couple of fucking weeks, and nothing seems to be getting better– in fact, more things keep going wrong. So I’m going to rant about a few things that are bothering me. Feel free to skip this post, because it really just is a bunch of angry snarling.  Ready? 1. I don’t care about your fucking kids.  Do not send me pictures of them, do not talk about them at great length, do not expect me to coo over them. I don’t fucking care. Your fuck trophy, as it were, is not of any interest to me, nor is the idiotic craft of the day they did at camp, nor anything else. Children are about as smart as dogs up until they’re ten, and even after that, the dog is better behaved. Do not try to fucking guilt me into doing anything using them. If someone snatched them off the street in front of me, I’d call the police, but that’s all I’d do. Do not expect me to watch them. Do not say I’ll change my mind when they’re my own. I’m not having them. Period. End of discussion. Yours are not going to convince me otherwise. Why do I bring this up? Because people keep sending me pictures of their larvae, or larvae they enjoy being around, and expecting me to find it as enthralling and adorable as they do. They’re not. And they get all fucking weirded out when I have nothing to say, because what do you say about to a misshapen little creature that can’t figure out the complexities of a sliding glass door. There has been ONE person that has a kid that respects this limit of mine. She sent me ONE picture, and that’s when the kid was born. And that was the end of it. Follow her example. 2. Do your own fucking job, and do not expect me to do your job.  I love helping out. I do. I’m happy to do it. But not when it impacts my work. I should not be doing the lion’s share of your job while you’re off chatting and fucking around. Further, do not expect me to be happy if you change what I’m doing every five fucking minutes and I can never finish anything. And do not expect me to accomplish anything if you will not let me. 3. If someone commits suicide, there’s a reason for it.  I never said it was a good reason, but there’s a reason. Depression is an evil disease. And chances are, if someone killed themselves and you “can’t imagine why they would do that/what could be so awful/what they were thinking,” chances are you’ve never been depressed. I’m not even going to bother going into the way it twists and distorts the world, but let it be said something that is not necessarily a good choice seems the only solution at times. Anyway, if you have no experience with suicide/depression, here’s what the proper thing to do in that situation is: SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH. Don’t fucking go on, especially to anyone that knows anything about mental illness, about how much it “hurts” you that they offed themselves. Don’t go on about how they should have “reached out.” Chances are, if you had no idea there was anything wrong, you were part of the problem. Or, at the very least, you were not of any help. So, shut the fuck up. In addition, the proper response to someone dying via suicide that you supposedly care about is not to pat yourselves on the back about how sorry you are and how much you were a great family/friend/whatever and you can’t fathom why they would want to leave you. It’s also not to fucking complain about making the trip to the funeral, it’s not to gossip about who’s having a baby. Oh, and it’s also not to share the life plan that YOU had for the deceased, and lament that now you’ll never see that plan completed. The proper response is to mourn, you self-centered twats. TL;DR: If you didn’t know, you’re part of the problem, kindly fuck off. 4. I can’t have male friends.  I can’t. Want to know why? Because they, apparently, all think I’m supposed to be their fucking girlfriend without the sex. Or with it! Most of them think that if I REALLY got to know them, I’d want to fuck them instead! That I would explain, “Oh ho ho! Silly me, I don’t love my girlfriend! Please, stick your cock in my mouth and I’ll make you a sandwich after clad only in a maid outfit! Tee hee!” Let me explain something to you men, the few of you that are reading this: I am bisexual, but that does not mean you have a chance. I am not going to be your frat buddy that you send nonstop jokes about tits back and forth with. I am happy to provide a female perspective for you, but I am also not the end all and be all of what womanhood is. I’m actually a very poor example, given how gender fucked I am. If I laugh at your jokes, I am not flirting with you. If I talk to you, I am not flirting with you. If I text you, I am not flirting with you. If I message you, I am not flirting with you. If I am nice to you, I do not have feelings for you. You have no chance, none at all. AT. ALL. FUCKING. STOP. Now, this all sounds extremely arrogant. I know it does. But over the past five years of my life, I’ve discovered I’m not allowed to talk to men without them saying things that make me very uncomfortable. Such as that “They have feelings for me, and just want to be honest.” Or, “they were thinking about, in an alternate universe, how good we’d be together.” Or feel the need to ask me to rate their attractiveness. Or make inappropriate comments/ask questions repeatedly that I have declined to answer about my sex life, body, and person in general. I fully admit this could just be a symptom of where I am in the Midwest. I sincerely hope it is. I will stop fucking talking to you, and I will not tell you why. I’m an asshole, I know, and that’s a classic “girl” move. I know this. But I don’t feel like explaining to you every fucking thing you’re doing wrong. Chances are, by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it’s a long list. I want to have male friends. Badly. For me to rage quit, you have to have pissed me off in quite an extraordinary way. And furthermore, if you’re not smart enough to know that you shouldn’t say those things to people, I don’t think you’re going to comprehend what I’m going to tell you to begin with. Protip: If a person changes a subject, DROP IT. Further, when I am welcoming comments and critiques on my body, I will ask for them, or be dressed as a literal whore. And now, I feel somewhat better, or at least less like punching a fucking wall. Thanks for reading.

People frustrate me.

Those of you that read this blog, way back in the day when I had the time and energy to post on it regularly, know this. I made a post about how I prefer to not be nasty to people if I have nothing in common with them, I much prefer to simply let us naturally drift apart. This works pretty well for most people.

Emphasis on most.

Kids, if someone hasn’t seen you in a while, the correct way to reconnect with them is thus: You send them a message, or a text saying something to the equivalent of “Hey! I was thinking of you the other day and just wanted to see how you were doing. Hope life’s treating you well!” What’s great about this is they have the option to not respond if they so choose. They also have the option to respond with a goddamn novel about their life up to that point. It’s low pressure and low cost energy wise to both parties.

The incorrect ways to reconnect with someone are many and varied, so let me tell you about the one most frequently used upon me: The Pounce.

I will be out in a store– grocery store, book store, clothing store, doesn’t matter– and someone will notice me. They will not say “Hey! Fancy meeting you here, how are you? Good? I’m good. We should catch up sometime, ciao!” and leave me the fuck alone.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s the polite reaction, is it not? You’re doing something, I’m doing something, neither of us planned this social call, we planned to do other things. By virtue of my being there and you being there, we’re ruining each others’ experience that we initially planned. Right? I thought so.

Instead, what I always fucking get is as follows:

OMG, I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER. HAVE YOU MISSED ME?” 

I don’t feel comfortable appraising your social worth in front of you. It only leads to you being upset because, invariably, you’re not important enough for your tastes. “Er… hello there. Long time no see. How are you?”

Through out this, I will be steadfastly staying in my spot, paused in what I am doing. I will not turn toward the individual. I want a quick interaction. I give no indication of wanting any further conversation than common courtesy.

I’M SO GOOD, YOU HAVE NO IDEA. ARE YOU GOOD?” 

Yes, I am, thank you for asking. I’m glad you’re doing well too!” I smile, nod, and go back to what I was doing. I thought, and still think, this is the universal sign for “end of conversation.”

Apparently, I am dead wrong.

“SO I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU.” 

Oh, here we go.

“OMG I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER, WE SHOULD GET TOGETHER SOMETIME.” 

At this point, I will have to take a step away, because invariably, they will find the need to intrude into my personal space to force my attention back on them.

“Yes, that could be fun.” Yes, I know it’s a lie. I shouldn’t lie. But I really don’t like being rude or out and out hurtful. That, and I really don’t like the fucking scene people create when you tell them to go away. They usually glare and huff and are a bitch to you the rest of the time you’re wherever you are, so invariably you have to make effort to avoid them or you have to leave. I don’t want to leave. I didn’t bring this goddamn interaction on us, they did. It’s their fault. Childish to assign blame, I realize, but all the same, one of us caused this. It wasn’t me.

Here, I will usually check my phone, or take note of something announced over the speaker if it is something like a store closing, special event, or other such excuse to leave. I’ll smile politely, and say: “It was great seeing you, but I hadn’t realized what time it was/the store’s closing/I don’t want to get caught in the crowd for the event/etc. I’ve got to go.”

Now, in reflection on these interaction, I always realize I should have firmly affixed a “Good bye!” here and turned on my heel and left. I view it as rude, but other people tell me it’s being “assertive.” I notice it’s only “assertive” when they do it, never when it’s done to them. Otherwise, it’s rude. Thus, I’m disinclined to follow their advice, because again, I don’t like drama, I don’t like scenes, and I really don’t like people texting me and messaging me and being dicks to me going “WHY WERE YOU SUCH A BITCH TO X?” But it’s also more than that: It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t want to have an extended conversation with you at this moment. Let me take a brief moment to explain something about introverts like myself on the extreme end of the spectrum:

We plan our social interactions down to the moment. We think “Okay, if I can arrive by this time, I can leave by this time without seeming rude.” It’s nothing against you, we don’t hate you, we’ll have fun while we’re there, even! But being around people is tiring. It’s tiring for different people for different reasons. Usually my problem is that with any given person, I have a set of conversation topics I can’t go near, I have a set of facets to my personality I cannot express, and I have to filter everything I say to such a degree it is mentally exhausting. “GET NEW FRIENDS THEN” you say. Well, I do. They’re mostly over the internet. Why? Because I live in a fucking place where there are almost no people like me, that’s why. I have to make do with what I’ve got until I can move elsewhere, like all the precious few people that are like me are. I do like some interaction with people. I get lonely like everyone else. So I have to make do with what I have. Thus, I have to put up with all this garbage if I want to interact with anyone other than my partner. Point is, I don’t like pissing people off because I can tolerate so precious few of them to begin with. If I want to fucking leave, it has nothing to do with you. Contrary to popular belief, extroverts, the entire goddamn world is not a reaction to you.

Now, to get back to that tricky “being assertive” by saying “goodbye,” I was raised that you don’t fucking impose yourself upon other people. Thus, if someone says they have to go, their body is angled away from you, and they look about to leave, you say “Oh! Sorry to hold you up. See you later.” I was, apparently, the only person raised this way in the last fucking half a century. If someone says they need to leave now, the correct response is:

BUT I JUST SAW YOU, WE NEED TO GET TOGETHER. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE TO GO? I DON’T HAVE TO GO. I’M NOT BUSY. WE NEED TO GET TOGETHER.” 

If you’re someone like this: Fuck you. Either you’re oblivious to both body language and verbal communication, or you’re outright ignoring it. There’s no excuse for being that oblivious past the age of thirteen or so unless you so happen to be actually clinically diagnosed on the autism spectrum. In that case, you get a pass, and I’ll adjust my interaction with you accordingly. If you’re a mentally healthy human being, you’re just being rude and inconsiderate. I’ve give you every polite indication that I want to end the conversation. I’m not going to tell you to fuck off, because I think that as another human being you deserve to have courtesy extended to you.

Here in the interaction is where I start to get truly upset at the person in question, for all of the reasons above. It’s even worse if I’m actually out with another person at the time– I’m not only upset you’re wasting my time, but you’re wasting someone else’s that I chose to be with and making us both uncomfortable.

“Some other time. I have to go, I’m sorry.” Why the fuck should I have to apologize to you? Oh yes, because I’m an idiot. And my idea that I should be polite to everyone is outdated, because the rest of the fucking world doesn’t follow it. I keep forgetting people are surprised when I tell them “thank you.”

And yet, I’m giving the other goddamn person an opportunity to realize they’re being a knob and exit the conversation gracefully. Fucking take it, you ass. Thankfully, about 50% do. The other 50% will physically follow me when I leave. You think I’m kidding. I’m not. Their response is:

OH WELL I’LL WALK YOU OUT. WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING! DOES YOUR NUMBER STILL WORK? LET ME TEXT YOUR PHONE RIGHT HERE TO MAKE SURE IT GOES OFF AND STILL WORKS.” 

Guys, I sincerely wish I was making this up. I’m not. After these interactions, when I finally escape them by going “No, I have to go, I’m getting in my car, I will talk to you later” I, frankly, feel violated. I had to physically get up and leave somewhere because another person would not leave me alone. That’s not a nice feeling. It’s no better than having to leave a bar because you’re being sexually harassed, being talked down to for your appearance, being made uncomfortable because you hold a different belief or value system than the majority at a totally unrelated event. I’ve been harassed in a lot of different ways. I worked for a call center. I’ve had men ask me to send them pictures of me, I’ve had people talk about their porn habits explicitly, I’ve had people call me stupid and horrible things. They all hurt and make me uncomfortable. It’s much of the reason why I quit. I’ve had people follow me from class to class and I’ve had problems being catcalled, on the street, in my car, and in any public space. I’ve had problems being sexually harassed by a guy on a loudspeaker attached to his truck while I’m in my car. All of these things make  me uncomfortable and upset, and makes me want to avoid going out. I shouldn’t have to keep myself sequestered in my apartment to avoid having my personal mental or physical space infringed upon in an upsetting manner.

But all that, I can shake off. It may take me a while, but I can. Frankly, it hurts a whole lot more that someone that actually knows me and calls themselves my friend would make me that uncomfortable by forcing themselves on me. It hurts, because it makes me feel used and stepped on. And more than that, it makes me feel stupid because I was the one stupid enough to give you the time of day in the first place. That’s the worst part, I get told “WELL BE ASSERTIVE,” “YOU’RE EXPECTING THEM TO BE PSYCHIC,” “YOU NEED TO SPEAK UP!”

If you knew anything about me at all, I wouldn’t have to. You know when your friends are upset, even before they say anything. It’ll come through, even in their text messages and IM’s. Anyone does.

But I’m the one that needs to change here. I need to be assertive. It’s all my fault. Just like it’s all my fault for wearing shorts on a 90 degree day while I’m moving boxes to a new apartment and sitting in my car at a stop light with the window down. It’s my fault for giving you an opening.

Yeah, got it. Thanks.

I graduated college on May 5th. I think. I didn’t bother going to commencement, but I do have a piece of paper.

The first thing that struck me is the fact that there’s nothing on this piece of paper, it just says “Bachelors Degree” and that’s it. Not that it was in English. Or Psych. Or anything else. I could have done underwater basket weaving for all my future employers care, apparently. I always think of that fact when people ask me “HOW DOES IT FEEL TO GRADUATE?”

“It feels like no one actually gave a fuck what I did, just that I put in the time. And it feels like I don’t have to go to class anymore. Yay me?”

To avoid the look that would follow that statement, I only include a part of it: “It feels like I don’t have to go to class anymore.”

People keep acting like this is a huge milestone. I suppose it is, but I didn’t exactly not see this coming. I’ve been working hard at making this happen for five years. It feels like an accomplishment, yeah, but frankly, it isn’t very satisfying or surprising. Or, at least, it isn’t as satisfying as everyone seems to think it should be. I’m not jet setting off to a new and exotic job. I’m not running off to get married and have babies. Those seem to be the big life changes everyone is actually expecting me to go on to and on both counts are being vastly disappointed.

Why does it matter? It doesn’t, really. But I do feel oddly disconnected from the world around me due to how strange my expectations for life seem to be compared to theirs. People seem to expect big changes at these “milestones” and  the only real difference I’ve noticed is now my job is bitching and moaning at me to go full-time, which is pissing me off. I’d like a little time to be left alone and get my shit together. I’d like a small break before I surrender to a lifetime of servitude, thanks. I realize it’s the last one I’m ever going to get.

Anyway, in my little bits of free time my job seems so desperate to take away in the name of moar money because moar, I’ve been reading. Books, magazines, fanfiction, blogs, a bit of everything. I’m trying to catch up on five years of not being able to read anything because I have to plow through plays and text books and frankly, I’m a little disappointed in what I’m finding.

I don’t know how many of you out there are biologically female, but if you are and you’re American, you’ve probably heard of Glamour magazine. It’s one of the less shitty women’s magazines out there, especially next to the likes of Cosmo. 

Or so I thought.

I’ve gotten through two backlogged issues so far and suddenly, see the problem with being a subscriber.

I’ve read the May issue before. Last May, in fact. There was just a different celebrity on the cover. All of the shit inside is the same.

Speaking of, I have a question to pose to biological females that consider themselves to be of the womanly persuasion: Why the FUCK do you let them treat you like this?

If you look inside, everything is about either babies, men, or “fixing” yourself. They tell my friend with small breasts that she needs “ruching” to fix her “lack of curves,” they tell my busty friends that they need “support” to “get the girls under control,” they tell my “curvy” friends with hips that they need to “make themselves look smaller.” Who is this ideal woman they’re trying to make them all look like?

Oh, and furthermore, if you look at your body and realize that you’re not ‘boy shaped’ (i.e. thin) or ‘curvy’ (i.e. Girl code for “fat,” I’m quickly learning) and go “hey! There’s nothing wrong with me. So, Glamour, what should I wear?” You will receive nothing but resonant silence in response. If there’s not something “wrong” with you, they want nothing to do with you. According to them, there’s always something wrong with you. And it needs to be fixed, because otherwise HOW will you get to find a man and get married and have babies and have OMG THE PERFECT LIFE?!!111!!

… Why do you let them do this to you? Here. Go check out Curve or Bust. I know they’re probably a little weird, and one is rather queer (Curve), but in leafing through their pages in the book store, I don’t feel like I’m a failure at womanhood because I want to pursue a life that is mine, not ruled by who I find attractive, by what I think is wrong with me, or by children. There’s stuff about kids and womanhood in there, but the approach is less forceful. It’s information about pregnancy and kids, but it doesn’t imply that “OMG IT’S THE HIGHEST HONOR ANY WOMAN CAN HAVE AND ANYONE THAT HATES KIDS IS A FREAK AND YOU SHOULD WANT BABIES NOW RIGHT NOW HAVE BABIES NOW.” They have articles about sex and sexuality that are not dictated by how to please your man, but how to have pleasure as a couple, or, hell, how to pleasure yourself. Some of the shit in the magazines is pretty out there, granted, but so is a lot of the shit in Glamour. 

For those of you of the less womanly gender persuasion, I would recommend hopping over to your local Barnes and Noble, and pick up a copy of the British version of GQ. No, put the American GQ down. Trust me on this one. You want the British one. The girls are less fake (and therefore, much hotter) and the writing is hysterical and high quality. I have never laughed so hard at a magazine, and that’s even with missing half the jokes because I’m a Yank. Everything in there breathes, it’s fresh, and most importantly, it doesn’t make you feel like shit about yourself. Much like Curve and Bust don’t belittle women, Brit GQ doesn’t seem to suffer from the same stupidity the American one does of making men into someone they’re not. There are health tips and things, yeah, but when they talk about clothes, it’s about the clothes, the watches, the ties, not about “look how awesome Johnny Depp looks in these. Now, you’ll never be as good-looking as him, BUT here are some clothes so you can pretend.”

Now then, I’m going to go off and catch up on some more reading, and see if I can work out a plan to blog on here weekly again. If you have any other alternative magazines, please leave them in the comments so I and other folks can try ’em out. Doesn’t matter if they’re for girls, boys, or fish. Tell me what you like to read, and I’ll go check them out.

P.S. If you want to check out the actual, physical magazines I’ve listed here, try your local Barnes and Noble Bookseller’s. I can find all three of those mags there, even in the conservative, Midwestern area I live in.

… It’s gotta be a little bit more pleasant than this.

I’m angry. Really angry. I get that way any time I have to take off of school or work due to something like pain or fatigue. Maybe not the most productive way to deal with it, but it’s what I do.

Let me start by saying I don’t like when I am not in control. Thus, this whole gastroparesis thing is making me very, very upset. I’m currently stuck taking a half day off from work to try to harangue my specialist into giving me a test in the vain hopes that a definitive diagnosis, rather than just a diagnosis of exclusion, will give me some leverage at work if push comes to shove and they ask me why my attendance sucks. I’m really hoping that this stupid fucking thing doesn’t cripple me to the point I need something like disability, but if it keeps fucking up my job, I may have to look into that.

I’m upset, I’m frustrated, and some other people in a similar situation might start looking for strength on high. This is one of the few times I wish I had some sort of faith, rather than agnosticism leaning toward atheism. I wish I had some comfort, even if it was a lie. I used to have faith in myself, and that’s failing as my body seems to be failing me.

My bad days are farther apart now, but they’re still REALLY bad when they occur, and I’m still losing weight. I can only keep that up for so long, guys. There’s not much on me to lose. I hate the idea of having a scale in the house, but it may be the only option I have to see just how fucked I am– I’ve already lost ten pounds due to this thing. Gotta say– if any of you need a diet program, try gastroparesis. You’ll dread eating so much that killing yourself sounds more pleasant.

I’m trying to upbeat. Believe me, I’m trying. This is upbeat for me. Angry and seething, but upbeat. If I was being emo, I’d post choice lyrics or quotes on Twitter and go stare at a wall in my room and do nothing. I’m trying to convince myself that this is just a bad flare up– but at the same time, I recognize I need to be prepared for this to happen in the future, along with all my other various little sicknesses I always seem to have. I’m staring at my future and wondering if I can even work a full time job like a normal person. What the hell are my options then? I always wanted to be a writer. Maybe that’s a good thing because maybe that’s my only option. Something where I can work from home and at my leisure. Something where I can go and curl up in the bathroom at a moment’s notice if need be, then resume work afterward without any penalty.

As of right now, my status is that of a Black Parade— I’ll carry on. If there’s one thing I share in common with my favorite wizard, Harry Dresden, it’s that I’m too goddamn stubborn to give up without one hell of a fight and taking at least a few people down with me in the process.

Thank you for letting me process. Thank you for dropping by. I know things can get depressing as shit around here some days, and that ain’t how most people want to spend their time.

Fuck this shit right in the damned ear. I’m finding a hack to get around it and have as normal a life as I can, even if I have to strangle a gastroenterologist to do it.

Something happens when you hit twenty. Suddenly (or perhaps not so suddenly, if you’re female) you have to invite certain people to certain events in an effort to “keep peace.”

This particular post is inspired by the same lovely woman that is allowing me to be maid of honor in her wedding, and the social trials she seems to be facing. Of course, this entire dance is probably nothing new to anyone that plans any type of party surrounding a life event, be it a wedding, a baby shower, or a funeral. There are certain people that have to be invited.
Why? Because otherwise they will make life hell for whoever the person holding the event is. It could be through harassing phone calls, gossip, badmouthing, or plain old shunning.

Now, my personal thought on all of this is: So what if they throw a fit? If they’re far enough away from you socially that you barely see them, let them cry, wail, throw things, and yell at you. What the hell are they going to do? And if they pass into harassment territory, just call the cops. That’s what they’re there for, among other civic duty-ish sorts of things. Not only can they solve murders, they can also get that one crazy bitch to stop calling you via a threat to be tossed in jail.*

The problem with my solution, however practical it may be, is that it pays no heed to politics. None at all. For my friend, though, I’m trying to take a very Tudor-esqe stance and help her out in this game of political chess and why she should play politics.

Reason #1: It’s easier.

Much like my way out of relationships that involves increasingly ignoring contact to avoid drama, this keeps fits from being thrown either outside of or even AT the wedding by someone that turns up uninvited simply to make their perceived insult known.
Downside: If invite Geoffry that squeezes your ass and insists you call him Uncle G to your wedding to keep the peace, you’re in for an evening of ass groping and awkwardness. I’m of the opinion your wedding should be a happy occasion, not something you dread because you have to make small talk with people you barely know and who really don’t give a shit about you, they just wanted an invitation because they want free food and an open bar.

Reason #2: It keeps peace with the people you DO want to invite.

This one seems to have a great deal to do with parents in most weddings. “But you HAVE to invite your Aunt’s half-sister’s uncle’s pet gold fish on your father’s side! She’ll never let us hear the end of it if you don’t!”

Downside: First off, the simple fact that people take the approach of “If you make this person miffed, they’ll take it out on me, so I’ll take it out on you and make you regret ever causing me problems by upsetting them!” is just a bloody sinister, evil way to operate. Unfortunately, it is also a very common one in many families. The simple fact that YOU are held responsible for another grown adult’s reaction to something as little as a party invitation is absurd. If you were killing their dog, maybe I could understand. But an invite? My god, don’t you people have better things to do with your lives than want to stick your nose in everyone’s lives? You don’t even know the bridal couple, but you want to be invited because you know the bride’s mother? Go fuck yourself. It’s not the mother of the bride’s wedding. The bride can invite whoever she fucking pleases.

Those of you that have had your morning or afternoon coffee may notice that reason #2 is really just a subset of reason #1. That’s how far I’m having to reach for this. I can think of no better reason other than “it’s easier to go and be awkward at YOUR OWN WEDDING than deal with the fallout of self centered children in adult bodies.

I don’t get what happened to the whole concept of politeness. I’m supposed to invite YOU to be polite, but you have no obligation to me what so ever to not act like a spoiled child if you’re not invited? And if I DO invite you, you also have no obligation to behave yourself, not grope my ass, hit on my bridesmaids, and get drunk off your ass? What the fuck is this shit?! Why do I have to be the grown up and keep a stiff upper lip against the awkward, but you can throw tantrums and act like a classless jackass?!

I don’t get it. I really don’t. I have this old fashioned notion that the idea of politeness should go both ways.

I’m just going to stop here. Not only do I have other things I need to be doing, but if I keep going, I’ll start on one of my favorite wedding pet peeves: the open bar. Let’s leave it at a short post, rather than a ten page rant, shall we?

So, I found this in the news: The Iranian Women’s Soccer team has been banned from competing in the Olympics for failing to adhere to the dress code set down by FIFA, the Fédération Internationale de Football Association. Or, for us Yanks, the International Federation of Association Football.

Since nobody clicks links on blogs, here’s a quick sum-up: The Iranian Women’s team is required by Iranian law to be covered from hair/neck down to the feet “according to the state’s interpretation of Shiite Islamic tenets,” according to the Washington Post. FIFA has banned anything that goes around the player’s neck (including neck warmers) from being worn during games for safety reasons that I REALLY hope I don’t have to explain to you. (However, in case I do, here you are: Getting yanked backwards by the neck is BAD. If done hard enough, your neck could break. What does that result in? Paralysis or death. these are the exact same reasons you weren’t allowed to wear necklaces in PE as a kid.)

The Iranian women’s team re-designed headscarves for themselves that fit tightly around the head and neck, reducing the chance of them getting caught during a game. However, they still go AROUND the neck. Thus, FIFA said “Sorry, but it’s against regulations. It’s a safety hazard. You can’t play.” Seems simple enough, eh?

Well, apparently not. People are ALL up in arms that it’s religious discrimination, or discrimination against Iranians, that it’s a stupid rule to impose Western ways upon players, etc. No, people, it’s not. It’s safety. NO ONE can wear anything around their neck. Period. It doesn’t matter what religion you are, what country you’re from, or what sex you are, it’s a safety issue, and FIFA wants all the players to not be injured unnecessarily during games. What we have here is a clear case of “BUT I’M SPECIAL,” which crops up all too often in this world of ours.

Religion is not a trump card to any rule, or something to receive special treatment over, people. And while I’m at it, neither is being gay, a minority, having tits, having a disability, or having blonde hair. This is especially true in this case– this is a safety issue. This is not a “this isn’t allowed because I say so” issue.

“But it isn’t fair!”

No, in this case it is. Being fair is applying the same rule to everyone, no matter what, without bias or favoritism. And while we’re on the subject of what’s fair and what isn’t, I’m going to make myself grievously unpopular. Ready?

Affirmative action is not fair. It is bullshit. It is bullshit, hypocrisy, and idiocy all rolled into one.

“But without it, people who might otherwise not be hired because of prejudice wouldn’t be hired!”

You know what? If it’s a private business, that’s their priority. If they only want to hired big breasted Caucasian women with green eyes and red hair, they can do that. If they want to have a penis size requirement, fine. I really don’t give a fuck. If you don’t want to hire me because I’m a woman, that’s fine. I don’t want to work for you anyway. If someone does not want you there, they will find a way to make your life hell, no matter how many laws the government tries to put in place to prevent it. They can force you to quit by cutting your hours, by making your job unnecessarily difficult, you name it. If you can’t somehow prove they did it, they’ll get away with it. That may not be fair, but that’s the way things are. The world is not fair. You know what else isn’t fair?

Expecting to be hired because of your chromosomes instead of your qualifications.

It’s not fair when a straight man is hired simply because he’s straight, and it’s not fair when a gay man is hired simply because he’s gay. In my tiny ideal world, we would all be resumes with no names, just numbers, when we go into the job pool. Then the employers would only see what we’d done, what we could do, and how well we were qualified. We wouldn’t be kicked out of the interviewing process because we have a nose ring, and we wouldn’t be kept in the process because we fit some “requirement” for a percentage of staff that has to have brown hair, regardless if they are qualified or not. Of course, this doesn’t take care of the problem of discrimination once you’re hired, but at least it takes the bullshit out of the hiring process that is supposedly to make things “fair” when it actually just rigs it against certain people, which is supposedly what it was going to fix. Demanding equal treatment and then turning around and demanding special treatment because of some slight against you, real or imagined, is hypocrisy.

It seems what fairness actually is has been skewed in the present society, very possibly due to the attitude I discovered in my “Don’t Yell at Me, I’m Organizationally Disabled” post. Everyone else should be expected to be able to meet the expectations or shut up, but they should be given special pardon from such rigorous standards because they’re ADD when their Playstation is too close by. That sort of thing. It comes from knowing your weaknesses and assuming that no one else has any, or, conversely, knowing your strengths and assuming everyone else is just lazy and/or weak. It also comes from assuming the most evil motivation possible for every single slight against you and/or something you support. That’s how suddenly this ruling by FIFA has nothing to do with safety, it’s all about hating on Islam. It doesn’t matter why the ruling was actually made, the worst way it could be construed is that it was put into place to discriminate against anyone wearing a headscarf. Or a scarf. Or a necklace. Or anything that goes around the neck. It’s all because the people in charge are mean, hateful people that make arbitrary rules. That whole safety thing? Psh. Injuries never happen in sports! They made that up!

Bah.

Perhaps I’m just a horrible, terrible person that is rationalizing hate. Those that trip across this blog that vehemently oppose the Iranian women’s team being disqualified and support affirmative action may very well think so. Or on the other side, perhaps I’m being far too idealistic, and evil, evil shadows are lurking everywhere waiting to fuck me over for arbitrary reasons, so I should always assume the worst and protect myself accordingly. On one side I have people who think they’re entitled to something because they’re different, and on the other people who think they’re being fucked over because they’re different.

They can have fun fighting over which philosophy is correct. When so much of the world is honestly random chance, there’s not much point, but whatever gets you to sleep at night. However, whatever you do, don’t take your entitlement or paranoia and call catering to either being “fair.”

Here’s a few things that other people (and me, as far as that goes) seem not to realize/ignore/be ignorant of, all in the name of education. You’re welcome.

*Children are money holes. Bottomless money holes. No, really. They are. You get nothing back (at least in the monetary sense) for all that money you put in. Stop looking at me like a jackass when I tell you that if you want to throw your money away, go on a vacation or something.

*Most people believe they are the exception to every rule there is. Accept that you will have to fight against this all your damned life and be done with it.

*As much as the customers will try to play to your sympathies and be “nice” to you, they are out for every goddamn dollar they can fuck you and your business out of. Don’t give shit away for free unless there’s a good reason for it. A contrived sob story is not a good reason.

*There are scammers, phishers, and general assholes everywhere, in every job, in every position, etc. The whole world isn’t evil, but any time someone tries to give you something for nothing, be very, very suspicious.

*Innocence is not a virtue. Experience is. Innocence is just a nice word for ignorance.

*Midwesterners like to tout themselves as the nicest ol’ people there ever dadgummet was placed on the earth, because they ain’t like them big city folk. Bullshit. They’re not anywhere near as nice as they want you to believe. I’ve met kinder people in San Diego and New York. Midwesterners are only nice to you if you’re EXACTLY like them, or from the Midwest by birth. As soon as they run into something they don’t understand, they get very skittish and angry very quickly.

*Men are not stupid and women are not crazy, no matter how much I commonly throw around both those terms in jest. They just think differently. The frigging wiring is totally different. One’s a super computer that can keep whirring for hours and hours encrypting and decrypting. The other is a high tech tank that may not be able to process mass amounts of data at a time, but it is fuck effective at making practical use of the data it IS processing at any given time.

*A vagina does not make a woman and a penis does not make a man.

*Cats and dogs are about equal, it just depends on what you like. So stop making jokes about eating my cat unless you want me to make jokes about taking your dog out behind the shed. Doesn’t feel so great, does it?

*My sense of humor is self-deprecating. That doesn’t make it okay for you to mock me.

*If you’re in training, sit down and shut the fuck up. You’re not the smartest one there. Stop pretending to know better than the instructor unless you can get up and teach the entire class yourself and answer every question perfectly. No one knows everything. Stop taking an instructor looking up an answer as a sign of weakness.

*Own up to your fuck ups and people will generally respect you more. The ones that don’t are the ones that refuse to take ownership of their screw ups and will blame them on you later.

*Just because someone is eating small meals/salads/healthful foods does not mean they’re trying to lose weight, and it definitely doesn’t mean you should comment on what they’re eating. Maybe they just like the salad, or maybe it’s what agrees with their system more than your burger and fries.

*Genetics influence a fuck lot of things, even if it is to a minute degree. Nothing is entirely learned. However, nothing is entirely genetics either.

*Certain people are not meant to do certain things. I’ll never be a beautiful singer. That’s okay. You really don’t have to be awesome at everything at once.

*Nothing is ever “just because” in the human mind, be it a way of thinking, a preference, or a mental illness. There’s always a reason for it. We just may not know it yet.

*In the words of the smartest person I know: “Something to remember always when dealing with other people: they are not you.”

Everyone feeling good? Educated, or at least reminded of a few things? Good.

So, I started a new job and I’m in training. I love the job. I play with tech, my supervisors are funny, it is GREAT. I’m not here to complain about the job. No, people have gone and annoyed the shit out of me, and here’s why:

So, you all have had a part time job before, right? They hold your pay the first two to three weeks, depending on when in the billing cycle you were hired. So, when you’re paid, you’re paid for the work you did two weeks ago, not the work you’re currently doing. Yes, I realize that’s not exactly how it goes, but bear with me here. Okay, now take into account that even most FULL TIME jobs have a delayed pay schedule like this. I think we can all agree that if you’ve ever had a job, you know about this. Good? Good.

There are three girls that were ranting and raving and bitching and moaning about not getting paid for three weeks. This was brand new news to them. This tells me they have never had a fucking job.

I’m in a room full of, for the most part, 20+ adults, if not 30+ adults. These girls fall into this category. They’re in college. Judging by the shit they wear, the purses they were carrying, and the shit they buy, they’re not hurting for money. Okay, fine, so they haven’t had a job before. Fucking fine. I still don’t think your ass should be sitting in these seats without any customer service experience (since you’ve never had a job, you know, and this is a fucking call center), but whatever.

Then one of them says she has a scholarship. Such a scholarship that MY FUCKING SCHOOL PAYS FOR HER FUCKING PHONE WITH THESE FUCKING SCHOLARSHIPS because she has her phone bill billed to her university account. Convenient. Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll pretend that these scholarships are merit based, even though this chick is dumb and it shows, and also a person that has to open her mouth every five minutes just because she can’t shut up. Okay. Assuming these are merit based, they still have a need based component. Okay, so maybe I was wrong in thinking this chick had money. But then, I wonder, how the fuck has she never had a job… maybe it was a work study type job, if she had one, so she wasn’t paid per se, but instead worked to get money off her school bill.

However, that pissy part of my brain is just pointing out inconsistencies with these theories left and right. How can she afford to buy shit at work every day if she’s so fuck broke? How does she have an apartment (that was later explained– it was a school-run apartment complex)? And most importantly…

HOW THE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCK CAN SHE AFFORD A GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING TABLET WITHOUT A FUCKING CONTRACT AND WITHOUT ANY TYPE OF A DISCOUNT?

She keeps going “I NEVER WANT A CONTRACT” when people ask about who her cellphone is through, so that’s how I know she bought this thing out of contract, and this motherfucking tablet is $800 dollars out of contract.

Now, take into account this chick is stupid, and while I have been in training with her (a classroom environment that you get PAID for being in) she can’t pay attention, she doesn’t follow along, she talks incessantly, and at the first thing that gives her trouble, she throws up her hands and goes “I can’t do it” and waits for the answers to be given to her or just doesn’t do it at all. Now throw on top of that that right now, on top of that tablet, she has a goddamn Blackberry. Those aren’t cheap either, even with a contract, and we know how she feels about those.

Think about all of that. You’ll probably reach the conclusion I did, which is that her scholarships are not merit OR need based, and she had money given to her on the grounds of another criteria. While I have my guesses about what that goddamn criteria is that overrides financial need and merit, it would lead to an entire other rant, so I’m not going there. What I’m focusing on today is that all the words out of this bitch’s mouth are “When do I get this?” “Can I have that?” “Do I get that?” all of which translate to “GIMMEGIMMEGIMME!” This girl, if she finds out that there is anything that someone does not nail down and say “this is mine,” she will take, or demand that she can have. Our trainers have prizes for getting shit right? She wants all of them. As soon as she sees something without a name on it, she goes “Give me it.” Not “What can I do to earn that?” or “What do we do to get that?” it’s always: “CAN I HAVE IT?” It’s also never once. She says things over and over and OVER A-FUCKING-GAIN. “Can I have the prize? Can I have it? Can I? Can I have the prize? Can I have it? Why Can’t I have it?” On loop until it’s put away.

This girl is twenty years old. She’s been in college a while– twenty is at the low end of the spectrum for how old she is. The way she talks about liking margaritas, I’m guessing 21 or older, but I know that’s very possibly not the case, so I’m going with twenty. The point is, she’s twenty years old and she wants every shiny thing she sees, talks to hear herself talk, and has never had a job, and yet HER school is paid for to the point she can afford a $800 tablet while I’m struggling to pay my bills and cannot get a fucking scholarship to save me despite a 3.5 GPA and a ACT of 30 when I can’t afford school, and FURTHERMORE, far more deserving people in far more dire financial straits than I with comparable grades and a thousand times more drive can’t get scholarships and due to credit fuck ups that are not their fault (their guardians managed to fuck their credit in the past year, screwing them out of loans from the government), can’t get student loans to finish school that won’t leave them without, you know, food because they’re such pathetic, meager fucking offerings.

Maybe that bitch just got lucky, and maybe the people I know were really unlucky, but I think that if you have a scholarship and you’re buying $800 pieces of equipment you don’t need, your scholarship should be immediately reduced a WHOLE FUCKING LOT. However, this girl in my class that has all these things? She just wants more. And more and more. And then, when she’s done, she’ll take some more, because I guess she’ll just never have enough.

I realize there are many things that may be at play here that I don’t see– she could (hell, probably did) buy the tablet on credit (such a wise choice, you know, for something you don’t even need) which certainly doesn’t say she has money, just a lack of sense with money. They’ll give anyone a credit card, after all. She could…

No, that’s all I’ve got. Credit and sucking with money. You come up with some other scenarios. I, frankly, don’t give a shit. I’m still back on the fact that this bitch gets her school paid for, and when friends with actual merit and financial need go to the financial aid office, they get laughed at.

Call me a jackass, but that other criteria should not exist. It shouldn’t impact your education or your being judged as worthy for help getting said education. No one should be able to bar you from education based on anything but merit, and no one should be able to get into school based on anything but merit. If you’re a good student, nothing should keep you out of school.

And yet, these brilliant people are kept out of school and this dumb bitch is not only in school, but seems to be being paid excessive amounts to go to school. And she still wants more.

So, thank you America, for teaching your children that they are special little snowflakes that deserve everything their heart desires and that they shouldn’t have to work for it.

I hope you reap what you sow in the form of your entitled fucking kids spending all the money that would have gone to your retirement home and medical care. After all, they needed the money for what THEY wanted, and you always taught them that what they want is what they should get, no matter what the cost to anyone else!

So, I’m really, REALLY glad I’m quitting my current job. And now, after a hefty shot of good whiskey, I’m gonna tell you why.

I work for a retirement home as a server. Management is a bunch of useless assholes. That’s to be expected in my experience, no offense to any management in the audience, but good managers are rare.

Tonight, we didn’t have a normal meal service. Tonight, I was used as tits and ass as a part of a grand scheme of lies to lure new residents into the home. The way they presented things was that you got a restaurant quality meal every night (sort of true) with wine (not true) and a fancy dessert (not true), and that “lovely ladies” would serve it to you.

How do I know I was being pimped out, you ask? Well, a few reasons.

1. All the servers tonight were slender and could be considered traditionally pretty/attractive.
2. All the servers were white (if any of you know me from Retail Hell Underground, you know of the racist assholery that goes on at this job. Our only server of Asian descent, for example, was expected to like and eat “Chinese” food daily, and our only African American server was referred to as a “negro” by a resident. In both these instances I applauded these ladies offended for not fucking hauling off and slugging the fucking people that said these things. There’s also a lot of fun blatant homophobia at this good “Christian” (seriously. They stressed that about ten times in orientation) business.)
3. All four of the servers of tonight were scheduled for tomorrow as well. This never happens. And the people that are off did not request for the time off.
4. Another server came down to help us and was quickly shooed away when we *did* need help. She is not ugly, certainly, but she has a kid and is not a teen to twenty something that looks cute sashaying around with plates of food while being forced to smile and make small talk.
5. Current residents were not only told to find their own food tonight if they were “independent living” residents, but they were shooed out of the hallways so they would not be seen with their walkers and canes. More proof they wanted everything to look “pretty” rather than like a retirement home.
6. The general atmosphere of “shut up and smile and look pretty.”
7. I was the oldest server. I’m twenty-two.

This revelation occurred to me as we were walking back from being applauded for being such lovely young servers, right after they failed to say that there were more things unusual about the meal service that night than just the specially made dessert which was a “special occasion thing” (bullshit). All of them, except me, were the ones that wore make-up to work every day, that styled their hair. Only one could be considered even a little heavy, when in reality, she’s average sized. But not one of us could be called ugly, not even in hairnets and ugly uniforms. We were the ones that the male residents flirted with, that the little old ladies tried to set up with their grandsons.

I’m fucking pissed off. I’m not pissed off just because I was used as T&A. No, if that’s part of my job description, then fine. If it’s in my job description to look pretty, fine, then I see that as a requirement of the job just like being able to stand for 8+ hours or whatever. I’m pissed off because my attractiveness was used to lie to people, making me a co-conspirator with these fucking assholes I work for. I’m pissed off that I was used to lie. I realize all of this falls under the realm of advertising (a business of lies) because they were trying to recruit new customers and the buyer must beware, but I’m still fucking pissed. I feel like a whore. I don’t appreciate being trotted out as some little show puppy for you to lure people into your business under false pretenses and tricking people using the beauty equals good hypothesis.

This is all on top of the fact I have caught my managers blatantly lying to me about scheduling, on top of the fact they make us come into work sick when we’re working with the elderly (whom are immunocompromised) thus endangering their customers, on top of all the racist, homophobic bullshit, and on top of the fact that the bulk of management are uselessly catty bitches who play favorites and are either just cranky on a good day or outright two-faced cunts on bad days. This is all while being paid 7.70/hr to be bitched at, complained at, glared at, and treated like shit by residents and knowing that even if a resident jumped up and started to strangle me, if I raised a hand to defend myself, I would be shitcanned. No joke. Ask anyone who works in a retirement home, it seems to be a common rule.

Fuck this fucking job. I’m so glad I’m fucking leaving and being paid a living wage. Even if I am in call center hell, at least I’m out of this goddamn place.

So, for those of you that wandered by for my post “You’re Going to What in My What?”, here’s an update/recap:

Biopsies from a colostomy and an endoscopy of my stomach came back a bit tetchy, with bile found in unusual amounts in my stomach, just kinda chillin’ out, serving no purpose. Meanwhile, biopsies were taken. Whee!

So, got the call thursday going, “Hey! The biopsies are normal! Ain’t that great? Guess what, your problem is that your stomach just doesn’t empty completely after meals the way other folks’ do. No treatment but some low fat food and eating lots of smaller meals!”

“Oh! Well, that’s all?”

“Yes! It’s called gastroparesis. If you’ve already been improving with smaller meals and lower fat food, you should be fine, just call us if anything gets worse, okay?”

“Sure!” I said. And we hung up. I made a mental note to eventually look up what this funny “gastroparesis” thing was later, because I like to be educated on what’s going on with my body.

I want to punch that nurse. It’s not her fault, she was probably trying to keep me calm, but I want to punch her. You want to know what gastroparesis is? It’s partial paralysis of the stomach. My stomach is a cripple. Yes, that’s not a PC word. FOCUS. Focus on the fact my stomach is, apparently, partially PARALYZED, and they just went “LOL, no worries!”

Of course, they can’t exactly be blamed. The cause is idiopathic, since I don’t have Type I diabetes, and they can’t say for absolute 1000% sure because it takes another, much more expensive test to confirm, but they’re pretty sure that’s what it is. And, furthermore, there’s no real treatment– some drugs that kinda work-ish, but mostly just diet/eating adjustment. So, hey, no point in panicking the little 22 year old. There ain’t shit she can do!

Well, guys, frankly, I feel a little betrayed. Mostly because I’m deathly afraid that this will get worse at some point, progressing from nausea to vomiting. Progressing from just being able to eat a sandwich to being able to eat a couple chips before feeling full and getting sick. And there’s no cure, according to the boys over at the Mayo Clinic.

FUCKING REREAD THAT. THERE’S NO. FUCKING. CURE.

There’s also things on that page that say “Well, you can cope with some diet adjustment, but it may not be enough. And all the drugs have shitty side effects. Sorry.”

Thus, you get the two titles for this post. One, FUCK the doctors for not telling me EXACTLY what this was and two, I’m panicking. Can you really blame me?

Let’s look at this. I’ve had problems with food all my life. No, not an eating disorder (thank god) but I’ve always been prone to food poisoning. My stomach reacts badly to stress and hurts. I hate throwing up more than any sensation in the world. And now I’m looking at my stomach being broken and possibly having a future of that if this gets worse?

I’ll be honest. For all my ranting and raving, I’m also sobbing. I’m sobbing and scared and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared I somehow did this to myself through too much stress, or that when I was concussed it possibly knocked my stomach wiring loose. Or that for all the times I thought I was fat, that I just wished I didn’t have to fucking eat because it was expensive, that I didn’t want to eat because it was time consuming, because it was not something that particularly got along with me, that my body went “LOL, KAY! See how you like not being able to eat, and guess what? YOU GOT YOUR WISH AND CAN’T REVERSE IT. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!”

I know that so many great people had so much shit wrong with them it was ridiculous, usually relating to either severe health problems or being mad as a march hare. It was part of what made them great for one reason or another: by being influenced by it or by battling against it.

I thought being crazy via depression and anxiety was enough. I thought being fucking HATED by people all the time for no apparent reason was enough. I thought having a crazy fucking asshole father was enough. I thought having a mind that will torture and torment me and make even the things I love seem horrible and distort my perception was enough. I thought having mild PTSD was enough. I thought ALL of it was enough to pay my debt, to say “Cursed or damned with ailments, I will keep working. I will keep fighting. I will keep running and trying, no matter how fucking hard it is. If the universe is throwing all this at me, I must be meant for something great.”

I thought all that was enough. Now my body is betraying me too, after years and years and years of my immune system being awful and always being sick and my coping with that, my stomach is trying to go half-ass on things too. I thought my debt was fucking paid, that I had to put up with and work through all this shit. NOW I have to sit here and encourage all the rumors I still hear in my head from kids whispering I was anorexic because I didn’t eat much, and sit here and have people look at me when I say I can’t have high fat foods and go “HMPH, sure you can’t. Look at her, thin as fuck and still dieting.” I have to mess with a special diet and a special way of eating. This was after having to adapt to a special way of thinking so my fucking brain doesn’t eat me, and every day it’s a fucking struggle not to let my brain skip off with my common sense anyway, which will leave me doing things like hitting myself in the head to so my thoughts will stop racing simply from the shock.

I’m pissed. I’m scared. I’m really, really upset, and I know I’m being melodramatic. This just hit me. This is reactionary, just like my blog post for Born This Way. This is off the cuff and I don’t know if it is even coherant. All I know is that this is the only way I know to process this– by writing, and by asking for help and advice from everyone, including the faceless sea of anons and femanons on the internet.

Is anyone else out there living with this? Did it get better? Worse?

Anything is better than staring at the letters emblazoned across the inside of my head:

“There is no cure for gastroparesis. Making changes to your diet may help you cope with gastroparesis signs and symptoms, but that’s not always enough. Gastroparesis medications may offer some relief, but some can cause serious side effects.”

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