Tag Archive: women


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.

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I actually heard this at work the other day. My reply, which was deemed hysterical by the male present and earned me glares from the females:

“You ENJOY the smell of vomit?”

This quickly ranting blog post was brought to you by the boys over at Cracked, via their article on 5 Terrible Situations for the Socially Awkward Male. Look at number one. What is it? Holding a baby.

What the FUCK is it with people and trying to shove babies on you? It’s your stupid ball of vomit, you hold it. I don’t want to.

“Oh, but you really do!”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re just shy!”
“You’re just a cunt.”

And then they get all pissed.

“Just take it!”
“If you didn’t want to hold it, maybe you should have used a condom.”

Why do people like to inflict their offspring on other people? I’ve covered a little in a prior blog post ranting about how women were batshit at one of my prior jobs and constantly needed to remind me they had kids/were pregnant. Why? I NEED TO KNOW, PEOPLE. Mostly because I need to know how best to avoid it.

A few of you women know what I mean and also object. If it’s awkward for a guy, it’s worse for us– apparently because we have tits we think babies smell like sunshine and unicorns and are omg da bestest cwutest tings evar! The guy has a prayer of escaping holding the thing. We usually don’t. That’s why I avoid all contact. Thank Bahamut, it doesn’t often come up. If it does, I will seriously contemplate punting the thing over a fence if SOMEONE doesn’t come in and tell me why people enjoy inflicting this suffering upon other people.

That’s all for now. Possibly there will be more ranting later, trying to figure out the insanity on my own.

Have a comic by the wonderful person that makes Lackadaisy as a reward for sitting through this inanity. In the same vein, but funnier than my lunatic ramblings.

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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