It's a Guy Thing

Saying all men are obtuse is like saying all women are petty, it's an unfair and fairly stupid generalization that unfortunately can be true on occasion. Neither all men are obtuse or all women petty, but there are some who do fit the stereotype as well as obtuse women and petty men. Being both a militant feminist and a guys gal who having for playmates an older brother and a decidedly tomboyish younger sister never learned to feel comfortable in her role as a member of the 'fairer sex', no one knows this more than me.

Having stated the former disclaimer I'd like to say a few things to the denser members of the male gender. This country may not have fraternities but we certainly have frat boys. You know who they are. These immature shallow creatures who in no way deserve to be called men and whose lives are so much poorer for the lack of an Arabic equivalent for the phrase 'Dude, score' need to know a few things. It annoys the hell out of me when a male acquaintance gives the most idiotic explanations for female behavior. I'd like to shed light on a few things for the less astute of the opposite gender.

1. Yes you are vain, and yes this song is about you.
2. In what universe is your watching some lesbian porno with a sad title like Julia Pleaser: Et tu Bootay perfectly natural but my enjoying the soft-core gayness of Queer as Folk 'gross'?
3. I will watch Roman Holiday and Sleepless in Seattle curled around a tissue box, and I will also enjoy the gore-encrusted Oz and numerous wartime movies; just because you're afraid to be multi-dimensional and cross gender lines doesn't mean I am.
4. Dropping my pen/bag/books is not dropping trou, I am not asking for your attention. My being a klutz does not mean you're anything special.
5. When you walk by a cluster of girls and giggles emerge, it's entirely possible that it's about that thing whatshername did the other day and that we didn't even register your presence.
6. When I make eye contact with you, I am not flirting.
7. When I smile at you, I am not flirting.
8. When I am friendly to you, I am not flirting.
9. When I am flirting, 99 out of a 100 it's got less to do with you than you think.
10. My flirting with you does not in anyway mean I am a) head over heels in love with you, b) taking it seriously, or c) in heat.
11. Probably I'm 'just not that into you' either.
12. When you assume, you make an ass out of you.
13. Just because I pretend to be oblivious doesn't mean that I am.
14. The heckling is not attractive; it's merely a minor annoyance that I grudgingly put up with.
15. When I pretend I don't hear you, what I am really saying is 'step off asshole'. Neither ignoring you nor replying should be misconstrued as an invitation to continue. Asshole.

That is all, and again I apologize to all the guys who don't fall under the fratboy category, which I'm sure are many.

Aut insanit homo, aut versus facit

Well, I’m not writing verses…

I feel like my creek has run dry. No rhymes in weeks, no prose in months, and all I can come up with is worthy of a talent less schoolgirl with delusions of grandeur.

Midas touch, scratch that, reverse it. Beneath my fingers everything I touch turns to shit, to filth, to dust.

Exhibit A, tired of my half hearted attempts to not live from allowance to allowance, dad gets me a ‘make do’ TV; one day later its broken carcass is being dragged out leaving broken shards and the smell of burnt electricity in its wake. So much for attaching the DVD player. Oops, clumsy me, my bad, yes I do deserve pretty things. I excuse myself, lock bathroom door, claw at my skin until I scrape off a patch on one arm and rebreak the skin on the other. The coppery smell and red on my fingers let me cruise through the concern and my dad replacing the set. I’d walk down memories lane of other exhibits, broken objects ranging from to worthless to priceless, broken friendships that have cracked beneath my heavy hand… but what’s the point?

Word to the wise, don’t make that first cut. Who would have thought the self-harm slope would be this fucking slippery? Nearly four years of resisting its siren song, then the whisper of ‘how much damage can you possibly do with your nails’, and now a couple of days after they’ve scabbed over I’ve got the shakes. In my own defense, how much damage can you do with your nails? I mean I saw a pack of razorblades at boots, real ones, none of that safety shite. So pretty it’d make you cry, but I resisted. Don’t I deserve a freebie?

Quick question, how sad is it that I’m more bothered by the whole thing being clichéd than I am by its being unhealthy?

P.S. I keep ‘forgetting’ to take my meds. Shhh, it’s our secret. We all know that they’re a con anyway.