I’ve been torn about posting it here. I got bitter and decided to rant on my other blog. But a reader’s comment makes me think other bloggers might also relate. And, hey. I’ve wanted to say this for four years. About fucking time. Please read the comments for further clarification — I DO LIKE COMMENTS!
First off: When someone gets into a big long treatise or essay all provoked by what I’ve written, I’m flattered. When readers get into arguments with each other over something I’ve said, I’m flattered. When people take the time to write me to say why they identify with something I’ve written, I’m flattered.
THAT is why I love to write. All of those comments. They’re so awesome to get. I love them.
BUT…
This might be totally cunty of me, but I’ve got to say I’m getting really tired of people commenting and leaving me unsolicited advice when all I’m doing is blogging for the fuck of it.
Like I’m complaining on the other blog about my mild hangover after too much tequila on Saturday night and I get the whole “You’re probably dehydrated, you should drink more water” brilliance thing happening in the comments.
Yeah, thanks, Sherlock. You fuckin’ think so? God, how did I ever get to age 35 without knowing being dehydrated is a major component of hangovers? Wow, why do I never get these memos?
Holy overstating the fuckin’ obvious, Batman. Thanks for that pearl.
I know people mean well, but it’s really fucking irritating as a blogger, when you work hard trying to keep a blog with new stuff for people to read all the time, and instead of getting a comment that’s the equivalent of a pat on the back or something, we get emails telling us what we’re wrong about or some obvious stupid thing that the reader seems to think we need to do.
Obviously I’m dehydrated after drinking tequila. I thought I’d spare you from the obvious and write about the funny part of it rather than the what-every-person-with-a-brain knows, that one should drink water after getting drunk.
A week or two ago someone left me a comment about how to make an em-dash. See the assumption is that I give a shit. In fact, I don’t. I feel kind of badly for writing that reader back privately and telling him to stop with the fucking “helpful” advice that, instead of being helpful makes me feel like I’m being condescended to, not appreciated on the basis of the CONTENT of my blog rather than just its grammar, or any other number of feelings.
These guys are not exceptions. Sadly, this shit happens pretty regularly for any blogger.
Fuck, people. I work hard enough, working 40 hours a week, exercising up to 10 hours a week, writing and editing another 10 hours a week on top of that, doing the basic caring-for-myself eating/washing/shopping/house-cleaning that takes another 25 or 30 hours of my week. The last thing I need to start giving a shit about is putting a proper em-dash into motherfucking Blogger, for whom alt-characters don’t work. Life’s too short. A double dash works fine for me.
Besides, my job uses double dashes because of its 1980s software, so I may as well stay in a frame of mind more conducive to getting my job done faster. But does the reader take any of this into consideration before saying what I SHOULD do as opposed to what’s been working fine for me? No. Does the reader assume I even KNOW what an em-dash is? No, they condescend to explain what it is. I’m an EDITOR for a LIVING. I get PAID to understand the constructs of the English language. Like I say, this guy isn’t the first dude to jump to ignorant conclusions.
I don’t get PAID to write this blog. I do it for the LOVE of it. So I take shortcuts. So fucking what? Don’t make the assumption that I’m somehow unhappy with what I’m putting out there, because that’s an insult, as if I’m somehow settling for something crappier, when all I’m doing is choosing my priorities.
There’s the whole “Oh, just ignore it” mentality that someone else may want to suggest I have about those comments. You know, sail through life in “ignore” mode. Or I could just tell people to fuck off and have it done with.
So, let me say this on behalf of any serious bloggers out there:
When we WRITE blogs — not just throw up four links and call it a fucking post, or use some easy picture as filler with a 15-word wisecrack and call that a day’s content, but we really, really WRITE blogs — and we put our fucking hearts and souls into it, COMMENTS are the juice that get us energized and keep us going. So, when the only comment you get after, say, two days of no comments or a week of no comments, is something about grammar or punctuation or “drink water”, the first reaction is, “Have I got a bitch-slap for you!”
Like, have the respect to write about the content or saying hi or patting us on the back, rather than just throwing advice or grammar tweaks at us, or don’t write at all. We don’t need it. Really. It’s a big world full of “shoulds” and criticism. We can do without yours.
If our writing provokes a thought with ya, comment. If you liked what was said, comment. If you take issue with what was said, comment. Absolutely. It’s a dialogue. So let’s do that.
If, however, all you want to do is patronize the blogger by assuming they’re not smart enough to know anything outside of the 600 words they’ve just written, then put a cork in it.
I know I’m getting really fucking tired of the condescending advice emails that make the assumption I’m just some stupid chick who needs a little extra hand-holding to get across the street. Seriously.
“Drink water” after waking up from passing out from tequila? Gee, YOU THINK? Sigh. Fuck, man. Wanna tie my shoes for me, too?
Category Archives: Steff Rants
Damn You, Online Dating!
WHAT the HELL am I doing?
Are you like me, you do the whole “I’m SO happy I’m single!” and then you get bored on the weekend, so you figure “What the fuck? I’ll go browse…” and you log onto your dating site of choice. A day or so later you’ve managed to get yourself into, like, eight possible scenarios that may or may not wind up with a date? Most likely no date, because you’re going to come to your senses and think “I so can do better than that“?
Because, somewhere along the lines you think, “Wait. How the fuck did HE get in this mix? Did my standards take a 20-minute leave of absence and somehow he magically made the cut? What the FUCK? What is WRONG with me?” Continue reading
Teen Sex: The New After-School Special?
The news about teen sex these days just keeps getting more and more alarming. When it all comes down, it’s on Bush’s watch.
Earlier this year, studies showed that an average of one out of every four (26%) of teenage girls are now carrying an STD in the great USA. Never mind the teen pregnancies. These are sexually transmitted diseases, people.
The news is alarming now, but imagine five, ten years from now when the fallout of the STDs exchanged between today’s youths are really felt and known.
It’s been a few months now since the story came out. I’ve been quietly waiting around for the shitstorm to unleash, for when parents start screaming in outrage that their baby girls having a 25% likelihood of carrying an STD, and soon… But the shitstorm never came. The anger never rose. Continue reading
Oh, Fuck, I Look Like WHAT Today?
Mental note to self:
It is stupid, incredibly so, to take self shopping on first day of new heat wave because, self knows thyself, and knows bloating always comes with a heat wave. Plus, stomach wasn’t feeling well, so shopping in that state?
Fully crossing the threshold from “idiotic” to “stupid insane” because now my “Wow, I’ve lost so much weight!” is “Fuck, why do I look like THAT today? Who’s been fucking around with these mirrors, anyhow, and what, in God’s name, is WRONG with those fluorescent bulbs?”
(Of course, looking like shit is a risk you take any time you go to Value Village, isn’t it? I swear, some sections should have signs like, “For those who plan to never be laid again” or “Clothing for your repressed inner-virgin” or “For those who just don’t give a shit” or “Knits your grandmother made you wear”.)
And this is why living in a nudist colony makes good sense sometimes.
Or… living alone without roomies or other people, so I can look however I want and enjoy it. Yet another fantastic thing about being single. Where are those old Joe Boxers of mine, anyhow?
Hate Speech? I Call Bullshit.
Sigh. I like my gay people, you know? My best friend’s a gay guy, I’ve had lesbian and bi-sexual friends all my life, and I’ve been a staunch defender of gay rights since I was in my teens, long before it ever got popular. I think my mother thought I was a lesbian in training when I said, “But, Mom, people should be able to love whoever they love.” I mean, I was 14 and it wasn’t even 1990 yet.
Even though I like my gay people, I’m going to say a few things here that might get me in trouble.
Here in Vancouver, the Human Rights Tribunal is convening to investigate complaints that a comedian used hate speech when he flamed a couple lesbians at his show in May.
Here’s where we have a big ol’ class, boys and girls, about how Canada and the United States are different. So let’s digress and give y’all the crash course, okay, for where it pertains to the right to speak freely?
We Canucks have freedom of speech… sort of.
The USA has carte blanche on freedom of speech, so it’s no surprise we’ll hear hate-spewing fuckheads shouting racist remarks followed by “I got a right to speak free, man!”
Here in Canada, no such thing would occur. Why? Inciting hatred is illegal.
Hey, that’s what you like about us, after all. We’re nice, we’re polite, we’re Canadians. We even say please and thank you. And, we promise, when we talk smack about ya, at least we’ll do it nicely. (Most of the time.)
Aside from the incident last month, there’s another case quietly being heard in the courts, getting little press out there in the world, which is surprising, because it’s huge. MacLean’s Magazine dedicated an entire issue in 2007 to Islam in the world today, which was staggering in its slant against Islam. I mean, I’m open-minded, have known Islamic people, and even taught ESL to Saudi Arabian Muslims who I thought were, by far, some of the kindest and most generous people I’d ever met.
And, even still, after reading that issue of MacLean’s, because it was MacLean’s (Canada’s equivalent to Newsweek, and just as trusted) I found myself becoming slightly more anti-Islamic than I’d used to be, which shocked the hell out of me.
Now MacLean’s is facing a lawsuit from the public as well as the government, for spreading hatred. It’s been a long, long time since such a lawsuit has been heard here, though, and against such a venerable publication. And, in this instance, I’m proud and happy that our laws are speaking up and saying that MacLean’s biases against Islam, and trying to argue against it, are the equivalent of “mild-mannered” hate-speech. Good.
So into this current climate wades a new controversy. A human rights tribunal will convene to hear the case of Lorna Pardy versus Guy Earle and Zesty’s Restaurant.
The gist of it all? Basically, a comedian heckled some lesbians at his open mic night he was hosting.
There’s no Youtube video, unfortunately, so much of what transpired is he-said/she-said. What is claimed is that these lesbians were out on the patio all night, getting loaded with drinks, and then they came right into the “club” part of Zesty’s Restaurant on Commercial Drive, sat at the front, and started making out.
The comedian, Guy Earle, says he was pissed off by the disrespect of strolling into a comedy show just to make out — full tongues, everything, in the front row. He says he doesn’t care if you’re “gay, straight, or giraffes”, it’s just rude. He got pissed off and launched on them.
Apparently he made comments like “You’re fat, you’re old, you’re not even lesbian!” and brought up comments about sex toys and such. There’s not a lot of context being put towards these alleged remarks, so it’s hard to really beef it up. He admits he got angry, he says they took it up a notch too.
A question flying around Vancouver is, at what point does the age-old tradition of heckle-smashing in comedy routines become hate speech? Or does it ever?
And here’s where I might get myself in trouble here.
Vancouver’s Commercial Drive, where this went down, is considered many things — the counterculture capital of Canada, a hip place, a great restaurant street, little Italy, where to catch the World Cup of Soccer… but it’s also acknowledged as home to some of the most militant lesbians out there.
We’re talking really, really militant lesbians sometimes. I heard someone describe it as, “Well, comparing them to your average lesbian is like comparing an average black person to a Black Panther, minus all the violence and stuff. They’re just really out there.”
I find that statement a little over the top, but it’s certainly accurate to what the PERCEPTION is from some of the folks out there.
So, if some of them are that in-your-face, the question is, how much did the lesbians in question throw that in his face, and at what point does what you flaunt about yourself mean you’re permitting that to become a weapon against you?
I mean, if you’re acting like a militant lesbian, isn’t that the first thing someone who’s pissed off at you is going to notice and comment on? What, in the name of being politically correct and not hurting anyone’s “alternate lifestyle” sensibility, you’re supposed to try guessing at randomly arcane “safe” things to insult them about? Like, what, “I bet you take your library books back late, bitch”? Right, yeah.
Like, if some fucking asshole driving a Jaguar acts all entitled about making an illegal turn in front of you while driving his Jaguar, what’s the first thing he’s going to get insulted about? “Yeah, you fuckers and your Jaguars, you’re all entitled assholes,” right? Is it a stereotype? Yeah, but it’s a stereotype the guy perpetuated. If he was driving a Civic, you’d find some other obvious way in with the insults. It’s how we roll, man.
This is different, I think, than the Michael Richards tirade where he started launching into black men for being black, and calling them “nigger” and saying 50 years ago was better when they’d had forks shoved up their asses. This is very different than that. VERY different from that.
This is two lesbians walking into a comedy show and fucking making out in the front row. It’s fucking RUDE. If it was a STRAIGHT couple, I’d ask for their asses to be taken the fuck out of the club, ‘cos I think it’s uncalled for that someone sits in the front row and just goes at it full-out with their partner. Sit in the fucking back, you know? It’s the civilized thing to do. But because it’s two lesbians who, I think, deserved to be called out for walking in and disrespecting this other person’s career and efforts by sitting there and rudely making out in the front row it’s somehow homophobic?
These chicks were just wanting to start something, I think. A club on Lesbian Central, a couple militant dykes camping out front row after getting loaded on booze, and then smack-talking the comedian? Yeah, sounds like someone was button-pushing.
And it’s bullshit. If anyone is acting like a militant lesbian or a militant Christian or a militant Muslim or a militant racist or even just a militant dick, they deserve to be called out on what they’re acting like. If they’re being antagonistic and trying to use their beliefs or lifestyle as a get-out-of-jail free card because they pissed someone off and the other party has said something mean to them, then they oughta fuck right off.
They want to be all in-your-face about their beliefs and their lifestyle, then when someone calls ’em on it and comments and gets back in their face, then they want to turtle and claim the “offending party” is some big, bad meanie who’s spewing hate speech? FUCKING HYPOCRITE.
Comedians have always treated hecklers mean. It’s an unwritten rule of attending comedy: Keep your fucking mouth shut if you don’t want the comedian to spank you on the stage.
They’ll trash talk anyone who makes a scene — and that’s most particularly the job of someone like Guy Earle, who was the host of an open mic night, since he’s the guy who had to give a night full of amateurs a little structure. Why? Because everyone wants to show up and be the hot shit who makes the headline comic squirm. Anyone who goes to comedy shows knows this is true — there’s always some asshole with six beers in ’em who thinks they belong on stage, so they smack-talk comedians.
Like a reader in our local paper wrote about Lorna Pardy and Co: “Don’t pitch if you can’t catch.”
I loathe real hate speech. I support our laws against it. But bullshit whiners like these chicks, who go fucking looking for a fight then cry foul because they’ve lost, deserve to fucking lose and lose big.
As a Canadian who usually proudly appreciates the distinctions in freedom to speak between my country and the United States, because we shut down hate speech, I think there’s a world of difference between someone like Earle and someone like Michael Richards, and *I* am offended he gets lumped in with a true hate-spewing fucker like Richards, because it lowers the standards for what we, as a society, really ought to be offended by.
I think there’s a sad irony a case like this is coming up the week that George Carlin dies. Sigh.
What do you guys think? Am I blowing smoke out my ass? Am I secretly a homophobic bitch and this exposes it all? Eh?
Links:
Here’s a great page on Georgia Straight’s blog where they’ve posted both the controversial Michael Richards anti-black rant along with Guy Earle talking to a Toronto talk show about the Necking Lesbian Controversy here in Vancouver. Here’s the New Rebublic tackling this story, and the National Post. Guy Earle’s Myspace page. No info yet on how to contribute to his legal fund, something I hope is forthcoming soon, as I’d like this fight to get the support it deserves.
Rant: Tired of Defending a "Party of One"
As a blogger, nothing gets me going better than comments. It’s when people comment that we know we’ve said something not only worth reading, but worth considering, and sometimes even worth arguing.
Yesterday’s posting inspired a bit of a discussion between a couple of readers, so I’ll excerpt those comments here:
Anon: “And that’s the secret about being single, it’s realizing life doesn’t have to only be in parties of two.”
Even when you realize it, you need to make a conscious effort to remind yourself of it every single day. We’re all being bombarded with that you’re-nobody-until-somebody-loves-you message 24/7, and it can be hard not to be swayed by it even when you know better.
CJ commented: I actually don’t find it all that difficult to ignore that kind of generalized message. I’ve come to really believe you can’t love somebody until you love yourself; stir in a general skepticism of ‘socially accepted’ concepts, with a dash of the cynical standby “people in large groups are stupid,” and it becomes surprisingly easy to dismiss whatever subliminal messages might be thrown my way.
Anon retorted: If you buck the pairing trend long enough, the messages become overt as well as subliminal. You may not agree with the ideals of society, but you still have to live in it & interact with it every day. Sometimes having to be constantly prepared to deal with flak for being alone gets old; sometimes it causes doubts. If you don’t find yourself occasionally susceptible to that, then good for you.
This is going to be a heated post, hence why it’s a “rant”. But it’s easy to think I’m aiming this at CJ, but I’m not. If you read the comments after this posting, I’ll expound in there. Long story short is, his comment just inspired me. Heh. For better or worse, hey?
I’ve always been the kind of person who would rather be single than fuck around swimming in a dating pool filled with less than desirable options. I go through dating phases, and either I find someone, or the search for someone begins to tire me and I think “All this bullshit energy I’m wasting looking for someone could be used to live my life instead, so what the fuck am I looking for, really, anyhow?” followed by a realization of, “I don’t even need this!”
Someone asked me the other night why I haven’t been at least trying to get laid, and the answer was simple, “A, my options for getting laid haven’t been inspiring, and, B, the only thing worse than not getting laid is having bad sex, so, I’m opting out for now.”
And because I think like this, you’d think it’d be easy for me to ignore the “You’re nobody till somebody loves you” old line that keeps running through society and crooners of an age gone by.
And you would be wrong.
I’m often finding myself feeling like a loser because I feel left out in love. It may happen for only 30 seconds, or it may happen for three days, but it happens. Why? Because I’m made of flesh and blood and I’m stuck in a world infinitely bigger than me. It happens. And it will continue to happen.
When people like CJ can flippantly say “Yeah, well, ignore it”, it makes me think of two things. Either he’s under 25 and hasn’t experienced the way flying solo feels when you get embroiled in your career, and life is full of long days and nights that become more quiet than not, and week after week after week after week, or he’s just never opted to fly solo long enough.
And it all changes after 30. When you hit 30 and you start opting to be alone, like the Anon had said, the messages get more and more overt. Especially if you’re female. Of course guys should stay single and play the field! He can get shagged by different women all the time! But if you’re a woman, you’re an old maid-to-be, or slut like Samantha from Sex and the City.
“Well, wouldn’t you like to settle down?” gets asked of us. Like it’s some big switch we flick on and just magically find the perfect partner. Oh, here, let’s just turn on that big shiny neon “MATE ME” sign on my forehead, right? It’s THAT easy to fall in love and spend the rest of your life nestled in those lovin’ arms. And it’s a green light from our desire to finding the perfect mate for us? Just like that? So simple. Sign me up! Yeah, sure. Right.
Or we get “Wow, I can’t believe someone hasn’t snapped you right up yet?”, which encourages mental retorts along the line of “That makes fucking two of us, genius” or “You shoulda seen who wanted to do the snapping”, but instead we smile sweetly and say something coy, like, “Why don’t you tell me?”
Then we’re told by the media, “Well, there’s so many people out there looking! Look at the popularity of eHarmony and Lavalife! Finding a mate has never, ever been easier! You just have to look! Whoop, there it is!”
The trouble is, finding a mate is easier than ever, but so too is getting rejected and being treated like shit. The online dating world is fraught with inconsideration, it’s-all-about-me attitudes, and probably way more promiscuity than any of us really realizes right now. For every bit of its appeal, there’s just as much downside, and as easy as it is, it’s also like ordering a side of bullshit, too.
The further you get over 30, the more inclined you become in keeping to yourself, the more overt these messages get. God help you if you’re a woman in her 40s who doesn’t see the need to date. The media always has you pegged as desperate to take any date that comes your way. It’s always the woman in her 40s or 50s who’s got her ear to the ground for any moving-and-shaking in the newly-eligible-man category. Like, “Did you hear Larry just got divorced? He’s available again!”
It’s bullshit. There’s not a lot of acceptance for those of us who seem to think life’s all right with me, myself, and I. Instead, we’re painted as being damaged goods or just trying to make positive of a negative situation, when the reality is, we’re living the life we know can be good, rewarding, and fulfilling, and we’re just tired of shaking up the mix with unnecessary dating that seems to never go anywhere other than closer to a steaming pile of bullshit with a few orgasms thrown in for kicks.
What’s wrong with putting the brakes on and being that relaxed, carefree person who’s not worrying about the bullshit races that come with life? Why do we get made to feel like we need to defend our decision to not swim with the relationship tide?
Why should we even have to fucking ignore any subliminal advertising anyhow?
You know what I think? I think it’s because half the fucking relationship-forever people are secretly, deep down inside, in places no one wants to talk about, jealous as all hell that we’ve got complete control over our time schedules, and they just want us to be as consumed by obligation and lack of space as they are.
Yeah, well, you people ain’t fucking fooling me, man. I know my single life is a good one. Sure, relationships are nice. When they work. The rest of the time they should come with signs that read, “I’m so wrong for you, you should run like the fucking wind, honey”.
I’m going to keep my options open, and if someone fabulous comes along, I’m going there. Oh, absolutely. Going, going, gone. I’m not going to let opportunity pass me by. None of us should.
But I’m not settling for anything less than I’ve earned, and, until that day comes, book me in as a party of one. With no apologies.
Should Irwin Have Changed After Kids?
So, earlier I asked if you have the right to ask a risk-taker to tone down their lifestyle once you get hooked to them.
My opinion? No. You do not. And if they tell you you can go ahead and tell them how to change; don’t. You’d fucking with what oughtn’t be fucked.
In a nutshell.
My posting was inspired by the death of Steve Irwin. There are those who apprently think he should’ve “settled down” since he had kids. Yeah, as a kid, the first thing I wanna know is that my father gave up almost everything he loved so he could raise me — sit in a fucking armchair with a remote and tell me how he “used to be like that” once.
Terri Irwin got a precious gift that most of us might never, ever, ever receive: She fell in love with someone who kept all the qualities that made him so loveable as the person he was when they first met. Bloody sweet, that. And she had it for a while. And then it got snatched. Love happens, death happens, it all is what it is.
Life’s a truckload of hurts some days and there’s no getting around that.
The point is, it’s hard enough to be ourselves in the face of everyday life. It’s harder still to remember who we are when we get lost in the arms of someone else. To be able to hang on to your identity despite your love for someone else and your wish to be with them, why, that’s as downright admirable as it gets.
To hell with those who think otherwise.
_________________
In other Croc-Hunter news, let me go on record to say that, while Germaine Greer periodically says something intelligent, I:
a) think she can be a complete twat who has done as much to hinder feminism as she has to further it. She’s arrogant, dismissive of men, flighty, inconsistent, hypocritical, and far too militant for my tastes. (Despite my believing I’m a feminist, thank you very much. Ain’t no fucking eunuch here, baby.)
b) think she’s a far bigger bitch than I’d thought before now that I’ve read her comments on the death of Steve Irwin.
I do not believe that to be a strong woman I need to demoralize men. I believe that, as a strong, independent chick, I can exalt men in my life and cater to them as I wish, because I fucking well know who I am when I go to bed at night (most of the time; we all get a little too lost in our relationships some of the time). I take no backseat to any man. But I’ll hold the door open for ’em if they’ll let me, because I have nothing to prove. I’m empowered by the mere fact that I don’t need to seek power, all right?
I’d get into my whole beef about how feminism has been executed, but I’m too tired and it’d take too damned long. Suffice to say that while I fight for my equality, I don’t think it needs to come at the cost of emasculating men. There’s room enough for us both, and I don’t think chicks like Greer understand that concept, but then I don’t like her enough to read her work. I listen to others gripe about her and praise her, so I’m ignorant, but by choice.
Where are the manners?
Every now and then an email comes in that’s the exact right email for what’s going on in my life. That happened Friday. I’d had an incident earlier in the day that had me seething with rage, and his email hit right home. So, first, the email, then I’ll tell you what happened, and then you’ll get my two cents. Sounds like a plan, no?
I was wondering if there was a certain age where teenagers or adults realise that manners are important and can learn to appreciate them? Because I’ve been trying my whole life (I’m still a teenager, but still) to be a gentleman (opening doors for others, asking if the elderly need help, speaking politely, etc.) and to be helpful as much as possible, but it seems that it is not appreciated at all. So far throughout a few years of high school, I’ve tried to help others boost their marks with assistance on their homework, but they can’t seem to understand that others have morals and won’t cheat for them. (again, turning into a rant i suppose..)
I guess I’m really just sending this email to ask another’s opinion about manners and whether or not it is truly appreciated in today’s society. I’ve asked a few teenage girl friends and they say that it is good to have manners and it’s something important they look for, yet I see them going out with lowlife guys who are despicable and need to learn manners. Is this just a teenage thing to do that you overcome later on and realise it’s importance and learn to be grateful for it? Or is it completely dependant on the people’s standards they’ve set.
Now, what happened to me the other day was when I was riding over to my brother’s place. He and I live in absolute opposite ends of the city — he in the most northeastern section, I in the most northwestern section. I work smack dab in the middle, downtown, and between there and my brother’s is 30-square blocks of what’s essentially some of the poorest and most underprivileged in Canada. If you know where to avoid, you can go without ever seeing any of these people.
I don’t try to avoid it, I just go through. I always see really tragic things when I do and it keeps me appreciating the little I have. This time, though, I was stopped at a light and this old guy, about 70, was in a wheelchair, completely unable to use his hands, and could only pull himself forward using the toes on his right foot. He was literally moving about 2 feet a minute. Naturally, the light turned red with him in the middle of the street, and I got a solid green light to go. Meanwhile, he’s stopped, looks like he’s about to cry from exhaustion, just can’t go any further, and all these fucking people are walking past, ignoring him.
I was in a RAGE. I pulled my scooter over, got off, cursed, “You people ought to fucking help! Where the hell are manners gone?” Then I leaned over to the man and said, “May I push you across the street, sir?” And he went soft with relief. He just sighed, “Please?”
I had a bit of an argument with a couple punks on the corner after that, who seemed to think I was flaming them, and yeah, you know, I was. Just fucking standing there, doing nothing.
When I got over to my brother’s place, I saw my nephew standing there, and I sat him down. I said, “If you ever see a little old lady or a little old man who can’t get across the street or they’re taking too long, you HELP them. You hear me?”
I made sure he knew the distinction between “stranger danger” and helping a senior citizen who really does need the help. After all, that’s how I was taught.
In MY world, I was raised to help people. I was raised to give a hand and do the right thing. I was taught to say please and thank you, and I was told to hold doors open for others.
And I KNOW life moves fast, and I KNOW people are more rushed than they used to be. You know what? I don’t give a fuck. *I* find the time to still be polite. I find the time to thank people and make pleasant small talk. Why the hell don’t they?
So, kid, I say keep going. The thing about being a polite person and not behaving politely just because you’re not getting it in return is that you start to get bitter about it. It changes you. Cynicism finds you and apathy makes a home in you. Stay true to the person you are. Help others, be polite. You’ll one day be surrounded by a better class of people, by people who appreciate that in who you are. It will be a deciding factor on the kinds of engagements you’re invited to and the kinds of experiences you have. You’re still a kid, you’re in high school, and you’re stuck in a social world you have little say in. In a few years, that all changes.
I know I will not date a man who has no manners. I will watch how he behaves and treats others, and I’ll note whether he expresses gratitude for the little things I say and do for him, and if I don’t like what I see, I will walk.
Life’s too short to be with people who just don’t understand basic human decency. I figure that eliminates about 60% of the world from eligibility for my bed, but whatever. I’m fine with having high standards. Are you?
Lousy Lover Syndrome
DirtyTalkingGirl (DTG) over at Pussy Talk recently posted this about her lover’s stubborness in wanting to get her off through oral:
I have to say that M gave me his best last night. He went down on me unasked, made all the right moves with tongue and lips, pulled my thighs over his shoulders, changed position and bent in over me from the side, tried every angle of oral approach and entry. He was textbook-perfect.
All to no avail. I couldn’t come.
At one point, I apologised. Told him it wasn’t him, I just wasn’t in the mood, time of month, blah blah. I added, I’d rather you fuck me. I wanted the penetration.
He said, “No, I want to make you come this way.”
As he laboured on, putting fingers here and thumb there and vice versa, I felt like a lawnmower that wouldn’t start.
This posting set me off, for some reason. I began thinking, “If someone as skilled in and open about sex as DTG felt this frustrated and this much like a failure when her lover plodded through what he thought was his money routine, then where would that leave a “lesser” lover?”
Feeling pretty fucking negative about sex, I suspect. And that’s not fair. In fact, it’s downright cruel.
Our bodies are enigmas. Some things work brilliantly sometimes, and sometimes they fail. That’s just the way it goes.
DTG went on to say that maybe a switch hadn’t flicked in her mind, that the mood hadn’t hit her, and as a result, she was left unswayed by his “best.” She asked to be fucked doggy style, and was again rebuffed. Her lover stuck with his seflish intent of having her reach orgasm his way instead of the one way she thought she’d be able to reach it, considering her somewhat uninspired state.
I’m here to tell you one thing and one thing only: I don’t give a shit if you’re the king or queen of the world with your skills. If your lover tells you it ain’t working, that they want to have you try X method, and you rebuff them because you’re somehow intent on bringing them to climax through your present approach, then it doesn’t matter what skills you have.
You’re a lousy fucking lover.
Listen. Listen. Listen. I’m always saying “listen for aural clues — a switch in breathing, a moan,” whatever it takes, right?
Well, when someone flat-out tells you what they want, and they tell you they’re having trouble “getting there,” and you disregard it, you’ve broken every damned rule in the book.
Me, I think that when the mental baggage started to come into the picture, DTG should have told him to stop. I think she should’ve made him realize that he was starting to make her feel bad.
But that’s just how it goes. It’s so overwhelming when we’re in the heat of that moment and all those inner bells and whistles start tooting: “You can’t come? What are you, frigid? You’re good at this. Hell, you don’t even need to do anything. The ride has come to you! Come on! Orgasm! Squirt, baby!”
We can logically dismiss it, but the hurt’s still going to find its way in, and we start thinking we’re being selfish AND a failure.
And the truth is, it’s not us being selfish, nor failures. It’s our lousy fucking lovers.
This applies to both sexes. Listen to your lovers, and don’t let your pride and inability to concede defeat leave them feeling like crap (and unsatisfied).
It’s wrong and it’s cruel. And it’s just plain bad sex. Wake the hell up.
RANT: God's Asked Me to Whale On Yo Ass, MoFo!
There’s a lot of attention being paid to polygamy and bigamy at the present, thanks to the arrest of that uberFucker, Warren Steed Jeffs. I know there are a lot of polyamorists in my audience, so I’m going avoid starting a war of words just because I disagree with the lifestyle.
(Disagreement does not equal judgment, so spare me the sanctimony, thanks! Do what thou wilt; just don’t invite me to the party.)
I want to say one thing, and one thing only.
CNN’s been showing these slighted polygamists who feel the world is up against them. (I may not agree with it, but I don’t think it should be outright outlawed, but that’s another argument for another time.) Naturally, the butthead I saw was excusing or justifying his lifestyle because he believes he lives that lifestyle in praise of God or as a means of being closer to God, or even because God wills it as such. Insert the justification you like best.
I am sick and fucking tired of everyone justifying their actions because it’s “God’s will.” No, people, it’s not God’s will. If you are religious, then you understand the simple premise of the belief that God gave free will to man so that man may choose and thus ultimately secure his own fate. You have chosen your lifestyle — whether it be that of a polygamist or that of a bake-sale/PTA mom. Don’t fucking tell me you’re doing it for God. Do it because you choose to, and have the balls to own up to choice, public opinion be damned.
I could turn around tomorrow and buy stakes in the best Belgian chocolate company in this city and scarf cocoa up my fucking wazoo, turning myself into some 400-lb ball of flab and say, “But God made the beautiful cocoa bean and I am simply choosing to respect the beauty of his creation by indulging in it! I’m doing it for God! My rolls of fat are a testimony to his greatness!”
Nuh-uh, sweetums. I’m doing it ‘cos it tastes so fucking good and I’m not getting laid so if that means I indulge, then I indulge. But it’s my choice, and that’s enough justification. “Because I want to!”
I’m really goddamned tired of people not taking responsibility for their actions. You’ve chosen. You live it. Be proud of it. Don’t tell me it’s for a God you’ve never had the privilege of sharing a beer with. You don’t fucking know what He wants, if in fact He even exists, so don’t presume to excuse your actions through Him.
A nation of pansies, that’s what this is. Fuck, man. God wills it, therefore it must be so. If that’s the case, then know this: God gave you a spine, but you CHOOSE not to use it, you fucking amoebas. Get with the program or check the fuck out, but spare me more of this bullshit.
(This goes for anyone on any side of the “God wants it” argument, whether Poly or PTA or Pro-Life or whatever. I’m just sick of the argument. Personal responsibility’s like some distant figment of the land over yonder or something. I, for one, think it’s time we remember what the hell it once meant.)