01:13 MST.
I am under attack.
I write from the haven of "blogspot.com," because my base at facebook is undergoing an onslaught of birthday wishes.
The attack began at 00:27 MST. The first birthday wish was launched by "Chris" from Canada, making it an international affair. Since then, a few more shots have been fired, and I anticipate many more to come. My wall is sturdy, but I shudder to think of how much it will come under.
As the attack continues into the night, and on through the day, I will hold as strong a stand as I can, taking such defensive measures as "cake" and "presents."
If I do not survive, tell them I fought with honor, dignity and courage.
Thank you.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Beautify that, jerk.
So, I was in my room, clearing clutter off my dresser and otherwise attempting to make my room as shiny as I'd like my entire apartment, and there were people in the front room. Sometimes our front room has people in it. It's a very "front room" thing to do. Anyway, one of them asked my roommate why she dressed up for work when she did an after hours janitorial job. She replied she might still run into someone.
The person who had asked then announced, "Thank you! Oh, thank you!"
I wasn't out there to raise an eyebrow and wonder what was so glorious about whatever she said, but everybody else did it for me... judging by the awkward 2 seconds of silence, followed by this person's emphatic explanation.
"Well, women are things of beauty. They're here on the earth to beautify and give variety to it. So it bothers me to NO END when women think they shouldn't put makeup on and dress up to go somewhere."
...
...
*blinkblink*
...
...
What did he just say?
Now, annoying as that comment was, it probably wouldn't have been quite so bad, except that I was fresh out of the shower, no makeup whatsoever, wearing a fluffy mumu of a sweater, and fully intending to go buy paper towels dressed just as I was. I really saw no point in putting makeup on for a 30 second run to the store, just to take it off again 5 minutes later when I went to bed. But apparently, this was a horrible affront to my purpose on this earth as a woman.
The rant started to build. I was going out there to tell him what was what. Something to the effect of women are NOT here to beautify the earth - they're here to live lives and have experiences and learn lessons, etc., and it's none of his freaking business if a girl decides to wear makeup or not, so what right does he have to get bothered if some girl is putting an ugly mark on his perfectly pretty world by not getting dolled up for him, and why does beauty have to be judged by makeup anyway? Why don't GUYS have to slather foundation on their faces and cover up any blemishes to be considered good looking?
And then I took a deeeep breath.
And realized I didn't actually want to say all that. I'm not very eloquent when angry, and a scathing rant would accomplish nothing. If I were to have any impact whatsoever, my only option was to throw something at his face.
Like a shoe. Or my cell phone. Or a cheese grater.
Among the clutter on my desk was this weighted, Styrofoam airplane I got for Christmas that comes with a rubber band launcher (which I launched into somebody's head and got nearly blinded by at that lovely Christmas party). It seemed to jump off the desk at me, crying, "I'm here! Pick me up and shoot me at that guy's head!"
I grabbed the plane, loaded it onto the launcher, and darted out to the front room.
And there he was. The "women should wear lots of makeup and do their hair just perfect wherever they are so I won't have to deal with looking at ugly women" jerk who needed to get the shallow stick out of his shallow butt.
Only he was surrounded by 3 people who hadn't done anything to earn my wrath. One friend, the one sitting nearest to my target, saw the loaded plane launcher, and his eyes became roughly the size of cantaloup. "Please don't shoot that at me," he implored.
I didn't trust my aim. The misogynist was too well protected. I would not put innocents in danger for his crimes.
With a flash of warning in my eyes, I slipped away, back into my room.
He might have escaped this time - the coward hiding behind people I actually like - but be warned, shallow butt-face. I have a projectile plane just waiting for your next idiotic comment.
The person who had asked then announced, "Thank you! Oh, thank you!"
I wasn't out there to raise an eyebrow and wonder what was so glorious about whatever she said, but everybody else did it for me... judging by the awkward 2 seconds of silence, followed by this person's emphatic explanation.
"Well, women are things of beauty. They're here on the earth to beautify and give variety to it. So it bothers me to NO END when women think they shouldn't put makeup on and dress up to go somewhere."
...
...
*blinkblink*
...
...
What did he just say?
Now, annoying as that comment was, it probably wouldn't have been quite so bad, except that I was fresh out of the shower, no makeup whatsoever, wearing a fluffy mumu of a sweater, and fully intending to go buy paper towels dressed just as I was. I really saw no point in putting makeup on for a 30 second run to the store, just to take it off again 5 minutes later when I went to bed. But apparently, this was a horrible affront to my purpose on this earth as a woman.
The rant started to build. I was going out there to tell him what was what. Something to the effect of women are NOT here to beautify the earth - they're here to live lives and have experiences and learn lessons, etc., and it's none of his freaking business if a girl decides to wear makeup or not, so what right does he have to get bothered if some girl is putting an ugly mark on his perfectly pretty world by not getting dolled up for him, and why does beauty have to be judged by makeup anyway? Why don't GUYS have to slather foundation on their faces and cover up any blemishes to be considered good looking?
And then I took a deeeep breath.
And realized I didn't actually want to say all that. I'm not very eloquent when angry, and a scathing rant would accomplish nothing. If I were to have any impact whatsoever, my only option was to throw something at his face.
Like a shoe. Or my cell phone. Or a cheese grater.
Among the clutter on my desk was this weighted, Styrofoam airplane I got for Christmas that comes with a rubber band launcher (which I launched into somebody's head and got nearly blinded by at that lovely Christmas party). It seemed to jump off the desk at me, crying, "I'm here! Pick me up and shoot me at that guy's head!"
I grabbed the plane, loaded it onto the launcher, and darted out to the front room.
And there he was. The "women should wear lots of makeup and do their hair just perfect wherever they are so I won't have to deal with looking at ugly women" jerk who needed to get the shallow stick out of his shallow butt.
Only he was surrounded by 3 people who hadn't done anything to earn my wrath. One friend, the one sitting nearest to my target, saw the loaded plane launcher, and his eyes became roughly the size of cantaloup. "Please don't shoot that at me," he implored.
I didn't trust my aim. The misogynist was too well protected. I would not put innocents in danger for his crimes.
With a flash of warning in my eyes, I slipped away, back into my room.
He might have escaped this time - the coward hiding behind people I actually like - but be warned, shallow butt-face. I have a projectile plane just waiting for your next idiotic comment.
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