Tag: men

Unapologetically Detestable

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In the spirit of outlining my top seven pet peeves last week, (see 7 Unforgivable Transgressions) I’ve decided i’ll unveil the top seven character traits of mine that set my peers off. (In an unapologetic manner, of course, with absolutely no consideration to alter or improve aforementioned character traits.) So, without further ado, here are my top seven detestable human habits! Enjoy. 

1. I am LOOOOOOUD. 

And I don’t mean just notably more rambunctious than everybody else within a visual circumference of your person .  I was blessed with a voice that carries through the air like a goose feather and raps against each and every eardrum within a quarter-mile radius. Beyond that, rare is an occasion that my clamorous vocal cords are not in use. Yes, I like to hear myself talk so stop looking at me like i’m interrupting something important. 

2. I am selfish.

Especially when it comes to food. I will not share my fruit, pancakes, or Jalapeño Cheetos with anyone. I hide my favorite breakfast cereals from my family. I probably won’t leave a piece of pizza for you so you have something to eat when you get home from soccer practice, sissy. However, I do expect you to share with me, and if you refuse, I will eat off your plate, or bite your finger like a carrot. 

3. I am only high-spirited on an exceptionally conditional basis. 

And those conditions are as follows: (In order of importance)

     1. I have eaten in the past two hours.

     2. I am properly caffeinated, as well as hydrated. 

     3. I slept at least 8.3 hours last night. 

     4. I got a good workout in within the past 48 hours. 

     5. Nobody has told me “no” recently. 

      6. I am satisfied with the way my hair turned out today. 

4. I always have the final word. 

My 16-year-old sister and I argue over virtually everything you could possibly imagine arguing about, and let me tell you, not one of these arguments have ended with a snide remark out of her mouth. No, typically our bicker-sessions end with me calling her some snide, totally uncalled for, and immature name. I know this makes me a horrendous person, but I feel better after calling her a name. It’s like a formal declaration that I’ve won yet another argument. 

5. I post a minimum of three FaceBook statuses A DAY. 

Can you really blame me? It would be selfish of me to keep these priceless thoughts in my own little head. I am flawlessly hilarious, and I feel that it is my duty-nay, my burden-to share them with the world wide web. 

6. I do things in spite of those who know better. 

I have these ADORABLE high-waisted shorts that I bought this past summer that are to be worn with a tucked-in shirt and make my legs look awesome. However, every time I wear these shorts, my mother dearest always makes remarks such as “Maddie, your whole butt is hanging out!” or “Those shorts are just a tiny bit short, don’t you think?” Yes, mom, I do think, but I like. And so I shall continue to wear. 

7. I am confrontationally impaired. 

If you do something to piss me off, I will engage in a series of behaviors that will lead you to correctly believe that I am pissed off at you. But I will never tell you to your face what it is that you’ve done to me to make me pissed off in the first place. So good luck figuring it out while I treat you like crap until you apologize, gosh dang you. 

And that, my good people, are the top 7 reasons why people hate me. 

M. 

For Maximum Efficiency

MissM11 Comments

My friend and I were reminiscing on acquaintances from high school yesterday, and naturally, our conversation morphed into a bash-fest of people we loathed. My friend brought up a girl that we’d been mutual friends with, but my friend’s relationship with this girl turned sour due to the girl’s blunt honesty and disregard for others’ reception of her verbalized opinions. I am still on good terms with this girl, despite my friend’s animosity toward her. 

My friend began listing out the qualities about this girl that caused the termination of their friendship. Her list started out with the girl’s character traits, but, as any gossiping female would, her list ended with insults on the girl’s physique. (Her “weird-shaped” head, of all things, which is completely unalterable, and quite frankly one of the most comedically pathetic insults I could possibly think of.) 

I told my friend that regardless of her opinion, I still liked the girl, and told her to be nice. (BLEH, she says.) Before I continue any further, I just want to acknowledge that I know that I am more than guilty of saying bitchy things behind girls’ backs, and I, too, have made fun of girls for their physical appearances, even though, hypocritically, I believe that the way a person looks has absolutely nothing to do with their value and like-ability. 

I’m a hypocrite, yes. 

Again, i’m only human, and I am only using this story to make a point. 

As with most things, I gave this conversation way more thought than normal humans do, and I noticed that this similar situation happens frequently among the ladyverse. 

When we’re blabbing away to our girlfriends about other girls that we can’t stand, why is it that we feel a need to not only insult their “hamartia”, but, while we’re at it, attack their physique, weight, hair, boobs, etc.? 

“Ugh she is such a fat, ugly b*tch.” 

“That slut’s nose is as big as jupiter.” 

Why does calling a girl a brat or a jerk or stupid not satisfy our tongues? Why do we feel the need to include the fact that she’s an UGLY brat or a FAT jerk? 

I’d be willing to bet that the majority of us females, myself included, would rather be called a brat than be called ugly or fat. Because hey, I may be a sucky person with a drag of a personality, but at least I’m pretty and that’s all that matters. 

I’m right, aren’t I? 

Most of us would never admit this out loud, but the sting of being called “ugly” lasts way longer and affects us way worse than being called “stupid” or bratty. 

Beauty takes the cake in the way we want others to think of us.

I know that people will continue to bad-mouth other people to their friends, but it’s possible to hate someone without ridiculing their physical appearances. 

That’s your food for thought on this fine Thursday. 

M. 

Ingress

MissM2 Comments

I absolutely DESPISE when people say, “don’t let it get to ya, champ!” after someone else tells you something hurtful or offensive. Trust me, sir, if I had a choice in the matter, I would not “let it get to me.” But there’s this cute little thing called emotions, and when people are insensitive, it makes me hypersensitive. 

I have noticed recently that it is mostly when a select few males give their oh-so-entitled and completely unwarranted opinions that I get the most upset.  

“I liked your hair better blonde.” 

“Are you gonna eat that whole thing? You’ll get fat!” 

“You should start running, or go to the gym!” 

“You’re skin is pasty.” 

Not to generalize, but I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I verbalized my verdict on a man’s appearance without him asking for my opinion.  

But for some odd reason, many men I’ve encountered in my life seem to feel that their opinion is always welcome because I am always in pursuit of their approval. 

As a girl in this world, I have plenty of societal pressure for acceptance without added remarks on a personal level, thank you. I already know that I’ll never be beautiful until I look like Kate Hudson or J-Lo (which is literally impossible unless you ironed and stretched me out like Play-Doh, removed each of my zillion upon zillions of freckles, gave me a spray tan and cheek bones, breast implants, hair extensions, and lipo.) 

But aside from being a girl, I am also a human. A flawed one. I’m short. I have zero muscle definition. My skin is comparable to an albino’s. Seven times out of ten, my hair is a frizzy mess. I don’t have an airbrushed complexion, or eyes as big as the moon. 

Y’know what I do have, though? A brain. And a personality. 

So how about instead of pointing out and re-pointing out all of my visual shortcomings why don’t you try commenting on my personality? 

Instead of, “you look good in that blouse,” why don’t you try, “you are so funny, you crack me up!”

I, for one, would MUCH rather be complimented on my personality, thoughts, accomplishments, and creative humor than my hair, legs, or outfit choice.  

To be frank, I don’t care if you like what you see. Because I like it. 

In the words of my idol, Tina Fey, “do your thing, and don’t care if they like it.” 

This is my new motto, folks. 

M. 

Flaxen

MissM5 Comments

It was time for a drastic change. I was feeling spontaneous, impulsive. The appointment had been set-no turning back now. My mind had been made. 

It was the concluding day of my employment at big girl job #1. Yes, the one in which I was the only female member. 

The boss man asked me to have a seat in his office while I turned in my keys, etc. back to the company. In effort to break the awkward air that my voluntary resignation had brought, he asked me timidly, “Well, what are you going to do with the rest of your day?”

“I think i’m going to dye my hair,” I shared, a little less bashfully. 

“…. But, men love blondes. It’s scientifically proven!” 

A direct quote from my former boss, I kid thee not. 

A zillion and a half feministic and attitude-slathered, raging responses raced through my mind. 

Silly me, though, I had forgotten that I wear my hair for the sole purpose of gaining male approval. I hadn’t considered the fact that i’d lose my allure in the eyes of most men. That my body is here only to be objectified and either accepted or deemed “undesirable” by the men I encounter.

After all, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. 

Not to be frank, but I DON’T CARE WHAT COLOR OF HAIR YOU’D PREFER TO SPROUT OUT OF MY HEAD, MISTER. *slams office door dramatically and stomps out, heels clanking harshly against the floor*

No, I didn’t yell. But the feminist in me was screaming, punching, and kicking- throwing a tantrum that would put all four-year-olds to shame.

It is sickening that men assume that women alter their appearance for the sole purpose of gaining approval and acceptance from them. And perhaps they are right, in some cases. However, they could not be more wrong in mine.

You see, I don’t care if you like blondes more than brunettes. Or redheads more than both combined. Bleach your own freaking head for all I care. Your opinion is of no significance to me. Admittedly, I hunger for approval and visual appeal from my peers. We all do. But I will do with my hair whatever I please, regardless of what any man thinks. IT IS MY HAIR, thank you. And you can stick your preferences where the sun don’t shine.

Before: 

blondie

After: 

Photo on 7-31-14 at 7.05 PM #2

In my opinion, and the only one that matters in this scenario, darker hair makes me look more lively. I like it. 

I am now a half-blonde. And for the record, half-blondes have more fun.(; 

M. 

Twist

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I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, as well as retail shopping lately, and it has come to my attention whilst immersing myself in deep thought and browsing through stores at my local mall, that besides amusement parks, malls are essentially the only places in this blessed country in which citizens can purchase themselves a soft pretzel. 

Now, I mean to be frank, but let’s get it together, America. Starbucks and McDonald’s really know what they’re doing-placing one of themselves on every corner. The accessibility for overpriced coffee and fast “food” is borderline ridiculous. All I want is one gosh darn Pretzel Maker within a 10 mile radius of my house, preferably with a drive-thru. 

I have a solution for this instance of injustice. I would like to propose that we replace 1/8th of the McDonald’s establishments with Pretzel Makers. 

I know it’s a matter of opinion, but I would much rather scarf down a carb-loaded, fun-shaped, cinnamon-and-sugar dusted mass of twisted bread than a grease ball of stuff that kind of resembles hamburger anyway. You could go as far as to say that I am passionate about pretzels. A pretzel fanatic. 

You better believe I am going to write a strongly worded, persuasive, and argumentative letter to Mr. CEO of Pretzel Establishments outlining how come we need a sharp increase in pretzel establishments. (Thank you, English 2010, for teaching me something that directly applies to the real world.)

 

Now come on guys, I know I’m not the only one fed up with this public issue. Join the cause. Petition for the Pretzel. Let’s bring about a concessional revolution.

‘Murica.  

M. 

Practical Jokesters

MissM3 Comments

I have developed a theory over the past month and a half of my debut in the adultish-professional world.

The Illusionistic Theory of Selective Adulthoodism: there is no such thing as a transition from child to grown-up. Rather, with age and experience, one simply becomes more and more capable of discerning when situations demand a stiff, boring bloke. The rest of the time, they are free to continue being the REAL them.

I will now describe my visual observations in a highly scientific and intelligent manner.

At work the other day, after assisting a customer like the diligent little worker bee that I am, I turned around to find that my cell phone had been completely saran-wrapped and placed on the counter behind me, and my adultish-aged coworker leaning against the counter with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Naturally, after freeing my 4S from its plastic captivity, I threw the remains, along with a note that formally declared war, at his noggin.

That same day, another coworker decided to mess with MY computer. Apparently, with the proper strokes of a keyboard, you are able to flip the display on the screen completely upside-down. And apparently, putting tape on the bottom of one’s mouse interferes with its functionality.

This is what I get for being the sole female in a workplace full of non-females.

Naturally, I must seek revenge from these quipsters. This is war. I am the alpha.

I now extend to you, dear reader, an invitation to provide me with pranks of equal value to inflict upon the enemies.

Please leave your suggestions in the comments box below. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

Over and out.

M.

Rose Amongst The Thorns

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Y’know how in High school the pretty people always had the easier life? The hot chicks in Human Bio always got a better grade on their group project because Mr. Smith was a single, sixty-something with a thing for blondes? And how the handsome boys just happened to be excessively, athletically inclined and how all the pretty people seemed to gravitate toward each other in an un-penetrable mass of popularity? 

High school never ends. 

You see, in the real world, the pretty people still come out on top. The cruel reality is, beauty is bliss. And your life will be significantly easier if the big guys like what they see when they look your way. 

Exhibit A: My big girl job (see previous post) 

At my new place of employment, I work with a team completely composed of men. I have no problem with this-in fact, I quite like it. When we’re not busy, we talk about dude stuff like food and modern warcraft (is that even what it’s called?) and wrist watches. And we can all make fun of each other without calling each other “bitches” behind our backs. Boys get along nice.

Anyway, our customers get randomly selected and surveyed on the customer service we provide. It’s nearing the end of the quarter, so at our little pep-talk meeting, I was told not to worry about getting bad surveys because I’m “cute and bubbly” and that people will just give me a perfect score because I’m cute. 

Are you seeing the perks yet? 

That’s all fine and dandy, but there are definitely hardships that come with being the chick that invades the wolf pack. 

Some of our customers are full-on sketch. 

My coworker was helping this man with a transaction, and I was standing nearby, shadowing him as part of my training. The customer asked my coworker if he’d been “staying out of trouble,” to which my coworker replied, “i’m trying to!” The customer was an older gent. He looked at me and said, “Well, how can you, when you’ve got a beautiful blonde right next to you?” Instantly, my cheeks flushed the color of ripe tomatoes. Did I mention my coworker is married? Neither of us could vocalize a decent response. 

That same day, I was helping another older man with a transaction. He tipped his hat to me and winked, and before he left, he handed me one of those individually-wrapped lifesaver candies. I know what you’re thinking, “what a sweet, old man!” But if you were a bird on my shoulder, getting a whiff of his stale-cigarette scent and noting his messy and unkempt appearance, you would understand. 

I’ve even been formally warned by my coworkers not to help certain customers because they’re “too creepy” and will “hit on me.” 

For the most part, customers are pleasantly surprised with the my being the new addition to the team. They call me the “rose amongst the thorns.” And who am I to argue? A rose I shall be. 

Sigh. The patriarchy at work. 

 

 

Compelled

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I was browsing through my Facebook Newsfeed this morning when I came across an article entitled Modest Is Hottest? The Revealing Truth. (To my delightful suprise, it was a male cyber-friend of mine who shared this article.) I highly suggest you read it, especially if you are affiliated with a religious organization that promotes the slogan “Modest is Hottest.” 

I am a Latter Day Saint. My church pushes a lot of emphaisis on the cruciality of its female members dressing conservitavely. Their rationale? Because men are incapable of controlling their own thoughts, placing the responsibility of keeping their minds virtuous on the women. As young women, we are often told that we are the stronger sex, and that our influence on men is stronger than we may think. 

However, if men are superior (and there are copious documented cases that clearly illustrate that men ARE indeed the superior gender), they should be more than completely capable of controlling their own thoughts. I’m sorry, but I refuse to believe that it’s my fault that a guy has an “inappropriate thought” simply because I chose to show a little shoulder. 

This is just another circumstance to be added to the book of ways women are objectified. Shaming women into dressing a certain way just reinforces the fact that our bodies are there to be looked at. Our apperence must be altered to gain the approval of those around us-namely the MEN around us. 

The other day, I went on a date with a young man of my faith. The day after our date, he asked me if i’d like to join him and his friends to go hot tubbing. I nodded, and told him that I thought it’d be fun. After agreeing to his notion, he asked me if I wore one- or two-piecers. Rather hesitently, and slightly awkwardly, I informed him that I owned swimsuits of both descriptions. 

He responded by informing me that he does not tolerate two-piece swimsuits. 

In other words, I was not allowed to wear a bikini in the presence of this man because he did not approve of them. After one date, this guy felt that he was entitled with the authority to tell me what aqua-attire was acceptable to wear around him. The converstation continued with him telling me that he needed to improve his “summer body” if he were planning on not wearing a shirt around me.

Clearly, the modesty rule does not apply to the male population. Nobody thinks that maybe his shirtlessness could plague me with inappropriate thoughts, thus causing me to lose control of my actions. Because men are people, and women are bodies. 

Needless to say, we did not go hot tubbing together that evening. 

The article goes on to say that the degree of which women cover themselves up has no impact on a male’s ability to control himself. This claim is backed up by the fact that in cultures where women are required to cover themselves from head to toe, there is still a great deal of sexual violence inflicted upon them. 

I am not against dressing modesty. In fact, I prefer to dress in a modest fashion because it slightly reduces my degree of self-consciousness, not having to constantly check that everything is “tucked in.” I find that dressing conservatively is classy-for both genders. And I am a woman with a great deal of class. 

How an individual chooses to present his/herself is a personal choice, and I believe that everyone should dress in a way that enables them to express their personalities and give them the most confidence. If you’re a size 16, but feel beautiful in a bikini or cutoff, WEAR IT. IF you’re a size 00 but prefer a one-piece and boardshorts, WEAR IT. Your body is NOT just an item to be looked at and approved or disapproved by your peers. Your body is yours. Cover it as much or as little as makes YOU comfortable. I promise, the rest of us have ample control of the brains in our heads, regardless of your choice of dress. 

M.

 

 

Isonomy

MissM8 Comments

Women are people. 

Women are not objects, property, toys, second-class citizens, baby vessels, commodities, sandwich-makers, or psychologically/physically incapable of “masculine” tasks. 

Women are people. 

Men are people. 

Men are not financial plans, sugar daddies, jar-openers, or objects. 

Men are people. 

Homosexuals are people.

Blacks are people. 

Hispanics are people. 

(Insert any minority/group of people that differ from groups of people you belong to) 

THEY ARE PEOPLE, TOO. 

I am willing to bet that a majority of you stable-minded people would be willing to come to a consensus that all of the the above statements are fact, and if you’re not, feel free to discontinue reading. 

Tell me this then: Why do sexism, racism, ethnic stereotyping, or homophobia exist? 

Those of you who are still reading have previously agreed with my argument that all variations of people are indeed people. More than that, they are equal people. 

Because all people are equal, all people are equally capable of making their own life-decisions, regardless of cultural norms or gender stereotypes. 

I am going to focus the majority of this post on the issue of sexism. 

Now, I understand that each sex is maybe better-equipped to fulfil certain roles in our world. By this, I mean that men are GENERALLY (not absolutely) physically more muscular, thus being able to develop a greater amount of physical strength at a more rapid pace than women. On the other hand, women are given the ability to bear children, thus making them GENERALLY more capable of nurturing their offspring. 

Both of these instances are due to each sex’s physical makeup, and I realize that there is nothing I could possibly do to change that. 

Because both instances are GENERALLY the case (not ABSOLUTELY the case), there is always deviation from the “norm.” Just because one sex may TEND to be better at fulfilling specific role, it is crucial to remember that every individual’s circumstances are unique. 

Each person ever born was born with this thing called “agency.” Agency means that we are willing to choose how we want to live our lives, regardless of our biological sex, skin color, religious beliefs, socioeconomic class, etc. 

Because all people are equal, it would only make sense that they should all be able to decide what to do with their lives, and other people should shut their fat pie-holes about it, even if they disagree with another’s choices. 

In my Utahn culture, it is virtually expected that a young woman marry as soon as she can so that she can pop out a half-dozen children and then spend the next 20 years raising said offspring. 

I have no problem with girls deciding to take this course in life. If being a housewife will be fulfilling to them, I say go for it! Even though I have prioritized my life a little differently, I respect their decisions to work within the home. 

Because I respect other peoples’ life choices, even if they are the complete obverse of my own, I expect the same from them. I have no desire to be a housewife. My aspiration is to establish myself in a successful and personally empowering career. Just because my decision deviates from the cultural norm, this does not make me any worse, less, or more selfish than those who choose to stick with what society expects of them. 

I believe that whatever will make a person happiest and help them to live the most fulfilling life possible, is the correct choice for the individual. May that be to join the marines, become a school teacher, or a stay-at-home mom. (Which, may I remind you, is a full-time job of its own. Don’t ever say you’re JUST a stay-at-home mom.) 

All I want out of this is to be presented with ALL the same opportunities as my male peers, and to be able to choose whatever is most suitable for me without being judged or questioned for pursuing said opportunities. Think about it. Nobody ever questions a GUY for earning a PhD. But when I say that getting a doctorate degree is my goal, people always ask me when I’m going to fit in marriage and a family. And the answer is, when I am good and ready, and inevitably fixed on achieving my educational and career goals. 

I am a feminist, because I am just as human as my male peers. And it’s about time that I begin to be treated as such. 

If you’re with me on this, congratulations! You’re a feminist, too, and you can sit by me. 

M. 

 

PESTistance

MissM4 Comments

Pestistance (noun): unfaltering continuance in persuing romantic attention from a member of the opposite gender, regardless of volume/frequency of rejection or negligence, thus becoming a nuisance to the rejector. 

See also: stalker, psycho, pest.

I will get one of my newly-coined terms in the dictionary one day. Mark my words. 

Now I’m sure you’re all DYING to hear what motivated the invention of my latest vocabulary word. And I’m dying to tell you. 

Because I am no exception to the psychological damage that social media has inflicted on its youthful participants, I admit to accepting users on Facebook that I don’t necessarily know from real-life. I’m willing to bet that a solid 3% of my Facebook friends are from Pakistan or Uganda. I have no ties to Pakistan or Uganda whatsoever. But what the heck, if somebody requests my friendship on a social network, who am I to deny them access to my exceptionally humerous status updates? 

However, the very first ever PESTistant person was not from Pakistan. Or even Uganda. No, he was from none other than my home state. Let me tell you, accepting his friend request is one of my biggest regrets to date. 

Here’s why: 

From the moment I hit the “Confirm” button on his friend request, this lad has been requesting to meet me in person. From what I could see from his profile page, he seemed like a very nice, sweet, clean-cut LDS boy. And I’m certain he is. He’s just an excessively-persistant, borderline-obsessive, sweet, clean-cut LDS boy. 

This cyber-chap has been consistently requesting that we “meet up” for weeks. Yes, multiple weeks. Most of his messages never even received a response from me. And yet, they continued. 

I hate how Facebook has enabled us to view when the recipient has read your message. Because when he sees that I read his message, he writes yet another one, claiming that he’s “done nothing wrong!” and demands to know why i’m “afraid to meet him.” 

What on earth would lead him to believe that I am “afraid” to make his acquaintance? Did he ever consider the fact that maybe I’m just not interested? You would think that after nearly a month of pure rejection, you’d just let it go already and move on to the next random chick you find online. 

It’s nothing personal against him, I’m just. not. interested. 

There should be no more questions asked, and he should really go find another host for his pest-like behavior. 

I have even clearly and directly explained to him that I have no interest in meeting him, and yet the messages have continued. But I am a very easily-annoyed pre-adult, and I have had quite enough. 

I hate to do this, but cyber matey, you may now considered yourself both deleted and blocked. 

Have yourself a nice day. 

M.