xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Yeah. Good Times.: NOT a rant
Showing posts with label NOT a rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NOT a rant. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Valentine's Day.... snark?

This is a modified version of the post I wrote on this day last year. I figure if I've already written the rant, why try to improve on adequacy?


If you read my post about Christmas, it should come as no surprise to you that I also hate Valentine's Day. The reasons for hating both are essentially the same: forced gift giving on manufactured holidays, but at least Christmas has a somewhat legitimate purpose, or it's supposed to. Valentine's Day serves absolutely no purpose. Valentine's Day is a special kind of evil. Allow me to elaborate....

Pretty much everybody is impacted by V-Day in some way (I'm limiting this to America, since that's where all of my experience is); it's not like you can say that you're a different religion and don't celebrate. However, there are very few "winners" in the scheme known as Valentine's Day. In fact, pretty much everybody loses today. (I'm not calling anybody a "loser" in the pejorative sense, I mean that this day is like a game; a game that very few people can win.)

Let's start with the actual "winners," and I don't mean See's Candies and 1-800-FLOWERS, who are the true winners on this day. I mean the people who are romantics, who are in a happy relationship, perhaps one that hasn't been going on for very long. The woman will have expectations about how this day will be: grand, romantic gestures, flowers, candy, some kind of surprise, perhaps a marriage proposal? And it is the man's responsibility to carry out these grand romantic gestures. If all goes well and both parties perform as expected: they are winners! (This scenario, of course, isn't limited to a heterosexual relationship, but since this day has so much to do with gender stereotypes I'm going to rely on them to prove my various points.) But how often does this scenario actually happen? I could probably make up some statistic here, but what the fuck do I know, really? Probably pretty rarely. So... the winners on this day are rare, although some would argue that any man who ends up with a blow job at the end of the day is an automatic winner, and I'm not sure I can disagree with that, actually. Anyway, let's get to the losers....

Hey, single people! Were you feeling bad about being single? Were you wishing you had somebody to share your life with, not just today, but every other day? Well too fucking bad, single people; nobody cares about how you're feeling about yourself, in fact we've created an entire day which will do nothing but make you feel even worse about yourself. And it's not like you can escape it, since this shit is everywhere. So let's just rub your fucking noses in the fact that you're alone, and look at my scenario above: this is how happy you could be on this day, but no. Not you guys. Awwww. Too bad, single people.


Hey, men in relationships! Did you see my scenario above? The one with the winners? I hope you're fully versed on the expectations of your partner, because the onus is on you guys to make this day special and magical and perfect and crap. She might not have necessarily informed you of your responsibilities here, because much of what makes this day "special" (for the winners, anyway) is supposed to be a surprise, and it's your job to figure it out. Hope it's good enough! Or expensive enough! Or surprising enough! Or just better than last year, whateverthefuck it was that you did last year. Kind of makes those single guys happy to be single, I would think, but yeah, sorry guys. Society has determined that it is your responsibility to perform here, and if you don't come through there's a really good chance that she'll be talking shit about you to her girlfriends tomorrow.

Hey, women in relationships! We're the reason this day exists, it was created for us so that we could feel more secure in our relationships. But... guess what? If you require one particular day where everything is supposed to go perfectly in order to feel secure in your relationship.... you're doing it wrong. So ease up on your men, girls. Maybe you should buy the flowers and the candy this year. Or, better, yet.....




Tuesday, January 3, 2012

I love my online friends

I have the best online friends in the world. In fact, with a few exceptions, my online friends are better friends to me than pretty much anybody I can have a conversation with over coffee. (Exceptions: Cathryn, Lizzie and Emily. I want to mention their names, even though probably none of them will read this. Hubs doesn't count since he's required by law to be my friend).

If I go more than a few days without hearing from some of my online friends, I start missing them. How can you miss somebody you've never actually met? And there are people I have met whom I haven't heard from for months, and at this point I couldn't give a single shit if I ever actually hear from them again.

There are people I know in RL who only ever talk about themselves; how they are doing, what is going on with them and never even ask me how I am. And then there are people I know online who can tell by the tone of my tweets that there's something going on, and will text me to find out what it is. Just because you've sat in the same room with a person doesn't mean they're actually your friend. And the more I think about how wonderful you guys are online, the more it fucking pisses me off how much so many of the people I know in real life fucking suck. (except for the four I mention above. Okay, Hubs totally counts. Whatever.)

So, I'd like to turn that around in my brain, please, and instead of being angry and going off on a rant, I will make this an Online Friend Appreciation Post: I'm not going to mention names here because I'll probably leave people out and I don't want to make anybody sad, but I can think of at least 5 of you who are right now thinking "I wonder if she's talking about me?" and the answer is YES. YES I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU.

By the way, people: start thinking about the Great Twitter/Blogger Meetup of Some Time in the Spring of 2012.

Seriously.



Wednesday, February 16, 2011

It's only going to get worse before it gets better

Today I will be talking about my hair.

What? Do you think I'm taking a turn for the shallow, since yesterday I talked about how classy I think Lady Gaga is? Well, it's either my hair or I treat you to what's actually going on in my head right now, which would be an angry, curse-filled, angry, bitter, scathing, angry rant about our school district and how kids with disabilities are getting screwed out of an education. But I'm trying to be less angry here at Y.GT. (I don't actually call it that, but it seems pretty snazzy, so maybe just for this post), so I will spare you guys from that rant (and about how this kid, the son of my friend, isn't learning shit and just sits in the back of the classroom all day long because his teachers don't know what to do with him and how they have now placed all the responsibility for educating this child on the shoulders of his parents, who are accountants and not teachers, while they say things like "he seems tired, why don't you let him get enough sleep at night?" and "first put him on meds, and then we'll come back in a month to see if he's still not learning shit" [I'm possibly paraphrasing] and they fucking stall and stall and stall because maybe he'll be out of their school by the time anybody notices that he still hasn't learned anything, besides, it's not like he was going to do well on The Test, anyway, so why bother teaching him to read if he can't even boost their scores?) Oh, shit. I said I wasn't going to go there. Sorry, sorry, sorry.... Ignore everything between the parentheses back there. Here, I'll distract you with something shiny ---> CLICK HERE FOR SHINY THINGS! Ahhhh. That's better. Okay, back to my hair.....

I have awesome hair. I do. It's one of a very few things about myself that I will unabashedly say is awesome.  Here, check it out, keeping in mind that it's very very difficult to take a picture of your own hair....

It just comes out of my head like this!!

So, my hair is awesome. The only thing I don't like about my hair, though, is when it sticks to the side of my face, which it will sometimes do when it's humid. I hate it, I feel like I'm fucking suffocating. And I pay a guy (we'll call him "John," which is actually very convenient, since that's his name) a shitload of money every few months to keep it contained and from turning into an out of control jewfro. John is fucking awesome, himself. He's this skater, surfer dude, completely covered from head to toe in tattoos. He's hilariously funny and is the only person in the world that I've met, other than my husband, who knows as many Simpsons references as I do. He's also told me before that I've changed his life; because I tell him about Child 1 and autism and his entire perspective about the world and child raising has been altered because of me. Pretty fucking cool, John.

Okay, so, it was 2 days before Thanksgiving and I was sick; rushing around getting things ready for the ton of people I was expecting, and I was having one of those stick-to-my-face hair days and it was making. me. crazy. So, see.... what I did was..... uh, before I could thoroughly think it through..... I took a pair of giant office scissors to the piece of hair that was sticking to my cheek and I just chopped that fucker right off. Right to the scalp. I immediately thought "uh-oh" and I ran to the phone and called the salon and asked for an appointment. "TELL JOHN I BROKE MY HAIR AND I NEED HIM TO FIX IT." But it was 2 days before Thanksgiving and I wasn't able to see him. So, I just sucked it up. I mean, what was he going to do about it, anyway? He can't make my hair grow, he can only cut. It was actually quite nice; no more hair stuck to the side of my face! Ahhhhh. Relief.

I finally went in to see him about 3 months later where he reminded me of the following: "it's only going to get worse before it gets better." Because the thing about my awesome hair is that it grows OUT before it grows down. Its hairy instinct is to go straight out to the side, and only when it has enough weight does it head south. So, what he meant was that for a while I'm going to have a big fucking tuft of hair sticking out of the side of my head, until it's heavy enough to be able to lie down with the rest of its hairy brethren. He recommended Pomade. Thanks, John.

So, much like a child with a disability that prevents him from learning in the classroom without support, who first has to fail before the district will even try to provide any necessary services, my hair must first get worse before it can get better, and I am in that stage now. With a big fucking tuft of hair sticking out of the side of my head. You don't get a picture.