I know that title just drips with feminism, but no one should be surprised that I fully identify as a feminist. Not in a man-hating, eliminate-them-all kind of way, so don't worry. Things aren't going to get too militant here. Maybe they will. I never know when I start writing where things will end up. You've been here before. You know I can start talking about men not getting to have everything and might end up besmirching the virtues of dolphins. That's just how I roll.
Also, there are some things here I need to say that may just reek of sexism and close-mindedness. Those aren't particularly good qualities, especially in a self-proclaimed feminist. You're going to have to deal with the inconsistency as best you can.
That said, let's talk about the things that men seem determined to take over. Lately, there's the man romper. This is an article of clothing I feel is only correct when placed on babies and women. Why men are suddenly feeling compelled to put on these one-piece suits is beyond me. Women already have to sit down when we pee, so stripping from top to bottom in order to do so is not really that much out of the ordinary for us. Granted, when I'm wearing bottoms separate from my top, I tend to leave my top on when relieving myself. I know, that's a lot of information, but since my readership is half women, at least 12 people out there are nodding knowingly rather than cringing. Men, you have the ability to pee standing up without having to drop trou. Do you understand what a privilege that is? Why would you want to strip? Now, I haven't truly investigated the workings of the man romper, but perhaps it comes with a hole like your underwears that allows you the benefit of a cute one-piece without the strip down. If that's the case, then it's truly unfair that you're claiming this women's garment. Just let us have it, okay?
Then there's the clip-on man bun. Really? I had finally made my peace with just the regular man bun. I realized that I had to change with the times and just accept it. In fact, there are some instances I can even find it cute. However, that is where I draw the line. Men, if you want to have a man bun, then you need to grow it yourself. Clip-on hair is for the ladies because some of you practically demand it. If you don't have enough hair for it, then you don't get to wear it. I would love to pile my hair in a messy top knot from time to time, but I don't have the length. Therefore, I wait. Why do I have such animosity for the clip-on man bun? I saw a man wearing one the other day. He was completely bald on top and had one clipped into his remaining hair. I could see the clip, and the bun was the absolute wrong color. It was like a hipster mullet, and it wasn't good. The worst bit, he wasn't wearing it ironically. He was wearing it as if he looked totally natural. Men, just leave the clip-ons to the ladies. Let us have it.
Finally, there's the tank top. This is what inspired this post in the first place. You get to run around without a shirt on when it's hot or when you think you're hot, and we just have to take it. Women have to keep covered. Granted, barely covered for some, but covered, nonetheless. The tank top is our saving grace during the oppressive summers. Some of us look fabulous in them. Some of us look less fabulous. However, we all have one thing in common when we wear them, earning us the right to be the sole claimants to this fashion trend: shaved armpits. At some point, our patriarchal society decided that body hair on women is gross, and we have foolishly acquiesced to the demands that we stay smooth in certain areas. Therefore, we wear the tank top with what I call responsibility. When we go into a restaurant, we have no hairs falling from our pits onto the table. We put on no show of long, curly, unkempt locks with flecks of deodorant stuck to them to put everyone around us off their dinner. Our culture loves hair as long as it's on the head. Otherwise, it's gross. So, men, unless you're prepared to shave your armpits, you can't have tank tops, too. I'll even compromise: you can't have tank tops in restaurants or places where people are eating. You be gentlemen and keep those pit hairs totally unexposed around the food.
There you have it. My small minded rant. Spare me the counter-arguments because they will just make me angrier and inspire follow-up posts.
Thursday, August 3, 2017
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Foul Mouthed Beasts
I am a staunch cat person. I know this comes as a surprise to most of you, but it's the truth. Being a staunch cat person, I have two beautiful beasts of my own. Sister kitties. Squirt and Shelby. Look at them!
I know, right? Total perfection!
And being a staunch cat person, I am naturally in possession of two large dogs. Two more beasts. As far as looks go, they're quite lovely. I'm not so blind that I cannot admit that, and if I am going to have dogs, at least they're pleasant to look upon. Pearl and Mahone. Check them out:
And being a staunch cat person, I am naturally in possession of two large dogs. Two more beasts. As far as looks go, they're quite lovely. I'm not so blind that I cannot admit that, and if I am going to have dogs, at least they're pleasant to look upon. Pearl and Mahone. Check them out:
It's difficult to get a good picture of Mahone because he's a nervous wreck who cannot sit still for a moment. Also, I'm pretty sure he's terrified of my phone.
Back to my point, which isn't going to be made for quite some time. These two dogs came to our house pre-trained and practically debarked. Not exactly debarked because they still possess the ability to bark. They just don't utilize it very often, which suits me just fine. I cannot abide the constant yap of dogs. It grates on my nerves and only serves to remind me that they are in my house. The piles of dog fur and the stench of dog breath is enough to remind me. I don't need the noise, too. But, you know, they're cute and the kids love them. That's enough for me to wear a Badge of Long Suffering for being so magnanimous, allowing dogs to infiltrate my peaceful cat world.
Back to my point, which isn't going to be made for quite some time. These two dogs came to our house pre-trained and practically debarked. Not exactly debarked because they still possess the ability to bark. They just don't utilize it very often, which suits me just fine. I cannot abide the constant yap of dogs. It grates on my nerves and only serves to remind me that they are in my house. The piles of dog fur and the stench of dog breath is enough to remind me. I don't need the noise, too. But, you know, they're cute and the kids love them. That's enough for me to wear a Badge of Long Suffering for being so magnanimous, allowing dogs to infiltrate my peaceful cat world.
Stick with me now. The house next to ours is a rental. In the 7 years we've lived here, we have had some amazing neighbors and some stinkers. When we first moved in, we had a family whose father was very charismatic and hilarious and generous to a fault. If he had a bad week, he'd ring our doorbell and hand us a bottle of wine or a six pack of craft beer and tell us to drink away the bad days for him. Needless to say, we were sad when they moved. Then came a family who consisted of a mother with freeloading grown children who would work on cars late into the night and invite their unsavory friends over. That was when my plants got stolen. I have no proof, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with them. Most recently, our favorite neighbors occupied that home for 3 wonderful years. Oh, they were a delight, and it was such a sad day when they told us they were moving to Scottsdale to, you know, pursue dreams and build careers and all that nonsense. They left last week, and the house stood empty.
It was empty for a whole day before we got new neighbors. I can't complain about them too much...yet...but one unpleasant change has moved in with them: two yippy, yappy mutts with no discernible stopping point. Thank God they keep the dogs outside, or I might not be experiencing the first signs of frazzled nerves. Sign one: taking stock of the animals in my house. Sign two: a long, rambling blog. Our neighbors on the other side of us also have two yippy, yappy mutts, but they stay on top of that noise, lending them a free pass from my nerves. Plus, we love them. Love of people can cover a multitude of wretched dog behavior.
Last night, nestled in my favorite chair, preparing for some relaxing Netflix binge-ing (spell check seems to not like any variation I tried of that word), what should accost my ears but the yip-yapping of the new neighbor mutts. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my earbuds, determined to drown it out with cinematic distractions. However, I was soon pulled from my reverie by Mahone. You know, the nervous dog who practically never barks? He was spinning in circles, whining, and--you guessed it--barking! He was talking to the enemy. He never talks to the dogs on the other side. Like, ever. Not only was he having some kind of verbal canine fit, but the hairs on his neck and back were standing straight up. This was completely new and not in a good way. There was no place in the house he could escape the yaps which meant there was no place in the house I could escape HIS replies. Mahone's yelps freaked out my kitties, too, and being a staunch cat person, this is unforgivable.
This left me to wonder: what in the world were these foul-mouthed beasts saying? Were they hurling insults? Were they being vulgar? Were they promising delicacies that they'd never deliver? What? What in the world had my quiet pup in such a tizzy? All I know is this new development has left me twitchy and more than a little concerned. After all, I was just getting used to the idea that my plants were safe. Now I need to move them to the backyard where the dogs will dig them up. And pee on them.
You see? This is why I'm a staunch cat person. Did I even make a point? No, and I blame my nerves which I blame on Mahone which I blame on the creatures next door which I blame on Scottsdale which I blame on America. Now I'm not even patriotic. I've lost everything. That's my point.
YAP!
It was empty for a whole day before we got new neighbors. I can't complain about them too much...yet...but one unpleasant change has moved in with them: two yippy, yappy mutts with no discernible stopping point. Thank God they keep the dogs outside, or I might not be experiencing the first signs of frazzled nerves. Sign one: taking stock of the animals in my house. Sign two: a long, rambling blog. Our neighbors on the other side of us also have two yippy, yappy mutts, but they stay on top of that noise, lending them a free pass from my nerves. Plus, we love them. Love of people can cover a multitude of wretched dog behavior.
Last night, nestled in my favorite chair, preparing for some relaxing Netflix binge-ing (spell check seems to not like any variation I tried of that word), what should accost my ears but the yip-yapping of the new neighbor mutts. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my earbuds, determined to drown it out with cinematic distractions. However, I was soon pulled from my reverie by Mahone. You know, the nervous dog who practically never barks? He was spinning in circles, whining, and--you guessed it--barking! He was talking to the enemy. He never talks to the dogs on the other side. Like, ever. Not only was he having some kind of verbal canine fit, but the hairs on his neck and back were standing straight up. This was completely new and not in a good way. There was no place in the house he could escape the yaps which meant there was no place in the house I could escape HIS replies. Mahone's yelps freaked out my kitties, too, and being a staunch cat person, this is unforgivable.
This left me to wonder: what in the world were these foul-mouthed beasts saying? Were they hurling insults? Were they being vulgar? Were they promising delicacies that they'd never deliver? What? What in the world had my quiet pup in such a tizzy? All I know is this new development has left me twitchy and more than a little concerned. After all, I was just getting used to the idea that my plants were safe. Now I need to move them to the backyard where the dogs will dig them up. And pee on them.
You see? This is why I'm a staunch cat person. Did I even make a point? No, and I blame my nerves which I blame on Mahone which I blame on the creatures next door which I blame on Scottsdale which I blame on America. Now I'm not even patriotic. I've lost everything. That's my point.
YAP!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)