Woman, Thou Art Desperate.

(I know I’ve discussed this issue before, but I’m still barely touching the tip of the iceberg.)

Honestly, when did women become so worthless? Let us cake on our makeup, hike up our skirts, and dumb down our intelligence so we can get what REALLY matters in life: a man. Really, how did we get here? All the fighting for women’s liberation, and this is the end result? We’re free to inject ourselves with collagen and fill ourselves with saline, all in hopes of making ourselves feel better about our vain existence- and, of course, so we can catch that guy! I’m all for self-improvement, but I believe the motives are often more important than the end result. Why are women so ready to sacrifice themselves for the sake of a man? This isn’t to say that change is always a bad thing, or that compromise isn’t a vital part of relationships. Rather, I’m talking about the complete denial of self that seems to occur far too frequently among females in today’s society. So many girls are so eager to be loved, so desperate for approval that they’ll do anything for the attention and affection of a guy. Change your hair, change your beliefs…how about changing your mind, and holding on to a bit of dignity? I just don’t understand how running from this guy to that guy to oh! that guy over there could ever offer any sense of fulfillment. Nor can I find the sense in coming back to the same useless guy, again and again and again. How can you ever develop your own interests if you’re never on your own? I suppose it stems from a fear of being alone, but personally, I’d much rather be by myself than in an unfulfilling relationship, or with an eternal string of random guys. We need to learn that solitude is not suicide. Being single does not make you an uninteresting, unattractive hag, just as being in a relationship doesn’t suddenly make you beautiful or desirable. It doesn’t even necessarily mean that you’ve found love; it just means you’re in a relationship, nothing more. Judging your worth by your romantic status is not only idiotic, but it sets women back- oh, a few decades, to say the least. I just don’t understand how so many women expect to be appreciated and adored by men when they’re so mistreated by themselves. And too often, the same women also mistreat those closest to them in the process. I’ve watched my own sister turn into someone I don’t even know, blasting Daddy Yankee jams and betraying the trust of her own children, all in hopes of gaining the attention of someone completely worthless. No matter how hard I try, I can’t understand the thought processes that lead to such actions. I do know, however, how painful it can be for the innocent bystanders; it’s also nauseating beyond belief. I cannot stand it when I see people adopt the personality of the person they’re with, or trying to attract. What purpose does it serve? Weakening your own sense of individuality isn’t very useful, and it certainly isn’t attractive. I know women are often thought of as passive and meek, but in this case, many of us really need to develop a stronger backbone. Nothing is worth losing yourself over- not even the pretense of love.

Ode to Mi Hermana.

When looking for a man,
You keep standards low
So IQ and a spine
Are the first things to go.
You don’t care about caring
Devotion, or truth
You just want someone
To sleep under the same roof.
He can lie behind your back
To your family, your face
But when he says “I love you,”
All sins are erased.
Self-worth’s non-existent,
Only foolish desires,
And still you move forward,
Enamored with liars.

Nonexcludable.

While it may not be much, I felt this morning’s events merited a blog of their own.

Around 10am, I was sitting in my car, finishing up a mediocre chicken biscuit and studying for my dreaded ECON final at 11. After a few minutes, I realized that I could no longer take the heat- uh, literally: I’ve been too cheap to run my air-conditioning lately, and I refused to crack the windows to let any of my musical guilty pleasures be heard by random passersby. Anyways, I decided to relocate to a less stifling environment, so I gathered up my stuff and got out of the car.

And then, it happened.

When I stepped out of the vehicle, for some unknown reason, I temporarily lost my balance/footing/something equally stupid, and stumbled. To balance myself, I reached out and leaned on the car door…which then slammed shut, locking my purse- and keys- in the driver’s seat. To say that I was embarrassed would be an understatement, but I was also experiencing an equal amount of fury at this point. Less than an hour remained before my final (which, if I didn’t make at least a 50 on, I would undoubtedly fail the class), and I was locked out of my future getaway car. Fortunately, by some miracle, I actually had my phone in my pocket instead of in the purse where it resides 99% of the time, so I was able to call my poor dad, who came by with a spare key and let me in. After this, I took a shameful stroll across campus and tried to resume studying, but after realizing that my train of thought was completely lost, I decided to just sell my textbook and wait for the inevitable.

Moral of this story?

Everyone is an idiot.

Hear me roar.

There are some things you never forget.

A year or so ago, my sociology class had a male professor from Nigeria give a lecture on gender. More specifically, he talked about the importance of women- especially in Africa. Throughout the lecture, he frequently mentioned women’s reproductive power, which I suppose was understandable considering the subject matter, but unnerving all the same. Then, in one of the most astounding statements I’ve ever heard, he claimed that all it takes for women to get whatever they want is to come together globally and vow not to reproduce until changes take place. I remember sitting there, mouth agape, trying to understand how someone so well-educated could believe such a ridiculous concept. He made it sound as if getting every woman across the globe to agree to not reproduce would be an easy task, when even he believes that it obviously takes a bit of effort to control reproduction; he later addressed the issue of birth control in Africa, and said that women needed help controlling their family size. Um, if it’s feasible for women worldwide to band together and “just say no” to giving birth in order to stop the war in Iraq (yes, this was an example he presented), couldn’t the women of Africa use just a fraction of that power and make the decision to not have so many children? Perhaps I’m being simplistic, but it seems to me that some problems, such as this one, can either be solved without millions of dollars from other countries- or they just can’t be solved at all. Towards the end of the lecture, he continued with his grandiose statements, and said that large corporations need to pay all women for the extra labor they do outside of the workplace, but especially African women. Most of the people in the class just stared at him and glibly nodded their heads, but I was furiously scratching notes down on my paper to immortalize that moment of shock. First off, do most big businesses pay extra money for work done outside of their company? “Oh, Mr. CEO…that Jim fellow in marketing, he volunteered at soup kitchen last week. He also adopted a greyhound, gave five dollars to a homeless man, and washed a load of t-shirts the other night. Don’t you think he deserves a raise?” Um…no. So, if it’s ridiculous to expect a corporate bigwig to shell out extra money for a man’s ‘good deeds,’ what makes it reasonable for them to compensate women for their daily duties? Granted, I could think of numerous things I’d do with my “ovarian bonus” if I ever received one, but it’s ludicrous all the same. Furthermore, for an American company (and this is what he was implying) to pay African women for their daily personal tasks is completely absurd and unrealistic. I’ve heard of adopting a child overseas, but for American businesses to adopt all African females? Seems just a little odd to me.

Girth, birth, and zero worth.

Oh, the disappointments of attending KSU. A few days ago, I was sitting in the library lobby when I overheard a conversation some of my “peers” were having a few feet away from me. This group of intellectuals consisted of two males and two females, and the following quote was one of the guys’ contributions to their stimulating discussion:

“Every man’s worst fear is that his wife will get fat.”

Now, I wish I could say that I paraphrased or embellished that quote, but alas- the guy was just that insightful. After he made this noteworthy statement, the other guy responded with, “Not my wife. She’ll run or something.” (It’s interesting to note that Stupid Male #2 was not in personal possession of a slim physique, but obviously assumed that his masculinity automatically outweighed his girth.) I waited for one of the females to jump in and call them pigs, idiots, something…but no, they only enhanced the idiocy. I’m assuming that one of them happened to be pregnant, because she said something to the effect of, “My boyfriend [of course- husbands are so taboo] said that as soon as I get the baby out, I have to start exercising.” Again, I waited for her to share her brilliant rebuttal, but with no such luck. The topic of conversation quickly switched from pregnancy to clothing, and they started examining the various differences between American Eagle, Abercrombie & Fitch, and Hollister.

Tart.

As the saying goes- if you’ve got it, flaunt it.

So, let me flaunt my rage.

First, let me just preface this by saying that the following rant is directed at nobody in particular; rather, it’s aimed at a frighteningly large group of nobodies.

Females disgust me, plain and simple. If you have to carefully photograph every angle of your cleavage and spread it across the internet to boost your nonexistent self-worth, please feel free to swallow some arsenic between UR hAwT pHoToShOOtz!!!11! Sure, we’re all impressed that God blessed you with the same thing he gave every other female on the planet (give or take, of course), but don’t act like you’re in possession of some rare, precious jewels. Then again, if they were such rarities, maybe you’d actually lock those gems away somewhere out of my sight. And please, don’t try to trick your audience with some sort of supposedly self-deprecating caption. No, you obviously don’t think you look ugly in that picture, or else you probably wouldn’t have posted 82358 bulletins telling people to go admire it. Don’t try to be clever- people who have to resort to posting pseudo-steamy pictures of themselves to get attention probably shouldn’t attempt such intellectual feats. Of course, I can think of a few other things I’d like for you to attempt, but I don’t really need to elaborate there, do I?

Society is just so disgusting, and disappointing, and generally worthless. As much as I enjoy watching idiots reap rewards for their idiocy, I am growing a bit tired of the constant onslaught of inanity. Can we just develop a little depth, a little intelligence, a little originality? I promise, it’s really not that hard to be yourself. I’m just so sick of witnessing all of these desperate cries for attention, especially from an endless array of vain and vapid females. Contrary to popular belief, it is possible to be recognized for something other than a poor photograph of your oddly-contorted, semi-nude figure. I’m all for self-expression, but I’m afraid you actually have to develop some sense of self before you’re able to express anything worthwhile, love. So until then, hold fast to your Playboy dreams, embrace your insignificance, and know that you repulse me.

O brave new world.

People can lambaste it all they want, but I think MySpace is actually an incredible tool. In addition to its amazing stalking capabilities, it gives me a greater view of society, of my fellow human beings.

And humans never cease to amaze, or amuse, me.

I’d always assumed that the world was comprised of idiots, but until now, I never really got to see most of them- they were just nameless, faceless beings. But now…now, I can look at them. Discover their interests. Read their blogs. See their heavily made-up faces contorted in every way imaginable. And, most importantly, I can find out what kind of supermodel/alcohol/Britney best represents them.

And even after days and weeks and months (and years?) of browsing MySpace profiles, I’m still amazed daily by the varied forms of idiocy in existence.

Maybe it’s just me, but I find myself highly amused by the majority of the profiles/people I come across. For instance, I just looked at someone’s profile who listed beer, sex, and marijuana in her general interests…and then in midst of them all, it said “vegetarianism.” Again, perhaps it’s just me, but I take pleasure in discovering such unique approaches to life.

I just…can’t believe how worthless the majority of my peer group is. I know I often use that word, but I really can’t think of a more appropriate term. I see so little substance, but so much worthlessness. Great thing is, my peer group will ALWAYS be my peer group. I used to think that when people got older, they matured mentally, emotionally. But, thanks to certain people I’ve come across, I’ve discovered that is not the case. Age does not necessarily beget wisdom, nor does it make people more tolerable.

While we’re on the topic of things that annoy me (sorry, humanity- you’ll always be on that list), let’s discuss religious bulletins such as this:

GOD………DIED……………..FOR …………………..ME

HE………………..SAVED……….ME………..FROM…………MY…….SINS

IF YOU LOVE GOD
REPOST THIS WITHIN 5 MINTUES &TITLE IT
(YOUR NAME)’S PARTY

A MIRACLE WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT

Granted, I do appreciate the fact that this one doesn’t try to guilt me into reposting, but in my opinion, it’s still pretty stupid. Honestly, what’s up with the dots? Those strung-together words don’t even form a “message of salvation,” so to speak, so are you just trying to get the other person to discover something about you…sl…o……..w..l…y? Not that I agree with the idea of trying to trick someone into salvation, of course, but even that makes more sense than the above bulletin. I can think of a few “miracles” that could come out of such bulletins, but as I’m trying to restrict my rage, I’ll leave those up to your imagination. (And really, could we at least spell “minutes” properly? That might make things seem a wee bit more appealing.)

It’s Poppin’.

Popcorn.

What was once an occasionally delicious treat is now nothing more than yet another workplace annoyance. In the good ol’ Ingles video department, we have the pleasure of making popcorn- and lots of it. Not only do we sell two sizes of bags- large, and larger- but we also make an infinite amount of popcorn for the free kids bags we offer. Yes, you read that correctly- free. As in, there’s no real reason for me to waste my time making batch after batch of this popcorn for you grubby little beasts because it’s free. Really, it’s not that I don’t enjoy seeing the looks on the faces of each eager bundle of joy as they come up for their precious handout, but few things are more monotonous than filling those endless little red and white bags. Perhaps it’s just me, but offering anything free in a store where the majority of the clientèle is driven by food stamps seems a little risky; all it does is result in a buttery stampede of the underprivileged, not a boost in popcorn or video sales. Not that I care at ALL about the profits of anything related to Ingles, but at least that would seem like some sort of strategy. I guess I could try to pretend that this idea was created by some of the higher-ups within the company to enhance customer satisfaction, but as I honestly doubt any of them could even spell satisfaction, it seems unlikely.

And as annoying as they may be, the children are nowhere near as aggravating as the adults.

This job has tainted many things for me- movies, weekends, my faith in humanity- but thanks to the popcorn debacle, nothing has been as completely destroyed as my appreciation for the word “fresh.” Never before has an adjective been so hated, so loathed, that I practically refuse to use it out of the work environment. “Is this fresh?” “Can you give me a fresh bag?” “Do you have any fresh popcorn?” I’ve heard that dreaded word so much that now, as soon as I hear the infamous “fr” sound escape someone’s lips, my blood flow instantly switches directions. Thankfully, it only took about a month or so for me to realize that people are easily duped, and that I have the power to make customers leave my presence at a quicker pace- all thanks to the joys of deceitfulness. All I have to do is scrunch up my face in concentration, pick a bag at random, and then begin hailing the almighty freshness of that popcorn. I’ve also learned that it helps to occasionally whisper my “freshest” choice to customers, as it seems to hint at a sense of intimacy, making the customer feel like I just let them in on a big secret.

It’s sick, but at least it’s a way to pass the time; one can only fill so many bags of popcorn before that existential despair starts creeping up, and the urge to add a little saliva seasoning grows.

Turning Jap[p]anese

After coming to the conclusion that music is nearly impossible to write about on a regular basis (sacrilege, I know), I’ve decided to write about something I never tire of discussing:

Stupidity.

Everyday, all around me, I witness various acts and examples of stupidity. At school, at work, at home (these days), en route, on television, on the radio, in magazines, online- stupidity is everywhere. From childhood, I’ve always had an intense interest in its presence in my world. Whereas I used to mock my nearly illiterate classmates, these days…well, I guess not much has changed in that regard; however, I’m now aware of far more cases of idiocy than just those located within the classroom. Recently, some of the most notable examples have come from my workplace, the cesspool otherwise known as the Ingles Video Department. I’m sure the atrocities of that place will be the topic of many more blogs to come, but let’s touch the tip of the idiotic iceberg, shall we?

For starters, my manager seems to be better suited for the set of Hee Haw than any sort of actual administrative position. I’m regularly blown away by the complete absence of intelligence, but I suppose it’ll eventually reach a point where I’m no longer surprised. In fact, I probably shouldn’t be surprised at all; on my very first day of training, she pulled out the poster for the movie Letters from Iwo Jima, looked it over for a few seconds, and finally said “Letters from…what is that?!”

And no, the fun doesn’t end there.

She’s notorious for typos, which make me cringe even more than her lack of any historical familiarity. In fact, the sign she placed in front of the beloved Letters from …? proclaimed that “This movie is in Jappanese with English subtitles.” Upon seeing this, I immediately whipped out the Wite-Out and removed that extra letter, but it still left an unsavory gap that bothered me for days. Our poster regarding game rentals not only misspells the word receipt (reciept), but also features what has to be the world’s record for sentence fragments on one sign. I don’t know if she never learned the meaning of a period (other than the kind that occasionally prevent her from having more children with random men), but to see such destruction of language brings sorrow to my soul.

Feels like the fiiirst time…

You never forget your first.

After years of toting around my trusty Walkman, the time had finally come for an upgrade; I remember my excitement over the prospect of leaving the world of technological inferiority and leaping into the new, modern world. So, after weeks of endless begging and pleading, my parents finally conceded- a shiny new CD player was in my very near future. Once I completed that mission, the only thing left to do was decide what my first compact disc should be.

…And, for some reason, I chose Space Ghost’s Musical Bar-B-Que: Featuring 25 Hickory-Smoked Harmonies.

Call me a nerd (because I was- and still am), but I honestly wanted that CD more than any other. Every Sunday night, I would practically pinch myself to stay awake to watch Cartoon Network’s finest, Space Ghost: Coast to Coast. My sense of humor was warped from childhood, and I believe part of that is due to my Space Ghost obsession. I was also quite fond of Cartoon Planet, which featured largely the same “cast,” so to speak, but with a much different format. Namely, Cartoon Planet had songs- and loads of ‘em. These songs were then translated to an album, which quickly skyrocketed to the top of my childhood “Hey, I want that” list. With titles like “What Day is It?”, “Big Head”, and “Minkey Boodle”, how could my geeky childhood self be anything but enamored? One of my favorites from Musical Bar-B-Que was a little ditty entitled “I Love Beans,” and the poignant lyrics are as follows:

Lima, lentil, soy and pinto
Navy, northern, and garbanzo
Kidneys and frijoles negroes
I love beans.

…A work of art, to be sure. I still listen to the CD occasionally, and frequently reference it with the treasured few “in the know.” Though it’s probably not as impressive as saying that I chose some obscure indie rock record as my first disc, there’s still no other album I’d rather have lost my CD virginity to.