For those unfamiliar with the concept of an 'Uncle Willie Day': In The Philadelphia Story, boozehound womanizer Uncle Willie wakes with a major sleep-deprived hangover and after several assaults by the farcical goings on utters, "This is one of those days which the pages of history teach us are best spent lying in bed."
I won't go into detail about all the crap leading up to the forthcoming rant, but suffice it to say the universe has been sorely testing the bounds of my patience and sanity today. Moreso than a typical shittastic Thursday. All I wanted was to escape the insanity for a bit and use the last $5 I have until payday to get a tasty sandwich (and then they were out of the usual bread and I had to get a different sandwich...). That's all I wanted. And then...
Open Letter to the Guy Who Has Apparently Never Seen Breasts Before:
Dear Sir,
While I appreciate the fact that sometimes the wonders of nature appear to us at the least expected times, it is important to remember that people are not beautiful flowers. Your awe at seeing a wondrous sight such as my (fairly-concealed) cleavage is understandable. However, your open mouth and eyes glued to that one section of my body for the entire duration of our interaction is none of the following: flattering, gentlemanly, proper, polite, enticing, sexy, unique, justified, excusable, desirable or acceptable. Your inability to remove your Tex Avery-style bugged out eyes from my breasts while you perform the simple task of handing me my food and saying, "Have a great day," elicits in me only one desire: to punch you in your cock.
If it had been a glance and a smile, I might have been flattered. I might also have been a bit creeped out, but I wouldn't have this lingering feeling, hours later, that when I stood up as you called my number and your eyes were drawn to one area of my anatomy and never left that this one insignificant body part is all you see. That it may be all ANYONE sees. Believe it or not, I've put up with that type of lingering stare which fails to acknowledge that my form is comprised of anything except breasts since I was twelve. Your behaviour is not new to me. That doesn't make it acceptable, and the repeated experience of it over time does not dull the tumultuous emotions stirred by being seen as a walking pair of tits.
We don't know each other. It's not like you're a man I've known for a time who has won a bit of my trust and is allowed to make the occasional boob joke. I have a great rack. I'm not actually shy about it, because it is a nice asset. I wear corsets and tanks and much more revealing shirts than this one, not to garner attention but because they make me look and feel good. Let me repeat: it makes ME feel good. A glance here or there from a stranger isn't terribly untoward. It's the complete disregard for ANYTHING ELSE ABOUT ME which makes me concerned for your education about human anatomy and basic manners.
We are unlikely to ever meet again, and in this particular instance though you were a good looking young fellow who probably has several positive attributes, our interactions today leave me with a sick feeling and the intense desire to inflict violence other human beings. Why? Because you are a dick-leading, manner-less, ogling douchenozzle with no regard for another person's humanity beyond one physical characteristic. Eat shit, scumbag.
Sincerely,
Me
"I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be truly disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man."
07 February 2013
04 February 2013
(Working Through) Discouragement
This marks my 150th post... wowsers. I feel like I should have written so much more.
One of the perils of the internet age: oversaturation.
I have a facebook, a twitter, two tumblrs, no less than three emails, google +, livejournal, linked in, this... it becomes difficult to digest all the incoming social data, much less find a way to maintain your own presence across multiple platforms for multiple purposes.
Yet I made a goal this year to write more often here, at least once every three weeks, and I would like to hold to that.
So it's a new year. January already gone. I find myself with goals, but little focus. Hopes, but little direction. Even typing this up feels off -- as though there's a switch that's been disconnected which usually forms the pathway from thought to word, deed, or action.
It's not an unfamiliar feeling, and occurs both with reason and without, but it is one that gives me cause for concern.
Therefore, here's brief list of things i have accomplished so far this year and/or am grateful for:
Updating resumes
Making segmented lists of goals
Talking with people about said goals
Unabashedly working on writings which may not net me anything besides experience, but give me pleasure to create
Finding more free / uber-cheap activities to attend in Los Angeles
Getting more creative with food
Ripper Street
Figure skating
Good friends, both near and far
Tea
In the coming weeks, I am determined to make more progressive strides and already have some very specific appointments made with the express purpose of doing so. Yet still, I am realistic in my thoughts that these feelings of discouragement and confusion will not easily be pushed aside. They need to be worked through, dealt with, and nurtured with better emotions and experiences.\
Hopefully everyone else's year is getting off to a better start than mine, but if not we can take solace in not being alone, and perhaps promise each other to work through the poorer times toward the better ones.
One of the perils of the internet age: oversaturation.
I have a facebook, a twitter, two tumblrs, no less than three emails, google +, livejournal, linked in, this... it becomes difficult to digest all the incoming social data, much less find a way to maintain your own presence across multiple platforms for multiple purposes.
Yet I made a goal this year to write more often here, at least once every three weeks, and I would like to hold to that.
So it's a new year. January already gone. I find myself with goals, but little focus. Hopes, but little direction. Even typing this up feels off -- as though there's a switch that's been disconnected which usually forms the pathway from thought to word, deed, or action.
It's not an unfamiliar feeling, and occurs both with reason and without, but it is one that gives me cause for concern.
Therefore, here's brief list of things i have accomplished so far this year and/or am grateful for:
Updating resumes
Making segmented lists of goals
Talking with people about said goals
Unabashedly working on writings which may not net me anything besides experience, but give me pleasure to create
Finding more free / uber-cheap activities to attend in Los Angeles
Getting more creative with food
Ripper Street
Figure skating
Good friends, both near and far
Tea
In the coming weeks, I am determined to make more progressive strides and already have some very specific appointments made with the express purpose of doing so. Yet still, I am realistic in my thoughts that these feelings of discouragement and confusion will not easily be pushed aside. They need to be worked through, dealt with, and nurtured with better emotions and experiences.\
Hopefully everyone else's year is getting off to a better start than mine, but if not we can take solace in not being alone, and perhaps promise each other to work through the poorer times toward the better ones.
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