Hey, Internet. Please cease and desist the following: Fail, facepalm, nomnomnom. Thank you. Love, Aunty Christ.
Although all but the last in that series has amused me at least once, I am increasingly annoyed by all of the above—and, quite probably, any and all new neologisms that will come to replace them. Nomnomnom is actually just disgusting, and I feel bad for using it here. I certainly shan’t ever again.
Dear Society, I find your interest in the following topic to be troubling: Cougars. Please drop it. Love, Your Aunty Christ.
It’s true that it’s only the terminology that’s (kind of) new—oh, for fuck’s sake, why don’t we call in-shape older ladies cougars?—as, for at least as long as I’ve been alive and paying attention, men have seemingly felt ambivalently turned on by hot old broads. What was Dynasty if not one person’s ode to the sexy mama? Call it the hag-whore syndrome. The thing that irritates me about this cougar business is that, on the face of it, it appears to give value to ladies who otherwise have no worth (Come on! They’re over 30!), but in reality, whatever value they are given in terms of male attention is negated through asking us—everyone, I guess—to view them as clowns
I could go on, but really. That was topical maybe a year ago. I’m just trying to vomit up all my peeves, old and new.
Why is that, you ask? Am I trying to make room in my spleen for future annoyances? How perceptive of you, my child. I am!
One of my favorite blogs, a few weeks back, had a post in which the blogger explained that she had recently remembered that one must make time for things that make one feel good, as though it were a job or something. Which is something that I knew, once, too, and then forgot, and now have had pointed out to me again. And while it’s true that there is almost no end to the time that I can set aside to do things like drink PBR Light or become irate at things I find on the Internet, I often tell myself that I will go for a bike ride once these four files are done—but then I realize that the thug dogs need to go outside, and then it’s time for a PBR Light, and fuck. Will you look at that? Where does the time go.
Being reminded again that my brain, small as it is, can’t be expected to make time in its busy schedule for things that are good for it, I have joined a gym. Earlier tonight. So, I haven’t actually been there to exercise yet, unless exercise is meant in a more general fashion, such as “Signing up for a gym membership was an exercise in frustration.” I also, at the gym, petted two small dogs, so it’s kind of worth it already.
Along with the recommitment to health (gym!), I have decided to start going to the Humane Society every now and then to “volunteer,” by which I mean, of course, kiss and coo at tiny animals like an insane person. I mean, fuck. Why not. It helps the Society somehow (I guess), and it helps me immensely. An hour of kissing tiny animals is like eight whole hours of kicking Glenn Beck, for me. Although, to be fair, I’ve never actually kicked Glenn Beck, so for now it’s just a hypothetical comparison. I kind of would like to try, just to test out my theory.
Long-time readers will remember that I have an irrational love for differently abled critters. This little guy is blind in one eye and therefore adorable. I kissed him so much! Yes, I did!
And here is his mate, who is wearing, like, the worst rug ever. Shh! Don’t tell him. He thinks it looks real.
So, I’m feeling kind of happy about life and all that. Can I say, though, that the blog world—at least the one I inhabit—is kind of crazy lately? Can I say that? I cannot go into every example, because that would take a very long time indeed, and I kind of feel like getting out of the house at some point. But briefly: Reading comment threads annoys me more and more these days. In one of the blogs I read was a comment thread in which one young woman commented (kind of off-topic, to be fair, though not in a really alarming way) something along the lines of “Meghan McCain? Don’t like her. She’s disingenuous and smart enough to fool some people into thinking she’s changed the subject, but not smart enough to say anything interesting.” Other people said (in essence), “But Meghan has been trashed by men for her appearance, and trashed by everyone for being a young woman in politics, and as feminists we really shouldn’t pile on to criticize a woman who’s already been criticized so much. Especially when so much of the criticism is just due to her being a woman.”
And I see that point. (If that was the point that was trying to be made—I’m explicitly not using direct quotes, as I’m trying to talk about my interpretations of such, and not what other people, who I do not know, think about some public quasi-political figure I could care less about.) On the other hand, if feminism is about not criticizing or judging or hating other women, no matter what they do or how very much I hate them? Can’t do it. I just can’t. I hate everyone, fair and square, by fuck. I promise not to hate you because of your gender, race, religion, fashion sense, hook hand, nasty breath, smelly lunch, accent, what have you, but there’s a good chance there’s something about you I dislike. Your giant out-of-control dog with whip scars all along its back. Your propensity to scream at everyone you live with. The garbage that you throw into my back yard because you’re too lazy to place it in a garbage can. (Yes, each of those examples describes my neighbor. Yes, I hate her a lot.)
Point is—or at least I think this was my point—people are awful. They make me want to pet tiny animals. (Until such time as Mr. Beck’s shins are available.) People comment on blogs. Blog comment threads are awful.
Except for mine, I mean. You guys are the best.