/tagged/rant/page/2

As a final middle finger from the universe

I just recieved a bill from all the grown up clothes I bought to wear to the interview to impress the damn people that rejected me which I can’t afford to pay.

Oh yeah, and a fucking free issue/evite/whatthefuckever of JETSETTER MAGAZINE, because, it says, they have information that ‘kiki embryonic’ just loves to travel and she might like to stay (for reduced rates, of course) at the Hotel de Crillon in Paris.

To which I have to say the following:

“Fuck you life, you crab infested cum bubble of hope.

Best,

Kiki”

are you done yet? No really? Are you?

I had nightmares all night and I’ve been crying on and off for no reason all damn day, in between random bouts of anxiety.  I went to the one place that will employ me to help out with inventory and made an ass out of myself in front of my boss.  By accident.

Then I came home, beat myself up about what a doosh I am how the hell did I end up here at thirty something and holy fuck am I regressing and maybe I shoulda done this or gone there.

Then I beat myself up for beating myself up.  I’m sympathetic like that.  Then I got into a fight with my husband about insensitivity disguised as dinner.

Had none.

Ate a bad walnut, felt sick and decided to have some wine instead.  Dessert is a beer.  No two.  No three.

I played some Zelda then died like a hundred times.  Cried because I couldn’t take it.

Oh yeah and as a special treat that job I interviewed for kindly emailed to reject me.

Um…can I dai nao?

Thanks

things I miss about canada

The hilarious Parliament channel where the members of the different parties would passive agressively speak to each other ‘through’ the Speaker of the House during question period.

Fictitious Example that’s really close to reality:

Douchey C Asswipe (Lib) Sudbury “Mr (or Ms or Mrs.) Speaker, I would like to point out what a total douchbag Liberal MLA Barty McFartface is.  He’s a sniviling liar and has lied about taxes from the beginning.

Barty McFartface (PC) Wildrose: Mr Speaker I’d like to respond to Douchey C. Asswipe by pointing out he has fliplopped on votes and completely gone against the wishes of his constituency to toe party lines.  Like the typical LIberal.

*banging and clapping and shouting*

I’d watch hours of this.

I always felt this type of communication was intrinsically Canadian: where we’d insult you, but only in a really pompous way.  Probably through somebody else.  And then we’d get all cranky if you insulted us back directly…because you’re supposed to do it through a third party god!

Canadians are actually pretty major assholes, they just go about it in an indirect way, so it doesn’t actually LOOK like we’re assholes.  Much like our politicians maintain an air of civility by speaking THROUGH the Speaker of the House and ergo not actually insulting anyone at all.

Good stuff.  Good stuff.

@gamesocks

gamesockson:

littleorphanammo:

I mean…what are they looking for?  For people to be attractive or stylish or…i mean…good christ, that could be used to discriminate based on gender, age, race, ability, religion and probably fucking IS used for that. I just.  What on EARTH is the justification for that?  How could they possibly rationalize what amounts to blatant workplace discrimination?

Not that you would know, I guess but…how DO they explain it?  Or do they not even bother?  They just do this blatantly illegal thing and just…eh whatever.  they don’t care, they’re totally just gonna keep doin it even though it violates all kinds of anti-discrimination laws?

I mean.  Oh. My. God.

Ok, im trying to get over this.

Absolutely, and I sometimes wonder whether I should avoid those places just on principle. To be honest, another reason I often don’t bother is I assume— depending on the neighborhood— that they aren’t going to hire a black woman who looks like me anyway, or anyone who looks “too ethnic” in any direction. In fact, if I wasn’t wearing my Lady Gaga wig, I don’t know if these people would’ve responded to me, either. And it’s not in one of the areas I usually apply to work in where I know my ‘fro and my hippie clothes would blend right in, but I’m also wearing a leather jacket, a thermal shirt and a tie-dyed skirt in that pic so I’m sure they don’t expect a sleek sophisticate to walk in the door.

As for justification? The ones who list one usually say they’re trying to attract a certain kind of clientele. As for whether that is upscale, trendy or what have you, it depends on the neighbhorhood. Which is why I don’t apply for jobs requiring pics in certain areas— because I’ll give you a damn photo but I’m not going to totally misrepresent myself. Sooner or later, you’ll find out I’m a hippie. I will wear my best hippie attire and I’ll bathe, but I’ll still be a hippie.

Sadly, your answer makes ME EVEN MORE ANGRY.

The fact that you sort of take it for granted that your blackness is just not going to go over well in ‘certain’ neighborhoods with ‘certain’ clientele makes me want to burn the world down.

i mean…PARDON ME?  That should just…am I really this naive?  Is that what it is that I expect that a stupid little overwrought, pretentious cafe, that basically serves people coffee probably should hire whoever is wiling to work at their minimum wage, no benefit shithole and stop claiming that they cater to a certain ‘clientele’.

They’re telling people, in not so uncertain terms as I’ve discovered by your response, that they might as well not even apply because chances are regardless of whether they are totes qualified for the position and deserve it…their ethnic heritage,  or their lack of perfectly symetrical facial features, or their class that prevents them from spending a ton of money on the hippest clothes or their genetic predisposition to a disease or their understanding of the organizing principle of the universe precludes them from the job.

I mean.  WHAT?!  WHAT?!?

Oh I’m sorry pal, I think my watch must be broken because the last time I looked I could have sworn this was the TWENTY FIRST GODDAM CENTURY.

I’m never going to get over this.  I’m going to have to move to NYC and stealthily apply to these stupid ass places and then report them to the ACLU and every single other zine, website or media outlet that will listen.

I can’t get past this and it makes me so fucking irate that this is how things ‘work’ and what people are ‘used’ to.  Fuck that.

Oh my god.

BTW, I’m sorry for hijacking your good news and turning into this crazyness.  I really am happy for your new job.  I just.

Goddamit.

i actually have to stop reading it now

because it is so insufferable.  just mindblowingly so.  I need to go to an interview and I’ma be all ramped up about some self important turds on the internet.

Like oh good, you use to read Tenessee Williams in your crib and now you only read the works by the winners of the Giller prize.  In Latin.  While writing a new manifesto for the 21st century based on the ancient math of the Aztecs.

The fact that you need to (so self consciously) point that out doesn’t make you special.  Or smart. It makes you an asshole.

I’m backing away to go to this damn interview now.

I just happened to notice the crap book thread....

I’d just like to say that no books are crap books.  Just like no art is crap art.  And no food is crap food.  No love is crap love and no pair of pants are crap pants.  There is nothing that raises my ire more than over-educated, classist elitists who think they can stomp around claiming that not only do they know what defines ‘crap’ but in all their sanctimonious policing, tell you why it ain’t so good fer ya.

Fuck you.  No really.  Fuck you.

I am really grateful for who I was

but I am glad I am not her anymore.  She is often like an old friend I only spoke to infrequently:

I say goodbye, wishing her well but secretly thankful she’s moving on and away.  I have nothing to say anymore and when I do I’m awkward and stilted.   I didn’t get to know her well as I should have.  In all likelihood there’s much she could have taught me but I tried my best to appreciate her creativity and move past her blustery self insistence.

Buying her ticket at the station is an unexpectedly joyous moment.   She’s dressed in a lovely hat and gloves and appreciates the flourish at her departure.

She waves enthusiastically as the train pulls out.

She reminds me she’s had fun.

Adults piss me off

So every year the bookstore at the U of Montana does a run of Griz football trading cards.  Each player on the team with little bios on the back for the kids to collect.  They’re free and we usually put them out on ‘Griz for Kids’ day which is a simultaneous toy drive, sale and a meet and greet with the players.

Yay, right?

Not so much.  So many grumpy mutherfuckers rolled through the store today all “you got them thar football cards yet?  Whur are they?” as they jostled other people, other children and blocked the cashiers, preventing paying customers from well…paying.

They were hunting for the two most popular players at the moment: Chase Reynolds and Marc Mariani.  Well.  About 2:30 and several vile adults and a couple of bummed out children later I went through the ENTIRE BAG that we had left.  I picked out every Mariani and Reynolds card I could find and put them in my front pocket.

I meted them out as I saw fit and some kids eyes just about popped out of his head when one magically appeared in his stack o cards.

Was it control freaky?  Possibly, but it chaps my ass that the only reason most adults have any desire for these cards is on the off chance they get drafted into the NFL on the off chance they get famous, then they can pull out this stupid card and parade around like a dickface or sell the thing on ebay.

The reason the kids want it is because they think these guys are cool. That’s it. The value isn’t monetary.  They’re priceless to these little dudes and dudettes.

I felt like some anonymous football santy-clause.

So yeah, if you’re reading this and recognize yourself as one of those pushy 45 year olds with beer breath…I did have some of those cards you dickheads!  I had them the whole time!

Get off mai lawn!

Picture it:

Scene opens:  Over exposed white clouds, gold and green tint float through sky. Camera backs away to reveal this:

“Growing older is not an excuse”

Camera pulls all the way back revealing the expanse of the sky and

“FOR GROWING UP”

Music swells, camera continues to pull back, audience dies of acute sentimental nonsensery caused by blunt helveticism to the head.

Can’t even cope anymore my babies.  I just cannot.  I’ve unfollowed everyone who posts even one of them. I seriously can not do it.  Anymore.  My limit.  Has been reached.

I smell burning

My nose has always been excruciatingly, distractingly sensitive.  I assume it’s genetic because I spent a good lot of my childhood watching my father traipse around the house smelling stuff.  It was just what he did.

*sniff..sniff* *sniff sniff*

“you guys smell that?”

*sniff sniff*

“what?  smell what?  I don’t smell anything.”

“THAT!  GOD!  You guys can’t smell that? It’s electrical-y but kind of sweet.  OH COME ON!!  You can’t smell that?!”

*sniff sniff*

We’d just stare at him blank faced as he’d proceed, Bloodhound style, to sniff around the entire house, devoted to unearthing the source of the smell and simultaneously aggravating the loving shit out of my poor mother who insisted, ad naseum…NO WE DO NOT SMELL IT.

More often than not he’d catch a blown fuse or a shorted wire  Or a car burning oil 2 blocks down.  It was ridiculous.   It’s kind of like Meg, and her fingernail growing superpower…handy.  Maybe.  In a way.

I’ve inherited this super special awesomeness and it made me especially effective in the wine industry, where I’d sniff out autumnal clove and kaffir lime leaves buried in the nose of some odd Spanish varietal.  It sounded pompous of course, but I swear they were there.  Thing is, it’s only gotten more intense since I’ve quit smoking.  I cannot stop smelling things. Do you know how much everything smells?  All the time?  I’ve had to tape plastic wrap over most of the vents in the house because it gets so bad that the smell of someone toasting bread 4 apartments away will actually wake me up at night.

I often smell burning.  No, it’s not a stroke thing.  It’s actual burning but it takes a while to determine whether it’s organic or chemical, dry or wet heat, rancid or acrid, outside or inside.  From father to child…the curse has been passed on!!

*sniff sniff*

*crazy eyes*

*sniff sniff*

“You can’t smell that?  Seriously?  THAT?!”

I feel for poor little Ralph Wiggum.  I smell burning too little dude. I smell it too.

As a final middle finger from the universe
are you done yet? No really? Are you?
things I miss about canada
@gamesocks
i actually have to stop reading it now
I just happened to notice the crap book thread....
I am really grateful for who I was
Adults piss me off
Picture it:
I smell burning

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