To the Honourable Lawmaker and Regulator of Office-Appropriate Food and Beverage Choices and Actions, Esquire.
We, the Union of Diligent Office Workers with Normal, Socially Acceptable Behaviour Patterns, send you this petition to ban the following from offices worldwide:
- Chewing gum at any audible level other than DEAD SILENT
- Regaling co-workers with details of the ~cRaZy~ dream you had last night
- Interrupting people by waving your hand in their face while they have headphones on
- Leaving pee on the toilet seat (Note: Joint proposal, in collaboration with Petition #852C5 – “Petition for Things to Be Banned Everywhere, You Savages”)
- Eating any of the following foods outside of a common area intended for food consumption: Fish, apples, carrots, celery, kettle chips, hard boiled eggs, et al.
- Taking personal phone calls in your open-concept office and whispering at that annoying level where we can hear every other word of your stupidity
- Talking about your family/boyfriend/girlfriend/best friend drama to anybody, at any time
- Adding people on an email trail who don’t need to be on the email trail
- Removing people on an email trail who need to be on the email trail
- Eating food from the fridge that you did not put in the fridge
- Complaining constantly about how busy you are because HI, EVERYONE HAS THINGS TO DO. WE ARE AT WORK. THAT IS WHAT WORK IS. ACCUMULATING THINGS TO DO AND THEN FIGURING OUT HOW TO DO THE THINGS IN EXCHANGE FOR LEGAL TENDER.
Easily Irritated Union Representative
Happy New Year.
I’d like to add another resolution to your 2013 self-improvement plan. Ready for it? No more slut-shaming!
Some of you may read this and automatically think: “But wait…. why? Sluts are bad, aren’t they? And shameful! SHAME THEM! SLUTS!!!” And if you did, sit the entire fuck down and let’s have a chat about that. For those of you who thought: “Oh, I don’t slut-shame. I just think it’s REALLY bad when girls, like, just have all this sex with dudes that aren’t even their boyfriends, y’know?” You also need to sit down, right beside that other asshole.
Just to make it clear: slut-shaming is the act of making someone – usually a woman – feel guilty and/or inferior for engaging in sexual behaviour that violates traditional gender expectations. For women, that usually means those who became sexually active at an early age, those who have had multiple partners and those who engage in casual sex. Okay?
Besides the fact that judging other people instead of worrying about yourself makes you a useless asshole who contributes literally nothing to society, here are the two main reasons why slut-shaming is bad:
- It populates victim blaming, which is one of the stupidest fucking concepts that has ever plagued us humans. Victim blaming is exactly what it sounds like: blaming the victim of sexual abuse instead of THE PERSON WHO SEXUALLY ABUSED THEM. It means accusing them of doing something, saying something or wearing something that somehow invited their attacker to come abuse them, thus making it their fault. Let’s make it as clear as possible here: not wearing a short skirt and not having that sixth shot of tequila is not what needs to happen for a woman to avoid being raped. What needs to happen for a woman to avoid being raped is for MEN TO STOP RAPING WOMEN.
- It prevents unity between women, which makes us weaker in a society that is out to divide and conquer. We are constantly being conditioned to fear and judge the sexuality of other women which achieves two very detrimental things: it makes us jealous and competitive towards our fellow women and fuels our own personal insecurity, making us far more susceptible to this type of shit and therefore easier to control.
And just because I want to make it as EASY AS POSSIBLE for you to be a better fucking human being this year, here are some fun and easy ways for you to stop slut-shaming in 2013:
- Do you personally know the woman you’re calling a slut? Is she putting herself in danger? Do you think she may possibly need help? Maybe try talking to her about it. Y’know… like a friend, instead of a passive-aggressive asshole.
- Do you NOT personally know the woman you’re calling a slut? Maybe try shutting up. Everyone has a story. You don’t know hers. She doesn’t know yours. Respect that fact. Go read a book instead.
- Think about your own relationship with sex and intimacy. What does slut-shaming reflect about your own insecurities, your own self-worth, your own experience? Make a pie chart. Followed by a real pie, as a reward for analyzing yourself instead of others.
- Stop using the word slut. Reconsider how you let society effortlessly control you through language. Focus on words that are fucking awesome like “ominous” or “crescendo” or “fuck” instead of words that reinforce this toxic, subtle and stubborn attack against an entire gender.
My friends. I hope you will join us in this crusade and I would love to hear your thoughts.
Here’s to a 2013 free of slut-shame.
- Do people still own waterbeds?
- Did I put my mozzarella ball back in the fridge?
- I should teach myself HTML.
- Who was the first chick to ever get a pap? Imagine being that chick. JUST IMAGINE.
- What kind of person would I be if the Internet was never invented? More well-read? Less funny? FUNNIER?! Longer attention span? Sheltered? Would I have a better memory? Flawless cursive?
- Fuck, tampons are really expensive. Dudes don’t get that. They just don’t get it.
- What did Beyonce and Jay-Z do on their first date?
- I’m 80% sure I didn’t put that mozzarella back.
- What’s the backstory behind applause?
- Should I get bangs? It’s probably too humid for bangs. But I see girls with bangs. How do they do it?
- Why do people tweet pictures of their brunch so fucking much? WOOOO. EGGS. AWESOME.
- I should tweet that.
- Kevin Hart’s standup comedy.
- GOD DAMMIT IT IS HOT AS A BITCH
Yours in sweaty insomnia,
Let us count all the things that are fucked up about this:
- This little twat was born in 1997. NINETEEN NINETY SEVEN. Take a second to remember what you were doing in 1997. Yeah. He was an infant.
- His “love interest” looks at least two years older than him. Probably because if they had casted a girl who looked as young as he does WE WOULD ALL BE IN JAIL FOR WATCHING THIS.
- Flo-Rida what the fuck are you doing on this track? For real. Yeah, let’s put the biggest meathead ignorant rapper we can find on a song with this petite blonde Australian child. Don’t even get me started about the verse itself. You talentless rapping asshole.
- Obviously he’s being rampantly compared to the Biebs. You know what would maybe help? Not having totally the same haircut. Just a thought. SIDENOTE: Do y’all know how much the Biebs pays per bowl-cut? It’s actually disgusting.
The most fucked up part about this whole thing is that I actually answered a question from someone at work the other day by saying: “iYiYiYiY”
I hate myself.
I wish I could laugh in the face of any woman who had insecurities about her relationship prior to Facebook and Blackberries. Because really…what the fuck did you have to worry about? Your man accidentally dialing the wrong number on your rotary phone and then magically falling in love with the woman on the other end? When he left the house, that was it. Sure he could have been doing whatever with whoever but how would you know? Your hairdresser’s sister who moonlighted at the local dinner theatre had to see them rushing out the back door trying to hide their faces and then bring it up the next time all three of you happened to be having a book club meeting. Try literally having a NEWS FEED that details every interaction he has with a living vagina right there in front of you. Or logging on only to discover that he hasn’t logged OUT, giving you full access to hidden photo albums and private inbox conversations, even though you’re the crazy one for snooping in the first place (right??). Ever sent a message on BBM and seen that little ‘R’ just staring back at you, unanswered BUT READ, for what seems like eight hours but is really only forty minutes? Didn’t think so, bitch.
Truth is – you are crazy.
Crazy as shit.
We all are.
The same beautiful spectrum of intricate emotions that make us the nurturing, compassionate and intuitive givers of life plays a secondary role, also making us unstable and irrational time bombs. Yeah….thanks, God.
Men will never understand what this feels like. They will never be able to fathom the savage and ruthless coup that your hormones stage on your common sense and confidence at least once every 28 days. Men do not have the capability to understand this because they don’t ever have to experience it. So don’t let them call you crazy and make you feel bad.
Let me do that.
You’re fucking crazy.
But as we just established – WE ALL ARE. We have biology (among other things…sexism, mass media…I’m looking at you, but that is another post) to thank for this. But you’re not off the hook, bitch. Because you’re an adult now and adults are supposed to have a better understanding of themselves than what you demonstrate by letting these thoughts get the best of you. What I’m saying is…if you take the time, slow down, breathe, and make a conscious note that this insecure, self-loathing, wildly creative yet terribly unhealthy broad that has hijacked your brain is not actually you – I promise, you will feel more powerful than you ever have in your life. Because your emotions are not you. Your actions are.
Your imagination is no substitute for reality. All truth comes to light.
So log out of Facebook.
Put your Blackberry away.
Start a blog and write until your mind has caught up with the rest of your train-wreck self.
And chill. the. fuck. out.
We get it, Willow Smith, you are the spawn of two retardedly good looking, talented and famous people which not only makes you rich it makes you genetically predisposed to be infinitely cooler at 9 years old that I ever will be in my whole fucking life. WE GET IT.
We get it, cute guy on the subway. You’re cute. You and your adorable loafers, scarf and jacket, which make me assume you’re either a witty copywriter at a hip ad agency like some modern day Don Draper minus the penchant for misogyny or you’re a documentary filmmaker on your way to a brainstorming session with other cute boys in loafers – EITHER way – you had eye sex with me. Don’t think I didn’t notice. For five subway stops we made love with our retinas and then you suddenly get off at the next stop and walk away like nothing happened? Do you think because you’re cute, you can get away with this? Because WE GET IT. You’re alarmingly cute.
We get it, everyone from high school on Facebook. You’re getting married. Congrats on finding a reasonably priced photographer to take horribly cheesy and awkward engagement photos that involve turtlenecks and a forced intimacy that will be the epitome of your 8-9 year marriage. And thanks for choosing the picture of you two tenderly kissing and grasping hands in a way that conveniently shows off your underwhelming engagement ring as your profile picture. You’ve found someone that wants to sleep with you for a sustained period of time and put up with your bullshit and debilitating insecurity, WE GET IT.
We're not pointing at the stars. Because it's daylight. WE'RE POINTING TO OUR FUTURE.
We get it, skinny bitch. You’re skinny, so you can wear leggings as pants and almost get away with it because you don’t need to find a tunic that is long enough to cover your rotund and omnipresent ass. Then you can go get poutine for lunch and giggle while melted cheese hangs from your lower lip and still manage to somehow look pretty in the process. You know how badly I want poutine for lunch? DO YOU EVEN KNOW. HOW BADLY. I WANT. But for some reason the Gods blessed you with the metabolism of teenage boy, so you can eat poutine for lunch to your heart’s content because you’re just always skinny. WE GET IT.
1) Not being able to gain weight.
It’s one thing to bitch and whine with your gym buddies about how you just can’t gain those last 15lbs of muscle and how your new protein shakes are making you have to poop. But when a woman says: “I want to lose 10lbs” it is never – I repeat NEVER – okay to retort with: “Aw man, I wish I could gain 10lbs in a few weeks….you’re lucky.”
2) Having a stomach ache.
Oh poor baby. Your tummy hurts? Well no shit. Your last six meals consisted of nothing but various forms of steak. Maybe you should try eating a fucking vegetable every once in a while. You know what really hurts? CRAMPS. Holler at me when you have a hernia.
3) Their feet hurting.
Until you spend 6 hours awkwardly trying to balance yourself/walk/god forbid DANCE in these:
Your feet will never truly hurt. So loosen up the laces on your Nikes, or stop wearing thong sandals because guys don’t look good in thong sandals, or suck it up for one night out in actual dress shoes that may be a wee bit more constricting than your usual ratty sneakers and STFU.
(PS – I really like these, actually.)
4) Having a bad hair day.
Seriously? YOU HAVE A BUZZ CUT.
I have to deal with this:
At least it smells nice.
And that’s my real hair. God forbid I were to get extensions or a weave. You think you’re having a bad hair day because you ran out of AXE hair gel? SOME WOMEN (Britney Spears) ARE FARMING ALIEN BABIES IN THEIR HAIR:
Really though, I’m just ranting for the sake of blog material. I love you boys.
But suck it up.
A bill has been finalized in Louisiana that requires women seeking abortions to get ultrasounds (even ones who have been a victim of rape or incest), in what Jezebel is (rightly) calling “a sneaky move by pro-lifers to influence women out of guilt to change their minds about a perfectly legal decision.”
Currently eight states require that abortion providers offer ultrasound information but three of them have mandated that the ultrasound is carried out, and require the provider to offer the woman the opportunity to view the image.
Now this Louisiana State Senator broad, Sharon Broome, is talking about it being an “empowering” bill for women. Broome, mind you, originally wanted the bill to require medical providers to discuss the fetus’s development in detail and give the woman a photograph.
So what happens after these guilt trips have worked and these women bring their baby to full term? Well…that’s kind of where this whole “empowerment” thing stops:
Of course, they haven’t introduced any legislation to promote comprehensive sex education, nor backed expanded contraceptive funding for poor women, nor gone to town for expanded child care credits and subsidies to help the women who choose to have children but need to work. Once you get that baby birthed, sister, you’re on your own — just as God intended you to be when He punished you with the pregnancy in the first place. (Fundamentalists trying to guilt women out of abortions – Jezebel)
Right now it’s -24 degrees. There’s a lot to hate about that. The pandemonium that it causes on the roads, the way it makes my face hurt when I’m only outside for 2 minutes letting my dog pee, the disgusting sinus colds it infects the general population with….etc. Pretty typical stuff. But there’s a few other things that I desperately hate about winter:
- I hate the fact that you can see people’s breath. Especially when I’m walking behind them and have no choice but to walk right through it. As far as I’m concerned, we could have just made out. I just inhaled your essence. I could see it! And yes, I’m fully aware that even when you can’t see people’s breath you’re still walking through it.
- There is no winter jacket that can keep you warm in -30 and still make you look cute. The only way to truly stay warm is to dress like you’re an obese homeless man.
- It’s dark by 4:30pm. That’s a pretty typical thing to hate about winter but I hate it because it gives me about 5 extra hours to trip over things.
- Chucks are not Arctic-appropriate footwear.
- Why won’t winter just let my skin be great?
But seriously. Fuck winter.
The good news is that it’s supposed to be +3 degrees here on Wednesday, so be prepared to see me dancing down the street like this.
It's Emmitt, Bitches!