Come again another day I don't want to be tired. I don't want to be tired so I can get around to doing thousands of good little things that unexpectedly, on some rainy dark and dismal day, add up to a pleasant turn of events. I think I'm well into the hundreds. The clouds are ominous looking though. I'm ignoring them. I'm trying to enjoy the little dramas instead. I'm afraid the guy my friend likes is in fact the drug addicted junior salafi he introduced to us. I wonder if this is how my friends felt when I dated all those 'keepers'. I understand the meddling now. I'm not meddling--but I understand. I'm not saying I'm some saint that knows better--it's easy with K. She's a tough cookie. Edible and intimidating :) God, what was I? Well, suicidal--for one thing. I suppose that makes the line between meddling and intervention a lot thinner. Okay, tiny paper thin line--practically negligible. I thank you all for the meddling, loved ones with whom I no longer speak. Don't get me wrong--the good things aren't for girl scout points. They aren't repentance. It's not even about rainy day insurance really. I just want to hope for the pleasant turn of events. (Note, not 'need' to-- I constantly remind myself of statistical probabilities and 'monsoon until you die' forecasts.) Ugh. I hate doing that, I hate saying 'by the way, I am capable of basic logic'. I don't think men do that. Not the straight ones anyway. More sweeping generalizations-- But I mean, they don't have to prove they're capable of being rational when they make blanket statements or say anything slightly fanciful. They're men-- they're just being romantic. They're just being visionaries. We're silly uterus toting ducks/lambs/bunnies. I'm not mad at them. It's not their fault, not entirely. It's not even because of misogynists or some fear barrier or ignorant Y chromosome carriers anymore. It's because we're smushing our tits together when we want to sell a song. Tit smushing and genital wiggling. On camera. To the world. And it's not even porn. It's that soft core mind fuck. And then after that, we go on interviews and talk about how girls should grow into confident women who make lots of money. *wiggle, wiggle, vagina flashing, wiggle wiggle, boob grabbing, wiggle wiggle* --confidence. And it's because we do high pitched giggles and say we're PMSing and hormonal. It's because we think being strong is acting like a man or thinking like a man. And I'm not talking about Laurie Anderson-- she got androgyny. Androgyny= alien. Cross-dressing because you think guys might find it a turn on is not alien. No, not Laurie. I AM talking about that horrible Harvey book that got turned into a movie. I think I'll tweak the nose of the next guy who wants to share his thoughts on women with me. Nurturing women. Dishonest, playful women. Women that need saving. Women who are just little girls. Angry women. Crazy sexy women. I tried to do it back once, I felt stupid. You slightly homicidal sexy macho men. Whipped men. Boyish men. They take offense really fast. To be fair, they haven't been dealing with it since puberty. Little distractions. Gender stereotypes. And crochet. Rain, rain go away. |