“I know! It’s been so long since I’ve gone shopping and that’s totally a girl thing for us to do.”
Girls have annoyed me greatly this week. All week. I’ve been getting along great with plenty of people, male and female both, but the girls are driving me nuts. I think poor Don’s heard me his for hours about “Brain-dead Barbies” and “Idiot washed-up Cheerleader” types enough that strangling me is utterly within the bounds of fair.
For the record, I sit across from people when we’re meeting so that a) I can see their face while we talk and b) I’m effectively ambidextrous, but I do favor my left, and that leads to awkward arm bumping unless I’m paying attention when we sit down if we’re doing it side-by-side. My preferences are logical, not based on a sense of competition, or lack of desire for cooperative work. I do not have male mannerisms. Pay attention for a second Bubbles, blind people wouldn’t mistake me for a boy, so maybe you ought to re-think your cutesie diagrams. Oh, and using your feelings as a means of preemptively guilt tripping the class into staying awake while you spout your fountain of bullshit insults me. I’d rather not be professionally associated with people who bring their feelings into the work place, thanks. Going to work to get warm fuzzies went out when we dumped the “MRS” for an actual degree. Now days females go to work with the revolutionary goal of…working. Or supporting themselves. Or, you know, to avoid a fate as one of vapid-yet-decorative collective.
I’m more likely to sit next to you when when I am feeling aggressive, though. It’s so much harder to smack you with a table between us.
Yeah, had my first grumpy day at work this week. Mentioned it to my TL today. She was surprised, then took down which class and the description of the instructor since, in typical Anaea fashion, I’d forgotten her name. My TL, by the way, rocks. There was discussion of merits of pie and movie evenings as opposed to raucous bar-filled evenings.
The long post-poned feminism rant will have to come this weekend when I’m going to be able to rant coherently. Oh the hate. Hate. Hate.
And now my metaphors have mixed and I’m seeing the Barbie-Borg. She’s going to style my hair and give me a telescopic eye with perfectly done eye-liner. Static frizz must be eliminated, resistance is futile. Excuse me while I cower in the corner.