The moment I realized I was a hypocrite

I make it very obvious I'm feminist. It is no secret because I feel it is very simply. Women deserve equality and respect. What's so hard to comprehend? I'll tell you what, not shit. Yet I see it every day. The victim blaming, the body shaming, the general inequality of everyday life.

I walk around criticizing people for making women feel bad about their choices. I preach from the rooftops that girls should wear whatever they want to. Don't pull back on what you want to do because boys won't stop staring at your fine ass in those tight pants (where is that a woman's fault anyways ammiright?). Its so obvious. You can't wear spaghetti straps to school because its inappropriate? You can wear yoga pants to school unless your ass is completely covered?! We are obviously living in a warped world because this can't be real. Young girls can't wear certain things to school, that will make them comfortable both in their mind and actual comfort, because young boys have hormones and might get distracted? Why don't we just hold seminars to teach boys that it's not okay to objectify women and stare at them and distract yourself because GOD DAMN THOSE SHOULDERS LOOK FINE! It's not okay.

Which is why I stopped dead in my tracks today when I realized I was doing it. I come from a strict family, I grew up a certain way. Which is why its still shocking, even to myself, that I am this feminist, girl power, gay rights advocate power woman today. I wasn't ever allowed to wear short skirts and shorts and stuff like that and it didnt really bother me because I didn't want to. Im to pale and have bird legs to feel confident in those clothes. Then it started to interfere with things I liked wearing. They dont like me to wear leggings as pants (They obviously havent tried it) which is something I really like to do because they're fast, easy and comfortable. So I started to not wear them, even if I wanted to, because there was such this negative connotation behind them that was not the wearers fault, but the viewers fault. It wasn't until today when a specific incident happened and my dad told me her didnt want to see me in a particular piece of clothing ever again. Now, in my defense, I don't remember ever wearing this piece of clothing, and if I did it would definitely not be something I wore frequently. I mean realistically, a sheer top would make me look like an eleven year old boy soccer player in a mesh warm up. But I agreed and I was like yeah why would I wear a sheer top with no tank top? Not my style. And I sat in my room and I thought to myself, what if I did wear that shirt on purpose? What's so wrong? What if I was feeling confident and good about myself. I wouldn't be asking to be looked at and objectified. I just want to wear something and feel confident, because I dont very often these days, and now I would be made out to be the bad guy when in reality I was feelin fly as shit for once.

Women are not yours to objectify. I don't want a list of things I can wear, and if I do wear them it means I have no self-respect or decency. Quit interfering with women's lives and making it complicated for them just so that your day is a little easier and less distracting. We're born with these boomin curves and parts and there's nothing we can do to change it and if it's distracting to you well then honey DON'T LOOK. Cause my ass loves leggings as pants, outerwear, swimwear, formal wear and any other occasion.

Washington D.C

My cousin talks loud and fast. That is the only way he knows how to talk. The way he speaks greatly resembles Bam Margera's uncle Don Vito. It all makes sense to him in his head and he tries to tell you but gets to excited and the words all come out at the same time in a huge pile of unrecognizable words. 

That is what woke me up at 9:00 this morning. Why? Because he just got back from his eighth grade class trip to Washington D.C. I woke up to the words "Do you know what a selfie is?" he took 874 selfies in Washington D.C. When I went to washington D.C I got to take 2 disposable cameras. I literally had to plan out the perfect 48 pictures or else I was screwed out on memories. So While I was planning out the perfect pictures of what may or may not be blood from President Lincolns head Michael took 48 pictures of a black Tahoe because there were FBI personnel near it and he was fairly confident Barack Obama was inside of it. He also took a picture of a black squirrel because he thought his sister would like it (she watches a lot of B.E.T).

He also was allotted a hefty budget. I only know this because he came into my room this morning wearing all of the swag he bought. He was also eating a giant bag of M&M's and a beef stick. 

When I went to D.C I spent all my money on food and any tangible item that had the letters "D.C" on it. Michael on the other hand spent his money on things he would be confident would break and he would hate in 4-5 days. also a life size rebel flag for some unknown reason. He wears it as a cape. A giant hillbilly racist cape. I can confidently tell you all that probably 90% of the money he went there with went into a claw machine. He got a visor with eyes and furry balls that hang off the ears. That is currently wearing over a monster energy flat bill hat. He said he for sure spent fifteen dollars in one sitting at a claw machine trying to win something stupid that costs ten cents to make I'm sure. After he gave up he said "A little midget girl put a dollar in and won it right away and that just made me mad"

This has been all he talked about for the past 16 hours. Also the beef stick is still sitting on my white comforter because he scared the shit out of himself with those stupid inside out popper toys. Which he bought three of in D.C.  

 

My job

I've hated any kind of work for as long as I can remember. I am not being dramatic I'm serious. I consciously chose an ass whooping rather than pick up all my toys when I was two and a half. So my mom dished out an ass smack and in return she picked up my toys while I got to sit by and watch.

And it was in that moment that I realized how much I actually hate doing stuff. Any kind of stuff. But that's okay because I don't have to. If I want to sit in my room and watch netflix until my mattress has my body imprinted into it then I'll do it. But there is a problem

I have a job. Not just any job. A waitressing job. I am one of the most bitter unloving people I have ever come across yet I chose a job where I deal with the worst kind of people for 30 hours a week.

In the absence of a "Please seat yourself" sign DO NOT seat yourself. This is not an arbys, you may not just choose whatever seat that best accentuates your chain wallet. That's my job. That's what I get paid 3.95 an hour for.

I chose a job where I constantly have to repeat myself 600 times a day. "Do you have mai-tai's?" Well, lady, according to the drink you have already looked at, NO. Beer and Wine only, I say out loud to her. As her friend next to her says she'll have a strawberry margarita. Nope, no you will not. Because as I have clearly stated two and a half seconds ago BEER AND WINE ONLY.

NO YOU HYPERACTIVE SIX YEAR OLD WE DO NOT HAVE DUCK SAUCE QUIT YELLIN ABOUT HOW YOUR GOING TO EAT BROCCOLI AND DUCK SAUCE.

NO WE DO NOT HAVE FREE TABLE BREAD GO TO LONGHORN. OR PUT A LOAF OF BREAD IN YOUR PURSE FOR YOUR KID WHO KEEPS TRYING TO ORDER PIZZA AT A HIBACHI GRILL.

My favorite so far, and I still have found a way to hate it. Is netflix a job because I watch so much House M.D on netflix that I think I am capable of achieving a medical degree without any proper training. It's probably not true but I feel like a walking in person version of web MD.

So who knows I'll probably be in diagnostic medicine soon.

The time I went to the vet.

I have felt a significant bond to cats ever since I understood that they also do not like people that much and can do whatever they want, which is to sleep all day. I immediately understood that these were my people, and I should run with them, but alas my mom would not let me be raised by cats because they clean themselves with their own tongue which my mom deems unsanitary. So anything I do that involves me upsetting a cat causes me inner turmoil. Which brings us to my trip to the vet with my grandmas cat. When I signed up for this I knew it was not going to be easy, but I did not think it would be that hard. It took me 15 minutes, a lot of sweat, a lot of treats, and a handful of cat food to get her into the cage. I also had to shove her a little, which caused me to freak out and almost leave.

Now that I have sweated through my hoodie and my hair is frizzing out it was time to get in the car. Which I knew would be the hardest part. She did fine the first half of the way and then things started to go downhill. She started yelling like MOWOWOWOW and I was like "Its okay, Its gunna be okay, were almost there" which I realized I was saying for my own benefit and not hers. It was a short 10 minute car ride that resulted in tears shed from both parties. And also I was still sweating. I think she more yelling like "Lady you need to calm down its only a car ride I got my leg ran over by a lawnmower once, youre fine"

So we get to the vet and I walk in looking like I just ran here from northern Africa who also got hit by a golf cart and decide to sit on the floor with my face directly in front of her cage as I receive quizzical looks from everyone and she just lays there and I talk to her in my nice high pitched voice about everything going on. I think she wanted me to shut up so she could sleep.

They finally call our names. We put the cage on the table and un hinge Clementine to her freedom, but she refuses to get out of the cage.

So we let her stay in there while I answer questions in a rabid manner while still sweating because I want to get out of here and back in the safety of my grandmas living quarters. All while Clementine is relaxing because apparently she is not as worked up as I am.

Finally the nurse leaves and we have to wait for the doctor. Clementine comes out on her own eventually because she is very lovey and sensed that I wanted to pet her and tell her everything awesome and okay because we were going home soon

Dont mind me. Like I said, this was not my finest moment. But Clementine seemed happy getting lovins and stuff so I started to calm down. And then the doctor came in.

She tried to hide in my hood, but her efforts were futile becase we were both found. Then the doctors started touching her and stuff which she seemed to start liking because she loves to petted and touched, but I started sweating again because I dont want her to get hurt. Which she wasnt getting her and my brain didnt understand it. But they had to give her a steroid shot, which I did not handle well because shots make me blackout and enraged, like the hulk but with more tears. Clementine didnt even flinch for the shot, but I almost threw up and passed out.

So after that she demanded to petted again and then sauntered back into her cage and sat down all perfect and stuff. At that point I was frisbeeing my credit card at the front desk and trying to get out of there as fast I could before they had to mop up both my sweat and vomit. They were trying to tell me more stuff and im like just throw it in the bag!! all while not taking my eyes off the cat on the chair to my right.

When we got home she trotted out and started running and eating and playing and I was like calm down Clementine Ive had a very traumatic morning. 5 and a half hours and $167, Im still freaking out about it.

Except I do have to go back again. On Christmas Eve, at 8:45 in the morning. 

Merry Freaking Christmas to me. 

I will be needing back up this time.