trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Men,

Like many women, I work a job in which customer service is integral. Specifically, I’m a barista at a coffee shop, but the details aren’t important for the purposes of this letter. I could work in a restaurant or in a grocery store or on an airplane, and everything I’m about to say would still be relevant, so take note:

Don’t tell me I look nice. Don’t tell me I have a great smile. I’m not at work looking for compliments. I’m not at work looking for your attention. I’m interacting with you because you’re a customer. I don’t need you to tell me I have a nice smile. I’ve seen pictures of myself. I know I have a nice smile. I’m smiling at you because you’re a customer. Smiling at you is my job. I don’t need you to say anything about it. I just need you to tell me what you want to buy from me. That’s also my job.

If I were guy, you wouldn’t say anything about it. If I were a guy, it wouldn’t even occur to you to say anything about it. But if I were a guy, I would still be smiling at you, because smiling at you and pretending you’re not creepy as hell would still be my job.

On a related note, I’m not your “darling” or your “sweetheart”. I’m the person handing you your overpriced latte. No, it isn’t cute or endearing or nice when you call me that. It’s patronizing. If I were a guy, you’d call me “sir” or nothing. I’m not asking you to call me “ma’am”. I’m fine with nothing. I’m not fine with terms of endearment you haven’t earned the right to call me.

I don’t need you to validate me with unnecessary compliments on my personal appearance and inappropriate pet names just because you’re a man and I’m a woman. I actually know exactly where I fall on the scale of attractiveness. I know which of my features are working for me and which aren’t. I don’t want your stamp of approval, and I certainly don’t need it. I didn’t have braces for eighteen months for you. I had braces because crooked teeth bother me. I didn’t do my hair this morning for you. I did my hair this morning because I felt like it. I don’t know you. I don’t care what you think.

So please, stop with the creepy compliments to female cashiers. Stop with the “darling”s and the “sweetheart”s to your waitresses. We don’t want it. We’re just doing our jobs. We’re just hoping that if we grin and bear your patronizing creeper act, you’ll remember to tip. Stop being arrogant enough to assume it’s because you’re validating us. You’re not. Not even a little.

Thank you. Have a nice day. Now take your patronizing, arrogant, creepy bullshit, and shove it up your ass. Who knows, those smiles you apparently like so much might even become genuine once you do.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Look, Professor of my Fantasy Lit class,

If I think your questions about Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - a book that is not only my favorite in the Harry Potter series, but also one of my Top 5 Favorite Books of All Time, and is probably my second most reread book, outstripped only by The Horse and His Boy (which I once read over a dozen times in a year) - if I think your questions about it are too hard, THEY ARE TOO HARD!

- Collect as much information as you can on hippogriffs and write a summary of their representation in classic literature.
- What is the importance of names of people in Harry Potter. What do they signify? Make a list of names and meanings.
- Make a list of all the magical objects/creature(s) found and what they do.

To clarify: this is a lower division, general education course. These questions are in lieu of the daily quizzes this kind of course usually has to ensure students are reading. A quiz would not require outside research! Even fifteen-year-old me would be pissed off by these questions, and fifteen-year-old me lived and breathed Harry Potter.

Thank god for mugglenet and the lexicon (and thank god fifteen-year-old me was a Harry Potter nerd so that I know about mugglenet and the lexicon), that's all I'm saying.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Look, Olympic commentators, the athletes at the Olympics are the best in the world! They are not incredible "for seventeen", they are incredible PERIOD! Age is irrelevant, so shut up about it already!
trinsy: (bovvered)
The most depressing part of all the friend drama I've had to deal with in college is knowing it doesn't get any less stupid the older you get. If anything, it only gets worse. Forget high school, elementary school never ends!
trinsy: (I can see that)
You know, I always kind of forget how much I loathe the third Harry Potter film. Now I wish I'd just kept watching S1 of Gossip Girl. New low.

Speaking of which, Season 1 of Gossip Girl is so good. Jenny looks all natural and cute, Eric has a bigger role, and Chuck and Nate are all over each other. It's beautiful. I miss the epic Chuck/Nate bromance. :(
trinsy: (I can see that)
Dear Muse,

While I appreciate you showing up again after your six month sabbatical, it actually would have been nice if you'd waited until after midterms to come back.

I really don't have time to focus on character development and sibling dynamics, much as I wish I did. I have seven papers and two midterms to write, plzkthnxbye. Yes, I kind of want to kill myself, but you are not helping!

Love and frustration,
trinsy: (don't be so daft)
Dear Professors,

If I can say it in fifteen words, why do you insist I use fifty? You're only making me sound longwinded and giving yourself more to read.

Please consider this.
trinsy: (don't be so daft)
You know, sometimes I feel like my entire life is just listening to people bitch about their lives and giving them advice they don't listen to, which is exactly why I don't want to be a psychologist.

But then I realized today that I'm a moron, because if that's my life anyway, wouldn't it be better if I were at least getting paid for it?
trinsy: (bovvered)
Argh, I am so fucking frustrated right now!

See, I have to write this research paper on Jane Eyre. Which is fine, whatever, because there are actually a ton of resources on Jane Eyre, except none of them are about what I want to write about and I don't actually agree with any of them. Because I really don't care what a bunch of academics say, Jane Eyre isn't a feminist novel, it's a stupid story about stupid people being stupid about the stupid problems they have because they're stupid! That's how I feel, and no number of articles arguing otherwise is going to change my mind.

Okay, so Jane refuses to be Rochester's mistress. Bully for her. You know, he's only tried to trick her into bigamy because, to paraphrase, "I knew if I told you the truth, you wouldn't marry me, and I wanted to marry you because I love you so much, so I didn't tell you the truth, but now that it's come out accidentally, even though I tried to trick you into doing something I knew you wouldn't want to do, will you be my mistress anyway?" And then when she refuses, he physically assaults her. Yeah, I can't imagine why she runs away from him after that. </ sarcasm>

Having said that, when she does run away, she does it in the most idiotic way possible. Yeah, I get that she doesn't have time to contact her uncle or gather money or whatever, but at least take your jewelry to hock along the way. My god, woman, do you have any idea how to be fugitive? What the hell is your plan?

And then - and then - she finds these long lost cousins (and let's not even get into how convenient that is) and her guy cousin is a total controlling asshole, and she lets him control her. "Oh, I want to learn German but you want me to learn Hindustani even though that will be of absolutely no use to me in the life I've planned for myself? Guess I'll learn Hindustani then." Wow, what a strong, independent woman! </ sarcasm> And the only reason she doesn't give in to said asshole cousin's demand that she marry him and become a missionary with him (and in the proposal he not only insults her in every possible manner but attempts to emotionally blackmail her by telling her she'll be damned to hell if she doesn't do what he says)? Because she hears the voice of Rochester! That's right, she doesn't give in to one manipulative bastard because the hold of another is stronger! Hurrah for women being able to think for themselves! (And that's not even talking about how afterward she hopes her bastard cousin will forgive her, even though she has nothing to be forgiven for and he should be the one begging her for forgiveness!)

And then she goes back to Rochester and immediately starts back into referring to him, even in her head, as her "master", which is way creepy, and he's all, "Why did you run away? I know I said I would break you in half if you didn't comply with my demands, but I only said it because I'm so in love with you! Of course I would never hurt you (even though I totally did)! I was so worried about you! Why didn't you just trust me?!?!" Oh gee, I can't imagine! Maybe because you tried to trick her into bigamy? I mean, just possibly. Also, great, so in real life, Rochester is totally the guy who beats his wife and then cries about it and blames it on her. Awesome. Yeah, this one epic love story right here! </ sarcasm>

And you know what? I get it. I get that it's fiction, which means when Rochester says he's reformed, he probably has. But in real life, that doesn't happen. In real life, Rochester is so very much the guy you don't want to date. I can make that distinction, but a lot of people can't, and it disturbs me. It's what disturbs me about Twilight and The Notebook and a lot of other "Epic Love Stories" that in real life would be very bad news. And it's why I have a problem with Jane Eyre being held up as this paragon of feminism when in real life we'd probably be trying to get her into counseling for Battered Wife Syndrome ASAP.

But the most frustrating part is that I can't write any of that for my research paper because I can't find any research that fucking agrees with me! Because everyone thinks Jane Eyre is this amazing feminist declaration. And you know what? It isn't!
trinsy: (ha!)

I'm going to a FREE Jason Mraz concert in two weeks! School in San Diego for the fucking WIN!

And on a completely different note, fuck you and your new Safari, Apple! In what world would I ever want this? If I wanted to use Firefox, I would be using fucking Firefox! I hate myself for not thinking before I updated!
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Guys Across the Alley,

Die in a fire.

(Obviously please don't actually die in a fire, because I will feel terrible, but maybe use your guitars and bongo drums as kindling next time you have a beach bonfire or something? Also, dudes, you cannot sing! Please spare the world and give up now.

Also, any time after 11PM is NOT an appropriate time to play guitar and wailsing with your patio door/windows open, regardless of whether or not you possess any actual talent. Yes, I will continue to call Public Safety on you until you stop, and no, I don't care if you think I'm a bitch.)
trinsy: (physics)
My Day Thus Far:

- get up
- catch up with roommates
- go on a walk
- take shower
- eat breakfast
- start laundry
- go to chapel
- throw laundry in dryer
- do homework
- fold laundry
- remake bed
- clean room
- go to class
- go to library
- go to lunch

Things I Still Must Accomplish Before Bed:

- homework
- grading

Just to point out, everything before 'go to class' happened before noon. Because I'm awesome like that. Despite this, why does that list make it look like I've had a totally productive day, but I still feel like I've accomplished nothing? To wit:

My Remaining Homework for Tomorrow:

- read 50 pages in The God of Small Things
- read essay on Shakespeare's Richard III
- write two page paper summarizing essay
- read "The Clerk's Tale" from The Canterbury Tales
- read six chapters of Jane Eyre

Also, for the grading, not only are there forty-eight people in that class, it's apparently that magical time of year again when the professor I grade for decides that I no longer need to a key to assist me. Or rather, for an eleven question quiz, the "key" he provided me with consists of a mini post-it note that reads "#10 = heartache". Oh, okay then. And the answers for 1-9 and 11 I will magically know on my own. See, the problem is that he never gave me keys last year, and I still had them graded within a week and none of his students ever complained about their quiz grades, so he thinks it's fine. I mean, I never gave him any reason to think it actually was a problem for me not to have keys, so he doesn't see a need to give them to me. And now I've set myself up as too awesome to be able to go ask for them. In other words, it doesn't actually pay to be awesome at your job.

Right. Doing that huge pile of homework now.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear "James",

I am not going to go to graduate school for literature. In fact, I am probably not going to go to graduate school at all. I am therefore not interested in simulating it in the "microcosm" of your undergraduate course.

Also, I still don't want to call you by your first name. It's weird.

Please look into this,


In other news, I successfully solidified my standing as a total nerd in my Medieval class today by accidentally showing that yes, I get passionate about gender issues, but if you really want to get me excited, tie our reading back to Harry Potter. Apparently this will cause me to grin at you for five minutes like a very, very creepy moron. Er, sorry about that, classmates.

Also, I'm pretty sure my Women Writers professor is like, "WTF, what happened to you?" at me, because last semester I was super quiet in her class and when I did speak I was a total moron (I was, I never had a clue what was going on, I winged [wung?] that whole class), and now I'm all passionate and all, "Mr. Rochester is a jerk, and Jane needs to either go for it or get over it, and I don't feel bad for people with that much self-loathing, so there." I mean, I think she likes it, but I'm pretty sure she also thinks I must have changed dramatically over the summer. Which I didn't, really. I just actually care about her class now, that's all.
trinsy: (physics)
 You know, I'm really sick of all these blood bank commercials.


I'm sorry I'm selfish and hundreds of people will probably die because I'd rather be able to exercise for more than fifteen minutes without getting faint and dizzy and short of breath!  I get it, I'm a terrible person.  Now can we please, please stop with the guilt trips already?
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Guys Across the Alley,

I think it's awesome that you all like to hang out together. I think it's awesome that you're musically inclined. I think it's awesome that you all play instruments.

However, just because I think it's awesome, it doesn't mean I want to listen to you play and sing the same five songs over and over again for five and a half fucking hours! Especially when your apartment band includes a tambourine and cowbell but no people who can, you know, actually sing on key for any significant amount of time. I mean, I actually like Matt Nathanson's 'Come On Get Higher' and Jason Mraz's 'I'm Yours' and Lifehouse's 'You and Me' and Maroon 5's 'This Love' and The Killers' 'Mr. Brightside' ... when they're the ones singing. You guys singing those songs ... not so much.

Also, five and a half straight hours. That's like, sixty-six minutes per song. Seriously, this is what you guys do for fun?

Please look into getting a television and Wii like normal college students.

Your very annoyed and unfortunately not deaf neighbor
trinsy: (are you my mummy?)
Dear World,

Why does unpacking suck so much?
trinsy: (bovvered)
 Dear IT department of my university,

Thanks for finally fixing the internet in my apartment, you know, over three months after I moved out.  That's very helpful of you.

Still amazed by your incompetence,
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Step-Dad,

PUT ON A DAMN SHIRT! There has seriously been way too much 'DO NOT WANT!' going on in this house over the past 36 hours, and I for one am thoroughly sick of it.


P.S. Maybe if we set the thermostat lower, we all could wear some more clothes. Just saying.
trinsy: (don't be so daft)
**I feel like this is way more coherent in my head than it is here, but I think this conveys the basic idea...

Here’s the message I’ve been sent since I was a child, and I don’t think it’s specific to me: “You are less of a person because you don’t have the daddy-daughter bond. You are less of a person for something you have no control over. You are not worth as much. You are inferior. You are less than.” I actually used to believe that, too. They throw statistics at you all the time, and it’s hard not to assimilate the idea that you’re messed up because you didn’t have a daddy. You never stop to think that actually, it could just be you’re messed up because people are telling you you’re messed because you didn’t have a daddy. You actually can have only one parent and still be fine, funnily enough, as long as you don’t have people insisting the opposite or you’re smart enough not to believe them. It’s a rare person who’s that smart when they’re nine.

I figured it out eventually. Looked at my life one day and realized that, hey, incredibly, I was okay. I lived in an all-female household, and we were all okay. We did basic household fix-it jobs (painting, plumbing, putting up the Christmas tree, etc.), we made it through, we were happy overall, and we didn’t need any men to do it. I’d always been told that I needed a man to take care of me, and suddenly I realized that, actually, I didn’t. I’d been taking care of myself for years, and my entire life I’d been taken care of by women. And I was fine. I am fine. My entire life is one big argument against the idea that every woman needs a man in her life. You know what I found out after I realized that? To society, realizing that isn’t okay. After I started telling people about my epiphany, I was warned that I needed to rid myself of that notion at once because no man would ever want a girl who didn’t think she needed him.

I used to be pitied and patronized because the man in my life left me. Now I’m condemned because my very existence proves the societal myth of female dependency is a lie. Apparently, if you don’t have a dad, you aren’t allowed to be happy. You aren’t allowed to be okay. Your fate rests in the hands of that man, and if he doesn’t choose you, you can’t win. Ever. Maybe one day, if you somehow, incredibly, manage to stumble upon and/or seduce some other man who, against all logic, actually wants and chooses you, but even then there will be whispers of “daddy issues” or “problems submitting”. Your dad sets the tone for your entire life, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

That’s dumb. Even the women in my life have perpetuated this idea, and it’s not true. My mom says that maybe I’m right, but “I have to accept the reality of the world.” I have to accept the reality of a society that won’t accept me because my dad couldn’t be bothered to know me, and yet I refused to let his selfishness break me. I’m too scary to fit in, and that’s “just the way the world is”.

You know what? I’m not going to keep apologizing because my sense of self doesn’t conform to societies expectations for me. “That’s the way the world is” is the argument that sustained slavery, and it’s just as unsound in this case. Perpetuation of oppression does not validate it. You’ll never get me to pretend that it does.

You know what else? If –– whether because of social constructs or your own insecurities –– you need me to downplay my own strengths to make you feel better about yourself, you don’t deserve my respect. Especially if you feel it is my duty to do this simply because you happened to be born with a penis and Y chromosome and I did not.

Also, men don’t get to claim “respect” as their gender-specific desire, any more than women get to claim “love”. I am a woman, and I also desire respect. That’s really the issue. I’m being told I have to choose one or the other (and to a lot of people, by not valuing love above everything, as my gender supposedly dictates I should, I’m essentially choosing neither). I want both. Everyone wants both. I don’t think anyone, male or female, would say, “I hope to die unloved but respected,” any more than anyone would say, “I want to be a person everyone loves and nobody respects.” They’re both important. We all want both, whether we pee standing up or have menstrual cycles (or both). Honestly, I fail to see how sexual organs and hormone levels would have any impact on these basic human desires.

Contrary to how I’m sure it appears, I don’t actually hate men. I really, really don’t. I’m just sick of being told that I’m wrong. Not that I’m wrong about this issue, but that my very essence, my awareness of who I am as an individual is wrong. And yeah, men get the greater part of my ire here because apparently they’re the ones who are too insecure to handle the existence of girls like me. But that’s their problem. Why should I suffer for their insecurities? You know what the whole issue stems from? It’s insecure men trying to make women insecure so they can feel better about themselves. Well I’m not playing, and threatening me with a lack of romance isn’t going to get me to do so. If that’s what romance costs, it comes at far too high a price, and honestly, why would I want it? Why would I give up my independence and individuality to become a kowtowing bimbo for some chauvinistic asshole? That sort of romance sounds like it sucks. It definitely doesn’t sound like love.

My existence is not wrong. I don’t need a man to take care of me. My father’s inadequacies don’t get to define me, and neither do the insecurities of other men. And society may condemn me for that, but it will never be able to convince me otherwise.
trinsy: (I came back)
Dear Dad,

I’m turning twenty in two weeks, and it’s putting a lot of things in perspective for me. I know we haven’t spoken in five-and-a-half years, and I know you never had a clue who I was even when we were talking, so I thought I’d tell you a little about myself and who I’ve become over the last twenty years.

I’m graduating from college next May. I’m actually genuinely terrified, which is strange. I’m not really one of those people who was meant to sit in a classroom –– my imagination is too active –– but it’s been the only constant in my life for the past fifteen years, so to have that all end is a pretty terrifying prospect, especially since it’ll mean I’ll pretty “officially” be an adult. This is who the almost adult me is:

I like to think you’d be happy to know I am and always have been a genuinely good kid. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, I don’t have sex, I don’t cut, and I don’t have an eating disorder. I pay for all my own groceries at school, and I’ve never gotten below a B in any of my classes. Mom thinks I spend too much time on my computer, but if that’s the worst thing she can say about me, I think I’m doing pretty good.

I’ve never had a boyfriend, and my whole life my friends have always been prettier than I am. I’ve gotten to a point in my life where I can accept that, though. I’m never going to be gorgeous, but I’m not ugly either, and it’s not like it’s my ambition to be a model or something, so I’m not beating myself up about it. Beauty isn’t just physical anyway, which is one of those dumb things everyone says, but I actually get it now. As for being single, it’s awesome more often than it sucks. Sometimes I get jealous of what my friends have with their boyfriends, but it’s not very often. I have amazing friends, so it’s not like I’m lonely, and my sense of self isn’t wrapped up in another person. I’m happy I’m an independent individual.

Mom told me once that she hoped one day I’d talk to you again, just briefly, to say thank you. I blew her off then, because I couldn’t imagine what I would want to thank you for, but I do want to thank you for something now. I know it wasn’t your intention and you might not like being thanked for it, but you did it and I am genuinely grateful you did, so here goes:

Thank you for never being there for me. Thank you for never protecting me. Thank you for never supporting me. Thank you for never teaching me to do anything. Thank you for never telling me I was beautiful. Thank you for never telling me I was smart. Thank you for never telling me you were proud of me. Thank you for leaving me to fend for myself. Thank you for never being a part of my life. Thank you for not being a real dad.

You are not the reason I am as strong as I am. I am the reason I am as strong as I am. They told me I’d be messed up without a father figure, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. I had no father figure and I am awesome. I am a strong, independent woman with a healthy self-image and no self-destructive vices, and you didn’t contribute in a positive way to any of that. No man did. That is all because of me and the amazing women in my life. So thank you. You are the reason I will never believe the lies that I need a man in my life. You are the reason I know I am worth more than what any man thinks of me.

I used to think I missed out by not having you in my life, but I know better now. I didn’t miss out. You did. I am an amazing person, but you’ll never know that and you’ll never be able to claim credit for it. I’ve had and still have an incredible life, and the only person who lost by your absence in it was you.

You are not the reason I’m an amazing person, but you are the reason I know the truth of why I am, and you are the reason no one will ever convince me to believe the lies.

Thanks from,
The daughter you couldn’t be bothered to know

June 2013

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