I'm not scared, are YOU scared? Because I'm not scared.

I might be giving this a little bit too much importance.

And this.

And maybe this as well.

Over-thinking about it or not, it's all very true - not to mention serious. It is serious! I'm not going to preach and I'm not going to write a persuasive thing pro-all of the above, but I am going to bitch about a few things/people/situations that have royally pissed me off just in the past week and a half.


-I'm skipping my second class and just peacefully smoking out in the beautiful, tasty sun with my friends, having an extremely interesting and smart ass discussion about the class on feminism we just had (ha ha really) when a totally random guy comes and sits opposite to us. He lights a cigarette with MY lighter and introduces himself. We are polite just say hi and smile - despite how bad we feel like laughing - and when we think he is done interacting with us, we go back to our little discussion. He totally butts in and insists on spending the next hour and a half trying to a) show off about inheriting his dad's company and b) prove why it is not wrong to only hire 'hot' saleswomen at 'his' store. One, he's not even out of college yet, so it's so not his store yet. Two, taking off his shoes to casually flash its Prada label is not cool - just FYI, I was wearing Diesel jeans and Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, and I managed to keep both on all day long. Three, having a 'hot' woman or a fat bald man sell you a fucking office chair makes no difference whatsoever. It's an office chair, mate. You don't go on a shopping spree for office chairs - you buy them 'cause you need them.

-He picks me up in his badass car wearing designer clothes from head to toe and takes me to a super posh restaurant for an over-rated and over-priced plate of steak and chips (called a slightly fancier name, of course). He orders the bottle of the priciest wine and makes a show out of smelling the cork and the glass and twirling it around expertly before finally 'allowing' me to have a sip. Despite my effort to make conversation during dinner, he is quiet and cold and distant and before I know it I am texting my friend from under the table begging her for help. It is pretty clear we are not going on a second date. He drives me back home and I only kiss him because I feel like having just a tiny bit of fun myself after the horrible night. And then when I politely decline 'taking thins to his place' and never call again, he leaves me a furious voice message asking me why I disappeared, arrogantly claiming he dressed up, opened the doors for me, paid for dinner, and drove me home, and calls me a flirt. So what, I, as a woman, am supposed to fall madly in love and 'hand myself over' (ugh how I hate this expression) just because he followed the basics of the Date Rulebook? What they don't get is that a hot dog and a beer at the park accompanied by ACTUAL CONVERSATION and laughter and flirting would have done the trick. And about calling me a flirt - why are men allowed to fuck like the world's on fire and when a woman just kisses a guy because she wants to have fun too, she is automatically frowned upon?

-Maybe it's just the age difference doing this to you, but I think it's quite lame how you root for the guy with money and a last name over the one I actually like just because that's how it's supposed to be. Fuck knows we already have both of the above, thank you very much, so it's not like I'm in need to 'marry up'. If I were a guy you'd be telling me to go for the girl with the looks and the traits of a 'good wife', which is as pathetic as the other way around. It's people we fall in love with, not pictures and reputations.

-We're at my beach house, just the women in my family, trying to be sympathetic to a recently divorced aunt. We're having the time of our lives until you decide to turn diva and refuse to carry the grocery bags, paying a man to do it for you even though all we bought are fruits and chocolates. 'I can carry it myself,' I offer, but you make a face and laugh, 'You're a girl, you don't need to put yourself through that'. Right. I'm silent just because I don't want to be the party pooper. But then it's after dinner and we're opening a bottle of champagne, and you just have to laugh and snottily complain about the 'lack of a man to help us open it and serve us'. I raise an eyebrow and you explain, 'a woman should never be allowed to serve herself'. Instant bitch fit of my part.

I could go on and on but this is getting too long and I'm getting to worked up and pissed off at the entire world, so it really is better I stop. This is a topic I might and probably will come back to - my stories about it are not exactly scarce.

And I'm dying for a shower - my car's AC just decided to die, smack in the middle of the Brazilian summer. I'm not even the tiniest bit screwed, huh?



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