I am a woman fond of the bunny ears. I was sad when I saw all the ads saying I would lose access to the three channels I get if I didn't get one of those magic boxes. So I sent in a request for a coupon for a magic box. Since the coupon was for $40, the magic box makers made sure that the cost of said magic box was more than $40. I called them "fuckers" at the store when I saw the price.
After many, many dramas involving bunny ears and magic boxes, everything is installed. I sat down to multiple new channels that repeatedly freeze into little squares. I certainly didn't get that with bunny ears; hooray!
My main annoyance (after being charged $59.76 for a $40 magic box, thank you SO MUCH you fuckers!) is that I can now watch eight different channels. Actually, since I'm fond of being specific with language, I can now watch commercials on eight different channels. And I noticed tonight that only women clean houses on commercials.
After a glass of hornsby's magic cider (which is awesome and is sold at the correct price, not $19.76 over what should be charged, you fuckers), I started to be highly bothered by this. After two hornsby's magic ciders, I started to proof-read a paper about sexism. After three hornsby's magic ciders, I got angst-ridden and started typing.
We, as a species, seem to be stuck in about 1358. It apparently was a very good year and we have not really moved forward. Yes, computers. Yes, Irish pubs. But still with the wenches and the manly men! We now have ads to show us just how we should be living (unless said ads decide to freeze into many, pretty little boxes).
I should be perky, blond and loving my swiffer so much I want to dry-hump it. Such is not the case. When Dylan broke not one, but two, pottery-based items yesterday, my response was not glee on pulling out the old-school broom and crappy dustpan. I don't do laundry (that's a boy's job) nor do I groan with pleasure at a pile of dirty dishes when it's my turn to wash. Just because I have boobs does not make a miracle in the kitchen and I don't like commercials or other people who think I should be.
In addition to this, I've been cranky the last few weeks and my long walk today was to pin-point exactly what is going on. After being told that there would be lay-offs at the day job, I was told that we should all be anxious since we live in an environment of fear. Honestly, this has bothered me for two very valid reasons:
1. Don't tell me what to do. If you know me at all, you know this is my super-number-one pet peeve and I lose respect (and harshly mock) those who do this.
2. I've lived my life fear-based for long enough. If you want to lay me off, do it. I'm not going to be afraid any more of what may or may not come to pass. It's a bloody waste of time and to motivate your employees that way is disrespectful of them as people.
So as I've been crabby with the fear thing, the bunny ears thing, the stereotype of happy-woman-humping-swiffer-thing, I come to the conclusion that since we are stuck in 1358, give me some roast pig, grog and pipe music and don't call me a wench.
An Erinku:
frozen little boxes
colorful, stuck
t.v. I want to see
your cartoons
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