Hey men! Have you suddenly discovered a good friend, someone you might even love, has said something awful about women? As a beneficiary of the problem, and despite your innate cowardice, are you obligated to challenge your friend’s attitude (hint: yes)?
More importantly, are you also an inarticulate idiot? If so, wonderful! Come with me as we argue that women are indeed people while navigating the terrifying world that is friendship. And all in the internet-approved format of a chose-your-own-adventure! Continue reading
Kate Zahnleiter was raised by a single working mother and a television. She writes that “not a day goes by in which I’m unable to relate something which occurs in real life back to an episode of something I watched as a child, teenager or young adult.” In Life and My Box, Kate will be sharing the lessons she has learned from TV. First up, Dawson’s Creek (*~I DON’T WANNA WAIT~*):
So, I had a bit of a revelation the other day. Nothing life-changing or world altering – just the same little light bulb moment I have once every few months:
Being a woman sucks.
I was sixteen years old. I cried. Not with pain, not with pleasure – certainly not with desire. I cried with the sheer relief at having sloughed off the weight of my clunky, ungainly virginity, which I had carried with me everywhere I went. I was free to turn away from the boy in whose bed I had divested myself of something I no longer had any use for.
It was gone.
I love MasterChef. This is not a secret. For a fair portion of the year, my favourite time of day is MasterChef time. The glorious combination of cooking and reality appeals to some fundamental part of my identity as a TV viewer. Gosh darn do I love MasterChef.
So I was even more horrified than the average person to see the new promo. Every time someone mentions it on Twitter, my only response is to desperately tweet WHHHHHHHHHY?! at them in caps. I am distraught. I keep beating my head against things. The security and comfort of MasterChef time is crumbling under my feet.
Dear Temporary I.T. Guy,
We could have been friends. We could have been buddies. When you came to my work to help Original I.T. Guy (presumably with I.T. stuff) I thought to myself, “This guy seems fun. We should hang out.“
I’m cool, Temporary I.T. guy! I’m fun! I like things! I am already friends with Original I.T. Guy; we send each other funny photos of dogs and computer fails. We laugh together about our colleagues who don’t know things about computers. I know things about computers, I promise. Not enough to have an I.T degree, but at least enough to be friends with Original I.T Guy. Enough to be friends with you.
So recently, sitting in the backseat of a black metal-blasting Ford of an old friend of my guy-friend, the muscle-shirted, profanity-laden driver was musing on the mysteries of love and courtship and the irreconcilable nature of the modern wacky free-thinking woman (AKA he was bitching about chicks okay) when he declared that he much preferred women who didn’t wear makeup over those who did. To wit: ‘I don’t understand why they wear that shit on their face anyway.’ (This $36 lipstick made by MAC — a top-name brand so renowned that it was referenced in TLC’s ‘Unpretty’ — is not shit, you dick.)