I declare today DOROTHY PARKER appreciation day.
Résumé
Razors pain you, Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you, And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful, Nooses give,
Gas smells awful. You might as well live.
Unfortunate Coincidence
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying,
Lady, make a note of this -
One of you is lying.
A Pig's-Eye View of Literature: Oscar Wilde
If with the literate I am
Impelled to try an epigram,
I never seek to take the credit;
We all assume that Oscar said it.
When We Were Very Sore
(Lines on Discovering That You Have Been Advertised as America's A. A. Milne.)
Dotty had
Great Big
Visions of
Quietude.
Dotty saw an
Ad, and it
Left her
Flat.
Dotty had a
Great Big
Snifter of
Cyanide.
And that (said Dotty)
Is that.
For reference on that last one, Dorothy loathed A. A. Milne's poetry and made a typically scathing review of "House at Pooh Corner" in Constant Reader. I love A. A. Milne, and I love his poetry, but I also love Dorothy Parker being mean about him, because I'm a well-rounded individual like that.
Thought for the day today is: TEEN MAGAZINES LIED TO ME ABOUT THE MALE LIBIDO AND THE FEMALE ONE. Yes, I know, they lied about a lot of things. Squeezing your spots does not make your head fall off. Leonardo DiCaprio is not an attractive man. Platform flipflops are not, in fact, going to turn me into the next Kate Winslet, unless her defining feature is one twisted ankle and one broken shoe. Ronan Keating is not a musical genius. Orange is a BAD colour for tennis dresses. Etc. But they also lied like lying whores about teenage boys. "All teenage boys want you for sex! SEX! You must resist until you are 16 and sure that they love you! RESIST!"
LIES. FUCKING LIES.
I spent 14 to -nearly- 17 trying to get laid like it was going out of style. I was not unattractive. I was not unwilling. I was not even, if I'm honest, particularly choosy. I COULD NOT GET BOYS INTO MY PANTS FOR MORE THAN THIRTY SECONDS AT A TIME FOR LOVE NOR, ON ONE OCCASION, A SKINNY JOINT. Seriously. It was three solid years of ">:(" and furtive wanking. Yes, I did just imply quite graphically that teenage girls engage in solitary (and the lucky ones NON-solitary) sexual activity before 18, BITE MY ANUS.
YOU LIE, TEEN MAGAZINES.
All teenage boys actually wanted you for was for someone to watch them play Goldeneye on the Playstation, or occasionally football, or skateboard, and look impressed. NB: I didn't manage the looking impressed. I read a book and then got impatient and shouted at them. But truly, the situation really stands something like this:
Teenage boys: Like masturbating over pictures of models, on their own. And sulking.
Teenage girls: HEAD. GIVE ME HEAD. YOU! RANDOM STRANGER! YES, YOU! I WILL DO ANYTHING REVOLTING YOU CAN THINK OF JUST, HELLO, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? I AM IRRESISTIBLE, DAMN YOU.
Obviously the solution to this is bisexuality, but that wasn't really allowed in my school. And by "not allowed" I mean "Emma would have been jumping up and down on my bloody remains for a year after I mentioned it", which is not conducive to getting laid.
Of course it didn't actually improve much in my late teens. Although I'd got rid of one set of teenage boys who would grunt and ignore me while I very subtly said things like, "so, sex. That would be groovy. Any time now. Hello? Hello?" there was a new set just waiting to do the same thing, but with added uptightness! Fortunately, when Mr. No I Can't Possibly Can We Just Talk About Music OW Why Did You Slap Me the fifteenth made his way into the world of Girls Who Are Less Vocal About Wanting To Get Laid, I discovered girls.
Which was different, because - with First (Mental As A Badger) Girlfriend - it was less:
Del: SEX NOW. SEX? SEX.
Boy: Just let me finish these fifteen levels of this game and I'll consider it.
Del: *sulk*
And more:
Kat: IT ARE FUKSEXXIN TIEM!
Del: but we is in public
Kat: FUKSEXXIN.
Del: 'kay.
Of course, adult men's magazines lie too. They lie about things like women wanting to chat afterwards. Yes, occasionally chatting, but usually it's more that Johnny Shagbottom has passed out and Jane Fuksexxin was just getting ready to go again. "Hello? Wuh - the - HEY. I WAS INTENDING TO HAVE FUKSEXXINGS. PLURAL FUKSEXX. THIS IS SINGULAR AND MIGHT I ADD NOT PARTICULARLY SINGULAR FUKSEXX. YOU FUCKING FAIL AT FUKSEXX, JOHNNY SHAGBOTTOM."
So yeah, that happened a lot. Fortunately when I was in halls at Uni one could simply nip into the next room along, "Simon! Simon! Sam has gone to sleep on me. BOOTY CALL." After about ten minutes of caterwauling I could usually get something just to shut me up, and then of course there were always NIGHTCLUBS. GLORIOUS NIGHTCLUBS. Places where people go specifically TO GET FUKSEXXIN. Except they were always bloody terrified, of course, and did this whole "I like you but let's just be friends after this, the kind of friends who never call each other" dance about it.
In conclusion, MAGAZINES LIE. And that leads to people like Eoin assuming women don't have sex drives, and women being embarrassed by having them, and the myth that Men Are Very Sexed Up And Women Have To Be Persuaded continues. *throws hands up*
This rant brought to you by apparently UNCEASING OVULATION.
Razors pain you, Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you, And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful, Nooses give,
Gas smells awful. You might as well live.
Unfortunate Coincidence
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying,
Lady, make a note of this -
One of you is lying.
A Pig's-Eye View of Literature: Oscar Wilde
If with the literate I am
Impelled to try an epigram,
I never seek to take the credit;
We all assume that Oscar said it.
When We Were Very Sore
(Lines on Discovering That You Have Been Advertised as America's A. A. Milne.)
Dotty had
Great Big
Visions of
Quietude.
Dotty saw an
Ad, and it
Left her
Flat.
Dotty had a
Great Big
Snifter of
Cyanide.
And that (said Dotty)
Is that.
For reference on that last one, Dorothy loathed A. A. Milne's poetry and made a typically scathing review of "House at Pooh Corner" in Constant Reader. I love A. A. Milne, and I love his poetry, but I also love Dorothy Parker being mean about him, because I'm a well-rounded individual like that.
Thought for the day today is: TEEN MAGAZINES LIED TO ME ABOUT THE MALE LIBIDO AND THE FEMALE ONE. Yes, I know, they lied about a lot of things. Squeezing your spots does not make your head fall off. Leonardo DiCaprio is not an attractive man. Platform flipflops are not, in fact, going to turn me into the next Kate Winslet, unless her defining feature is one twisted ankle and one broken shoe. Ronan Keating is not a musical genius. Orange is a BAD colour for tennis dresses. Etc. But they also lied like lying whores about teenage boys. "All teenage boys want you for sex! SEX! You must resist until you are 16 and sure that they love you! RESIST!"
LIES. FUCKING LIES.
I spent 14 to -nearly- 17 trying to get laid like it was going out of style. I was not unattractive. I was not unwilling. I was not even, if I'm honest, particularly choosy. I COULD NOT GET BOYS INTO MY PANTS FOR MORE THAN THIRTY SECONDS AT A TIME FOR LOVE NOR, ON ONE OCCASION, A SKINNY JOINT. Seriously. It was three solid years of ">:(" and furtive wanking. Yes, I did just imply quite graphically that teenage girls engage in solitary (and the lucky ones NON-solitary) sexual activity before 18, BITE MY ANUS.
YOU LIE, TEEN MAGAZINES.
All teenage boys actually wanted you for was for someone to watch them play Goldeneye on the Playstation, or occasionally football, or skateboard, and look impressed. NB: I didn't manage the looking impressed. I read a book and then got impatient and shouted at them. But truly, the situation really stands something like this:
Teenage boys: Like masturbating over pictures of models, on their own. And sulking.
Teenage girls: HEAD. GIVE ME HEAD. YOU! RANDOM STRANGER! YES, YOU! I WILL DO ANYTHING REVOLTING YOU CAN THINK OF JUST, HELLO, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? I AM IRRESISTIBLE, DAMN YOU.
Obviously the solution to this is bisexuality, but that wasn't really allowed in my school. And by "not allowed" I mean "Emma would have been jumping up and down on my bloody remains for a year after I mentioned it", which is not conducive to getting laid.
Of course it didn't actually improve much in my late teens. Although I'd got rid of one set of teenage boys who would grunt and ignore me while I very subtly said things like, "so, sex. That would be groovy. Any time now. Hello? Hello?" there was a new set just waiting to do the same thing, but with added uptightness! Fortunately, when Mr. No I Can't Possibly Can We Just Talk About Music OW Why Did You Slap Me the fifteenth made his way into the world of Girls Who Are Less Vocal About Wanting To Get Laid, I discovered girls.
Which was different, because - with First (Mental As A Badger) Girlfriend - it was less:
Del: SEX NOW. SEX? SEX.
Boy: Just let me finish these fifteen levels of this game and I'll consider it.
Del: *sulk*
And more:
Kat: IT ARE FUKSEXXIN TIEM!
Del: but we is in public
Kat: FUKSEXXIN.
Del: 'kay.
Of course, adult men's magazines lie too. They lie about things like women wanting to chat afterwards. Yes, occasionally chatting, but usually it's more that Johnny Shagbottom has passed out and Jane Fuksexxin was just getting ready to go again. "Hello? Wuh - the - HEY. I WAS INTENDING TO HAVE FUKSEXXINGS. PLURAL FUKSEXX. THIS IS SINGULAR AND MIGHT I ADD NOT PARTICULARLY SINGULAR FUKSEXX. YOU FUCKING FAIL AT FUKSEXX, JOHNNY SHAGBOTTOM."
So yeah, that happened a lot. Fortunately when I was in halls at Uni one could simply nip into the next room along, "Simon! Simon! Sam has gone to sleep on me. BOOTY CALL." After about ten minutes of caterwauling I could usually get something just to shut me up, and then of course there were always NIGHTCLUBS. GLORIOUS NIGHTCLUBS. Places where people go specifically TO GET FUKSEXXIN. Except they were always bloody terrified, of course, and did this whole "I like you but let's just be friends after this, the kind of friends who never call each other" dance about it.
In conclusion, MAGAZINES LIE. And that leads to people like Eoin assuming women don't have sex drives, and women being embarrassed by having them, and the myth that Men Are Very Sexed Up And Women Have To Be Persuaded continues. *throws hands up*
This rant brought to you by apparently UNCEASING OVULATION.