Friday, April 13, 2018

Smart women vs. men who can't spell...

Did you ever have one of those days where you're just feeling bitchy about everything?  That's kind of like the day I had yesterday.  This rant is going to be profane and probably sounds a little psycho, mainly because I'm feeling a little psycho.  It's probably not worth reading, but it helps me process.

Yesterday was a rather frustrating day.  There was a railroad strike going on, so a lot of Germans didn't go to work.  Consequently, the Internet mostly went down to the point at which most Web sites were inaccessible.  I don't know if it's because everyone was at home using the Internet and no one was working at Unity Media (our ISP).  The upshot is that for most of the day, the only Web sites I could access on most of my devices are Google owned.  I could also get Facebook, but anytime someone shared a link to something interesting, I was shit out of luck unless I used my phone.

Add in the fact that I started my period, which is never fun, but is even less fun when you're creeping toward menopause.  I was cranky, crampy, and uncomfortable, although the Internet slow down did at least give me a chance to finish reading my latest book, which I have reviewed on the travel blog.

I was feeling unusually irritable yesterday.  It started when I read Facebook comments on an Army Times article.  I don't know why, but the older I get, the more annoyed I get by certain types of people.  I've found that a lot of military people-- men, especially-- don't like smart women.  And they are very free with their opinions about smart women, yet they don't know how to spell and can barely construct coherent sentences.  Actually, the ones who really annoy me are the ones who clearly do have the ability to write coherently, but are lazy about it.  The spell words like "gall" as "gaul", then they have the "gall" to get all shitty toward other people, especially those who lack a penis.

I know not everyone cares about spelling or grammar.  I am especially aware that a lot of men can't be bothered to write right.  However, in my view, guys who write like they never finished high school immediately lose the argument.  I know I'm a snob, but most of these guys think less of me simply because I'm a female and have the audacity to speak my mind.  I figure I have the right to think less of them because they write like they're illiterate and express opinions that make them sound like Fred Flintstone.

I chose not to get involved in yesterday's Army Times shitshow, though.  I wasn't wanting to attract private messages from uncivilized men calling me a fat cunt and inviting me to "go die".  Instead, I posted an admittedly cryptic status on Facebook.  I simply typed "Learn to spell."  Naturally, that comment attracted the usual stupid responses from people who think they're being cute and funny when they deliberately misspell words just to annoy me.  I'll be honest, folks.  I gave some thought to simply unfriending all of the people who went there with that shit.  But then I realized my rage was probably caused by hormones, boredom, and frustration, and I backed off the ledge.

My second thought was to respond to those people with profanity.  I came very close in one instance, because one guy kept posting references to Harry Potter.  I have never read a Harry Potter book.  I have nothing against J.K. Rowling, but it's not the first time a man has come at me with references from that particular series.  Last time it happened was in September 2017, when I had a run in with a narcissistic, misogynistic man who lives in the local community and unabashedly refers to women who disagree with him as "sanctimonious cunts".  Although yesterday's incident was definitely less horrible, I'm afraid that I now associate Harry Potter with the resident woman hating cretin in our community.  But, I suppose I should be grateful that at least yesterday's guy was literate and enjoys reading enough that he can spell properly.

So... instead of deleting my Potter loving friend, who has never met me in person and is unaware of my prior psychological sunburn regarding Harry Potter, I simply posted "I don't read children's books."  Indeed, that's what Bill told the local misogynist who threw Harry Potter references at me.  Bill wrote, "That reference is lost on her.  She doesn't read children's books."  And then, after Bill referred to the guy as a "knuckle dragger" (which he certainly is, and that's probably a very kind way of putting it), our resident misogynist unleashed hateful and profane insults on Bill.  Now, when I see Harry Potter shit, it reminds me of that vile guy... a guy I'd much rather forget.

I suppose I should have just logged off and enjoyed the peace and quiet.  I did sit down and watch The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, a Romanian film which I referenced in a recent blog post.  It took up about two and a half hours.  I also did my usual Thursday chores, which includes vacuuming.  I'd rather clean toilets than vacuum.  It's truly my least favorite chore.  But at least this week, I managed to get it done.  And I also managed to book a hotel for a long weekend three weeks from now.  Bill and I will be visiting a lovely area in France that we've been wanting to see for a long time.  The dogs will be boarded, so we won't have to travel with them.

Traveling with the dogs is a mixed bag.  On one hand, it eliminates our need to take them to "Uncle Max's", which is usually out of the way.  Not boarding them also usually saves us money, since I make a point of booking places that don't charge pet fees.  Also, since the dogs are with us, I don't have to worry if they're okay.  On the other hand, Zane gets very nervous when he rides in the car.  Having the dogs with us causes us to have to worry about their behavior.

I probably shouldn't post on Facebook, especially when I'm feeling really bitchy.  The bitchiness continued last night, right after dinner.  We were finishing off the wine when a couple and their daughter passed our backyard.  The dogs started barking at them.  Instead of moving along, they stood there and gawked at us, which caused the dogs to keep barking.  I was feeling so annoyed that I started waving at them to beat it.  There was a time when I was younger that I would have felt badly about waving them along, but either age or German directness has caught up with me.  Germans don't hesitate to tell people off, so why should I?  If you stand at our backyard, peering into our house while our dogs go crazy, why shouldn't I give you a hint that it's time to GTFO?

And, of course, even though Zane was decidedly frisky yesterday and even jumped into my lap and engaged in play, I felt anxious about him all afternoon.  I find myself obsessively feeling him for new lumps and/or evidence of cancer.  I know I should just relax and enjoy my dogs for as long as I'm privileged to have them, but I can't help but realize they're getting older.  Both of them have had mast cell tumors, which can turn into a deadly disease, but doesn't always.

This week, I've also discovered that it's tick season again.  Over the past few days, we've had lovely weather.  Consequently, I've found two unattached ticks on Zane and three attached ones on Arran.  In fact, one tick got really engorged before it was discovered.  I didn't actually find it on Arran.  Instead, it was on the floor, having been squashed.  Zane was standing by several blood spots on our disgusting carpet.  At first, I thought he'd been cut, but then I saw the obliterated tick, whose innards were staining the ugly blue industrial carpet in our upstairs area.  I have to take Zane to the vet today for his allergy shot, so I'm going to ask for some flea and tick meds.  I know a lot of purists will say I shouldn't be giving my dogs this "toxic" stuff to ward off fleas and ticks, but I can't abide a tick infestation in my house.

You'd think that with a lifestyle as hedonistic as mine is, I'd be the most chilled out, relaxed person ever.  But I find it hard to keep my worries at bay.  Hopefully, our upcoming trip to France will cure what ails me.  Wish I didn't have to wait three weeks.    

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