Rant and Rave! Rant and Rave!

You know what ticks me off?  The way people look down on bisexuals.  I mean, really, whether you want to call it “switch hitting”, “AC-DC”, or whatever, it shouldn’t be up to YOU to judge OTHER PEOPLE who want to say they are bisexual.  I like both sexes, genders, and whatever.  I guess you could say I’m “omnisexual”, although I’m not progressive enough to use such a term as that.  I just feel silly.  But, honestly, I don’t give a crap if you’re genderqueer, FTM, MTF, male, female, or any other part of any kind of spectrum.  If you’re a cool person, then cool.  Because it doesn’t matter what’s in your pants, it matters what’s between your ears.  And you know why?

Spoiled milk.

I read this post on a forum once about dating exes again.  This wise, wise person said something along the lines of “if you pull the milk out of the fridge and it’s spoiled, then put it back in the fridge, if you take it back out a few months down the line, does that mean it’s not spoiled anymore?  NO!  It’s still spoiled milk.  So why date someone again if you know it didn’t work the first time?”

Granted, I don’t look at relationships that way because people are people and can grow, unlike milk.  Ok, so, maybe milk can, in fact, grow.  How else do you explain cheese?  But that’s not the point of what they were saying, I don’t think.

In either event, people are people.  Period.  That’s it.  So stop telling me, when I tell you I’m “bisexual” that you “used to be bisexual, but then I got tired of sleeping around”.  Uh, hey, thanks!  Because what every person wants to hear is how their sexual orientation/preference/whatever is basically a synonym for “skank”.

I am not a ho, thank you.  I don’t sleep with anything that moves or has tits or a penis or what have you.  That doesn’t mean I couldn’t.  I mean, sheesh, I DO have hormonal urges, but that’s why they make clown porn.

So I settle for telling people I’m “half gay”.  They usually look at me like I’m stupid unless they aren’t straight, and then they just look at me and go, “Ooooohhhhh….so you’re bisexual.  I used to be bisexual, but then I got tired of sleeping around.”  It kind of sucks.

And you know what else totally ticks me off is the lack of consideration the working world has for Special Ed kids.  I’ve got this employee at work, it’s his first job, he’s ADD with a learning disability, and everyone wants him gone because he’s not picking it up fast enough.  No one’s willing to work with him to help him and I rarely work with the kid to help.  It really kind of sucks and pisses me off all at the same time because some high falutin retail VP guy has decided that people only get one week (that’s five days or 40 hours) to learn everything they are ever going to need to know about doing the job.  That’s just insane.  I can’t teach everything you’re ever going to need to do the job in 40 hours.

So, you know what world:  You can fucking go to Hell.  Really.

And I now concede the soap box to the next Ranter.

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And what do YOU wanna be when you grow up?

I want to be a DINOSAUR!  RAWR!*

Actually, I want to major in Physics and Art.  Yeah, I know, what a great way to become independently wealthy.  But at least I won’t have to be a starving artist, like now, working at some dead-end job and spending all my money on art supplies and praying I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday.*  I can go work for NASA and spend all my money on art supplies and pray I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday!  How much more exciting would that be, eh?

But actually, those are my two passions, and that’s what I would like to do, go to school for Art and Physics.  I keep trying to misspell “Physics” as “Physicalics”, which, thankfully, isn’t as bad a Freudian slip as, say, “Phallics”.  I think if I were to start typing “Phallic” all over the place I’d just shoot myself because, honestly, if things were that bad, I’m obviously either too psycho to even qualify for a desperate one-night-stand, or too ugly.  But thankfully there is porn and I’m okay with that.  Porn doesn’t tell me to not drink so much, clean up that mess, do the dishes, or scream at me because I didn’t buy the right brand of toilet paper even though I saved $3 fucking dollars by buying the BETTER quality toilet paper and I really don’t give a fuck about “toilet paper” lint being left on my ass because, HELLO, it’s better than having SHIT left on my ass because the MORE EXPENSIVE BRAND you INSIST upon using doesn’t wipe NEARLY as clean as the stuff I grew up with you stupid, ignorant, bitch! Whew, sorry, flashback to a prior relationship.  I should really get some help with this whole PTSD thing from her, but, meh.

And, yes, that actually WAS a real argument I had with someone I date and it actually lasted for a good solid month before I finally explained, “FUCK YOU I HAVE MY OWN FUCKING BATHROOM AND WILL USE THE TOILET PAPER I SO CHOOSE TO WIPE SHIT OFF MY ASS UNLESS YOU WANNA LICK IT OFF OF ME YOU FUCKING WHORE!” and it was settled.  And there might have been about twenty more expletives than that in the actual argument but my memory kind of fails me because I was black-out drunk at the time and that was about the point I came to and then I said something about being hormonal and horny and having low blood sugar and to not cross me anymore when it came to my bunghole because that was my own personal space nobody messed with and the last person who tried wound up in Guatemala and nobody’d heard from him for the past two years.  That’s also kind of a true story.  The Guatemala thing.  The toilet paper thing is TOTALLY a true story.

*RAWR means I love you in Dinosaur.  G-d, don’t you people, like, read and stuff?