31 years old, and going home with me from the Short Stop after meeting me two hours before, but still making me wear a fucking condom. And you’re hammered! Haven’t we all agreed that AIDS is fake at this point? Fucking with a condom is basically, like, I’ll take the notch in the “Win” column but it’s not a real fuck. It’s just fancy jerking off. I need to be able to believe that I’m impregnating you.
on my penis that says UNTITLED DAKOTA FANNING PROJECT.
called “Imagine How Much Ass Cat Stevens Got.”
…and not the sexy kind.
As anyone who is or knows a female is aware, there is nothing quite like the seething, bubbling hatred that spews up from girl on girl hate-action. While men are seeded with competition issues that usually blow over easily upon reflection over a beer or two, women’s issues stem far deeper and darker than that. For me, I’ve never been able to truly ‘hate’ someone I don’t know-I might vaguely dislike a celebrity or some broad I run into occasionally, but I’ve only been able to truly detest someone who was once a friend of mine. This is because to reach a level of extreme abhorrence and disgust for a person, I believe you should actually have piles of evidence to support whatever internal claim you’re making to throw them into the HATEHATEHATE part of your brain.
As I have gotten older, I have learned to curb my snap judgments on people. When I was younger, I readily discarded friends and enemies alike who had either done what I considered irreversible harm or simply stepped out of line. When you’re in high school, most girl-girl fights stem from boyfriend stealing or “shit talking”, both of which are worthy crimes to illicit throwing away a friendship, but are often laced with secondary issues never heard when you don’t give the other party a chance to explain themselves. Human beings are layered, complicated things, and as such, it is important to remember nothing is ever as it seems. I personally have been accused of shit talking numerous times when I have said something completely benign but taken out of context. The old “not what you say but how you say it” situation, which when played in a game of telephone, usually ends up disastrous. I also have a bad knack for wanting to protect whoever I’m speaking to’s feelings, which typically ends up pissing off the OTHER party who was the cause of the conversation in the first place. I decided not too long ago to simply stay out of anything that doesn’t directly concern me, mostly in matters of the heart. I can’t tell you how many bad circumstances I have put myself into playing both sides of the breakup fence when I’ve watched couple-friends of mine dissolve their affairs and use me as a mediator.
Point is, I once thought all the “drama” in my life would melt away once I got out of high school…until you realize LIFE itself IS high school. Forever and ever. Human nature might mature and even out, but our emotional instincts rarely change, and that holds true whether you’re 16 or 45. I’ve seen older friends of mine go though divorces and act like they were 18 fighting over a letterman’s jacket, except it’s actually a boat they bought two years ago which the wife doesn’t even want but she’ll fight to keep just to piss her husband off. And likewise, I’ve witnessed college kids play extremely complicated mental and sexual mind games with each other just to see who will break first. The seeds of insecurity and always wanting to be on top are within all of us, it simply depends on how much water and care you feed them with.
I am no exception to the eternal child rule. Recently, I have found myself embroiled in a situation where someone I used to be friends with is now someone I not only vaguely dislike, but literally detest. D-E-T-E-S-T. I hate everything this woman stands for, everything about her. Her whole presence in my life would be easily forgotten if it wasn’t for a nifty little thing called the internet. We have so many mutual friends that I’m constantly annoyed by Facebook and other people’s mentions of said person despite the fact I no longer speak to or have to see this broad at all. Not too long ago, someone mentioned a blog post (the blog I coerced this woman to start, mind you-mistake) the person in question wrote about all her “narcissistic” friends. While I’ve been smart enough to avoid the post, I know exactly who it’s talking about, and it EATS AT ME. It eats at me because knowing someone who could, possibly, be the most arrogant, obnoxious, selfish, ridiculous person on the face of this planet (and coming from ME that means something) talk about “narcissistic” people pisses me off. It would be like Paris Hilton talking shit about spoiled, slutty heiresses. You dig?
But what gets me is that at 27 years of age, not “old” by any means but definitely “old enough”, I am still affected by something like this. Like, why do I care? What makes me angry about this? Why am I writing a long-winded fucking blog post about it?! Would I be happier is this person simply vanished off the face of the Earth? Hm…yes. Do I actively hope and dream something horrible would happen to this person? Not really. So if I hate her enough to be harboring a sense of indignation in her direction but not need to be vindicated, what exactly is my issue?
I don’t know. But I do know that I hate that bitch and I’m annoyed I feel that is not a righteous way to feel.
For all my high-horse antics, charitable contributions, messages about peace and love and going with the flow, I almost miss the Kali-esque fervor of my youth, where I could REALLY hate someone and feel completely correct in doing so. This newfangled Sterner, complete with a sense of Catholic guilt (I’m not even Catholic!) and altruistic tendencies strikes me as mature and peace loving, sure, but also sort of robotic and hippie-ish. Peace and love, man. PEACE AND LOVE! P & L is great in practice but the truth is, there are just some people who SHOULD have to pay for their sins. And the irony of life as I have thus far observed it is those people are usually the ones who live the lives they don’t deserve.
Almost every single mutual friend I have with this person has a laundry list of things they don’t like about her. She’s snotty, catty, spoiled, selfish. And yet with the exception of myself, they’re all still “friends” with her, because they don’t see the point of eradicating a friendship under grounds of ONE PERSON FUCKING SUCKS. Say what?! How nonsensical, and yet I did it myself for over 3 years. It drives me fucking insane, because how is she supposed to get that she’s a stupid bitch if I’m the only one who is saying it?!
I ought to just stick my narcissistic head back up my ass and admire the view.
In case you missed the headline, Sterner here.
none many of you know, I am 27 and still in fucking college. I’m about 6 months into my 2 year BA program, after which I had planned to go for an MBA to solidify my dreams of executive stardom. Lately, though, my complete abhorrence of school has led me to start pondering “putting things on hold” (the nice way of saying DROPPING OUT), mostly because I have begun reviewing my curriculum and I just don’t know how much more of this remedial bullshit I can take.
Let me give you people some background here. In my formative years, people (not just my parents) started thinking I had potential. I learned to read very early on and my test scores in elementary in things like reading comprehension were off the charts. This is not uncommon, but it did imbue a sense of pride in my tiny self as I whispered “I am smarter than the others!” to myself whenever I felt bummed out or annoyed by life, which was frequent as a tall, slender, freckly girl surrounded by images that told me life was better being 1. older and 2. blonde. I decided I might not be the pretty one, but I’d certainly be the smart one.
They threw me in the GATE (gifted and talented education) program in 5th grade which was exciting-except all we ever did during “GATE” period was math. Yeah, um, I’m not good at math? It was like instead of being rewarded for my love of literature and history I was punished for not being a math and science whiz. That period made me hate life more than anything else I had ever experienced, and it seeded the first pods of hatred for traditional schooling methods.
I graduated my elementary school with loads of writing accolades. They didn’t mean jack shit in the “real world”, but those extra pieces of paper on my wall next to my baby-diploma encouraged me in an unspoken way, along with the few published articles I had in the local newspaper and my awards for essays written for contests and the like. I remember sitting in my blue flowered dress at graduation when they were handing out the excellence awards, and when it came to writing, I assumed “Rachel” would win so I sort of zoned out until someone nudged me and hissed “that’s you!”. I had stuffed my training bra for the occasion and I remember getting home and noticing the wad of two or three tissues I had used for one cup was gone; damn it, in my moment of glory I had probably embarrassed myself! Issues, coming right up! (Luckily no one ever brought anything up to me later so I escaped unscathed!)
So I left grade school feeling good. Hey, I was smart and a good writer, for a kid! I was placed into AP english and history classes and quickly discovered what is “good” to one teacher sure ain’t good to the next. My 7th grade english teacher HATED my work-too flowery, too ‘creative’. My steady A’s were replaced with B’s and C’s, and my need to please and concede was slowly replaced with something else: defiance. Fuck you, school! Why are you represented by people who enjoyed crushing the egos of children? Perhaps if I was a bad speller or refused to grasp the basic laws of grammar that would be one thing, but I’m “too creative”? Since when did we as a society stop valuing creativity?
So I floated through middle school performing barely above average. I learned to get by with the smallest amount of effort necessary, and sadly that was and probably still is rewarded. Entering high school, I vowed to do better, but adolescence grabbed me by the collarbone and after a few weeks of being a freshman, I had completely found a new group of friends and stopped going to school altogether. School was where they pushed you into a mold and expected you to retain that shape: and the old “square peg in a round hole” applied to me 10 fold. I performed brilliantly when a teacher took the time to try to understand my class; failed horribly and ditched the classes taught by instructors I despised.
And such is almost everyone’s childhood school career.
Upon graduation, I figured I would use my wits, personality and new found attractiveness to land a starting position and work my way up. By the time my peers had graduated college, I’d have been working that whole time and would be equal if not ahead of them. Nice plan, except does anyone know what they want to do for a living when they’re 18? I didn’t. We’ll skip my early working career as they were all good and boring jobs with not much to tell. When I was 22, I took my saved money (around $50,000 at the time) and quit work, dumped my boyfriend, and decided to be a STAR! That is a story for another day, but the end result is I entered back into the working world shortly thereafter (around the age of 24) and have been at this delightful job ever since.
A year into working where I am now, I decided *maybe* college wasn’t for assholes. Every job posting I was interested in required an undergraduate degree if not a graduate. So I did some research and enrolled myself in school, under the auspice I would obtain my BA in Business-Marketing, do some intern work at a marketing firm, get a job, and pursue an MBA and then re-work my way up from there. A ten year path to riches and a CAREER.
The thing about it is, I am losing my interest in the business world, and marketing especially. Every goddamn minute of the day I feel I am being sold something; do I really want to hop on that bandwagon and inundate other humans with whatever worthless crap my client is trying to schill? I remember an ex-boyfriend of mine asked about my life plan in a roundabout way once, to which I replied with the paragraph above. He, being the “artsy” type, looked disgusted. “Wouldn’t you be just as happy owning a bakery?” he asked. What?! A bakery? BUAHAHAAHAHA what a quaint thing to say! FUCK NO I WOULDN’T! I want power suits! Briefcases! Portfolios! AN ASSISTANT TO YELL AT!
Slowly as my life has gone on, I realize now I would give anything to own a fucking bakery. I would love to run my own business, and not be at the mercy of the corporate gods we all yield to. Could I do it? Sure. Is success guaranteed? Never. But will continuing on with my curriculum in college benefit me either? I don’t know.
I’ve got a litany of “business” classes that I HAVE to take to get my degree. I am currently in business communication class part 3,359 (how many more of these do I fucking have to take?!) and I cannot stress how boring it is. I can find out how to prepare a proposal online, yo! Templates and memos and emails? I’m ALREADY A WORKING PROFESSIONAL! I KNOW HOW TO DO THESE THINGS! This shit is so boring and remedial I feel like constantly gouging my eyes out whenever I read a new chapter. College! WTF!
The sad truth is, if you want to be a “professional”, you need a degree. And the other sad truth is a lot of these classes are ridiculous and serve solely to assist you in racking up more and more student debt.
SO, what am I going to do? I have no idea. But observing the corporate structure as I have been has served only one purpose in my mind thus far: making me despise the very structure I and millions of other Americans are part of. The land of humans as numbers and ‘bottom lines’. Fuck you.
And huge entities are not the only culprit. The entire culture of America teaches us to compete (for money and prestige), to strive for a goal (money), and be the best we can be (have as much money and fancy titles as possible). This once felt natural to me, now it feels wholly unnatural. And while I toil away to make other people money, I watch people with no discernible talent or personality get literary agents, writing assignments from reputable magazines, modeling spreads and TV shows. Since when did hard work and ‘smarts’ begin to be replaced with marketability?
Video killed the radio star.
Well, what gets my goat about fuel prices, Sternbag, is that:
1) If some shit happens that would increase oil prices, such as Hugo Chavez gets mad or Iran moves a motorboat into the strait of whateverthefuck, gas prices IMMEDIATELY go up. Instantaneously. Even though the gas at the pump is made from oil purchased and refined way before. However,
2) Once the aforementioned shit is resolved, gas prices do not go back down until the oil being pulled out of the ground during said crisis is shipped, refined, etc., months later. The world is full of hustlers and scammers and everything sucks.
GAS PRICES GOING UP WHEN THE WEATHER GETS WARMER.
Fucking assholes! They know you’re going to plan trips and shit because the weather is nice so they jack up the gas prices the minute it gets warm. I watched gas go from $2.99 to $3.05 to $3.10 and now $3.19 a gallon.
It makes me want to stab people. Like Los Angeles isn’t expensive e-fucking-nough for the average asshole? Now I have to factor in increased gas prices whenever some cuntrag feels like gouging the general population? That shit is highway robbery!
a shit in a public restroom while talking on his cell phone just ended the conversation with “love you, too.”
Time to punish the meatpipe.
I’ve got a policy I’ve adhered to for quite some time called “never tell anyone shit”. As in, if I want to talk about it, I’ll blog that shit or write it down in a notebook somewhere, because ladies and gentleman? Telling other humans personal information backfires.
Super personal shit: would you blog about it? Because if you wouldn’t tell the whole world, you shouldn’t tell anyone.
This is because no matter how fabulous, loyal and truthworthy your friends, associates and lovers are, human nature has flaws. Different people think in different ways. For instance, because I am so ‘open’ and have a weird sense of humor, people have often figured if I told them something in confidence it is okay to discuss it later in mixed company, since everyone else already knows and I won’t get mad anyway. WRONG. I’m a layered person, people, just like EVERYONE ELSE ON THE FUCKING PLANET. In all actuality, I’m a good friend and someone who treads very carefully upon issues people have personally discussed with me. Do you know why? Because it is a RULE OF HUMANITY.* Do you know what a Rule of Humanity is? It is a fucking set of rules I developed for behavior I find unacceptable. Spilling secrets and being inconsiderate: against the rules.
Some people say if you can’t tell people your secrets, you’ll go crazy, or that you just need better friends, or you’re a paranoid, easily angered, delusional asshole who should just get an enema and take a vacation. But I disagree. Can you get mad at a gun for shooting you if you supply the bullet? NO! So my advice is don’t tell people shit you know you might regret. I’ve witnessed COUNTLESS “best friends” ruin each others lives spilling secrets left and right. Do you think Coke is successful because a bunch of bitches know the secret recipe? What about that baked bean company with that dog always trying to sell the recipe? Bitch shouldn’ta trusted that dog, no sir. KEEP YOUR SECRETS TO YOURSELF!
Or, post them online for everyone. Go big or not at all.
P.S., Rogier’s mom is a hooker. He told me when he was drunk last weekend.
*A fucking MEGA post is coming, with the Rules of Humanity. Don’t you worry.
Today was one of those days where I couldn’t wake up. Like, literally. My alarm goes off every five minutes after 7:30 am and I hit snooze OVER 10 TIMES, which is dumb as fuck because once you’re initially awakened, you’re not going to get any actual rest afterwards, asshole. Get with it.
So I finally drag my ass out of bed and try to figure out what to wear to this client lunch meeting today. Sterner likes to look a mixture of stylish and professional (not to be confused with professional casual…barf) which is a hard to attain when YOUR FUCKING LANDLORDTOOK AWAY YOUR LAUNDRY ROOM (negotiations with laundry facilities my ASS, Winthrop. I do NOT have time for the laundromat right now! I’ve lived at your ghetto building almost a year and have only had a laundry room for a total of 3 fucking weeks! *end rant*). So it took me forever to find a suitable outfit, so of course I was late to work and then they told me the meeting was cancelled anyway, which means I have to buy lunch here (which I hate doing) and that annoys me.
The client we were meeting with today is a photography/advertising agency, and they’re my favorite client. They do really high end stuff; Louis Vuitton campaigns, high fashion shows, celebrity campaigns, private parties, etc. They’re insanely successful and have tons of hip people working for them, mostly women. So I wanted to look extra cool for these people (even though my boss said they’re all plain as fuck which is standard, really). However, the only sweater I could find required a scarf over it to cover up my cleavage. And it led me to discover how much boob the normal person finds acceptable.
I love boobs! As long as the woman isn’t wearing a fucking TANK TOP to the office, or anything bought from a store called “Glitzy Glam” or something, I’m okay with a good inch of cleavage. Or more. Of course, I am a child of the 80s and also think almost all “rules” are fucking stupid, so I WOULD be the type to not give a shit about cleavage. Yet, isn’t bringing sexuality into the workplace counter intuitive? Of course. Work isn’t about getting your panties twisted…or at least usually. But sometimes a shirt just LOOKS better with a deeper “v”, the same way many mid-length skirts look better after you chop an inch or two off. And then let us not get into the issue of endowment…so you A cuppers can wear your shirts unbuttoned low and shorties can wear teeny skirts because when you do it, it doesn’t look as provocative or suggestive as when my 36C 5’9” ass does it? Fuck that! It’s not MY fault the average set of clothes is made for someone who is 5’6”.
And it goes on and on. I’ve been in meetings where a beautiful woman walked in and was greeted with a whole room of eye rolls. Hey, assholes! Calm down. She’s got the same chance of being a fucking moron everyone else does: 50/50. Put that woman in a room with mostly female executives and the eye rolls are usually accompanied by that instrinsically female upper lip sneer we do so slyly.
Whatever. I’m not going to dive into some diatribe about sexuality in the workplace, discrimination, and the like. Because my point was I like titties and when I own my own company I’m going to walk around in a mega padded push up bra and be the female Dov Charney. Eat a dick.
The day you stop wanting to fuck me will be the day America stops importing over 40% of its goods from China.
In other words, its not going to happen. But I’m glad you liked Mr. Sterner.