Everything today is pissing me off. My addiction to Rolos is pissing me off. The inconstancy of Pepper’s internet connection is pissing me off. The fact that my rage could be rightly attributed to PMS pisses me off even more. But you know what pisses me off the most? Staggeringly stupid, greasy-haired, anti-feminist mansplainers who give natural redheads a bad name.
That’s right—Pepper writes about important social issues; I bitch abut some douchecanoe from my women in lit class. This pretty much sums up our friendship.
Really though, the next time that raging ginger asspanda snickers while I’m talking, I just might snap. And I wouldn’t really feel too guilty about it either. Pepper warned me about him when we first learned he was in the class, but since my previous contact with him had been minimal (he once held a door open for me in a spectacularly douchey fashion, swinging it with a positively Hancockian flourish), I underestimated exactly how awful he would be. Now, though, I sit behind him in class, watching his back muscles twitch ragefully when his raised hand goes ignored, and wish that there were anybody else with things to say about Toni Morrison.
And it’s not just him. Here are some cramazing quotes straight out of that bastion of WTFery:
“Well, I think that like…[the black African working for a psychotic white dude in an absolutely terrible book we had to read] just like…knows his place. And he’s okay with it. You know? Like he just accepts it, and he’s happy.”
“This rape made him, you know, so violent. And willing to just, kick ass. It made him stronger.”
“The Africans in this book just seem, like…really violent. Like they just have so much anger and they can’t control their emotions.”
Yeah, well, speaking of people who can’t control their emotions…*keyboard splinters under furious pounding of fingers*
(I know—finger pounding sounds like a cheeky euphemism. It isn’t, but it probably should be. Trendsetters, that’s your next task.)
So Pepper and I sit there in class, exchanging looks of OH FOR THE LOVE OF THE RELIGIOUS FIGURE OF YOUR CHOICE WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE, and sometimes she’ll talk, and on rare occasions I’ll toss out a sentence (which is also our blogging technique), but mostly we just let the rage boil until it spills out into raised-voice conversations at Perkins that attract massive side-eye from senior citizens. Which is pretty fun, actually, and I highly recommend that everyone engage in this activity. One time we sat there pontificating about communism in vague but glowing terms—like so:
“You know what’s great? COMMUNISM.”
“Oh, I completely agree. Communism is awesome. I don’t understand why more people don’t embrace it.”
“The world would be so much better with a little Communism.”
“I need to find me a Commie man.”
“You really do. Let’s go to Russia.”
It’s all very delightful, almost as delightful as talking about Satanism within earshot of Pepper’s obnoxious evangelical neighbors. Unfortunately, social mores dictate that we sit respectfully in class with our rage contained, so we do. But I’m pretty sure my fury-face shows through at times—for example, when a married, unemployed woman from a wealthy background claims that she’s “never felt oppressed. I LOVE being a woman!”
Well, thanks for the anecdata, but that doesn’t erase the experiences of, you know, every other woman in the world sharp enough to recognize that no matter how much she achieves, how smart she is, how put together and accomplished and intellectually gifted, there are always going to be men for whom she is nothing more than…whatever misogynists see when they encounter a ladybrain. Probably some kind of fuzzy koala peeking out above a field of daffodils. Which would be cute as hell (if a bit geographically confusing), but is not a stand-in for 51% of the population.
Women who refuse to identify as feminist annoy me, and while I could offer a thorough and well-reasoned explanation for this, I don’t really think I should have to. It should be a given by this point.
So I pretty much end every school day thinking, seriously, defiant stupidity is not going to get you through college, just quit already. (If you’re an el ed major it will, my mind shoots back. My mind is a snarky little bastard.) And so I stew in my feelings of superiority, eating candy and drinking copious amounts of tea, and then I fall asleep on my couch, and I wake up thinking, ugh. I have a hangover from the stupid.
If I’m lucky, maybe some greasy mansplaining asspanda will put me in my place.