Guys, readers, people who give me cyber affection…which sounds kinda dirty when I think about it…it happened.
Something actually happened that offends me. Or it should have, anyway. I should have been ALL up in arms gone to the mayor of Whereeverthefucksville and been like “Oi! Something JUST happened to me that incited such a strong feely feeling straight in my feels that I FEEL the need to express how it makes me feel.
You know what she’d say? (yes, there has been a long consecutive line of woman mayors in Whereeverthefucksville)
She’d say “get over yourself, don’t you have something to write?”
and I’d probably say “Dammit!…Ms. Mayor, you’re right, gah I HATE it when you’re right”
the fuck were we talking about? I dunno, it’ll come to me. Oh, before I forget (too late [isn’t it ironic, doncha think?])
the following content may or may not be Safe for Work
OH YEAH! this thing, this thing that happened. It’s funny. Ok, we’re gonna talk about it.
So I’ll provide you first with a little context. I have a kilt that I wear regularly. It’s awesome. I feel hott and masculine and really like I’m embracing my Celtic (with a ‘Kh’ sound) me wearing my kilt, I would imagine, is why anyone wears anything that they feel their best, smartest, suavest, sexiest, most delectable in. I love this kilt. it’s nothing too fancy. but I can dress it up with a wide belt and a sporran (the pouchy-thing in front the allows me to carry my shtuff) and it looks pretty good.
I was still wearing this awesome garment after my bands Battle of the Bands (that we won, no big deal) in which I play the drums (not-relevant. I’m just bragging now).
My band mate and I were at the bar that we met each other at and talking with some people that we knew, you know, doing what people do at bars, until closing time came around.
I was standing outside on the patio when a group of girls, a couple of which I had met previously but couldn’t, for the life of me, remember their names passes me on their way out. As I’m catching a whiff of the pungent mixture created by perfume and cigarette smoke, one of the lovely ladies of the night decides that she NEEDS to know what’s under my kilt and playfully, in passing, LIFTS IT UP to take a peek.
I’m of a Scotch/Irish heritage (I just say Irish, it’s easier). I wear my kilt correctly; in the traditional style with nothing BUT the kilt covering me for legal purposes. Needless to say, little miss Thing got the eyeful she was looking for.
Now, I’m not sure which thought came first so I’m just gonna wing it and you can read them in whichever order you like.
ummm…I kinda liked it.
Now, I didn’t kinda like it because I’m a stripper and taking my clothes off for random people just…*le sigh* just does it for me. I’m not a stripper. I’m twisted, but I just don’t have the moves for that kinda revue.
I kinda liked it because this random girl up-kilting me means that she found me attractive enough to get my attention in some way. That way was partially disrobing me. Innately, on some sort of primal level, whether conscious or subconscious, she wanted to see if I was naked under that kilt which I was wearing so dashingly. And so conveniently happened to be completely naked under (we’ve
MEANING…she wanted to bang, right there, right then. That’s what I took from it. I’m a guy…so, uh, duh.
This thought was either preceded by or followed by the reasonable side of me thinking to myself: “Now, wait a minute there champ. I was just violated without my permission or my immediate knowledge. This…this is WRONG, EVERYTHING IS WRONG. GUARDS! Hand that Wench! Off with her head!”
Ok, I didn’t want her dead but the action in question did cause me a little hesitation.
Then I thought about double standards and how gender policies and roles and shit are really twisted and how nobody is right and nobody is wrong. CUZ NOBODY KNOWS THE FUCKIN’ difference.
AT FACE VALUE, a girl lifting a dude’s kilt to take a peek is flirty and kinda cute. It means she’s a little feisty maybe a little slutty (which, I personally see as a term of endearment and is no longer an insult. Not in MY vocabulary, anyway. YOUR vocabulary can fuck itself if it has an issue.)
FLIP SIDE, a dude lifting up a girl’s skirt in passing is creepy, slimy, and ALWAYS a violation of the lady’s space and a reflection on his upbringing cuz fuck that guy, that’s why.
These are very superficial examples ofa double standard that could be encapsulated within the same sentiment. READY? *Deep Breath*
I/YOU/HE/SHE/THEY NEED CONSENT TO TAKE SOMEONE’S CLOTHES OFF, NO MATER HOW LITTLE OR HOW MUCH.
That being said, almost anybody has consent to take my clothes off until I stop them at any given time…I’m just twisted like that…We’ve been over that. It’s whatever.
The thing is, and the namesake of this rant is this; I Guess I should’ve been offended…? I wasn’t. It really didn’t matter to me. and in the Great Grand scheme of things, a lotta shit that people get all up-in-arms about, or offended over REALLY doesn’t fuckin’ matter. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re “offended” you’re whining. No one likes a whiner.
So, do me a favor, shut THEE ACTUAL FUCK up and talk about it with someone. Or if there is absolutely no one you enjoy talking to about anything, WRITE IT OUT. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Socrates did. He just talked with himself and asked questions (ok, also in the company of a select few) until he figured shit out. Which, I dunno, does anyone REALLY have everything figured out? I know I don’t. I just like to think I do.
If I’ve hurt your feelings or stated something that is disagreeable with your personal ideals talk at me, I still love you. Let’s talk about it. Until the next time.
Cheers, beautiful people,