Archive | arrogant white male RSS feed for this section

Last Night’s Dreams

24 Nov

I dreamed that I had some possessions on a stoop and people were coming and going. It may have been a University.

I wasn’t the only one who had some possessions there. There was a desk with stuff on it, and I had placed a few things there. I knew the desk belonged to a guy I disliked; he was self-entitled and accustomed to getting his own way, and I was fed up with him.

At some point, I was close by and saw him run up to his desk and go through stuff, looking for something he urgently needed, and I was under the impression he needed it for a class project or presentation. I had no remorse for putting stuff on his desk, but neither did I feel angry at him in that moment.

Later, a guy who was a friend of mine but who could get annoying came along, and I was holding onto something, maybe a floor lamp, and he was demanding that I help him out with something, but I didn’t want to. He was trying to physically drag me away, and he got me off the stoop and onto the grass before I yelled at him. “No!”

He was shocked and stopped and stared at me. He wasn’t accustomed to me saying no, to me not being an extreme people-pleaser. I was surprised at myself.

Next, I was moving out and my male ex-roommate passed by without even acknowledging me. I think we were both ex-roommates and ex-friends.

#

I dreamed I was in kind of a large and cluttered space, maybe a basement, with a few other people who were busy with their projects.

I was in contact with a guy who sold cannabis. I think I was on the phone with him… but it was weird, because soon I was holding in my hand one of his cannabis products. I thought it was delightful, because it was sculpted out of cannabis and resembled a witch flying a broom.

#

I don’t know if that was the same dream, but I walked into my mother’s kitchen–she had a female friend (probably one of her siblings) with her. I noticed next to the stove a package of 3 treacle tarts just like the ones I used to get at a British import store. I exclaimed, “Treacle tarts!”

My mother snapped, “Don’t eat those up! That’s all I have!”

There were only two left, and the middle one was cut in half. I considered eating only half of the middle one, but they were so small. I asked her where she got them, so I could go there and buy my own treacle tarts.

Anti-Feminist Bullshit Day

22 Oct

Oh. My. Goddess. When the bar is only 1/8 of an inch above the floor, you should be able to get right over it. It’s not asking too much.

In a writers’ group this morning, one member, a white cisgender male in his sixties or seventies, shared a piece he’d written that listed off bullshit stereotypical descriptions of feminists. No, feminism is about dismantling patriarchy, rape culture, and systemic oppression such as misogyny and racism and gender binary. It’s not about hating men and wanting to have “test tube” babies. Patriarchal males are so narcissistic that even their made-up version of feminism is about them. (Since the 2016 election, I’ve repeatedly noticed patriarchal/misogynistic males wave narcissist red flags.)

As for bra-burners?! That was a misnomer invented by patriarchal mainstream media. Atlanta had a city ordinance against burning trash. Therefore the feminist protestors in question tossed oppressive, sexist things such as girdles and Ladie’s Home Journal into a trash can without actually burning them. Stop repeating a lie that has been repeatedly disproved… and read feminist books and blogs.

Later, I logged onto Facebook and visited a group that I usually enjoy. It’s for participants in National Novel Writing Month. But a female posted, asking if she must have “strong female characters” in her novel (because of something someone, maybe a friend, said) and if this is some “feminist agenda” or a requirement. She said she has a male protagonist and no “strong female characters.” Really? Not one single character in your entire novel can be described as a “strong female character”? She seems to think that because it’s medieval historical fiction, that she shouldn’t have to include strong female characters. This presumably means that her novel will have no major, three-dimensional female characters.

I was utterly flabbergasted, twice in one day (and I don’t even work in customer service anymore–heck, I’m somewhat reclusive nowadays). And I’m not going to read anything by her. Even Joss Whedon has no trouble creating strong female characters. It’s such a low bar. No doubt if she learned about the Bechtel Test, she’d have a heart attack or piss her pants or post about this “feminist agenda.”

Both situations reminded me of what a friend recently said in a feminist discussion: that people really hate us feminists. She’d dropped out of an atheist organization for this very reason. I’ve repeatedly observed that the only people with whom I enjoy socializing are feminists.

Yeah, and I’ll keep writing unabashedly feminist fiction. The funny thing is, this was a NaNoWriMo group, and my NaNoWriMo novel for this year is Feed Misogynists to Dragons, a novel so feminist that the title indicates it. I mean, it’s in your face. I’m going to soooooo wallow in the feminism of this novel and my “feminist agenda.”

Nightmarish Dreams

4 Oct

I dreamed I was at a large, very plain and white library… or museum… with s female friend. For a library, it certainly didn’t have many visible books.

In a large white room, I was standing in front of something like a white podium, and it was my intention to be doing research. But I didn’t like how this library worked and complained aloud, in a moment of exasperation and impatience.

Suddenly a male voice over an intercom—the staffer whom I’d met in the front lobby—was verbally attacking me over an intercom or PA system. He was somehow able to hear me. I replied in kind, and he replied and proceeded to shower me with nonstop insults, accusations, and threats over the PA system for all to hear.

I needed to leave immediately. The friend and I were going to slip out a side door. She reminded me that he had my keys—you hand them over when you show up at this place—and according to her, I needed to go get them myself… although I wanted her to get them for me, so I wouldn’t have to see this verbally abusive asshole again.

And that’s how the dream ended.

 

I dreamed that I was supposed to meet up with a queer Latinx male friend, a petite guy, at a restaurant. So I was in a back room of this restaurant waiting for him… and he didn’t arrive. I felt abandoned.

Eventually, I went to the front of the restaurant… and to the front door… and he was out there waiting to meet me. I was so appalled that it didn’t occur to me to wait out front instead of in back. We talked for a bit, but the hour had passed, and he couldn’t stick around.

 

In another unpleasant dream, I was across the street from a low, glass, L-shaped 1960s building. I recognized it and associated it with the Buddhist book discussion group from which I recently dropped out, thanks to a bully. This gave me aversion. As I watched, I spotted both the organizers of the Buddhist book group approach the building’s door. I froze. They spotted me and kept looking at me. I felt dread and aversion, maybe even panic, although emotions are generally muffled in dreams compared to real life.

A Bad Taste in my Mouth

29 Apr

Oh, yeah, that’s the taste of psychic toxicity.

I have a podcast app called Castbox. It sent me a notification about a TED talk that Hannah Gatsby gave, so I clicked on it, opening the app.

The first thing I noticed was a couple of long-winded comments, and I skimmed through them… to discover that I can’t even use a podcast app without encountering trolls. I didn’t even know that Castbox had a comments section, let alone trolls.

This troll was accusing Hannah Gatsby of not being funny (even though I found her funny when it’s her intention to be funny), of just whining about her experience of abuse and trauma, and of being full of herself. In other words, this troll projected their own arrogance onto her and generally flaunted their narcissism in public.

The intention of trolls, of course, is to silence women. Misogynists have silenced–and attempted to silence–women for centuries. Time’s up. You can’t silence Hannah Gatsby, and you can’t silence me.

Joke’s on you, troll. Some of us have gone for decades being gaslighted and put down by misogynistic narcissists and narcissistic sociopaths. We’ve learned to see the signs for what they are.

Today’s Asshole Award Goes to: Mansplainer

3 Apr

Today’s Asshole Award goes to the arrogant white male directing traffic with confusing communication skills.

No, your delusions of entitlement don’t mean it’s okay to blame me for your bad communication skills. The way your arrogant white male ass held the stop sign combined with your confusing hand gestures meant I was having trouble figuring out when you wanted me to move forward.

When he seemed to be telling me to move forward, I began to do so–but then he abruptly directed me to stop. He not only stole my right of way, he also directed me to roll down my window, which I did, only for him to condescendingly say, “When I say move forward, you’ve got to move forward.”

I replied, “I DID move forward.”

The asshole talked over me and said basically the same thing. I was too shocked to yell, “YOUR BAD COMMUNICATION SKILLS ARE YOUR OWN FAULT!”

It wasn’t until I got home that it occurred to me that maybe he thought he was directing me to move forward before it was clear he was doing so. Wrapping your hand in a fist and holding the stop sign sideways in no way indicates that you want me to move forward. And of course I have no idea what he was saying until I rolled down the window.

Mansplaining, condescension, disrespect, and false accusations each push my buttons, and all simultaneously particularly infuriate me. Your shit communication skills are your own fault, fucking assfuckinghole.

After this asshole mansplained at me, a woman took his place, and I had no trouble understanding when she directed me to move forward. You can bet I fucking hit the gas pedal.

#

This is what I emailed the city:

At approximately 1:20 PM on Wednesday, April 3, while I was waiting to turn right out of the parking lot on Tyinn St. off West 11th, an arrogant white male was directing traffic with confusing communication skills. I sat waiting and trying to interpret what he wanted me to do; folding up your hand in more or less a fist and holding the stop sign sideways doesn’t make any sense when directing traffic. His lips were moving, but directing traffic is nonverbal, and I couldn’t hear him.

When he seemed to be telling me to move forward, I began to do so–but then he abruptly directed me to stop. He not only stole my right of way, he also directed me to roll down my window, which I did, only for him to condescendingly say, “When I say move forward, you’ve got to move forward.”

I replied, “I DID move forward.”

He talked over me and smugly said basically the same thing and returned to his post. I was too shocked to yell, “YOUR BAD COMMUNICATION SKILLS ARE YOUR OWN FAULT!”

It wasn’t until I got home that it occurred to me that maybe he thought he was directing me to move forward before it was clear he was doing so. Wrapping your hand in a fist and holding the stop sign sideways in no way indicates that you want me to move forward. And of course I have no idea what he was saying until I rolled down the window.

After he mansplained at me, a woman took his place, and I had no trouble understanding when she directed me to move forward. His terrible communication skills are his own fault, not mine.