Fuck. This Modern Woman Is Cranky.
I haven't been this cranky since I fought certain death in my mother's birth canal and emerged red faced, victorious and screaming into the cold harsh world.
My computer decided to teach me a lesson in technological humility last night. There I was, ten to ten, wiping the sweat from my brow, teeth bared, fingers forming talons, I was almost finished.
I had worked non stop from seven-and after pancakes- forgoing television, forgoing reading a book, forging spending many hours on the interweb looking at puppies, FORGOING FUCKING LIFE ITSELF!! I was about to send my work to an outside link when suddenly the application I was working on quit.
'Shit' I said. But I wasn't worried, I always click save as I work. So, I reasoned, If I'd lost the last minute or two of work... well, annoying but hardly the end of the world.
Except it wasn't the last minute or two.
When I relaunched the application I noticed something strange. The modification time said late Monday. No mention of Tuesday at all.
I searched, scrolling back through EVERY FUCKING THING I HAD WORKED ON only to find the bastard thing had NOT saved a single Tuesday related thing.
And that folks is precisely when Hurricane Fatcat hit the house.
Well I raged and I uttered sounds from a deep primordial source. I"m not sure they were english, I'm not sure they were even human.
I went through the system.
Then I went through my own internal system, stage by stage.
1st- Disbelief ( wording -' OOh NO, No No no no No No no!")
2nd-Incandescent rage ( wording- 'This &!!**%%% stupid %%$$£** piece of ******* **** I"m going to ****** it **** the ***** garden and then I"m ********** going to ******** ********* it until ******** *********!! ********* it to hell!!')
3rd-Resignation- Wording ( boo hoooo Waaaaaaaaaaah,***** hoooooooo)
4th-steely silence- Wording ( Not a single utterance)
So today I must redo my lost work, I must try and attempt to put two days into one, for I don't have time to waste, this project is supposed to be finished by the end of February. I can't afford to lose a day's work. But it is gone, and I can't get it back.
The mentally stultifying fury of losing a day's work leads me to one other thing of irked anger today. Not because it's that important, but rather as I read this tiresome douche's witless ramblings in the Indo, I thought of Medbh, then I thought of how hard I and many women like me work. There is no disrespect aimed to the men who read here either, I know you all work hard too. But then nobody is casting doubt on that.
Quoth the Douche....
" We live in a society where women's rights are something we take for granted. Equal opportunities, equal pay and they even have the vote these days, which some people say is taking things a bit too far, but what can you do?
Yup, it seems the fairer sex really do have the freedom to do anything they want -- just look at the inspirational figure cut by Francesca Amber Sawyer, who is proud to call herself a wannabe WAG.
The blonde, who's hair is as fake as her tan, has already bagged herself a Premiership player in the past, but says she still goes out every night to get her mitts onto other footballers.
According to Sawyer: "You need to know which clubs to go to on any given night, because the players follow a routine."
She claims she's proud of what she does and points out that: "The players are just chavs with money, they would have the same taste as your local builder.
"There is no point splashing out too much on designer shoes because they would have no idea. The trick is to dress as sluttishly as possible."
Interestingly, she reckons the girls who slept with Ashley Cole "did Cheryl a favour, because she found out now rather than waiting for years. It's not their fault."
A hundred years of the Suffragette movement and this is where modern women are today.
Emmeline Pankhurst must be so proud."
To that I must say,
Dear Ian O'Doherty. I realise you have all the wit and intelligence of a moss covered rock-perhaps all those years of snorting cocaine has fried whatever cell you use for cognitive reasoning- but here, allow me to help unfuzzy your poor attempts at humour and snark.
From time immemorial there have been skanks. There have been women who aspire to nothing more than eye-candy, there have been women who want nothing more than to hook a thick headed oaf with a healthy bank balance. There have been women who don't want to do anything except have a baby with a wealthy fool and not work or toil or break sweat.
What exactly this has to fucking do with the rest of us is beyond me. What it has to do Pankhurst is beyond me.
See, here's the thing, my gerbil faced cuntbutler, women are actual people. (Sit down there, steady, steady, I know this rush of knowledge has probably left you feeling all shaky and shit-take it handy, have another jumbo sized mars bar)
Now, where was I?
Oh yes, women=people. And people, you'll be shocked to discover Ian, can be stupid, crass, vulgar, unintelligent, boring, condescending, glib, lazy, vapid, shallow boobies. Does this mean ALL people are thus? Why no, of course not. Only a nincompoop and a fellow booby would think so.
Once more for the cheap seats in the back, women=people. People =Men+women, ergo, women = men.
Some women are idiots, some men are idiots, and so the world turns.
Pretty fucking simple Ian. But if you still can't understand it get your wife to explain it to you.
Labels: A cold hard fury.