Yay or Nay, The Right to Chose

So, I stumbled across a post on Facebook today that, as usual, made me want to face palm hard enough to send my eyes skittering down my spine and out my asshole. Yes I know that makes no sense, but neither did the comments on this post. Basically, it stated, that men should have no option to weigh in on whether or not a woman aborts his child, because he doesn’t have a uterus.

I am so pro-choice I should have it tattooed on my luscious ass. I am also a staunch feminist. I believe in equality. I believe in rape culture and patriarchy just as much.

What I saw in the comments on this literally made me so mad and scared that I was nauseous. Women (and men) who honestly believed that the male partner should be able to dictate whether or not the female partner could abort a child. If he wanted it, she had to keep it.

You know why this terrifies me?

WHERE DOES IT END?!

You put into place a piece of legislation that dictates a woman cannot abort a foetus if the father wants it. You’ve now made it the government’s business what a woman does with her own reproductive system. Like they don’t already dictate to me what I do with it already.

I’m 23. I have a high school diploma, a year of university under my belt, a myriad of safety courses taken through my provincial government, I’m sound of mind and body, and if I wanted to I could help decide the fate of my country through voting, or use my body to fight for the liberties / rights / freedoms of others, and DIE in that pursuit. But I cannot decide at 23 years old whether or not I want to have children. I cannot get a hysterectomy. I cannot get my tubes tied. My insurance will not pay for an IUD, but it will pay for oral contraceptive which is less effective.

So they’re already telling me I can’t truly decide NOT to have children ( using a permanent method of contraception like a hysterectomy), which would be a truly effective means of birth control. But, I can sure as fucking hell get pregnant, dump said developed zygote on the government’s doorstep, and walk away with zero fucks given.

If a man has the ability to use the law to attack a woman’s right to chose, what else will they ( the government, not just men) be able to do? A woman has to ask her employer to have a child because she’ll need to take mat leave? A woman has to ask to get condoms or birth control because preventing the conception of a child becomes the same as aborting one? At what stage do we say enough? No, this is my body, I need to make the decisions about it. No one else should have the right to be able to force me into doing something. That is a form of rape to me. There are no grey areas when it comes to rape. Either someone’s consent was violated, or it wasn’t. And by telling a woman that she has to irrevocably change her life for the next ten months, just because her male partner, who happened to contribute genetic material during a mutually enjoyable sexual encounter, decides he wants the by-product? He can say, No. That child is mine. I want it. So you now have to take time off work, go to the hospital, endure unmistakable discomfort and pain, even though you DO NOT WANT TO. She does not consent to her body being used this way. But the government will force her too.

Hell fucking no.

This is my body. And I will decide what happens to it.

I have spent my entire life having men and ignorant women trying to dictate to me what I can and cannot do with myself.

Be thin, Victoria, because it’s more attractive.

Be less opinionated, Victoria, you’re being obnoxious.

Give in to other peoples desires, Victoria, you’re a prude / bitch / cunt / tease if you don’t.

Cover up Victoria, you need to be lady-like and not attract the wrong type of attention, because it’s YOUR responsibility what men think of when they look at you.

Sit still, be silent, do what you’re told Victoria, because if you don’t people won’t like you.

Thank the Gods I have parents who are fucking amazing, who understand how to raise a daughter with the proper weapons to combat the shitty fucking world we live in. I’m certainly sick and tired of people thinking they can weigh in on my choices / my body.

If I want to have a kid, I’ll fucking have one.

If I don’t want to have a child, NO ONE CAN TELL ME TO HAVE ONE. Just because he happened to have sperm with the motile ability to swim up my vaginal canal competently doesn’t mean he gets a say in whether or not that sperm gets to stay there, merged with my body, awaiting to wreak havoc on my life.

On a side note, as a believer in equality, if I decide to have a child, and my male partner doesn’t, he shouldn’t have to deal with my decision. The onus is now on me. He shouldn’t have to pay child support, fees, insurance, or anything. If he wants no part of that child, he should not be forced by anyone to partake of that child’s life in any way.

This all makes me so mad. I see it all the time. Girls getting sent home because their bra straps were showing. Or their shoulders, their thighs were showing. You are sexualizing children. We are so obsessed with women’s bodies and what they do with them, that we are ignoring the fact that we are human fucking beings.

If a person fell ill, and it turned out you were a match for bone marrow / kidney transplant with them, do they automatically have the right to receive it from you? Hell no. No fucking way. This is no different. My parents gave birth to me. Raised me. Fed me and clothed me. If one of them falls ill with said illness, do they have the right to force me to give up a kidney for them? No. But they contributed genetic material to me? They were the ones that raised me. Doesn’t fucking change this fact. Throw sex into the mix, and suddenly things change. Because abortion and sex are such hot topics, such taboo scenarios, that suddenly all the normal rules and regulations of consent go out the fucking window.

I say no. My body is not your battle ground. It is my temple, my haven, my place where I control what happens. Not you.

And if you have a problem with that, you can suck my proverbial dick.

Slainte,

V

I am Not a Doormat

Hello, my lovelies. It’s been a while. I’d like to say I’ve been busy as all fuck, but to be honest I’ve just been lazy and in a bit of a rut. But, I shall persevere! Time for a blog post. This is the part where you cheer loudly and feed my ego, eh? Tonight’s post is about altruism. Just to clear things up, here is the definition! 

The principle or practice of unselfish concern for, or devotion to, the welfare of others.

Firstly, I’m going to discuss the notion of altruism, how I feel about it and whether or not I practice it.

First and foremost I honestly don’t think altruism is a real thing. The moral behind altruism is to perform an act of kindness just for the sake of doing so, in a purely unselfish way. I have yet to meet someone – myself included – who does nice for people just for the sake of doing nice things. You know why I do nice things for people? I do it because it makes me feel like a good person. I feel like my karma meter is filling up, and that I am honouring my parents by doing so (they always taught me to be utterly polite to people and do kind things). So, technically, I’m really doing it for me, to make myself feel better about my own existence, so... not really altruistic, hmm. I do small things for those I love, to make them smile or make their lives a little easier, because if they are happy I am happy. I do nice things for strangers because my parents taught me to, and it makes me happy to think that I do them credit.

However, I sometimes feel like being a nice person isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I know, I know, the Raging Bitch is a nice person? But seriously, I only turn into the Hellspawn of Bitchiness Incarnate when people piss me off. It’s not my fault you can’t fix stupid...well, not without going to jail that is.

I can’t even fathom why people equate kindness with weakness. It takes a lot of balls to be able to give without expecting anything back. To know that you are putting yourself out there and showing you care, and not really expecting them to reciprocate. Most people believe that the imbalance would be in your favour, that because you’ve done something for them, they should be expected to reciprocate. That there is a debt owed somewhere in there. But really, if they don’t, you’re the one who is out of pocket so to speak. You have taken time, energy, money, affection, to show them that you care... and they’ve shown that they don’t care as much by not returning the favour. So really, you are at the disadvantage by being a caring person and being brave enough to be vulnerable to people.

This is how I see kindness. As a way of making myself feel like a good person, and a way of showing others that I give a fuck about them.

Well. No more fucks are being given this week, Ladies and Gents. I am tired of being mistaken as a doormat by those I care about. I am tired of saying yes, and putting up with shit, and not making a stink about things, just to be kind. And considerate. And understanding. I am tired of people looking at me like I’ve grown a second head just because I ask them for something back. Just because I have made a demand of my own.  I’ve always hated those people who couldn’t say no. Who didn’t have the courage to stand up for themselves and demand that they be given the respect and rights they deserve. And here I realize that, to a certain degree, I am one of them. I’m sure most of you know me personally, you know I’m a bit of a bitch sometimes, I’m neurotic, egotistical, and I take my own shit way too seriously. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t care way too much about people, that I am not kind, compassionate, and giving. Cause I am all those things. And I do my best to suppress the Raging Bitch inside. Cause that chick, she is one crazy ass mother fucker. She throws people through windows when they piss her off, she breaks windshields and goes after assholes with a baseball bat. Thankfully, she hasn’t gotten  a lot of action lately. But I’m starting to think she needs to come out a little more. Because, I am Not a Doormat. I am not here to help you, enable you, or be the only thing keeping you afloat in the vast wilderness that is Reality. I am here to help you in your time of need, to give you a hug when you’re feeling shitty, and to back you up when shit goes down. Not to be the crutch you lean on. If I am the crutch you lean on, the least you can do is be mine as well.  I’m tired of putting myself out there for people and having them only reciprocate when they feel like it, when they feel there is an actual obligation involved. And now I feel like a selfish bitch for saying that people should be nice to me just because I`m nice to them. But still... this bitch is done being nice for no reason. If you aren`t considerate of me, you can kiss my lily white Irish ass, and you and I both know you`ll enjoy it too. End rant! I think. Who knows, maybe I`ll actually drag my lazy fingers off their books and write another post this week/month. That`s a frightening thought...

Slainte,

~ Viki

P.S. I know I`ve covered this topic tangentially in the past... but I really just needed to remind myself that I am more than what others need me for. If that makes sense at all... So. yeah. Sorry!

Perspective

I’m feeling really introspective today. I wonder what people see when they look at me. I know that I walk through this world of ours with eyes tainted by all the experiences I’ve had: good and bad. I see things from the perspective of a single, white, chubby, sexually fluid, opinionated, intelligent, spiritual, immodest, moody young woman. But what do people see that when they look at me? I look at other people and despite my best efforts I judge them. I may keep those opinions to myself, but I do it nonetheless. So I wonder what people see when they look at me. What are they judging about me? My weight? My bad hair day? My obnoxious laugh? My arrogance? My nerdy t-shirts? My odd preference for fedoras? I always wonder. My parents taught me when I was young to ignore what others thought about me. That people will always judge me even if I try my best to be perfect, that my sheer perfection would be a point of contention.  That if I allow myself to care about their opinions that I was showing weakness. My father and I would sit and watch the news, and when the commercials came on he would ask me what they were selling. I never said the obvious: perfume, a car, clothes, technology. It was always: sex, money, fame, popularity, belonging, life, feigned happiness. He tried so hard to teach me to value the things in life that matter: family, friends, love, independence, strength of character, moral fiber, a good work ethic. I still value all those things, but the perfume and the clothes are definitely nice too. I’ve struggled for a long time with who I am. I don’t feel like I’m alone in this, we all go through puberty inundated with ideas of what we should and shouldn’t be. I grew up in a culture that worshipped a warped type of beauty: photoshopped women who look nothing like the finished product, tiny models who eat cotton balls soaked in water to keep themselves full, men who take steroids and workout six days a week so they can look like a Hollywood celebrity. Everyone is so unhappy being who they are that they lose themselves in all the twisted versions of themselves that they can create with makeup and photo editing and brand name clothes. So I wonder what people see when they look at me. Do they see the mask I create for the rest of the world? Or do they see the real me. Sometimes it’s hard to remember if my mask is actually that, or if I have become that person in reality. Maybe it’s all just me, a blended yet multi-dimensional self that changes depending on who I’m with. It sure seems that way at least. But back to my main point. In a world full of fake eyelashes and Spanx I really do wonder what people think when they see me, or even better when they interact with me. I have a solidly built identity now, it’s always growing and fluctuating but the core is still the same. My perspective of the world rarely changes, as a creature of strong opinions it takes a large proverbial slap to my intellect for me to change my mind about something. I assume other people are the same, that they have an amalgam of memories and experiences that shines through their eyes whenever they see something new. I’ve read blog after blog, article after article, about people discovering their inner beauty, about people transcending the petty standards of our culture to worship beauty on a much kinder level. But I just can’t see it in myself. I look around and I see beauty everywhere, especially in those I care about. In friends who push through life thinking they are weak and ordinary when all I see is that every flaw they have only adds to the perfection of their soul. But I can’t see it in myself no matter how hard I try. It’s a failing I think. It’s a weakness to not be able to see past my flaws and see the worthiness in myself. Professionally I have no problem doing this. I’m confident and assertive as an employee, also as a friend. But when it’s just me, standing there naked looking at my reflection in the mirror... I just don’t see it. I don’t see this luminous beauty that I see in others. I don’t want to get to know me... but maybe that’s because I already do.  I feel like there’s this disconnect within me, I can’t connect the me that is awesome and competent and funny with the girl I see in the mirror. I can’t connect my reflection with the girl people look up to, with the girl people hang out with, with the girl people miss when she’s not around. I know I am more than the sum of my parts. Intellectually, I know this.  But deep within me, where I dwell when I’m sitting home alone late at night when most girls are surrounded by friends or cuddling with their S.O... I can’t help but feel the disconnect. I can’t help but feel that if I am such a great person, why am I so unhappy with myself? How do people see me from their perspective? Because I certainly don’t think they see me the way I see myself.

Customer Service Rubric

For those of you who have no fucking clue what a rubric is, here is the definition from www.dictionary.com

Rubric: any established mode of conduct or procedure; protocol.

So now that that is out of the way here we are with a blog post that is much overdue.

People are constantly belabouring the lack of good customer service these days. They lament over the loss of manners and exceptional service, they wish that somehow –SOMEWHERE - there was a way for them to get quick and friendly service for exactly what they need. Well, here is a rude awakening for 90% of consumers out there. We aren’t the problem – you are.

What a revolutionary concept, eh? You being a problem when all you want is for us to do our jobs properly? Welcome to my world. I spend approximately 35 hours a week listening to people ask for things I can’t do.

I want free butter.

I want a free refill on all sizes.

I want lower prices.

I want into the building before you’re actually open.

I want you to pop a fresh batch of popcorn 5 minutes from closing just because I’m a picky bitch 

and need it to be extra fucking fresh.

I want you to smile and be perky for hours at a time when all we do is treat you like a robotic non-entity built entirely to satisfy our needs.

I want you to go to extraordinary lengths to fulfill my irrational request just because you make minimum wage and work in the service industry because it’s your JOB.

I’m sure you can tell by now exactly how I feel about many of the people who come across my path when I’m working.

You want things to be exactly the way you want as a consumer, but to someone who deals with people like you all the time...well, it gets really fucking frustrating after about...oh... ten minutes. As a worker I have been given a decently strict set of rules to adhere by, and I am asked several times a shift to break at least one of those rules by a customer. I get treated like shit by people because I refuse to allow them to bully me into rule breaking just because I am a young woman in a customer service job making damn near minimum wage and it’s my job to please you.  I’m about to tell you exactly what to do to attain damn near perfect customer service every time you walk into a business.

1.       Be patient. Many customer service representatives go through dozens if not hundreds of people a day and it is exhausting. If we are dragging our heels a bit consider the fact that we might be a single parent with two kids who barely slept the night before. Or working two jobs just to pay the bills because we weren’t lucky enough to go to post secondary. Being patient with a CSR is a sure way for us to go as fast as we can, and give you a smile if not secret sales and price discounts we can give you.

2.       Be polite. A please and a thank you are bound to get you a sassy grin from me, as well as speedy service and particularly pleasant manners. My mother taught me to extend courtesy and polite manners to everyone regardless of their job position.

3.      Be rational. If we are obviously busy with something asking us to drop everything and help you is really rude. I am in the middle of performing a task necessary for my job and you want me to stop to fulfill a request for you. If it’s something small most of us don’t mind doing it right then... but seriously make sure you’re asking something reasonable of us, and not something that breaks protocol, health code, or makes us uncomfortable. My name isn’t Jeannie and I don’t cross my arms and nod perkily every time you need something from me.

4.      Communicate clearly. We can’t help you if we have no clue what you’re saying and/or asking for. Standing there mumbling when I have a lobby full of couple hundred people (half of those screaming children) is not going to make this process any easier. The same goes for any store: if you want a certain product KNOW THE NAME. If you need something particular, BE PARTICULAR about what you are asking for. Getting mad at us because we can’t read your mind about your choice of skinny jean brand is not kosher. Product education is a particular passion of mine, but that doesn’t mean I want to stand there for ten minutes explaining the ins and outs of what we offer because you can’t make up your mind. Seriously.

5.      Treat us like people. I have a uniform, a name tag, and I stand behind a counter. That does not suddenly make me non-human. I am a person with feelings and beliefs and just because I am being paid to stand there and take your order does not suddenly mean those things go away. Don’t expect me to smile and nod if you’re being rude to me, sexually harassing me (you may think you’re flirting...you’re not), or getting up in my proverbial space because I won’t douse your popcorn with butter – which is more than $50 a tub. I am not perfect, stop treating me like I have an operating system that has been seared behind me retinas to do exactly as you please all with a pretty little demure smile on my fucking face.

I have opinions and I will treat you to them if you push me. Welcome to Earth, are you here to stay? If so, get used to interacting on civil base with people no matter what race/gender/sex/orientation/wage/religion they make/are. Both of us would have a much happier day if you weren’t a douche to me because I didn’t put enough ketchup on your burger. Or got you the wrong size of pants. Or the wrong perfume brand. Life is full of small disappointments, be the bigger person and stop taking out your anger out on a virtual stranger for making a mistake.

Those five steps listed above are damn near guaranteed to get you lively and efficient service. Remember people if you treat people nicely, they will normally do the same to you. Now obviously there are CSR’s out there who give zero fucks and just stand around and do nothing... sorry about them... their just here for the scenery obviously.  Also the title of Customer Service Representative may be misleading. This can also be read as Sales Associate, or basically anyone who interacts with customers and provides them with a service. Capice?

Now that I’ve finished this rant I am off to eat chocolate, drink some mother fucking apple juice, and watch Vampire Diaries...cause that’s how I reward myself after an hour of writing.

Slainte,

~ Viki