Happy Christmas!

'Twas a night before Christmas and I don't feel like writing much. However I found this quite a while ago through my tumblr I've bolded the things that I have done and I'm turning this into a tag bitches.

Things to do before Kicking the Bucket

1. Write the story of your life
2. Watch every James Bond film
3. Sing along in a music store


I was at Tower Records with Munkao and Backstreet's Back came on the sound system. I was like "OMG!! BSB! Childhood flash back!" then I got excited so I started singing along with it. Loudly. Then I realised that I still kinda remember the dance move from the video- I mean c'mon let's face it....if you grew up in the 90s the way I did you would know that the video to that song is the Shit. So I started doing random dance moves that I remember of. Right there, in public, in Tower Records Mid Valley...with people watching. Dude...the look on Munkao's face was priceless.


I think he said something along the lines of "If you're not a girl, I punch you in the face maaaan." Then practically dragged me out of the store. This happened last year by the way, in case you were wondering. So not only did I sang out loud in a record store, I danced too bitches.


4. Build a snow cave
5. Get in the record books
6. Turn your mobile phone off for a week



In all technicality this only happen cause my phone was spoilt so I send it to be fix.


7. Run in fancy dress for charity
8. Blow a month’s wages on shoes
9. Paint a self-portrait
10. Bury a time capsule
11. Leave behind a million dollars
12. Learn to play a song
13. Plant a tree and carve your name
14. Go on holiday with no luggage
15. Have a night at the opera
16. Learn a different language
17. Play an elaborate practical joke
18. Host a cocktail party
19. Spend Christmas Day helping out
20. Meditate for 3 hours in one setting
21. Spend a week at sea
22. Get re-married in Vegas
23. Skinny dip at midnight
24. Have a suit hand made


Since I'm a girl I think it's fair to take "suit" as dress and by that, I did have one hand made. Okies?


25. Spend the night in a haunted house
26. Make fire the old-fashioned way
27. Swing through the air on a trapeze
28. Horse-ride through the surf
29. Read a book a fortnight a year
30. Make your own pasta
31. Swim with something big
32. Sleep outdoors watching the stars


Remember Starlight Cinema? My best friend and I went for the Lord of the Rings Marathon. It started at 8pm Saturday and it finished round 9am-ish Sunday. I forgot the exact date. But it was in a field, picnic style. We watched the extended version of all 3 movies but sometimes during Two Towers we fell asleep on the picnic blanket under the stars. We were lucky it did not rain but it was such a great experience. And a total girly bonding moment between my best friend and I.


33. Create an online alter-ego


Who the hell do you think the Constantly Dramatic One is?


34. Cook something you’ve grown
35. Resign by all-staff email
36. Go out shopping in just a Drizabone
37. Catch a fish and eat it that day
38. Brew your own beer
39. Learn to throw a boomerang
40. Ride a giant rollercoaster
41. Surf and snowboard in one day
42. Build a tree house
43. Take pole-dancing lessons
44. Pash a policeman on New Year’s Eve
45. Do a Roar & Snore at the zoo
46. Give a homeless person your lunch
47. View a house you can’t afford
48. Hire a house boat
49. Go trekking, carrying all your gear
50. Build something that will outlast you
51. Research your family tree
52. Go to a bedding store in your PJs
53. Cut your own hair
54. Get involved in a protest rally
55. Make a crowd sign for the cricket
56. Leave a love note on a windscreen
57. Build a giant sandcastle
58. Blow a kiss to a bikie


Not a bikie per say. But a cute guy in a Honda Jazz during a traffic jam.

59. Wear fancy dress for a whole day
60. Spend an hour in a lift
61. Get your fortune told
62. Make a baby laugh
63. Make a snowman
64. Make love on the beach
65. Help out at a soup kitchen
66. Send flowers for no reason at all
67. Watch the sun rise
68. Watch the sun set
69. Make a cake for the teachers
70. Take the day off on your birthday
71. Spend Christmas Day in Lapland
72. Make a heap of autumn leaves
73. Walk through knee-deep mud
74. Tell your Mum you love her
75. Have a night at the ballet
76. Take evening classes with a friend
77. Take tap-dancing lessons
78. Write a letter to your grandchildren
79. Smile at 100 strangers
80. Read the plays of Shakespeare
81. Do a first-aid course
82. Keep a diary for a whole year


Actually I did for 5 years. Aged 13-17. I no longer do but I still have all 5 of them.

83. Google yourself
84. Visit your parents in a limo

85. Live off the land for a week
86. Listen to your iPod right through
87. Fast for 48 hours

When I was 15, I had some sort of eating disorder issue. Bullimic basically. I went through 3...4 days without food then binging on the 5th day and then throwing it up. 48 hours with no food or water? No big. Just ask anyone who has an eating disorder. I'm sooo glad that I am in a much better place in my life now.

88. Skip with your kids along the beach
89. Take a vow of silence
90. Finish a crossword or sudoku
91. Give blood

Done it 3 times this year. Done it 11 times all together. It's just blood. No need to be stingy.

92. Write to your favourite author

Not just one author mind you. 3 of them through snail mail. True story.

93. Walk a marathon
94. Contact your childhood sweetheart
95. Give an emo a big sloppy kiss
96. Pretend to be invisible
97. Buy some outrageous sunnies
98. Wind up a security guard

One day, I shall blog about this one particular episode...

99. Send a message in a bottle
100. Make a kite and fly it

101. Test-drive a car you can’t afford

Out of a 101, I have only done 26. Wow, thank God I'm only in my early twenties man. If I'm 45 and have only done 26 of these, I'll be really depressed. Like seriously.

If you read this blog, considered your ass tagged. The following video is a gift from me to you, especially to those kids who were born in the 80s but grew up in the 90s. This one is for you.

Happy Christmas everyone!

My brother lived in Chicago for 4 years and all I got is a lousy t-shirt

My brother came home on Saturday. He told me that he was supposed to arrive on Sunday and that I am supposed to pick up his ass from the airport. It’s supposed to be a surprise for our parents and we’ve been planning this for weeks. Then he went and showed up a day earlier.

It was almost 2 in the morning. I was home alone seeing that my parents were in Singapore. If I am actually “cool”, I would have called up some friends, get me a DJ and throw a super happening party with abundance of liquor, marijuana and pole dancing strippers. But seeing that I am not cool nor an extra designated for plot advancement in some American coming-of-age movie involving 4 guys who want to get laid before prom, I did no such thing. Instead I was home alone watching "Love Actually" and cursing my non-existing love life. I was at that scene, where that guy proclaimed his love for Keira Knightley’s character using cue cards with Christmas carol playing in the background.That scene was so fucking romantic that I hyperventilated a bit. I was like “How come he loves her? Why her? Why her and not me?!! Why doesn’t Clive Owen ever stand in my doorway, proclaiming his love by giving me a diamond bracelet with Snoop Dog’s Sensual Seduction playing in the background?! Why?! What does his wife have that I don’t?!!! WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME CLIVE?!! WHY WON’T YOU?!!!” -when the house phone rang.

At first I thought it was my parents calling from Singapore. They could call my mobile but they called the house phone instead to make sure that I was in fact, at home. Like they’re so scared that I would go out all night partying and have random promiscuous sex in some club’s dodgy bathroom. I mean, seriously. Come on. I have class. If I want hot sex, I’ll just hire a gigolo. And we’ll do it in my parent’s bedroom, not some club’s bathroom. Trust me on that. So I answered the phone

“Yes, Dad. I’m home. I’m not out and about being a skank.”

“Hey CD, I’m in front of the house!”

Dude, I swear to God the first thought that crossed my mind was “Huh? Clive?” And then I panicked. Fucker, it was almost 2 in the morning. Who the fuck does house calls at this unGodly hour? OMGWTF, did I order a gigolo? OMFG?!! Did I? How the hell would I know who to call to order a gigolo? Shit!! How am I going to pay for this? What is the going rate for gigolos these days? OMG! The cops! The cops! My face would be all over the news for soliciting a hooker! And I haven’t got my eyebrows done.

“Dik, abang ni. Kat depan rumah.”

Sis, it’s your brother. I’m in front of the house.

Oh.

“What?! I thought you’re supposed to arrive tomorrow! Who picked you up?”

“My boys did. Come on, open the door.”

See, I could just go ahead and open the door for him but there’s a slight problem. I wasn’t wearing.... much. Like, maaaan I’m home alone okay. You’re lucky I wasn’t walking around naked. What the hell am I supposed to do? Answer the door in my panties and all my braless glory? With his friends standing there too? I’m sorry this is not a porno you download from the Net, this is my life. So I ran up, grabbed the nearest thing that I can and just put that on. You would think the first thing he would say to his long lost sister when I opened the door would be; “I miss you” OR “You are the best sister a guy ever had” OR “Wow, you grew up to be so magnificently beautiful” but what he said was “Hey, your pants is inside out…..and what’s that brown stuff on your face?”

Ahhh…..such sweet reunion of siblings. Bring tears to your eyes it does.

He looked dead tired so I told him to go to sleep but he was all excited saying that he brought me stuff from Chicago. Secretly I was excited too but was playing it cool. Inside I was like “YAY!! Gifts!” but outside I was like all “Oh really? You shouldn’t have.” Ahem. Then he pulled out like this thick ass book okay. “I got this for you cause you have always like to read.” Dude, I thought it was Tales of Beedle the Bard- Limited Edition turns out it was “Dreams from My Father" by Barrack Obama. Are you fucking with me? I stared at him and he was like “What? You were into the elections and I got you an Obama shirt too” at which point he pulled out this huge ass shirt from his luggage.

Okay, first off. Yes. I realise that I am fat. Yes. But really, is he mocking me? That fucking shirt is hugggge. It is not a shirt, it’s a fucking tent. With Obama’s face on it. I think it’s a men’s shirt sized triple XL. I am not making this up. I’m swimming in it! That shirt is so huge it reaches my knees. I got dresses shorter than this! Oh, the unprovoked insult delivered by your own flesh and blood!…Oh how it hurts so…

I actually got a picture taken in that shirt to show how ridiculous huge it is and I wanted to puti it here for you guys to see but at the last minute I took it off cause:

1) I was wearing shorts underneath the shirt but it’s either the shorts is too short or the shirt is too long that it seemed that I am not wearing any bottoms at all.

2) It is a men’s shirt.

3) I was posing next to my bed.

4) My hair was messy.

5) I also put on these sexy 4-inch heels that I got for RM25 on stock clearance just to show off.

Upon uploading this photo I realise the fact that I’m posing next to a bed in a man’s shirt seemingly without any bottoms on but with heels on and having that little messy bed hair going on is….not really appropriate now is it? What kind of message am I sending off to my readers? No, seriously…what? Images with hidden double entendre like that should not be seen by public.....only by Clive. So I took it off at the last minute. I will not blind my readers that way. You can thank me later. But trust me on this, that shirt is huuuge and it kinda look like this:

But in the size of a tent you take when you go camping in the Amazons.

I appreciated the thought however and thanked him for the gifts, gave him a hug and told him to go to sleep. We can do our catching up tomorrow. I got back to my room, flipped open the book and a Benjamin with a post-it note on it fell out: “Untuk adik abang”. (For my sister)

100USD, that’s 300 Malaysian Ringgit.

Turns out, my brother not so crappy with gifts after all....

Fabu!

OMGWTFBBQ!! I got me an award. Courtesy of the ever-adorable Technodoll of Bubblegum Diaries. Awwwwww….this is my 3^rd blogging award ever since I started this whole blogging thing. Almost 2 years now actually.

Fabulous bitches! Fabulous!

Right the rule of the game is for me to list out 5 addictions and then to spread the love to 5 other bloggers who are as fabulous as moi. Since it’s a Saturday and I’m feeling lazy as hell let’s just make this a quick one. My addictions:

1) The internet. Kinda obvious, no?

2) Reading. I am quietly judgemental towards people who do not read.

3) Writing. I write constantly. I even have a notebook next to my bed cause sometimes at night I just wake up and feel the need to write. So write I must.

4) Lotion. I put on 3 different types of lotions everyday. One after showers, another before and after driving, and my favourite one at night before sleeping. This ritual makes no sense to anyone else but me.

5) Clive Owen. Ahem.

Now, drumroll please…!!!

Faye of lifethrupinklenses

Cause she is fabulous, and lets face it. Anyone that can write and dress as well as she deserve an award all on its own.

Connie of Skin Deco: Enhancing Natural Beauty

Best fucking makeup tutorial blog ever. Seriously. You guys…the crazy hours I spend staring at her step by step tutorial and then trying to recreate it is like fucking infinity. If you’re into makeup, her blog is a must read.

Rujing of emma&rujing

Rujing is the dramatic protégé I’ll never have. She’s hilarious and completely random but really the woman is a drama queen, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. The drama force is strong with you my young pedawan. Use it well.

Zikri of Theater of Nothing

Zikri deserves this award merely cause I wanna irritate him but also because of all the readers and the commentors of Dramatic Musings, he is the only one who always calling it as it is. And telling the truth no matter how irritating it is to me. Thanks dude, you’re faaaaabulous!

AJ of Road to FABULOUSITY

What kind of fabulous award is this if it doesn’t include the faaaabulous AJ himself? Hell man, he doesn’t even need this given the fact that he is extraordinarily fabulous already. But hey, why not eh?

This is for you AJ!!

So that’s all for today. Now you guys go and spread the fabulousness. Ta.

The Constantly Dramatic One's Shit List: Part 3

Okay this post has been a long time coming. I realise that my ass will get flame after this but then you know, it’s not like having haters on this blog is anything new. Haters on Dramatic Musing is like the sun on a bright shining day. They keep things spicy here and over time I have come to rely on them for my perpetual craving for drama. Yes….. haters complete me in ways no lover ever could.

 

And for that, I thank you.

 

Anyways, I dunno bout you guys but as much as I am into this whole blogging thing right, there are just some shit out there that bugs the fuck out of me. Just some random things regarding the blogging world so let me just list them out for you. In no chronological order:

 

1) Tedious bloggers pissed the fuck out of me. You know those kinds, the ones that have to give you a play by play of their whole life. Every, mundane, minute details have to be described and exploited. Dunno what I’m talking about, let me give you some examples:

 

 

“Today I went shopping. I drove there in my silver Volvo. Eric came with me. He sat in the passenger seat next to me. He wore a red hoodie. I told him it makes him look gay. I laughed. Haha.”

 

“Oh today I woke up. Then I went to the bathroom. Then I took a dump. I wiped my ass with recycled tissue paper. It was pink in colour. I think it is pretty. Haha.”

 

FYI, no one wants to know about every little mundane shit that goes on in your insignificant little life. Really. Contrary to your singulary belief, you are not as fascinating as you thought. If you want to write shit like that out, get a damn diary. Not a goddamn blog. Reading your blog is so fucking boring that upon setting my eyes on it, watching paint dry and grass grow seem utterly attractive to me.

 

2) Okay now I understand that you love yourself. That you are in fact, the shiznit. That you are the most beautiful, the most drop dead gorgeous human being that has ever walked God’s green earth. See, I understand that. I understand that some amount of self love is needed for a healthy self esteem.

 

See I know I am not the most gorgeous woman around. I know that. But sometimes, on good days I look into the mirror and I go “Daaaammmnnnnn giiiirrrrrlll. You are fiiiinnneeee. Now shake that ass baby, shake that ass. Cause you are fiiiiinnnnneeee.” Moments like this would not be complete if I do not pull some Tyra Banks-es poses in the mirror. It’s fun. It keeps me happy. Keeps my self esteem healthy as well. But when I am overcome by moments of narcissism like this, I do not however take 3000 pictures of me and paste it all over my goddamn blog.

 

Yes, yes ...we know you think you’re gorgeous. We know. Unfortunately we do not share the sentiment. But really huney, no one wants to see you in 1700 different posses and faces in the same outfit. Also you know that shit that you do when clearly you are taking a pic of yourself and not looking into the camera, yeah that shit is lame. It does not make you look mysterious. It just heightened your douchebag factor.

 

3) See I have crappy taste in music. So crappy that whenever I tell people of my favourite artists, people visibly cringe in horror of it all. I listen to shallow pop music and I am not ashamed to admit it. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Kelly Clarkson, Beyonce and so on and so forth are the singers that are on constant reply on my mp3. I know a lot of people think of pop music as crappy. So much so, that a friend once told me; “When we meet my other friends, please don’t tell them that you listen to Britney and those other crappy music cause then I am forced to abandon this friendship of ours.” It gets to that point okay.

 

So I understand completely on how other people do not like my type of music. And I respect that. I do not shove it into their ears and I do not force them to like it. I like what I like and vice versa which brings us to that fucking, fucking annoying instant-play-music-widget fuckery.

 

There are many blogs out there who have music widgets that start playing the moment a reader visits their blog. Let me just point out that those things are the most ridiculously annoying shit I have ever come across. Have it ever occurred to you that the rest of the damn population do not share the same taste in music as you do? Have it ever occurred to you that they might find the music that you oh so love and adore worst then the sound of a cat makes during giving birth? Have it occurred to you that your reader might be listening to their own music, and have no wish whatsoever to listen to your lame ass music while blog surfing? Get rid of that shit.

 

When I listen to Britney, I do not like to be interrupted.

 

4) I have issues with advertisings on blogs. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind if you have like only one of those widgets things. Just one. Big one, small one…whatever you know. In fact whenever I go to any blogs that have advertising I make a point of clicking on that ad. Why not? Help out a fellow blogger you know...

What bugs the fuck out of me is when there are multiple ads crisscrossing on the page. I can’t fucking stand that shit. Or that shit when you move the cursor around and the ad follows the movement of your cursor. That shit is soooo fucking annoying okay. Stop it.

 

Your blog is nothing without your readers. Stop shoving shit into their faces. They come there to read what you write and what you think. Appreciate that. Be grateful. Do not fucking advertise like an asshole just cause you are greedy little piece of shit. Keep it to limited advertising and put that shit at a corner of your page. Not all over it. Have some respect for your readers and in turn they would respect you too.

 

 

5) “Hello. You have a nice blog. Link me.”

 

Really asshole, really?

 

This shit bugs me in more ways then the others could. I hate this okay. I can’t even describe to you how much I hate it. I hate it so much that I kinda wanna buy me a shotgun and kill all the motherfuckers that come my way and leave this in the comment box.

 

It’s soooo undignified. Listen, I linked to blogs that I like. Blogs that in some ways amuses me. If these bloggers feel like they wanna link me then they can go ahead and do it, if they don’t then no big whoop. Just because you linked my ass doesn’t mean I want to link yours mmmkay? Why do you need to come to my blog and do that shit? I know it sounds like nothing to the rest of you but I think these people who do these are like the hobos of the blogging world. The ones that stand at street corners asking for a buck. Only these ones troll the comment box asking people to link their boring ass when I have no wish to do so.

Write more interesting shit. Maybe then people would link you without you having to whore yourself out. Was that too harsh? Well, excuuuuuusssse me for not sugarcoating that for you. I ain't Mary Poppins, asshole.

 

Okay…that’s it. I got that out of my chest. Now tell the Constantly Dramatic One of your blogging pet peeves. Or flame my ass. Or defend your case. Or stop reading my blog all together. Doesn’t matter really. Unlike those douchebags that constantly put up pics of themselves, I am not here for the….what do you call it…"popularity”. I’m here strictly for the bitching.

Babies, me and patriarchy

The chances of me having a kid are very unlikely. First of, there’s that whole tricky business of needing a partner to conceive a kid with. This part is tricky for me is cause, well....I don’t actually have a partner to conceive with now, do I? The one man I want to ahem….conceive with is happily living in the UK. With his wife. And two children. He also answers to "Clive Owen". And even though I wrote to him and made numerous prepositions in regards with me wanting to be his Kept Woman…he still won’t cheat on that damn wife of his.

So we’re back to square one. But really, it’s not like I want a baby you know. This whole baby business comes about when I receive a phone call last night from my aunt saying that my cousin have given birth to a baby girl. My parents were of course, overjoyed. They have a fascination with children that I do not share. They then made a phone call to Finland asking my sister when they should expect their own grandchild instead of “needing to share someone else’s grandchild”. My sister then says “Mom, Dad it’s 2 in the morning here. We’re trying to sleep.” Then my Dad says “Well then, now that you’re up, you should get down to business and give us that grandchild eh?” In which I found to be ridiculously disgusting that I actually puked in my mouth and then proceed to bang my head on the wall repeatedly while muttering “Make it stop God, please, make it stop.”

Seriously. Serious-fucking-ly, my parents have to stop asking my sister to….do it more often. It’s fucking disturbing okay. I cannot stress how fucking disturbing it is for me and for all parties involved, except for my parents that is, that they keep on bringing this up. I mean for God’s sake, they haven’t even been married for a year. Relax. Breathe. Go watch more ninja movies. Stop asking your firstborn to have sex okay, cause in doing so you’re giving your lastborn a coronary and possibly a psychiatrist bill that amount to the millions in the future. I am so fucking traumatized by that whole phone call episode. Why Dad, why must you do this to me?

You know, I still don’t get this babies thing. Like why? First of babies…well to put it mildly, they suck. They poop and they cry and they’re so damn high maintenance. And they also have the ability to pee in your eye. You know this one time I was with one of my other cousin who had a baby and she was like “Ohhhh isn’t my baby beautiful? Isn’t he just beautiful?” And she was lying in bed, cooing and holding her baby. She just like gave birth like 2 days ago or something. So I looked at this beautiful baby and all I could think of was, “Dude…why is he so wrinkly? That’s not beautiful. That kid look like a wrinkly old man. A wrinkly midget old man.” But my cousin was looking at me expectantly so I went “Yes yes, soooooooo beautiful. Most beautiful child I have ever seen.”

Blatant, outright lie.


You know what else I don’t get? People seem to think its funny and endearing when babies fart. Like this kid would be lying there and rip out a big one and everybody would laugh and cheer. Dude, wtf? Seriously. That fucking fart smells like it comes from the depths of hell in which Satan is roasting sinners on a fucking barbeque and y’all are cheering and laughing? Am I the only one smelling this? Am I the only one overcome by the pungent, putrid odour as you people laugh and cheer? I bet if I was the one that rip out that fart y’all be calling me names and telling me how disgusting I am. Fucking double standard I tell you.


Then there’s that whole nasty business of pooping. Poops are not funny. In no way whatsoever should poop should ever be viewed as funny. I dunno if you baby lovers out there notice, but babies’ poo are like the ultimate weapon of mass destruction. They really, literally come out of nowhere. Like you be holding a kid, and suddenly you feel this warm, gooey sensation. “Oh pray tell what is that? Oh wow looks like I have some nasty baby shit on my new silk skirt. Oh happy happy joy joy.” Not.

Also, new parents have a thing of making people hold their kid. I dunno why, but somehow they just do. If there is an addition to the family, sooner or later I know somehow I am gonna end up holding that kid whether or not I like it or want too.


“Here CD, hold my kid.”
“No thank you, I rather not.”

*insert insulted face of said parent*

“Well…..it’s not that I don’t want too. God knows I want too. Your child is just sooooo adorable but the thing is, I am terribly clumsy. What if I drop…it?”
“Oh I bet you won’t.”
“What if I do?”
“I know you won’t. Plus the baby would want you to hold him. You have big boobs you know. Babies like that. Makes them feel safe.”


Seriously, was that boobs part really fucking necessary? Really? But I think that’s why most parents want me to hold their kids. I think babies do uuh…..really like boobs you know. Mine particularly. I hold this kid once and that kid was all comfortable holding on to me. He had one tiny hand on my left boob and his head in between, when I tried to give him back to his dad he started crying and then I had to hold him back for an hour. In that one hour time he managed to squeeze my boob and made the valley in between his own special place. True story.





Also on a completely unrelated note, I have a question: Why do the children take after their father’s name? Why is my last name following my father’s name? Why? Fathers have sex with mothers, contributed one sperm and then that’s it. But for 9 months mothers are the ones who carry the child in her womb, she is the one who goes through sickness, she is the one getting irritating baby kicks from within her, she is the one that has to deal with radical hormonal and physical changes, she is the one that might lose her life giving birth to a child and yet…and yet that child would take after the father’s name…In any culture, the child’s last name is always from the father’s. Why? Does this seem fair to you? Also a child would always belong to the mothers, you always know your mothers but you dad…well depends on whom your mom had sex with around the time you were conceived right? How would one know if she didn’t messed around during that time?

I know that came out of nowhere. I realise that we live in a world ruled by patriarchy but really….I think that’s one of the reasons why I don’t like babies nor have any inclinations to have one. If I were the one to carry around a child in my womb, if I were the one that have to suffer through the pain, if I was the one who had to risk my life to give birth to child and in turn have a saggy vagina after that…why should I give all the credit to my husband when all he did was that he donated one sperm to me? How is this fair to me? How is this fair to all womankind?

Babies; beautiful, magical, the symbol of love and all that jazz but to me…they are just these little people who grabbed my boobs, poop on me and the ultimate evidence of everlasting patriarchy in the world. Women get all the pain but yet men take all the glory.



Now...think about that for a while the next time you look at a baby, whether you are a man or a woman.