I see trans people – Biggotry in the name of tolerance

(this one is gonna be a long one, brace yourselves)

As far as I’m aware, I’ve only been in the presence of a transgender person, a woman, once in my life. I heard of her transgenderism from co-workers who were explaining to me that A. (a very arian man-whore who was in a commited relationship at the time – as far as his girlfriend knew) was trying to get laid with the new executive floor attendant (it took place at a hotel). They told me about A. trying to get laid with her (and her being very keen on his approaches) and this A. guy later being warned off by another co-worker who knew her when she was still a he. While I cannot for the life of me figure out why a horny guy would be put off by this when he obviously not only found her hot but also got the confirmation that she had a functioning vagina, I admit I laughed my ass off. Well, mind you, laughing my ass off when I heard about someone’s transgenderism, believe it or not, had me explaining to a bunch of white cis males (heeeere we go…), one of them quite homossexual too, that I wasn’t a biggot.

See, long story made short: a month before that, I had put up with a cook (let’s call him B.) in my patisserie who was celebrating his last day working at the hotel kitchen – that is, I enjoyed the presence of a man I considered to be very cute for several hours before he was gone from my life forever. Well,  he did so by bringing a case of 24 pints of beer to the workplace at noon and vowing not to leave before he and others had made the case empty (we ended up drunkenly sharing a cheeseburger sitting on the curb behind the hotel in a warm summer night, but I “digest”…). Well, while he was hiding his drunken state by me at the patisserie he blabbed a lot. He told me about the new lady who was exectuive floor attendant starting that day, and paraphrasing B.:

She is the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve ever seen! In my mind, I have a pretty well-shaped idea of how a woman should look like, and she is it!! I could’ve just run up to her and kiss her, if only I didn’t have a girlfriend!

The good news is, not all white cis males (*smirk*) are cheating manwhores. But the bad news is (and here is why I laughed so hard), the perfect woman for a guy I find very cute is almost 100% chizeled by the surgeon’s scalpel – and quite legitimately so. Well, that kinda leaves me screwed (or quite the opposite).

And now here’s my beef: although I’m not a hipster, I used the term “cis” ironically as I wrote this. I don’t have a problem with any kind of sexual orientation (whereas, as you can see, I frown upon promiscuity, but no one is perfect), I don’t have a problem with transsexuals, and as far as I could tell, a whole bunch of oh-so-mean white cis males don’t have a problem with it either (even if I found the rationalizations from one of them about why a transgender woman is the perfect girlfriend fucking pathetic, but hey…). But the age of cis and trans as come and woe us! We are so unspecial and such biggots being cis!

Here’s the deal: I see people using the terms cis as an insult and trans as something everyone is forced to accept, no questions askedthis is the reverse copy of straight biggots.

I see people calling themselves trans or claiming to have children/family who are trans and accusing “cis” people (like me) of not knowing, not being able to ever know what it’s like, becuase we are cis and only know our point of view. If I can’t comprehend trans people, trans people can’t comprehend me or any other cis person! This is not negotiable! Either we all acknowledge each other as sensient beings capable of empathizing with others, or we all mutually respect the fact that we will never fully know what the other side is like!

I see trans people (and other related people I’ve mentioned) classifying their hardship as harder than the hardship of other minorities – up to the extent of putting the gays and the african-american (because fuck all other black people, right?) in the same level of social hardship. Every single group of people has hardships, bullshit expected from them by this group, by that group, by society, you name it – including the white cis male, both the straight and the gay ones, who you so joyously include in the same category. If you some day decide to look past your belly button, maybe you will come to realize this.

I am sick and tired of biggotry in the name of tolerance and I will have none of that.

Vegetables are poisoning your body – Fast food is the real answer

Look, you don’t need to believe me, after all, I’m just a person in the internet, I could tell you lies. But you can believe your own eyes if you want to. We all know that famous documentary about the guy who had a very balanced diet, living with his vegetarian fiancée and then he decided to go on a fast-food based diet. While he was trying to prove that fast food is unhealthy, he actually proved the opposite! 

The first few days, he’s trying really hard to put all that healthy fast-food inside him and having a hard time. He even has to barf. This is normal. The poison is leaving his system. At first he feels tired, laggy, has trouble eating his food, but after a few days, his body adapts to his new healthy diet: he has more energy and also, he slowly starts gaining the layer of fat which was so important for the survival for our antcessors and still is. We have incorrectly fought the billions of years of man’s evolution to avoid that fat under the pretense that we don’t need it anymore.

Have the inaccuracies in my text put you in awe of the stupidity of some people or rather convinced you that I’m surely joking?

Because I am joking. Sort of. More like being highly sarcastic. This is the kind of bullshit we are sold daily with every radical health-diets and whatnot (yes, any diet that strikes anything at all from your meal plan is radical. Unless it strikes strychnine. You should totally not have strychnine). They all lean on bold and italic or at least in these moronic presumptions* that “back then it was like this” And this is an excuse for gluten-free, paleo-diets, avoiding milk…

I mean, damn! The paleolitical man didn’t drink milk because he still hadn’t figured out how to secure a cow! He didn’t eat gluten because he still hadn’t figured out how to grow crops.

You know what he did? He went hunting for deer with a limp and a toothache. He didn’t go to the “medicine-man” to get sick leave. Although, faithful to my logic, he didn’t do that because he hadn’t quite figured it out yet. The followers of these diets apparently are hypocondriacs who can’t even stand to fart a couple of times of day (were they repressed? Do they not know it’s normal? Because free-range cows fart way more than I do and THEY’RE strickly paleo) and need to find the deeper meaning of why they have heartburn. So they change their whole diet. Tomato-sauce and and mayo give me heartburn. I avoid tomato-sauce and mayo and quit having heartburn. ♪Ta-daaaaah!♫

I’m pissy about this because I had time to kill today so I went into a bookstore and browsed the cooking section. They have books on display that tell you right away with the title and undertitle that wheat makes you dumb and how you can get your intelligence back. I’m guessing the author realized that he was not only extremely dumb, he also ate more wheat bread than anyone else. Being that dumb, you can hardly expect anyone to have a decent sense of logic.

*Forget research. Any research that confirms the healthyness of striking whole food-groups is about as accurate as the research that confirms the efficacy of homeopathy. Homeopaths don’t use blind studies, in case you’re wondering.

The meat eating vegetarian

Ah, the meat eating vegetarian… I’ve met several. Well, at least a couple. One of them was a strict vegetarian, but when she went woo-hoo-christmas-is-coming and was asked what made Christmas so special for her, she replied “It’s the one day of the year when I allow myself to eat meat”. Because you know, when it’s christmas-time, animals don’t really die for the meat. But seriously, I actually decided to overlook this because she was a recovering anorexic, and that particular occasion made me suspect that her vegetarianism was her compromise when it came to exert some form of control over her body.

The other vegetarian I knew would eat meat and fish if it presented itself in the midst of a 4-5 course dinner because “I don’t want to be rude or make a big deal of it, you know?”. She later went on a rampage, claiming meat eaters were the most intolerant assholes of all, and therefore she and her vegetarian/vegan friends at work enforced a strict vegetarian-only-policy in the employees’ kitchen forbidding anyone to bring animal products from their homes. Yay for tolerance!

And now there’s me. When I went to college, my subjects revolved around breeding and slaughtering animals en masse for human consumption. Trust me, it did nothing to horrify me into vegetarianism. Although I must say, whenever the teachers wanted to horrify us, they told us how cattle is treated in the USA (almost puts PETA in prespective. Almost.) I enjoy meat. So much. I ADORE it. The fattier the  better: a duck’s breast with a crusty hot seared skin and a layer of fat, some grilled, thickly cut pork-belly stripes, or a fabulously pink steak or, even better, the “brazillian rump” called Picanha, straight from the coal. In fact I love it so much that I completely neglect vegetables in the presence of meat – they ruin the taste of meat for me. No, I don’t care how yummy you think vegetables are, I find meat even better and want more more MORE!

So I gave up meat. Yuh. My willingness to eat more vegetables and my recent personal financial crisis that doesn’t allow me to eat the high-quality meat I want to on a regular basis has made me turn to lentils, chick-peas, beans, potatoes, noodles, all of it joined by vegetables and seasoned with spices (turning to indian food a lot). Except, well… when I eat my piece of whole grain bread, I put salami on it. So there’s my portion of animal protein.

I also want to go local, so I’m looking forward to April and May, when the seasonal vegetables from the region start reaching the farmer’s market. I was very impressed with the quality of vegetables my best friend and her husband cultivated on their back yard, and then I realized: they were in season, duh! I can hardly like vegetables if I’m eating green-house tomatos that taste like…. green. Ugh… My sister is unimpressed by my choice. She’s the type of person who will eat green-house tomatoes in the winter and insiste they are quite tasty. Well, ok then.

Oh, and I still don’t really care for organic, sorry. But that will be another post alltogether.

Life review: The secret diary of a call girl

A friend of mine talked me into watching it on Netflix. She called it light and funny. Ultimately, what convinced me was the fact that it’s a UK series, not a USA series – I absolutely adore american series, but I do think that some subjects are just not their/your forte.

Well, I had a friend/aquaintance who was an expensive dominatrix for several years, which certainly doesn’t make me an expert, but it’s still a source of information directly from inside the fetish scene. And I’m allways willing to search and read up on, well, not everything about sex, but more than the average people (so I’ve been informed by grinning wide-eyed people when I tell them about the new sex-fetish-niche I read about in a magazine and then googled and wikipediaed and youtubed and and and)…. I might describe myself as a porn/fetish/prostitution curious enthusiast and amateur sex lover (i.e. I’m not banging everyone in sight just because I’m oh-so-free and evolved).

So I eventually got curious about a series that bases upon a book that is a biography of a London-escort. I really don’t feel like reading the book for reasons I won’t delve into right now, but four episodes into season one, I can only hope that this escort in the series is portrayed in a very different way than in the book.

This series basically depiects a horse-teethed english working-class tart that somehow managed to stumble into a high-class hooker circle and get away with being an unprofessional cow! No, seriously! Aside from contradicting herself an amazing amount of times in the pilot episode (which I gladly scratched off to the pressure of having to give too much information upfront so the viewer immediately gets hooked), there is not one single episode in which that cow managed to act professional!

So far she has:

– Tricked a customer into having sex with her instead of the call-girl he requested so she could validate herself after failing to make the customer climax on the first go

– Dumped a paying customer while on the clock to go serve as a groupie to one of her idols

– Sneaked out a 12h shift at a hotel and had paid sex with another man while her original paying customer (an old regular, no less) slept the first few screws off, because she was uhm… bored. Because she’s special, unable to fall assleep next to customers so she gets bored on sleepovers. Yuh.

– Physically lashed out on an S&M customer because she felt betrayed by her best friend (!!), obviously even after the customer screamed the safety word several times.

By god, this character is a fucking disgrace and a shame for the fetish and escort community! No wonder everyone is eating this shit up! It’s miles away from what they couldn’t possibly stomach! Ugh… Sorry people, it pisses me off. Just because it’s better than 50 shades of crap doesn’t make it good – 50 shades set the bar pretty low….

The blogolution

The first time I heard about blogs must have been the very early 00’s (or the very very late 90’s). I was somewhere between 18 and 20 years old, and therefore way older than the youngest bloggers of today. Blogspot was the rage at the time and it seemed like everyone was doing it. I was introduced to blogging by an online friend from Florida (online friends were very much in back then, I have many fond memories of that time) and very baffled at what I saw.

Blogging seemed to be like a public diary. It was like keeping your private diary online for everyone to see. Seriously, you looked at blogs back then, and you’d find entries along the lines of “Went grocery shopping today and missed the bus, what a drag!”. I didn’t get it.

Prompted by an aquaintance, I joined WordPress 8 years ago (under a different account). The blogosphere had evolved into a place where people had something to say, something to share. and the first professional bloggers were around for a while. I started an ambitious project where each post was published in 3 different languages (I’m not quite done with that one yet. I keep wanting to rekindle it.). That didn’t last long.

On New Year’s this year, the same aquaintance insisted that I start blogging again, because I have such an oh-so-lovely way of telling things, even if she never reads and/or gives feedback, because “you know me!” (yeah, I do. You constantly try to pass of your lack of manners and interest in your surroudings for charming)

I started this blog, of which existence none of my friends and family know. I’m still not very sure where I’m going with it. But I think I’ll be going a bit backwards towards what blogs were in the early 00’s. I want  a blog I can look back at and say “Ah, this is what I was up to! This is what I was thinking! That’s what was up!”. Sometimes you strike a conversation up with a stranger and learn something valuable that, while not life-changing, certainly brings something new to your life. I’m hoping this blog will be such a conversation with strangers.

Happy commenting!

Life-review of “Julie & Julia”

My big sister likes to tell people that I never cooked once in my life and then “Bitch woke up one day, 18 years old, went in the kitchen and started cooking. Just like that!” This is obviously a gross exageration that usually makes everyone around us laugh. I do enjoy cooking, but I’ve only recently started getting to it in a more serious fashion. So I don’t really know any cooks and cooking shows (Gordon Ramsay is pathetic and doesn’t count) and I admit, I didn’t know who Julia Child was when I saw the movie Julie & Julia.

Click on the pic to go to IMDB!
(you can watch the trailer at this Sony Pictures page)

I’m really a sucker for biographical movies, especially when they’re about someone I never heard of or whose personal life I never knew about. So it’s no wonder I enjoyed watching the antics of Julia Child in the world famous Cordon-Bleu school. The antics of Julie Powell… eh… I could’ve lived without knowing about her existence, I really could.

While the movie presents Miss Powel paralell to Mrs. Child as someone who also has achieved something out of a willingness to better herself, I had a totally different view of it.

If you’ve read anything else in my blog, you’ll notice how bitchy and judgemental I can be. But I do feel that, when personally evaluating the contemporary impact of someone who has done little more than cooking every single recipe of a cook-book, I am allowed to be at least a bit judgementel.

Minimal spoiler-alert: I was thrilled to find out that Powell’s blog about her attempt at cooking every single recipe of Child’s first book left Julia Child very underwhelmed and unwilling to meet Powell.

Julia Child, so I learned, was the wife of a US-Government worker of the OSS. This eventually landed them in Paris in the 40’s. Expected to sit around on her ass like it was still expected of women in the circles she moved, she felt she could do so much more. She got restless and decided she wanted to learn how to cook like the french (and after being in France for a week last year, MY GOD I would’ve done exactly the same!). She enrolled at the Cordon Bleu school – she ellbowed her way in, actually, since the school didn’t want to take her seriously despite being able to pay the high enroll-fees – she stubbornly gave her all so she would gain the respect of her colleagues (hillarious, the scene where her husband comes home to a table covered in about 40 pounds of minced onions) and she succeeded. She learned along the way, she formed connections, she evolved.

In 2002, a young woman who already had better things to do than sit on her ass all day was overwhelmed because she found the pastures of her friends way greener than her own. She didn’t feel like she fit her own standards of success and decided to cook someone’s (Child’s) recipes in one year only and write about her feelings on a blog. Yeah. Ok. Nope.

The movie was still very enjoyable and I didn’t give up until I was able to buy an expensive “cocotte” (that thingamagig where they cooked Beef bourgignon in the movie) which is still unused on the shelf (it’s hard to justify making a huge amount of food for myself alone, but I’ll get to it). And when I cook something others cooked first and then share it here, I won’t expect the authors of the recipe to be in awe of me. Even if I’ll even add the bonus of sparing you my feelings and rather troubleshoot the recipe from my own experience.

Upcoming! Friday the 13th – the legend around the number: EXPOSED!

It’s like a mantra of the 20th century: you have to see the positive things. You can’t focus on the negative. There are magic pills and magic formulas to help you see the bright side. Studies that show, if you force your face into a smile even against your will, it will still release dopamine into your bloodstream and make you feel good. There’s the westernization of Yoga and Tai-chi. Every month, every week, every day there is an article on a magazine, newspaper or TV show trying to convince you that focusing on the negative came with the industrial revolution, with the stress, with the 9-to-5 routine (hah! Any nightshifters around?). They try to convince you that it’s a very recent development.

Well I think it’s human nature and it’s been around at least since Judas wasn’t a Judas yet. I mean, think about it: Jesus had 12 disciples, right? They hung together, they were bound to sit and eat all together on several ocasions, all thirteen of them. And then in the last supper, Judas sold Jesus out, and BAM! All of a sudden, the number 13 is bad luck. Talk about focusing on one bad event, sheesh!

In conclusion: don’t just focus on the negative, but don’t listen to anyone who is overly cheery, like we should be capable of fighting human nature all the time through sheer willpower. That’s just f***ing creepy…