estrogenic

Don't mind me, there's a week out of every month when I'm a little bit crazy,  I tell him. He has sisters, he's lived with other girls, he knows the drill, sometimes he knows it better than me.

I enjoy and love the men in my world too much to get down on the patriarchy, and working in a female-dominated field gives me a skeptical view of a world run by women, especially when some of one's overladies engage in pettiness of varying degrees.

But working customer service, especially in dealing with dudes from societies where you're supposed to do everything for them and making eye contact means that she'll sleep with you, gets really frustrating. Also, the green card aspirants and the ones who just assume American girls are easy if they smile, and sometimes the interaction is so awkward I get thrown off kilter and then frustrated because it's hard to do your job well without these other things going on.

the day was so long I forgot what day it was because I was just dealing with all these clowns and people who violate personal space or are too busy staring at my body to tell me what they need and was so exhausted that when I stumbled into my friend's house it took me a little bit of time to even be coherent. But she had chili and tea and her friend who does cheap haircuts now that she's got kids, so I got my now-long locks chopped off in favor of something way more Carrie Brownstein-esque rather than going full-on Sinead like I threatened. .

And I played some tunes yesterday, made fun of paczki eaters, ended the set with some girl rock. I have a strict no Kathleen Hanna policy due to never being a big Bikini Kill/Le Tigre fan but everything else is up for grabs. I got an acoustic guitar to bang around on this weekend, and a new pedal to make noise on and want to make music, and feel frustrated by my seeming inability to put words to songs even as the music flows freely. Maybe someday.