Monthly Archives: April 2013

Awkwardtreed Does Gender Stereotypes

Warning: I talk about genitals a lot in this post. Like a lot. Which probably says a lot about me…but really says more about certain someone whose name rhymes with Droid.

Do you know what isn’t very awesome? Being conned into a doing another thing on top of already being conned into doing something you dislike. Example: Being conned into paying for something with chickpeas and leaves in it (and no steak) when you were already conned into eating something with just chickpeas and leaves in it. Another example: Being conned into studying sexuality, masculinity, femininity and other things you have absolutely no interest in on top of already being forced to study philosophy…which you hate.

“That last example is weirdly specific Tom”, I hear you state in a very annoying and obvious ‘plant’ tone of voice (seriously get your shit together I don’t want people to know that we know each other, that’s the trick) and it is. It is weirdly specific because it is actually a thing that is currently happening to me. You may have already noticed, if you’ve read anything else I have ever posted on here, that I don’t particularly enjoy studying philosophy. It’s the thorn in my side. The meteorite in my mass extinction theory. My very own Johnny Killjoy (an awful superhero who’s only ability is to ruin everything for everyone, ever) if you will.

It’s not that I’m not open-minded. In my closed-minded view of the world, I accept a lot of different view-points before ignoring them completely and staying the narrow course I have previously plotted. I’m kidding obviously. I am generally pretty open to most experiences (but I won’t do that), it’s just that one of those experiences isn’t philosophically related. Therefore after having to endure the damned subject, like an incredibly sweaty, fat guy  standing waaay to close to me on the tram, for the last two years my patience has worn incredibly thin. Like well-worn socks. Only these socks didn’t get this way due to me over-wearing them out of comfort. No. They got this way due to repeated stabbing and hacking with a pen knife (and some mild fire damage).

Now once again I find myself head-butting metaphorical walls whilst wishing I could head-butt literal ones, as I read things by old Greeks who were kind of into sodomy… But the thing that’s really got my goat (could it please return it as soon as possible please as I have many goat related activities to get into) is that now I’m looking at the world of philosophy through the eyes of Freud, feminism and gender politics. Let me just say, I am not anti-feminist. Nor am I anti-gender equality. In fact I’m pretty much pro-everything (especially if I can eat it), but I dislike feminists that hate me because I have a penis. I also dislike the fact that some guy (with serious, serious issues) thinks that the reason I get turned on by drain pipes is because I want to have sex with my mother who I actually wish was a giant phallus.

Freud makes me angry on all of the levels imaginable, mostly because everything is dicks with him, but basically because he always has a fucking answer for everything. Like if I was like: No Freud, I don’t like Mars Bars because they resemble my ideal penis. He’d be all like: Actually because you reject the Mars Bar/Doodle Hypothesis you are proving that you actually love Moro Bars and want a vagina that you secretly wish was a penis. Actually Freud, I like Mars Bars because they are delicious and when you eat one it’s like looking at the face of an angel that you can taste, and no-one likes Moro Bars you dick. And when I say dick I don’t actually mean ‘I wish I had penises (should that be peni?) everywhere but that you are an unsavoury person of ill-repute and can go and fornicate with yourself.

So I dislike that I have to sit there and read his ideas that everything is genitals (clearly the dude got sexually assaulted by a bird as a kid or something ). The problem is that due to being exposed to this sort of thing over a period of time has kind of ruined my brain. Basically I am now thinking in terms of masculine and feminine (something I’ve never done before except for when I think that boobs on a lady are much better than boobs on a man…) and so I decided to look at my after-Uni activities in terms of where they would fall.

Essentially I have learnt (based on my limited understanding of 1960s misogyny) that I am an excellent housewife.  I actually enjoy doing little homely things like dishes, straightening up boxes (nothing gets me more excited than putting various square items in rows on tables), cooking delicious meals, singing to myself while doing these things and giving the apartment a good seeing-to (which involves more vacuuming than fisticuffs or fellatio). I am terrible at fixing things and using tools of all sorts (I use screwdrivers to decapitate insects that invade my kitchen) I also shy away violently from heavy-lifting and other ‘masculine’ tasks. I was too busy being dinosaur to be good at contact sports.

So take that Freud! I am not insecure at all about my sexuality or my gender-role in society! And I don’t want to sleep with my mother at all! So there. You’re wrong about everything and I’m right about somethings. I also want to point out at this moment that while I would make an excellent housewife, I in no way feel that the above mentioned chores and behaviours are supposed to be completed by either sex. Basically I’m not a dick. I just want to clear that up. This was just an exercise in outdated sexual dynamics and being angry at Freud and stuff.

So if you’re angry, take it up Sigmund.



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One Of Those Days.

You know you’re having one of those days when you find yourself walking through the rain and it’s not even rain but a fine, irritating misting. Like a thumb pressed hard over a drink -tap by your dickhead friend who isn’t really your friend but you kind of feel sorry for him because he’s a dickhead and no-one likes him, so you feel like you should hang out with him out of some weird sense of obliguilt, but you find yourself question this on a daily basis because he does dickhead-ish things hold his thumb over a drink-tap as you go to take a drink and you get a fine misting…like the rain outside.

But, Tom, it’s just the weather. Get over it. NO SHUT UP! I AM MAKING A POINT…SORT OF.

You know you’re having one of those days when you find yourself walking through the rain sans some form of rain protection, even though you had received a warning to take an umbrella with you because it’s raining out, and as you walk down the street in the rain everyone around you  is walking like an idiot and when you look at them all you can think of is the animals they resemble. Like that woman who looks like a bird and who walks like she has no were important to be but that she knows everyone else around her does.

Basically you know you’re having one of those days when you get insulted by spam. Not the tinned variety. The Internet variety (previously mentioned here). Yes, after grumbling my way down the street, I sat down at my computer to discover that I had 18 spam comments sitting in my little in-tray. I’m not even sure that that’s a thing. And I’m pretty sure that they were so blatantly spam that my computer shouldn’t have even asked for my opinion on the matter, but should have just gone right ahead and deleted them. My computer is smarter than me. It’s true.

Most of them were the regular nonsensical mess of bad grammar and almost-poetry, like this: “I’m mad and that’s a fact I found out animals don’t help Animals think they’re pretty smart Shit on the ground, see in the dark”- sarsnivebra.

One of them was weirdly informative about the growth of a human child: “Children’s tooth development begins while the baby is in the womb. Teething usually occurs between the ages of six and nine months. Children usually have their full set of 20 primary teeth (milk teeth, baby teeth or deciduous teeth) by the age of three years. At about the age of six years, the first permanent teeth erupt (push through the gum).”-tietpieteobre.

And then there was this: “You’re the worst author”- some robot dick.

That was it. Just those words and nothing else. No links and no ads. Just an insult. What the fuck spam? Why would you say that? So instead of being a normal person and moving on from the hurtful commentaries one finds in the spam folder, I decided that I would take it personally. Yes I don’t make rational choices, my diet consists mostly of spaghetti and gingerbread men. Clearly not the President. So I sat down and took a deep breath and let the paranoia wash over me like a big blanket made of negativity and crushed dreams. I also realised that I needed to get rid of such a stupid blanket made from such shitty materials.

At least this is the justification I’m giving myself as to why I haven’t continued on with the assignments I should be doing (read that s correctly, that’s a plural) is because spam told me that I suck at writing, and therefore I cannot write anymore. Although I did just write this.

Yeah coherence isn’t my strongest suite today.

Or any day.

Oh well. Grieving time is over. That and the dude who’s cardigan I stole to be used as a veil has returned and is kind of pissed I’ve been wearing it and crying.  So I should probably get down to it. Funnily enough one of those assignments involves critically assessing myself and my creative approach. I feel like I should just submit a certain piece of spam…I mean if I reference it correctly and everything, it still counts right?



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