I've Had It With Men

I haven't ranted in a long while, especially against the not-so-fair-sex. So sit down, read all about my trials and tribulations, and join me in my quest to murder all men and only keep some for pleasure and procreation. Huummppfffhh.

As you might have already heard, I'm working on an OCBC project with 3 other guys. For convenience and confidentiality, let's call them Jolly, Crotch and Salad. Jolly is the team leader. He's jolly most of the time, but can act really foolish and immature at times. Crotch constantly scratches his crotch. During meetings, at OCBC, scratch, scratch, scratch. Like never wash his underwear in the last 20 years of his life. And Salad, he's the vegetarian of the group. But unlike the cute little herbivorious animals of nature, he is one giant dickhead.

Before I continue, let me make clear that I'm actually quite fond of these bastards, but at times, they just test my patience to the limit.

So why am I so annoyed and riled up? Because I've tried so hard to infiltrate the ranks. You know, be one of them. But no matter how hard I try, I'm forever reminded that I'm just not one of them. And frankly, I give up. I can't be bothered anymore. It's absolutely mind blowing that these people are actually educated beings, and not some ancient Neandethals.

I've tried cold logic while talking to them. Their eyes glaze over and give me this mental condescending pat, like I shouldn't strain my brain or something. I've tried to meet them as males. You know, talking cock and bullshitting. But I can't do it for long because it is absolutely meaningless and an insult to my intelligence. And what baffles me is that the only time they take me seriously is when I throw a tantrum and act all petulent, talking less sense and generally whacking them with anything available. Then they take notice and take my advice. It's amazing. Really, it is. DO YOU NEED ABUSE BEFORE YOU TAKE ME SERIOUSLY? WHAT, ARE YOU INTO S&M OR SOMETHING???

Anyway, even their behaviour is appalling. Crotch always, always scratches his crotch in front of me. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, my eyes inevitably pick up his hand moving up and down from the peripheral of my vision. Standing up, sitting down, all day, all night, scratch, scratch, scratch. Eh, hello, I'm female alright! It's downright disturbing and offensive to my sensibilities! Not as if I know you so well!

And then Salad. He's the biggest trash talking, egocentric dickhead anyone can meet. Sure, he's funny and all, but at times I just want to kill him. He accuses me of being a feminist. He admits that he's a real chauvanist. He's perverted and can only talk about food and women most of the time. Aarrrggghh, trying to hold a decent conversation with him is like trying to tell a monk God doesn't exist. In other words: it's freaking impossible.

Which brings me to Jolly. I've always thought Jolly was decent enough, although occasionally he can say the stupidiest things. Take last night, for example. We left OCBC at 9.30pm and walked around looking for a place to eat. Crotch wanted to bring us to this Indian food place at City Hall. 5 Minutes, he claimed. 15 minutes later, we were still walking. I mentioned that the place might already be closed. They ignored me. When we reached the restaurant, it was closed. I wanted to murder somebody. Then Jolly started to complain that he was so tired. And suddenly, this amazing exchange took place:

Jolly (to no one in particular): "I'm so tired. How I wish Joanne was a horse."

Me (head snapping back): "What? So that you can ride me?????"

Crotch: Collapses onto the floor gasping for breathe.

Me: Stomps off in a fury.

Jolly: Has no idea what his statement implied.

Idiots. I'm surrounding by hairy, deformed idiots. Why do I torture myself so?

I really miss having a female around. The guys simply don't get it. Like when Jolly was complaining about the long walk (sissy! what has the army bred!), I told him to quit whining. I was in heels and I wasn't saying anything. He gave me this totally blank look and said that what difference does it make? Moreover, wearing heels is a personal choice. Personal choice? Hellooo??? Corporate wear dictates that females must be in heels of at lest 1 inch. What choice?

Aaarrrgghhh. And the cherry that tops it all off. I stormed into the meeting room last night and Salad asked politely what was wrong. I huffily told him that throughout my train ride to Raffles Place, this gross guy couldn't stop staring at my boobs, even when I pointed stared back at him. And you know what Salad did? His eyes FLICKED DOWN TO AFOREMENTIONED BODY PART!!!! Would a girl act like this? Noooo, she would be comforting me for my outrage. But what does a guy do???? Huh, huh, tell me, what does a guy do????

I couldn't sleep last night because all these things were churning in my head. I want to bang my head and throw my hands up in defeat. That, or plan world domination. Muahaha...