I went out to my usual Indian food haunt a few weeks ago and I met a nice sailor from DLI. After he returned to work I was left with the talkative older man that had been sitting next to him at the bar.
This presumptuous creature proceeded to tell me that I was carrying too much anger and that he could make it go away forever. He also said he could make me "more feminine." You'd have thought I was dressed in men's slacks, sporting a mullet and speaking of my eternal passion for K.D. Lang. Even if I was, that wouldn't mean I was less feminine- just that I worked at a mining camp in the Northern Territory of Canada.
There is nothing quite like having a perfect stranger (and a man no less) tell you that he can make you more "feminine."
I don't know what sort of New Age hogwash he's into but I imagine it involves "healing crystals" and an overly tactile form of chakra alignment.
First of all, I like my anger. It reminds me not to go near certain people or pay heed to them when they start spouting nonsense. It has allowed me to take four years of wanton abuse against my person by the U.S. Coast Guard and channel it into a scathing memoir that will hopefully shame the organization into making several much-needed reforms.
Second, I'm not about to let some man tell me how to behave acceptably within my own gender. I spent my formative years having the Southern Baptist try unsuccessfully to do the same and I have zero tolerance for this sort of thing.
Where does this asshat get off?
Did I saunter up to him and say, "That mala hanging around your neck smacks of a Caucasian desperation to appear enlightened?" No. I didn't. I merely thought it to myself while he was rambling on about "working with me to cure my ills."
Another day, another snake oil salesman.
This presumptuous creature proceeded to tell me that I was carrying too much anger and that he could make it go away forever. He also said he could make me "more feminine." You'd have thought I was dressed in men's slacks, sporting a mullet and speaking of my eternal passion for K.D. Lang. Even if I was, that wouldn't mean I was less feminine- just that I worked at a mining camp in the Northern Territory of Canada.
There is nothing quite like having a perfect stranger (and a man no less) tell you that he can make you more "feminine."
I don't know what sort of New Age hogwash he's into but I imagine it involves "healing crystals" and an overly tactile form of chakra alignment.
First of all, I like my anger. It reminds me not to go near certain people or pay heed to them when they start spouting nonsense. It has allowed me to take four years of wanton abuse against my person by the U.S. Coast Guard and channel it into a scathing memoir that will hopefully shame the organization into making several much-needed reforms.
Second, I'm not about to let some man tell me how to behave acceptably within my own gender. I spent my formative years having the Southern Baptist try unsuccessfully to do the same and I have zero tolerance for this sort of thing.
Where does this asshat get off?
Did I saunter up to him and say, "That mala hanging around your neck smacks of a Caucasian desperation to appear enlightened?" No. I didn't. I merely thought it to myself while he was rambling on about "working with me to cure my ills."
Another day, another snake oil salesman.
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