ALRIGHT LISTEN UP IMMA TELL YOU SOME SERIOUS GENDER MARKETING BULLSHIT THAT WENT DOWN TODAY
Today a woman came in to get her 13 year old son’s black iPhone fixed. This thing was totally fucking busted. She was already kind of being bitchy so I’m just trying to reassure her that everything will be fine and shuffle through the paper work so shes on her way. She leaves, I put her phone away till I have time to fix it.
Well come to find out that we were completely out of black screens until next week’s shipment. So I put on a white screen for now and reassure her that when we do get black screens in that I will call her and we’ll put the new screen on for free. Better to have a temporary mixed match phone then a broken one right?
This woman proceeds to flip her shit. “WE CAME HERE TO GET WHAT WE HAD FIXED!” I calmly explain to her that there is nothing I can do about the color for the time being. The son is totally fine with this and obviously embarrassed by his mother’s outburst. The woman snatches the phone, sneers at it, and then shoves it back into my hands and says “NOW IT LOOKS LIKE A GIRL’S PHONE! I AM NOT GIVING THIS TO MY SON!”
At this moment I turn to her and say. “I don’t undersand? How is it a girl’s phone now?”
"Well it was BLACK and now its WHITE!!" She gestured dramatically at the screen like I couldn’t fucking see it.
"How is white a feminine color?"
She huffs and explains that she refuses to take the phone until the color is changed. The 13 is now rapid fire “its fine its fine” cause he just wants his phone back. But she keeps refusing but I finally tell her again that we will change the phone for free when we get black screens and that shes not allowed to keep it here.
The point of the matter is that this woman almost refused to even take back the phone BECAUSE OF ITS COLOR. Mind you its not even anything like pink or purple. ITS. WHITE.
A SUBURBAN WHITE WOMAN TURNED RED IN THE FACE WITH ANGER BEAUSE SHE THOUGHT WHITE WAS TOO GIRLY FOR HER SON.
yeah well fuck that bitch up
I honestly had this same problem, and I was 18. When I finally bought my iPhone, my mother saw that it was white and asked me ” are you sure you want white ?” and I responded that I wanted the white phone cause it had just came out and I liked it. She had this upset/ disgusted look on. And the whole time I’m just trying to comprehend why it was an outrageous choice of mine. Then I understood and I stayed with my phone just to make a point. Seriously, our old generations need to realize all this messed up feminine and masculine bullshit is complete bullshit.
yo and the white with the black button looks fucking awesome. I would of been thrilled to get it like that.
i want words.
i’m constantly looking for words. strung together in sentences that i can wrap and weave around myself like garlands of flowers.
flowers die, though. and i’m left with shriveled husks wound through my fingers, the brief satisfaction dried out like the faded petals that sink to the ground.
i’m left empty, in the end. it’s all fleeting. it doesn’t last. the words aren’t mine.
dead flowers, dead words, dead thoughts, dead hopes, dead dreams, there has to be a synonym i can use here but it’s too late now, i guess.
see, this is it. this is the proof. i don’t do beautiful imagery. i stretch everything out. i strip it down and carve it out and drag on for too long it isn’t pretty and it doesn’t make sense and the flow is wrong and i sound out of breath because i am out of breath i’m lost and terrified and
other words feel better, to me. words from other places. everyone seems to be better at this, better at trying, better at creating something
and drinking in something that tastes good and is poured by someone else is better than tipping back a bone dry glass that i could’ve sworn had liquid in it seconds before
i collect words. search for them, search for ones that make me feel warm, make me feel hopeful, feel like they belong to me.
i know they don’t, though. i don’t belong here. i’m just renting. it’s not cheap. none of the furniture is mine. the hole in the wall from me tripping is something i’ll pay for. i don’t belong here. this doesn’t belong to me. the words will never be mine. i move out and move on.
i look for more, though because i soak in allusions and figurative language and things that just make me feel. something. anything. just feel. no specific emotion or sensation. i want a painted picture. i want comparisons. i want
i don’t know what i want.
i want what i am to be compared to something to make it seem significant, to feel like a jacket that someone had been wearing moments before, before they draped it over my shoulders and left me to feel the leftover warmth.
it’s not mine.
i’ll have to give it back sometime. otherwise i’ll feel guilty.
i like the words, though. because they’re pretty, because they feel right, because people are better at spinning tales and describing emotions than i’ll ever be.
they can do it with backspacing everything or breaking a pencil or ripping and crumbling a paper or stumbling and coughing over their thoughts that get stuck in the back of the throat in the journey from mind to tongue.
they paint prettier pictures.
the paint on my pictures bleeds together and never dries.
i’m left with smudged fingers, hands, arms, face, clothes, everything. the floor is covered in paint. the words dangle from my lips covered in varying shades of blue and green. i swallow them back.
i always swallow them back. there’s paint on my teeth. i can taste it.
the words taste worse.
i need something i can hold onto, i think. i need words. words that feel right. words. i can gather up the words of others and bundle them up and lock them away like jewels and swords and things a dragon would hoard in hopes of them filling some void, to collect and feel a sense of… owning. belonging. security.
but i’m not a dragon.
i don’t breath fire.
i can’t even speak.
i can’t stick to one image, you see. my thoughts race and race me and i can’t ever catch them because this field we’re running through is endless in every direction and they’re always one step ahead or darting off to one side without warning.
what did i say first? words are flowers. right. i’m a dragon. a dragon renting an apartment. a dragon smudged with paint. a dragon wearing someone else’s jacket. a dragon that’s curled around dying flowers in a field. because that makes perfect sense.
i just want words that mean something
i just want words that make me feel something
i just want words to be enough
my words aren’t.
Well ok Kesha, maybe it’s because you’re an auto tuned peice of shit who shouldn’t be famous, you have no Buisness being in the music industry, it’s not even your music you fuck, someone else wrote it for you to record and them to auto tune yourself. And it’s not at all good . It’s not positive either. So complain some more.
I don’t know if you know this, tumblr user koolkidseatgreens, but Ke$ha is a certified genius. She has an IQ over 140 and an SAT score of 1500. When she was younger she would go to the library and do research for fun. Ke$ha is a both feminist and an advocate for equal marriage/rights for people of any sexuality, being a queer woman herself.
Ke$ha is a smart, professional woman, and just because she sings songs about wanting to let loose and have fun every once in a while doesn’t make her a piece of shit.
Ke$ha’s songs are meant to point out the sexism in our media. She treats men the same way many men in the music industry treat women, and she is hated on for it. Relentlessly. She sings on multiple occasions about taking charge in a sexual relationship, of how she only uses men for their body parts. She sexualizes men to make them uncomfortable. She sexualizes men for a reaction, so that people can both see why women are so uncomfortable with their sexualization and also to point out the inequality between the sexes both in the media and in the world at large.
She is judged so harshly for singing about things that make many men famous.
If you listen to Ke$ha’s deconstructed album you will see that she actually has some talent, which may be hard to hear because she does in fact use a fair amount of autotune. This is because of her genre and because of the kind of music she chooses to create as an artist. Ke$ha may not write her songs, but this doesn’t meant she isn’t a good artist or a good person. This doesn’t mean she deserves your harsh words. Some singers are good at writing, but that’s hardly a requirement. Last time I checked whether or not you can sing has nothing to do with whether or not you’re a poet.
You should not be calling anyone a piece of shit, my friend, especially someone you’ve never sat down and had a conversation (or even taken the time to wonder about her feelings!), but if anyone deserves that kind of language it’s not Ke$ha.
You may think that by shaming women for expressing their sexuality and having fun every once in a while, that you are somehow abolishing sexism. That in weeding out the less ‘deserving’ women you are gaining our sex more respect. This is not the case, and the fact that you and many others feel such a strong need to shame this woman who has done nothing wrong, especially not to you, shows that we still have a very far way to go.
I would reblog this a thousand times over
also Ke$ha was a song writer for britney spears
Also: Kesha DOES write her own songs. Look it up. See that K. Sebert? That’s her. Kesha Sebert.