up beyonce // yet more things that annoy me.

I've just received a text message from Evan. Usually messages from Evan lead to arguing about sport, heavy drinking and/or bucket bongs. Occasionally anger is involved, mostly at my end. Today is one of those occasions.

The message reads "To all you gorgeous women, happy valentines day! keep well! xox"

And I was doing so well at ignoring Valentines. I was listening to The Smiths and feeling mildly put out that it was raining and the only music to listen to in February when it's raining in Sydney is The Smiths (or Idlewild's Warnings/Promises, and I've overplayed that album this week). I was reading Hunter S Thompson and contemplating buying a firearm. In other words, it was a normal Saturday morning. And then Evan ruined it all.

There's no way to express my disgust about Valentines Day without coming across as a bitter bitter person. So it's a jolly good thing that I am a bitter bitter person and don't mind being called on it. Valentines Day sucks, because it's reinforcement of the facts that my seventeen year old brother is a sexpot with the laydezz, and the only boy who vaguely remembers that I might need some reassurance that I am a glorious lovable person is Evan. And it's highly unlikely that he was thinking specifically or even vaguely of me....unless he had to go through his phone and pick out the single ladies (we'll get to the beyonce song in a minute) in order to message us. In which case, I guess I should be glad I'm not the only one. That could have been awkward. Unless he didn't want me to feel awkward and I am the only single girl he knows.......no. That's far to conniving for someone who likes rugby union.

Valentines disgusts me because it gets me coming and going. I'm single. Poor me. So therefore I should be pitied today. But if I complain about the commercial nature of today, then I'm a grumpy lesbian who should go and live in Newtown and wear black. But if I say nothing, and go speed dating or some other martyr Valentines related activity, maybe William Beckett will be lying on my bed tonight. Knowing my luck however, it'll be Ryan Ross, and he'll be trying to strangle me with something paisley.

So in order to stop me deviating from Valentines Day angst to "Why I Am Scared of Panic At The Disco" Angst (which seems to crop up every time I blog, I'm so sorry), let's talk about Beyonce. And the "Single Ladies" song. If you haven't heard the song, seen the video, watch it here. This song is another thing that makes me cranky. On first listen, it's a fairly upbeat "we have broken up and I have bought new shoes so nyah" type of song. On closer listen, there's something slightly sinister there that only a cynical bitter bitter valentines day hater like myself could possibly pick up on. This song is scary. Beyonce is singing "if you like it then you should have put a ring on it."If we dilute it to its most basic meaning, what is she saying "Without ownership, I ain't a lady in a leotard."

I don't own a leotard, so it's possible that this song poses no threat to me. Still, I'm nothing if not paranoid. "Single Ladies" isn't a reinforcement of the joys of being single (which are many and prurient) it's about how if one is single, one shouldn't enjoy it. One should grab a man/woman/go kart asap so that everyone else (your ex, your boss etc) can see that you are living life to its fullest.


Um.


I'm not making much sense, but considering on Tuesday I decided that Hunter S. Thompson is my new role model (bring on the peyote) I don't see why I should. Except to tell you that it's all lies, and that the biggest lie has the biggest Booty, and her name is Beyonce, a happily married woman, telling Single women, and also single men (from the first date, its a countdown to engagement) that they aren't anything without someone else. I get that having someone else by your side can make you stronger, but I object to being considered a lesser person because I am single.


Ugh. I've come off as a crazy today.


Go ahead and do whatever the fuck you want. Put a ring on it. Put a fucking Christmas tree on it for all I care. Your life, not mine.

Just don't send me any messages about Valentines Day. I'm too busy listening to The Smiths and filling the stereotype of paranoid cynical bitter bitter single person doomed to a life with cats.

x



ugh. that came out all wrong because i got rabid.