Neurotic Owl

flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread

Does anyone else refer to kneading as ‘making biscuits’?


Seriously, I just heard that phrase this summer, and it’s both charming and baffling.  It’s a lovely bit of imagery, but it seems like a thing you say once — My cat loves to make biscuits on my favourite shirt — and then move on, since it takes longer to say than kneading.  I feel like saying it every. single. time. is just attention whoring, but then this was the same chick who couldn’t stop talking about pole dancing but threw a fit if you suggested that ‘pole’ was even remotely connected in any way to what strippers do, and never shut up about how great Austin is and why Houston is less great.

Ugh.  Now I never want to use ‘making biscuits’ again.  I banish thee, deliberately cutesy hipster who loves pole dancing and Austin and hates compassion and homeless people!

Sorry, did that seem random?  One of the many rants I got stuck listening to this summer was Austin girl and her buddy going on and ON and ON about how all homeless people are gross and crazy and don’t want food and giving them money is just asking to be spit upon/screamed at/get AIDS.  The AIDS joke was the point where I gave up on trying to reason with them and left the room before I got stabby.  Girls, I know you’re in your twenties and you’re young and stupid and bitchy and probably trying to piss me off, but fuck you.  Fuck you a lot.  You’re not too young to understand fucking compassion for other humans.  You’re not too young to see how close all of us — especially we who work in economically marginal, temporary jobs like theatre — are to homelessness.  You’re not too young to know someone with AIDS, and thank god treatments have improved to the point where there’s no visible signs so that you can’t tell who might be living with the disease and ostracize them because of your stupid, shitty ignorance. You both need to be slapped in the face with the truth stick.  I’m just sorry I was too incandescent with rage to articulate anything then, not that you’d have listened.

Well, that took a hard right turn into ranty land.

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