When Are Girl-Products Going to Quit Being So Damn Girly?

Hey world.

I am a girl. It's true: I have an entire bathroom drawer devoted to make-up, I own way too many shoes, and I have ordered the salad at a restaurant. But shockingly, SHOCKINGLY, there are girls in existence who are not butch-dyke ballers yet also do not aspire to be fairy princesses. I am not drawn towards things that are pink and glittery and festooned with cutesy bows. I don't care about diamonds and in my opinion no one over the age of 10 should ever wear a tiara.

I guess my brand says, "There may be a riding crop concealed somewhere on my person," more than, "Someday my prince will come."

That's why I resent girl products. Just because they're products used by women-folk doesn't mean they have to foist their incessant barf-worthy sucrose girlishness upon me. Must a device that I have to shove up my snatch every month have the word "diva" attached to it? I am not a diva. Nor do I glory in the bullshit womanhood that my "moontime" supposedly imbues me with. If I didn't have to bleed all over myself twelve times a year that'd be fine with me; I'm never having kids so nobody cares.

For once I would like to buy an epilator that isn't pink, purple, sparkly, has flowers painted on it, or a fucking jewel as an on/off switch (I really wish I was exaggerating this for comedic affect...I'm not). I will gladly buy men's razors if it means I don't have to be subject to five tons of extra moisturizing strips, toggle heads, and bikini-zone crap. I don't need to "luxuriate" in a bubble bath with aromatherapy bath salts--I just want a fucking razor. Hair removal does not inspire me to think, "I feel pretty!" but rather allows me to contemplate what a hairy motherfucker I am and that by god, I just want to keep it all from overflowing out of my eye-patch of a g-string (which again, is not lacy and adorable for your pleasure, but plain and black and tiny because let's face it, any underwear is going to resolutely ride up my ass so it might as well be a thin strip instead of a huge wad of fabric).

I don't need a different soap for each part of my body. Hell, I use the same soap to brush my teeth as I do to wash my face.

I went to a gun and weapons show once and there were regular guns (black) and then there were pink guns. Presumably for women. No other colors--just pink. 'Cause obviously that's the color that vaginas prefer.

So...I guess I either have hairy armpits and weary jockey shorts, or else I would like to ride a unicorn that has rainbows shooting out of its ass. Those are the choices.

And I get it, some people are just like that. It's not brain-washing; they're actually just BORN that way, loving Barbie and playing house. They'd like to wear their vagina as a great big hat and they plan their wedding 12 years in advance. Of even meeting the groom.* I contend that these people belong in the kitchen, not the workplace. But the point here is that some of us AREN'T like that. We're just people. We like black and we have no use for your frills. That's why someone needs to launch a line of non-froofy products. I could go for some black fucking running shoes. Men's shoes come in black--how come women's are all retarded colors? I would just buy men's but the sizes start in huge-and-a-half. DO YOU SEE MY POINT. I can always get an ammo box instead of buying one of those pearlized purple tackle box monstrosities for my under-the-bathroom-sink miscellanea, but these stop-gaps only go so far. THERE ARE NO GENDER-NEUTRAL MENSTRUAL PRODUCTS.  

*For the record, this is super creepy.  

I guess you can't post pictures from mobile blogger...

I went to see Voltaire last Saturday! Apparently he has a website: the Voltaire Lair. He was pretty funny and earnest, sometimes stopping mid-song all, "No, that's not how the song goes! I'm drunk!" and then resuming with audience prompt. Last time I saw him, at the Fez, he had a band with him but this time he was up there on stage all alone with his guitar. I do like his violin-y songs, but it was an entertaining evening nonetheless. Even though he's incredibly bawdy on stage, he's rather gracious, you know, and thanks each person for coming out to see him.

Wow, I just rearranged a sentence there so it'd make more sense. Man, I miss blogging. You can organize your words in some sort of thoughtful manner rather than just...brain vomit that happens on Facebook or G+ (although you know what, that's what a lot of people's blogs were like anyway, so if we can eliminate those people from blogging then I say that's a good outlet for them--as it is, I'm a little too wordy for that format?).

Well enough messing about on Blogger; I need to get to bed.