What It Stands For...
Today, hasn’t been a great day. I have been in a lot of pain from the tooth getting yanked from my skull and the pain pills only do so much… But I had to go to work around noon today- to pick up an ambulance from the dealership in Grand Rapids. My dad/boss dropped me off and after fifteen minutes of avoiding stares from grubby mechanics, I was on my way.
I stopped at Culvers (a burger joint) for a quick pick-up of lunch. The stammering idiot at the register spent more time looking at my boobs then actually paying attention to my order (thank goddess it was right in the end), but after I paid and filled my drink cup- I went to go take a seat.
Now- I was wearing a pair of respectable khaki shorts and my new black Suicide Girls tee shirt. Across the chest of the shirt is the logo. A cute goth girl in pigtails, drawn in a touch of anime style with the Est. 2001 and big pink SG letters. That’s it. No big deal.
While I sat and waited not so patiently for my food, I couldn’t help but notice this typical soccer mom staring at me while tending to her three ignorant children- oldest being 6 at the most. I tried ignoring her, but that only lasted so long. While her mother (an elderly, hard of hearing and walking old bitty) wrangled the ketchup covered tax write-offs, the mother stepped up to the edge of my table (the booth directly behind theirs) and cleared her throat.
“Yes?” I asked.
“I just wanted to let you know that I do not appreciate what your shirt stands for…” she said snobbishly, looking down her nose and horn rimmed glasses at me like I was the dog turd stuck on the bottom of her shoe.
“Really? And just what does it stand for, may I ask?”
“Well- it’s just not acceptable.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am. I don’t find the fact you’re letting your stupid little children smear ketchup all over the fucking restaurant- acceptable. I suggest that maybe you should stay on the vanilla side of the internet and go back to you Moms-Like-Me web group and bitch about the new seasonal lid colors for Tupperware. I could give a fuck less what YOU actually find acceptable…” enter the counter clerk with my to-go order, handing it to me, which I was so pissed off I completely ignored, “Fuck off and have a great day, ma’am.”
I am still pissed off at this rude bitch and her un-reasonable fucking assumption of what my shirt meant. Seriously! WTF possessed her to step up and make bullshit assumptions like that? SG is about alternative beauty. It is about the creative expression and beauty a pierced, tattooed, and colorfully dyed hair woman (and men) have to offer in this world of idiot stereotypes. I am a proud member of SG and an even prouder photographer that has the opportunity to capture these stunning woman with my camera. I fucking hate woman like this housewife bitch. I hate their assumptions, their un-willingness to listen, their un-educated ideals, and how they live eat and breathe inspid rules!
I have been lingering on this occurrence today- as unhealthy as that may be… Here’s an addendum to the rant I should have unleashed on the bitch.
“May I suggest you stay in the vanilla side of the internet. Stick with you Moms-Like-Me website, your Tupperware set of the month club, your Pampered Chef spice of the week, and your Scentsy candle melt scent of the day. Why don’t you go back to you ketchup coated, ankle biting, ignorant tax write off children. Go back to wiping their asses and watching kiddie cartoons 20 hours a day. Keep track of what you do know and stay the fuck away from what you refuse to educate yourself about. Go sit your kids in front of the great babysitter in the living room and have you’re A-typical uber-vanilla sex with your over worked and under appreciated husband. The type of sex where missionary is the only “socially acceptable” position even though I know your husband is dying to try anything but that! Go home and read your stupid magazines- “Red Book”, “Good Housekeeping”, and “Martha-f’ing-Stewart”.
Go ahead and continue to judge those of us that are different to you. I dare you! Did you stop to think that those women with tattoos have stories behind their ink, much like you scrape book about? I saw you look at that tattoo on my right forearm… It says Washington D.C. September 11th, 2001. I was there, you fucking idiot. I lived through that day in hell with a prayer that my then husband wasn’t dead and buried in a building and thirty bucks in my pocket. But you didn’t think of that, did you? No. You only judged me by my tee shirt and the fact I had marred my flesh with something deeply personal to me.
Do the world a favor and simply vanish from it. Go on about living your boring as hell lifestyle and leave all the fun and excitement to those of us that can appreciate it.”
Now… I feel better.