Househusbandry, and other ways to feel sorry for myself.

First I would like to make a point. It is actually a preface made necessary by the fact that I am a male, and I would enjoy preserving what masculinity I can still rightfully lay claim to. The point is this:
Men do not make homes. Sure we make houses (we design them, finance them, zone for residential areas we can construct them in, build the infrastructure, cut down the trees, kill the people that try to stop us cutting them down, blah blah blah…), along with a lot of other things you may have heard of, cars, airplanes, space shuttles, office buildings, well, everything really. But we do not make homes. We break them, along with everything and everyone inside. It is not a fact we are always proud of, but it is a responsibility that we shoulder with a grim knowledge of how the world works. That is to say the real world, or what remains when you strip away the rainbow unicorns, cotton candy castles, and reruns of Sex and the City. Oh and we make ALL the pills, vodka, dildos, and cities too, without which shows about women empowering themselves would be impossible.
So now that I find myself unemployed (it’s only temporary), I find myself trapped in my apartment for long hours. This would be okay if not for two things. I don’t smoke anymore, and I don’t have reliable internet access (send help goddamnit!). But have I degenerated into watching daytime television? No, we don’t own one. Do I complain about that other gender? Nope, even when I have nothing better to do, I still have something better to do than that. What then do I do? I cook, I pay the bills (the physical act at least), I focus on my photography, and my writing (which will one day turn me into a professional house boyfriend/husband), and I mix drinks (and not just for me either). The point is, I stay busy learning, I stay engaged, I retain my dignity, as opposed to devolving into a pill popping, woman hating, TV watching, neighbor gossiping with, shoppoholic that can’t drive, read a map, or piss standing up. I am perfect, or at least perfectible.
Sigh. What a sad state of affairs we find ourselves in. I think it a little less than coincidental that as soon as women were “liberated” back in the 70’s, the world has gone completely to shit. Global warming, the current financial mega-recession (mini depression), Gulf War II, George W. Bush, Breast Cancer, Heart Disease, Diabetes, all problems women have created, and men are expected to fix, all while being sensitive to the needs and emotional crises of women.
Well, fine. We, men that is, went to the moon, invented everything (including god, credit cards, AND the tampon), have won every single fucking war ever, discovered everything, and we’ll fix all this shit too. And the really sick thing is that we do it all FOR women, so that we’ll have something to tell them when they ask meaningless things like, “what did you do today?” or “what do you do for a living?” Men should say “fucking everything you didn’t do today, like save the world, make shit we need, discovered things with a little method called science, not that intuition bullshit you’ve been using to coat tail ride since day fucking one” OR “I try to undue all the nonsense women have unleashed on our happy world, which is round by the way, and spins around that hot ball of light in the sky, not the other way around.”
So here I sit, wondering how to break this home of ours for want of an occupation. Stupid women choking up the work place with unwanted and unnecessary competition (which is mandated by law, another thing men invented, and therefore not really competition at all, but gross injustice).
This important notice made possible by the ongoing work of men.
Peace (also invented by men) out.
J.T.Ratcliff