Category Archives: Sanctuary

Why I hate Children

WARNING: This is a rant. I am pretty mad right now. I am planning to cuss in this one. You’ve been warned.

All right, so it’s not really children that I hate. I can deal with them in small amounts, and usually the children I (am forced to) socialize with are relatively well-behaved.

It’s the PARENTS who I wish to destroy in all forms of violent and gratuitous manners.

I went to see Brave tonight with my sister. (She is my youngest sister and is 15.) What a great movie! It would have been more than great but we decided to go on a Tuesday night. At 7:15. AND THE THEATRE WAS FILLED WITH CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 5.

Who the ever-lovin’ fuck takes their toddlers out to a movie at 7 on a Tuesday night?

Obviously every douchebaggy parent in the city.

I was perfectly willing to accept the fact that there were children in the theatre. I wasn’t sure what to expect from another Disney-Pixar movie (except that it was guaranteed that I would cry at least once during the movie.) I certainly didn’t expect there to be as many families with young children there as there were! A family with two very young children (I’m guessing that they were both under 4 years old and the younger of the two was 18 months) sat in front of us.

I didn’t swear about that fact, the baby was really adorable.

Until about 30 minutes into the movie when this kid wouldn’t stop fussing and crying.

Now, this is a 2-parent family. Mom and Dad were both sitting there, with both kids and one of them was screaming and crying. Well, Mom was an obese woman and she didn’t do a damn thing. She didn’t get off her fat ass and take care of this crying kid. No, instead, she loudly told her (husband?) to take the kid out of the theatre after he had been crying for TEN FUCKING MINUTES.

Ten minutes?? Really? You couldn’t get off your ass to take your screaming kid out of the theatre so that you didn’t disturb anyone else? And then you make your male-thing take the screaming child outside? You lazy bitch.

Here’s the kicker to this story: THE DAD COMES BACK ABOUT 10 MINUTES LATER AND SAYS THAT HE CAN’T CALM THE KID DOWN!!

So now we’re treated to the Dad loudly insisting that the kid won’t calm down, the kid is STILL FUCKING CRYING and I can’t hear the whispers of the Scottish characters on the screen because of the bullshit caterwauling this damn kid is making.

I don’t go out a lot. I don’t have a huge budget for going out and I usually spend what little extra money I have on books or sometimes on meals out with friends or on beer. When I DO get to go out, it’s a huge deal and a real treat for me. So to have the first movie that I’ve seen in theatres since Toy Story 3 (we saw the Avengers in theares, but that was a birthday party, so I don’t really count it as a movie night because we budgeted for my birthday party to be a movie and dinner) ruined by a screaming child does not sit well with me.

I was about to say something but the kid finally shut up, so I was relieved of that duty, thankfully.

But this same lazy bitch is such a terrible parent that when we were getting up to leave the theatre (well, when THEY were) she just stood there and yelled at her children until they listened to her. She didn’t try to be polite, she didn’t try to be a good parent. Hell, she wasn’t even responsible. She just stood there yelling at her hyper, screaming toddlers as other people were trying to leave.

Fuck it, not my problem.

When the credits finished (because almost every movie has a little scene of awesome after the credits nowadays, and Brave was no exception) we got up and all had to go to the bathroom. So my sister and I head into the ladies room.

Lo and behold, there is a Cineplex staff member using the washroom. She obviously wasn’t on a break as she was trying her damnedest to hustle out of the bathroom after washing her hands but no. Some dumb blonde bitch of a mother (wearing booty shorts and toting two children, again probably both under the age of 4) starts harassing this poor girl!

“Don’t you clean these bathrooms? You should talk to your manager! These counters are all wet and small children get soaked when we have to wash their hands! I’m going to speak to your manager about this! Why can’t you people wipe this up?”

Fuck’s sake, you stupid blonde bimbo! Why don’t YOU wipe the fucking water up if it’s such a problem? Or, you know, if you were a better parent you would hold your kid up to the sink in a manner that wouldn’t get them wet in the first place.

Most public washrooms that don’t have doors (like at most malls here, and almost all the theatres) don’t have paper towels anymore. Waste reduction and blah blah blah. So how the fuck do you expect anyone to wipe the counters every five fucking minutes?

And this poor girl was just trying to pee and wash her hands so that she could get back to work. There’s no need for you to hassle her! Fuck.

I don’t understand why these young mothers think that they are so entitled to whatever the fuck they want. Oh good for you, you had unprotected sex and now you have reproduced. Fuck you. Do you want a fucking cookie? ANYONE can have a goddamn child. It’s not that difficult to procreate. Why the fuck are you so self-entitled? Why are you such a goddamn prick?

And why the fuck are you so inconsiderate towards everyone else around you?

Y’know what? Fuck it. I don’t want to know.

What I WANT is for all of these self-entitled bitches to fuck right off and crawl back into whatever fucking suburb they crawled out of because frankly? I don’t give a shit about you. I don’t give a shit about your children. You’re the inconsiderate bitch who is ruining my movie-date. You’re the self-entitled prick who blames everything on everyone else.

You’re not a special goddamn snowflake just ’cause you squeezed out another living being from between your flabby, self-righteous thighs. You haven’t birthed the next King Arthur.

You’re just another sad sack of a human being, a waste of skin filled with hot air and bullshit and honestly, you don’t deserve to have these kids in public.

So kindly crawl back into your rich, white-privilege, suburb-friendly, penis envying, gas guzzling car and let me at least have my one night out to myself without wanting to set the zombie apocalypse loose on the cinema and then rampage and kill you first.

Shit, there’s definitely a reason why I prefer books over movies.

Kai Kiriyama is a self-righteous bitch in her own right. While she doesn’t have kids of her own, she’s  taken her  younger siblings out to movies when they were kids and not a blessed one of them was misbehaved.

Also, she regrets nothing.

Email her at thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com if you wanna complain.
And follow her on Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir

She welcomes the backlash.

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Arguments againt Sleeping Naked

What a novel concept, sleeping naked. We are so assured of our safety in our own homes that we have no problem revealing ourselves to the bed when we sleep. It’s a relatively new concept too, I think. Sleeping indoors in a building I mean.

But we’re protected from the elements indoors, so there’s no question of having to protect yourself from rain or wind or snow. We open windows if we’re too hot inside our buildings but even then it isn’t like we need to protect ourselves entirely from the elements. That’s why we build with wood and stone and brick.

But think about it, sleeping naked is probably the worst thing that you can do.

For starters, if you’re like me, then you’re an insomniac. I can guarantee that your roommates won’t appreciate seeing you naked at 3 a.m. sitting on the couch, eating Cheetos and watching infomercials while your eyes bleed. Especially if you live with family. And while sitting naked at the computer is fun for a while, it tends to get boring and drafty after six hours of youtube and LOLcats.

Secondly, if you’re an insomniac, you will probably need your phone with you so that you can chat with all your insomniac friends. Where are you gonna stick y our phone while you’re doing insomniac things, like eating Cheetos. No pockets. So you’ll want at least a place to hold your phone while your hands are busy.

My third argument against sleeping naked is probably the most logical of the lot. What if your house burned down while you were sleeping? Are you gonna have the time to find your pants before you run out of the house? Are you really gonna wanna be rescued by the firemen in your birthday suit? What if it’s the middle of January in Canada when this happens? 40 below with no clothes sucks, trust me.

My fourth argument is this: would you run away with the Doctor in your skivvies? Probably not, and to be honest, unless we’re talking 9th incarnation, he’d probably leave you behind. Besides, pockets are an integral part of time travel.

Okay okay, so I’m not making a lot of sense. Sue me, I just wanted to write something. But I’m gonna leave you with a final argument to make you reconsider sleeping naked.

The zombie apocalypse almost invariably strikes in the middle of the night and progresses into the next day. If there’s zombies on my front step at 3 a.m. I am sure as hell not fighting my way out of my bedroom in anything less than jeans and a Tshirt. My pajamas are awesome, they have pockets in the pants and are made of flannel and to be honest, the Tshirt I usually sleep in is autographed so at least when I get bitten by a zombie that has broken into my house while I’m asleep, I’ll look cool when I turn. I ain’t having my nekkid body be shot by a survivor, I want that survivor to know that I was pretty damn cool before I was zombified. And dressing gowns are for sissies and Canadians. :P


My Office, My Sanctuary

I just realized that today, December 20, 2011, is the first day I have been actively up in my office since National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) ended. NaNoWriMo is in November, and for those 30 days of amazing caffeine-fueled novel-writing insanity, I spent almost every day up here, sequestered away from the distractions of life and of non-novelist helpful things. Like my video games. And my books. And my fiancee.

It’s funny now, because my office is really a fantastic corner of my house where I can do everything that I need to do on a regular basis. I have a desk. It’s a really big desk, with a really comfy chair and a small footstool underneath. I have my extra monitor, I have a bookshelf full of reference books. I have my papers, my notebooks, my pens, my highlighters, my binders. I have a cork board covered in references and motivation, heck, it even says ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ right on the cork. I have some cool things I have framed. I have a SpongeBob SquarePants calendar. My pet snake, Rhaegar lives in my office. There’s a spare bed in here, made up with pillows and blankets and comfort. I have internet access. I have a smartphone. The bathroom is literally a few steps down the hall (so is my bedroom and the rest of my books, but that is another point altogether.)

There’s so little reason for me to leave this room when I’m working. I ignore hunger and thirst when I get really into something. I know it’s bad for me, but it happens. Actually, it happens a lot more than I should admit. Oh well.

Outside of my office is where all the bad things happen. Bills are waiting for me outside of my office. The need for food. Social interaction on a face-to-face level. (as opposed to Facebook or email or IM interaction.) Chores. Dishes. Phone calls. Household duties. Video games.

Distractions.

Okay, so there’s distractions in here too. I have the Internet. (And the LOLcats, Reddit, Twitter, Facebook, Cracked.com etc.) And I have Minecraft. Oh how I am addicted to Minecraft. I have my iPhone with me almost all the time. (There’s music on there…) There’s a bed. There’s Rhaegar.

But the distractions are different when I’m in my office. They don’t seem as big. Things don’t seem as bad when I’m in here. All the chores are pushed out of my mind. Financial trouble isn’t at the foreground of my thoughts. Bills and chores and the need for me to make dinner, and therefore eat, aren’t important. Sleep is… Well, it’s secondary anyway, but here it seems less tempting.

My office is a quiet little corner all of my own. I can be who I want, do what I want, distract myself if I want…

It really is like the Weezer song In the Garage. I had never really thought about it like that until now, but my office is like that garage; I feel safe, no one cares what I do because no one is in here to judge me, I can write, I can sing, I can be me.

Not that there’s really anything stopping me from doing that stuff outside of my office, but it’s the safety and the privacy that really makes it special.

Long story short, I’m glad to be back in my office.