First, I beg your forgiveness: In the past month, a handful of readers (the few, the strong) have asked me why I've stopped blogging. The sad truth is simply that I have nothing interesting to say. I know you are all shocked and appalled by this admission. The Saucy Vixen? With nothing to say?? Alas, it is true.
My life is boring.
I had nothing to say.
Until about two days ago. I was on my home from work, and yet again, I suffered from my chronic affliction of listening to song lyrics. I've tried to do this less frequently of late. I've tried ignoring lyrics, knowing that the result will only upset me. I leave my radio off and hum tuneless melodies to myself. But stuck in the throes of a migraine-like headache, I had the radio on low (to keep myself from having to think, you see), and heard this:
If I were a boy
Even just for a day
I'd roll out of bed in the morning
And throw on what I wanted and go.
Drink beer with the guys
And chase after girls.
I'd kick it with who I wanted
And I'd never get confronted for it
Cause they stick up for me.
Let's stop here and discuss style for a moment. I know that poetry is dead. I know that things such as form and syntax are antiquated notions, especially given today's generation of grammatically apathetic troglodytes. But really, that didn't rhyme, it didn't scan, and it all-around sucked. Beyonce, I hate you. I hold you partially responsible for bringing down the level of literacy in this country. You are, after all, a role model. You should be ashamed of yourself.
If I were a boy
I would turn off my phone
Tell everyone it's broken
So they'd think that I was sleeping alone.
I’d put myself first
and make the rules as I go.
Cause I know that she’ll be faithful,
Waiting for me to come home, to come home.
Now let's talk substance.
Ever wonder why men suck so much? Ever wonder why they're such dogs, why they pull ridiculous shit and get away with it, why they act poorly? Because we--women--expect them to. We bitch and moan about how awful they are. We lament to our girlfriends about 'em. They did this, they did that, what have I done to deserve this? Then we write crappy, non-scanning songs about how boys suck.
It's self-fulfilling prophecy, ladies. If you don't want your man to get away with this crap, don't let him. Stop whining and start doing.
That means you, too, Beyonce.