Those Dramas.

I love Korean dramas. I think they're much better than Aussie ones - seriously. But there's always this part that bugs me.

There's always three characters in this scenario - the guy, the girl that he likes that no-one else likes, and the other girl they want him to go out with but she's a complete bitch.

And it's always the parents and grandparents that are bugging this poor guy to go out with the second girl, and eventually, one of the three commits suicide.

I mean, what business is it of the gramps who he dates? I have great respect for the elderly - but seriously, their time has come and gone, and although age may be wisdom, some of them are seriously behind the time and all their good intentions go the wrong way. And who cares if, once in a blue moon, the guy makes a mistake? Divorce isn't so hard these days.

The older generations think that they know everything about love, because they've 'been there, done that' so to speak, but times change rapidly these days. And it's always a point in these Korean dramas. And, somehow, the older generation never feels sorry for interfering with these kind of things. Even at the poor guy's funeral they'd be like 'How I wish he'd married that girl we all like.'

Sigh. So cliche.

So real.

The Downside of being a Movie Freak.

I love movies. It hasn't always been that way, though.

Up until I was about seven I used to be *terrified* of movies - because at that time they always made us watch animated films, and you know what animated films are like - the colours, the really spooky music...

I still don't like animated films that much.

But I do love movies now. Love 'em. Love them to the point of insanity, really.

The problem is, once I watch a movie, or a movie series, that I really like, I get obsessed, I find out every possible detail about any possible thing that is related to the movie, and drill it into some poor unsuspecting victim - my poor mother is my usual target - and I quote them an awful lot.

Only the problem is, when I quote something like Lord of the Rings, the only people who get it are boys, who think I'm nuts, or...actually, no-one else. Apparently it's not cool to watch Lord of the Rings any more.

To back that up, I'm going to post another video - another communitychannel thing - called 'my precious'. I wish I had the courage to shove my fat ugly face in front of a camera so I could vlog for you, but anyway...natalie's much more entetaining...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FR9tS1f1f6k&feature=channel

Whoever Invented DVD Region Codes Was A Prat.

Seriously. Because now I have three bum DVDs. Great. Brilliant.

I mean, what is the point? Why does Australia have to be all 200l8 and the rest of the world has to be so high tech? It's always like that. It's so unfair. The technology here is so primitive, and it's ALL THEIR BLOODY FAULT.

Wah.

200l8, by the way, is a new term I've coined from this song I heard - I think it's black eyed peas or something. it means 'two thousand and late', like, a pun on 2008, and...

I'm gonna go. KaPow.

More Videos! (My Totally Awesome PRETTY Friends)

I really hope you guys don't mind me doing this...but you put the vid on youtube, right? So I'm allowed to put it on my blog, right? I hope so. If you really don't like me putting this here, please don't be mad, just tell me and I'll take it off straight away. Thanks.

These are two of my best buddies dancing - they're awesome, you can say bad things about me but do *not* say bad things about my friends. I'm not in the vid - I'd ruin the shit out of it - but anyways...here it is:



No mean comments, please. Btw, there's a scene where it looks like one of the girls isn't wearing any pants, but she is - they're shorts but her top is too long so it covers most of them.

Vlog

Lots of people have been bugging me to start vlogging (video blogging).

But I hate to break it to you guys, but I can't vlog. Seriously.

Well, for one, I think my writing is a lot more entertaining than seeing my fat ugly face in a video doing all the ranting. Seriously. I'm not a pretty sight, and I'm pretty hopeless at Photoshop, which I don't have at home. And I have the most revolting voice - too low, and I cough a lot and stutter even more and talk super fast. I also don't have a video camera, so the chances of me successfully making a watchable video is zilch.

I am also hopeless at loading videos onto my blog - because every time I try, it just doesn't work, because all the videos I want to load have their embing disabled. I can't even load a *picture* onto this thing - I tried loading a picture of Eomer on to one of my posts so I could show you guys how hot he is, but it didn't work. I can't do anything on the computer except boring old writing. Sorry guys, that's just how I roll.

And it takes so much time making a video - you have to film it over and over and over again because you mess up so many times, or you've accidentally said something that's not PG. And seriously, time is something I don't have. I blog whenever I can - before school, while eating, just before bed, whilst I'm trying to research or do homework - and I'm not normally in the best shape whilst I blog. I'm always either stuffing my face with food, or in my pajamas or in my school uniform (if I vlog about the stuff I blog about whilst wearing school uniform I am *dead*) with my makeup sliding off and my hair in a complete mess and...yeah, not pretty. It'd be like the Bride of Frankenstein ranting about misogynistic, pessimistic, narcassawhatsits teachers.

So, it's just going to stay a boring old blog.

But I do have some things for you guys if you *seriously* want to see a vlog, although it's not by me. There's a vlogger on youtube called Natalie Tran, who has her own vlogging channel called communitychannel. She's a university student in Sydney and her vlogs are heaps funny - I spend ages watching them. I don't know her personally, but she's totally cool. My favourite? this one:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eV_P3knWE9w&feature=channel_page

Another reason why I love her videos is that they're EMBED, so I HAVE SUCCESSFULLY LOADED A VIDEO ONTO MY BLOG!!! WHOOT!!!

But I love this particular one because I do that all the time. I have this voice recorder thingy on my phone, and if you see me walking around looking like an idiot talking to my phone, it's because I'm ranting about something - like nosy teachers - or I'm dictating what I should write. Her voiceover is pretty much what I chat to my phone about. And my phone listens patiently, recording down every word I say, whilst all the seniors look at me like 'What a freak'. I have now found an ingenious new way to overcome this - I hold my phone to my ear so it looks like I'm actually using it properly, but then I have to stop every now and then so that people think the nonexistant person on the other line is having their chance to talk. It's exhausting, you know, and my life would be a whole lot easier if talking to phones was considered normal.

Her videos aren't normally like this, btw. But they're all pretty funny. Here's another one:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJhJ7y9int4

The Asian girl is her, btw.

I am still up to my earlobes in homework, even though I've done quite a bit: I've finished my French and one of my English papers, and I'm about half way through my technology powerpoint. That's the other thing I wanted to talk about.

Technology.

There is really no point teaching me Computing. I mean, seriously, I suck. I know a bit of html, but no, we're not learning html - we're learning how to touch type. If there's one thing I can do in this world, it's touch type. My record is eighty, my average is fifty, and I never get below forty (that's words per minute). So teaching me to touch type is an utter waste of time. Every time I write my score down on the score sheet, my teacher looks at me suspiciously as though I've found some way to cheat the system or something. I haven't. I just blog a lot and type a lot and as of consequence, I happen to type at a freakishly inhuman speed.

And we're learning powerpoint. Seriously, I've been powerpointing ever since I was five years old - who hasn't? There's nothing really to learn in Powerpoint - anyone can pull together a powerpoint presentation, it's not hard. Oh, we're learning flash as well - although I fail to see the point in animating a ball. We're also learning how to use Windows Movie Maker, only we get the exact same results that we would have gotten on power point because our teacher doesn't know how to use Windows Movie Maker, therefore there's not much she can teach us.

Fun.

Note - I do not own these videos or YouTube. I do not know Natalie Tran personally nor am I associated with communitychannel in any way. For any enquiries please post a comment or email me at geesycheesydarita@gmail.com. Please no abuse or vandalism, please.

Why they Call These Holidays I Have No Idea...

They should call them 'Finish Your Homework NOW or Die days'.

Yes, school's out, but I'm not really enjoying myself.

For one thing I feel horribly, utterly, fat. Seriously. I've been eating like a pig and now, I can't even walk up two flights of stairs without my heart stopping momentarily. I forgot I had maths after lunch one time, so I wasn't waiting in the East Building like I should of, but I was outside chatting to my friends. When the bell went, I went 'shit!', and consequently tried to run up two flights of stairs and down a corridor.

You see, if there's one thing to avoid when it comes to my maths teacher is being late. You *never* show up late to her classes unless you're feeling particularly suicidal, because chances of surviving being late to maths are minimal.

But we look like *idiots* when we run. Seriously. One thing, our uniform has like nix sport technology, so our skirts flap around and we look like...well, we look like great flying octopuses, that's what. And with super heavy, oversized bags and shoes that act like dead weights, we look really stupid. Not to mention we're really slow.

So I'm chugging up these stairs, wishing that I wasn't as unfit as I sadly was, and that these flights weren't as horribly long as they are. When I finally get up, I still have to race down the corridor with half a dozen other people who are late, and we all scream 'Get out of the way! We have Miss B!'

And, funnily, they do move out of the way. It's the only time you'll ever see a senior moving aside for a year eight. It's hilarious.

Another thing about my math teacher is that she gives a mountain of homework. Actually, they all do, but seriously, no-one does homework like my math teacher does.

So I'm back from my three week holiday, and I'm up to my earlobes with homework. Most of it is maths, but I got a fair share of English and other things as well.

Fun. Brilliant. And they're all like 'It's only a little bit, just take it easy'

Seriously. Define 'a little bit'. For one, it's not 'a little bit' so I have a lot of 'little bits' that aren't really little to do, and so now I'm drowning in homework.

I can see this is going to be a fun holiday. I have sixteen homework units to hand in, I have to read two books, watch two movies and write two essay papers.

AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH@#$%W%W&@%&@#^%SSSSSSHHHHHHIIIIIIITTTTT$^@$&@#$^@$%@^#@^#$OOOOOOHHHHHHGGGGGGGOOOOOOODDDDDDHHHHHEEEEELLLLLPPPMMMMMEEEE$^#&^#$%^@$^GAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH$^@$#@%#$@%$%@#$GGGGOOOODDDDDAAAAAAMMMMMMIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTT@#$Q^%#%&#^&#@$%^@...

happy holidays!

Rain Reposted!

I finally got my story back!

From my teacher, that is, not from the competition. Actually, the only way I'll hear from the competition is if I win, or come second or third.

I got 27/30 - which is a mark above A+. It's my highest mark yet and I'm so excited! I love my story to bits.

I'm posting it again with my teacher's edits, and some of my own edits - and I'm setting up a debate here, so if you don't vote by posting a comment then you guys seriously don't love me or my story anymore.

Anyway, here it is:

Rain.

I love the rain. It's as though all the sadness in the world is finally released. I can feel the earth's sadness, and her sense of relief as all the grief in her heart is emptied at last. When it rains, it makes me feel less alone - like there is someone out there that is even more heartbroken than I am now, if that's even possible.

***

I don't know him very well - not very well at all, only that he's always surrounded by pretty girls and big, intimidating boys. They're always laughing, and I wish I could be with them, laugh with them. But I can't. The group is too big, and he's right in the centre of it. Instead, I stare at him from the safety of my own knit of friends - my best friend stares at me whilst I stare at the beautiful laughing boy.
"I don't know why you like him" he said, for the sixth time in ten minutes. "It's not right. He's too old for you".

I know Karl only speaks out of concern and his anxiety is not without reason, but I can't stop. This boy is like a drug.
"He's not that much older" I protest. "And at least he's not a pimplehead like you"
Karl grinned unashamedly, although the worry did not fully leave his eyes. He had seen me break down before, and it had completely freaked him out. And he wasn't stupid - he knew my obsession with this boy wasn't going to end prettily.
"Talking about what's not right" I continued to tease him. "Having a crush on a year nine isn't nearly as bad as you. Still got that picture of Carmen Electra under your pillow?"

Karl blushed deep red as I laughed and resumed staring at the boy.
"That's...not...the...same" Karl spluttered, and I smiled at myself as he continued to mutter incoherently.

The boy looked up at me for a memnt, and for a heartbeat, for one tiny fraction of a second, our eyes met. He smiled faintly, then turned his head to answer a question one of his impatient, pretty friends had asked him. My heart lurched to a standstill, the restarted violently, drumming a hundred miles an hour. I couldn't breathe for all the emotions rushing through me - breathtaking happiness, heartwrenching sadness, utter contentment and restless impatience, all engulfing me at the same time. I was only vaguely aware of the bell ringing.

"Time for maths" Karl said cheerfully as he stuffed my lunchbox in my bag for me. He slng it over his shoulder, carrying his own easily in one hand. He grabbed my hand and yanked sharply, pulling me out of my reverie.

Karl was a tall, gangly boy with a wicked sense of humour and some serious skin issues. Because he was so long and lanky, he was terribly uncoordinated, and his klutziness was part of his baby-faced charm. Our relationship was close, but strictly not romantic - we both spent our time chasing other people, and comforting each other every time we had our hearts broken. Despite the fact I knew this boy in the flesh, instead of Karl and his obsession with his poster of Carmen Electra, I probably knew him less than Karl knew his beloved picture.

School flew by in a blur - every time I passed the boy, my heart misbehaved wildly, and by the time I was over it Karl was looking at me with concern. After school, he herded me to the train station whilst I tripped around in a daze, as his gaze grew more and more concerned. He carefully steered me onto the train and into a seat when the ancient bucket of bolts finally came, but no sooner had I sat down my phone buzzed in my pocket.

'Hey sweetheart. How was skool?'

My heart spluttered hyperactively as I read through the message and started to text back as fast as I could. If Karl looked worried before, he was seriously alarmed now. He, like most other people, was afraid of what state I might be when my phone flirt was over.
"You're going to have to tell him who you are eventually" he warned me as I texted. "And chances are you're going to end up all over the place again. You scared the living daylights out of me last time"
"I know" I muttered distractedly as I hit 'send'. We sat in silence whilst I waited impatiently for him to reply.

'I wish u'd tell me who u r, honey. It'z drivin me crazy.'

I sighed. Out of all the messages the boy sent me, half of them were a variation of 'who are you?'

'U'd laugh at me if i told you' I texted back, wishing that were not the case. How I wish he'd be genuinely thrilled when he found out it was me.

'No, I won't. Scouts honour. Please tell me.'

Scout's honour. The old fashioned vow made me giggle. Karl looked at me anxiously.

'I g2g' I texted, unwilling to reveal to Karl how deep my phone relationship was - he was reading every word over my shoulder 'Talk 2 u soon'.

I don't entirely remember how I got home - I only dimply remembered Karl hugging me goodbye at the busport and then unbolting my front door twenty minutes later, but nothing in between. It must have been raining, because I was soaking wet and shivering in the hallway, although I can't recall being in the rain that day. Nonetheless, now I was cold, so I trouped off to the bathroom.

The hot water and lavender oil in my bathtub relaxed my muscles - probably a little too much, as I found it hard to get my arms to reach my head so I could shampoo my hair. My phone rested on the vanity unit, but, annoyingly, it remained still and silent. When I was done, I attempted to attack my growing pile of homework - but it was hard to concentrate on pi and square roots when waiting for a call.

This wasn't the first time I'd had this obsessive fixation over a boy - only this time was different because he didn't know my name, and it was all so mysterious, two anonymous texters. I had done this before - over the internet, by mail, and even in person, and it had all gone horribly wrong. After I had cried all the pain out of my heart - the blank disappoirntment, the cold rejection, the bitter resentment - I swore to myself that I would never let it happen again. But then I'd see a beautiful boy and step back into the trap again, deluding myself with things like 'this one is different' or 'this will end differently'. I forgot the pain that the end brought, and would only remember the thrill of love.

Finally, after an agonizing five-hour wait, my phone buzzed at 10:03.

'Hey, sorry about the wait. Mum forced me 2 go out 4 dinner with her bf'

I just gazed at the words, the words that had saved me from insanity. My maths lay abandoned on my table as I lolled on my bed, wishing that the words had a double meaning. My phone buzzed again.

We chatted a bit, about innocent stuff - school and homework and annoying teachers. But the mystery surronding my name was always in the offing. Finally, he caved.

'Can u please tell me who u r? I'm beggin u'

My reply consisted of only one flirtatious word: Guess.

'U always make me guess' he complained sixty-three seconds later.

'I no. It's very entertaining'

It took him a little while to reply to that one - I suppose he was trying to think of a girl that he hadn't already mentioned before.

'Leanne?'

I sighed, raw pain rippling through my heart. Leanne was bold, blonde, and beautiful. He could not have named a girl more different to me.

'Ur way off. Try again'

'I'm always way off. Sarah? Naomie? Cynthia?'

There was something different about that message - different to the sickly sweet persuasion that had filled his messages before. There was an undercurrent of...anger? Annoyance? I shook my head to get rid of the negative thought. I was reading too deep into a message that only comprised of seven words.

'No. Try again'

'Jessica. That's my last guess. Seriously. I'm running out of credit'

The abrupt change of mood in his messages was really scaring me. It was so sudden, and so unpredictable. I thought he was having just as much fun as I was, maybe even more so.

But I wasn't an idiot. It ended here.

'Fine. I'm the year eight kid in ur English class. I transferred a few weeks back'

My thumb hovered over the 'send' button. Could I push my luck a bit more? Tease him for just a little bit longer?

Something crashed downstairs, and my hand squeezed my phone instinctively. I watched numbly as the message sent.

The next ten minutes were the longest minutes of my life. If he was hoping for Leanne, then there was no way on earth he would be thrilled to find out it was just a scrummy year eight.

I wished I wasn't so worthless - I wish I was one of those girls who were desirable and attractive and wanted. I wanted to be one of those girls who were chased by boys, instead of me always doing the fruitless chasing. There's nothing wrong with me, but, apparently, there's nothing good about me either.

My obsession with this boy had been like an addiction to an illict drug. The thrill of my phone buzzing, his caller ID flashing across the screen, brought on a complete, ultimate high. It made me feel loved, cherished, wanted. Teasing him made me feel like I had complete and utter control, something I had never had before. It was as if nothing could go wrong.

But everything did. As usual.

My phone buzzed again, but it brought on no supernatural high. It was a devillish, cruel sound.

I cried for the first time over this boy as I read his reply.

My teacher wants me to end the story here - at a cliffhanger. But I somehow disagree. The last paragraph is the most beautiful and sad paragraph of the story, and it links all the rain into it - if I leave the last paragraph out, there's no point calling it 'Rain'. It doesn't make any sense.

Here's the last paragraph again, just to jog your memory:

I stood in the downpour, right in the centre of the oval. I could faintly hear people sniggering and lauging ath me, even through the roar of the heaven's aggressive tantrum. My phone lay open in my hand, getting destroyed by the rain. My hair hung limply around my shoulders, too soaked to be bullied by the wind that gushed past me, icy cold. But I barely registered the cold, or the wet. It didnt' really occur to me exactly how much of an idiot I looked, just staring into the sky. I could vaguely here the seniors jeering, the teachers yelling, but I didn't move. Disappointment and rejection kept me locked in place like a dead weight as I stood in the middle of the fierce storm.

I liked the rain. When the heavens cried so violently, no-one noticed my tears.

So, what do you think? Ending or no ending? PLEASE VOTE BY COMMENTING!!!

The story was inspired partly by one of my latest flirt-gone-wrongs (they never seem to end in flirt-gone-right), and the narrator (who is never named) is based on me. The boy (who is also never named) is based on a boy in my english class, plus some other boys I know. Karl is based on one of my friends, Kyle, although I made the friendship between Karl and the narrator much deeper and closer. The story is also based on Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility.

Nosy Teachers and Exciting Possibilities

Teachers are so nosy sometimes.

Personal notes are supposed to be private, right? Like, stuff you write for yourself, for your own learning. Stuff you can doodle and embellish on, and write little memos and fun little drawings.

Wrong.

Our teachers insist on inspecting our notes all the time. Especially my ******* teacher, and my French master. I mean, what's wrong with them? It's our notes you know, our life. What we write is none of their business.

They invade your private life as well - they want to know who's dating who, who broke up with who and why, and they make snide comments about things that are so two thousand and *late*. I mean, it's really hurtful when they make comments about boys that you've only just gotten over, or link you with your best mates - I mean, since when has it been a crime to have male friends? I love my guy friends, but that doesn't mean we're like all lovey-dovey. Why can't we just have normal, platonic friendships without getting teased? And from teachers, for crying out loud. So much for their anti-bullying campaigns - it's not even working on teachers, let alone students.

Why can't teachers just teach and shut up? I mean, I don't mind teachers that do extra to help you, but I can't stand teachers that go out of their way to make your life hell.

Like my ******* teacher. If I get in trouble, I get in even deeper trouble than the other students. He made me spit out my cough lolly during class. He said it was against school policy to eat during class, but I was like Hello? It's a *cough lolly*, not a three course banquet. None of my other teachers minded, not even my super-strict math teacher. If I were a teacher I'd much prefer a student inconspiciously sucking on lozenges then coughing her mouth out.

He's such a hypocrite as well - during class, he always goes out to his office to get things he forgets - once he went to his office *six times* in one lesson. If I forget something for one miserable day, he bites my head off. Him? He just saunters out of the classroom with a casual "Sorry" and it's all cool.

He's lost my homework as well - I am so peeved. He's given me hell for missing four miserable papers and now he's lost my latest one. He's not going to make me do it again - there is no way in hell I'm doing it again. He never makes any allowances or exceptions - even when I went to *hospital* and now I just have to be all cool with the fact he's lost my assignment before he's marked it. Well, I'm not. And if he can't find it, I demand full marks. It's not fair that he picks on me so bad - I know I'm not perfect, but, by God, he is a hell of a lot worse.

And he's got his facts all wrong too - he's droning on and on about how we have to do science for TEE - that's our university entrance exams we take at the end of year twelve - and I'm just like, what's wrong with you? The only subject that's compulsory is English, and the only other requirement is that you do something mathematical, scientific or technological as well. That means I can trade maths and science for cooking, which I am planning to do. SUCK ON THAT!!! I HATE YOU, ******* TEACHER!!! YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE, LET ALONE TEACH!!!

On a lighter note, I'm so excited! I'm skipping a grade in another subject!

God, I sound like such a nerd. I'm not, honest. I just like skipping grades.

Next year I'm skipping a grade in Social Sciences, which is like history, law, politics, economics and geography. That's what I love about this school - you have so much freedom, you can tailor your courses to exactly what you want. Woohoo!

R.I.P Michael Jackson

I know, it's a bit late. Ah well. Better late than never.

I was born in the mid-90's, so I never really experienced the "Jackson phenomenon" as it were - I didn't really hear the music, just all the iffy things about him, like all those court cases and just how bizarre he was. I only fully started to appreciate his work last year.

In my old school we did this dancing programme every year - where we would all do a coordinated, cheographed dance to a popular pop hit from some point of time. In year seven, we did ours to "Smooth Criminal"

No one had actually heard and truly appreciated Michael Jackson at that point - at that time Michael Jackson was just some weirdo who dangled his newborn kids from balconies. But I loved Smooth Criminal. It had such a good feel to it, and it was really easy to dance with.

I've always been musical - music just runs through my blood. I'm no prodigy, and now that I've stopped playing full-time I'm not even very good - but it's still there - I still have my perfect pitch and everything. So dancing was easy as well - not super-complicated moves, but just simple things, like the dances we did at school.

My teacher said I was the best in the class - I only earned that title because I was one of the only people who was on beat - and instantly talk was up. I had a notorious reputation for being absolutely hopeless at sport - a well earned title, I think - and the dances were very strenuous. How the hell is she the best? She must have done something. Rumours ran riot.

This is the only part of Michael Jackson I will ever understand - having music 'flow' through you. The dances weren't that hard, because I was so into the music, it was like my shock-absorber - I only felt the stress and strain of it before and after the dance, never whilst I was actually dancing. Dancing is just so surreal.

I can never dance anything unchoreographed in front of a crowd though - I just can't break into super-cool moves without practice and advice. I wish I could. That's one of the trillions of things Michael Jackson can do that I can't.

Because I was born after the music hype, I've only ever known the cruelly-depicted image of a psychopath looney way past his expiry date. But now I see that Michael Jackson wasn't twisted - he was just weird, and terribly misunderstood. He's not normal, because he just can't be normal - he doesn't know what being normal is. And being normal is not Michael Jackson.

We are tough people - we only like something for a little while, then we start to abuse it. According to most, I was past my expiry date at the age of six and a half. I simply wasn't interesting anymore - or perhaps too interesting. So I got bullied. That's what happened to Michael Jackson.

And so a legend dies, trying to please a world that is never truly pleased. I always used to be jealous of child actors and people who got that big break early - but now I'm not. My big break will come - with time, patience, and with my own merit. But it will last, and it will die peacefully, timelessly.

Masculism

The advocacy of men's rights.

I actually find the whole thing a bit silly.

Sorry, but I do.

You see, women are discriminated against so much, it's ridiculous to think that men are mistreated compared to women. I mean, think of everything women go through that men don't, and then you'll see that men get it very, very lucky.

I mean, in some countries, men own women, men own all of a woman's property, women are not entitled to education, or are entitled to less education then men, women have extremely strict dress codes...

And then men say that they have it worse off.

This is why I'm a feminist.