Ugh, February has to be, like, the worst month. The Absolute Worst.
You just can’t even with winter anymore, you’re never quite sure how many days it has or how its spelled, Valentine’s Day is always fucked up by some douchebag guy, and on top of all that, Black people get their own month.
Now, look, I know that sounds racist, but I’m not racist. I’m not mad that Black people have their own month because I don’t think they deserve it – I’m mad because when I hear “Black history month,” I’m just reminded that it’s 2014 and I still don’t have my own month. I love Black people. I love rap and the power it has to shift cultures – for example, the legalization of gay marriage after Macklemore’s Grammy-winning ode to equality, Same Love. Thank you, Black people, that shit is really fucking cool, and you did it! Good for you. But, can we cool it with this month shit? As soon as February rolls around you sound like this dumb skank Kayla I work with that has to remind everyone that her birthday is in three weeks.
“Woo, it’s my birthday month!”
That’s great Kayla! I know it’s your special month but maybe you could just, like, try a little harder not to run your sausage fingers along the inside of the coffee maker when you make a pot? It’s kind of gross and I don’t want to think about your dicks-for-hands man-mitts while I’m sipping this Maxwell House “French roast” that I think is just a euphemism for “smells like burning garbage and body odor.” But, happy birthday, I’m so happy for you!
What I’m saying is, don’t be Kayla about it, Black people. I’m glad you have your own month, and I fully support you, but Black people are doing a whole lot better, and they still get a month. Sure, Black people had it hard for a long time, but we have a Black president now. I’m not saying racism is dead, but it’s certainly not doing too well anymore. We’ve beaten it, set it on fire, and dragged it behind our trucks. Racism isn’t dead, but it’s only being artificially preserved with life support systems in Texas, just waiting to be unplugged, being kept alive so the little retarded racism fetus growing inside of it might have a chance to be the racism messiah that backwards assholes are so desperately waiting for.
You see, these days, white girls are just as oppressed as Black people. This isn’t just my opinion either -statistically speaking, white girls are in the same tier as Black men in the privilege hierarchy. Just look at this chart I found on Tumblr:
This is why I am proposing White Girl History Month.
Cue the tiaras and confetti. LMFAO’s Party Rock starts playing. We all flip our hair and loop our heels around our purse straps. Google’s logo changes to look like Greek sorority letters, and the O’s are Katy Perry and Jennifer Lawrence doing duck-face.
The thing is: we deserve it! Not deserve it in the sense that we fought long and hard for it, but deserve in the sense that we stuck to our diet all week and we can cheat today because, really, who can live without Chipotle? We deserve it in the fun, put your hair up in a bun and watch Scandal for nine hours kind of way. Nine whole hours, sitting on the couch, refusing to give up our seat, in defiance of the dog that needs to be walked or the dishes that need to be washed, like the Rosa Parks of women.
White girls have done so much for culture and society, and continue to do so, but I think the most important aspect of white girls is that we are ultimately the arbiters of assimilation. White girls are often accused of “appropriating” aspects of minority cultures and for some reason this is seen as a bad thing. There’s a big difference between cultural appropriation and theft. When a white girl goes to yoga, she’s not “stealing” yoga from Indian people, she’s just doing fucking yoga. It’s not like Indian people have to stop doing yoga because white girls are doing it now.
If anything, Indian people in western culture should see it as a good thing that white girls do yoga. We make it less “weird,” and help transition American culture from the white bread pantheon of mayonnaise and mommy blogs into the diversified, beautifully cohesive amalgam of culture that defines hip American youth. Do you really think yoga would be anything other than smelly one-player twister if it weren’t for white girls deeming it a feminist version of pushups? You think bubble tea wouldn’t just be some gross, Chinese, second rate Jamba Juice if we couldn’t drink it while walking around Sephora? Get real. White girls take the flavorless discordance of the melting pot and we turn into something that tastes fucking good. We put Cholula in our Pho, Instagram it as #hashtag cuisine, and bridge cultural gaps that used to span oceans in matters of seconds.
So Happy February everyone, and Happy White Girl History month. Except you, Kayla. You can fuck right off.