Category Archives: FEMINISTKA :-)

V sredo pa lepo besedo

Kaj naredijo nemški nadrejeni, ko ugotovijo, da ne zaposlujejo dovolj žensk? I kaj neki, zaposlijo eno, ki zviša kvoto zaposlenih žensk, najmanj na 1. Posmehljivi izraz za žensko, ki je bila nekje sprejeta zaradi ženske kvote, ne pa tudi zaradi svojih sposobnosti, je v nemščini

Quotenfrau

Grda beseda, vem, vseeno je ta besedotvorni vzorec zelo uporaben, kadar hočemo opisati prebrisanost nekoga, ki upa, da si bo s pritegnitvijo določene osebe ali skupine oseb pridobil prednosti v očeh javnosti.

Včasih se vprašam, ali dejansko obstajajo ljudje, ki jim je bila kdaj namenjena funkcija

kvotnega geja, pa tega mogoče niti ne vedo.

Jasno, da sama kdaj pristanem v vlogi

Quotenausländerin

po navadi to pomeni, da nekdo prekomerno pogosto v moji bližini teatralično servira prijaznost do tujcev, iz čistega strahu, da bi kdo pomislil na ravno obratno lastnost. In jaz sem potem dokaz, da ta oseba kao zna s tujci. In potem se me hvali, ker poznam nemške besede z več kot 3 zlogi, pa previdno sprašuje, ali vem tudi, kaj pomeni xxxx in take. Za svojim hrbtom pa služim kot narativni dokaz za neodklanjanje tujcev pri taki osebi (“nisem sovražna do tujcev, zadnjič sem se pogovarjala z alcesso, pa je nisem brcnila v rit, čeprav mi je mestoma malce prepametna, ravno nasprotno”).

Da ne bo pomote: če temu pojavu nisem izpostavljena prepogosto ali pa vsaj ne s strani oseb, od katerih bi pričakovala kaj več, se prav lepo požvižgam nanj. Obstajajo veliko hujše stvari kot malce strahu pred tujci.

Pa vi? Ste že bili Quotenperson?

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V sredo pa lepo besedo

Nimam izbire. Kot čisto frišna … eee … fenica Lane Del Rey moram slovesno uvesti tale izraz:

Schlauchbootlippen

Nemci torej povsem neromantično govorijo o gumenjakih, če so ustnice preveč napihnjene.

V angleščini v tem primeru vsaj govorimo o čebeljem piku:

Bee-stung lips

Tja, Lanine mi niso všeč, v bistvu mi je za ves njen imidž vseeno in tudi vprašanje njenega staroholivudskega glamurja me ne vznemirja preveč …


Good Times, Bad Times …

We were practically woken by Émilie’s story: “She learned to ride and fence, to the utter dismay of her mother, and she tended to ask questions girls of her age weren’t heard asking,” our radio told us. I guess “she” also didn’t dislike getting up early. Well, I was hooked and ready to listen before getting up and what a story it was!

It turned out Émilie du Châtelet was born at a time when women need not have learned to read or write, let alone think about science. Like: mathematics and physics. At the beginning of the 18th century it was generally believed they were not suitable for such higher tasks and Émilie was very lucky to have a father and a husband who supported her, though she still couldn’t gain access to most important scientific developments and institutions of her time, at least not without a trick or five.

And then there was her most important lover: Voltaire.

Before she died, aged 41, together with her daughter she had given birth to a few days before, Émilie du Châtelet translated and commented Newton’s Principia Mathematica into French, making it more comprehensible at the same time. Hers is still a valid French translation of that monumental work.

I cannot keep wondering what she’d have been able to accomplish today: Sorbonne was opened to female students in 1860, in 1903, Marie Curie shared her Nobel Prize with her husband, since 1945, women were allowed to become Fellows of the Royal Society, in 1979, the first female full member of the French Academie of Sciences was admitted, and, last but not least, we have internet in the 21st century. 🙂 And books and stuff, of course.


From Mathematikum In Gießen – With Love

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Smeh ni greh.

“Povedal sem mu, da nameravava na referendumu obkrožiti različni opciji, pa je rekel, da bi ti vendar pokorno morala voliti enako kot jaz.”

Spogledava se in rolanje od smeha se lahko začne. Njegov sodelavec velikokrat prijavi takšne absurdno zabavne, čeprav po navadi ne na moj račun 🙂 .

“Si predstavljaš,” mi ne da miru, “da bi ti morala biti pokorna? Glede na to, da toliko časa preživiš v službi, kako neki bi preverjal, ali počnem točno to, kar si rekel?”

Ne morem verjeti, kako tuj nama je svet, v katerem bi bila ženska pokorna moškemu.

“Takoj sem vedel, da bo tvoja reakcija zabavna,” se namuzne, “zato sem ti enostavno moral povedati, kaj je rekel.”

Res je, ob predstavi, da bi jaz bila pokorna žena, on pa bi me nadziral, se smejiva še ves ostanek nedelje in ne neha me spraševati, kdaj ga bom končno pridno poslušala … 😳


His -> Hers, 4 Times Over

What a nice way to celebrate October turning into November!

Refashion every day, that was my idea.

After having changed my hubby’s shirt into a blouse last time, I decided it could use some more changes to look better, so I made a different collar.

I also dyed 3 other shirts he gave me and spent loads of time trying to find out how to refashion them appropriately.

To be honest, all of it was stressful, because I haven’t done anything like that before and had to do things a few times over to do away with mistakes, but it is still a … rewarding hobby.

If it needs to be done slowly and with lots of planning, stepping back, thinking hard, swearing at the machine and at oneself and re-doing things the next day, so be it. I am not in a hurry.

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His -> Hers

“Yeeeesss, please”, that’s what I said when he announced he had some shirts to give away or throw away, for that matter, if I didn’t want them.

I have only managed to refashion one so far, because it already is the right colour. I am going to dye the other ones first, since they are white.

So this is what I’ve created out of a classical black Eterna shirt my hubby didn’t need anymore (threadbare collar):

I have to say I had half expected me to botch up the job and was quite happy when I didn’t and things turned out the way I had intended them to.

I actually quite like my new blouse and the material is great … Let’s see whether I can repeat the good job in the time to come.


Well.


It is one of those typical German highway restaurants, they have a very  good salad and enough energy drinks for everyone and they sell newspapers, so I buy one. Because I want to find out Things.

“You cannot sit next to me in our car,” he says, “if you’re really taking that thing with you. It is not even supposed to be called a newspaper.”

This gains us full attention of the till lady. I smile at her and promise him to throw away the shit of a newspaper as soon as I find out what I want to know. He grumbles. Definitely not happy.

“I’ve never bought one myself.” the nice lady tells me.

“Well, neither have I,” I explain: “this is my very first time.”

“Take care of it, then. You may want to frame it.” Now I am laughing: “We’ve been on holiday and I want to know what happened in Norway. And then I’m throwing it away. I promise.”

She smiles at me and we leave. A bit later, I keep my promise. His mood gets better.

– – –

It is Wednesday evening, quite late actually, and I am sitting on the floor, typing this. I am also listening to Adele. I still haven’t stopped adoring her. Well.

He hates her voice and her music. When he gets home, I am going to switch her off. Life’s definitely too short for late evening dislikes.


Kleingeschwätzeltes am Freitag / Petkove čvečkarije

Zufrieden, einem alten Mann seinen Weg beschrieben zu haben, nehme ich meine schwere Einkaufstasche in die andere Hand. Dann weiß ich plötzlich nicht, wie ich auf seine nächste Frage reagieren sollte. Lachen? Beleidigt gucken? Schweigen? Wieso fragt er mich “Seid Ihr Zeuge Jehovas?” Das muss ich schon noch herausfinden, also frage ich einfach: “Warum?”

Er erklärt mir, die Frauen bei den Zeugen Jehovas würden auch lange schwarze Röcke tragen, daher dachte er, ich sei eine von ihnen. Nun, da ich meine Tür immer so schnell zuschlage, wenn sie mir die Bibel erklären wollen, habe ich natürlich keine Ahnung, wie die Zeuginnen Jehovas sich kleiden. Aber doch sicherlich nicht in ein H&M T-Shirt mit großem Ausschnitt und einen (verflixtnochmal) modischen schwarzen Stufenrock von Xanaka, oder?

“Nein, ich bin Atheist,” erkläre ich ihm glücklich und hoffe zugleich, er weiß, was ich meine. “Ach, Ihr seid Atheist,” sagt er und radelt davon.

“Der wollte dich doch nur anmachen,” sagt hinterher mein lachender Mann.

Na dann, viel Erfolg mit dieser Masche! Vielleicht sollte er seine Anmache einer soziologisch-kommunikativen Analyse unterwerfen und sich wenigstens fragen, in welchem Alter Frauen bei der Frage “Seid Ihr Zeuge Jehovas?” noch romantische Gefühle kriegen …


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Kleingeschwätzeltes für Nina / Čvečkarije za Nino


Am Abend prügelt er mich noch einmal und ich kann mich nicht wehren. Er benutzt nämlich einen Holzlöffel: ich denke an Dexter.

Am nächsten Morgen kann ich nicht aufstehen. Ich drehe den Kopf weg und stelle mir vor, ich wäre allein. Ich hasse es, wenn er seine dreckige U-Bux auf dem Boden liegen lässt und alles nach ihm stinkt.

Die Nacht zuvor habe ich geträumt, ich wollte ihn umbringen und so unser Hochzeitsjubiläum feiern, aber ich war zu spät, weil ich noch das Bad und das Klo putzen musste, überhaupt nichts Gefährliches da hatte und die leer getrunkenen Bierdosen unglücklich betrachtete, es war irgendein Pils aus dem Supermarkt, ich mag das Zeug nicht, zugleich war ich froh darüber, dass er nicht mit mir redete. Am Donnerstag musste ich die Polizei rufen und sie um Hilfe bitten, wegen Prügelei, es sind inzwischen fünf Tage vergangen und die Zahnlücke schmerzt jetzt nicht mehr. Ich glaube, ich finde nicht mal meine Träume tragisch.

Er murmelt etwas von einem Kumpel, die Sonne brennt schon auf die dreckige Straße, es wird ein langer Tag. Ich gehe mir Schnaps, Wurst und Chips kaufen.

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