Guilt Trip Island is split into two sections: the men’s side and the women’s side.
The men’s side is called “Club men” and its theme song is, “It’s a man’s world after all.” This is the all inclusive part of the island that is revolved around what a man wants. He is served and waited on hand and foot by a woman who provides him with 24 hour cooking, cleaning, and escort services seven days a week. He is taught from birth that his wants and needs come first. Men are taught early on to be “providers” for themselves and someday for their families. Cave man basic training techniques are mastered. Most men have “big boy” toys and hobbies that are a means of survival until death do they part. The toys and hobbies provide them with a chance to enjoy the fruits of their labor and give them a chance to be in their “own world” after a hard day’s work. They are born and bred to be risk takers with an edge and to always be wild at heart; translation: they never fucking grow up.
Yes, if they had to, they could do all that the women do, but they choose not to. It’s easier to play stupid and they have no desire, nor do they care about all the fine details that we provide for everyone. If there’s no food, they don’t care; they’ll eat out. If the house isn’t clean and there’s no clean underwear for them, they’ll just buy a 30 pack and they’re good for the month. And, if there’s no sex, they’ll just say, “fuck it, I’ll go get a lap dance.”
Their strong points (which really are signs of weaknesses) are blaming others, playing pass the buck, throwing temper tantrums, not taking full responsibility for their actions, and not understanding cause and effect. In the end, they don’t like to deal with anything that doesn’t pertain to them or their work. Yup—once again, thanks to the phenomenal support team of women on club men for providing such outstanding service in “making their stay here comfortable.”
We, as women, being so good at our job, let them know that even if they get a hair across their ass, we will be there to accommodate their every need so they don’t have to worry about anything. Hell, they worked all day, isn’t that enough? God knows we should be thankful for that. Bottom line is, and to sum it up, the men’s side of GTI is like being on vacation every day; they don’t have a fucking care in the world.
The woman’s side of the island is called “Hotel California” and its theme song is none other than, “Hotel California.” And so, it goes in our world, “you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.” Yup—hell on earth is it, and it all started with our founder; Eve.
Thanks to her, women have been choking on the apple since the beginning of time so no matter what we do and how hard we try, the blame is always on us. It’s our fault for everything if something goes wrong because we are held responsible for it all. And why? Because we know better! That’s what our mother’s always told us. We are the ones who have carried all the guilt from all women since the beginning of time. We are always the ones waiting in line for our turn, but we never get a turn until our mother’s give us the okay. And don’t count on that ever happening, because if they never got a turn, we sure as hell won’t. So, we just end up carrying on and taking care of everyone but ourselves.
We are born and bred to revolve our life around our family and to follow the traditions and beliefs that were passed down from generations past. Our status revolves around how well we perform at care giving.
By the time we are married, we graduate with a master’s degree in Betty Crocker Home Economics, Stepford Wife Robotics, and are certified with the Smokey the Bear Stop, Drop, and Roll technique. That means, being on call for everyone, 24/7: all taught by our “nutty professor,” Mommy. Our mothers imbedded in us a secret when we were little girls and that secret is, “girls are stronger than boys and we can handle much more than them.” We are natural multi-taskers who can juggle everyone’s needs and emotions all while cooking dinner, cleaning the bathroom, folding clothes, and giving therapy to a fellow California girl via telephone, text message, or e-mail.
Now, because we do it all without blinking, even when we are sick, we fall into the trap of “the more we know, the more we get taken advantage of,” all because of the damn apple. But, here’s something not even our mother’s may have known: we can only be a victim to the apples power if we allow it. So, what’s a girl to do each time GTI throws her an apple? I say, call a fellow California girl and tell her to bring the vodka. It’s all about evolution, my dear sisters. It’s the only way out. Cheers!