or: “I was a Fraud, Therefore, Everyone Else Must be, Too”
I recently reread this article after first encountering it over a year ago, and I must say, the idiocy is astonishing. It’s like…you have no gift so you decided to smear the rest of us? Why the hell did you even start if you didn’t care about what you were doing? If you want to play party games, play party games—don’t make a profession out of something that you don’t actually give a damn about.
Here’s some of the crap The Guardian saw fit to print:
I started off with the cards, but then I found out reading people was just as effective.
Congratulations! Cold reading is exactly what bullshitters like you do. Are you proud of yourself for figuring that one out?
I discovered that most of the time, people didn’t want their future told, they just wanted a listening ear.
So are you telling us that you practiced therapy without a license under the guise of fortunetelling? Did you really just admit to breaking the law? ‘Cause that’s what I’m hearing. (Once or twice is being friendly. Doing it every damn day with most—if not all—of your clients is dangerously close to therapy.)
♑☉ + ♌asc + ♐☾
Astrology is just a word association game. It’s not that hard.
No, but your brain apparently is—only an extremely dense person would think it’s “easy”.
She’s apparently never read through an astrologer’s Twitter feed. It’s a completely different language, with different dialects based on what kind of astrology the person uses.
I don’t know why astrology follows a geocentric model when everyone else went to heliocentric centuries ago.
Because it’s based on what’s in the night sky, you bafflingly brainless bitch! You don’t calculate conjunctions, oppositions, trines, etcetera of the Earth because you’re riding on it!
Just like when we manage to colonize the moon or Mars or whatever, some software developer is going to have to remove the celestial object we’re riding on at the time and replace it with Earth. Only then will the Earth have aspects to the other luminaries.
I hope my future commentary on astrology (and divination) will be a lot better. Hopefully I won’t run into any more morons!
Note from 120520: after being introduced to my astrology software, I’ve since learned that a heliocentric model is used for some calculations. However, this woman was complaining about it in terms of “everyone and their brother knows the Earth revolves around the sun”. (Not to mention that a woman who thinks astrology is about “word association” sure as hell isn’t going to be doing complicated heliocentric calculations!)
Honestly, I don’t remember when the first part of this began, so it’s just easier to say there have been seven and go from there.
It became clear from the start that literary theory wasn’t going to be an easy class—and not in the least because the professor and my advisor both said it was the most difficult class in the entire program!
I’ll save you the vast majority of the heartbreak, though (or maybe I’m saving myself), and just fast forward you to the present as best I can.
(I’m also going to warn that this is a rageblog up front. I’m only a few sentences in and I can feel it coming! And it’s a long one.)
I had originally said sometime back that Southern New Hampshire was going to be my last stop on the grad school train, and whether I passed, failed or simply gave up, I’d clear the board1 when I was done, and that would be the end of my educational career.
So I have no clue why I was trying to dip my toe in the water at my alma mater in case I failed Southern, especially since I have very little interest in public health. (Maybe in terms of epidemiology, but not the field as a whole.) Perhaps it was the crazy idea that it would be all over in a year and I’d have a shiny new masters for my trouble?
Yeah, it was crazy alright, but more than I understood.
And I’m about to make it weirder by using my Yelp review to tell the story (with my commentary in Verdana). But rather than initials and Greek letters, I’ll make up names.
Sam: the admissions rep that first made contact with me
Catherine: the admissions rep that I talked to briefly one day when Sam wasn’t available
Sally: the admissions rep that actually ended up working with me
Janet: a random admissions rep that randomly horned in on Sam, Catherine and Sally on Monday
Olivia: Sam, Catherine, Sally and Janet’s supervisor. The head of admissions (I think)
Tammy: works in the financial aid department
Liam: some sort of VP…I already forget his full title, because I pretty well blew off his sole email
Jeff: my academic advisor, who is also apparently the dean of students
Blake: some random guy with EU that called on Tuesday in place of Jeff
And, just in case we need them…
Michael: my advisor at Southern, who I’ve recently named my “school husband” (as opposed to “work husband”)
Sander: my therapist
Far be it for me to call my alma mater a scam, but this school has gotten really weird over the last decade. It’s like I found an old friend, but instead of being the nice person I knew, they’ve become nosy, secretive, forgetful and a liar.
If I had to guess, I’d say that after achieving regional accreditation in 2010, the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools said, “Great! You’ve done the bare minimum to get here, but now you have lots more work to do.” I realize that doesn’t explain the weird stuff that EU was asking for if none of the other schools I’ve ever been to have done it, but it’s the best idea I’ve come up with.
First, and most importantly, is the lie that their master of public health program will only take a year. Four-week classes, just like when I was an undergrad. That’s what their website says [as of Tuesday], that’s what my admissions rep said…on Monday. Today [Tuesday], Sally agrees with Blake and says, “No, each class is two months.”
I was so surprised at this sudden change in information that I actually sat here and emailed Sally while I was on the phone with Blake!
Can y’all not count? Twelve classes times two months apiece is TWO YEARS! And they’re not going to double-up, because Everglades is famous for its “one class at a time” approach. (More about this shortly.)
That would explain why grad students only start on terms A and C (there are four per semester), but not why the school’s website says the degree takes one year! Plus, I don’t want to double-up! I’ve done it twice with two different schools and it’s a BITCH! (Any school that demands you take two classes per term/semester to keep your financial aid is out of its fucking mind. Find another!)
I have to pick up the narrative thread from the review for a minute.
When I first put out a request for information a month or so ago, Sam was the first person I talked to by email, with Olivia following up shortly after. She told me that Sam wasn’t available, but Catherine would be calling me at some point. (I don’t remember if I ever talked to Catherine on the phone, by the way.) I told all three of them the same thing: I look like I’m failing2, but I want to be completely sure, which is why Sam and I agreed to talk on August 31st.
Two weeks or so ago, I heard from Sally from the first time. She interrupted my nap (this is important to the story), we chatted for a few minutes, and I told her the same thing I’d told Sam, Catherine and Olivia.
That was it, until I filed a preliminary application with EU on Sunday (August 30).
Janet emailed me about scheduling a time to chat, and I also received an email from Liam, which I all but ignored because I was already making plans with Janet. We ended up agreeing on six.
About 2:20, Sally calls and I tell her about Janet emailing me. There’s a little (verbal) handwringing on her end, but I say (in so many words) that it’s bullshit, because she called me before Janet. She and I talk until about 2:50, at which point I have to get off the phone, because it’s time for a virtual session with Sander. (The low-cost clinic chain Sander works for is still not allowing its therapists to have offline visits.)
Sally calls again at 4:20 and there’s even more handwringing and many complaints of, “You’ve already talked to Janet and I don’t want to step on any toes…” She didn’t straight up say, “If I take Janet’s student, Olivia is going to be pissed,” but it sure as hell sounded like it.
Again, I try to tell her that it’s bullshit. I haven’t “talked” to Janet, we’ve merely emailed to setup a time to talk. If Olivia or someone has a problem with it, I have a papertrail to prove it.
“Setting up an appointment counts as talking,” Sally whinges, “And I don’t want to step on any toes.” (She literally kept saying that. I was getting tired of her using those words.)
“In that case, Sam or whatever his name is has priority over both of you! I talked to him first, then Olivia, then Catherine. Then you called me during my nap two weeks ago (you or Catherine…I didn’t catch a name) and I told you that Sam and I had agreed to talk today. If there’s any toe-stepping going on, it’s Janet’s fault!”
“Oh, yeah, I guess we did talk two weeks ago. Okay, I’ll tell them.” Olivia and Janet, I guess? No idea. Also no clue why Sam completely left the picture and Catherine isn’t even listed as an admissions rep. (But maybe she’s new…the guidebook I was reading was a year old.)
These dumbasses also tell each other absolutely nothing. I was on the phone for three fucking hours with Sally on Monday, answering questions for my "interview" (which I didn't know was coming) and handling general other things to get started.
When Blake called on Wednesday, he was starting to ask the exact. Same. Fucking. QUESTIONS!
As if that wasn't bad enough, when Tammy called to work on my finances on Tuesday, she whined that she couldn't get a hold of me.
Apparently in three hours of talking to me, Sally couldn't be fucked to update the system, so my mobile was listed as [two numbers ago], my work was listed as [toll free for library I was at a decade ago and never gave out] and there was no home number. (They also had a license number for me that was dead a good month before I started class with them in 2007.)
Oh, and they're also impatient little fucks: I hadn't even signed off on a transcript request yet and they were already calling my high school for a person that didn't exist outside of the internet back then! Didn't find out about that until someone called from the registrar's office complaining they couldn't find me. (*eye roll*)
I think I can jump the review back in at this point:
This afternoon, Blake calls. (No idea who he was, because I was told my advisor was Jeff, who pulls double duty as the dean of students.) He [starts asking similiar questions to Sally's] and I give him dull answers. When I finally ask him why we’re scheduling an advising appointment for February if I start class in October, he says, “Do we have a problem?”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think this program has been SERIOUSLY misrepresented to me!”
I already had tears in my voice by the time I hung up.
Sally tried to call me ten minutes later, at which point I was already emailing her.
I yelled into the phone, "I don't want to talk to you!", and the dumb bitch barely waits five minutes to call back.
'Scuse you? "I don't want to talk to you" means that I, Dayanara Sanar Ryelle, do not wish to speak to you, "Sally [Surname]", because I am too worked up and because I'm already pouring out my feelings in an email.
You'd think she'd have given it twenty-four hours and then either answered my email or tried calling to see where we stood on me starting with them (especially as worried as she seemed to be about taking crap from Olivia), but it never happened.
[Paraphrasing this part.]
They also seem to be absolutely fantastic at losing important papers, or at least failing to read the email that they come in on.
At some point before Blake called, I heard from Sally.
"I asked you for two pieces of ID the other day. Where are they and where are your transcript requests and your timeline?"
"I sent you the two pieces of ID and the transcript request. I told you that the timeline file was corrupted. Did you bother to read the email?"
She went looking and found the ID, but complained that the only transcript request she saw was for undergrad.
Yes, they're so addlepated that they needed a transcript request to their own selves for my file. (A friend said it was for FERPA, but they'd already had me sign a FERPA release on Tuesday?)
"I told you in the email that I wasn't going to sign off on the high school transcript request with my deadname on it. They won't be able to find me and it'll be a waste of time."
Some babble about me changing it.
"Can't you change it?"
"No, you have to change it," or "it can't be changed" or some shit.
Seriously? How hard is it to get a blank form and fill in the information I give you and send it off?
I think it was in response to the corrupted file that Sally said, "I've never heard of that."
Tough shit. I haven't heard of a ".numbers" file, either, but that's what you sent me and it's corrupt!
As if all this wasn't bad enough, they kept asking about shit they had no business knowing.
We need a copy of your driver's license and social security card.
Okay, putting your SSN on an application isn't unusual, but why do they need both when I'm an alumna? (If there's any lesson I've learned from all this, it's to be less complacent. Just because you think you know someone/a business/a school, doesn't mean you should get comfortable!)
We need your [high school] diploma and your transcripts.
I get not having my information on file after I've been gone a decade, but…why? Literally no other grad school has ever asked for my high school transcripts.
We need you to sign off on this warning that you're getting close to your max undergrad borrowing limit.
For grad school? (I think I asked about this one, and Tammy blew me off with, "It just a thing they make you do.")
How did you support yourself in 2018?
Why the fuck does it matter? What you need to know is on my FAFSA. What the government needs to know was on my tax return. Why do you think you deserve to know more than the IRS?
But who paid for your car, phone, utilities, etcetera?
I bought my car out of pocket. I don't pay for my phone. My dad pays for the utilities because they and the house are both in his name. I get food stamps.
Oh, well, you can't tell them [whoever "they" are] any of this, or they'll start asking awkward questions. Just say "N/A" for your car and say your dad pays for the rest.
Repeat after me: I do not need to know all this. It is none of my fucking business. As long as Dayanara has a safe, supportive home where she is loved and fed and her mental health issues are kept at bay, I have no reason to demand answers to questions that no one should be asking unless they are authorized representatives of the United States Social Security Administration or the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services.
Petey says, "I knew you never meant to leave!"
Michael pulled my withdrawal request before it was processed, so my biggest concerns right now are:
1. My professional identity statement. I went looking for examples and found one from a therapist who went to Western…and it's basically a fancy biography (like something she might post to her Psychology Today listing, if she has one). I'm terrible at bios, and I'm not sure having instructions from a professor is going to help.
2. A new short story. I'm going to send my mom a link to this post, and I can already hear her saying, "You're creative, you'll think of something."
Which I'm pretty sure is momspeak for, "I have no clue. You're on your own, kid." (*chuckle*)
I also have to write a query letter for an appropriate publication for my story; but for some reason, that seems to be my least concern at the moment.
3. Did I screw up my invitation to ΣΤΔ? Theoretically, no, since my withdrawal was never processed, but we'll see. (If it arrives as fast as my NSLS invitation, it will be here on September 8.)
Thankfully, all of those seem pretty small in comparison to the stress of last term.
As for Sally? Ten to one, she'll finally call back after I've started term next week. (*eye roll*)
1There is a disability discharge available that would clear all my student loans, but it would also forbid me from ever going back to school again, since it’s nigh on impossible to do so without loans. So that’s why I call it clearing the board.
2If I had failed lit theory, I would’ve failed out of my program, as there was no other option except retaking it. And you know me—I’d never agree to a retake.
Ordinarily, I'd fold a video a little further into my post, but I think it's important to start off with this one from John Oliver for a little background. The entire clip (eighteen minutes) is about standardized testing in general, but it's only the last eight or so that specifically pertain to me.
Last Week Tonight? Mmm…no. Try Last Week Right Now.
I hope you've never been under the impression that the people scoring your children's tests are experienced educators because—at least at Pearson—you'd be sadly mistaken. All they ask for is a bachelors and (probably) proof of citizenship. (I don't even remember if they ever interviewed me the first time.) Oh and the degree has to be in hand…I tried signing up in 2010, but since Everglades wasn't going to mail me my degree until after the project was over, they couldn't hire me.
(I'm not trying to put myself down by including this picture…just using it symbolically to mean "no one special". Incidentally, this was taken eight months after I finished my bachelors.)
John isn't wrong about how Pearson sources their staff, either. When I signed on eight years ago, it was after seeing an ad in the classifieds. (What is Craigslist other than a massive global classified section, anyway?) Despite the fact that I ended up leaving before the end of the project (more on that in a bit), they drew me from the lottery two more times, most recently at the beginning of the month.
I don't remember if I ever got a chance to state my preferences the first time. I'm guessing I did, because otherwise, I probably would've ended up with math a lot harder than third grade. I didn't get a chance to say I didn't want full time, though (I didn't know there was a part time option until I was actually there), so I had the wonderful luck to pry myself out of bed so I could be there at eight. I don't know how I ever made it without my anxiety freaking out, but maybe that's because it was saving itself for later…
We were packed almost elbow-to-elbow in what I think was a converted grocery store, because it still had the hydraulic door mats. I'd say there were five rows of five computers each, and then the sixth had three laptops for the supervisors, who sat facing us. The cafeteria—such as it was—was packed even tighter, and we had to take our breaks/meals in shifts because there were so many of us. We didn't have to ask permission to go to the bathroom, but that's probably because they kept it refrigerator cold (undoubtedly so we wouldn't linger).
I spent six. Fucking. Hours staring at triangles! It was supposed to be eight, but the guy to my right was a Pearson vet and warned me that if you didn't do things just so, they'd kick you to the curb so fast, your butt wouldn't have time to blister. My anxiety reared its ugly head so bad that I went home early and never went back.
My name came up in the lottery again in 2013 for the same fucking third grade Maryland triangles. I told them to get bent, but stupidly kept updating my application…which is how I got into this mess.
(The picture is a link to the relevant deviantArt page, by the way.)
(Also, new rule: if I use a permutation of “fuck” more than twice in a post where I’m relating something that happened to me, it’s automatically a rageblog.)
I got an email from Pearson April 2, with an offer to score ninth grade writing for the Texas STAAR, but I had to accept by the end of the day on the third. Thirty-two hours (or so) is a little tight, but I knew I wanted to take it, so it wasn't a problem. (Heck, I was so excited, I was doing a sort of "NO TRIANGLES!" dance! 😂)
Next phase was to get the usual paperwork done. I think they were a couple of days in getting my "onboarding" stuff to me, and even though it violated their deadline, I didn't think it was a problem if they didn't. I ran into a problem doing my i9 (a citizenship form) and I emailed them about it, but didn't get a response. Called scoring support, decided I didn't want to wait on hold and eventually found the place to raise a help ticket. It took them at least forty-eight hours to get back to me. At that point, I was a little concerned because it said I had to have the form filled out by the time I worked for them three days with pay, but I hadn't done that yet, so I didn't think it was a big deal.
In the meanwhile, I was supposed to "certify" (read: prove that I could see/grade papers the way they see them) between the fifth and the tenth. I didn't get the login info for that until the twelfth…and it was only when they said the deadline had been extended to the fourteenth did I realize they were running behind. (Again, no worries, because them being off track means they're not going to dock me for delays…right?) It took me two tries to pass certification, so even though I was originally supposed to do training April 11-14, I wasn't approved for it until the last day. Oh and I was supposed to do live training in one of four sessions…that ended Friday.
"Oh well," I thought, "I'll just do training as quickly as possible and catch up to the live scoring when I can." (The project was supposed to start yesterday and run to May 9.) "If they still want me to do live training, I'm sure they'll arrange something for me."
Sunday afternoon, I signed up for the 3-7 shift for yesterday (April 15). I login to the workspace…"we don't have anything scheduled for you."
Okay, fine. Maybe I dreamed booking myself for this shift.
Went to the booking site…yup, still there. (If you want to work that shift, it will say "submit"; if you change your mind, you hit "unsubmit".) Checked back in the workspace…same thing.
Went to raise a fresh ticket…"your login information is incorrect."
After just responding to the i9 ticket earlier? Ohhkay. Fine.
Called scoring support. After being on hold for a while and the rep taking forever to figure out what was going on, she announced that I'd been terminated April 5.
THEN WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO THIS WEEKEND, WORK FOR FREE?!
Terminated. Less than forty-eight hours after I hired on and before I could do any sort of training or anything.
What. The actual. FUCK?!
That rep said she was going to check into what happened and call back. She never did. (No surprise.)
Got a response to my ticket late last night:
Upon further review, this is to confirm that there is no action needed from your end regarding your Form I9 completion as of now.
Know what I said?
(No, not “your English is terrible”, though I sorely wanted to.)
Yeah, because I found out you fired me approximately 48 hours after I was hired and no one ever told me why.
It was very nice of all of you to string me along for two weeks and not have the gall to tell me until I couldn't login anymore.
If I believed in hell, I'd tell you to go rot in it.
I don't expect to get paid.
Or get answers.
Or anything, really.
I'd hire an attorney to go after them for my money, but it's so little that it's not worth it. (I was booked in for eight hours, but only worked a grand total of fifty-five minutes for certification purposes. So that's $96 before taxes at best and $12 at worst.)
Probably going to tell the attorney general, though. She'll want to know, especially if it turns out Pearson is still running scoring centers in the state.
I'll let a month lapse, though, just to be on the safe side. Stay tuned!
P.S. from September: Yes, I got paid, but this fiasco will ensure I never attempt to put up with their bullshit again. (Shame, though—if the certification papers were any indication, some of these kids have thought-provoking answers that would be [and were] a pleasure to read.)
You know that moment when you think back and say, "ugh, I should've left right then"? I had one of those today. I can't say I'm upset by the final outcome, but I'm not too thrilled, either.
The short version of what's been happening with my cat situation:
- Lauren started scooting in April and they never could figure out what the problem was, so—as much as it tore me up to do so—I surrendered her. More details on her in a minute.
- I picked out a black kitten that same day who was sweeter than anything, but I had to return her for a behavioral problem. (I'll get to her in the next part as well.)
- Someone on reddit wanted to get rid of their adult cat, so I took her in without having met her. Huge mistake. She was so shy that she hid in the basement all day, never wanted to be touched (although she purred like crazy if you managed to corner her for some attention) and was intimidating my dad's cat (a different one—he's had problems, too) so badly that Jessie didn't want to go to the basement to use the bathroom. (I actually had to spring a sort of trap on her when we finally found someone to rehome her!)
- I've been looking for a different cat for the last three weeks, which led to today's drama.
I finally, mercifully, settled on a kitten.
I was a little concerned because she tried to hide as soon as I met her, but when I put her on my lap and offered to let her tuck her head under my arm, she seemed to like that. (Plus, it may have just been that she was scared of the dogs barking, as I seem to remember Ani tucking her head under my arm once at the vet after she'd had something uncomfortable done.) So I decided to give her a shot, knowing that I could always return her if it didn't work out. I said goodbye to her for the moment and sat down with one of the adoption staff—that's when the catnip hit the fan.
I didn't want to go a long patch without a photo, so here's a zonked out cat.
(By the way, I have no idea what this girl's name was—they don't wear tags for whatever reason—so I'll call her Nicole. And remember, this isn't verbatim.)
"You don't have a credit," Nicole announced. "We decided that what happened was normal kitten behavior and your dad wasn't offered an exchange or credit."
Sidebar: I realized as I wrote those words that they've effectively stolen $75 from me! (I had to stop working on this for a few minutes while I emailed my credit union about it.) They might be a charitable organization, but when the adoption fee is required, it's not a donation. (Even when I give donations, I don't go that high unless I'm getting something out of it, like at a silent auction.) I paid that fee with the assumption that I'd get something in return. No animal and no refund means theft on their part!
"If it's normal behavior, why was she adopted twice more before it finally stuck?"
Nicole proceeded to get around that question by looking up my dad and I in the system and accuse us of being bad pet parents. (Her words were something like, "We're getting concerned you can't take care of animals like you should." Maybe…I kind of interrupted when I started sobbing.)
Okay, stop the beat train right fucking there!
My dad has had cats for forty-two years. Until this seventeen-month streak of bad luck (which seems to be over, thankfully), the only way he got rid of cats was by burying them in the backyard. (I don't think I need to get more explicit than that.) A year and a half of sick cats makes him a bad pet parent?
I've had (or been around) cats my entire life. Lauren was my everything for a decade, until I could no afford to pay for an illness no one could figure out. Stopping at $400 over four months (and returning a couple due to bad behavior) makes me a bad pet parent? News to me!
I should've walked out when Nicole said there was no adoption credit. I had my chair pushed back, purse in hand—everything. But she was typing away on her computer, so my naivete said, "Maybe she's trying to figure something out for me." And I stayed.
Ultimately, I started sobbing and saying it wasn't our fault our cats got sick. I'm sure my voice was getting louder (I was upset…what do you expect?) when I said, "Do you really think I wanted to surrender my best friend of a decade? Do you think we actually wanted to surrender any of them?"
I don't remember where it all went, but when I finally left, I said, "I can't believe you! What a bitch! I'm never adopting here again!"
That was when I heard a voice behind me say, "We'd appreciate it if you never came back."
Wait. Hold on another fucking second. Did you just ban me for calling one of your staffers a bitch?
No, sorry. That calls for a "please watch your language", not banning me.
I suppose their reasoning behind banning me was that I was "causing a scene".
Guess what? I have depression and anxiety/panic disorder. Crying is what I do! Yes, I was wrong in using profanity; but wouldn't you get upset if you were just told that a few sick cats over seventy-four years of combined animal love makes you a bad pet parent? (They're actually lucky I wasn't yelling at them, but I've been told I have such a loud voice that people think I'm yelling when I'm not. Believe me, you'd know if I'm yelling—my voice not only gets a little higher, but I often use the big "what the hell do you expect me to do?!" hand gestures.)
(continued on page two)
Everyone rants about “irregardless”, “to/too”, “your/you’re”, “its/it’s”, and “there/their/there”, but what really needs to be happening is bitching about the new non-word “Latinx”. I acknowledge that grammar evolves and changes over time; but unlike English, Spanish and Portuguese have already provided for trans and neutral folk simply by having gendered language. We’re going to focus on Spanish here, though, as I know squat-all about Portuguese1 and there are too many other languages the rest of the way down the Latino food chain.
Try not to have too much fun on your way down.
How the hell are you supposed to pronounce that, anyway? “La-tinks”? “La-tinsh”2? I’m not even sure, because from what I’ve seen, X shows up primarily in Mexican and Central American Spanish and Catalan. Not that it matters whether it shows up in American Spanish, because LATINX IS NOT A WORD!
A group of males is “Latinos”. A group of females is “Latinas”. A mixed-gendered group is also “Latinos”, because a mixed-gendered group of anything always carries the masculine ending.
What if I’m trans?
Estoy pensando en cambiar mi género. | Estoy trabajando en cambiar mi género.
“I’m thinking of changing my gender” or “I’m working on changing my gender”.
How about gender neutral?
Soy neutral en género. | Prefiero no elegir un género.
“I’m gender neutral” or “I prefer not to pick a gender”.
What about being bigender/genderfluid?
“Prefiero no elegir un género” still works, or you could go with, “Mi género cambia con mi estado de ánimo”. (“My gender changes with my mood.”)
Stop. Just stop. Now you’re just trying to piss me off.
I’m done trying to correct people on this one—it’s just too damn tiring and too easy to hit the block button. If you’re going to continue to purposefully remain ignorant, that hole is waiting.
1Yes, I’ve tried Duolingo. Last I knew, the reader for Portuguese had an incredible case of word vomit. x_x (Which is a shame, because I’m shortly to get a Brazilian cousin-in-law.)
2X has an sh sound in Catalan, which is where the suggestion of “La-tinsh” comes from.
Sorry this lacks my usual venom—my heart just wasn’t in it this time.