NOTE: The following is an editorial.
I’m a woman. I’m a geek … and I’m f***in’ hot! When people say I married into geekdom, I find it offensive. Just because my husband’s feet are tangled in FireWire 800 cords and he can recite Empire Strikes Back in his sleep, doesn’t mean my fixation on gadgetry, medicine, and gaming didn’t qualify me well before he stepped on the scene sporting Shazam t-shirts and whispering sweet HTML code in my ear.
I’ve been addicted to Zelda since I was six years old. I can diagnose and prescribe a treatment for no fewer than 256 diseases — from Pityriasis Rosea to Fibromyalgia. Every birthday, I must buy myself a brand new camera, and I’m disappointed that my phone can’t cook for me and make me cum. I beat Mike Tyson’s Punch Out without cheat codes in ’87, and taught myself CSS in a week in ’09. I no more want to be questioned on my geekiness than a Star Wars fan would want to be quizzed on the details of Anakin Skywalker’s life.
I need Gizmodo, Geekologie, Wired and Geek Sugar pumping into my Google Reader just to satisfy all of my areas of geektacity. So, no I don’t wear glasses, but I can rewire your television. I’m sorry I don’t read many comic books, but I will whoop yo’ ass at Super Mario Brothers. I do take showers, but I like my sci-fi hard and dirty with no chaser — none of the furry creatures, either. Sorry Chewbacca.
The next time you see a fly chick roll up with superhero legs, cartoon hair and "all the right weaponry," don’t be so quick to assume she’s not down with the geek squad.
[Source: MyshellTabu.com]