Saturday December 18, 2004

Ladies, for the greater aesthetic good of humanity, let's enforce a ban on black pantyhose.  Eeeeeew.


Wednesday November 17, 2004

Odd drinking habits:

Aya drinks soy sauce, M'liss drinks Red Hot, I drink balsamic vinegar (among many other things).  And what weird liquid non-hydrator do you consume?

Also:  I got my hair cut today from a girl who's fucking Slug-from-Atmosphere (aka Sean D) in a sort of casual manner.  She's touched him!  And she touched my head!  I almost thought about licking her hand, but then, she had only cut half my hair and I didn't want to freak her out too badly while she was still holding scissors.   Plus, then I'd have a weird-ass haircut.


Friday June 11, 2004

I am so fucking fed up I cannot stand it.

Each and every day I get harassed by some man on the street. I can't simply get myself to and from work without some asshole making a comment on my body or simply my gender. Today it was a group of men on the corner right by my house, saying the most disgusting, lewd, and blatant things for me while I waited for the light to turn green so I could go home and scream.

I'm not even going to reprint what they said to me.

Ignoring it doesn't help, that just makes them more desperate for attention and that much cruder and bolder. Yelling back doesn't help, snide remarks don't help. If I shut one man up, then I'm bound to have another one that same day accost me with what he apparently thinks is witty.

What makes these people think they have the right to treat me like this? Why do they have the right to absolutely violate me in public and never ever have any repercussions? Now I feel like if I go out wearing a skirt or a tank top, I'm "asking for it" somehow. Heels are out of the question. I've stopped wearing makeup unless going to work because looking even a little bit pretty seems to attract these perverts.

By the simple fact that I'm outside, alone, minding my own goddamn business, I become prey to these men. I'm suddenly on display- no matter what I'm wearing or doing. Lugging groceries, talking to my mom, riding my bike, waiting for a bus: none of it matters. I don't want to leave my house anymore if this is going to happen every day. Every motherfucking day.

I can't stand it but I don't know what to do. I scream, I cry, I threaten- today I almost went back outside to hurt one of these men. I wanted to pick up the knife on my draining board and slice through this motherfucker's balls. I wanted to hurt him so badly.

Where is this ok? Why do I have to get leered at and stripped (figuratively) naked by people I've done nothing to?

I feel like suddenly 30 years of womens' rights have been erased, and this is what I have to expect for the rest of whatever. Somehow it's "my fault" for being young and female and out alone in the fucking daytime. Somehow being mildly pretty is my fault and I deserve to get yelled at and abused.

I don't even think this expresses how furious I am. Furious because it persists even worse than before, furious and frustrated because there's not a damn thing I can do, short of walking with catastrophe makeup on every day and faking a severe physical handicap. Even then I doubt they'd be deterred.


Friday May 7, 2004

Holy shit this is brilliant.  "Shakespeare does the Hokey-Pokey", by Jeff Brechlin, the winner of the Washington Post's author impersonation contest.

O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from Heaven's yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst go, girl.
The Hoke, the Poke --- banish now thy doubt
Verily, I say, 'tis what it's all about.


Friday April 2, 2004

A'ight, I'm no transit angel, but I do try to be a safe and defensive biker.  I stay to the far side of the street (often the gutter) if there's no bike lane, I have blinky red and white lights, I wear a helmet, and I try to obey the general rules of traffic.  Yes, I occasionally run a stop sign/California stop, and I don't do those arm-motion-turn-signal things because I'd usually just hit a car with my arm.  But there's no excuse for some people today.

I was yelled at twice in a span of 5 hours while biking downtown.  The first time, I was stopped at a red light, waiting to cross the street to where the bike lane begins.  A van wanted to turn right, and I was in their way, so I moved to the side so they could get by.  The van pulls up next to me and yells "why don't you get off the street"?.  Um, because I'm traffic, and the street is where I go?  You, sir, have a car!  You automatically win in this situation.  Then, biking home from work, I'm in a pretty good mood, it's nice out.  I'm going down 4th in the bike lane and see that the light is going to turn green.  I keep going, and about 1 foot past the crosswalk, the light does turn green.  This BMW pulls up by me on 4th and yells:  "You son of a bitch!  The light was red!".  A:  I'm not a son of an anybody (though my mom's character is occasionally up for debate on the latter charge).  I'm kinda obviously a girl, thanks.  B:  I was not in your way.  I did not slow you down, cut you off, threaten your lane.  I see a hundred eighty-seven cars each day turn right on red counter to the "no right on red" signs (in fact, tonight, after the incident on 4th, I saw a cop do so), do rolling stops, not use turn signals, cut people off, etc etc etc. 

By virtue of having a bike, I lose.  My bike vs. a car?  Car's going to win, no question.  My bike is not a threat.  A car will crush my ass (and torso, and head, and legs, and bicycle).  I can't possibly be speeding.  (Though if I were going over 25 mph, that'd be pretty fucking sweet.)

And I love biking, I do.  I think I've lost weight due to the bus strike getting me off my ass and my ass onto a bike seat.  I love my blinky lights and my pretty black helmet.

But man... sometimes I remember why I hate people.


Friday January 16, 2004

I did not buy the Prada shoes.

Instead, I bought Stuart Weitzman shoes for much much much less, as well as a Jelly Kelly bag for my birthday.  If the economy tanks again, it's not my fault.