This past weekend, one of my best friends lied, and we busted her on it. Then we related it to the Sex and the City story line when Carrie is back with Mr. Big, but is afraid to tell her friends because of all the stuff that happened in their relationship before, how terribly he treated her, and how she said she would never speak to him again.
Jenny was thinking of the particular episode where Carrie's diaphragm gets stuck, and she has to ask Samantha for help removing it, and Samatha demands to know who she's having sex with because she'd said she wasn't seeing anyone. I was thinking of the one where Carrie is doing the walk of shame and runs into Charlotte on the street, waaaay far away from her neighborhood at like 7 in the morning. She lies and said she had a dentist appointment, and she's all dressed up because it's a "laundry day". So, in some instances there are multiple SATC episodes to describe a situation.
Unfortunately, the episode I was reminded of this morning did not have such a happy moral. There was no "Your friends will always be there for you" punch line. Oh, no.
Remember the episode where Miranda is addicted to going to Blockbuster every day, and the construction workers heckle her every day, making her feel disgusting and dirty, on top of being ashamed at having Blockbuster as her surrogate boyfriend? One day, she finally snaps and says, "Oh yea? You've got what I want? You've got what I need? Well I need to get LAID, so I don't have to spend my evenings with a rented movie. Can you help me with that?"
Man, I wish I was able to think of something that great to say. Because maybe THAT would make the catcalling on my way to work stop.
I've gotten sort of used to it, but I still hate it. I can remember when I was little, asking my mom why ladies aren't happy for the compliment when men say that they're looking pretty. Now I know better, and instead I wonder why men feel obligated to say something to every person with two X chromosomes that walks by them.
Here's the thing: It's not like I'm that hot. I'm not trying to be self-deprecating; just realistic. I'm NOT a happy person in the morning. I like to be comfortable. I's not like I'm sauntering down the sidewalk in a cocktail dress and stiletto heels, winking at all the gentlemen I pass as I make my way to the stip club. It's more like I'm trudging along, in a sneakers/jeans/tshirt ensemble (casual friday! I should be HAPPY!), carrying my backpack because it's just more practical than a purse with all the crap I carry around, trying to hurry because I'm perpetually late, but not doing a very good job of it because it's way too eary and already 80 degrees out, trying to remember whether I remembered to put on deoderant.
And yet, every day, there are the comments. "Hey mami, how you doing," "where you going baby", or if I'm lucky maybe I'll just get a whistle or some smooching noises. When I first started walking to work, I was tempted to give these offenders, who are 99% Hispanic, a lecture on propagating the negative stereotypes about their culture, but now I just ignore them and try not to make eye contact.
Every once in awhile, though, it won't be a Mexican or Honduran man leaning out of the third story window to blow kisses. Instead, it will be a white guy, usually over 40 and overweight, in a car driving by. And these assholes are infinitely worse.
Although my walk to work is only 3/4 of a mile, there are three separate areas I pass through. First, there is the nice yuppie rowhouses, where I pass the same folks watering their contaner gardens, taking out the garbage, and walking their dogs every morning. Sometimes we say "hello" to each other. Sometimes we just walk by. It's peaceful. This quickly deteriorates into The Catcalling Zone. And then, when I cross Baltimore Street, I enter The Ghetto, and the unwelcome "compliments" are replaced by a genuine fear of being mugged/assaulted. I was well within the real physical danger zone this morning when the white van driving by slowed down to drive alongside me. I was not prepared for their advances, which is probably why I had the guts to react like I did. Or maybe they just grossed me out THAT much. I'm not sure.
Hanging out of the passenger window was a greasy, dirty, fat man who was about 50. "Hey!", he shouted to get my attention. "Look at you, walking down the street! Looking good, baby! Oh, man, yeah, looking good!".
I shook my head and just kept walking. They were driving the opposite direction, and actually stopped the van so that he could continue the conversation. "Oh yea, you better walk away, baby, because I wanna get me a piece of that!"
I snapped. A simple whistle is one thing. Actually addressing me, not just in passing, not letting me walk away in peace, is where I apparently draw the line. I turned around, gave him the finger, and yelled "SHUT THE FUCK UP", while looking him right in the eye.
And guess what? He listened. He shut the fuck up, and drove away. But he also succeeded in ruining my morning, and putting me in a worse mood than I usually am on my way to work. TGI FREAKING Friday.
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