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Friday, April 27, 2007

When you don't want to be alone

I can't believe I found you guys. I totally feel like I'm not the only one anymore. I have had a lot of stuff like this happen to me before but last night was the worst. I dressed up to meet some friends and I was waiting at Govt center to go to north station. It was crowded and i felt this guy bump my ass. I was like ok... Then he did it again. He came around in front of me and was staring at me and flicked his tounge at me. Gross - he was a nasty looking, like, 45 yr old man. So I walked further down the line, and he followed me sayin "Where you goin baby, you look so hot, didn't you want some cock tonight?" I must have turned bright red. I was soo angry. So a train arrives and I get on and sit down and this is when it gets weird. The guy outside was pointing at me to another guy on the train like 'shes all yours'. So nothin happened and I got off the train. It was totally jammed going up the stairs and this other guy got like right up to my ear and said "Baby you got a nice little ass.. you like to have that little pussy licked?" It scared the crap out of me. He was right up in my ear not even whispering, then hes like "C'mon you little slut, you know you want my cock in that little c##t. I'll F#ck you sooo hard baby". Then he just dropped back and I never saw him again. I was soo scared, I was like shaking. I don't know what kind of guys these were, and like in a few other stories I saw I didn't even think of taking their pictures but next time I will. I just think it sucks that if you want to look good and go out you have to be afraid of assholes like this.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Don't be a stranger

I already wrote last week about how strange men, random realtors, have been showing up in my home unannounced. It hit a breaking point after yet another one appeared in my kitchen last Friday and refused to leave after I asked him repeatedly. I'd been threatened the day before, and I told this guy he needed to get out. He kept arguing with me - about whether or not he was allowed to be in MY home without MY permission! I was there alone, and I started to get pretty freaked out. Imagine how much worse I felt when he shifted into perpetrator mode.

"So I get it. You're saying you're a hostile tenant."
"Excuse me? I didn't say that. I asked you to get out of my home."

Anyone wanna remember how insane it is that I have to have this argument in the first place?

"Well, this is your fault that this is happening."

Is that anything like telling me "I deserve it" for wearing a skirt?

"This is MY fault? You're a strange man in my house! I don't know who the fuck you are! Get out!"
(grabs at his suit jacket) "Look, I'm not those other guys."

Woah, buddy. Who do you mean, and what do you mean? You're not like those other guys who beat their girlfriends cause you only slapped me once or what? That's the kind of language and rationale you continue to use while invading my privacy and sense of safety? Cause that's abuse language. And I don't give a shit if you're wearing a cheap suit.

I finally said, "You don't get that I'm a woman, home alone, and you're a strange man who won't leave my home. Do you get that that's scary? Do you get that?"

He sort of stared at me and finally stormed out. I called my roommate, hysterical, and then I called the cops. We got the locks changed a few hours later, and I'm filing more complaints than before as well as hauling my landlord to court.

Tip to the fuckwads: don't give me your business card or use your own car. Don't assume I don't have a next level attorney. I've got your plates, your name, the law on my side, and your ass is grass, motherfuckers. See ya'll in court.

- B

Monday, April 23, 2007

Three's company

One Saturday night, two of my lovers and I had put in time at a drunken party and decided to leave and go back to my place while we still had enough motor skills to do so. We were drunk and being affectionate when we got on the nearly vacant red line train. Without giving much thought to it, we sat down with my lady friend in the middle. As I said, we were being affectionate, but certainly not overtly sexual and nowhere near grotesque. The manner in which I nuzzled and kissed my lady friend was harmless and cute, just as it was when she cuddled and kissed our gentleman caller. Suddenly, a voice broke through the train. The train was loud, but this woman was louder and she was announcing to what I'm assuming was her partner that my lady friend was a disgusting slut because she just kissed two different people. On and on about how slutty she was and how icky we were [I think]. I can't recall any of it with much clarity because, like I said, we were crunk. My lovers and I kinda laughed it off and enjoyed the rest of our evening. But having sobered up, it really makes one wonder if this woman would have been nearly as upset had our gentleman caller been sitting in the middle while the two of us ladies fawned on him and his big, manly muscles.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Knock knock. Who's there?

Tonight a real estate agent came by to show my apartment. I'm not renewing my lease for the fall - which is five months from now - but realtors have been coming through our home for the past month almost daily and sometimes multiple times in a single afternoon. We can't seem to stop them, but I've started meeting them at the door (since they tend to walk in unannounced, even when we're home & no matter what we might be doing) and telling them to leave. Last week a strange man walked into my kitchen and saw me sitting at my desk, at which point I yelled, "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" and then "I have an expectation of privacy in my own home!" I'm beyond sick of feeling unsafe even in my own bedroom.

So when Will the real estate agent showed up tonight, I told him he could not wander through my apartment. This is my home, and you do not have approval to be here. You've already unlocked my front door; now lock it on the way out.

Dude was at least a foot taller than me, which I'd like to once again point out is probably not even part of his consciousness. Don't hulk over me - get out of my fucking atrium. After he insisted, "I left a voicemail!" - which is certainly not permission to enter my residence - I shut the door and locked it after he finally moved out of the doorway. He shouted, "You could be nicer next time!" So I yelled back, "So could you!"

Then I heard more from the stairwell, so I went into the hallway to hear him yelling, "See you soon, sweetie!" and "See you reeeeaaaaal soon!"

Excuse me? Is that a threat? Because I like to use the phrase from the film, Swingers, "you don't know me; you don't know my address" - but in this case, that doesn't apply. In fact, you're threatening me in my own building, and you know exactly who I am and which unit is mine. You even apparently have a key to my fucking apartment.

Writing down his plates and later locating his place of employment and semi-apologetic boss didn't make me feel much better. Tomorrow I'm calling the Greater Boston Association of Realtors - with whom I am quite sure this man is not affiliated due to his lack of ethics conduct - and then I'll move onto the MA real estate commission.

You fucked with the wrong woman, sir, and this has already been one hell of a week. I wish for a world without violence, but I have an iron doorstop for a reason, and you'd better not set foot near it again.

- Brittany

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Thanks for noticing

One night, I and my lady friend at the time were going back to my place. Irrespective of our plans for the evening, one thing we did not expect en route was an unsavory encounter with a gaggle of boys who couldn't have been a full 10 years old. As we crossed the intersection of Boylston and Brookline by the Landmark Center, we passed these children who called out, 'Hey, can I get some pussy?' Another time, the same girl and I were walking down Queensberry-- we weren't even being affectionate with each other, but nevertheless on this tranquil evening, we heard the voice of what had to have been a drunken college girl call out smugly, 'LezzzzzzBEEEE-inzzz!' Your powers of observation are in tact, my friend. Want a cookie?

Friday, April 13, 2007

Can You Even BE More Obvious With Your Sexism?!

I was on vacation in Sonoma, CA a couple years ago with my friend. We decided to take a cab to her friend’s house to go to a party one night. The cab driver picks us up, and after a few minutes starts telling us horribly disgusting, sexist jokes. I could tell this guy was fucked up, so I decided to confront him with the only thing I could think of at the moment.

I said loudly to him, “Hey, why do brides wear white?”

He said something like, “I don’t know. Because they’re pretending they’ve never been fucked?” (more gross laughter)

“No. Because all major kitchen appliances come in white.”

He seemed a little taken aback, but laughed just the same. Then he said, that was a good one. My poor friend looked at me like I was crazy. It was only when we arrived safely and got out of the cab that I explained how I was haphazardly trying to change the tone of the whole encounter and let him know that he wasn't going to intimidate us. Of course, any guy who had an ounce of human decency might have felt ashamed after I threw his stupid game back in his face. Dare to dream....


Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Keep the change

On the way home from dinner in Allston, waiting for the B line, my friend and I watched this guy grab a woman's arm who had just given him some change. She kept trying to walk away and he wouldn't let her go. Like her, we were a little unsure of how to handle the situation, but I hope she knows we took the picture because we had her back! She finally pulled away and hurried down a side street while he kept yelling "Hey!" after her.

Monday, April 09, 2007

They Start Young...

I just remembered an incident that happened when I was six years old! Serious flashback. I was in first grade; I remember the classroom very clearly. I had just changed into my leotard and tights to go to ballet class (there was no time for me to change except at school beforehand). In my little outfit, I went to my cubby to pack up my books. This red-haired obnoxious boy in my class named Jamie Champie – yes, that’s his real name, although I’m probably not spelling it correctly – came by and RAN HIS FINGER UP MY BUTT. A first-grader. Sure, you could call it innocent curiosity. But I also remember spinning around to see who it was, and he just started rolling in laughter at me. I was SO embarrassed. And he was totally entertained. How did he know at such a young age to treat girls as if they’re just here on this planet for his amusement?


Saturday, April 07, 2007

Not a Good Friday

I just worked a 12 hour Friday. I'm tired. It's almost midnight. I just wanna go home. Already today, completely unprovoked (at least by me), a woman who lives where I work decided to SCREAM at me when I asked if she wanted a receipt for her rent. She told me she'd come behind the counter and slap me. As I tried to pull my rather hysterical self together, my boss came in and said, "Oh, I guess I'll talk to her." You guess? I spent far too much of my evening shaking and undone. I have a highly visceral reaction to yelling. Don't fucking scream at me. Hell, I'd rather be hit. Come on over here and try it.

So I left work and stopped to buy a fucking Vitamin Water because I know I'll want it in the morning. As I walked out of the convenience store, trying to leave my best friend a coherent voicemail, an enormous man came within about two inches of me. Do you know how small that distance is? I'm 5'4 and today, I awkwardly had pigtails because I didn't have time to wash my hair. I don't look intimidating with my puffy vest & stupid hair. To avoid this giant dude, I had to step into one of those little dirt patches that surrounds a tree someone decided should be planted on a fucking sidewalk. And the guy still comes right at me and says, "Excuse me ma'am, can you do me a big favor?" Gets right in my face.

I know I didn't hide my irritation. I was pissed before you showed up, fucker. I said firmly, "No, I cannot. I need to get going." I kept walking as he SHOUTED at me, "You know what you need to do?! GAIN SOME FUCKING WEIGHT!"

What?! Gain some weight?! Okay, back up, you motherfucker. A, why the fuck are you yelling at me? DO YOU KNOW IT IS THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT? Do you know that's scary? Does the dark mean the same thing to you it does to me? No?

B, gain some weight? I'm wearing baggy ass pants so shitheads like you won't fucking talk to me! I DID gain some weight, for your information, so that I could deflect some of this crap in public, so people would fucking leave me alone. And why the fuck do I have to explain how I look to you? You're bigger than me no matter what. You can have whatever you want. You wanna run me down and hurt me? You will. Fuck you. You have no idea how my size effects me.

C, is being told to gain weight as bad as being told you wanna assault me? It doesn't fucking matter. Do not tell me how to be, in public or anywhere. Don't physically bully me. Stop yelling at women for no fucking reason! I should not be so shaken up that I have to call my mother, who lives in sunny fucking Florida, and say, "Can you walk me home?" while I blubber and try to process two shouting people in my face in one fucking evening. I should not wonder at what point said dude is gonna come after me (which I did until I reached the subway, about five blocks later). I shouldn't have to plan to have a weapon in the hand the next time I walk outta work, 'cause next time, fucker's gettin maced in front of the 7-Eleven. Fuck you, motherfucker. I'm done.

This is my city too. I have a right to walk to the train without being told my physical existence is somehow wrong; I have the right to refuse to "help" some giant man with no manners who wants to step to me in the middle of the goddamn night; and I have the right to not feel fucking insane when I leave a private building or residence.

My city too.

- Brittany

Friday, April 06, 2007

I Don't Work For You

I was walking to my car from the Saturday farmer’s market, wearing sweat pants. There was a man standing in his garden, and he stopped what he was doing, stood up, and turned completely around to watch me walk across the street.

He said, “Mmm…. Work that pretty ass. Work it.”

When I turned to shoot a fierce look at him, he gave me a huge smile, as if that was the most original “compliment” I’d ever heard.

I have just been sick for the past three months. I definitely wasn’t working anything. I couldn’t get the image of his stupid face out of my head for the rest of the day. GRRRR!!!

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