Apologies, I am much less angry as I write this since I've had a big hug from my husband and spoken to my adorable in-laws who were concerned that the wildfires in Northern California might be threatening my parents.
Dare I say this...riding my scooter isn't as fun anymore. Not because I am sick of doing my helmet hair in the dirty side view mirror in the parking garage every morning before work. Not because even on a scoot, 90 degree heat is freaking stifling. And not because with my swimmer's neck putting a helmet on really, really hurts.
No. I am having less fun because there are so many stupid perverts it is ridiculous. I am NO Kim Kardashian and, in my opinion, do not display some sex on wheels image as I ride my scoot (in my lady bug helmet for crying out loud). But I do, as it is summer time, wear a skirt on my scoot. It is always long enough so that when I put my foot down you cannot see anything. I always tuck it so it will not fly up as I ride. I've done my duty to remain "modest". But if I had a dollar for every gross male who makes an obvious attempt to see if they can "see" anything I wouldn't need a scoot. I'd have a chauffeur.
Here are three incidents that have happened since last Wednesday:
1. I am on my way to a meeting at school and stopped at a light. The rear window of the fancy SUV in front of me (and one lane to the right) roles down. I expect to see a kid or dog peek out. No. I see an older gentleman, in a tie, turn all the way around from the driver seat, remove his sun glasses, look me up and down (and at my crotch) then shake his head. In disgust? In disappointment? Who knows, but I was hoping with all my might he was headed toward the U where I could ask him what the hell he was looking at.
2. I am at a stoplight (just now on my way home from work) and the cross foot traffic is heavy. A man on his bike, stops. Right in front of me and tries to see if he can see up my skirt (which is definitely long enough to conceal everything). When I finally see what he is doing he speeds off on his bike. I was so dumbfounded I didn't even think of anything to say to his back as he rides off.
3. I was riding home from Steph's house last week at about 9 PM. I am at a stop light, in a dress, next to a beat up Oldsmobile bumping rap music with four white men in their twenties totally rocking out. They were singing along to some pop-y song and changed the lyrics to yell at me, "I'd tap that moped ass!" Yuck. The light turns green and I head toward my street where I take a left. At seeing this, the car then turns right, flips a u-turn and is attempting to come after me! Thank goodness they have cross traffic and no light because I drive down my quiet street at 50 miles an hour, make it to my driveway, pull the gate closed and hide, still in my helmet, behind my scoot as they roll by like they're gonna shoot me up.
You know, dudes look hot on bikes too. You could be into the hipster on the scoot, the thug on the Ducati, or the badass on the Harley. They look sexy. I have perhaps never seen a girl cat call a guy on his motor bike of choice. I have never seen a grown woman pull up next to a grown man on a bike, roll down their window and blatantly look them up and down. Why do so many men think this is OK?
Sure, I could wear only pants on my scoot. But it shouldn't be up to me to keep nasty men in check.
GRRRRR.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
G*ddamnit, Utah!
So, this happened yesterday morning:
I have a few thoughts on this, some relate to
the message in general, others relate to the message coming from Utah.
Thought 1: Does God (whose existence in my
opinion is entirely questionable), really hate
anyone? I mean, he (or she) is supposed to be this merciful, powerful,
forgiving bad-ass, right? I don’t even think God hates the Devil himself (or
herself).
Thought 2: GODDAMNIT, UTAH! I really love
living here, and my friends and family were beginning to see why. And then some
j-off pulls this shit. I just found “Mormons for Equality” on Facebook for goodness sake.
Thought 3: It’s things like this, like the LDS
Church’s contribution to Prop 8, that give Utah a bad name. And judging by the
comments on the Huff Post, it sounds like these things are really doing their
job.
Yes, Utah is conservative, yes we are largely
governed by the church. But did you know Salt Lake City has the only openly
atheist mayor? Did you know that I just passed by more same sex couples than I
could count on my lunch break walk through downtown and Temple Square? Did you
know we have a freaking TOURBUS that does “hop on, hop off” pub crawls on the
regular?
Final Thought: I just can’t believe we’re
seeing this shit. In Utah. Anywhere. Same thing with racism. WTF? I hope that
“shaundominic” is right and that a lot of people are flipping their shit
because gay marriage is thisclose to becoming legal in much of the country.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
(Fallen) Idols
When I was about 9 years old I was selling girl scout cookies outside Petrini's in Foster City when the muther effing Hulk walked out of the Gold's Gym next store. I wasn't a real big wrestling fan in my girl scout heyday but you KNOW who the Hulk is.
I remember my dad was there and he was kinda geeked out about it. So was this little boy, maybe about 9 also.
The Hulk screamed at the kid to leave him alone.
We were shocked. How could a man made up of choreographed "wrestling" moves, roids, and fancy spandex yell at a boy who clearly sees him as his hero?
Has this ever happened to you? It's happened to me two more times that I can remember.
Last summer I went to see Trombone Shorty at Red Butte Gardens.
Being a diehard NOLA fan, this was ah-mazing. After a completely kick ass show, the Shorty and his band, Orleans Avenue were SIGNING CDS! My friend Stacey and I rushed over to meet the guys and purchase their disc. Sidenote: do you know how gorgeous Trombone Shorty is in person? Swoon.
It stops there.
The guys of Orleans Avenue were very nice; thanking us for being there, joking about where they can get a beer in this town. But not Shorty. No. He didn't even make eye contact. He signed my CD and brushed it to his right for the next person to sign. Before I could get more than, "fantastic show!" out of my mouth, he'd reached for the next person's disc. I was crushed.
So a few weeks ago, Josh and I went to see The B Side Players. Now, take how much I love NOLA and times that by 100 and you'll see how much I love San Diego. During my nearly 9 years there, I became a very big fan of much of the local music. B Side is a Latin salsa/funk/reggae multi-piece band that will rock your sox off.
Per usual, I went to see these guys thinking it would be as slammed and sold out as when I saw them in their hometown. There were maybe 40 folks there. I got a great seat! Front row.
The lead singer was gracious and interacted with the crowd. He thanked us for being there, rocked out and the whole band played a really solid show.
As we were leaving the venue, I spot the lead singer at the swag table! I was star-shocked for sure. I told him how wonderful they were and that I couldn't believe it wasn't sold out and that I'd seen them at least once a year each year I was in SD. The other guy sitting there engaged me. "Right on!", "Thanks for coming out!". But not the main man of the band. He barely looked at me and gave me a very sad, "cool" in response to everything I said. I was so crushed. When I came home, Jim asked how the show was and I couldn't even muster back up the high I felt as I was leaving my seat, it was gone now.
Given this track record, I expected little when I went to see Dear Sugar (aka Cheryl Strayed) at her book signing last night.
As she walked through the (very crowded) room, I had to fight back tears just aching to gush out. This woman’s advice column (and books: Torch and Wild) have literally changed my outlook on life. I even had to ditch the Q I had for the Q&A session because I just knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it together.
Her reading was great, the woman is hilarious. My favorite part was when someone asked what she “learned” during the tragic loss of her mother and the following three months of solidarity along the Pacific Crest Trail (as documented in Wild), she replied that she is still learning from these experiences, nearly 20 years later. That, in the moment of life’s great losses, tragedies, or other stressful events, you don’t necessarily learn anything. It’s really in the reflection. Preach. On. Sista.
Anyway, after I waited in the very long line to get her to sign my book, she was incredibly gracious. She wrote me a little gem, “Always take the balloon” and posed for a photo. I held in my tears as my faith in meeting idols of mine was restored.
PS:
You know who is a GREAT band to their fans? California Guitar Trio. Not only do they sign CDs after the show, they stick around as long as they need to in order to engage nearly every fan.
I remember my dad was there and he was kinda geeked out about it. So was this little boy, maybe about 9 also.
The Hulk screamed at the kid to leave him alone.
We were shocked. How could a man made up of choreographed "wrestling" moves, roids, and fancy spandex yell at a boy who clearly sees him as his hero?
Has this ever happened to you? It's happened to me two more times that I can remember.
Last summer I went to see Trombone Shorty at Red Butte Gardens.
Being a diehard NOLA fan, this was ah-mazing. After a completely kick ass show, the Shorty and his band, Orleans Avenue were SIGNING CDS! My friend Stacey and I rushed over to meet the guys and purchase their disc. Sidenote: do you know how gorgeous Trombone Shorty is in person? Swoon.
It stops there.
The guys of Orleans Avenue were very nice; thanking us for being there, joking about where they can get a beer in this town. But not Shorty. No. He didn't even make eye contact. He signed my CD and brushed it to his right for the next person to sign. Before I could get more than, "fantastic show!" out of my mouth, he'd reached for the next person's disc. I was crushed.
So a few weeks ago, Josh and I went to see The B Side Players. Now, take how much I love NOLA and times that by 100 and you'll see how much I love San Diego. During my nearly 9 years there, I became a very big fan of much of the local music. B Side is a Latin salsa/funk/reggae multi-piece band that will rock your sox off.
Per usual, I went to see these guys thinking it would be as slammed and sold out as when I saw them in their hometown. There were maybe 40 folks there. I got a great seat! Front row.
The lead singer was gracious and interacted with the crowd. He thanked us for being there, rocked out and the whole band played a really solid show.
As we were leaving the venue, I spot the lead singer at the swag table! I was star-shocked for sure. I told him how wonderful they were and that I couldn't believe it wasn't sold out and that I'd seen them at least once a year each year I was in SD. The other guy sitting there engaged me. "Right on!", "Thanks for coming out!". But not the main man of the band. He barely looked at me and gave me a very sad, "cool" in response to everything I said. I was so crushed. When I came home, Jim asked how the show was and I couldn't even muster back up the high I felt as I was leaving my seat, it was gone now.
Given this track record, I expected little when I went to see Dear Sugar (aka Cheryl Strayed) at her book signing last night.
As she walked through the (very crowded) room, I had to fight back tears just aching to gush out. This woman’s advice column (and books: Torch and Wild) have literally changed my outlook on life. I even had to ditch the Q I had for the Q&A session because I just knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it together.
Her reading was great, the woman is hilarious. My favorite part was when someone asked what she “learned” during the tragic loss of her mother and the following three months of solidarity along the Pacific Crest Trail (as documented in Wild), she replied that she is still learning from these experiences, nearly 20 years later. That, in the moment of life’s great losses, tragedies, or other stressful events, you don’t necessarily learn anything. It’s really in the reflection. Preach. On. Sista.
Anyway, after I waited in the very long line to get her to sign my book, she was incredibly gracious. She wrote me a little gem, “Always take the balloon” and posed for a photo. I held in my tears as my faith in meeting idols of mine was restored.
PS:
You know who is a GREAT band to their fans? California Guitar Trio. Not only do they sign CDs after the show, they stick around as long as they need to in order to engage nearly every fan.
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