Remember the public health ~epidemic~ SARS? The number of people affected to this day is only a small percentage of the thousands who lose their lives each day because of AIDS. Yet vaccinations are in order while treatment for AIDS in Africa is still scarce. First world problems.
We have had a pretty well-rounded first year from meeting on an August afternoon in a beach town to falling in love one Superbowl weekend to our constant uncompromised care and affection… One year is an insufficient milestone to represent exactly how much this relationship means to me.
It’s much like listening to the Beatles record Abbey Road for the first time. You just don’t want it to ever end and although you’ve listened to every track, you have it looped on repeat. That is before you realize that you could spend the rest of your life listening to this record.
It’s just so solid, so pure, and so much fun. I never want it to end.
I applaud you. It’d be worth it for me to vandalize their car. I have wanted to run my car into other people’s cars just to prove that you cannot be an asshole without getting your shit fucked up. Oh, haha.
First of all, oops.
Second of all, I think this was totally justified. Let me explain.
Evelina, a high school friend from LA, is visiting me for a few days before she goes to New York for a summer program. We’re walking down Charles Street and I’m in the middle of explaining to her how happy I am to live in pretty, friendly Beacon Hill when these two guys in a BMW stop us at our intersection to tell us that we’ve dropped something.
“What did we drop?” we ask repeatedly. They’re unclear. This exchange continues for a while until the passenger says, “You dropped my cock out of your mouth in my bedroom last night.” He then proceeded to make the universal sign for cunnilingus (two fingers to lips with his tongue stuck out). Evelina made the very smart decision to walk away. I, on the other hand, walked up to the passenger, who rolled up his windows as I approached (manly man that he is), and kicked the passenger door.
Like I said: oops.
Anyway, the driver ran out to check out the damage (which is probably none since I was wearing a rubber rainboot), they both yelled profanities at us, called us fucking bitches, the requisite insults. Then the guy in the passenger seat ran out after us and demanded that I give him my “information”. Because after he suggested he lick my pussy, I should be soooo motivated to tell him where I live? “Hell no,” I said. He responded, “Then I’m going to call the police.” I scoffed and told him, “Go ahead.”
Evelina (who later informed me that despite my small foot, it was “a very loud kick”) and I continued walking toward my apartment, which I told her to pass, because I didn’t know if we were still being followed. I called Patrick, informed him I did “a very stupid thing”, and asked him to meet us a few blocks away to walk us home. He did, and now we’re inside the apartment, where we have yet to receive any contact from any BMW owners.
In retrospect, perhaps that kick was a poor choice. In the heat of the moment, however, I was so enraged that I did the one thing I knew would piss them off. I was angry that my picturesque neighborhood, the place where I feel the safest in the entire world, was being invaded by these assholes. I was angry that at their sense of entitlement, at their assumption that they could pull this shit (probably on the regular) and not deal with consequences. I was angry because my friends and I get hit on all the time by men who are probably far less wealthy and educated than these guys are and yet, it’s incredibly rare that any of them actually say something as obscene as the dudes in the BMW. I was angry because these men, who likely come from positions of great privilege, ought to know better and they don’t.
I knew that saying something back at them wouldn’t have been equivalent to what they did to me. Because “fuck you” means that you can be a raging misogynistic douchebag and only have to deal with being cursed at. I wanted these guys to know that the next time they pull this sexist bullshit, they might get their car kicked. Or maybe their balls.
Whatever. At the end of it all, I still called my 6’ 2” boyfriend to bail me out of a potentially shitty situation (being followed home), so I don’t exactly feel empowered. I also know that were I in a different unfamiliar neighborhood, I probably would’ve kept walking and bitten my tongue. Kicking a car wouldn’t have even been an option.
Perhaps I should begin carrying mace.
I am what you call a city snob. I do not spend the night anywhere that doesn’t have a full-sized mattress, hot water, and wifi. As I am reading forums like any early adopter of new technology (see my new Palm Pre), I’ve noticed that most of the people complaining about reception issues and other things like lack of socially networked businesses in their area… are from places where livestock outnumber the people.
If you want to be able to search your zip code and get dozens upon dozens of choices and reviews for the best nail salon or the best Thai food, you need to live in a metropolitan city. I thought it was obvious and painfully enough, people who live in these rural places think the World Wide Web can actually make things accessible to them in their shithole of a reality. Nope!
Unfortunately in this day and age, you see a couple and they’re so filled with problems, you can predict their end. I guess the pessimist in me focuses directly at that and I almost always refer to current boyfriends as “future ex-boyfriends.”
This week, I kept running into an acquaintance who has been married for several years and is still madly in love with his wife. They even RETWEET each other, go to film screenings, and his office is filled with photographs they each have taken.
And as I peeked at them, hand in hand, I said to myself, “I want that.”
As I watch any film about dysfunctional romance (Natural Born Killers, True Romance, any Julie Delpy film), I say to myself, “I want that.”
Then I realize that I do have that. He’s the one.
Very awesome deal. For all the boys and girls who are accustomed to salon treatment, here’s a chance to save BIG!
Me on the other hand. I just wake up with my hair perfect.
Salons throughout the country are offering free Kérastase treatments (with blow dry!) on Wednesday, May 20th. This is easily a $100 value in most major cities, and for girls who dye their hair, it’s worth even more because it’ll help you keep color longer. I’ll actually be in New York on Wednesday and will be heading to Michael Angelo’s Wonderland Beauty Parlor.
Make appointments now, because these will book up fast. For Boston-area chicks, it looks like the majority of participating salons are on Newbury Street. I’d recommend my salon, Avanti, as well as Salon Marc Harris, which I’ve also heard good things about.
(Don’t forget to tip!)
