Saturday, December 22, 2007


It took me 12 hours to get from St. Louis to Dallas on Thursday, but I made it. It was a nerve-racking drive. After all, it was raining, my tires are old and ready to pop, and I'm technically on some kind of probation from all the speeding tickets I've gotten on this drive.
I'm heading down I-44, and a trucker honks at me as I pass him. He starts flashing his brights over and over in my rear-view mirror. I get nervous. I'd just stopped for gas. Was my gas tank open? Were my tires in trouble? Was something wrong with my car?? What?!
He passes me and honks again. Scared, I look over at him to figure out what was up. But instead, he passes me, turns his blinker on, and tries to lead me off the highway. That's when I realized...nothing was wrong with my car. This was a pick up attempt. This trucker found me attractive and decided to get me off the road and into
Is it safe to flirt at 75 mph on a highway? In motor vehicles? In the rain? What about that situation was supposed to turn me on?

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Book Buy Guy

At the end of each semester, a textbook buy-back stand sets up in the Domino's Pizza parking lot across from the J-school. Students can sell their text books to these guys for more cash than the bookstore will give them.
This year, the stand is run by this guy who decides to yell come-ons at me every time I walk by. Every time. It's pretty common stuff: "Bye baby! I'll miss you! If I'd known a beautiful lady was coming by, I'd have (fill in blank here)." Terribly clever.
What reeeeeeaally pisses me off is that he treats me like I'm the bitch for "ignoring" him! The first time he yelled at me, I was so taken aback by his assumed familiarity that I physically stopped and stared at him. It wasn't till he yelled something about my brown owl bag that I knew he was talking to me. He treated me like he'd known me for years and like he was sick of me turning him down.
He wasn't even hitting on me! He was acting like he was frustrated at me for being...prude! I DON'T KNOW YOU, BOOK BUY GUY!
I am sick of men lumping me and all other vagina-bearing beings into one inferior category. Yelling at me is NOT hitting on me.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Bubye, sugar

The roads are icy tonight, and there's a big storm on the way. I didn't have an ice scraper, so I ran into Wal-Mart to buy one. I got to the automotive section to find long stretches of white shelves and two small boxes of 97 cent plastic (and semi-useless) scrapers. I bought two.
I walked back to my car slowly, scared to slip in the icy parking lot. I walked past two men saying good-bye to each other. One of them sees me and says, "Hey, buddy, take this cutie-pie with you."
The other guy turns around, laughs and starts whispering "Hey there, sugar," under his breath.
I keep my head down, annoyed. Then, I hear crunching on the ice. He's actually coming at me.
And I'm alone in an icy parking lot where I can't run.
I try to walk faster without slipping as I hear Guy#2 continue coming at me. All I could think was: "Don't fall don't fall don't fall, this guy might be serious about taking you with him."
Just as I got to my car, I heard the guy slip on the ice. I only looked at him once I was in the car. He'd stood up and was looking at me.
"You ought to be more careful," he says. Guy#1 laughs and drives off.
I take a breath and start the car. As I leave I hear him yell.
"Bubye, sugar."

Sunday, December 2, 2007


Went to Tropical Liqueurs with the boys on Friday night. When we got out of the car, it was freezing; so I ran inside quickly.
Once I was through the doors, I stopped and looked around. I wasn't getting anything, so I was just waiting for Mike, Jim and Stephan to catch up with me.
Some guy at the bar turns around and looks thrilled to see a real-live female walk through the door.
"Hey there, baby. How are you? What's up?"
I just stare back at him, too annoyed and cold to respond. Then my boyfriend and his two friends come in the door.
Immediately, his face falls. "Oh," he mumbles, and turns around.
Excuse me, sir, are you hitting on any woman who comes in to Trops alone? Is that your plan?
I'm sick of being seen as worthless just because I'm with guys.

Sunday, November 25, 2007


As I flew out for Thanksgiving, I stopped at a news stand to get some magazines. The sales clerk was very friendly to everyone in the store, so I thought nothing when he greeted and tried to help me.
As I checked out, he asked me to fill out a 'customer satisfaction survey,' which I was happy to do. He'd been friendly enough, I didn't mind giving him a good review. I filled it out, but left the optional parts asking for name and address blank. I handed the form to him and left.
Then I heard a shout from behind me. The clerk was calling me back in, saying I'd forgot to put something down. I walked back, annoyed, (I was trying to catch my flight, after all) and asked what I'd forgotten. He the spot for my phone number. When I looked up at him, he smiled and winked.
What could I do? I told him no, angrily, and went to go through security.

Wine and Assholes

Rebekah and I went to Top Ten Wines before Thanksgiving Break to catch up. We were sitting by the window when a guy walks by. He was pretty cute...until he started gesticulating at us. From his wild hand gestures, I assume that he wanted us to invite him inside so he could, well, you know, 'hang out' with us.
Who gestures inappropriate things on the street? In the open? By yourself? This is NOT what I wanted when I told Rebekah we should people-watch.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Mad Max

Saw a friend of my boyfriend's on campus today. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was headed to class.
"What class?" he asked.
"Sociology of Sex Roles," I said.
"Hm, sounds like something you'd be good at."
Hold up, what? Does that mean what I think it means? Was that a "You'd be kinky in sex positions/role playing" innuendo joke? REALLY?
I just want to go to class!

TGI Fridays

Rebecca and I went to Friday's to have a drink and hang out. She ordered some crazy drink where they give you a shaker and a glass and you make your own cocktail.

As the waiter gave Rebecca her drink, another waiter walked by. He eyed us, eyed our waiter, and then goes, "Shake it!" provocatively under his breath. Becca was mad. So was I. Was that necessary

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Dem Stock

Rebecca and I were talking at a table at the Blue Fugue. Some jackass walked up to us, put his arms around us, and said he was leaving and wanted to say goodbye. I have no idea who this guy was.

In his wake, another guy walks up and asks what we’re talking about. We told him some ridiculous guy just hit on us, sort of. He asked a really interesting question:

Do I feel like I've been getting hit on more often in the last year?

Hm. No. I feel like I’ve always had unwanted male attention, especially since I came to college. But only in the last semester has the attention been particularly asshole-ish, I told the guy. I was interested. He seemed like he had a solution, or at least an explanation

He proceeded to tell me about a book published in 2004ish by a guy who is sick of striking out with women and comes up with a fool-proof method.
"It was on the best sellers list and everything," this guy says. He talks on and on about this best-selling, well-read book that he also read. He says this book may be changing how men hit on women. But he doesn’t tell us what it is or who wrote it.

Three seconds into this diatribe and I know two things:
A) This guy is talking about the book by Mystery, of VH1's The Pickup Artist fame.
B) This guy is an asshole.
Why is he assuming that I didn’t read a book that was on the NYT best sellers list? This is going nowhere good.

So I ask him if he is talking about Mystery. He is thrilled I brought up the name, and started delving into Mystery's "method". I assure him that I am not an idiot and had indeed heard of Mystery before he bestowed this knowledge upon me. I tell him that I have one problem with Mystery: The pickup artist's method treats all women as having the same "turn-on switches." In my opinion, I am more than a turn on switch and a vagina. I even have a brain. Plus, my turn on’s may be different than other women’s. For example, some one who likes Mystery's method is not going to turn on my switch.

He starts explaining to me the difference between a one night stand and real love. (Ya, thanks, I hadn't understood until this moment, asshole. But please, continue.) He tells me that by relegating women to the emotional capacity of a switchboard, Mystery keeps men from being rejected for real love.

Here is the problem with meeting women, he tells me. Women are approached so often that they start shutting down every guy they see automatically, without giving him a chance. (You would think the fact that he and I are still talking would negate that premise, but let's continue) But this guy isn't blaming asshole men who hit on girls in skeezy ways; he is blaming women for not welcoming every single male advance in the hopes that one might be from a nice guy. So, shame on us women, for not welcoming every guy who hits on us during the day. Next time a construction worker tells you that you are a fine piece of meat, remember he is only saying that because he was turned down by some cold hearted bitch. She was probably even a feminist.

This is when it gets interesting.

The guy tells me that men have it hard because they have to initiate all romantic interactions. (My boyfriend would find this hard to believe. The reason we are dating is because I asked HIM out.) Then he tells me that men are naturally leaders. Like this guy, for instance. He is offended by my term 'asshole,' he says, because he would call them 'Alpha Males.' This guy is a leader. Alpha males are natural leaders looking for a woman to follow them.

At this point my friend Stephan comes up. I turn and smile at him, wondering if I can ditch Mystery Man over here. This is where Mystery Man tells me he is the oldest child in his family and, therefore, a natural leader. Stephan says he, too, is the oldest. Mystery Man tells me that the reason I am a follower to Stephan is because I am the baby of the family. (Yes, he used the word baby.)

Two things:
A) I am the oldest of four children.
B) I’m sorry, but when was I a follower to Stephan?????

Apparently, I 'took my cue' from Stephan and changed myself when he entered the conversation, Mystery Man says. I countered that the way I interacted with Mystery Man, whom I didn’t know and found annoying, was different than they way I interacted with a good friend.

That wasn’t good enough. Mystery Man said I looked to him for a way to act, AKA followed. This is my question: Since Stephan crossed the room to come talk to me, wasn’t he following MY lead? Didn't I initiate where we would be located in the bar? By smiling at a friend, am I being lead by the male next to me, who is a natural born leader and oldest child? Or am I just being a person at a bar with a friend.

This is dumb. I left before I lost it on this guy.

I came to the Blue Fugue tonight to have a good time. I wanted to drink some beer, make some jokes, listen to some music and take a break from fighting patriarchy all the damned time. Instead I meet a guy who makes false accusations against me:
1. I haven’t read Mystery's book, nor have I heard of him, because I am not smart enough because the brain is located in the penis.
2. I never initiate contact with men. I am a damsel in distress, always.
3. I turn down all men who try to talk to me, even if they just want to get to know me.
4. I am the baby of my family.
5. I am a natural follower.

I cant tell if this guy was hitting on me, or if he just wanted to impress me, or if he just wanted to preach to me. How can I make this shit stop happening.


I didnt get hit on much on Halloween. But at Quinton's, a guy at the bar started stepping on my feet. I yelled for him to stop it. He smirks and says, "Hey baby, how are youuuu doin?"
Why are you hitting on me, idiot. You just stepped on my feet. I just pushed you. Leave me alone.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Neutral Colors

Last night, I was in line to get a burrito at El Rancho. The guy behind me awkwardly and loudly gruffs: "Hey, you going out tonight?" I spun around, shocked and a little scared, before realizing that he was just trying to talk me up. He invited me to MoJos that night, where he was going to see some funk bands. After all, he told me, he didn't have a job in St Louis, so me may as well drink in Columbia, where he can walk home. He showed me the outfit he'd just bought at the mall and asked if I liked them. He wanted to make sure I liked his "neutral colors." What the fuck.

Later last night, I went to buy a pitcher for me and a couple friends. After I shelled out the money for it, a guy walked up offering to buy my pitcher of Killiens. I corrected him, telling him it was Fat Tire. His face fell, he grunted, and he walked away. Very weird. Why can't he just leave me alone?

Well, hello there

So this is the thing.
People have a hard time understanding why I get frustrated when I get hit on by men. The other night I was out at Shakespere's with the boys when I went to the bar to get a drink. All I wanted was a beer, but the guys at booth behind me had another idea. Two of them came up, trying to talk me up. At first they seemed harmless, asking me where I was from and why I was at Mizzou. Then, they talked about how amazing it was that they were talking to a beautiful girl. They asked to take pictures of me so they could prove it to thier friends. They bought me a shot so they could take my picture.
I took the shot so I could leave without being rude. But first, I tried to get my beer. After all, that's what I wanted...
Instead, the rest of the guys from the booth behind me tried to start talking to me. The first two started pushing them away, telling thier friends that they were "working on it." I was furious and ordered a Boulevard Wheat from the bartender so I could get out of there. One of the guys slammed his hand down on the counter, told the bar tender to disregard my order, and bought another round of shots.
I took the shot and left, citing the bathroom as my excuse. The guy who bought the shot followed me to the bathroom to continue talking to me and to make sure I wasn't ditching them. Once I was inside, I counted to ten and ran back to my friends and my boyfriend, who dont understand why I was frustrated.
After all, they said, I got two free shots. And isn't that what it's all about?

Ive decided to track instances like this when they happen. I'm interested in recording for myself and others how often I am hit on in a way that reduces me to a sex object, ignoring my abilities, personality, competancies and humanity.
Plus, I hope this will keep me from strangling the next ass hole who thinks shoving two shots down my throat means I'll let him shove...something else...