Sunday, March 30, 2008

A One-sided Conversation

Sometimes, when I go to a bar to order a drink, a man will insist on buying it for me. I really hate that. Don’t get me wrong, I like free stuff as much as the next person. But I don’t like feeling obligated to “pay the guy back” by talking to him or giving him my number.

To prevent this awkward situation, I try to respectfully refuse free drinks from strangers. It has never worked. Not once. I have NEVER told a man, “No, no thank you, I’ll get it myself,” and had him back off the way I want him to. Instead of feeling flattered, I feel ignored.

So here is my voice. This is my half of a conversation held Friday at a bar in St. Louis.If I can't be heard in person, I'll be heard here. (The stuff in parenthesis is what I’m really thinking.):

(Oh, shit.)
Ya, I like this band, too. They’re pretty cool.
My name? Lindsay. You?
(Maybe I should have told him a fake name?)
Hi Randy, nice to meet you.
(Hi, 45-year-old man sitting alone at a bar. I’m not sure why you’ve chosen to hit on me, but I can’t see this going well for you.)
Um, I think I’m gunna order a Coffee Stout. I’ve never had it, but I thought I’d...
(Shit, that was a mistake. He thinks that was an invitation. I was just trying to make conversation!)
Wait, oh, no, you don’t have to order it for me.
(What the fuck, you just turned your back on me to “do me a favor.” Get out of my god-damned way, sir, and I’ll get my drink myself. I’ve done this before!)
No, if you’ll just let me by, I’ll order it myself.
Oh, they ran out?
(Thank god. I’ll move up now and get something myself.)
Oh. OK, well, I’ve been drinking Wheach beer tonight, I’ll see if they…
Wait, no, I can get it.
(Oi! Loser! Move!)
No really, I’ll order.
Oh, thanks.
(Fuck. Now I have to awkwardly talk to you till my drink comes.)

My boyfriend?
(Really? You wanna ask about my boyfriend? I have a feeling you’re hoping I don’t have one. Why are you pretending to be interested in me?)
Oh, he’s down at the end of the bar. Our friends are playing tonight, so…
What? I’m very beautiful?
(Of course I’m beautiful. It’s dark, you’re drunk, and I’m half your age. It’d be hard for you to NOT find me beautiful in these conditions.)
Oh, um, thank you. That’s really nice. Oh, look here’s my drink, I’ll just…
(If I pull out money, he’ll back off.)
No. Here I’ll get it.
(He’s not backing off. Maybe if I shout.)
NO! Hey, no, no thanks man I can…
(What is this idiot deaf? Does it sound like I want this, dude?)
Um, thanks. Well.
(OK, there’s no way he’d go to all the trouble to get me a drink while I’m shouting at him unless he wanted something. So now what? Do I owe him something? Would it be rude to walk away, the way I want to? After all, I didn’t choose to interact with him this way. This isn’t what I wanted.)
Ya, ya gotta get back to the boyfriend. Um, thanks for the drink.
(Thanks fo’ nuthin, sucker.)

Thursday, March 20, 2008

A story from the war

In honor of the 5th anniversary of the war, check out this must-read blog-post from a female naval officer in Iraq and the sexual harrassment she recieves from fellow-Americans.
I have a hard time believing in a war to "liberate" the Iraqi people when our male military personel are oppressing our women.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008


Exciting news!
This blog has been added to Bust Magazines list of links.
Thanks y'all!

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Two quick hits

-I walked into a gas station the other day to hear a man yell: "Git yo'self a white girl! I'm telling you. They're easier!" Shocked, I stopped and turned toward the counter to see two men staring at me. We were the only people in the store. I tried to decide whether I should turn and leave or go about getting my soda. Before I could decide, the other guy replied to his friend: "Nah, I got me a white girl. And she's still trouble."

-Went to an amazing concert in St. Louis this weekend. There was one guy, though, who kept spilling beer on me and stepping on my feet. I tried to avoid him, but about half-way through the concert, he walked towards me, took of his shirt to reveal his tattoos (one says "Creep", the other "Antisocial") and stared at me. Just stared at me. Up and down. Down and up. Eyes all over my body. Stared. I closed my sweater, hoping he'd go away, but it made no difference. I wasn't even wearing anything revealing. But he just stared.