Yeah, you.

Dear Mr. Complete Stranger in the Street*,

No, I do not want a ride in your vehicle. I learned not to get into a stranger's car when I was five years old.

No, I'm not telling you my name or number, and no, I'm not telling you where I live, or work, or where I'm going right now. You do not have the right to that information. Being female in a public street does not make me public property. Furthermore, none of these questions are appropriate conversation starters.

No, I am not flattered by you shouting at me from across the road that I am sexy, or by you muttering under your breath about physical acts you would like to perform with me. It is threatening, dehumanizing and offensive for you to reduce me to an object that exists for your commentary.

No, your (loudly expressed) opinion of my body or parts thereof does not entitle you to any of my attention. I am not being rude when I, paralyzed and fearful, pretend I did not hear what you said, you are being rude by saying it.

No, I do not have time for you. Regardless of whether my "man" would "trip" over it. I resent the implication that my man's opinion is the one that matters in this instance.

I resent that you made me feel that I had to let you know I was married to ensure my physical safety, because I knew from past experience that my own clear disinterest was not sufficient for you to leave me alone. You cross the line into being a clear threat to my safety when neither my polite disinterest nor even the fact of my marriage (read: unavailability) is enough to stop you from following me down the (otherwise empty) street and making further comments about my physical appearance.

I would love to be able to say "Sorry, I am not interested in you", but I know if I do, you will at least call me a bitch, and potentially become aggressive and physically threatening.

I hate that my concern for my physical safety in the moment means I have done nothing to dissuade you from harassing me and other women again.




*Note: This is an amalgam of too many street encounters both recent and past. This doesn't just happen to me, either. If you want to get angry, go to hollabackdc.wordpress.com. And can I also point out, street harassment has negative consequences for men too, because we women learn to mistrust and treat every man as a potential scumbag - if we don't, the ones who are scumbags interpret it as interest and encouragement, and it is not worth risking my safety to spare your feelings.

Yay! A new game!

Okay so there are a few variations on this game, I'm sure you've encxountered one or more at some time. But hey I thought it might be fun. I think Kurt will enjoy it at least : )

Take the name of a movie and replace significant words with "Your Mom". The longer the title and/or more famous the movie the better.

For example:
The Lion, The Witch and Your Mom
Star Wars VI: Return of Your Mom
and who could forget the classic Your Mom Goes To Washington?

All right blogosphere, whatcha got?
: )

Fat and fashion.

I saw this woman on the bus the other day that was just so damn fabulous.

She was enormously overweight, but she wasn't cute despite that; it added to the utter fabulousness. She had on this hot pink dress, a great color for her, that showed off her giant bazoombas, why not, and fell straight from under said bosom in a very flattering and yet not tent-like or phantom-pregnancy-inducing way.

She accessorized with giant silver hoop earrings with sparkly gems in them, chunky silver bangles, a giant silver handbag with square studs, and silver flip flops. I seriously could not stop just looking at her outfit. I just love super matchy looks. I am a sucker for matching, like, earrings and shoes and/or handbag. But also the whole outfit and her demeanor just exuded this fabulous rich fullness, like some kind of showy rainforest flower in full bloom.

So I swallowed my (intense, crippling) fear of initiating contact with fellow humans and stopped (on my way off the bus, because I am still a coward) to tell her that I just thought she was completely fabulous and I loved her whole look. She smiled and said "Thank you! I try, I try." I sincerely hope I made her day because really, her outfit made mine.

And I encourage you, my fellow humans, to do this also. Break out of the social convention of no eye contact! don't make eye contact! to tell someone that their t-shirt rocks, that you like their hairstyle, or that somehow you appreciate something they've brought to the world, sartorially or otherwise.

Reader Poll: It's just sour milk, really...

Do you pronounce it yogg-urt, or yo-gurt?

Please indicate your country of origin/residence so it can be taken into account with your answer.

Dear Cell Phone...

... how is hurrch a word, and hurrah isn't?

Hurrch is the sound that precedes the appearance of a soggy lump of pet hair and stomach fluids on the living room floor.

Bite Size...

"Luke, I am your father!"

"Noooo! That's implausible!"

Sweet, sweet candy.

I have been sadly lacking in sugar-related content on this blog lately, so here's a two-fer.

1. A recipe: Super Easy Peanut Butter Cups
(little chocolate cups filled with peanut butter, for those of you unaware of the glory)

Ingredients:
1 tub chocolate frosting
1 jar peanut butter, crunchy

Using a teaspoon, remove 1/2 teaspoon of chocolate frosting from the tub.
Using the same teaspoon now containing the frosting, remove 1/2 teaspoon of peanut butter from the jar.
Serve directly into mouth. Swirl if desired.
Repeat until suffused with the joy and wonder of life / insulin shock sets in.

2. Another blog about candy
(much more about candy than mine is, to be honest)

Richard, The Bewildered Brit, is a British expat living in the USA. He writes about the history of various candies, both famous and obscure, and includes reviews for your gustatory information! It went on my reading list because I like to hear other non-US born viewpoints on this place, because I like learning about things (in short bursts appropriate to my attention span), and (duh) because it's about one of my favorite things (candy, duh). I also imagine the blog's voice as a posh, Jeeves-like accent, which always makes things more enjoyable.

So in summation, you should read The Bewildered Brit, but only if it doesn't interfere with paying attention to me!

Clearly, no one could be a more appropriate candidate for the Sweet Blogger Award.