First off, have people seen this parody of Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” music video? Not only are these women excellent singers, but they cleverly switched the genders and I love it. Oh, and probably NSFW.
I don’t actually have a huge problem with Robin Thicke’s original video, I just love me a good parody.
One more note: I appreciate the comments from people on Facebook whenever I post something, but if you could add comments under the blog itself in WordPress I’d appreciate it! It makes any conversations or interactions less disjointed. Thanks peeps!
Why is it, that when some men put themselves out there they expect something specific from you, and when you don’t deliver they lash out? They feel like you owe them something as a result of their behavior and it is a very unwelcome thing for a woman, not to mention jarring and anger-inducing. Reading articles about unwanted cat-calling and street harassment like this, or this make me angry and a bit emotionally volatile, which isn’t good for anyone.
I was walking to my car earlier this week when I decided to walk a bit further and around the block so I could enjoy the glorious weather. When there is a warm wind and setting sun I cannot be indoors, I must walk. And walk I did, enjoying the solitude and cooling breeze in the somewhat deserted southwestern part of downtown Portland.
And then Anthony thought to introduce himself. He pulled up next to me on his bike and followed me down the sidewalk. He wanted to know how old I was and if I was from Portland. I asked him how old he thought I was and he said “18? God, I hope you’re at least 18.” As someone who always seeks to be aware of their surroundings, I glanced around the vicinity and yes, there was no one around; the block was empty of moving cars or pedestrians except for me and a complete stranger. Just great.
Anthony looked like he was in his thirties and dressed in baggy jeans that practically rendered his legs useless for riding a bike, an oversized FUBU t-shirt, and some bitchin’ neon kicks. You could say he was friendly, but held a gleam in his eyes that gave hint of his buying time until he can ask something of you. Anthony told me he was 37, I managed to avoid telling him my age because it was none of his business.
“Can we be friends? Let’s go do something.”
“Wow, you are very straightforward.”
“Wanna hang out?”
“No thanks. I’m just enjoying some needed time alone right now. See ya.”
I turned the corner to circle back to my car but my new “pal” Anthony was determined to sustain contact. He continued walking his bike, holding a supersized soft drink from McDonald’s, which he dropped twice while juggling with his bike and telling me he was from Atlanta and that he only tries to “make friends with girls because he always get in fights with guys.” Quite the winner.
“C’mon, let’s go find something fun to do.”
“No, sorry, not interested.”
“Why not? Where you going?”
“Walking to my car so I can go home.”
“To your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” Lie
“Oh, yeah he probably wouldn’t be too happy with you, huh?”
“Yeah.” Lie
“Come on, don’t you wanna hang out with me?”
“No, I need to drive home and get some stuff done. Bye.” True
“You don’t really have to go home, you just don’t wanna come hang with me.” Duh
He left me alone to walk to my car, but continued the conversation on his own and at a louder volume.
“Yeah, you just don’t wanna come with me. You have nothin’ better to do.”
“Think you too good for me, huh? Ain’t that right, stuck up little bitch?”
“You a hussy you know that? Letting me walk with you a whole block and then blowin’ me off?”
And that’s when I was far enough away so I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
The whole “tête-à-tête” left a bad taste in my mouth for four reasons:
- Why did this 37 year old man purposely approach a girl he assumed was “around 18” and try to accost her into “hanging out?” I know I look young for my age, could pass for a high schooler if I acted the part, but I am alarmed to think this has worked in the past. This guy was not giving off good vibes and his purpose was most likely shoddy. Everything about his persona was sending off red flags and I am one to usually trust my intuition. Leave the poor teenage girls alone, Anthony!
- I felt the need to lie (I don’t have a boyfriend) in order to get him off my back. I am conditioned to avoid simply saying “No” because the alternative will either hurt their feelings or turn into a debate as to how I should spend my time. I use the “boyfriend excuse” to avoid an argument with a complete stranger about who should make decisions that concern my being and it didn’t even work! The more I think about the logic behind that, the more absurd it sounds. I should be able to just say “No” and not have to explain myself. It’s laughably ridiculous to have to justify myself to a stranger!
- He completely ignored the verbal or physical hints I was giving off, the ones that were telling him: “Please leave me alone, I’m not interested.” It’s almost as if he saw me as this challenge to complete or puzzle to solve as I said the words “No,” “Boyfriend,” and walked faster without giving him any sort of smile, eye contact, or inviting pose. I was congenial, kind, human, but not flirting in the least. Before anyone uses the whole “well you were probably dressed provocatively” clause, I was wearing baggy, holey jeans, this t-shirt, and Old Navy flip-flops, but that is 100% irrelevant.
- Tony felt the need to yell his disapproval and verbally abuse me due to my decision to walk away. He just couldn’t let it go after I said the ego-crushing word “No” and his words were utterly hateful, abusive, and uncalled-for. According to this man, I caused him a huge inconvenience because he wasted five minutes of his life walking with me around the block and the gift of his presence warranted me giving him my adoring attention and, let’s face it, he was hoping for my body. His actions. His decisions. I say NOT MY PROBLEM.
I’m hoping this gives some people food for thought. I’m not gonna lie, sometimes catcalling can be fun on the receiving end, but only if you’re not gross, don’t call me “Baby” or “Sexy Mama,” I’m with a group of friends (i.e. not by myself), and it doesn’t get closer than from across the street or a passing car. If you are following me to my car while telling me how I am obligated to spend my time with your punk ass, I’ll tell you to fuck the hell off.
And thou shalt feel mine rage.
Just bare with me. 