Arrogance is the
plastic badge holder swinging,
besmirched coffee lid
Betrays the sharp dressed
hipster typing on his Mac
as the bus rumbles.
Child, your latte cost
twice what the man in grey is
asking you to pay.
Child, if you could buy
your double shot extra foam
Vanilla latte,
Then you could afford
Two dollars and fifty cents
fare to ride the bus.
(Pay your bus fares, people).
Showing posts with label haiku friday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haiku friday. Show all posts
Friday, November 7, 2014
Friday, October 31, 2014
Haiku Friday: It was the salmon mousse.
That's disappointing.
Well, off to the afterlife.
Shall we take the car?
(Readers, this is my favorite bit from Monty Python's Meaning of Life. The casual and nonchalant way these characters react to their demise cracks me up every time. Happy Halloween!)
Well, off to the afterlife.
Shall we take the car?
(Readers, this is my favorite bit from Monty Python's Meaning of Life. The casual and nonchalant way these characters react to their demise cracks me up every time. Happy Halloween!)
Friday, October 10, 2014
A spider-y Haiku Friday
With skill in her heart,
Makes jeweled gossamer threads
Little lace master.
I love how the morning dew on spiderwebs looks. Almost like tiny diamonds. <3
Until next time, Readers!
Makes jeweled gossamer threads
Little lace master.
I love how the morning dew on spiderwebs looks. Almost like tiny diamonds. <3
Until next time, Readers!
Friday, October 3, 2014
Haiku Friday
Soft, lullaby sheep
Sweet berceuses, "Baa Baa Baa",
Have you any wool?
I finished up this sweet little sheepy sheep sweater for a friends' baby shower tomorrow, Readers!
You'd better believe that when Mr. Orb Weaver and I have our baby, I will be knitting one of these in every color.
Until next time!
Sweet berceuses, "Baa Baa Baa",
Have you any wool?
I finished up this sweet little sheepy sheep sweater for a friends' baby shower tomorrow, Readers!
You'd better believe that when Mr. Orb Weaver and I have our baby, I will be knitting one of these in every color.
Until next time!
Friday, August 1, 2014
Haiku Friday
A true pianist
Warms up his hands, has a snack,
And licks the keyboard.
(This video cracked me up to no end, Readers! So adorable and funny!)
Warms up his hands, has a snack,
And licks the keyboard.
(This video cracked me up to no end, Readers! So adorable and funny!)
Friday, July 25, 2014
Haiku Friday
Bass is great. Tenor
is Gorgeous. Alto is Fab.
ALL tones are lovely.
Readers, I love this song. I love the tune, I love the bass line, and I love the singer.
However, I am disappointed that Ms. Traior decided to use the term "skinny bitch" in her lyrics.
All women are "Real Women", Readers. All body shapes and sizes are beautiful.
is Gorgeous. Alto is Fab.
ALL tones are lovely.
Readers, I love this song. I love the tune, I love the bass line, and I love the singer.
However, I am disappointed that Ms. Traior decided to use the term "skinny bitch" in her lyrics.
All women are "Real Women", Readers. All body shapes and sizes are beautiful.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Friday, May 31, 2013
Haiku Friday: An Ode to the Thrift Shop.
Call me a "hipster",
But I won't pay fifty bucks
for a TV stand.
I've written many times about the ups and downs of living in a cheap Seattle apartment, Readers, but what I HAVEN'T written about is the delight of living among the excellent and admirable people of Capitol hill.
It's loud. It's crowded. It's a bit pretentious, and it's not uncommon for us to be awoken by drunk people screaming at each other outside of our window at 3 am. But, for all of its imperfections, John and I have fallen in love with our neighborhood.
One of the best things about the apartment building where John and I live is what is known as the "free area". In our building, there is an un-spoken consensus that if you want to get rid of something but don't feel like making the trek to Goodwill or Value Village to donate it, you can leave it in the laundry space for someone else to take.
I'd say that about a quarter of our furniture has come from the "free area", as well as a great deal of our apartment's decor. In addition to that, about half of everything John and I own was either found, gifted, or bought at a thrift shop.
Let me give ya'll a rundown on how our excellent neighbors, friends, and loved ones have furnished our apartment:
1. The living room has a television stand that was given to me as payment for a day of babysitting two summers ago. It's one of those stands that's designed to fit into a corner, but our apartment doesn't really have any square corners to fit it into. It takes up a bit more space than we'd like, but since we didn't pay for it, we won't complain.
2. On the topic of living room furniture, we have a gorgeous coffee table given to us by a dear friend after she moved. Next to it, we have the futon that my husband used to sleep on, now made into a couch/guest bed. He found the frame for it years ago on the side of the road; he later procured a mattress for it via Craigslist. Since the mattress doesn't fit the frame as well as we'd like, it's a pain in the putuckus to get the damn thing to go from "sit and watch TV" mode to "guest bed" mode. But, it was *mostly* free.
3. About a year ago, the office where I work went under a major re-modeling project. When they made over the reception area, they sent out a mass email that pretty much said that all of the old seating was fair game. Free bright orange chair FOR THE WIN!
4. In the corner of the living room is our computer desk, which I got from my sister when she moved to California.
5. Our dining room table was left in the room by the previous tenant. FREE!
6. We bought our dining chairs from a church rummage sale for 20 dollars...FOR A SET OF FOUR! WIN!
7. Our walls are decorated with an assortment of oddities. Included in this assortment are paintings, prints, old photographs, and a large macrame owl that I found in my parent's basement. A few childhood relics have found their way into our decor; a framed sunflower picture has been hung next to an old Spider Man poster.
8. While most of our dishes were given to us as wedding gifts, John and I take great delight in scouring the local thrift shops for little pieces of fabulousness. I found a set of four smoked glass tumblers that are just gorgeous, at a dollar each. SWEET!
9. We have two lamps, two GORGEOUS lamps, that were found in the "free area". AWESOME!
I love our apartment. I love it so much.
I think that Macklemore sums it up nicely:
Fun fact: a few parts of this music video were shot at the Value Village were John and I shop!
Until next time, Readers!
But I won't pay fifty bucks
for a TV stand.
I've written many times about the ups and downs of living in a cheap Seattle apartment, Readers, but what I HAVEN'T written about is the delight of living among the excellent and admirable people of Capitol hill.
It's loud. It's crowded. It's a bit pretentious, and it's not uncommon for us to be awoken by drunk people screaming at each other outside of our window at 3 am. But, for all of its imperfections, John and I have fallen in love with our neighborhood.
One of the best things about the apartment building where John and I live is what is known as the "free area". In our building, there is an un-spoken consensus that if you want to get rid of something but don't feel like making the trek to Goodwill or Value Village to donate it, you can leave it in the laundry space for someone else to take.
I'd say that about a quarter of our furniture has come from the "free area", as well as a great deal of our apartment's decor. In addition to that, about half of everything John and I own was either found, gifted, or bought at a thrift shop.
Let me give ya'll a rundown on how our excellent neighbors, friends, and loved ones have furnished our apartment:
1. The living room has a television stand that was given to me as payment for a day of babysitting two summers ago. It's one of those stands that's designed to fit into a corner, but our apartment doesn't really have any square corners to fit it into. It takes up a bit more space than we'd like, but since we didn't pay for it, we won't complain.
2. On the topic of living room furniture, we have a gorgeous coffee table given to us by a dear friend after she moved. Next to it, we have the futon that my husband used to sleep on, now made into a couch/guest bed. He found the frame for it years ago on the side of the road; he later procured a mattress for it via Craigslist. Since the mattress doesn't fit the frame as well as we'd like, it's a pain in the putuckus to get the damn thing to go from "sit and watch TV" mode to "guest bed" mode. But, it was *mostly* free.
3. About a year ago, the office where I work went under a major re-modeling project. When they made over the reception area, they sent out a mass email that pretty much said that all of the old seating was fair game. Free bright orange chair FOR THE WIN!
4. In the corner of the living room is our computer desk, which I got from my sister when she moved to California.
5. Our dining room table was left in the room by the previous tenant. FREE!
6. We bought our dining chairs from a church rummage sale for 20 dollars...FOR A SET OF FOUR! WIN!
 |
| This chair was the only one of the set with arm-rests, so it went into our living room. |
7. Our walls are decorated with an assortment of oddities. Included in this assortment are paintings, prints, old photographs, and a large macrame owl that I found in my parent's basement. A few childhood relics have found their way into our decor; a framed sunflower picture has been hung next to an old Spider Man poster.
 |
| This thing used to give me nightmares when I was little. |
8. While most of our dishes were given to us as wedding gifts, John and I take great delight in scouring the local thrift shops for little pieces of fabulousness. I found a set of four smoked glass tumblers that are just gorgeous, at a dollar each. SWEET!
9. We have two lamps, two GORGEOUS lamps, that were found in the "free area". AWESOME!
I love our apartment. I love it so much.
I think that Macklemore sums it up nicely:
Fun fact: a few parts of this music video were shot at the Value Village were John and I shop!
Until next time, Readers!
Friday, April 26, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
Haiku Friday
You know that it's a
rough job market when even
the Fraggles can't work.
Keep trying Boober, you'll land that rom-com leading role soon :-)
rough job market when even
the Fraggles can't work.
Keep trying Boober, you'll land that rom-com leading role soon :-)
Friday, March 15, 2013
Friday, March 1, 2013
Haiku Friday: In which I whine like a little B****
Epley Maneuver,
I think I'm crushing on you.
Here, let's go make out.
Well, yesterday was not fun.
Readers, I have a condition called Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (or BPPV). I won't mince words: I hate it. I hate this condition with every fiber of my being.
Imagine if you will, Readers, the sensation of being whipped around over and over and over and over. There is no escape from the sensation, no matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes, or how hard you beg God to take the symptoms away. Your head feels heavy, like it's filled up half-way with water, kind of "swishing" to and fro as you make a sad attempt to stagger your way around. You are plagued, Readers, with the illusion of movement; the world spins around and around and around, making you feel as if you were strapped to the hand of some kind of giant compass. The sensation never lasts more than thirty seconds, but it comes back again and again AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, triggered by the most minute movements of your head. Just looking up into the kitchen cupboard is enough to knock you off of your feet. You are so miserably motion-sick that you can barely move; you just lie there on the kitchen floor, trying desperately to get a grip on reality, begging God to grant you the grace of making it to the bathroom before you inevitably vomit.
That was my morning yesterday.
As horrendous as the above description may sound, my vertigo bouts as of late are not NEARLY as beastly as they were when I was first diagnosed. A great deal of the improvement has to do with simply knowing what's going on in my ears, I guess. I find that not knowing what's wrong makes ANY unpleasant symptoms exponentially worse.
In addition, my brain has gotten so accustomed to my vertigo that it works double-time to ignore the false movement signals that my inner-ears are sending out. So, instead of having vertigo for a month (you read that correctly, Readers. My first bout of vertigo lasted for an entire MONTH), the symptoms only last for a few days tops as of late.
I find that I get a lot of relief from my symptoms by doing what's called the Epley maneuver. I used to HATE this maneuver tremendously, as it would trigger my vertigo BIG TIME, but if I don't do it at least twice a day while I'm having a bout, my vertigo will NOT get better anytime soon.
I can say with all honesty that doing the Epley maneuver at least four times a day during one of my vertigo bouts has cut my recovery time in half.
Yesterday, after a desperate scramble to the bathroom, I wiped my mouth, brushed my teeth, and pulled myself together as best I could. I called in sick, lied down on my bed, and did the Epley maneuver twice.
Making the world spin on purpose is never fun. But whatever, ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
I was feeling a bit better at this point, so I made myself a Vertigo Nest (several blankets, a puke pail, a bottle of water, and a box of saltine crackers set up in front of the TV) and watched Judge Judy until I was confident that I could get up and walk without falling over. I tidied up the apartment and did laundry, although I had to stop every few minutes to get my bearings.
Compared to how pathetically helpless and fragile I felt when I first started getting these bouts, I'm actually quite pleased with my ability to deal. I no longer sob uncontrollably or lie on the couch all day, feeling sorry for myself. John has also been nothing but wonderful to me as the world would spin; when I was at my absolute worst, he would take my arm and guide me to my bed, to the bathroom, or to wherever I needed to go.
He was my guardian angel during that first bout. He took a day off of his work to be with me, on a day when my symptoms made me particularly miserable. He followed me around the apartment I shared with my older sister, catching me if I lost my balance and pointing me in the right direction ("Honey, here...the kitchen is THAT way.")
Ladies (or Gentlemen), know this. If the man you're dating holds you, his weepy vomit-covered girlfriend, in his arms and tells you that he thinks you're the most beautiful woman that he's ever seen, even when you feel at your absolute LOWEST, you know that you've found The One.
An awesome boyfriend (now husband), sister, AND a great doctor who gave me a volume's worth of information regarding BPPV helped me get through that terrible, terrible first month.
Now, I'm able to get over the worst of my symptoms in about a day. I was able to come into work this morning, albeit a bit woozily. As I'm typing this, my head still feels as if it's half-full of warm water, wooshing around as I turn my head.
Thank God for good people. Thank God for the Epley maneuver.
I'm sorry, John, but if the Epley Maneuver were a person, I'd totally make out with it.
Orb Weaver out! You can expect another Cinderella Ate My Daughter review, plus a stash-use update, in the coming week, Readers!
Taa Taa!
I think I'm crushing on you.
Here, let's go make out.
Well, yesterday was not fun.
Readers, I have a condition called Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (or BPPV). I won't mince words: I hate it. I hate this condition with every fiber of my being.
Imagine if you will, Readers, the sensation of being whipped around over and over and over and over. There is no escape from the sensation, no matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes, or how hard you beg God to take the symptoms away. Your head feels heavy, like it's filled up half-way with water, kind of "swishing" to and fro as you make a sad attempt to stagger your way around. You are plagued, Readers, with the illusion of movement; the world spins around and around and around, making you feel as if you were strapped to the hand of some kind of giant compass. The sensation never lasts more than thirty seconds, but it comes back again and again AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, triggered by the most minute movements of your head. Just looking up into the kitchen cupboard is enough to knock you off of your feet. You are so miserably motion-sick that you can barely move; you just lie there on the kitchen floor, trying desperately to get a grip on reality, begging God to grant you the grace of making it to the bathroom before you inevitably vomit.
That was my morning yesterday.
As horrendous as the above description may sound, my vertigo bouts as of late are not NEARLY as beastly as they were when I was first diagnosed. A great deal of the improvement has to do with simply knowing what's going on in my ears, I guess. I find that not knowing what's wrong makes ANY unpleasant symptoms exponentially worse.
In addition, my brain has gotten so accustomed to my vertigo that it works double-time to ignore the false movement signals that my inner-ears are sending out. So, instead of having vertigo for a month (you read that correctly, Readers. My first bout of vertigo lasted for an entire MONTH), the symptoms only last for a few days tops as of late.
I find that I get a lot of relief from my symptoms by doing what's called the Epley maneuver. I used to HATE this maneuver tremendously, as it would trigger my vertigo BIG TIME, but if I don't do it at least twice a day while I'm having a bout, my vertigo will NOT get better anytime soon.
I can say with all honesty that doing the Epley maneuver at least four times a day during one of my vertigo bouts has cut my recovery time in half.
Yesterday, after a desperate scramble to the bathroom, I wiped my mouth, brushed my teeth, and pulled myself together as best I could. I called in sick, lied down on my bed, and did the Epley maneuver twice.
 |
| Image found here: http://www.dizziness-and-balance.com/disorders/bppv/bppv.html |
Making the world spin on purpose is never fun. But whatever, ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
I was feeling a bit better at this point, so I made myself a Vertigo Nest (several blankets, a puke pail, a bottle of water, and a box of saltine crackers set up in front of the TV) and watched Judge Judy until I was confident that I could get up and walk without falling over. I tidied up the apartment and did laundry, although I had to stop every few minutes to get my bearings.
Compared to how pathetically helpless and fragile I felt when I first started getting these bouts, I'm actually quite pleased with my ability to deal. I no longer sob uncontrollably or lie on the couch all day, feeling sorry for myself. John has also been nothing but wonderful to me as the world would spin; when I was at my absolute worst, he would take my arm and guide me to my bed, to the bathroom, or to wherever I needed to go.
He was my guardian angel during that first bout. He took a day off of his work to be with me, on a day when my symptoms made me particularly miserable. He followed me around the apartment I shared with my older sister, catching me if I lost my balance and pointing me in the right direction ("Honey, here...the kitchen is THAT way.")
Ladies (or Gentlemen), know this. If the man you're dating holds you, his weepy vomit-covered girlfriend, in his arms and tells you that he thinks you're the most beautiful woman that he's ever seen, even when you feel at your absolute LOWEST, you know that you've found The One.
An awesome boyfriend (now husband), sister, AND a great doctor who gave me a volume's worth of information regarding BPPV helped me get through that terrible, terrible first month.
Now, I'm able to get over the worst of my symptoms in about a day. I was able to come into work this morning, albeit a bit woozily. As I'm typing this, my head still feels as if it's half-full of warm water, wooshing around as I turn my head.
Thank God for good people. Thank God for the Epley maneuver.
I'm sorry, John, but if the Epley Maneuver were a person, I'd totally make out with it.
Orb Weaver out! You can expect another Cinderella Ate My Daughter review, plus a stash-use update, in the coming week, Readers!
Taa Taa!
Friday, February 15, 2013
Post-Valentine's day Haiku Friday
Flowers will never
Compare to a valentine
Carved from a skirt steak.
Ah, Valentine's day. I know that I may be in the minority among my peers in regards to this holiday, but I frickin LOVE Valentine's day.
Chocolate? Yes please. Wearing pink? Awesome! Being surrounded with flowers and hearts and sparkles? HOORAY!
My husband has always been the World's Very Best Valentine. On our first Valentine's day together as a couple, he invited me to his apartment for a romantic dinner.
This is what was waiting for me when I arrived.
Compare to a valentine
Carved from a skirt steak.
Ah, Valentine's day. I know that I may be in the minority among my peers in regards to this holiday, but I frickin LOVE Valentine's day.
Chocolate? Yes please. Wearing pink? Awesome! Being surrounded with flowers and hearts and sparkles? HOORAY!
My husband has always been the World's Very Best Valentine. On our first Valentine's day together as a couple, he invited me to his apartment for a romantic dinner.
This is what was waiting for me when I arrived.
Best. Valentine. EVER.
When I got home from work yesterday, he greeted me with a beautiful pink tea rose plant.
Second. Best. Valentine. EVER.
You can expect another Cinderella Ate My Daughter review next week, Readers, along with a few more projects!
Until next time! <3
Friday, February 1, 2013
Haiku Friday: In which I receive muffin mixes in exchange for poetry
 |
| Image found here: http://hdw.eweb4.com/out/614283.html |
Two Saturday mornings ago, I was making pancakes for my husband. We were both nursing pounding headaches after a night of over-indulgence, so my usual Better Homes and Gardens recipe for pancakes wasn't going to work. So, I opened my cupboard, grabbed a box of Jiffy blueberry muffin mix, and made the world's easiest blueberry pancakes.
They were quite yummeh.
We sat there, two hungover people, chewing on our breakfast, when I decided that I was so very grateful for these ridiculously easy pancakes that I simply HAD to share my gratitude with Jiffy.
"John".
"Mph?"
"These are f---ing good pancakes".
"Yes. Yes these are f---ing good pancakes."
"Not bad for only five minutes of work."
"Nope."
"I'ma write these people a haiku".
"...mkay."
I went onto Jiffy's website, and sent them a haiku via their customer service message thingamabopper.
About an hour later, I received this email reply:
Hello Jacqueline,
Thank you for visiting our website and for your kind remarks about our “JIFFY”mixes. It was thoughtful of you to take the time to contact us. We are delighted to know that you think so highly of our products.
In appreciation of your contact, we are sending you a copy of our Hospitality in a“JIFFY” recipe book. Under separate cover, we are sending you a gift package containing an assortment of our “JIFFY” mixes, which we hope you will use and enjoy with our compliments. Please allow 2-3 weeks for delivery.
Didja hear that, Readers? THEY WERE DELIGHTED!
Sure enough, about a week and half later, we got a package of mixes and a cookbook in the mail.
Oh yes.
I seem to have good luck when it comes to contacting customer service. Is this some kind of innate gift?
Or a superpower?
I dunno, Readers, but below is the infamous haiku that got me four boxes muffin mix:
Jiffy Muffin Mix
Makes the Universe's Best
Hangover Pancakes
Until next time, Readers!
Friday, January 11, 2013
Haiku Friday: Ode to a huge yarn stash
Pile of woolen knots,
Frustration yields to pure joy
My lovely yarn stash!
Thus begins, Readers, the year of Using Up the Stash. Or, project UUtS for short. We will begin this great journey by taking inventory of the infamous Almighty Yarn Stash:
I've divided the Almighty Stash into subgroups, based on yarn weight and material:
1. The Acrylics. The lime green and black are leftover from my Space Invaders blanket, and the pine green and white are leftover from the Christmas stocking I posted last week. I'll be using up more of the pine green and white for the second stocking (the pine green will be the main color), so that's ONE project. As for the lime green and black, I'm thinking that that is defiantly a WUA project. The space invaders are making a comeback, in the way of an afghan fragment!
3. Dishcloth cotton and my right knee. Brace yourselves...I'll be making...*gasp* DISHCLOTHS!
4: Silks. Here we have my small collection of bamboo blends and silk blends. The red-ish ball of yarn on the left is actually made up of whats leftover from manufacturing silk scarves. I have no idea what exactly I'm going to use these for; the chances are good that these will make their way into a WUA blanket piece.
5: Lace-Weight materials. The largest (and, if you can believe it, most expensive) chunk of my stash: my collection of lace-weight thread. I've got a good mix of (organic) cotton, acrylic, silk, alpaca, wool, and bamboo. In addition to making snowflakes, I'm going to be making some doilies; the largest most complicated ones I can find! I really want to focus on my lace-making skills this year!
7: Wools. Here we have my wool/alpaca stash. Once I get that tangled mess of red yarn taken care of, I'll probably use most (if not all) of these for WUA projects. Perhaps I can whip out a pair of mittens with the grey wool, too.
Last but not least:
8: Sock yarn. Here we have my sock yarn, all of it Cascade Heritage Sock yarn in various colors. Believe it or not, I've had better luck knitting mittens from this than socks! I have a pair of mittens in the works with the black, and once those are finished, I'll be making various stripey things with the rest.
Whew!
A plan for the use of these yarns can be expected within the next week Readers! Stay tuned!
Frustration yields to pure joy
My lovely yarn stash!
Thus begins, Readers, the year of Using Up the Stash. Or, project UUtS for short. We will begin this great journey by taking inventory of the infamous Almighty Yarn Stash:
 |
| Here it is, in all its yarn-y glory. |
 |
| All Red Heart brand acrylic. |
2. Bulky Weight. These yarns are mostly alpaca and wool blends. I received most of these as a gift from one of my friends at my bridal shower; I still don't really have a plan for them just yet, but I'm kicking around the idea of an ear-flap hat. I love how soft these ones are!
4: Silks. Here we have my small collection of bamboo blends and silk blends. The red-ish ball of yarn on the left is actually made up of whats leftover from manufacturing silk scarves. I have no idea what exactly I'm going to use these for; the chances are good that these will make their way into a WUA blanket piece.
6: Mercerized Cotton. This is my collection of mercerized cotton (cotton that's been dipped in sodium hydroxide to make it stronger and shinier), leftover from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cushion. I've been making some granny squares with some of it...but I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with the granny squares once their finished. Perhaps I can make a bag, or a grocery tote? I tried doing a dishcloth with this once, but it turned out TERRIBLE...this kind of cotton doesn't absorb water very well! Not very useful as a dishcloth at all!
 |
| Yikes, I need to re-wind the red superwash wool! |
Last but not least:
Whew!
A plan for the use of these yarns can be expected within the next week Readers! Stay tuned!
Friday, November 30, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Haiku Friday: In which I struggle to talk about sexual harassment without sounding like an angry bra-burner.
I wish I did not
have to guard my self, but dumb
men give me no choice.
At the risk of being labelled an "Angry Femi-nazi", I am going to just put this out there:
It should never be a woman's responsibility to put up with the creepy, disrespectful, and downright DANGEROUS behavior of men who have zero self control.
Street harassment needs to stop, and sexual harassment has to stop. Enough said.
I debated whether or not to bring this issue up again, Readers. I find that I have a lot of difficulty when it comes to writing and talking about sexual harassment, partially because the subject itself isn't exactly pleasant, and also because of how often I am dismissed as being "overly-sensitive" or "unfair" whenever I bring it up. I guess this speaks to my constantly brewing frustration with men who just don't seem to understand how honestly HARD it is to be female; how something as routine as a bus ride is made so much more stressful because of nothing more than my gender.
It's difficult to put into words just how much an effect harassment has on me, personally. There is nothing, NOTHING, that makes me feel more vulnerable, afraid, and frustrated than being harassed by strangers. I've written before about how outwardly rude and perverted behavior makes me feel angry and afraid, but I've never really talked about...the not-so-outward stuff. The unspoken stuff.
Like when a man sitting next to me on the bus decides to drape his arm behind my seat, letting his fingers brush against my arm as I'm desperately trying to scoot as far away from his wandering hand as possible without being too obvious.
Or when I'm walking home from work, and a slightly intoxicated middle aged man stops me, and asks, "Miss...could you do me a favor and just SMILE?", then taking a not-so-discreet look at my rear end as I walk away.
When I'm standing in line at Starbucks, and out of nowhere some ass-wipe standing behind me decides to lean forward and SNIFF MY HAIR.
Or when I'm simply approached while I'm on some sort of public transit, ALWAYS by a man, who is either unable or unwilling to read my body language, (which is screaming "PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE,") wanting to strike up a conversation that inevitably leads to:
A. Me being uncomfortably hit on,
B. Me being accosted by a Dooms-Day prophet, or
C. Him trying to sell me something.
Readers, I either walk or commute by bus to my job every day, and usually, I am alone and it is after dark. I take every precaution to send out as many "Please Leave Me Alone" signals* as I am able, but I still get approached (always by men) CONSTANTLY.
I find it much easier to deal if the weather is nice enough for me to walk. When I'm walking, I know that I have an "escape route". If somebody is being stupid, I can just walk away. Simple as that.
Where I REALLY start to feel afraid; not annoyed, not frustrated, but honest to God AFRAID, is when I'm riding the bus at night.
That "escape route?" No longer exists once I'm on public transportation. When I'm in an enclosed space and some guy decides to ignore my body language/monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation, I don't have the option walk away, and I am quite literally TRAPPED.
Now, gentlemen, I understand that the majority of you who try to talk to me on the bus are not rapists. But Jesus Tap-dancing Christ, fellas, LEARN TO READ MY BODY LANGUAGE AND RESPECT MY PERSONAL SPACE!
What makes the above situations exponentially worse are the ridiculous implications and consequences of my non-interest. I almost always ignore guys when they try to approach me, and almost always, the guy in question gets offended when he realizes that he's being ignored. If the guy is hitting on me, I'm accused of being a "stuck-up bitch." If he's trying to save my soul, I'm accused of hating God. If he's one of those "Children's International" cretins, I'm accused of not caring about children.
It wears on you after a while, Readers. After three years of riding the bus, it still gets to me how often I get called names.
I wish that I could give the guys wanting to talk to me the benefit of the doubt. I really, REALLY wish that I didn't have to put up a protective "bubble" whenever I'm traveling alone at night. But sadly, because I don't have what one of my favorite bloggers, Dianna Anderson, calls "rape-dar", I am not willing to take the risk of being friendly. Lots of men have ruined it for you, fellas. When I was a bit more naive and outwardly "friendly", I've been called names, been loudly and rudely made fun of, and have been groped twice. (Both times, the douchenozzle responsible was exiting the bus and was out of reach before I had a chance to react).
I occasionally have to put up with creepiness while I'm working as well. When I'm at my job, 99% of the time, I feel completely comfortable and safe, but there are times when I feel like I should invest in a can of mace.
I work in a skyscraper downtown that, for the most part, is not open to the public; most floors require you to swipe your key card before you can get in. My floor is one of the few that can be accessed by the public during business hours so that clients and visitors can easily see their attorneys.
On Tuesday evening, a seemingly normal-looking guy came up and started to aimlessly wander around the reception space. I did my receptionist thing and asked, "Can I help you?"
This butt-stain of a human being came up to my desk, leaned over, started STARING AT MY CHEST and (in what should be ranked as one of the world's very worst/creepiest/stupidest attempts at flirting with a receptionist) asked, "Well, what kind of services do YOU provide?"
I lowered my voice a half octave, put on my "bitch face", and informed him that he had wandered into a corporate law firm. He then tried to make a pitiful attempt at a lawyer joke, all the while looking like he wanted to eat me. I called for security, but before they could come up to assist, this pustule on the face of humanity had taken one of the bottles of water at the reception desk and left.
Those are for CLIENTS, asshole!
Women who work in customer service, I feel, have an especially difficult time when it comes to these creeps. When a lady is working at the cash register, behind the check-in desk, behind the Burger King counter, she has an obligation to give "good customer service"...as she always should. However, in my experience, I find that a woman's hands are tied when faced with a situation like the one I had: We are trained to keep smiling and giving "good customer service", even when the customer is being a disgusting creep.
When I was a bakery clerk way back in the day, my boss would tell me about how she would get goosed on an almost weekly basis by a customer who had wandering hands. She was so afraid of getting "written up" by her managers that she didn't say a single word.
A lot of time had passed since that incident, (she told me that it happened back in the mid-nineties, in a different store located half-way across the country), and I had received a great deal of "safety and awareness training" from our store. All the same, it always kind of got to me how much of this training was focused on waiting for the creep to go away. If I didn't feel safe (and if the creepy customer was within earshot), I would call whatever manager was on duty and say, "I'm going to take my break early". This was our stores' "code phrase" for when one of us was feeling seriously creeped out and didn't want to be too obvious. I would then go to the back room and wait for somebody to stay with me until the customer in question left. Under no circumstances were we to confront the creepy customer. That wouldn't be giving very good customer service, would it?
From a liability standpoint, I completely understand why the grocery store forbade us from confronting the creepers. Be that as it may, it still really bothers me. It felt like the grocery chain was more concerned with keeping a customer than they are with keeping their employees safe and sane.
It's WAY beyond the scope of one blog post to explore street harassment, the culture that allows and excuses it, and possible solutions.
I guess all I have left to say is this: I do not owe it to men to be friendly. I do not owe it to men to be conversational.
I will not compromise my sanity and safety for a man's need for attention and validation.
I am so sick of this crap.
*(when I'm walking I wear my headphones, and when I'm on the bus I either knit, read, play with my phone, or stare out the window.)
have to guard my self, but dumb
men give me no choice.
 |
| Image found here: http://www.downtownseattle.com/blog/2011/02/04/seattle-bus-route-changes-on-saturday/ |
At the risk of being labelled an "Angry Femi-nazi", I am going to just put this out there:
It should never be a woman's responsibility to put up with the creepy, disrespectful, and downright DANGEROUS behavior of men who have zero self control.
Street harassment needs to stop, and sexual harassment has to stop. Enough said.
I debated whether or not to bring this issue up again, Readers. I find that I have a lot of difficulty when it comes to writing and talking about sexual harassment, partially because the subject itself isn't exactly pleasant, and also because of how often I am dismissed as being "overly-sensitive" or "unfair" whenever I bring it up. I guess this speaks to my constantly brewing frustration with men who just don't seem to understand how honestly HARD it is to be female; how something as routine as a bus ride is made so much more stressful because of nothing more than my gender.
It's difficult to put into words just how much an effect harassment has on me, personally. There is nothing, NOTHING, that makes me feel more vulnerable, afraid, and frustrated than being harassed by strangers. I've written before about how outwardly rude and perverted behavior makes me feel angry and afraid, but I've never really talked about...the not-so-outward stuff. The unspoken stuff.
Like when a man sitting next to me on the bus decides to drape his arm behind my seat, letting his fingers brush against my arm as I'm desperately trying to scoot as far away from his wandering hand as possible without being too obvious.
Or when I'm walking home from work, and a slightly intoxicated middle aged man stops me, and asks, "Miss...could you do me a favor and just SMILE?", then taking a not-so-discreet look at my rear end as I walk away.
When I'm standing in line at Starbucks, and out of nowhere some ass-wipe standing behind me decides to lean forward and SNIFF MY HAIR.
A. Me being uncomfortably hit on,
B. Me being accosted by a Dooms-Day prophet, or
C. Him trying to sell me something.
Readers, I either walk or commute by bus to my job every day, and usually, I am alone and it is after dark. I take every precaution to send out as many "Please Leave Me Alone" signals* as I am able, but I still get approached (always by men) CONSTANTLY.
I find it much easier to deal if the weather is nice enough for me to walk. When I'm walking, I know that I have an "escape route". If somebody is being stupid, I can just walk away. Simple as that.
Where I REALLY start to feel afraid; not annoyed, not frustrated, but honest to God AFRAID, is when I'm riding the bus at night.
That "escape route?" No longer exists once I'm on public transportation. When I'm in an enclosed space and some guy decides to ignore my body language/monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation, I don't have the option walk away, and I am quite literally TRAPPED.
Now, gentlemen, I understand that the majority of you who try to talk to me on the bus are not rapists. But Jesus Tap-dancing Christ, fellas, LEARN TO READ MY BODY LANGUAGE AND RESPECT MY PERSONAL SPACE!
What makes the above situations exponentially worse are the ridiculous implications and consequences of my non-interest. I almost always ignore guys when they try to approach me, and almost always, the guy in question gets offended when he realizes that he's being ignored. If the guy is hitting on me, I'm accused of being a "stuck-up bitch." If he's trying to save my soul, I'm accused of hating God. If he's one of those "Children's International" cretins, I'm accused of not caring about children.
It wears on you after a while, Readers. After three years of riding the bus, it still gets to me how often I get called names.
I wish that I could give the guys wanting to talk to me the benefit of the doubt. I really, REALLY wish that I didn't have to put up a protective "bubble" whenever I'm traveling alone at night. But sadly, because I don't have what one of my favorite bloggers, Dianna Anderson, calls "rape-dar", I am not willing to take the risk of being friendly. Lots of men have ruined it for you, fellas. When I was a bit more naive and outwardly "friendly", I've been called names, been loudly and rudely made fun of, and have been groped twice. (Both times, the douchenozzle responsible was exiting the bus and was out of reach before I had a chance to react).
I occasionally have to put up with creepiness while I'm working as well. When I'm at my job, 99% of the time, I feel completely comfortable and safe, but there are times when I feel like I should invest in a can of mace.
I work in a skyscraper downtown that, for the most part, is not open to the public; most floors require you to swipe your key card before you can get in. My floor is one of the few that can be accessed by the public during business hours so that clients and visitors can easily see their attorneys.
On Tuesday evening, a seemingly normal-looking guy came up and started to aimlessly wander around the reception space. I did my receptionist thing and asked, "Can I help you?"
This butt-stain of a human being came up to my desk, leaned over, started STARING AT MY CHEST and (in what should be ranked as one of the world's very worst/creepiest/stupidest attempts at flirting with a receptionist) asked, "Well, what kind of services do YOU provide?"
 |
| My face looked something like this after he said that. Image found here: http://imgur.com/gallery/TmAox |
I lowered my voice a half octave, put on my "bitch face", and informed him that he had wandered into a corporate law firm. He then tried to make a pitiful attempt at a lawyer joke, all the while looking like he wanted to eat me. I called for security, but before they could come up to assist, this pustule on the face of humanity had taken one of the bottles of water at the reception desk and left.
Those are for CLIENTS, asshole!
Women who work in customer service, I feel, have an especially difficult time when it comes to these creeps. When a lady is working at the cash register, behind the check-in desk, behind the Burger King counter, she has an obligation to give "good customer service"...as she always should. However, in my experience, I find that a woman's hands are tied when faced with a situation like the one I had: We are trained to keep smiling and giving "good customer service", even when the customer is being a disgusting creep.
When I was a bakery clerk way back in the day, my boss would tell me about how she would get goosed on an almost weekly basis by a customer who had wandering hands. She was so afraid of getting "written up" by her managers that she didn't say a single word.
A lot of time had passed since that incident, (she told me that it happened back in the mid-nineties, in a different store located half-way across the country), and I had received a great deal of "safety and awareness training" from our store. All the same, it always kind of got to me how much of this training was focused on waiting for the creep to go away. If I didn't feel safe (and if the creepy customer was within earshot), I would call whatever manager was on duty and say, "I'm going to take my break early". This was our stores' "code phrase" for when one of us was feeling seriously creeped out and didn't want to be too obvious. I would then go to the back room and wait for somebody to stay with me until the customer in question left. Under no circumstances were we to confront the creepy customer. That wouldn't be giving very good customer service, would it?
From a liability standpoint, I completely understand why the grocery store forbade us from confronting the creepers. Be that as it may, it still really bothers me. It felt like the grocery chain was more concerned with keeping a customer than they are with keeping their employees safe and sane.
It's WAY beyond the scope of one blog post to explore street harassment, the culture that allows and excuses it, and possible solutions.
I guess all I have left to say is this: I do not owe it to men to be friendly. I do not owe it to men to be conversational.
I will not compromise my sanity and safety for a man's need for attention and validation.
I am so sick of this crap.
*(when I'm walking I wear my headphones, and when I'm on the bus I either knit, read, play with my phone, or stare out the window.)
Friday, August 17, 2012
Haiku Friday
My face reveals a
Bemused smirk when they mistake
Me for a lawyer.
(Seriously, Readers, whenever I wear my good black suit I'm mistaken for "the new associate." It's kind of awesome).
Bemused smirk when they mistake
Me for a lawyer.
(Seriously, Readers, whenever I wear my good black suit I'm mistaken for "the new associate." It's kind of awesome).
Friday, August 3, 2012
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