Reblogged from awkwardfeministmoments
no, really? yes, really!
I stopped at a light directly adjacent to a car with letters on that read NOT BICYCLE FRIENDLY. Fab luck. I am stuck in traffic next to the lone angry hick amidst all those friendly “I share the road” drivers.
when I call “director” to ask for directions to the site, he tells me to “look for Little Butt.” I so didn’t have the heart to tell him that “Butte” should sound like “cute”. like Willamette and Couch, it is more amusing for everyone when no one steps in.
In Penn Station, a small group of homeless people parading around chanting something like “we are human and deserve human rights, too!!” were followed by a much larger group of policemen in riot gear. Overdoing it much, NYC?
[Update: we do this in Portland now too. long live O-PDX!]
Train was so cold I asked the conductor for a blanket. He goes “you kidding? girl, it’s 6am!” It was 12am. I tore down the window curtains, which were nice and woolly. I got to sit next to a nice dude; I knew he wasn’t a New Yorker when he helped an old lady with her suitcase. I think the lady was surprised, too. He kept an eye on the conductor for me whilst I vandalized the curtains.
The train station was dark and underground. What is with everything important being underground? What is in Portland that is underground?
When I finally surfaced a bird flew at my head and I ducked and a group of policemen almost died laughing. The coffee shop I ended up in, it was really different. Really fancy. I was so intimidated by the barista I started talking in a British accent. I don’t know why. So far, Chicago is great.
that’s right. on a lovely sunshine-ey evening in pioneer sqaure, two attractive feminists minding their own business are approached by a strange dude.
“Do ya’ll have boyfriends?” the strange dude asks, flagrantly disregarding boundaries, personal limits, and appropriate subject matter. “Oh, do you?” I retaliate in a friendly way.
the dude assures us several times that he is STRAIGHT. “I’M NOT GAY,” he repeats, “STRAIGHT,” he intones, “THAT’S RIGHT I’M STRAIGHT, YA’LL IS CONFUSED.” Hmm, maybe.
Strange dude: ”Are you girls, like, not used to getting hit on or something?”
Rem: Quite the opposite, dude man bro, and that is precisely why we are so unimpressed. If you really wanna turn a gal on, leave her alone
Strange dude: “Are you a man?”
Me: “Um.”
Little brother accompanied me on my job yesterday cycling around the city for 8 hours putting up fliers. I bought him a waffle. Getting out of the house must have really worn him out. That night he walked into the kitchen in his sleep, pissed in the garbage can, and washed his hands over the dirty dishes. My sister saw the whole thing. We promised him that everyone would know about it.
I thought you had a car, they say. Sometimes, I insist.
I abandoned ship last week in front of a crappy apartment complex when I ran out of money to fuel it. It’s new home is a 10 minute bike ride from derby practice hangar. Stocked with skates, gear, and a dozen outfit combinations, this van is a changing room away from home.
Paid and ready to drive, I set out this morning on another van reconnaissance mission. Van does not start. Dude on a porch watches me struggle, curse, make phone calls. “HEY, ARE YOU A ROSE CITY ROLLER?” he calls, like “HEY, ARE YOU DREW BARRYMORE”. It should go without saying that this kind of thing never happens to me.
“yes,” I say, yes?” and he bounds down the stairs going, “I’m a really big fan! What team are you on?” I tell him and he comments on our doing especially well this year. He probably knows better than I do. Then he says “I made a movie about you guys.”
He is Chip, the very same dude who made the documentary on our league, Brutal Beauty. We are thrilled to meet each other. He rings up his landlord, telling him “a rollergirl is having car trouble” and this landlord man comes right over with a bunch of stuff and opens the hood. They are poking around there for awhile, asking about roller derby. After about a million years, both admit they they don’t know anything about cars.
“No problem,” Chip says, “anything for a Rose City Roller.” They both like my van a lot. It still doesn’t start.
Things left to me
Solution:
Bad day, vol. I: in which I get roped into babysitting. in chasing the mother to return the burden, I leave wallet on the MAX in a brain-dead panic. lost forever:
vol II: in which I am emailed by an insane faux-Russian claiming to have found my stuff. I ask him for proof and I get a picture of his dick. car dies on road. lost:
III: in which I set out to retrieve dead car, using last dollar to board bus to mom’s work where gives me cash and a gas can and I start walking to my car. 11 blocks into 1.5 mile journey, realize I have left store sans gas can.
Back to square one, I wait at a bus stop for 20+ min. Bus driver finally arrives with cheering news that federal law prohibits her from allowing me on a bus with gas. “I’m stranded,” I tell her. She doesn’t care so I stick out my thumb. Some people tell me they will pick me up if I wouldn’t mind waiting for them to grocery shop first? It’s a grocery-shopping-corner.
Finding my car intact, the day looks up, the van is as beautiful as ever. I lean my backpack up against a tree, poor gas and drive home. I remember that my backpack is with the tree and, upon revisit, has disappeared. lost:
I heard it on a commercial so it must be true. What with so much free time and all the cool stuff going down in this town, I’m torn all the time. Last evening I settled on a socialist party over gay rollerskating but only after I’d had too much chardonnay and tamales packed into me to consider driving.
A bong and a lighter went around the room and I was unaware that I was expected to pass the lighter as well as the bong, causing a snafu. It was definitely time to head out when discussion deteriorated into a serious-as-a-heart-attack debate on the intricate differences between “punk” and “hippie” and “bohemian.”
As I took my leave, a schoolmate tottered after me announcing that this was the last time we would ever see eachother. “I love you, Jazmyn” he mumbled to my hair, as we embraced awkwardly.
