What Not To Say To Women

This is a long post with lots of words and no pictures. It's very important to me so I hope you'll read it anyway.

There’s something important everyone should know about D.C.: Despite it being a town built by, for, and around politics, its inhabitants don’t like to talk about politics. There are exceptions to this, of course, perhaps if you are a devout employee of the Hill or K Street, but even then, for those who have their working hours consumed by partisan maneuvering, many want to think about anything else during their remaining hours.

Several weeks ago, Karey and I were on the metro going back in to the city after watching the UNC v. Villanova game at a bar in Alexandria with some friends. Three men, probably a few years younger than us, boarded and began loudly discussing taxes.

Another important thing everyone should know about D.C.: We don’t talk on the metro. If you’re talking to a friend at a respectful decibel level that’s fine, but we don’t engage strangers in conversation. There’s no need. We all spend a scary amount of our lives commuting on this thing and prefer to use this time to read, sleep, respond to email, or just sit.

As these three men loudly discussed politics on the metro, Karey and I had our own quiet conversation. Until the Cutie turned to us for our opinion. (For the purposes of this retelling, I will name them Ugly Teeth, Angry One, and Cutie because he had a cute face but also because he was petite.) He was trying to seem polite and reluctant with his “so sorry to interrupt your evening” and “if you don’t mind at all” when of course he was interrupting our evening, of course we minded, and of course he knew this.

He asked us for our thoughts on tax brackets. We both told him and the others our opinions and I added that it was kind of pointless to talk to me about this because I’m “borderline Socialist,” thinking this would deter them. But of course it didn’t.

Ugly Teeth moved closer to us and began asking us about politics in general, including who we voted for in the last election. Which you should never ask in D.C. or anywhere. I was just not in the mood and threw Karey under the bus a little when I told them what her political persuasion used to be, thinking they would engage her more than me. Which they did.

Then they had the audacity to ask us why we believe what we believe, why we vote the way we vote. Here’s the thing: I’m not in politics but I love politics and under the right circumstances I will gladly discuss and debate them with you. The right circumstances are not likely to be found at 10 on a Friday night on the D.C. metro with three strange men who clearly aren’t from here and clearly are a little drunk. (Full disclosure: I’d had two glasses of wine so while I wasn’t drunk, I was definitely at a point where my mouth acts faster than my brain.)

It becomes glaringly obvious to me early in political discussions if it’s a discussion for the purposes of edification or a discussion for the purposes of changing someone’s mind. Since I’ve always believed what I believe and always voted the way I vote, I have no interest or patience in engaging those with such divergent views out to change yours. It was clear to me that the instigators fell in this category.

As Karey began explaining how being a woman has informed her current political choices, and they questioned this, I jumped in. Gender equality and believing in, supporting, and advancing Feminism is probably my most passionate belief. So perhaps you’ll understand why this next statement, from Ugly Teeth, caused to me begin yelling and nearly leap from my seat: “Feminism hasn’t been relevant since 1993.”

In just the past month we’ve seen a slew of state legislation aiming to shutter abortion clinics. We’ve seen a high-profile rape trial that victimized the perpetrators and attacked the victim. We’ve seen various institutions try to restrict access to birth control. We’ve seen politicians believe in the existence of “legitimate rape.” We’ve seen updated statistics that women are still paid only 77 cents for every $1 a man earns. But Feminism hasn’t been relevant in 20 years? Feminism is more relevant, and needs to be even more relevant, now more than ever.

In far less eloquent words than I feel I’ve captured above, I said this to the metro instigators. It was the pay statistic that they latched on to. Ugly Teeth said that wasn’t true. Angry One stood by the door, violently shaking his head and declaring, “That’s not true. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.” Never providing a reason as to why I was wrong, however.

When Ugly Teeth questioned my source – Sheryl Sandburg’s new book – because “you can’t believe a book” and then sneered that I “probably got it from Wikipedia,” I was done. I yelled that they were not respecting me or listening to me and that they could leave now. We were done. Ugly Teeth backed away, not believing how quickly it got out of hand, and began conferring with Angry One. Cutie tried to apologize. Karey had her arm out ready to block me if I tried to jump at them. I just stewed and tried to shoot daggers out of my eyes.

They exited at the next metro stop, leaving us and our metro car to breathe a sigh of relief. (I was too occupied by the verbal battle to notice, but Karey said everyone in our car was listening and the women seemed particularly engaged.)

I was angry then and I’m angry now. But I’m also proud that I defended my beliefs and stood up for Feminism, even if I didn’t do it as eloquently as I wanted. (That would be the wine in me making my mouth work faster than my brain.)

Now too, of course, I really do have to laugh a little. I mean, these guys were probably just trying to hit on us (or so a few friends of mine think) and they happened upon two well-educated, politically-minded, pro-equality women who love speaking their minds. I nearly feel sorry for them.

What this incident has showed me is that these people really do exist, out in the world, on the metro. I’m not naïve, I know they’re out there, I see them on TV, I hear stories from friends, I’ve just never run in to any this serious before. And it makes me angry. How dare men try to tell women that what they believe about being a woman is wrong? How dare they exclaim that Feminism is no longer relevant, i.e., that it’s no longer necessary?

We’ve not seen a woman president. We’ve not seen more than a handful of women at a time in the House or Senate. We’ve only just seen women admitted into Augusta. We’ve only just seen women become more educated than men.

We, women, just have so much still to do. And we’re going to do it. Because you can attack our beliefs, you can ignore our arguments, you can disrespect our stances, but we aren’t going anywhere. Good luck out there, metro instigators, your kind can’t last forever.

Who does that?

Due to that don't-know-how-to-drive thing, I spend a lot of time on public transportation. With all kinds of people. The vast majority are normal people just trying to get from Point A to Point B. Then there are the Other People. The clip their nails on the metro kind. (Seen three times.) The pick their nose on the bus kind. (Seen so many times.) The stare at you so long you get off a stop early to get away from them kind. (Happened once.) And now I can add the give you back your hair kind.

This morning, on the bus from the metro to my office, I had a seat to myself, earbuds in, staring out the window. There was a 20ish woman behind me eating an apple--which is such a gross thing to do on the bus--and then a 20ish man in a suit sat beside her. About two blocks from my stop, I hear him start to talk to her. Now, it's a well-known rule that you don't talk to strangers on the bus, so naturally I had to listen to see what was going on. This is how the conversation went:

Man: I think this is yours.
Woman: What?
Man: Here, I think this is yours.
Woman: That hair? That's not mine.
My Inner Monologue: No way, he did not just try to give her back a piece of her hair! What!?
Woman: That's longer and darker than mine. I think it's hers.
Man: Ok.
MIM: What in the hell is happening?!

Then the man reaches his hand around to the seat beside me and DROPS A PIECE OF HAIR ON IT. Without saying anything. I glance up in shock/disdain as he sits back and the woman laughs a little. (I was too angry at this point to determine if it was a "don't upset the crazy man" laugh or a genuine "hilarious, he gave her back her hair" laugh.)

So yes, I lost a piece of hair on the bus this morning and the man behind me felt the need to return it, not exactly to me, but to the seat beside me. Who does that? I wasn't flipping it around. I didn't yank a piece out and throw it at him. I didn't stand over him brushing it. If you ride public transportation you're going to have to get used to seeing way worse things than a lone strand of hair.

Filled with such incredulity that I couldn't breathe or speak, I practically ran from the bus as anger consumed me. But was I over-reacting? Considering what I've written about my hair in the past, the fact that I'm ok losing a strand here and there says a lot. Me gathering loose strands, would be crazy. A man returning a strand to me, also crazy! It's just a hair! (Verdict: Not over-reacting.)

After telling the story to my male coworker, he posited the theory that the man was trying to find a reason to talk to either of the women near him. "But giving back a piece of hair?!" I asked/yelled. "Yes, men will try anything to talk to women," he said. Then my head exploded and I decided to remain single for the rest of my life.

But first I tweeted it, because I wasn't done expelling my rage. And I'm glad I did because my brother tweeted a reply back that instantly calmed me and put everything in perspective:

well atleast he didnt smell it and put it in a envelope.

I can't argue with that, baby brother. I can, however, ensure that the next time I walk on that bus I do so shaking my head and flinging bits of hair about like I'm in a mosh pit.

Saturday night's alright for fighting

Except this past Saturday wasn't so much of a fight. (Unless fight=lay down and die.) In case you missed it, this happened:

Thank you, Did Duke Win?.com. (Though, to be more accurate, maybe we should have a separate domain for Did Duke Get Annihilated?.com Or, even better, Did Duke Get Annihilated On Their Home Turf And Did A Bunch Of Crazies Cry?.com.)

After last month's devastating loss -- still heartbroken, still don't want to talk about it -- we had high hopes for Saturday's rematch. The roommate/bff/fellow Tar Heel, Karey, and I set out for our other bff/fellow Tar Heel Brandie's place on Saturday night to watch the game.

Both decked out in our Carolina gear, we got on the metro and sat in two seats facing each other, beside two boys. We each immediately noticed that vomit-inducing shade of royal blue peaking out of their jackets. But we didn't say anything. I saw the one beside Karey notice my Carolina socks, but still, he didn't say anything. We continued like this for six metro stops before they got off, I shot them a nasty look, and then Karey and I burst out laughing. Sometimes, D.C. is just too small.

We didn't think to take a picture, but I've created this artistic interpretation to fully set the scene.

Thankfully that was the closest we got to Dookies that night, which was closer than Duke ever got to Carolina in points. Which was closer than Duke was ever able to get to the basket. Which was closer than Duke ever got to hitting a majority of their three pointers, field goals, or free thows.

I took this picture during halftime. It's hard to read, but the little stat box is titled "Duke's First Half Woes." That's right, not stats, but WOES. As I'm a classy Tar Heel I will say nothing more.

This was also taken during halftime. We wanted photographic evidence of what Carolina Girls look like when their team has twice as many points as Duke.

We got a little tense when they got within 15, but good prevailed over evil and Roy's Boys did what they came to do.

Other things that happened:

• We had Bojangles for dinner.
• And wine.
• We also took a sip of wine every time a Duke player flopped. I know you know what I mean.
• As a result we were really happy all night. However, was that the wine? Was it the beating Duke part? Was it the Bojangles, the chips and dip, the girl scout cookies, and the peeps? Was it three best friends hanging out? I'll have to answer all of the above.
• We re-created the game with a good old fashioned Peeps Duel

1. Karey marks the UNC peep.
2. Peep Duel: Dook v. UNC
3. Brandie pauses the duel to re-align the swords. The refs look the other way.
4. Another UNC victory! While the UNC one expanded to twice its size -- much like our halftime lead -- the Dook peep, curiously, barely expanded at all. It clearly had a pact with the (blue) devil, too.

And just for fun, our first Peeps Duel, circa  spring 2006, when we were undergrads:



It was a good night all around. (Unless you were a Dookie or a Dook Peep.)

In closing, as part of the pre-game, I wore this shirt to work on Friday. Because nothing says professional like an angry ram on your chest. (And I may or may not plan on wearing the same shirt this Friday for the ACC tourney.)

Bruises heal. Glory lasts forever. Supposedly.

This is a pretty picture taken last year at the beach. It has nothing to do with this post. It's just something pretty so the first things you see aren't my escalator-bruised legs.

I am a triple threat of a lady that easily bruises, effortlessly falls/runs into things, and frequently forgets. Thus on any given day there could be any number of bumps and bruises of unknown origin on my person. Most of the time I barely notice them. Then this happened:

But I know exactly where these came from: A tumble on the metro escalator last week. Or should I say metro stairs because of course the escalator was broken. Because the escalators are always broken. As is the air conditioning in many metro cars. As are the rails or tracks or switches that cause delay after delay every other day. (Can you tell that after nearly four years as a metro rider, in a system that is rapidly declining, I'm a little frustrated? That's a rant for another day.)

While walking down the stairs, my feet slipped and one leg went out, one went up under me while sliding down, and my arm practically came out of its socket grasping the railing. I scraped my right leg from knee to ankle and it throbbed for nearly two days, requiring pain reliever. As a chronic klutz who never has to medicate for bumps and bruises, I was insulted!

There's also a bruise on my hip and a few on my arms. And of course the six-inch scar from the iron burn on my left leg. (I'm trying not to take this as the universe's way of telling me not to be so vain about my legs, which I quite like.) Bottom line: I'm looking a little rough.

A friend told me recently that this flair for bruising (and burning) meant I wasn't the ideal girlfriend as everyone would assume I was being abused. That was nice to hear. Except:

1. Domestic violence shouldn't be treated so casually.
2. I don't really think in terms of what would or wouldn't make me an ideal girlfriend. Ever.
3. I responded that he or she also wouldn't make the ideal boyfriend or girlfriend. No specific reason given; I am just that petty.
4. I really don't care. 

This still got me thinking, of course. Thus my new remedy to this situation, and by extension the situation of my singleness, is to wear a t-shirt that reads:
"Hi! I'm a klutz that bruises easily; I'm not being abused. Also, I look youngish, but am 27. Please feel free to appropriately hit on me. But no actual hitting because I'll sue. Thanks!"

Hopefully I'll have an update in a couple of weeks.

Photos: mine, mine, here, and here.

Now in Technicolor

I bought this cardigan at Banana Republic in June or July and wore it for the first time today:
Standing up on the metro this morning, I looked down to see the woman seated next to me wearing the same cardigan, only hers was gray. So it looked something like this:

Given how many embarrasing things happen to me on a regular basis, it might be surprising that I consider wearing the same outfit as someone else to be in the top three of most embarassing situations ever. Even though I shop at mainstream places like BR, I still spend time each day deciding what to wear and I don't like looking like someone else. Even if it is the technicolor version.

But alas, my attempt to invent teleportation on-the-spot by closing my eyes and wishing, failed. Instead, I just had to laugh. Of all the cardigans in all the metro cars in all the world...

What NOT to do on the Metro

I want anyone who Googles any of these things to be directed to my site, because I have a little story about unacceptable Metro/public/anytime behavior.

Why people on the metro suck
Rude people on the metro
I have a staring problem on the metro, is that ok?
Things NOT to do on public transportation
Unacceptable public behavior

I will begrudgingly give you that continuing to attempt small talk with me when I have in earphones, am reading a book, and have my "I'm a bitch" face on, could most likely be construed as a lack of understanding normal social cues.

However, sitting beside me and proceeding to unabashedly stare at me, from three inches away, is not ok. When I realize you are staring, look up and actually jump because it surprises me, and you STILL STARE, even more not ok. Creeping me out so much that I have to get off at a metro stop that's not mine, just to get away from you, is NOT ACCEPTABLE.

To the creepy guy that did all of this, you should know that I found my pepper spray and am re-adopting my college motto of "spray first, ask questions later." So good luck.

And you should also know, my prison-experience TV show of choice has been Prison Break, and not The Wire. As a result, I'm not that afraid of prison. It turns out it's alarmingly easy to escape them on several continents, and has hot shirtless guys. Did I mention I am also trained in trachea breaking, eye gouging, and shouting "NO!" whilst running away?

I don't think people understand that while I have no ass and a slight Southern accent, I have a temper that rivals John McEnroe, Naomi Campbell, and Christian Bale, combined.

Day 273: Just say no!

The mornings are cooler, pumpkins are for sale, the leaves are falling on the sidewalk in Old Town, making every morning commute a potentially deadly experience, and the allergies appear to be on the way back in. Nowhere near as bad as they were in the Spring, but I still have a perpetually stuffed nose and yucky cough.

In the middle of a coughing fit on the metro this afternoon, the woman in front of me turned around and gave me a cough drop, my first cough drop from a stranger. On the metro. I was getting up to leave when she said "don't worry, no medicine, just Vitamin C," OR "don't worry, no meth, just Vitamin C." Hmm... Either way, as sweet as the gesture, I don't take food items from strangers, with or without meth. So the coughing will continue for now.

Not to be a Grinch but...

Note to all public transportation users in the D.C. metro area: that solid, albeit boney object that your elbow/bag/foot/arm/entire side of your body is repeatedly hitting, is ME. Yes, allowances are made in tight quarters at rush hour. The personal bubble area is significantly smaller, occasional bumps and bruised toes are the norm. But when you consistently hit someone, keep your deadweight arm on their lap for an ENTIRE bus ride, something is wrong.

And while we are at it, as I continue inching myself away from you, trying to meld into the window to get you out of my bubble, do NOT follow me. I'm doing it to get away from you, not to give you more room.

But on the upside, my morning bus driver gave everyone a peppermint this morning. City life isn't all bad.

One more week until Christmas. Four more days to home...