Riding In Skirts With Boys

I was gonna do another goldfish thoughts post, I even wrote some down while I was working today, but alas, in my hurry to get the hell out of the office and into the sunshine, I left the list in my drawer. Sooo instead I'm gonna write about my ride home.

If you don't know this by now, I'm just gonna come right out and say it, I'm sexist. Well... maybe that's not the right word... what is it called when you just dislike humans in general? Oh yes, antisocial. So I'm antisocial, but I don't discriminate equally, I very much dislike men more than anyone else. (I should probably disclaim that if you're my friend, I very much love you, and if I don't know you, I don't dislike you... yet.) Yeah yeah yeah, stop generalizing, stop painting with a big brush, stop judging everyone by your experiences with an individual... SHUT UP! You probably have a penis, or have lived a sheltered life, or maybe you pray a lot and Jesus loves you, but if you had to deal with the bullshit I have to deal with, and I can almost guarantee, EVERY woman has to deal with at some point or another, you'd be bitching too.

Whew, ok so let's get on with my ride home. Well... about 8 hours before that actually... So this morning I was having a really hard time figuring out what to wear. Mostly because I haven't done any laundry and all my pants and leggings are dirty, so that left me with skirts and dresses. I'm required to dress business casual at my new job, which basically means I can't wear my usual baggy-tshirt-over-leggings-and-a-hoodie ensemble. No worries, I have a walking closet full of clothes I never wear because they're not biking appropriate, unfortunately, the fact I get to wear them now doesn't change the fact I still have to ride my bike to and from work (though I often cheat on the way back and catch trax at the Library...). Anyway, left with no choice, I put on my cut-off leggings and zipped up a skirt over them. Voila! Business casual. Now, I do not have pretty legs. It doesn't matter that I've been biking nearly every single day now for three years, my legs will always be bowed, cellulite-ridden stumps that begin with a huge ass and end in cankles. I could blame my mother's side of the family, but it's not going to change anything. I tell you this because I am not the kind of girl who's going to have you drooling when I wear booty shorts, which means you're not going to give me a second glance, except maybe to make sure you did just see a ghetto ass on a pasty white girl.

Have I still not talked about the ride home? Stop letting me get sidetracked! Ok ok, so with all of that information in mind, here is my ride home:

I climb onto my bike and the second I start pedaling, my skirt rides up, which is ok because I'm wearing those cut-off leggings, right? So I'm riding up ninth south when a truck pulls up next to me and someone catcalls from inside. Normally, I wouldn't be bothered much, except for I'm pretty sure this is the same truck from lunchtime, when I walked a few blocks to get to work and while waiting for the train, truck guy was calling out to me and whistling the whole time. Not only does that get annoying, but when you're walking by yourself and someone you don't know is giving you that much attention, you get a little unnerved. So, not wanting to deal with "the look" (ladies, you know exactly what I'm talking about, that look that makes you feel really dirty and uncomfortable) and some more catcalls, I race past the truck who is waiting at a red light, and with a quick glance left and right, run through the light. Of course, it's just my luck that the next light turns red because trax is crossing the street. So, in order to avoid being stuck next to truck guy at this light as well, I place myself in the middle of the lane so he has to stop behind me. This is what I had to deal with all the way home. I get on trax and a bunch of creepers start asking me if they can see my tattoo, I get off trax and some idiot wants to lead me through the throng of rabid football fans because apparently my bicycle with revolving death pedals isn't going to do the job and I'm in need of a fucking knight on a white horse. NO!

Ahhhhh. Hate is exhausting, but I'm in quite the mood after dealing with morons all evening. Tomorrow will be better. Come to Midnight Mass and I promise to be friendly and nice, even if you have human DNA and XY chromosomes.