Tuesday, June 21, 2011


I know it's late at night. I know I'm wearing shorts (it's summer). I know I'm alone and on foot. SHUT THE FUCK UP. Don't stare. Don't yell. Don't invite me up to your bro-den to have drinks. Don't ask me to turn around and give you the ass view. Don't drive by slowly and gawk. I just want to leave my fucking house and come home in peace, but I'm a woman and that's not fucking allowed, apparently.

UPDATE: I wrote a creepy retaliatory note while wearing large winter gloves (I read a lot of forensic crime novels and didn't want to leave any fingerprints or trace evidence, okay?), but since I walk by that house all the time, I figured it best not to escalate in case the bros recognize me during the daytime. Instead I have ordered boxing gloves and a heavy bag to install in the basement for times like this. We've been talking about getting one for awhile, anyway.

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