troglodytes and tanslucent shirts.

it's no secret that i'm frequently exasperated by the actions of the men in my neighborhood and their salivating, fetid leering and obscene and/or otherwise offensive comments. no, wait. exasperated is not the word. enraged, perhaps. infuriated. one of those. mainly because despite my repeated snarlings and slashings and spittings in the face of their attention, my brandishments of mace and large pointy objects, the only thing that calls these curs off is the presence of another male. sad, but true. unless i am with a man who clearly has some sort of claim on me (as in, he knows my name and occasionally looks me in the eye when i speak to him), i get treated like, essentially, a piece of meat.

(this is a common rant, i know. but there's a point to this. promise.)

it's gotten to the point that i can't wear certain things unless i either cover it with a muumuu or have a boy on my arm. thus, imagine my pleasure at having an escort for the bulk of the weekend! i got to wear whatever i damn well pleased with no fear of harassment! proof that we're all still living in the dark ages, but such is reality. but i digress. so, for two evenings, i cavort around in whatever vestments i damn well please, without my trademark 'fuck off and die' defense face, because the men in the neighborhood, however crass they may be, don't piss on other men's trees. at least, not obviously.

despite this lovely respite, bit of freedom, my whiskers were tuned, primed to defend myself or anticipate trouble at every step.

of course, let's not forget the fact that it had grown lazy in its two days off.

saturday night rolled around, and im' trotting about in some slinky little heels and my favorite green strapless dress and blow dried hair. we slip outside briefly to indulge in a cigarette. a man passes between us on his way to the garden. he looks down at me along the way (he being tall enough to see down the top of my dress), assesses me briefly and says:

"i really like your br--" i brace myself, preparing to throw him down the stairs if he says what my hackles are thinking is about to be said "--acelet."

(did i forget to mention i'd also been wearing my wonder woman power cuff?)

as you can see, i've been warped by living in the brooklyn quasi-ghetto. i now expect to be offended by whatever people i don't know choose to say to me.

paranoia, as they say, strikes deep in the heartland, eh?