"Can I ask you something and you not hate me for it?"
A coworker asked me this the other day. This trapped me. I mean, I can't say "no," right? I can't say, "No, I'm definitely going to hate you. Don't ask me." So I said yeah.
I told you I said yeah.
"Are you a lesbian?"
I thought she was joking.
"So are you?"
She wasn't joking.
"Oh, sorry...do you hate me?"
"No, I don't hate you...but why do you ask that? Is it the way I dress?"
Well that makes it a little better.
"Then what is it?"
"I don't really know."
And that just makes it worse. Now I wish it was the way I dressed. I mean, at least I can change that. I can dress girlier. But she just "doesn't know?" That means that I'm just sending out lesbian vibes. I can't change that. I can't tone down the lesbianness that I had no idea I was even emitting. And now she's squinting her eyes at me like she doesn't believe me. How do I convince her?
"I am VERY satisfied with boys. I mean, I'm not "very" satisfied, but I'm satisfied. I mean, I'm BASICALLY satisfied. I mean...boys."
Wow. Great fucking job, Natasha. I'm sure she's convinced now. I'm sure she believes that you like boys just because you are capable of saying "boys."
I let it go because it was ONE person who asked me that and that didn't matter much. Until a few days later at work, when a different coworker approached me with a question.
"Are you dating anyone?"
"Dating? Yes, I am."
"What's her name?"
"I...uh....her? You mean his...?"
"OH, his? Oh, sorry! I thought...sorry!"
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.
So this made two incidents, which is two more than I would liked to have had, and it started to make me paranoid. The next day at work I couldn't get it off my mind. Don't do anything lesbiany, Natasha, I kept telling myself. "Tone down the lez," as my friends had advised me once they heard of my dilemma. I decided that a nice, cold glass of lemonade would help keep it off my mind, so I approached the bartender to ask which pitcher it was in.
"What's in this pitcher?"
"Oh, okay, so is this other one the lesbian?"
"Is it the...what?"
"LEMONADE, LEMONADE! I MEANT TO SAY LEMONADE!"
"Yeah...that's the lemonade...not the---"
"I KNOW I KNOW NEVERMIND."
Then I awkwardly walked off in a fit of nervous giggles without even pouring myself a glass of "lesbian." I need to stay out of pubic. Especially since this happened earlier this year.
The worst food to eat around a cat: string cheese.
I've grown to know enough people in this city that when I walk anywhere, I get offered a ride. This does not count the random honks from strangers in pick-up trucks, which I'll never understand. The honks come from behind. What're you honking at, boys? You can't even see my face, which means you must be honking at my calves. I guess they can see the long hair, but what does a honk do? What goes through the male mind at this point?
And they say we've evolved.
What baffles me more, though, is when a friend offers a ride and then takes back the offer. This happened the other day, and it went a little something like this - actually, it went exactly like this:
Text: I just drove past you! Do you need a ride?
Me: Yeah, that'd be great!
Text: Well I already drove past you, sorry!
What? Of COURSE you already drove past me. According to you, you drove past me twice. What made the first time different from the second? You're in a car. I'm walking. You're driving. If it's possible to drive without passing something, please, be sure and let me know.
Why does this make me so happy?
I just stepped outside for a moment and a blind person began hooting at me like an owl. I ignored him because I don't think he's actually blind. Is this paranoid? LOOK - the guy didn't get up from his chair until I stepped out there, and then once I did, he faced directly toward me, as I sat there holding my breath, and yelled, "WHO'S BIKE IS THIS?" I didn't answer. I didn't even move. It's not that it was a blind person, it's that it was a person in general, and I'm in writing mode right now - not talking mode. Or breathing mode, obviously. Once I did not answer, the man began to hoot.
I took this as my cue to step back inside. I've never been hooted at and I've decided that I don't like it. Why are owls seen as wise? They don't know shit, if you ask me. They're constantly asking questions, and not just any question, but the same fucking question. "Who?" Fuck if I know. I'm not the "wise one" here. God fuck.
After stepping inside, I watched the one blind mouse immediately walk away. He obviously had seen me. Or smelled me. It's a hot day and I've been walking, what? You'd sweat, too if you had a two hour hike and overactive sweat glands. I'm really not ashamed, you know. It's nothing that can't be fixed. All I need is an ice cold glass of lesbian.