Friday, July 12, 2013

Fear My Fanny Pack

Within the last month, I have become a celebrity pedestrian. Like a town needs a sheriff, Chattanooga needed me.

If you're looking to become your city's next pedestrian, here are the requirements:

- leg
- another leg

Do you have what it takes? There may be no cash reward, but you will be rewarded in other ways, such as the following: 

- abnormally large calf muscles
- overactive sweat glands
- pungent aroma

I'm not sure if my city's townfolk know me by name, but they certainly know me as, "that girl who walks everywhere." I am constantly honked at, hollered at, and, on special occasions, splashed with water. Many people offer me rides, but they mainly consist of old men with a toothpick hanging out of their mouth and eyes that say, "You're naked under those clothes, aren't you?" Obviously I am. You creepy fuck.

I've had one woman offer me a ride. One. (This doesn't include people I know. I'm talking about strangers here.) Not only was it comforting to finally encounter a woman on my walk, but it also made it ten times better when she had to remove the child's car seat out of her front seat to make room. Unfortunately, I had to decline. This isn't the 60s, people. Hitchhiking is just as outdated as Snoop Dog. (He's Snoop Lion now.)

(So tempted to say, "And I'm not lion about THAT!")

(Tried to refrain.)


...gin and juice, anyone?

On a different note, has it ever occurred to anyone that a parentheses is a blind smiley face? I mean, look at it:


Let's move on, shall we?

There are three main things that bother me most about having to walk everywhere. And this is coming from someone who loves to walk, so you better take me seriously.

1. I could be a killer too, ya know.

YEAH THAT'S RIGHT. Here I am, fearful of every human being who pulls up next to me and rolls down their window, all because I've seen Death Proof one too many times. And because I was born with a vag.

But what about me? Am I not intimidating? What if I was the killer, huh? HUH?! People should be afraid to let me in their car. They should be afraid to offer me rides. They should be afraid to even look at me. Or breathe in my vicinity. They should be afraid to even GET in that four-door sedan and leave their suburban cul-de-sac with the daffodils popping out everywhere like Asian babies. But noooooooo, no one's afraid of little fanny pack Natasha! Fear me, I say! Fear me! AND FEAR MY FUCKING FANNY PACK.

2. Joggers vs. Walkers

Joggers. You pretentious show-offs.

I don't see anyone asking a jogger for a ride. What if I'm exercising, huh? What? Don't give me that look. Do I not look fit enough to be working in some daily cardio? Do my buns not look like they're made of steel? CAUSE THEY ARE. Actually, you know what? They're better than steel. Yeah, that's right. MY BUNS ARE MADE OF KRYPTONITE. (I'm sorry, Clark. This fact cancels out so many inappropriate possibilities. You never were my favorite, anyway. If you went crazy, no, I would not still call you Superman.)

What I've concluded from all this is that if I were dressed in jogger's attire, strangers would stop asking me to get in their car. (Okay, so obviously if I were actually jogging, they would also stop. But that's like saying they would stop if I were flying. Meaning - it's not gonna happen.)

3. The ass sweat.

Let me tell you one thing: a sweaty ass does not go well with leather seats. I didn't realize this until a friend recently pulled up to me as I was walking and offered me a ride. I hopped in, escaping the scorching heat, and we went on our way. I didn't realize how sweaty I was until I got out of the car and caught a glimpse of two shiny buttcheek-shaped spots on the seat. Nervous my driver would also see the glistening oval shapes, I instinctively threw my bag onto the sweat stains. Then, realizing I couldn't leave my bag there, I immediately picked it back up. He didn't question my moment of physical Tourette's, and I was grateful for it. He did, however, look down at the seat. And then he looked at me.

"Err...sorry...about the...sweat OKAY SEE YA!"

Then I ran away. Like, really. I was running.

IF YOU HAVE LEATHER SEATS, DRIVE ON. I'm lookin for cloth, and cloth only. The smell may linger longer, but at least you won't know that it came from my ass.

Besides those three things, I've come to embrace my celebrity status. I am Chattanooga's prized pedestrian, and I'm proud of that. At least it was better than anything I was known back in Nashville for.

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