SlutPride

There's this thing called SlutWalk Houston that I plan on attending in July. It's happening about three blocks away from my house in the Cherryhurst neighborhood and that's why I'm going. If it was four blocks away I wouldn't bother.  This idea started in Toronto when the Police Force's view of sexual assault is "women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized." The idea is to condemn a victim blaming culture and to push the fact that sexual assault is never justified and the victims are never at fault.

My husband's sister lives only one block away so I called and asked if she wanted to join me.

"Is that where you wear old make-up and club clothes from the night before?" she asked.

"Well, I was thinking I'd wear an over-sized t-shir t with pit stains and mens boxers carrying my panties in my purse and just hang around waiting for a cab. But whatever "slut" means to you."

I never actually had to take a cab home. I usually had my prolonged awkward shame in the passenger seat of his car as I was driven back to my own car or my mom's apartment. Move over, mommy. Dianne needs coffee. And luckily, that only happened once. I was in two 5-year relationships almost back-to-back before I met my husband and actually dated a few guys in-between. The one-night-stand felt a little too dirty to turn into a habit.

But I do like to pretend to be slutty. It's fun. I also like to pretend I'm a lesbian during Gay Pride weekend (which is happening this weekend, by the way). I don't make-out with other chicks or anything , but if I see a hot butch staring at me I smile and offer a carrot to the unicorn she's riding because there's NO SUCH THING as a hot butch lesbian! What did you think I was going to say?

My lunch hour is over and I need to get back to work. That's good because I didn't know how to wrap this up anyway. Usually when I want to end a conversation I get put on an uncomfortable face, apologize and tell the person I really need to go to the restroom.


Eeeesh. Ahhhh. I gotta go pee. Sorry.

 

Hello, Loved Ones

"Well, it's finally the afternoon. This morning went by so slow, right?" I said to D'Angelo.

It's  12:31. D'Angelo just sat there, unresponsive. D'Angelo is a blue, plastic back massager I purchased at Beth Bath & Beyond.  D'Angelo  just likes to do his work and not talk. I've found most inanimate objects are all like that. That's fine with me. Who am I to judge, right? I've got my own issues, so I don't let this get in the way of our friendship.

I'm hungry.

No, I'm not. I only said that because it's 12:36 and most people are at lunch. Sometimes I say things because it's time to say them. I actually don't have an appetite today. I let a co-worker in my car pool use my car to go to the gym. If he wasn't at the gym with my car I'd be somewhere else in my car instead of writing to you, Malachai. That's what I've named all of you reading this. I've lumped you all together into a big blob in my head and named you Malachai.  I actually hate that name because it reminds me of that creep in Children of the Corn. I don't hate you guys at all. If you're still reading this bullshit after that first paragraph up there, then you're good in my book, Malachai.

I'm practicing the art of throwing my brain out into the nothing with a loose grip on the line. I do that when I've hit  a creative slump. I recommend it to everyone. Helps me unclench all my stress-induced compressed body parts. Some people go to the restroom. That's gross. I write instead.

It's 12:53. Yes, I took some long, introspective breaks while writing this. I hope you didn't notice. My co-worker just brought back my keys. I'm going to leave now.  

Hold down the fort, D'Angelo. He's on it.

Purse Inventory 6-9-2011

Poop Bags
For my dogs. Not me.

Snot Tissues
For me.

Tiny Notebook
For funny ideas. It's empty. Check twitter.

1 lipliner

4 lip glosses

1 chapstick

Astros tickets
Dugout seats. Club level passes and two parking passes. Don't hate on me.

Poop Spray
For me. Not my dogs.

Small Mirror
I pretend it's for applying lip gloss, but it's actually for booger checking.

Small hair barrette
That's where that fucking thing went. Haven't seen it in months.

Two Pennies
When I dig for change for the snack machine this is all I ever find.

Crumpled Grocery List
I forgot the avocados.

Used Condom
I'm just kidding.

Sun Glasses
Because the sun in Houston will melt your damn eyeballs. (It's a different sun.)

Checkbook
I'm on check #174

Glasses
When allergies make me scratch my eyeballs out it ruins my contacts and I need these.

Green, snappy wallet thingy
Holds all my important cards. And my business cards that nobody wants.

PhoneAlthough this is usually not in my purse. It's usually within inches of my body at all times. I'm staring at it right now. I have a love/hate thing with it.
Car keys

iPad
You can hate on me.