"A RUSH AND A PUSH AND THE LAND IS OURS"

So, I'm really just aiming to finish up a few last-minute tweaks on Katie Schwartz's essay collection today. Just like last night. No big whoop. However, this morning, I watched a guy about to get whomped-up upon by a line of people and nearly had to fight a guy myself.

Let's back up.

I was running a couple of errands and was on line when I overheard a guy tell his girlfriend what a great boyfriend he was for coming with her to Planned Parenthood for a follow-up pap test, as she'd gotten abnormal results. (I'm sure she appreciated him announcing this.) Apparently, they'd just been there. He continued that Planned Parenthood was "the worst" place to pick up women because, in his thinking, women in Planned Parenthood have negative feeling about men. Why, his girlfriend asked? Well, because, apparently the only purpose PP serves according to him is to service women who get "knocked up" and "the diseases" and have "no men with 'em". And, he referred to every women there are as a ho. Nevermid that his girlfriend was there being responsible about her health. Nevermind that. The rest of the women were surely skanks. Surely. Oy, what a charmer.

It was so rotten, these words he was spewing, that it was almost laughable. I mean, it was laughable, because it was so unreal. I texted back and forth with Momma's Boy to laugh it off. "Class" he wrote. Truly.

Like many underinsured women, I get a significant portion of healthcare from Planned Parenthood. Regular ol' routine, annual, pro-active screenings, in addition to the majority of that scary not-breast cancer situation over the summer. I go there for all of that stuff. And, I am glad to there and support the organization, anyway. Even if I was better insured, I'd go there. When I have been better-insured, I go there. I like going there.

Anyway, I found this one-sided conversation irritating because generalizations bother me and mean generalizations bother me more. I thought let him say one more thing and I've have no choice but to just turn around and tell him that some women go for birth control and health screenings and a whole slew of other things and his generalizations were unfair and besides getting medical attention for where pregnancy and sexually-transmitted infections are concerned is responsible and not prostitute criteria.

He'd maybe be defensive anyway, but something had to be said. Everyone overhearing this guy rant and pat himself on the back was starting to shift uncomfortably. Was a person who found it acceptable to rant this way in public going to be all love & flowers if I said something? Maybe not. But, the only reason not to say something was if I was more concerned about his comfort than my own. So, okay, keep talking, guy, keeeep talking.

His girlfriend realized all of the pairs of eyes (nine female, three male) cut in his direction and changed the subject.

I was next in line then left, walking down the block to my car. A man was racing towards me. Not like jogging, but like a guy maybe tweaking on something and running like in a panic, while looking around frantically. He got to me and said some nonsense about speed walking and wishing I could see the world through his eyes, baby.

"Don't call me baby." I said.

Usually that sort of comment gets a "pssh" at best. But, he was set off and started shouting things at me only a couple of feet away and started jumping at me as if trying to make me flinch. I kept walking, stepped around him and went about my way. But, he wanted to keep going, so more shouting cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt fuck you cunt cunt cunt cunt. I got to my car, he hopped on the hood, I got out of the car and said, "You're going to get down and leave me alone." which was met with some sort of "No bitch's gonna tell me" rant. This is scary, naturally, I don't know this guy, I don't know if he is armed and he's a lot bigger than I am. But, whatcha gonna do? I want this jackass off my fucking car.

Anyway, I held my ground, he split, finally. I called Momma's Boy to share the bizarre turn of events since the last text I sent. He answered, I said hello, I think, before I realized Tweaky McGee was running back to my car and landed with his hand resting on my car hood. More shouting, more pushing on the car hood.

All this over "Don't call me baby"?!? Surely I'm being punk'd right? I was in Leah's neighborhood. Maybe this was all a big gag. Okay no. Okay, I'm done. I threw my door open and shouted: I am not going to tell you again! and hung up the phone. The dude rubbed his chest and flicked his tongue at me, gross, and offered me a shag (my wording, not his). More back and forth, finally he left.

I got in the car and my heart was beating like a drum! I called Momma's Boy back. Obviously, he had questions, having only heard I am not going to tell you again! and then a dead line.

Man. What a weird hour. Not even that! What a weird fifteen minutes! Gahhhd.

All that before noon!

I'm expecting some Craigslisters to come pick some crap up. They better be cool.

"HOW I LOVE ALL OF THE VERY SIMPLE THINGS OF LIFE"

Man, I was pissed off last night.

It really got under my skin that... well, no wait, let me back up. My family, extended and immediate, has been in some communication time-warp lately, it feels like. Everyone is talking or typing at once, so signals are getting crossed, people are getting their feelings hurt by feeling unheard and undermined and blah blah blah. Anyway, that's not the rub. I say that only because I realized how much it's been bothering me last night when everything came to a head.

So, there's that ahhj, coupled with a few encounters I've had lately that have left me more aware than ever that it doesn't matter how kind I am to people; when given the opportunity to help (a) just themselves or (b) themselves plus another person, most people will pick (a) and I think that's shitty, especially when there's usually no or minimal effort involved in stepping up to option (b). I'm always emailing people- friends and acquaintences alike-- and pointing them to opportunities that seem like a good fit for them and such. I don't do that because I want to job-dig any of them, but because I think it's the right thing to do. I don't think there is any cap on success, I really don't. But, most people do, and I know that.

Mind you, I have a great group I run with. My BFFs are fabulous, kind, thoughtful people who would never throw anyone under the bus and who support me like crazy. No lie. My bullshit threshold is lower than ever and so I'm not talking about that. I just mean people. People I know, people I don't, people I barely know, people I overhear saying things without thinking and without noticing faces dropping around them. I saw mega-selfishness in such a high dose and all relatively at once and it got to me because I don't care about how much money anyone makes or doesn't make, I don't care if your house is fancy or shitty, I don't care if your car is great or a piece of shit, I don't care if you're single or partnered, kids no kids, in shape or out of shape or somewhere in between, well-traveled or well-read or not, religious or not... the only thing I care about, and you're all just going to have to believe me, the only thing I care about anymore if whether or not someone is a good person, a kind person, a positive person. That's it.

The world being like it is, I happened upon something yesterday that was timed perfectly:

"I know I probably should have outgrown this by now, but somehow I'm always surprised when someone-- or something-- lets me down. If you are constitutionally optimistic, as I apparently am, you expect a certain something (call it quality functionality) from the things and the people that surround you, which in itself is not such a bad trait. But, what accompanies sunny optimism all too often is the surprising disappointment that comes when something-- or someone-- fails you."

And, I think fails is a strong word choice there. Especially when something isn't ours to fail us. But, the gist is right. I hear something so short-sighted and mean thoughtlessly coming from people sometimes and I just want to scream. How hard is it to be nice? Are we all so afraid of someone dominating us that we're all getting so aggressive and bitchy and can't just be nice to each other anymore? Is that it? And why, will someone please tell me, why horrible people who don't have a single kind word seem to get everywhere in life? And, sometimes, maybe it doesn't come from a mean place, per se, maybe just a self-involved place, but it's shitty in any case and it hurts people.

I'm old school about few things in life, but I'm sticking to my guns on this one. It doesn't cost anything to be kind. It's just as easy, if not easier, than being a self-serving insufferable asswipe. A lot of people have gotten along really far in their lives by not thinking twice walking all over people around them, but you're not going to get that from me. I'm far from perfect, I'm not Sunshine Pollyanna Dipshit. But I believe that being good and just and kind is about the best thing going. I don't know if I always believed that, but the older I get, the more that's all that matters to me about the people I run into. I just feel like you have a choice every time you interact with someone: harshly or compassionately. And, I wish more people opted for the second choice.

There, I needed to get that off my chest. Jesus. It's really been bothering me. Again. And, yesterday, it all sort of piled on and I was so pissed off.

In other news. I love the colored labels in gmail.

"YOU'RE GONNA NEED SOMEONE ON YOUR SIDE"

Isn't it funny how animals just know when there's a douchebag around? Anyone who has ever come to my house knows my kitten is very sweet and has no shame about rubbing against the feet of people he likes. One or two of you, he loves so much that he'll plop his furry little arse down upon and snuggle like it's going out of style. In fact, I've only seen him really dislike one person, but even then he was just sort of indifferent.

But, there is this guy who sometimes does maintenance on my apartment building. He was around last summer to spiff up a few things around the building, around for that unforch frozen pipe situation last winter, and, right now, he's doing some work in the hallway outside my front door. I have to admit, I yak-yak and make friends all over the place, but something about this guy rubs me the wrong way. He's nice enough, but something is just off about him.

Anyway, my poor kitten has his ears back and his tail puffed up and is sitting in front of me, staring across the room at the door. Every time the dude makes a sound on the other side of the door, kitten meows, looks at the door, looks at me, looks at the door, looks at me, the gets in pounce-mode and slinks a little closer to the door, then scurries back and hides behind my chair. He haaaates this guy, even on the other side of the door. My cat knows bad vibes when he feels them.

You might fool me (though you probably won't for more than a few minutes) but, ohhh, you can't fool my kitten.

"GIRL AFRAID"

I decided Needles-In-Boob and Needle-in-Chest/Lung warranted a treat. I had a few suggestion roll in (from people I listen to) as I explained the day. Suggestions ranged from the very adorable (milkshakes and curly fries, another kitten) to the bare-bones sensible (a day off, sleeping in) to the hard-to-pull-off-at-the-last-minute (a trip to Peru, a day at the spa) to the I'll-have-to-think-about-that-one (a boob tattoo saying "fuck off", an aura adjustment, a walk on hot coals). I love all of these ideas, really, and appreciate them all so very much, but decided a simple manicure and pedicure would fix me right up.

At the salon, a crazy woman with eight ultra-long orange fingernails (the pinkies were chewed off and unforch), kept coming into the place and heckling the nail techs in this freaky, tinny voice. Think Fran Drescher from the deep south. (I like hearing southern accents, love even. I'm not knocking them. Just saying, mixed with Fran Drescher, it's haarible.) My nail tech is Vietnamese, and we were merrily chatting away when the crackwhore busts in and goes, "Hownka ching ching chong! Damn Chinese ladies!" and runs away.

What??? We laugh and continue our conversation about Asian cooking.

Then, she comes back in, sucking on her pinky finger and sucking her teeth and goes, "Do you touch up roots?" And she's waving a box of root touch-up haircolor, presumably from the nearby pharmacy. She says it so weirdly that she's hard to really understand, so she is ignored. She goes, "Ya'll touch up roots or not, waterbug? Chonka ching ching chong!" at the top, and I mean top, of her lungs.

She comes back twice, both times asking customers if their manicures, pedicures, eyebrow waxes, whatever "Feel so good, yeah you like that? Yeah, do you?" But not sexily. Menacingly. Meanly, even. Then, she was just sort of shouting and snorting and singing Coal Miner's Daughter really horribly. Finally she leaves. We all sort of looked at each other then giggled. How weird!

Anyway.

I don't even know where to go with that one. I'm going out to buy cat food before the child claws my eyes out.

"RUSHOLME RUFFIANS"

After one hilarious afternoon of working (a little) and goofing off (a lot) with my friends Phil and ArmyGrrl, I got word that another friend was under the weather and desperately needed a FedEx run. So, I scooted over, snatched her FedExables (That sounds really filthy, but no. Really, I just picked up the stuff she needed FedEx'd.) and went to FedEx. Pack, ship, pay, done and I am leaving and this guy is... hovering at my car with his hand on the door handle. My Bronx-style what is it that you're doing? was met with a tweaky tirade that involved his flailing arms, shouted and angry confusion as to whether I looked like his ex-wife, knew his ex-wife or was his ex-wife, and, for a bit, he was puffing up and right in my face and not getting the hell out of the way. I'm skimming here, but I didn't know whether he was even for real. I half-expected to get beat up and half-expected to hear that I was on Candid Camera. Oy vey. The full moon sure brings it out in people, doesn't it? I keep meaning to ask my medical friends about their emergency adventures during full moons. Anyone..?

On a happier note, I got my super-premium-great-success business cards today. And a super gift from my mother, a book about overcoming the fear I blog about plenty: the schmooze situation. (Thanks, Mom) Kind of cosmic-funny that I got both in the mail on the same day, no?

Is it really Thursday, already? Shit, time flies when you're having fun, eh?