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ballad of a lady-diner
Jan. 16th, 2005 02:18 amThis whole not-sleeping thing is getting sort of old. I need to leave in 8 hours; why can't I just sleep? Ay.
White boys in diners can be so scary I feel ridiculous voicing my fear. "Hey ladies," he says as soon as we walk in. Now I'm sorry but even if you discern tits beneath my puffy vest like why the fuck. And why are you entitled to come over where we're sitting smoking and act like you have every reason to believe we should want you to sit with us? Yr presence is so fucking intimidating and threatening. And nothing even really happpened. I try to tell the story at dinner and stop when I'm interrupted, realizing that at any rate no one would understand the anxiety embedded there. They'd just see absence of a plot, like, 'so what, a boy was being flirtatious.' I don't know. Threatened-- what are you trying to prove by hitting on someone so visibly queer? I don't know how *that* couldn't register, here, in the area where I grew up. Everyone here must know the word dyke. (I don't think I was read as a fashion-impaired early-90's-hip-hop-inspired Latina woman as I evidently was at the nail salon in Austin, ps.) What the fuck are you asserting with that "ladies" bullshit?? Why is considered ridiculous for my heart to be in my throat, for us to hold in our pee because we needed to make an exit, because I wouldn't want to use the bathroom there then? Why was I so scared realizing how little and weak I am, even with both of us so fierce. Thinking the only weapon we had is a pair of keys, fists and boots. ((ooh, fists and boots. um, i mean...))
ps thanks Nicole for being brave and Keren for getting what the fuck I meant.
So, anyone wanna come down to University of Virginia with me at some point to go meet Corto and Ev, 2 seemingly-rad Turkish queers? I'd be down for making the trip alone of course but again, that sense of fucking vigilance emerges. That said, I am such a sucker for hot boys telling me to watch my ass.
White boys in diners can be so scary I feel ridiculous voicing my fear. "Hey ladies," he says as soon as we walk in. Now I'm sorry but even if you discern tits beneath my puffy vest like why the fuck. And why are you entitled to come over where we're sitting smoking and act like you have every reason to believe we should want you to sit with us? Yr presence is so fucking intimidating and threatening. And nothing even really happpened. I try to tell the story at dinner and stop when I'm interrupted, realizing that at any rate no one would understand the anxiety embedded there. They'd just see absence of a plot, like, 'so what, a boy was being flirtatious.' I don't know. Threatened-- what are you trying to prove by hitting on someone so visibly queer? I don't know how *that* couldn't register, here, in the area where I grew up. Everyone here must know the word dyke. (I don't think I was read as a fashion-impaired early-90's-hip-hop-inspired Latina woman as I evidently was at the nail salon in Austin, ps.) What the fuck are you asserting with that "ladies" bullshit?? Why is considered ridiculous for my heart to be in my throat, for us to hold in our pee because we needed to make an exit, because I wouldn't want to use the bathroom there then? Why was I so scared realizing how little and weak I am, even with both of us so fierce. Thinking the only weapon we had is a pair of keys, fists and boots. ((ooh, fists and boots. um, i mean...))
ps thanks Nicole for being brave and Keren for getting what the fuck I meant.
So, anyone wanna come down to University of Virginia with me at some point to go meet Corto and Ev, 2 seemingly-rad Turkish queers? I'd be down for making the trip alone of course but again, that sense of fucking vigilance emerges. That said, I am such a sucker for hot boys telling me to watch my ass.
