May 26 - Tuesday

I hate Netscape. Remind me not to try to type one more stupid diary entry while online. Okay, now let me sit here and try to remember everything I just typed so I can type it all over again. Grumble. Too bad someone can't hit Netscape in the face with a pie.

Okay. The makeup thing. First: I notice people are nicer to me when I'm wearing makeup, because this is a sick country. Second: I can't resist all the coupons for cosmetics at my local grocery store. Third: I noticed that in T.J. Maxx's full-length mirror, I looked like a frumpy old hag. So I started wearing makeup.

The other day: Went to McDonald's, and the guy in the drive-"thru" window tells me:

"I could be even nicer if you weren't married."

Whatever! Like, can I please go back to being a frumpy old hag now? Okay, so then I was saying (in this diary entry, before Netscape froze my screen,) stuff about witty put-downs to guys who hit on you and how I never say any. And then, I mean, it's one thing to silently slobber while watching the host at Café Brazil. It's another thing to try to verbally seduce someone from your place of minimum-wage work. I mean… someday I should drive around in my car and say "Hey sweet daddy shake that thing gimme some of that cherry ooh you know how to work it baby mm I'm getting' hungry for some of that oh yeah baby show us your you know what pss! ai papacito! I'd like to" etc.,etc. to all the guys and see if they like it. Some of them would, but most of them wouldn't, I suspect. Not coming from me.

So then I was saying something about how when I was younger… I was modestly saying how I was no Daisy Duke or Adrienne Barbeau, but I wasn't fat and I wore lots of eye shadow and I had an MTV-video-vixen kind of thing going on in the fashion department. And that my dad used to jokingly-yet-forlornly tell me that I looked like a clown or that I had Kool-Aid on my face. Or sometimes he would ask me, out of the blue, if I was prepared to gouge out someone's eyes with my thumbs. And I'd say "Eww! Gross!" And at the time I thought that all men always yelled out nasty things to all women on the street. Like, oh my gawd. Guys can be such total dogs. Gag me with a spoon. Does my hair look okay? When am I gonna get discovered? Do I look like a star?

And at first I was fearless and I would roll my eyes or say "Tsk!" Or if the guys were especially persistent, I would flip them off or let loose with my potty mouth. I'd say, "Tsk! Shut UP you grody fucking dork! Like, go to hell! Gawd! Gross!" I did that til I learned my lesson.

Then I was doing a public service announcement kind of thing, when Netscape conked out and shut me down. So let me pick up where I left off.

Parents: You have to explain things to your kids so that they will understand. You can't just say "Be careful, honey," with a grave look on your face and expect your child to think, "Oh! I see! They mean for me to be careful because there are perverts out there who will say nasty things to me!" Your child can't know about perverts unless you explain it to them, or unless they find out for themselves. I know it's embarrassing for some of you to talk about, but you have to, okay? Please do it.

Young women and men who might be reading this diary even though I told y'all it had mature themes and bad words: Please be careful out there. There are lots of perverts in this world who go around harassing young people and who would love to rape and/or kidnap you. I'm not saying you shouldn't wear makeup or you shouldn't dress stylishly, because to be honest with you, that doesn't really matter where some perverts are concerned. I'm saying you should be careful. Be aware of your surroundings. Don't walk alone in bad neighborhoods at night. Don't stop to curse out perverts - just get away from them.

Okay, so I wanted to say that one time I was at the bus stop with my friend, who was also wearing tight clothing and tri-toned eyeshadow. And this guy drove by and asked if we needed a ride. And we said no. And he drove around the block and came back. He was wearing a white shirt and a tie. He was about forty. He asked if we were sure we didn't need a ride. Were we pretty young ladies sure we didn't need a ride? We were sure. Tsk. Gawd.

He went around the block again. This time I was ready for him. I was going to tell him something. Check this out, I told my friend. "Look man," I said, "We don't need a fucking ride, okay?" Ooh! Put down! Busted!

The guy slammed on his breaks. He said, "Fuck you, you little bitch. I wasn't talking to you, you dirty little whore. I was talking to your friend. I don't talk to nasty goddamn bitches like you."

For once I was stunned into silence. I stood there with adrenaline shooting through my veins, wondering what would happen next. The guy was actually smiling at my friend now, poised to open the passenger-side door in case she decided she wanted a ride. What a psycho. What a maniac. What if he gets out of the car? Should we start running?

And thank God the bus driver came and honked his horn. I don't know if the pervert had any parting remarks coz I just got on the bus quick. And after that I walked a couple of blocks to the next bus stop in the mornings. And I never cursed at perverts again. I just ignored them, or I said "No, thank you." Coz that's what kind of country we live in. But I guess it's not as bad as it could be. Lots of countries are worse for women, they tell me.

So that's the kind of stuff I started thinking of when the guy at McDonald's made his offer to be "nice." I didn't say "no thank you," or "fuck you"… I just laughed, I think. Coz it was so bizarre. Is it just wearing makeup that does it? Is that my choice? Either look frumpy, or put a few hundred molecules of colored dust on your face and be prepared to hear about what construction workers want to do to you. Put on that eye-irritating mascara, you sexy slut, if you want men to know that you're open to suggestions. Is that how it goes?

For some people, that's how it goes. Your Honor, I killed her because she was a dirty whore. She winked at me from the convent window. She wanted it bad, your Honor. Woah, hey, what's this? Don't I get one phone call? Who's this big guy in the cell with me? What? No, man, I'm not winking at you!

I hear stuff about how fat women are fat because they're afraid to attract men. I don't know if that's true. It never would have occurred to me if I hadn't heard it on the radio. I just really like cinnamon rolls.

For me, this is how it's gonna go: I'm gonna wear the makeup. If I get tired of it, fine. If not, fine. But either way, I'm gonna keep my eyes open, and I'm gonna tell my kids to keep their eyes open, too.

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