So today I had the second alteraction with a man in less than a week in which I repeatedly told him, this one a friendly aquiantance whose personality has degenerated to the point of essentially being intolerable, to leave me alone.

The backstory:

When my friend David was alive, he worked some magic and made this asshat tolerable. Sure there were issues-he had this paternal way of regarding me-a kind of oh isn't she charmingly misguided but let me explain how things really work. And I let it go because it was occassionally.

Now, after David died this guy has degenerated into a more and more patronising attitude towards me until last night, to my mind, he stepped over the line. He engaged the Doberman in an argument about stem cell research. He's one of those twits who really thinks anyone who disagrees with him just needs to be properly educated. Now my boy posse, they are nuanced thinkers. So of course captain asshat started relying on all these bullshit weasel-y logical fallacies.

The Doberman pointed out a few, and I pointed out a few. And while he had enough respect to counter with the boy posse, he completely disregarded my say.

Back to the Rising Action:

So today he comes in and finds me sans boy posse. (They went to get lunch, and I was guarding their stuff which makes me...what is the opposite of pussy whipped?) He says "I got the sense you were very angry with me last night." And I told him that he doesn't take me seriously. And instead of just listening and taking the criticism he starts in with defending himself and explaining how my perception of events is wrong and challenging my allegations.

Now, do you see the problem?

If he took me seriously, he would have listened and processed my comments instead of being worried about being "right." But instead it's about being right.

Classic mistake.

So then when I challenge him it's that he's a guy. That's my problem. I'm just another misandrist. Which is why I spend every fucking day of every fucking week with the boy posse. The boy posse who oogle women in front of me, who complain to me about booty calls, who tell me tales of private school hijinx. We argue. We bust each others balls. These are wimpy ridiculous caricatures of masculinity. These are men. And I like 'em.

They also wouldn't make the mistake of being so patronising towards me.

So the boy posse enters, and instead of talking to me he starts defending himself to them. The Doberman calls to his attention that he should be talking to me, not them. Now I've told him several times to leave me alone, stop talking to me. It's a simple directive. Just leave me be.

I have a temper. When I say things like "just leave me alone." It's best for everyone if you listen.

But he won't listen to me. So I decide to leave because nothing will be settled this way. So what does he do? He follows me out yelling at me that I'm too sensitive, and I twist what he says.

I'm too sensitive.

Then this nelly goes in and tries to convince the boy posse that I have issues with men and I'm too sensitive.

The boy posse tried to get him to see reason-essentially if I have issues with men I have the strangest way of coping with it. And certainly I am not too sensitive as that we regularly give each other shit. I am well known as a girl who can dish it out as well as she takes it. And notice he wouldn't, for a minute, consider that there was SOME veracity to my remarks.

What an outstanding asshat.

Not interesting to anyone but myself, but I had to vent. And wonder what it is about men that when I say "leave me alone" they think the SMART THING to do is not follow that simple imperative.

Anyone?
I know that your saying to yourself, "Where the hell are Bunni's insane halloween pics?"

I hear your cry.

Unfortunately my suddenly tempermental wireless does not. I should be finishing my NYCHFF coverage as well as my syllabus. Tomorrow I am going to pimp my boy posse's technology (as I am now) or perhaps I can lure the lovely Bakerina into a deal where she uses my apartment and I use her laptop.

Long story short-have lots to do and not enough access to necessary technology.

But to keep you entertained until my fabulous photographs are up I thought I would entertain you with one of the things we HEARD on Halloween.

Kiss Kiss tricked out as the Grim Reaper's personal assistant and I were sitting by outside having a drink at a bar/restaurant. As we got up to leave, we both overheard the two men at the next table. One, who looked to be 27 years old ( a way of saying old enough to know better), was saying, "So this chick is naked. I mean full on naked. And she's sorta hot, but she's got bush."

Now you say that in proximity to me you better be talking about her political beliefs. Have we really gotten to the point where men have such twisted ideas about the female form that the mere presence of public hair is unattractive?

I mean, sure, I shave my legs. Maybe not as often as I should, but still I do. I've even bikini waxed. I get manicures and pedicures. I pluck my eyebrows. I'm no stranger to grooming-or even pain in the name of grooming but I don't think the complete and utter absence of pubic hair is a standard to which all women should be held.

Now some chicks LIKE to be hairless. And that's fine. As long as it's what they enjoy. But guys before you start holdin' women to some of these standards-do me a favor. Look in the mirror. A full length mirror. Naked. Look hard. And think about all the things a woman could cringe over in your physique. Body hair? Flab? Lack of muscle tone? Body blemishes? Nostril hair? Balding? Corns? Dry, flaky skin? Ingrown toenails? I'll be honest. I could keep going, but I would rather not.

So yeah I got bush. What about it? And the first man who asks me to wax or shave it, well all I got to say is, "Sure. We'll shave each other. You first, of course. It'll be fun. I've got a really steady hand. I promise I'll be careful. Could you pass me another beer first though?"
So this Saturday should alternatively be titled "How much can straight men piss of Bunni in one day?" I was already fairly pissy about not having costume parties to go to despite having an AMAZINGLY great costume, when I got a voicemail from this guy I met once to come and talk to King Lear.

So I went. Like a schmuck.

I'm not going to go into details, but I'm going to say this much-any man who on our second encounter is already complaining about how cold I am-whining little bitch who doesn't deserve my attention. I'm distant for a VERY good reason-which is you have to EARN my affection it is not an on demand deal. I am not cable. You do not order me, nor do you try to emotional blackmail me into being a "nice person" by saying things like "Ya, this side of you is really not attractive."

As we used to say in voice class, "How dare you" show up late and start telling me that I'm unattractive. Oh and then drop that you've done research about me online with lines like "You don't know what you're students say about you." Not to mention that if you REALLY did research you would know that I was using you to put the married man in his proper place in the spectrum.

And, incidentally, My students TOLD ME about the Rate my Professor tab they started about me. They also told me about the Facebook page they started in my honor. And it's fairly insulting to think I wouldn't google myself ona regular basis to see what people are saying about me.

So after an hour and a half of this moron not being able to follow simple directives like "Leave me alone" I did what I have never EVER done before. Not even to the guy who asked me to dress up like a thirteen year old girl and pretend to be raped by him.

I walked out.

And then the married guy who panhandled for an invite to the E XXX orcist premiere party called me a half an hour before we were supposed to meet to cancel. So I decided not to go to the party.

Thankfully later that night my friend Notorious BIG asked me out to dinner. He's old skool and so it's a proper dinner out with wine and good conversation. The conversation ranges from Pompeii to disabled children to a thoughtful analysis to Eric Larsen's A Nation Gone Blind. So of course I would met the perfect man and he would be old enough to be my father. And he would have issues with how young I am. I don't have issues with ages. I don't have issues like that. It's so rare I met someone who just lights me up like that I wouldn't let age bother me. Can you believe it young beautiful WILLING girl-and the older man he just won't bite.

But if anything in my life were easy. Well, it wouldn't be MY life then would it?

Well, I would go on, but Prufrock is here. He is the one who not only saved my computer meltdown and got my wireless fixed, but also explained the origin of the word "internets" and informed that Bush recently referred to using "the google."