Tag Archive: alone


I don’t normally do this…

I don’t generally repost other people’s blog posts as a whole or engage in any feminist debate. I think this speaks for itself. Direct link below and the text of the post.

And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important.  Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman.  How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in everyday life.  How most men, even good caring men, have no clue what we go through on a daily basis just trying to live our lives.

So here goes.

I often ride the Metro when I commute from North Hollywood to Long Beach in order to save money.  I bring a book, pointedly wear a ring on my ring finger to imply I’m married (I’m not) and keep to myself.

Without fail, I am aggressively approached by men on at least half of these commutes.  The most common approach is to walk up to where I am sitting with body language that practically screams LEAVE ME ALONE and sit down next to me or as close to me as possible, when the train is not crowded and there are many empty rows.  Sometimes an overly friendly arm is draped over the railing behind me, or they attempt to lean in close to talk to me as if we are old friends.  Without fail, the man or boy in question will lean to close and ask me

What are you reading?

Is that a good book?

What’s that book about?


This serves the double purpose of getting my attention and trapping me in a conversation.  If I stop reading the book I enjoy to talk to you, random stranger, you hit on me or just stay way too close to me.  If I tell you to leave me alone, you get mad at me.  Because I somehow, as a woman, owe you conversation.

Tonight when I boarded the train in Long Beach at 10:30pm, it started up right away.  I was not on the train more than three minutes before three boys who looked eighteen sat in the row behind me and leaned over the seats into my personal space, close enough to breathe on me.  The one with his arm draped over onto the back of my seat asked me—surprise— “what are you reading?”  I went through my usual routine.  I told them loudly and firmly that I wanted to be left alone to read my book.  They got angry.  I was told “Why are you going to be like that?  I just wanted to talk!”  His friends start laughing at me and they don’t move, telling me come on! and why are you gonna be like that? until I tell them to leave me the fuck alone, stand up, and move to the front of the car near the three other people on the train, a couple and a business man in a suit.  They spend the next two stops shouting at me from the back of the car, alternating between trying to sound flirtatious and making fun of me, shouting “I bet she’s reading Stephanie Meyer!  I bet she’s reading Twilight or some shit!  You reading Twilight or some shit?”

They exit the train at the next stop, and I’m relieved.  The train is going out of service at the next station, so we all exit to board a new train to Los Angeles.  As we board, the business man steps aside to let me go through the door first and asks me if those guys were bothering me.  I say yes, that it happens all the time, and he tells he’ll beat them up for me if they come back.  He is a nice person who talks to me like I’m a human being instead of a walking pair of tits, and I make a mental note:  This is how a real man talks to a woman on a train.

The business man and the couple exit our new Blue Line train an exit or so later, and I think my night is ending on a good note.  A seemingly normal man enters the train with his bicycle.  At this point I am three rows from the front of the car, another man was sitting near the back of the car, and the rest of the car is empty.  Bicycle Man walks halfway down the row, and settles into the seat directly opposite me.  Perfect, I think.  Twice in one night.

It’s not the first time I’ve been bothered multiple times.  As such, I’m still amped from the teenagers on the first train.  So when this man leans across the aisle into my personal space and asks me, yes, what are you reading, I assertively but calmly tell him to please leave me alone, I am reading.  The man stands up, moving to the front and muttering angrily over his shoulder that it isn’t his fault I’m pretty.

Yes.  Exactly that.  I am the bad person in this situation because somehow this is all my fault.  I started this by being attractive.  I am making a mental note to bitch about this to my friends later.  I go so far as to write it down so I know I’m remembering it properly.

It is at this exact moment I realize Bicycle Man is not taking it well.  The seemingly annoying but normal man a moment before is now talking to himself, becoming agitated.  In my years of being bothered by total strangers, I have learned how to hold a book and seem to be reading while taking in everything around me.  He is glaring at me, and says out loud in an angry baby talk voice “PLEASELEAVEMEALONEI’MREADING.  PLEASE LEAVE ME ALOOOONE.”

Then he’s up out of his seat and things go from bad to worse.  He begins pacing back and forth in front of his bike, alternating between screaming something about his mother being dead and calling me a slut, a hoe, a bitch.  I am frozen in place.  There is one other person in the car, and I’m not sure if trying to change seats will draw more attention to me or less. I trust my instincts and show no fear, doing my best to appear to be calmly reading my book, never once looking up to acknowledge the abuse he’s hurling at me.  There are four stops left until we reach the main downtown station where there are lights and security officers.  Those four stops are virtually abandoned, and I have no guarantee that leaving to wait for another train won’t motivate him to leave the train as well, leaving us potentially alone at a metro station platform just outside of Compton.  I’m frozen in place, trying to plan what I’m going to do if he decides to take all this rage directly to me.  I’m ready to kick him, scream, make enough noise that he panics and flees.

At this point he’s punching the walls and doors of the train, screaming at me.  He stares me full in the face and screams

SUCK MY DICK, BITCH

YOU BITCH

YOU STUPID BITCH

YOU GODDAMN HO

IF I HAD A GUN I’D SHOOT YOU

I WOULD FUCKING KILL YOU BITCH

This went on for two stops.  No one came to see what was happening.  The man in the last row was as frozen as I was.  I’m not angry he didn’t come to my defense.  He was smaller, older, and frailer-looking than I was.  Again, I was worried if I got up, I would be turning my back on him to walk down the aisle.  In the state he was in, I had no guarantee it wouldn’t get physical, and I had more physical strength with my back to the window and feet in kicking position where I was.  If he had chosen to assault me, I would only be making it easier for him by standing up and putting myself directly in his path.  On and on, over and over, he screamed at me, screamed at his dead mother, screamed at me again.

The moment we reached the downtown station, I was out the door and down the stairs.  I still had to catch a connecting train to North Hollywood, and made sure there was no sign of Bicycle Man before I entered the car.  That’s when I finally starting shaking, and almost threw up.  By the time I exited the Red Line and reached my car I could barely breathe and my heart was pounding out of my chest.  Even now, in my own home, my hands are still shaking and for some reason the stress has made my back muscles feel cold and numb.  From all the tension, I can only assume.  I can’t eat anything, I still feel like I’m going to vomit, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cried so much, so hard I still have the headache.

So when people (men) want to talk about “legitimate” forms of assault, tell girls they should be nice to strangers and give men the benefit of a doubt, tell them to consider it a compliment, tell them to ignore the bad behavior of men, I want them to be forced to feel, for even one minute, what it feels like to have so much verbal hatred and physical intimidation thrown at them for nothing more than being female and not wanting to share.

I just wanted to read my book.

It’s not my fault I’m pretty.

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On R(emembering)…

Yes, I’m thinking on you again. Some people might be wondering “Why?”

I don’t know. Some things just won’t go away.

I know what’s my fault. I fell in love with you. It happens seldom enough that when I do fall, it’s significant.

I miss you a lot.

Not the you who restricted me out of your life…the you that you were when we were happy. The you that made me smile and laugh. The you who would talk for hours about yourself and your worries, wants and loves. The you who sang me Tim Minchin songs in bed. The you who couldn’t keep your hands off me.

I wasn’t looking for you at all. I didn’t even know who you were when you found me. You asked me out. I told you all the things that would make that difficult. I gave you an itemized list: distance, my kids, time needs, old wounds, other love interests, etc… I gave you fair warning about who I was and what I needed. I asked if you were dating anyone outside of your wife, who is a friend. You said no.

You pushed. You pushed hard. You wanted a strong secondary relationship. Not a primary, you had H and I had D; but for me to have a strong influence in your life and you in mine. We started calling it ‘main’ cause it wasn’t exactly primary… but wasn’t exactly secondary either.

I relented. I had no hopes for the evening to turn out well. You charmed me. You made me laugh.

You encouraged me to let down my guard. I worried about emotional attachment. About becoming attached too quickly. You encouraged it and you said you were becoming attached too. I loved.

Finally, you had me. For almost two months, things went well. You started dating another secondary, B. One that you had omitted spending 2-3 nights a week with when I had asked if you were dating. There were issues with scheduling from the start. All the things we had agreed on for us, didn’t work for her. All the things you said you didn’t want to do with her, she wanted.

Suddenly, the majority of our time was being used up, not to meet our needs together; but to meet B’s needs.

That’s when you stopped pulling me to you and got distant. That’s when other omissions started becoming clear. That’s when you started pushing me away. That’s when our relationship started being last on your list. That’s when you started shutting me out of parts of your life. Kink. Public time. Energy. Focus. Communication. Sex.

I asked if you were done? Being me, though, when you said no, you loved me; my immediate thought was that you meant it. Because I don’t play mind games. When you offered things to me, it didn’t occur to me that those would become ‘ways I restricted you’ or ‘things that I asked for’ later. I believed in you because I loved you.

I wanted to save what we had…because I was in love with you.

We made it through the holidays and then you needed a ‘break’. You were stepping back from both me and B and would talk with each of us about our schedule. In the mean time, we’d each see you one evening, shared; and one night, alone.

I tried to sort out what went wrong. I thought maybe I made a mistake. You punished me for placing restrictions on you that I never asked for and then you punished me for trying to fix what was now broken. You accused me of manipulating you. I didn’t get time with you for 2 weeks.

We all shared a non-kink weekend event. You didn’t seem to miss me at all. I had to ask for time alone to reconnect. You commented about how we were so easy together afterward. I found out during that weekend that you’d already taken back B.

I waited another two weeks for you to talk with me about our schedule. We had a weekend long kink event, you and me and B. I left that weekend feeling like I had to force you to spend time with me.

Two days after the event I finally broke down and had to ask you what my schedule was going to be with you. And you cut me further out of your life and cut our time down from what our relationship started with by two thirds.

One night a week.

Really one night a month since I’d have to share that night with your other partners 3 out of 4 weeks a month. And you couldn’t explain how that was fair to us or me.

I asked about options:

Could we alternate another night between me and another of your partners?
No.

Could you let me know when you had days off so I could hermit with you like your other partners?
No.

Could I come up to you on a week night and spend a few hours, though I couldn’t stay overnight cause I’d have to get the kids off to school in the morning?
Maybe. Sometimes. Not every week. You weren’t sure.

Could I be included in your community meetings, like your other partners?
No.

Could we make a time during the day that was ours?
No, daytimes were for you.

Could you give me a phone call one or two nights a week?
No. You hated talking on the phone.

I asked again how was that what we had wanted out of our relationship. How was that fair to us. How was that going to meet our needs as a couple.

And you were done. You quit. I ‘wanted too much’. I couldn’t give you the ‘distance’ you needed. I was ‘unhealthy for you’.

All of 4 hours after completely rewriting our relationship, you were done.

And I didn’t and don’t understand; what I wanted from you at the end of our relationship was the same thing we both said we wanted at the beginning… and you insisted that you still wanted those things too.

And I’m still left with not understanding. I can’t get the answers from you. We haven’t really talked for a while. Not really talked. I try to keep it light, because it still hurts when you get angry or defensive or blame me for us breaking. Suddenly, I’m the only one at fault. You won’t admit to doing anything wrong. You can’t see the other things that affected us. My truth is ‘just my perception’ and your truth is the truth.

I know there were things I did that were wrong for you. You’ve said so. But you won’t talk to me about what they were. You won’t explain how they were wrong. You won’t explain why you hid them from me for so long. You won’t explain when you started feeling them. I don’t want to fill in the blanks myself, cause that’s not fair to either of us. So the questions simply sit there. And occasionally fly around my heart and cut me again.

You don’t seem to miss me. You didn’t seem to mourn us at all. Most of the time you act like we don’t still have feelings for each other.

It’s been six weeks.

And at some point, I admitted to myself that I was missing you still. I feel foolish because I still care, still miss you and still want to fix what didn’t need to break. I want to talk about burying the past and getting back together. Trying us, now, out for size. Not a primary, we both already have one. But a solid secondary relationship. And that was when I realized it wouldn’t matter… we’d had that. And it wasn’t worth enough to you to protect it or fight for it.

I started writing an email. About what I’d need that was ‘less’ or ‘different’ than what I needed before. And that was when I realized I DIDN’T WANT TO KNOW if you would just pull away again. That was when I realized I don’t have lower needs from you. Focus, energy, sex, kink; all based during time that was ours. My time with you being treated with respect by you and B. Being treated fairly. Not being shut out of your life. Open, honest, clear communication. Remaining honest with me about your sexual activities, for our safety.

I had never asked you for your focus during time that was someone else’s. H’s time was hers and I respected that. B’s time was hers and I respected that. I never had to be everywhere you went. I was perfectly able to greet you, show my love and say goodnight without interfering in your time with another partner when we all ended up in the same space.

But if I asked for the same respect, I was being selfish. I was interfering. I was ‘trying to take things away’. I was being ‘negative’. I was ‘isolating’ you. I was being ‘manipulative’.

But it doesn’t end there.

I still can’t turn off the caring. I still miss you. I still love you. I don’t particularly like you right now, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care. It doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you like crazy.

You can’t stop either.

We still talk everyday. You still ask me for my advice. I still talk to you about my day. We still spend time together within the community.

Why can’t I turn you off? I’ve never had a relationship sour so quickly, never been accused the way you accused me, never been treated as… low in value as you treated me at the end. I’ve had years long poly relationships in the past. More than one. What happened?

Movie Day

Yesterday I was home alone for most of the day. I probably should have cleaned my house, but I sat down to watch some movies instead. (I have a continually growing stack of DVDs I haven’t seen, that random people give to me) I got four in, more movies than I’ve watched in the last oohh… couple of months combined? An American Haunting, Ghost Ship, The Lovely Bones, and What Women Want.

I liked all of them in different ways, none were spectacular in any sense. Haunting was probably my favorite with Bones stealing second place. They both had some actors/actresses I like and solid performances but neither one really had that special oomph for me. I generally adore Sissy Spacek and Donald Sutherland who were both in Haunting plus Rachel Hurd-Wood(who is in my favorite version of Peter Pan** to date) and James D’Arcy are both becoming folk I’d pick up a movie just because they were in it. Plus I’m a sucker for ghost/poltergeist movies, though I was a bit disappointed that I guessed the big reveal before it occured.

Bones has Rachel Weisz and Susan Sarandon, who are fantastic, plus Mark Wahlberg, who I am consistently surprised that I like. Plus, who played Ray in that movie? … ah, Reece Ritchie is ridiculously cute as a mid-seventies teenager. I did love the special effects, especially the ship-in-a-bottle scene. And Stanley Tucci? Perfect.

Ghost Ship I’d place third, again mainly because it had actors I really like, Gabriel Byrne(who was fantastic as Satan in End of Days)and less so Julianna Margulies and Ron Eldard. Plus, the beginning scene where the entire deck of passengers gets bisected by the wire? Fucking great! I had to pause the movie I giggled so hard. And Emily Browning is adorable, I love her lips!

WWW… was fine. There were a few cute scenes, and I have to admit seeing Mel Gibson in hose was amusing, but it was definitely a mediocre movie. I love Helen Hunt, though she’s more of a solid actress than a blockbuster for the most part. But, really… meh.

** Peter Pan is great, makes me cry every time. Jason Isaacs as Hook? Fuck. Yes.