Monday, January 28, 2008

Defeating assholery, one sexist turd at a time

Readers, sometimes a woman's gotta fight for her space.

This past Saturday, a friend of mine, a gay, built, black and fierce man that I affectionately call "Foxy Brown", invited me to a "Suds 'n' Speakeasy" party in Hollywood. Foxy and I bonded some years ago at work. He's no longer employed at my firm, but remains one of my closest friends in LA. I hadn't seen him in a while, and his parties are a guaranteed good time, so I was looking forward to my night out.

I invited my friend Liz along, because the poor girl has been overworked for the past few weeks. I knew we'd have a great time socializing with Foxy and his boys, playing beer pong at his place before walking down the street to Club 86, the latest Hollywood hot spot.

The night didn't progress exactly as planned. It has been absolutely pouring in LA for a week, and the rain was torrential on Saturday night. Streets were flooding, LA is just not used to that kind of weather, and Hollywood was a hot mess. It took Liz and I way longer to find parking than usual, simply because we had to park as close to the party as we could (we were going to have to walk in that pouring rain, after all!). We were late arrivals as it was, and we drove in circles for so long that we missed out on Foxy's home party. I gave him a call to let him know that we'd meet him and his peeps at the club.

Looking like a pair of drowned rats, Liz and I got a couple of drinks and walked around 86 for a bit. Randomly, she bumped into somebody that she used to work with, and we all chatted for a while. Foxy and his crew showed up about half an hour later, and we all wound up on the dance floor, laughing and having a great time.

The night took a bad turn about half an hour later. There was a small group celebrating a birthday party, and most of them were on the dance floor with us. Birthday Boy was a very large specimen, around 6'5", and very, very toasted. He kept bumping into people and basically acting like an SUV driver - you know, "I'm bigger, get out of my way." That attitude. I'd already had words with BB, because he'd bumped into me so hard that half my drink wound up on the floor. He had also pulled Liz's hair. When I called him out, he leaned down and drunkenly sneered, "Ohhhhh, I apologize. It's my birthday!" The guy skeeved me out. Earlier in the evening, Liz, who has "the hearing of a dolphin" (as she puts it), told me that she'd heard him talking to a random group of guys that were standing by the bar about ten feet from where she and I were dancing. "Go over to them!" he yelled at these guys, indicating us. "Those girls want you!"

Uh, no, we didn't. Nice try.

We tried to ignore BB, we really did, but he made it impossible. After bumping against a few members of my party, he came up behind Liz and slapped her on the ass with a loud WHAP. Now, Liz is a very easygoing girl. It takes a lot to shock her, and believe me, she was shocked. She was also in pain, because this man was the size of a large gorilla. Stunned silent, she just tried to get away from him.

I was furious. "Did you just slap her ass?!" I yelled at BB.

"You're damn right I did," he laughed at me.

"You FUCKER!" Right in the middle of the dance floor, I put both hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could, knocking his drunk ass back into one of his boys. "YOU DO NOT TOUCH HER."

BB FUCKER put his hands up in shock, as if to say 'Did this little girl actually just push me?!'. "Oh, ohhhhh, I apologize, I apologize, it's my birthday! What's your problem?"

"My problem? My problem, asshole, is you putting your hands on my friend. You don't put your hands on someone. You keep your fucking hands to yourself, loser." My lightly buzzed self made the "L" sign with my right hand.

Now BBF's buddy got involved. "What's your problem?" he demanded. "You have the wrong attitude. You need to relax."

No he didn't! "You socially stunted moron." I spat. "He does not have the right to touch her, or anyone, and I don't give a flying fuck if it's his birthday, or if he's drunk. Do you see other drunk people acting like assholes?"

"I apologized!" BB yelled.

"ONLY BECAUSE I CALLED YOU OUT," I yelled back. It was getting ugly. People on the dance floor were starting to step back.

"YOU HAVE THE WRONG ATTITUDE," Mr. Asshole Enabler started to yell. By this point, Foxy and his friend Eric had noticed what was going on, and the sight of the escalating skirmish - most notably the sight of two large men leaning down and yelling at a certain pissed-off redhead - sprung them into action. The next thing I knew, my boys were squaring off with Slapper and Enabler. I heard a lot of "No, no, NO, dude, back off," and when I explained what was going on, Foxy in particular got even more pissed. There was some pushing. The Asshole Duo had finally realized that Liz and I weren't alone, and now they were going to have to deal with our whole crew, so they were starting to back it up. It's sad, isn't it, that these idiots would only back off when they realized that Liz and I had guys with us that were willing to throw down? I mean, can't a woman have a good time without getting hit on the ass by some random stranger?

It got worse. While my boys were correcting these degenerates, one of Slapper's female friends came over to defend him. Readers, the only thing I hate more than a man who defends disrespecful behavior towards women is a woman who defends disrespectful behavior towards women. This little blonde started in on me, asking me to "forgive" the jerk because he was "just drunk and having fun."


"This is fun for you?" I demanded. "You think that was fun for my girl over there?"

"Oh, he didn't mean anything -"

"So, if you're in a club one night, and you get slapped on the ass by a stranger, that would be okay?"

Stunned silence. Then, "Is that what he did?"

"No, I'm making it up for fun."

She looked back at Slapper, who was slowly backing away from the human wall of Eric and Mr. Brown. "Well," she said, "he's going to be scolded for this tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes. "Girl, I don't give a shit. He'd better step off right fucking now."

I went back to Liz. "If I become a stripper," she joked, "will you be my bodyguard?"

"Woman, you need a bodyguard already!"

That was the end of that. Their crew gave my crew a wide berth until we all left. I have to say, despite the night's assholery, Foxy Brown and Eric restored my faith in men a little bit. They told those guys to back off right away, no explanation necessary. They saw disrespect and corrected it. Hos before bros! How refreshing.

"Damn," Liz said as we settled into my car for the drive home, "this is probably my frumpiest dress, too."

"The dude was a waste of space," I replied. "You know we never meet decent guys in clubs."


Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Oh, hell no!

Poor Paula Abdul. I feel her pain. The uber-creepy look that this guy gives her right before he starts singing? I know that look. Run Paula, run!

Labels: ,

Friday, January 11, 2008

You can't handle the truth

Major props to Echidne for her analysis of sexism in the current presidential race. An excerpt:

"It's not clear to me what percentage of Hillary-hatred is based on her personal history or on political manipulation by those who prefer another candidate (yes, manipulation is quite common in politics) and what percentage is based on a general fear and loathing of women in power. But the latter percentage looks to me to be much higher than I anticipated.

And that is why it is important to dig deeper into this whole sordid spectacle. The problem is not just that Hillary is bombed with sexist insults and that some of those bombs end up exploding in the living-rooms of American women. The problem is the reason for these sexist insults, and the reason is not just to have some fun teasing women, but to keep women out of certain parts of the power structure.

Why the wish to keep women out? There are both psychological reasons, starting from that Biblical verse of man being the head of woman, continuing into that whole murky psychology of masculinity and what it means for a man to take orders from a woman (emasculation! eek!) and into a similarly murky psychology of femininity and the needs (inculcated?) to have a man take care of the important business, and cultural/historical reasons, from the fear of the unknown (we have never had a woman president) to the acknowledgment that this is the planet of the guys and as long as other guys won't respect a woman, electing one isn't going to help in running the business of politics, either domestically or internationally."

I have nothing to add, it's perfect. Go read (her links open oddly slowly; the post's name is "New York Times on Sexism."

Labels: , ,

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Whoa, I can't believe that line didn't work!

I've seen Adrian Grenier in person, performing with his band at Hotel Stoli in Hollywood. He is a hottie bobottie, straight up, but...

Just 'cause he's hot, doesn't mean he's smooth. Had I known that he employs this approach, I wouldn't have wasted my drool.

Labels: ,

Living doll

Why doesn't this guy just buy himself a Real Doll that he can dress however he likes?

Monday, January 07, 2008

Still dateless in LA

Buried at
Buried at


Readers, I have no date stories for you right now. Unfortunately, this internet thing is turning out even worse than I had expected. While I am corresponding with a few guys who seem polite, the vast majority of the men who have contacted me are a hot mess.

Por ejemplo:
• I have gotten a few emails from felons (still in prison), who are, for obvious reasons, absolutely out of the question. Aren't I the picky bitch?

• Got an email from a guy whose text read "U R hot. That is all." He attached a picture of himself, naked and apparently fondling his honker.

• One very special 26 year old suitor said - in his very first email - "Hey there, i know this is odd, but i was just wondering, are you good at giving head? Do you swallow? Do you take it up the ass??"

Odd? Does it sound odd? It sounds fucking disgusting, dude. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME. What in the fucking fuck?!

From the emails I get, one would think that my profile pictures feature my breasts popping out of my top, or my ass in the camera as I bend over. Not a bit of it. My profile is - wait for it - a shot of me in jeans and a tailored button down! Le Scandale! Nothing screams "I'm a slut who's asking for it!" like COVERING YOUR ENTIRE BODY. I get the sinking feeling that even if I wore a burqua in my picture, some asshat would email me to ask whether I'd let him fuck me in the ear. I'd better not say that too loud! That'll probably be next.

Freaks, freaks, go away! Come again another day. Or never. Never works for me.

I shudder to think that one day, these guys may BREED.

The good news is, it won't be with me.


Friday, January 04, 2008

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has ever called me a bitch

Your assigned reading for the day.
Hat tip: Jezebel.

New post coming soon, I promise!


I'm a C-list Blogebrity
A Member of Bust's Girl Wide Web

< ? Redhead Blogs # >

Personal Blogs
Personal Blogs /body>