Do Not Touch My Hair Fucker

There was some sort of Ultimate Fighting thing happening at the Event Center tonight and the street outside was like a Frat Boy Factory exploded. The line of assholes outside of bars was thousands deep it looked like. Since J wanted me to walk up and meet him and some friends at a bar I had to walk the gauntlet. I plugged into the IPod in an attempt to insulate myself from the crazy.

It didn't really work.

I think most women have had the experience of men screeching at them on the street. This had nothing to do with me, I was literally the only woman on the street. The shouted and hooted and lord men are ridiculous. Some attempted to be nice but I was tired, my feet were swollen and strange men in backwards ballcaps are trying to bone me in the bathroom of a bar advertising Bladder Buster Night.

At the bar we had the world's worst waitress. Maybe it was her first night or maybe the girl just kept making a living because she was hot and the guys tip her well anyway. She was nice but I ordered a diet coke when I got there and an hour later I still didn't have it. I left J there, it was hot and I was just wiped. I told him I would pick him up because fuck. I have a twelve pack of diet coke at home.

Sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with shit. Walking back to the car (feet BURSTING OUT OF MY SHOES) a guy reached out and touched my hair. Fucking touched the hair of a total stranger. I just snapped my head over and stared at him, he sort of backed away slowly from me. At least I can make a guy's balls shrivel.