A picture of me being classy. Fucking classy at that.
Wait.......
that's not
different.....
Crap. Writer's block.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
My First Time (A Deep Moment on My Blog)
This post is one that I wrote a long time ago, but have had strong trepidation about bringing to the public. In fact this was one of the hardest things to write. My blog is where I normally have light hearted stories about my weekends, my cat, and my weekends spent with my cat. Don't worry, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled program shortly.
But this time is different.
I don't know who reads my blog and to bring the story to light means leaving myself vulnerable in every sense of the word. But really when talking about sexual assault there is no other word that could be as applicable as vulnerability.
I write it NOT to have other people feel sorry for me. I have dealt with my past and any lingering issues have blended with others. I write it because I PERSONALLY know at least three other women with the same or a similar story. How many countless others are there with a similar tale they will never tell. Fuck that. It's time to come forward.
April is sexual assault awareness month and the reason I decided the story should come to light. Almost ten years later it took every ounce of strength to post this. The story of 'my first time' is not one of strong sexual assault but pressure. That is not to say I have not been AFFECTED by assault. I have been grabbed, prodded, pulled and touched long after I have said NO. I have waken up with a used condom next to the bed only to find the hand leading me into the room was a sober friend. I have felt dirty, and used, and been degraded enough to go back for more. But I have changed. I AM DIFFERENT. I refuse to be a victim, simply a person with a story. Don't read on if you do not want to.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
I knew at one point or another I’d write a post about virginity since all blog roads lead to sex.
I knew that when it came time to writing my post I’d tell a story the way it’s supposed to be told. It was my first serious long term relationship and although we had not been together long I felt it was love. It WAS, in fact love. Young and innocent love, but love nevertheless. And I decided that I had waited long enough and at twenty I would lose my virginity to him.
It was New Years Eve and we had spent the night socializing with his friends. We danced in the snow with only the lights of his cars and had dinner with his family. It was one of the happiest nights of my life and I remember it like it was yesterday. We drank champagne and toasted to the year to come. We laughed and bonded all night and while I kept looking at him knowing I was the luckiest woman in the room, he was doing the same. We left and went home. It was a magical night and one I will always look back on fondly. The rest is personal other than saying that to say ‘I love you’ while looking into someone’s eyes while making love is an experience words cannot describe.
But that’s not how it happened. That’s just the story I tell people.
Don’t get me wrong, that really did happen and it was beautiful. But I actually lost my virginity over a year earlier. I just havem't made it public to most people, until now.
I was working in an atmosphere surrounded by men. It was the summer I had turned 19. I was a late bloomer into the world of sexual prowess and was just then starting to understand the power. I had finally filled out my figure and knew how to bat my eyelashes and play coy. It was lethal to let me loose in a living situation that had the ratio of guys to girls of 20:1. Through innuendo and tight shirts I suddenly had the upper hand in situations. Everything was an experiment in flirtation.
He was much older than me. I didn’t know how much older as I’ve never been a good gauge of age but I knew he had to be at least 30. He knew my parents through the industry, had known them for quite some time actually. It was taboo, and the attraction was instant.
While my flirting and teasing didn’t discriminate that summer I felt sexual energy in the air between us and k new it could be acted upon. And it did, on my nineteenth birthday to be exact. I had been playing baseball with all the guys and went back for a friendly drink with all the boys. They made a point of making it special for my birthday in a remote area. Everyone went to bed and I followed him to his room to watch a movie. I knew what I was doing.
We watched ‘Indecent Proposal’ and only years later would I get the irony. He kissed me and I instantly felt nervous and knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Excitement and dread were woven throughout my conscious. My sexual experiences to date had been limited to two separate make out sessions and an ‘everything but’ situation. Clothing came off. Then the confession of virginity. He was shocked. As he got out the condom I admitted it was a bad idea and maybe we shouldn’t continue.
Then he kept going.
I said I was scared. He said people are going to think we did anyways, so we might as well... He said he would tell people we did anyways, so I might as well. He wouldn’t let me leave. It was a string of lame lines. But it worked. Shame and guilt are interesting pickup lines. I cried the entire time and he pretended not to notice. Or he didn’t care. But I was too scared to say no. I just closed my eyes and tried not to flinch with the pain. He could tell I didn’t want to go on, but he didn’t stop. Finally I found the words that were clinging to the back of my throat .
Please.
Stop.
He finally did with much trepidation and annoyance. He word stung “it would have been nice to finish”. He said he was a nice guy for not finishing and laughed at my inexperience. He said I was a cocktease. I later found out he was in his mid/later thirties with a partner and they had a child. He ushered me out the door soon after, all the while I was shaking like a leaf. I tried to sleep and forget that it happened but it was too late. The damage was done.
The next day I called in sick to work because I couldn’t bear to look others in the eye. Its like their eyes would permeate through my secret. The rest of the summer I saw him flirt with women even younger than I was. He looked at them the same way he looked at me and it made me wonder if he had got to them yet. It made me feel sick and ashamed. Disgusted with myself, not him.
I haven’t told anyone cause I’ve been ashamed. I was attracted to him and I wanted him to want me. I just didn’t think it would go that far. I wouldn’t call it assault, but it was far from the situation I had hoped for. I was pressured. I was ignored. I was ridiculed. I was a dirty secret. So when over a year later I found my first love and we had that special night I clung to the memory. THAT’S the way it should have happened.
It was a horrible experience and I feel he took advantage of my inability to say NO. But from that point forward I made a choice that I would NOT be guilted nor shamed into sex ever again. I have held this ground. I have made sexual decisions, both for the better or worse, but they have been MY choices. Without pressure. Without having troubles facing myself in the mirror. And that’s a story worth telling.
I will NOT be ashamed by the reflection in the mirror anymore.
But this time is different.
I don't know who reads my blog and to bring the story to light means leaving myself vulnerable in every sense of the word. But really when talking about sexual assault there is no other word that could be as applicable as vulnerability.
I write it NOT to have other people feel sorry for me. I have dealt with my past and any lingering issues have blended with others. I write it because I PERSONALLY know at least three other women with the same or a similar story. How many countless others are there with a similar tale they will never tell. Fuck that. It's time to come forward.
April is sexual assault awareness month and the reason I decided the story should come to light. Almost ten years later it took every ounce of strength to post this. The story of 'my first time' is not one of strong sexual assault but pressure. That is not to say I have not been AFFECTED by assault. I have been grabbed, prodded, pulled and touched long after I have said NO. I have waken up with a used condom next to the bed only to find the hand leading me into the room was a sober friend. I have felt dirty, and used, and been degraded enough to go back for more. But I have changed. I AM DIFFERENT. I refuse to be a victim, simply a person with a story. Don't read on if you do not want to.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
I knew at one point or another I’d write a post about virginity since all blog roads lead to sex.
I knew that when it came time to writing my post I’d tell a story the way it’s supposed to be told. It was my first serious long term relationship and although we had not been together long I felt it was love. It WAS, in fact love. Young and innocent love, but love nevertheless. And I decided that I had waited long enough and at twenty I would lose my virginity to him.
It was New Years Eve and we had spent the night socializing with his friends. We danced in the snow with only the lights of his cars and had dinner with his family. It was one of the happiest nights of my life and I remember it like it was yesterday. We drank champagne and toasted to the year to come. We laughed and bonded all night and while I kept looking at him knowing I was the luckiest woman in the room, he was doing the same. We left and went home. It was a magical night and one I will always look back on fondly. The rest is personal other than saying that to say ‘I love you’ while looking into someone’s eyes while making love is an experience words cannot describe.
But that’s not how it happened. That’s just the story I tell people.
Don’t get me wrong, that really did happen and it was beautiful. But I actually lost my virginity over a year earlier. I just havem't made it public to most people, until now.
I was working in an atmosphere surrounded by men. It was the summer I had turned 19. I was a late bloomer into the world of sexual prowess and was just then starting to understand the power. I had finally filled out my figure and knew how to bat my eyelashes and play coy. It was lethal to let me loose in a living situation that had the ratio of guys to girls of 20:1. Through innuendo and tight shirts I suddenly had the upper hand in situations. Everything was an experiment in flirtation.
He was much older than me. I didn’t know how much older as I’ve never been a good gauge of age but I knew he had to be at least 30. He knew my parents through the industry, had known them for quite some time actually. It was taboo, and the attraction was instant.
While my flirting and teasing didn’t discriminate that summer I felt sexual energy in the air between us and k new it could be acted upon. And it did, on my nineteenth birthday to be exact. I had been playing baseball with all the guys and went back for a friendly drink with all the boys. They made a point of making it special for my birthday in a remote area. Everyone went to bed and I followed him to his room to watch a movie. I knew what I was doing.
We watched ‘Indecent Proposal’ and only years later would I get the irony. He kissed me and I instantly felt nervous and knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Excitement and dread were woven throughout my conscious. My sexual experiences to date had been limited to two separate make out sessions and an ‘everything but’ situation. Clothing came off. Then the confession of virginity. He was shocked. As he got out the condom I admitted it was a bad idea and maybe we shouldn’t continue.
Then he kept going.
I said I was scared. He said people are going to think we did anyways, so we might as well... He said he would tell people we did anyways, so I might as well. He wouldn’t let me leave. It was a string of lame lines. But it worked. Shame and guilt are interesting pickup lines. I cried the entire time and he pretended not to notice. Or he didn’t care. But I was too scared to say no. I just closed my eyes and tried not to flinch with the pain. He could tell I didn’t want to go on, but he didn’t stop. Finally I found the words that were clinging to the back of my throat .
Please.
Stop.
He finally did with much trepidation and annoyance. He word stung “it would have been nice to finish”. He said he was a nice guy for not finishing and laughed at my inexperience. He said I was a cocktease. I later found out he was in his mid/later thirties with a partner and they had a child. He ushered me out the door soon after, all the while I was shaking like a leaf. I tried to sleep and forget that it happened but it was too late. The damage was done.
The next day I called in sick to work because I couldn’t bear to look others in the eye. Its like their eyes would permeate through my secret. The rest of the summer I saw him flirt with women even younger than I was. He looked at them the same way he looked at me and it made me wonder if he had got to them yet. It made me feel sick and ashamed. Disgusted with myself, not him.
I haven’t told anyone cause I’ve been ashamed. I was attracted to him and I wanted him to want me. I just didn’t think it would go that far. I wouldn’t call it assault, but it was far from the situation I had hoped for. I was pressured. I was ignored. I was ridiculed. I was a dirty secret. So when over a year later I found my first love and we had that special night I clung to the memory. THAT’S the way it should have happened.
It was a horrible experience and I feel he took advantage of my inability to say NO. But from that point forward I made a choice that I would NOT be guilted nor shamed into sex ever again. I have held this ground. I have made sexual decisions, both for the better or worse, but they have been MY choices. Without pressure. Without having troubles facing myself in the mirror. And that’s a story worth telling.
I will NOT be ashamed by the reflection in the mirror anymore.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
My Secret Blog
I think I shall make a second blog. An even more secret blog. You'll have to be the Nancy Drew of the web to find it. It'll involve a password and if I could have it with a secret passage way, I would.
The reason?
I now have readers. Yes, I blame you. Six months ago I blogged about NOTHING to my little hearts content. And noone cared. I'd blog about holes in my underoos and why Miranda was only hot in Season Six of SATC. If I didn't blog about it, I at least wanted to.
But now I feel I have to have posts that are funny. Or witty. Or at least will hold their own. Lord knows they don't but still. I mean, you guys have some pretty freaking awesome blogs. Great pictures, funny stories, wacky anedotes. And I have LOLcatz and drinking stories. I'd like to say, well who cares if noone reads my blog other than myself and those I pay to. But the truth is, without you guys I'm just another girl sitting at home on a Friday night crying cause Jimmy won't ask her to the dance.
It's true. And we both know it.
Blogger people are some of the funniest and wittiest people I have ever not met. Well read with great and wordly perspectives. I worry this day will come...
Blog post Don't you guys love the new Miley Cyrus single? I never thought I'd love Disney again since they killed off Mufasa, but dammit that Hannah Montana has won my heart
and it'll be met by the longest silence my comment bar has ever had followed by....
"I can't believe I tagged that girl in my meme once....you think you know someone," woth a forlorn shaking of the head....
"Once I read a story of hers and thought, hey we would have fun drinking together. Now I see she's just a dirty Hannah Montana lover."
"We were gonna meet up in Regina and graze... I feel sick just thinking about it."
It's blog suicide.
And I cannot let it happen. So this blog shall be reserved for perpective, trainwreckiness, and the occasional insight into nothing. Cause really, I owe it to the blogging community. And cause your comments are the green laces in my Chuck Taylors.
But no, seriously, I really do like the new single.
The reason?
I now have readers. Yes, I blame you. Six months ago I blogged about NOTHING to my little hearts content. And noone cared. I'd blog about holes in my underoos and why Miranda was only hot in Season Six of SATC. If I didn't blog about it, I at least wanted to.
But now I feel I have to have posts that are funny. Or witty. Or at least will hold their own. Lord knows they don't but still. I mean, you guys have some pretty freaking awesome blogs. Great pictures, funny stories, wacky anedotes. And I have LOLcatz and drinking stories. I'd like to say, well who cares if noone reads my blog other than myself and those I pay to. But the truth is, without you guys I'm just another girl sitting at home on a Friday night crying cause Jimmy won't ask her to the dance.
It's true. And we both know it.
Blogger people are some of the funniest and wittiest people I have ever not met. Well read with great and wordly perspectives. I worry this day will come...
Blog post Don't you guys love the new Miley Cyrus single? I never thought I'd love Disney again since they killed off Mufasa, but dammit that Hannah Montana has won my heart
and it'll be met by the longest silence my comment bar has ever had followed by....
"I can't believe I tagged that girl in my meme once....you think you know someone," woth a forlorn shaking of the head....
"Once I read a story of hers and thought, hey we would have fun drinking together. Now I see she's just a dirty Hannah Montana lover."
"We were gonna meet up in Regina and graze... I feel sick just thinking about it."
It's blog suicide.
And I cannot let it happen. So this blog shall be reserved for perpective, trainwreckiness, and the occasional insight into nothing. Cause really, I owe it to the blogging community. And cause your comments are the green laces in my Chuck Taylors.
But no, seriously, I really do like the new single.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Bad Mood
I've been in the foulest of moods all day long.
I ate some yummy buttery croissants and hot chocolate to feel better.
It didn't help.
I thrashed out to some hard rock music, which usually makes me feel better.
It didn't help.
I had a bubble bath and read delicious magazines.
It didn't help.
I just watched my cat twitch during a dream and fall off the tv.
That helped.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Truth Shall Set You Free
So after a week or so of browsing Plenty of Fish I have been considering joining. Why? Because I'm a glutton for punishment, the hamster that keeps shocking itself on the nobe so to say.
But what would my profile say? What witty self commentary would make me desired throughout the land without a stream of lies.
So I thought of a nice generic profile. I'm 27, slim with red hair. Yes, I have a professional job. Yes, I consider myself moderately successful. Witty is essential as breathing. I'm not looking for true love or a boyfriend or even casual sex persay, just sending out the feelers to see what's out there.
Then thought, what if I were to tell the truth. The brutally honest truth about myself for the sake of 'not putting turtle wax on the car'. So this is my new improved profile.
Hi, my name is Meghan but you can call me whatever you want because I'm horrible with names and I'm gonna make one up for you for blog content anyways.
I have a really great job where I make a moderate wage but still manage to be broke all the time. So if we could go to a midpriced resteraunt that would be great, that way if we end up splitting the bill (cause I don't expect a guy to pay) I won't be down and out. Thanks. If you're good looking and we drink too much wine we're probably gonna make out. Actually that goes for the average or moderate guy and too much wine. I love wine.
If things go well and you find youself over to my place for THE MEAL around date three or four (who am I kidding, date 2?) I'll make you a great meal. But it will be something that I bought at the store a couple hours before because otherwise we'd be eating microwave burritos. What can I say, I'm single and live by myself. Also while at my place, don't look in any closet or you'll find piles of laundry that have eaten small children. Yes, yes I do have Maxim, Macleans and Rolling Stone in the magazine pile next to the pooper. I'm good like that.
So you want to know about common interests? Do you spend hours on the couch reading blogs and FoodTV? Awesome. If not that's okay too. I also like to go out on the weekends and become a tranwreck. I'll refer you to previous blog posts if you need reference. Oh, you like to do THINGS? Crap. Okay well for the sake of being INTERESTING I'll say I like to golf because I did it once and didn't completely suck at it. Also since I am without a car I can now add hiking to that list. I'm awesome at air guitar, dance offs and pirate jokes.
Don't worry about looks I can clean up pretty nice, but truth be told if this works out within two months (three tops!) you're gonna find me in sweatpants MOST of the time at home. I'm definately the girl that you can bring home to meet mom, but I'll prob pull you aside to have sex on their bed cause stuff like that DOES it for me. I don't share food and I drool in my sleep. But you'll find it endearing after awhile, promise.
Hope you guys like my profile and msg me really soon.
Sincerely,
Meghan
Any takers?
But what would my profile say? What witty self commentary would make me desired throughout the land without a stream of lies.
So I thought of a nice generic profile. I'm 27, slim with red hair. Yes, I have a professional job. Yes, I consider myself moderately successful. Witty is essential as breathing. I'm not looking for true love or a boyfriend or even casual sex persay, just sending out the feelers to see what's out there.
Then thought, what if I were to tell the truth. The brutally honest truth about myself for the sake of 'not putting turtle wax on the car'. So this is my new improved profile.
Hi, my name is Meghan but you can call me whatever you want because I'm horrible with names and I'm gonna make one up for you for blog content anyways.
I have a really great job where I make a moderate wage but still manage to be broke all the time. So if we could go to a midpriced resteraunt that would be great, that way if we end up splitting the bill (cause I don't expect a guy to pay) I won't be down and out. Thanks. If you're good looking and we drink too much wine we're probably gonna make out. Actually that goes for the average or moderate guy and too much wine. I love wine.
If things go well and you find youself over to my place for THE MEAL around date three or four (who am I kidding, date 2?) I'll make you a great meal. But it will be something that I bought at the store a couple hours before because otherwise we'd be eating microwave burritos. What can I say, I'm single and live by myself. Also while at my place, don't look in any closet or you'll find piles of laundry that have eaten small children. Yes, yes I do have Maxim, Macleans and Rolling Stone in the magazine pile next to the pooper. I'm good like that.
So you want to know about common interests? Do you spend hours on the couch reading blogs and FoodTV? Awesome. If not that's okay too. I also like to go out on the weekends and become a tranwreck. I'll refer you to previous blog posts if you need reference. Oh, you like to do THINGS? Crap. Okay well for the sake of being INTERESTING I'll say I like to golf because I did it once and didn't completely suck at it. Also since I am without a car I can now add hiking to that list. I'm awesome at air guitar, dance offs and pirate jokes.
Don't worry about looks I can clean up pretty nice, but truth be told if this works out within two months (three tops!) you're gonna find me in sweatpants MOST of the time at home. I'm definately the girl that you can bring home to meet mom, but I'll prob pull you aside to have sex on their bed cause stuff like that DOES it for me. I don't share food and I drool in my sleep. But you'll find it endearing after awhile, promise.
Hope you guys like my profile and msg me really soon.
Sincerely,
Meghan
Any takers?
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Swear Jar in the Car?
I have a car.
I get it delivered in two to three weeks and can't wait.
I'm excited because it's a black shiny luxury car my mom's bosses boss just had lying around and doesn't use so he gave it to me on a cheap ass discount.
I'm excited because along with a/c and power everything it has heated seats ensuring that I'll have the toastiest ass in town come winter.
I'm excited that the inner ADD kid will be pleased with the 6- cd changer ensuring CONSTANT music rotation for my ears.
I'm excited that the inner tree loving hippy side of me will enjoy the sunroof allowing beams of the gorgeous Okanagan sun to shine on me.
I'm excited that my morales were bent but not mangled for the fact that I don't like buying things that are leather. And it has leather seats. But since my parents bought it for me and I am just paying it back, it's really not My conscience now is it?
But more importantly I'm excited to get benind the wheel and let my mouth go wild. Only when driving wil I spill out enough foul language that no mom would have enough soap in her cupboard to wash it out. I have nooooo shame. And I love it in the most delicious, crude way. So everyone in bloggerville is invited to come for a ride in my car when I get it (and Steph I'll even chauffeur you around!) but don't be surprised if when riding shotgun and listening to my main man Jay-Z you hear
"So I was thinking this weekend we'll go to the Grotto and get a group together and maybe
YOU MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKING TWATFACED CUNTFACED WHORE FUCKING INBRED IDIOT. YOU FUCKING CUT ME OFF AGAIN AND YOU'LL BE LICKING MY FUCKING FENDER AND LOVING IT. FUCKFACE!!!!!!!"
....afterwards we'll head over to the new resteraunt downtown and get a bite to eat. I hear they have great tapas."
I can't wait
I get it delivered in two to three weeks and can't wait.
I'm excited because it's a black shiny luxury car my mom's bosses boss just had lying around and doesn't use so he gave it to me on a cheap ass discount.
I'm excited because along with a/c and power everything it has heated seats ensuring that I'll have the toastiest ass in town come winter.
I'm excited that the inner ADD kid will be pleased with the 6- cd changer ensuring CONSTANT music rotation for my ears.
I'm excited that the inner tree loving hippy side of me will enjoy the sunroof allowing beams of the gorgeous Okanagan sun to shine on me.
I'm excited that my morales were bent but not mangled for the fact that I don't like buying things that are leather. And it has leather seats. But since my parents bought it for me and I am just paying it back, it's really not My conscience now is it?
But more importantly I'm excited to get benind the wheel and let my mouth go wild. Only when driving wil I spill out enough foul language that no mom would have enough soap in her cupboard to wash it out. I have nooooo shame. And I love it in the most delicious, crude way. So everyone in bloggerville is invited to come for a ride in my car when I get it (and Steph I'll even chauffeur you around!) but don't be surprised if when riding shotgun and listening to my main man Jay-Z you hear
"So I was thinking this weekend we'll go to the Grotto and get a group together and maybe
YOU MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKING TWATFACED CUNTFACED WHORE FUCKING INBRED IDIOT. YOU FUCKING CUT ME OFF AGAIN AND YOU'LL BE LICKING MY FUCKING FENDER AND LOVING IT. FUCKFACE!!!!!!!"
....afterwards we'll head over to the new resteraunt downtown and get a bite to eat. I hear they have great tapas."
I can't wait
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Tag, I'm It!
Me, in six words?
Live in reality. Dream in technicolour.
Pretty much sums up the paradox of me-ness between being a dreamer and also trying to stay grounded and guided by logic and love.
I'm too lazy to write out everything about the meme tag, but if you check out the fantastical Fashionista she will explain it to you there.
I tag everyone who wants to try the writing exercise.
Live in reality. Dream in technicolour.
Pretty much sums up the paradox of me-ness between being a dreamer and also trying to stay grounded and guided by logic and love.
I'm too lazy to write out everything about the meme tag, but if you check out the fantastical Fashionista she will explain it to you there.
I tag everyone who wants to try the writing exercise.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Hey Mom, Look What I Can Do!
Super STRESSED at work.
Super BUSY at work.
Being an event coordinator, there is one day that can make or break my job. Tomorrow. Lets hope it goes well.
Peptobismal is the vodka in my cocktail.
If I survive the workweek you'll find me facedown shittered on pavement by Saturday.
Just so that you know that there'll be another trainwreck post coming up I'l give you a warning pic....
The things you gotta do to win your friends a pitcher of beer...
Super BUSY at work.
Being an event coordinator, there is one day that can make or break my job. Tomorrow. Lets hope it goes well.
Peptobismal is the vodka in my cocktail.
If I survive the workweek you'll find me facedown shittered on pavement by Saturday.
Just so that you know that there'll be another trainwreck post coming up I'l give you a warning pic....
The things you gotta do to win your friends a pitcher of beer...
Thursday, April 3, 2008
The Bus Eats My Money
So I've come to terms with something the last couple weeks. Taking the bus is more expensive than driving.
Even with the parking pass I pay monthly for a spot that is only 2 blocks from work. Even with the price of gas rivalling that of the finest cuban cigars that can fill my tank. Even with the astronomical insurance I pay monthly due to the fact that I seem to have a magnet attached to any car I'm driving with gravitational pull towards things that are NOT MOVING.
It's the fact that the bus costs 2 dollars each way to take me to work from home and to home from work. Meh, no big deal. Wrong! I am one of those people that doesn't carry change/cash on me. Now financial analysts will wag their fingers at me and give a lecture about interact fees, but shove it. I don't care. I don't like carrying cash and change because then I spent it. And then I feel guilty.
Why would anyone choose to do that?
So I interact when I will, but minimal at that. And now that I have to carry cash around to take the bus money is literally flying out of my wallet. Five dollars is frolicking towards the magazine stand over there! Three dollars is going to the egg sandwich for breakkie. And odd bits of change here and there are just sucked up into the vortex of my ginormous purse/suitcase with straps.
No other mode of transportation forces me to go to the bank machine throughout the week to get crisp twenties only to break them down into teensy wads of indispensable change which disappear. My gas is paid for in my car in full, on time and without having to break down change. I could get a bus pass, but why do that when right now I am shopping to get a new car anyways! It's like I'm in transportation purgatory.
So I say fuck you to the transit system which is meant to be environmentally safe and a better system for all, because all you're doing is draining money I could be using on more useful things. Like beer and technology things with shiny buttons.
Even with the parking pass I pay monthly for a spot that is only 2 blocks from work. Even with the price of gas rivalling that of the finest cuban cigars that can fill my tank. Even with the astronomical insurance I pay monthly due to the fact that I seem to have a magnet attached to any car I'm driving with gravitational pull towards things that are NOT MOVING.
It's the fact that the bus costs 2 dollars each way to take me to work from home and to home from work. Meh, no big deal. Wrong! I am one of those people that doesn't carry change/cash on me. Now financial analysts will wag their fingers at me and give a lecture about interact fees, but shove it. I don't care. I don't like carrying cash and change because then I spent it. And then I feel guilty.
Why would anyone choose to do that?
So I interact when I will, but minimal at that. And now that I have to carry cash around to take the bus money is literally flying out of my wallet. Five dollars is frolicking towards the magazine stand over there! Three dollars is going to the egg sandwich for breakkie. And odd bits of change here and there are just sucked up into the vortex of my ginormous purse/suitcase with straps.
No other mode of transportation forces me to go to the bank machine throughout the week to get crisp twenties only to break them down into teensy wads of indispensable change which disappear. My gas is paid for in my car in full, on time and without having to break down change. I could get a bus pass, but why do that when right now I am shopping to get a new car anyways! It's like I'm in transportation purgatory.
So I say fuck you to the transit system which is meant to be environmentally safe and a better system for all, because all you're doing is draining money I could be using on more useful things. Like beer and technology things with shiny buttons.
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