Sunday, August 23, 2009

we hate tyra banks.

last night i was at a bar in my hometown (where i'm on vacation) and this fag (i thought) started talking to me a lot. i was sitting on a bar stool and he was standing at the bar, and he kept leaning in too close but it was hard to scoot away from him since i was sitting on that tall stool.

the way i got stuck talking to him is that classic thing that happens where you are talking to someone you know, then one of their friends comes up and joins in and then the person you know sees someone else they want to talk to (or they're beckoned away, or whatever) and then you're stuck with this stranger to whom you've just been introduced but could give two shits about.

so i'm sitting on this stool and he's smothering me and wanting to tell me all about his charmed little life in my hometown. something about growing up rough and tumble somewhere and everything being hard all the time, yet still having this fiercely loyal hometown pride despite the fact of the town never having given you anything you didn't have to absolutely beg or bruise for, then having to listen to so many buddy holly bespectacled hipsters talk about how cool and quaint the town is makes me want to punch people in the face.

this kid works for a feminist magazine, and something about him being a "feminist man" and yet still feeling entitled to a job in publishing that should really and truly be being performed by a woman, and also feeling entitled to super invade my personal space, also made me want to punch him in the face.

i'm about to finish my cocktail and walk away when he starts telling me how he's obsessed with tyra banks and is writing a piece about her for the magazine. finally something semi-interesting in his lengthy monologue. he's getting excited about the topic, so he leans in even closer and i say, "could you step back a little, you're in my space a bit." and then i'm annoyed with myself. why do i soften things for people like him? why ad the "a little," and the "a bit," or even the "could you?" why not just say "step back please, you're in my space."

ANYWAY. he steps back a teeny tiny bit and i grab the stool with my legs and use the bar as leverage to hoist my stool over a teensy bit as well. between the two of us, we've made a few inches of progress.

i tell him how i don't really like his magazine that he works for, but that i will read it if there's a piece about tyra banks. i ask him what he's going to write about but he's not sure yet. it's just a subject he wants to tackle.

i tell him about the only episode of tyra i've been able to sit through, from beginning to end. it was a few weeks ago, where she had this super adorable little pregnant ho on the show. the girl was 20, she'd gotten pregnant and couldn't deal with having an abortion. likewise, the thought of giving her own flesh and blood up for adoption seemed tragic and un-doable to her. she didn't have a job and the baby daddy lived with his parents and wasn't willing to step up at all. she weighed her options, which were none. she had a lot of morning sickness and started showing almost immediately, yet still she toted her ass around town and applied for like 100 jobs, none of which wanted to hire a foxy little visably pregnant high school dropout.

long story even longer: she got a job at the bunny ranch in nevada, and she ended up being one of their most successful ho's. a lot of men, it turns out, fantasize about having sex with a gorgeous pregnant woman. (i can understand this as my own desire for sex with a lactating woman is so strong that i once made this little bra/holster thingy in order to hook up a juice-box of ricemilk to a girlfriend's tits.)

the whole hour was devoted to shaming this girl, telling her story after story about people who've made due with nothing, etc etc. she was like, "yeah, i know i could've had the baby and just been destitute and lived in a shelter. but i wanted to have a car and money for diapers."

i watched the show at work, of course, because that's the only place i ever watch daytime tv since i don't have a tv, and also because i hate it. the girls often just have it ON, though. and once in a while i get sucked in. plus when it's slow we like to have something to bitch about, and tyra is as good a topic as any.

so we yelled at tyra from the beginning to the end of the show. where most of the audience jeered the little ho, we took to her immediately. hers was a plight we understood: needing a lot of money, fast, and having little else besides your good looks to go on.

i told the guy that he should write about tyra's annoying way of pretending to be a feminist but actually being a fucking bitch who's totally willing to shame and dog other women for the sensation of it.

he said he was more interested in writing about how she's not a feminist because she spearheads the objectification of women by posing in her bra and panties all the time. i told him i didn't know how that would make a good story at all. pointless. been done. weird. not great.

he kept on leaning in on me and i pushed him and said, "i told you already: you're crowding me."

he took my hand, then, and said, "i'm sorry," and i noticed how tiny his hands were. this combined with his lack of adam's apple made me wonder if he was trans. but i didn't really care one way or the other. i just wanted to be away from him. his breath was hot and i didn't want him holding my hand. i really don't see how "get away from me" suggests that i want you to hold my hand. try working on your game, buddy.

i told him goodbye and he pulled me into an awkward sloppy hug. this also made me want to punch him. but instead, i just went home and crawled into bed with my on-again off-again (ex)girlfriend. she smells so good! especially when she's sleeping.

1 comment:

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