Why Me? Please Stop....

I’ve been told that I am very attractive my entire life and while I love being pretty and all that jazz, there lies a love/hate relationship for me with my looks. One of the most hated things I have is…being approached….by thee most undesirable men in the history of Life. I freaking hate it!!!

Now some of you can recall my memorable story on the subway where the man was literally fondling his genitalia near me…and using me as his muse. That was way back in the beginning of the Summer 2008. Some of you may also remember the man from the club…that was married…but not in a relationship as well. That was also sometime during the summer. Since then, however, so many things have occurred, I swear I could have my own book based on my stories alone. My life as far as being approached goes is seemingly never-ending and not to complain…but dammit I’m tired!

You see, there’s a reason that I chose not to share such ridiculousness so often on my blog. There’s a few reasons that I don’t talk about why when I go to the club with my homegirls, I tend to stay in one spot, versus venturing off and getting overly social…even after drinks. There’s a reason I sit down at the club at all costs at least a couple times while there instead of standing all 6-feet-2-inches of me (in heels…I am 5-feet-9-inches tall in reality) and dancing like the non-amateur that I am more often than not. There’s a reason that I don’t give my number out but to extremely few. There’s a reason I absolutely hate getting gas for my car, especially at night. There’s a reason why while with the amount of men that come up to me and “spit game” and whathaveyou, I should be something like a dating expert, because the opportunities are definitely there….ten times over. Ugh. But there’s a reason why I when asked, I can say, “date? Yea..I hardly do that”.

And the reason isn’t just because I’m not “on the market” in the first place.... It isn’t just because I’m standoffish as all Hell, making me overly perplexed when I am approached because…I strongly believe that I give off nothing that screams “Talk to Me”…ever. But it is because as I stated above…I’m tired! It is because I get irritated by the fact that my looks seem to give license for certain men (read: thee most undesirable men in the history of Life) the right, the gall, and the balls to act a fool in my direction…for me! And it is because just for a month, preferably a month with 31 days, I’d like to just be one of those overlooked girls. That girl that these ridiculous men don’t see. Ridiculousity breeds through the inner person as well so….that also includes decent looking men that have a tendency to get butt hurt and overly dramatic when “I hurt their feelings” and tell them, “I’m just not that into you". I just wanna be able to go to the grocery store, grab my hot chocolate from StarBucks, get gas, Hell…drive my car on the expressway…in peace. Is that too much to ask?

I think God saw that as a “huge” request because today was just too darn much for me.

I took off work today because I had a court date. You see, on Christmas Eve, I was in a car accident. On Christmas Eve, the weather had thrown another ridiculous fit, making it very hard to tread the road comfortably. This also means that when driving on the road, you had to do about 20 miles under the speed limit because the roads were damned to Hell. Anyway, long story short, a man hit my car because he was speeding at a ridiculous level…and I get a ticket…because unbeknownst to me, my car insurance had expired just a few weeks before the accident. *sigh*

So I was in court to show a proof of insurance. Fine. This wasn’t ridiculous. Standard procedure, I understand.

This is my first time ever having to go to court for anything other than jury duty so everything was new to me and I quickly found out that….my patience level wavers like the tide. I swear it does.

So I’m in a courtroom with about 82 other individuals all waiting for our names to be called so we could spend 25 seconds with the judge, who makes a quick call to either throw our case out…or give us a fine. I get to the courthouse twenty minutes late because I spent twenty five minutes looking for a parking spot in the overly crowded courthouse. Having no luck at all, I give up and park in the Employee Parking Lot and head on inside.

On the way inside, a raggedy, scrangly looking man that reeked of cigarettes, piss, and some liquor my dad used to chug back in ’93 tries to stop me with, “ooh you don’t belong here! What did you do with your fiiiine self? You killed a nigga with your looks, didntcha?!” I heard all of this as I was going in his direction and kept stepping as if he wasn’t even talking to me. When I passed him, he goes, “Oh! I see! You’re too gooood for a nigga like me, aintcha?! *now yelling as I’m a good piece past him now* But you know what? I aint gon let you kill me, Miss Fiiiiiiine. Nope!”

I already had an attitude because I was late and I didn’t know that I would be in the courtroom with 82 other individuals. I thought it was my date alone, so I instantly thought of some unnecessary fine that would be given to me because I was so late. I go through the metal detectors and *BEEP* went the thing my purse went through.

“You have a camera in your purse. You have to go take that to your car and come back inside.”

I completely forgot my camera was in my purse. My camera is ALWAYS in my purse. I tried to reason with the lady in security that I could leave my camera there with an ID….because I really didn’t want to go back outside because it was cold…and also because I didn’t feel like being verbally harassed again by the man outside……….but she refused. So I took my L and shoved the camera in my coat pocket and made my way back to the car. Luckily I pass the man on my way to my car with ease as he was busy talking to some young boy. But on my way back inside, he sees me and goes, “Damn! I just saw a girl that looked just like you go inside not long ago! Are there TWO of yall?!"

Ugh!

There are explicit signs all over the courtroom that say “NO TALKING!!!” and other rules. When I get in the court room, a kind man sees that I am apparently visibly “new” and directs me to the check-in post and all that. When I am finally able to sit down, I take a seat and wait (im)patiently for my name to be called. At some point, everyone gets briefly kicked out of the courtroom because some buffoon wouldn’t stop talking which resulted in a full-fledged argument between him and another man and then them and the judge. When we are all allowed back inside, I instantly notice the idiot who issued me a citation (he’s an idiot because he incorrectly reported the accident and didn’t give the other driver a citation as well) and he is sitting with the other cops. Watching me.

When my name is finally called and the judge reads off what the cop reported as a reason for my citation, I shoot the cop a look and say, “that is incorrect, sir. I am here to prove insurance. Here you go” and show the bailiff my insurance papers, dart my eyes in the idiots direction, and look at the judge. I really didn’t feel like spending time trying to analyze the incident, when when it’s all said and done, I just needed to show my insurance papers. However, when I receive my fine (ugh!), and head towards the exit, I make sure that I give the idiot a mean side eye.

When I get just feet from Freedom (the exit to the courthouse), lo and behold…the idiot that issued me the citation comes upon me.

“Hey! I’m sorry you got fined. So, um…where ya headed?”

Already annoyed, I just give him a look…and keep walking.

“That’s what we’re on?”

Now I respond, “What? I mean what do you want? You incorrectly reported the accident, only gave ME a ticket, which result in me being here all day long just to show the judge my insurance papers that end up getting me a fine anyway. What do you want? Matter of fact….save it. I’m late for where I have to be”. And keep walking. The nerve of this guy!!!

I get to my car and leave the courthouse and I notice that…….I’m being followed.

“Um…is this nigga FOLLOWING ME?!” I said to myself. Out loud. I make a turn into some neighborhood I no longer recognize and the follower pulls up next to me.

It’s a stranger. “Hey. I’m sorry. I saw you leave the courthouse and couldn’t just go without saying something. You are….so pretty. So beautiful. So…”

“Well thank you very much” I say as I lighten my mood up a bit.

“What’s your name?”

“Mal—“ (I said the whole name)

He reiterates how pretty he thinks I am and asks how old I am. He is 28 and doesn’t care about the five year difference as long as I don’t. I don’t care about the difference either…but I wasn’t interested, so I politely say, “no thank you. Thanks so much for the compliment though” and try to roll my window back up. It’s cold in Chi!

“But, mami (he’s Latino), you’re SO pretty. I mean…please? Come on. Just—please?!” He pleaded two more times before I thanked him and rolled my window up in the middle of his adoration and kept it moving. Pleading? Really? Yea…I don’t do well with beggers. I wasn’t interested and pleading made it that much worse.

I’m aware that reckless behavior and situations happen to ALL people…but they happen to me way too often and I am sick of it. Today was a solid day….but I could have done without the undesirable male rigmarole. Don’t they know that I’m hella particular...(not to mention, not available)? Sheesh!