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In true haphazard blog posting fashion, a few random thoughts for the day:

- On my walk to work every morning, I pass a massive construction zone with eight foot walls all around it. Posted at random on these walls are warning signs with the directive: DANGER. DO NOT WATCH ARC. And every morning I think to myself, WHAT. DOES. THAT. MEAN. Maybe if I knew I could squelch the insatiable desire I have WATCH THE ARC. Just because they tell me not to.

- After three consecutive Friday nights, I think I can say pretty definitively which of my neighbors smokes the good pot. I think it’s been far too long since I made baked goods for a neighbor.

- The old 1920’s mirrors in the lobby of my apartment building are constructed such that they make me look wide as a river boat barge. This is especially problematic because I don’t yet have a full-length mirror in my apartment. Thus, the first look I get of my outfit (with shoes!) every morning is in said mirror. It is not helping my self-esteem one bit.

- To the dude on OkCupid who messaged me with the single line, “when was the last time u had great sex????”: Sir, I can assure you that the answer to that question is none of your business. And furthermore, if you’re the kind of person who believes that’s an appropriate opening line in ANY setting, I think I can safely say that you’re the last man on Earth who could give me any.

- I have a bit of a crush on the blue-eyed man who sells bread and granola at the Old Oakland Farmer’s Market every week. Last week I confessed it to my coworker, who caught me and the bread man exchanging glances. She had the audacity to suggest we go buy a cookie so that I could talk to him. I quickly set her straight. “Oh God no, it’s so much better this way. He can be whatever I want him to be. Like the kind of guy who’d make me soup when I’m sick. And wouldn’t flirt back with all the women who come past here wanting samples. And, you know, straight.” She conceded my point, and I am pleased for now. I think crushes are so much better for me than the real thing. Mostly, guys just keep pissing me off. Maybe because they’re so not like my dead father. Or either they ARE so like my dead father. And really, that’s a pretty big group of men, the ones that are and are not like my dead father. So, yeah, I think I’ll stick with the blue-eyed bread man for now.

- My apartment is located on the border between semi-sketchy and semi-trendy neighborhoods. It’s also about a mile from a BART station and about two miles from two others, both of which are in fairly nicer neighborhoods. On occasion, I get home late from the city and have to decide: shorter, scarier walk or longer, slightly less scary walk home? The fact that I even make this choice leads one of my coworkers to start breathing shallowly and lecturing me, “Now, I’m not going to tell you what to do, BUT…” If I so much as breathe in the direction of the city, she’s glances at me sideways with that, “And you’re driving to the BART station,” look. I understand her cautiousness. I’m new to the city, single female, all that, blah blah. But it’s my fucking neighborhood! And I refuse to be cowed by stereotypes and other people’s hyper-vigilance! And anyway I’m cheap and need the exercise! So, for the most part, I felt pretty self-righteous about my choice to walk. In the dark. On my city streets.

Yeah, for the most part.

And then last weekend, leaving a station downtown and walking up a fairly well-traveled city street, I was followed by a man in a late model Chrysler who beckoned me to his car for a mile and half, stopping at random, pulling ahead of me, stopping at random again, etc. The whole while he kept shouting, “YOUNG LADY YOU DON’T NEED TO BE OUT HERE BY YOURSELF. IT’S LATE. YOUNG LADY. YOU COULD GET HURT. THERE’S BAD PEOPLE OUT HERE.” Bad people, huh? Oh, you mean like the nutjob who’d follow a complete stranger down the street yelling at her like a crazy person? Like that kind?

I’m half convinced it’s the same guy who sits at the corner of 14th and Broadway at lunchtime. While waiting for the cross-walk sign, you’re almost always bound to get a hefty dose of sexist moralism. I made the mistake once of making eye contact with him, and he pointed at me and said, “You! You need to keep your legs shut, baby. You need to be a virgin on your wedding day. God don’t want no sloppy seconds.” I laughed a little, mumbled “too late,” and carried on.

See? There’s so much to love about Oakland, even when I’m all homesick and such.

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