Two anecotes for you.

Look, I’m a “sassycat.” Bitch. Cunt. Whatever. I have a superb wit that I’m not afeared to put a megaphone to. Randomness I have shouted from the back of a golf cart whizzing by have been writ into stone. Egads, I didn’t enough know of my talent until it left the snarky confines of undermybreath to people being like “Where’s your megaphone??” (I don’t own one, for the record.)

That being said – I’m not even sure that was the proper thesis…the point is, I don’t mind when I get likewise treatment. I don’t mind people pointing out when I’m wrong, heck, it’s fun. Having things thrown back in your face with an AHA! So last year at Burning Man, I’m riding around. Hours. Looking for my friends camp. Lost (but on her block, dammit!). Out of water. Angry, frustrated, sad, tired and just near tears. This fucking FRAT BOY steps out in front of me in the road. I live in a college town. A COLLEGE TOWN. It is nothing but frat boys and sororostitutes. They’re everywhere. GAH! I can’t even escape them on the OTHER HALF OF THE FUCKING COUNTRY AT FUCKING BURNING MAN.

Striped polo. Cargo shirt. Unloading an SUV. Could not have BEEN more of a stereotype. He holds out his hand for me to stop. I forget exactly what the conversation went like, but he says, “I can’t let you pass until you have some.”

And what does he have?

Ice cold. I might have cried. (I think Jager’s a hip thing to drink now – and, unfortunately, a hip thing for assholes to drink, but I’ve liked it for a very, very long time…). Said FUCKING FRAT BOY then proceeded to give me a bottle of (also cold) water and some sunscreen for my attempt to ride home. All the while with a smile on his face. Which gave me a smile for my frazzled, frowny little face.

That’s still one of my top 3 moments.

More recently at Transformus I’m trying to direct Exodus traffic (lordhavemercywhatmess). I’m yelling at people, “IF YOU ARE WEARING ANTYHING WITH FUR OR GLITTER, GET THE FUCK OUT.” A slender young lass, already nearing me, looks at my chest and says, “I guess that means you?”

Under my black boots and black, non-descript jumpsuit I was indeed wearing a very, very sparkly red bra.

Ha! We laughed and laughed (even though that wasn’t what I meant by glitter). So yeah. I love it when shit like that happens to me.


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