Sophia, I'm sorry. Maybe that corner has an Asshole Curse on it.

I don't think I was fat to be blinvisible to sexual harassment; I think I was just unhappy in general.

I'm not a very modest person, and in the heat of the summer, I wear lots of little tanks and breezy or think skirt, but I don't get cat-called a lot. I get eyeballed, but not cat-called a lot. But then, KC is mostly a driving town, and I live in a quiet neighborhood.

Every woman's dealt with it, though, and I think I have a pretty good take on when someone's trying awkwardly to deliver an "I think yer purty, hur" and something more skin-crawly.

I don't know if it's the way I hold myself or look at people or what, but I just don't get a lot of harassment. But I DO carry two weapons in my purse at all times (thanks, ita ! for passing on that trick with the beer bottle opener and its Pointy End of Death), neither of which is a gun, and one is in my pocket and another in my hand before I walk out the door of a place in a sketch neighborhood.

I don't think D would mind if we had a gun, with the proper accoutrements, but not while M is in the house. And frankly, ours is a low-crime hood, and the house is full of fucking weapons anyway.

There was a rash of burglaries last fall, and Dan was a little worried, because I work from home, and I was just all "Um. No. I am SO not worried." The doors are always locked, we have a barky (not so much bitey, but VERY barky) dog, and I have faced down a tweaking mugger/rapist in my own own before.

Any dumbass trying to rip off our nice little suburban house while I'm in it will either (A) leave very, very fast or (B) leave me a terrible mess to clean up after the cops take him/her away.

I WOULD like to go to a shooting range and learn how to fire a handgun, though. And clean and load it, all the practical stuff. But hell, the whole house is full of weapons. I'll just throw chairs and pottery and books at someone until I can get to the pickax in the front closet or all the knives in the kitchen.

Thinking about what I might have otherwise done back in 1996 has at the least left me with the ability to assess whatever is around me at all times and to plan for various routes of escape.

Oh, what cheerful, up at 6 in the am on Sunday morning thoughts. At least there's a purring kitty on my lap.

Which Sig Sauer do you have, Connie?

I don't remember what the number is (I'm at work, and the Sig lives in a case by my desk at home), but it's a .380 7-shot. Austrian detective model. I looked at Sigs because of Scully, to be honest. She's a tiny person, and I needed a gun my little hands could control.

I still firmly believe that there are too damned many guns in the world, and most of the people who have them--especially around here--are suffering from crippling penis issues and need to compensate.

When I get a new box of ammo, I'm going to put two in a clip to leave in the case. If I hear something wrong, I can have it loaded in seconds, and the sound is distinctive. Failing that, from where I sit at my desk at home, there are two knives in reach and oodles of pummeling things.

I resisted learning to shoot, because of the whole gun aura thing, but I wanted to be Linda Hamilton in T2, and odds are I'm never going to manage chin-ups. It is very cathartic to go to the range and shoot a box of ammo.

If we'd stayed on the farm, I would have learned to shoot, but I was 9 when we moved, so I'd only shot a little .22 a couple of times before we moved. My dad believed that if he had guns in the house (rifles and shotguns, no handguns) we should have lessons on how deadly they are and how to handle them...but to NEVER handle them without an adult. And that every gun, even if you just saw someone unload it, IS loaded. Just assume that always.

Got the same lecture pretty much when I started to learn to drive: "Never forget a car is pretty much a loaded gun and if you're not careful, you'll kill someone with it."

And Jilli will like this: "I know you can't wait to have a car. But they are VAMPIRES, Erin, and they will suck so much money out of you, you won't believe it. BTW, we'll pay for your insurance IF you get one [I did, an 1980 Olds], but if you want gas in that thing, you have to pay for every drop yourself. So get a job when you get your license."

I remember the first time I went to Atlanta, it was 1993 and I was there for a conference. I decided to walk from my hotel to the MLK, Jr. Memorial (and may I add that Memphis really did MLK right. I can't look upon Atlanta's memorial the same way again). I was catcalled like nobody's business when I was walking on the streets of Atlanta.

I did not experience it as negative then. At that point, I had so rarely been catcalled that it was kind of like an anthropological experience. Men, down here, find me attractive? Really? I need to live around more Black people pronto.

I'll just note that when I lost a bunch of weight a few years ago, I noticed getting harassed or catcalled less. (And I can appreciate a good catcall.) I attribute it to the fact that usually it had been black guys commenting on my ass, and without those 40 pounds, I had no ass!

But in general, people are terrible, of course.

When I was heavier, white guys didn't hit on me as much as black and Latino guys. Not cat-calling, per se; flirting. (This is anecdotal and a generalization, yes, but it certainly was my experience when I went out. When I want to a bar or club that was predominately black or Latino versus a mostly white club, the rooster/hen dance was completely different.)

And IMHO, black men and Latino men are generally better at flirting than white dudes.

HOORAY. I have made everything for the party! Except sandwiches, which folks at the site will help with. Now I can sit for a bit and gird my loins.

Timelies all!

I haven't been cat called much, and not in a long time. Probably because I don't walk alone much, and I have this invisibility thing going on.

Yay, party prep being done!

Jesse,

I am very impressed with all the work you put in. VERY.