My mother came to lovely Ithaca to bestow some sorely needed mobility. I want to explore everything there is to see around here while the getting is good, but frankly the buses just don’t cut it. Last time I took the bus to Wegman’s, a revoltingly creepy (and I assume homeless) man holding a fishing pole took the pleasure of staring at me the whole ride.
At first, I looked casually out the window, feigning casual disinterest in the whole situation. All the while, uncomfortable worry inched through me. But of course since I was wondering whether or not he had ceased staring I kept glancing at him every few milliseconds, which just egged him on more. Shit! He can smell my fear like a god damn shark or horse or something. Then my years of pretentious horseback riding finally came in handy.
What do you do with an aggressive pony? Show him who’s boss! So I got up the courage, sat up straight in my seat, and stared him down for as long as I could. And trust me, this was no ‘come hither’ extended stare that you shoot at the hottie across bar when you’re hoping for a sloppy Thursday night shag. This was a glare of pure menace.
Sure enough, he averted his eyes to the ground after a few seconds of pain induced by my biting eyes.
So I did my shopping feeling extremely over confident and strong. Ithaca homeless people? Feh. They can’t touch this. As I walked out to the bus stop I saw two rough looking -and dare I say attractive- young hooligans walking opposite of me to the grocery store.
‘SEXAY MAMA’ said the first one. I then gave him my hard look of disgust. But of course this time, I was hiding a smile. Every time I’ve been cat-called I feel obligate to act offended. A lady doesn’t accept lewdity (yes, I made that word up) of such sort. But those kinds of come-ons make me giddy! What compliment could be more sincere than one from a stranger that has nothing to gain from me. Well, I guess he may think a catcall could let him access my garden of eden, but that’s just crazy!
But after they passed me, I heard his friend distinctly say ….‘Eh’.
And this was not the Canadian ‘Eh‘ pronounced ai. This was the nasal ‘eh’ always accompanied by an indifferent shrug.
Dammit Ithaca! Why do you build me up, buttercup baby, just to let me down?
Classic soul music aside, I nursed my bleeding ego and went home swearing to never take the bus again.
This was actually feasible because My mom was supposed to bring up my car and bike for the summer. Conveniently, my car came down with some steering issues. My Mom had already purchased her plane ticket home, and couldn’t bear to listen to my cacophanous complaining for another week. So she brought her car up. Her darling sports car. She loves that car much more than she ever loved me. I’m an only child of a widow, so trust me when I say she reeeheeeheeeally loves that car.
Now that I have this monster, I am terrified of damaging it. Honestly, cruising around town strikes more anxiety in me than that damn homeless guy on the bus.
More scarring still, she made me drive the god forsaken thing around with her in the car shouting orders and corrections at me. I was so nervous I was shaking. This made me weave the car, garnering even more shouts from my mother.
This gaudy bright red car is just taunting the local homeless population and delinquents to piss on her doors, slash her tires, spit on her mirrors and do whatever harm they can to her. I’m sure any damage will somehow be my fault. Accordingly I have to pony up the deneiro for a covered spot. It’s about half my rent. Ouch. The renting company wants the money for the whole year NOW. My metaphorical balls are in a vice.
Needless to say, I hate this stupid car.
My forest Green ’96 Lincoln town car (his name is Alfred)on the other hand, is a beloved, dear friend. I got pulled over by a fat power junkie known as a ‘cop’ for the first time in that car, I had bad sex on prom in that car, I learned how to tap the cars in front and behind while parallel parking and then covertly drive away in that big-ass-boat of a car!
But seriously. I would give my first born child (saves me a trip to Planned parenthood!) to get that car to run like when we first bought it.
It’s funny how easily Humans are tricked into bonding with inanimate objects. We’re so silly!