Don't Mince Words

You ever wonder, with all this great technology out there, why our financial institutions can’t code our bank cards for our native language. They certainly have the direct mail function figured out.

I’m really tired of getting asked if I want instructions in Spanish or English. My last name is Bunger. My ancestors are from the Fatherland, not south of the border. That’s one more angry click-to-money.

If my ATM card can be reprogrammed, maybe Citi can fix everything at once: no mortgage offers, no educational loan offers, no financial planning offers, and English-only. Oh yeah, and can I just get to my fucking money as quickly as possible?

As I get closer to going back to NYC for a visit, I’m also being sent reminders of what it was like when I was there.

Anyone that’s been on the F train knows Mr. Sonny Payne. He’s one of those anything-you-can-spare guys. I usually saw Sonny about once a week on my rides. When I didn’t see him, I’d get concerned. He was a harmless panhandler with a realistic yet not in your face approach.

What I don’t miss is the subway God Squad types reminding me I’m going to hell. I make every effort in this life to ensure I enjoy it enough to guarantee that one-way ticket. I never need to be reminded of what I’m doing wrong.

The following is a great story of how one person fought back in a creative nonviolent way: http://www.livejournal.com/users/koaloha/29646.html

Peace be with you – and also with you.

In the heat of passion, sometimes you don’t respond logicially to questions you’d normally respond to with a laugh or a “what the fuck.”

Now that a hand isn’t down my pants, I have time to think.

Since the 1960′s, the Pill has been a symbol of sexual freedom for women. Within a few percentage points, women could enjoy themselves without fear of unexpected motherhood. “Are you on the Pill?” became the easy way for a man to ask if he’d be making support payments in nine months. Last night I underwent a new line of questioning.

“Do you have your tubes tied?”

Let’s all say it in unison, shall we: WHAT THE FUCK? Tubal ligations are for wives that have met their quota and want to ensure they don’t have another baby with the husband they now hate. Tubal ligation is major surgery and is oftentimes performed on the way out from a caesarian.

I’m a single woman who has never had children. I’m not sure I ever want kids, but I’m not going to have major surgery to limit that option if the right man comes around (then again, I’m sure my health care doesn’t cover it anyway). I’ve used the Pill off and on for 20 years for period control, not birth control. My preferred method of birth control has been a condom or going home alone after the asshole discovery phase. That’s when I’m fit to be tied.

I made my reservations. I’m going back to New York to attend a friend’s first book signing. Nomi was part of my core writing group while in New York. That gang really pushed me and I thank them for the tough love.

But I’m scared.

I miss fall foliage. I miss pizza and real bagels. I miss big sweaters, fires, and light snow. I miss people that can quickly express themselves.

When I left on my Super Shuttle to LGA last July, I turned around and watched the Empire State vanish. I cried.

I’m scared to go back because I miss everything that makes New York great.

I get so tickled when people find my life exciting. On the whole, it really isn’t that exciting….except if you are married. If you are married, you read my blog to affirm that being blissfully tied to another might be one notch above dating in LA in your 30’s.

Tonight Lauren, my absolute favorite lesbian, checked in on me. “Oh Bunger, I want to live heterovicariously through you. Dazzle me with a recent date story,” she requested. My former Brooklyn neighbor retreated to California two years before me. She’s a lot like me… open minded, direct, intelligent, and wickedly funny… except she eats pussy and I don’t.

But if I did, she’d be my first choice. Why? Because she has the coolest shoes and she’s the same size as me. If I were going to be a lesbian, it would be with Lauren because we could having engaging and hilarious conversations and trade shoes. I still covet her Doc Martins with red flames.

Alas, Lauren is one of those committed lesbians. She’s now in a domestic partnership with a lovely woman who can’t fit into her shoes. She found love in less than a year in California. Bitch. But that’s the Bay area for you.

I remain in LA where I can’t swing a dead cat with out hitting dysfunction ripe for mocking which continues to fuel my blog. Well, all you happily married folks, keep on reading.

Lauren, this blog’s for you, babe. You are a tremendous friend and relationship role model. If I ever decide I need to change teams, I’ve got your number. Now excuse me while I recharge my batteries.