Ashley Reese is a black weirdo and writer with cool hair. She has a column called Accidental Virgin, which is essentially about her vag. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram if you want. She hates mint chocolate.
12:01 AM – Living Room
I’m forcing my boyfriend to eat a banana with peanut butter because I really don’t want him to be hungover in the morning. His hangovers are notoriously severe. Barfing, headache, more barfing, etc. I’ve never been drunk enough to puke. Not yet.He kisses me and I say, “If I was allergic to peanuts I’d be dead by now.”
Don’t know if he replied. Not sure if that’s true. Nut allergies must suck.
We watch stupid Vine videos and other videos I be reblogged to my Tumblr account. Includes video of that “bacon is good for me” boy from Wife Swap.
12:22 AM – BedroomBF realized that the bed is wet from my laundry that I had drying on my bed. Not a great place to put chiffon skirts, now that I think about it. I decide to use a blow dryer to fix the problem. Then I go into the bathroom to do the whole wash face brush teeth process.
I notice the toilet roll dwindled down and still hasn’t been put onto the toilet roll holder thing. Christ.
I take out a regular absorbency tampon (not the usual super) and wonder why my period is still going on. It’s like the fifth day or some shit. My period never used to last this long. It’s at that awful midpoint where it’s not quite like you’re hemorrhaging out of your vag, but you’re deffo going to regret not wearing at least a panty liner or something. Worst. Not here or it.
Look down and see the toilet roll on the thingy. I don’t remember putting it there, but unless my bathroom has a ghost (maybe) I guess I did.
I washed my face with this Ain’t Misbehaving AHA/BHA cleanser with the hope that my skin finally becomes less uneven and my pore less massive. Then I apply retinol. I’m becoming obsessed with the idea that I look old for 24. Even though I’m black and my melanin is poppin’. I should really see a dermatologist but making appointments is always such an emotional toll on me.
12:34 AM – Bed
Boyfriend and I sigh in acknowledgement of each other
My boyfriend accidentally punched me in the face. We were trying to be all cute and our limbs got tangled and BAM. He’s endearingly apologetic about it.
At some point I put on “Afternoon” by Froth and think that it’s funny because it’s the opposite of afternoon right now.
“I’m going to send you a story about how you should never go to psychics,” Boyfriend says. (I’d been thinking about it. My roommate went to one in Coney Island the other day)
He texts: http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/06/06/nyregion/he-went-to-the-fortuneteller-now-his-fortune-is-gone.html?referrer=
I reply via text: “[Three crystal ball emojis] Did you ever watch That’s So Raven?
He says, aloud, “Why are you texting me?”
I reply via text: “Don’t ask questions”There’s a part of this Afternoon song that I really love. I’m not sure exactly what he’s saying because it’s all indecipherable far away distorted indie vocals, but I distinctly hear, “Throw the [SOMETHING] on your dashbooooooooaaaaaard.” It’s in this low, minor sounding tone that weirdly gets to me.
“Are you sleeping?” I ask.
“Uh huh,” Boyfriend replies.
“Okay,” I say.
“A little bit,” he amends.
Hip hop is blasting from a car outside. It’s competing with this Froth song in the best way.
Finished reading the NYT piece. This dude gave this psychic over 700k before realizing she was a fraud. I believe in psychics, but not ones that ask for thousands of dollars up front! He was trying to reconnect with a woman he was in love with and she ended up dying. So the psychic said that her soul was in another chick named Michele who was 24 in California. WTF?
The article starts off with, “Everyone knows that when a man loves a woman, he can’t keep his mind on nothing else. He’ll spend his very last dime. Give up all his comfort, sleep out in the rain.” Hm, okay.
I spend several minutes reading the comment section. I always read the comments.
Boyfriend stirs and kisses me half asleep. I turn the light off and close my laptop shut.I open Instagram and realize that Drake played Gov Ball. Cool.
1:19 AM Might be time to pack it in.
1:21 AM Boyf is snoring. That’s new.
1:30 AM I’m thinking, “Was I supposed to die yesterday?” I thought I smelled gas on the apartment. Turned out that my roommate left the stove because one of the burners isn’t working and just releases gas, no flame. Must have been on all night. What if I decided to light a candle to get rid of the smell? What if the apartment blew up and I died?
Sent text to roommate:
“Hey, girl! So I thought I smelled gas in the apt this morning and by late in the afternoon I realized that one of the burners that doesn’t ignite and just released gas was on. No worries but I’m a paranoid bitch as you know and I keep thinking like what if one of us decided to light a candle but didn’t know the gas was on! [Fire emoji] Let’s be sure we keep an eye on that stove from now on when we’re cooking. It’s sneaky! We’re too young to die!!!”
5:15 AM – Bathroom
Get up to pee, which I rarely do when I’m sleeping. Realize that it’s raining like crazy. I go to the kitchen/living room window to listen to it since I don’t have my glasses and can’t see shit. I hope it doesn’t rain later. Thought it was supposed to be sunny out!
5:26 AM – Bedroom
I’m worried that I have a nosebleed. Too lazy to confirm.
Roommate replied. She was apologetic. S’all good.
Timehop shows me find pic I took of my laptop last year while my friend Facetimed me. The photo includes an iMessage window with another friend in another window. It’s about texting my future BF. I was hesitant back then, but did it anyway, too many times in a row, because I had no chill.
10:29 AMWake up to some kid shouting. Hear birds chirping and old dudes being loud. Go back to sleep.
Mom calls. She wants to know what I’m going to wear at this photoshoot on Tuesday. I’m half awake and not much in the mood to talk about something I’m not even sure about myself. She suggests I wear a long sheer skirt for one of the looks. I’m like nah, maybe something sheer on top.
Check my texts. My mom texted about Beau Biden’s funeral. She and my dad are constantly watching cable news.
Student loan people are calling me. 11:11 MAKE A WISH. STOP CALLING ME.
11:31 AM – Living Room
Had to do exercises to try out sports bras for work. I’m writing what I think about three different bras and how they perform for very jump heavy exercises for people like me who have big boobs. Tried a bra by Panache today. It was pretty good. Minimal boob squishing. I’m just glad I got three sports bras out of this project. Thanks, work.
11:30 AM to 1:00 PM (ish) – Bedroom
Took a shower. Took a billion years to figure out an outfit. I decide on a dark blue turtle neck with three additional pins: One of Poly Styrene from X-Ray Spex, one Sick Sad World pin (Daria reference), and one of the woman symbol. Paired that with a black circle skirt. Wore chunky platform sandals and colorful socks. I’m very well aware that aside from the shoes and pins, my entire outfit is from American Apparel. I give them too much of my money.
I play “Lust For Life” from Girls and say it is my favorite carefree white girl song. Boyfriend said he liked this song too. Played “Alex” next.
“When are they going to come out with a new album?” Boyfriend asks.
“I think they broke up,” I say.
He plays Pete Rock and CL Smooth. Dude has good taste in old school hip hop, NGL.
1:16 PM – B45 Bus
My roommate joins me and BF to brunch. She tells me about people who live in Manhattan who act like Park Slope is the middle of nowhere. What is this, 2002? They sound insufferable.\
Boyf needs coffee. Badly.
2:05 PM – Mayfield on Franklin Ave
Boyfriend is instantly better with coffee. Roommate talks about egg porn. She loves that yolk. I’m downing a Bloody Mary and ordered a burger and fries with everything on it. I’m going to regret this but fuck it’s so good.
Talking about Girls. How Brooklyn Millennials at brunch of us~ Pfft. I can’t get through this show. I haven’t watched it properly since season two or three. Marnie is too insufferable to sit through. Heard she had her butt eaten in this past season though. Huh.
INTERESTING INTERESTING INTERESTING.
2:27 PM YESSSS [In retrospect, not sure what I was YESSSSing about. Did I get my food?]
I’m very quiet right now because I’m suddenly moody. Typical. Boyfriend mentioned grad school in the future, potentially in Chicago. “No Surprises” is playing because my life has turned into the sad ending of a poignant episode of the TV show based on my life.
Split ways with roomie.
3:07 PM – Eastern Parkway
SO BEAUTIFUL OUT. SO MANY TREES. CAN NEVER GET OVER THE BEAUTY OF THIS STREET.
Boyfriend and I sit down. I’m trying not to be moody about what he said earlier. I want him to follow his dreams and stuff, even if it’s not in NYC. Even if it’s not with me.
Annoying group of girls walk by. I groan. Boyfriend laughs.
3 something PM:
Some guy slaps my ass multiple times underneath my skirt as I was walking down the street with my boyfriend. Call cops. Try to track him down.
3 something PM – 8:45 PM
Cops come by, like, 20 minutes later. They’re dicks at first. I’m not surprised. They warm up after I agree to hop in their crusier and canvas the area. We didn’t see him. Duh
I have had about a zillion anxiety meltdowns. I tweeted about what happened, mentioned that my boyfriend was there, and was suddenly inundated with tweets from all these random men asking what, if anything, my boyfriend did about the situation. I start deleting tweets because every time I check my phone, I have about 50 new notifications.
People are calling my boyfriend names. They’re asking how he could let me be disrespected in front of him. I’M NOT MY BOYFRIEND’S FUCKING PROPERTY. I HATE MACHISMO BULLSHIT. WHY ARE PEOPLE MORE MAD ABOUT MY BOYFRIEND NOT CLOCKING SOME RANDOM STRANGER WHO COULD HAVE DONE ANYTHING IN RETALIATION INSTEAD OF, I DON’T KNOW, THE STRANGER WHO SLAPPED MY BARE ASS? WHY ARE THESE MEN, MOSTLY BLACK MEN, HARASSING ME? WHY ARE BLACK WOMEN JOINING IN?<
They decide to go on a hunt and find my boyfriend’s Twitter handle. They do, and find photos of us that I’ve posted on Twitter. They start spamming him with taunting tweets, calling him a fag, telling him to delete his account. People are telling me to get a new boyfriend, that I need somebody who will defend their queen, that I’m ugly and have more facial hair than my boyfriend, that it’s no surprise that my boyfriend didn’t beat up my assaulter because because he’s a slim white guy.
I text one of my besties.
"OMG ash that's terrible
I'm so sorry
[three heart emojis]
That's really fucked up"
I reply: "I’m beyond angry"
Why are people harassing me about this shit? How did the dregs of ashy and musty Twitter latch onto me? I don’t even have a giant following. This is maddening.
My boyfriend isn’t letting their bullshit get to him. I wish I was as composed. But I’m not. I’m a combative bitch. I want to fight them. I feel more violated by the harassers than by the dude who touched me. Have to block so many people. One guy insinuated that it didn’t even happen because I started deleting my Tweets.
Boyfriend holds me. Kisses me. He says he’s sorry. When I start kicking myself for not doing more to stop my attacker, he reminds me that it isn’t my fault. He’s doing everything right, but I still feel like garbage about the response this incident is receiving.
I hate machismo bullshit. I hate the way black women are harassed by their own people. I hate the fact that cis black men have been harassing me all day. We hashtag for black men, we defend black men when our society treats them like shit because of racist, white supremacist fuckery, and what do black women get in return? Cruel jokes at our expense for RTs and faves. It makes me sick.
Men are scum.
>Boyfriend is trying to get me to turn off my phone. I can’t. I keep checking, blocking, trying to make it die down. I’m even doing this on the train as we’re going over the bridge on the Q into Manhattan. Many friends are supportive of me. I’m really upset that people tracked down my boyfriend from this shit WHAT THE FUCK DON’T THEY HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON?
I grimly consider how long my Enormous Eye piece will be.
Friend from earlier replies:
“Men are fucked the world is fucked here’s a really cute dog”
Selections of messages from others who saw the Twitter shit show:
“I can’t believe you went through being sexually assaulted and then on top of it people are harassing you on Twitter about it”
“I’m so sorry. You are a ray of light and this is no real reflection on you or him, as you know. BLOCK THEIR GROSS BUTTS [Flower emojis]”
“are you okay?! what happened?!”
Regarding Awful Machismo Circle Jerk Men Of Twitter:
“Men who think they have something to tell you about your life are scum…I’ve had the boyfriend who was Real Tough About Shit. It just made me feel like less of a person tbh. Like I wasn’t being heard or listened to. Like I was a point in a game between men. I did not feel saved I just felt superfluous tbh.”
I love my friends. I would fight for them. Not in some Gryffindor bullshit kind of way. In a Slytherin YOU’LL GET YOURS, ASSHOLE kind of way.
Try to get my mind off of things by returning a shirt at American Apparel on Broadway a few blocks north of Houston. Replacing it with bathing suit bottoms for the photo shoot. I haven’t bought a bathing suit I’d actually wear in like…over a decade?
I keep apologizing to my boyfriend about getting so worked up about the trolls. He says it’s okay.
I need a drink. Boyfriend takes me to a bar in the East Village. Tom and Jerry’s? He went to NYU, he knows bars around here. I only know a few. Lots of white people who are excited about the horse race. One of my boyfriend’s rooommates meet up with us there. Her outfit rules. I tell her about what happened and she’s like WTF? She’s also had a crazy 24 hours. My phone battery is dead from checking my phone so much. Her phone battery is dead too. This bar is really fucking rude about charging phones. Fuck this. We leave.
I’m a little more relaxed at the next bar. Marshall Stack? Is that the name? We huddle in a corner, taking turns charging our phones with a single outlet. I can’t stay for long, need to meet with my friend from college who is in town.
We mostly talk about STDs.
9:02 PM – D Train
On the train and going back to Brooklyn Going to see Junglepussy at Brooklyn Museum and clear my soul. Definitely going to be late though.
I check my mentions. Things seem to be dying down. I receive a ton of messages of support. I almost feel a little better.
10:28 PM – Bedroom
I ended up seeing my friend from college for, like, two seconds. She was with her Godsister or whatever. I’ve have met a few times, like at Howard University’s homecoming. Said Godsister texted me, saying that my friend was trashed. I could tell, but I appreciated the fact that her state made her aggressively defend me and the plight of black women against ain’t shit men. She’s very loud about how upset she was for me. We all get into a debate about street harassment while Junglepussy serenaded a packed house. So many beautiful black men and women up in there. So stylish. Glad I had on a cute outfit too, including heels that made me, like, about 6 feet tall.
They asked if I want to go back up to Harlem with them. Nah. Zero interest in leaving Brooklyn for the rest of the night.
I met up with my roomie and a few of her fellow teachers at the museum for a bit. A man with a heavy accent who I SWEAR I’ve seen before tries to talk to me privately. I told him that if he wanted to talk to me, he can talk to me in front of my friends. He eventually floated way. I decided to leave, go back to my apartment, pack some shit, and head back over to my boyfriend’s place for the night. As I started walking out of the museum, I hear someone call my name. It was my roommate. She saw that creepy dude from earlier START TO FOLLOW ME. Is there a fucking full moon out? She waited for the bus with me. Lady solidarity is fucking real.
I’m home now, just told my mom what happened. I yelled a lot. I’m still emotional about it. She probably won’t tell my dad.
11:37 PM – 3 Train
On the train to my boyfriend’s place. All I’m thinking of is “Oh Bondage, Up Yours” by X-Ray Spex after this day of being violated and harassed by men. I want to play it, but it’s not saved on my fucking Spotify. Brilliant.
11:58 PM – Boyfriend’s Apartment
Boyfriend and roommate are causing mayhem on Grand Theft Auto 5. A chorizo taco from Tacos Morelos is waiting for me. In this moment, I’m deliriously happy.