I woke at 3 a.m. this morning with insane heartburn from the large cheese pizza I ate for supper. I stumbled out of bed, threw on my white cashmere coat and walked to the 24-hour garage for some heartburn relief. On my walk back home, walking past an elementary school, a black pick-up truck pulled into the school and lingered there as I passed. I walk past and ignore. You proceed to pull out of the school parking lot and crawl along the street, staring out of your open driver’s side window into my eyeballs like I got candy for you. “MOVE IT ALONG, ASSHOLE,” I warned loudly and you gunned your engine and sped off down the street. Smart choice. I guess you were looking for someone a little weaker, a little less brazen, strong, confident to attack and intimidate. This is not the first time a man has tried to intimidate me. It seems, every time I leave the house, I have men ogling me, yelling shit out their car windows, trying to intimidate the “weaker” sex. Well I am not as weak as I may appear, bitch. I am a trained kickboxer. You better run, bitch. I am a woman—a person in this society—who has every right to be on the street as your pathetic, sorry ass. Ladies, start taking pictures of these assholes and their license plates. There's no need of living in fear in your own damn town. —Fly the fuck outta my face, punk!