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Let’s talk about the time I almost got murdered probably.

Back in 2007 I was newly single and also for the first time living in my home without any sort of roommate, romantic or otherwise. At night to fight the feeling of being alone, I would often stop into Mr Ricks, a bar and grill in Avila Beach to see my friends who worked there. I’d stay for a beer or two and sometimes trade music with a bartender or two there and on Monday’s I’d watch Heroes with my friend Gary and my friend Kristin. 

One night I went in there and it was pretty dead. It was winter time and I was dropping off a CD to Gary and I was bored as all hell so when this good looking man sat down next to me and started talking to plain little ol’ me, I was glad for the company and also kind of flattered for a second.

Then he got weird. Like hyper aggressive weird, letting me know I was going to be taking him home that night. I shook my head and explained, politely and clearly that I didn’t take strange men home from bars, that he was barking up the wrong tree. He told me he was buying me a drink and I refused the drink.  I said I’d paid already and was ready to go. He was very intimidating and I quickly lost all interest in him being attractive by this point, especially when he ordered me another drink and the bartender on at the time had no idea this guy had been harassing me and made it anyway.

The guy kept invading my space and insisting I was going to take him home.

I wanted to leave. But leaving would have put me outside without cameras and eyes and extra hands if… when this guy decided to hurt me. So I smiled and sat there, contemplating how I was going to get away without him seeing me leave.

My bartender at the time picked up on it at some point and the minute the guys back was turned the bartender grabbed my hand across the bar and nodded at me. I followed him and he let me into the closed restararant next door and told me very firmly “RUN, to your car, don’t stop till you’re inside and text me when you get to your house, go, I’ll keep him busy”

And I did just that and didn’t think a thing about it until I read this in the paper a few days later:

Shell Beach Man Sentenced For Fatal Bar Fight

Oh, right, that happened. And this is exactly who it was. I knew my creepdar was going off but damn son… Dude’s got a rap sheet a mile long.

But see this is the thing these InCel or misogynistic bastards putting out hit lists on women don’t realize: We know you’re fucked up. We can smell it for 400 miles back because we’ve lived our whole lives being afraid of you, of angering you, of provoking you in some way… We live our whole lives wondering not if but when you monster motherfuckers are coming for us. We watch and wonder every single day if the guy who is the “nice” guy in our class or office is going to fucking flip out and try to rape us in a stairwell or blow our brains out for not going out with them. We see you, we do, when you look at us with such contempt but also a contempt that’s tinged with lust. You see us as an object that you require for a purpose, and when we don’t achieve that goal for you right away, we are useless in your mind.

I’ve been pouring over a lot of stories about violence against women the last few days and the one thing all stories about women being brutalized have in common is this: You don’t care WHO we are. You see WHAT we are, which is a gender that you’re attracted to. You are attracted to or want to lord power over a gender, a set of parts. You have no fucking idea or desire to have an idea as to what’s inside our heads or hearts. We are just here to do something for you. All you misogynistic fuck tards could give a fuck what we’re really like as long as we fill the need of a fantasy or whatever the fuck you think we’re here for.

If I had, as a lot of that one fucker who shot up Santa Barbara’s supporters said, just given out a “pity fuck” or “done my job” or “acted like a lady and serviced” this guy in this bar on that particular night, I might be dead now. He was clearly dangerous and I like millions of other girls who don’t want to talk to some of you, trusted my gut. And I was right.

The man who tried to take me home from a bar who I refused murdered someone not long after. And he raped someone else. 

I don’t know what told me to run from that man that night. It’s the same thing that tells millions of women all over the world to run from guys like the Santa Barbara shooter and the Men’s Rights Activists and the InCel community… we can smell your hate. We as women aren’t perfect but we damn sure didn’t force anyone to become a violent misogynistic racist fuckface. The Santa Barbara thing just reminds me that I need to be forever vigilant and forever suspicious.