Last week, Tuesday it must have been, I stopped to get gas, at the corner of Davison West and Linwood. (something I will never tell my mother) Getting gas in certain parts of the D can be an adventure, Van Dyke and Warren, anywhere on Linwood, et cetera. Normally its an adventure i willingly participate in.

But this time was particularly amusing, interesting enlightening. Enlightening, because thats what my mother would like me to avoid like the plague.

Generally, when I’m not downtown, in New Center, or somewhere else relatively posh, I feel like the only white girl for a five mile radius. Especially when I’m trying to buy gas and some 18-20iish male tries to get my attention by calling me ‘baby doll.’ Now, its possible I missed something, and that’s the ghetto version of ‘miss’ but I don’t think so. Where do you get off calling me ‘baby doll’? do I look like I am either one of those things to you? I don’t think so. And there’s a big gold band on my ring finger that will attest to my ascertation.

Ugh. That is what I hate about living here. That and the crime.

Everything else, I love.