<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451</id><updated>2025-10-30T16:47:28.680-04:00</updated><title type='text'>HollaBackBoston - So you can be hot AND safe</title><subtitle type='html'>Street harassment is a serious and multi-faceted social problem that makes women and people of other marginalized groups unsafe in public spaces.  HollaBackBoston does not define street harassment but believes harmful power dynamics in society lie at the core of our inequality.  We believe that building a safe world demands diverse international fronts of resistance.  Dedicated to the city of Boston, we continue to reclaim public space by empowering everyone to “HOLLA BACK” at street harassers.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>158</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-6856592407625393050</id><published>2009-01-01T11:30:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T10:33:58.261-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Done, for now</title><content type='html'>No, street harassment in this city is not done or over - especially in these chilly months - but we are...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We, the administrators of HollaBackBoston.com, are taking a break from this site.  Our lives have taken different paths in the professional, personal, and political spheres, and we wanted to state as much here publicly rather than prolong this virtual silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We remain vigilantes about women&#39;s rights - especially the right to be really &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;seen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; in this world, particularly without objectification.  And we&#39;re committed to continuing our work to surface, highlight, and transform the realities that keep us from our own liberation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We urge you to never forget conversations about power are happening in real time, all over the globe, between those of all races and classes.  Engage them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HollaBackBoston.com will remain open, and we will continue to post stories and experiences as they come to us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In solidarity,&lt;br /&gt;Brittany Shoot &amp;amp; Hilary Allen</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6856592407625393050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6856592407625393050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2009/01/done-for-now.html' title='Done, for now'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-8718655080306150575</id><published>2008-06-30T12:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T12:57:00.483-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I love them, thanks.</title><content type='html'>Stuck in stupid traffic in Allston today, I&#39;ve got my car windows down because my AC is busted and no money in sight to fix it.  I&#39;m chilling at a red light when some guy who I didn&#39;t even bother to look at screams from his truck into my car, &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);&quot;&gt;&quot;DO YOU LIKE THOSE BOOBS?!&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 204, 0);&quot;&gt; &lt;/span&gt;1. Uh, yes, they&#39;re mine, and lucky for me, I don&#39;t hate my body. 2. Why, do you? Cause it doesn&#39;t matter, fuckface. 3. There are better ways to engage me. &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);&quot;&gt;Screaming from your car is &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;never. going. to. work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/8718655080306150575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/8718655080306150575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-love-them-thanks.html' title='I love them, thanks.'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-460849734637586938</id><published>2008-06-07T14:57:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T15:05:36.504-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Walking on green</title><content type='html'>I was walking on Friday with a good friend from around the Chinatown/Boylston T stop area to Kenmore.  We wanted to walk and talk after dinner downtown so made our way along the T path, above ground, and we would eventually go our separate train lines home from Kenmore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Multiple times, particularly along Boylston street parallel to Newbury, we were accosted.  Once, a man with a cup asking for money literally cornered my friend while I scooted out of the way.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 102, 204);&quot;&gt;She got away, but not before having him get in her face and physically block her path.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also ran into a variety of male post-game Sox celebrants who thought that because we didn&#39;t move off the sidewalk that they were completely taking over, we were worth all sorts of demeaning names.  My favorite was the simple but loud &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&quot;WHORE!&quot;&lt;/span&gt; we got after passing an enormous group of guys who practically bumped us into the busy street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I should be used to it by now, but I never quite get over how unwelcome men make me feel in my own town.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/460849734637586938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/460849734637586938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/06/walking-on-green.html' title='Walking on green'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-5057290638021436200</id><published>2008-05-15T11:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-15T11:30:02.412-04:00</updated><title type='text'>High school girls strike back</title><content type='html'>So there&#39;s this guy on Dunlap Street in Dorchester who always stands out on his balcony and sleazes on every woman and girl who walks past.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 153, 102);&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 102, 255);&quot;&gt;One day, his attention was deflected from me to a group of high school girls walking by-- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);&quot;&gt;wearing back packs, obviously underage&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 102, 255);&quot;&gt;-- who were going about their business when he called out, &#39;Heey, ladieees!&#39; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;One of them asked her friends, &#39;What&#39;d he say?&#39; to which another responded, &#39;He said &quot;Hey ladies,&quot; ... like a faggot.&#39;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Admittedly, queerphobic slurs and gender policing aren&#39;t the answer to sexist harassment, but the harasser in question was so upset it was almost worth it.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5057290638021436200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5057290638021436200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/05/high-school-girls-strike-back.html' title='High school girls strike back'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-9161871906313393518</id><published>2008-04-15T23:11:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-15T23:24:33.125-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Counter service</title><content type='html'>Today I was working in an Allston cafe when a man approached the counter.  I was listening to music under headphones, but after several minutes, I realized he hadn&#39;t left the counter, even though he had his coffee.  He was at least middle aged, and as I took off my headphones, I heard him asking one of the young baristas weird questions about school and her neighborhood.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 255, 153);&quot;&gt;&quot;Better be careful alone in the big city,&quot; he said, while continuing to lean in.  &lt;/span&gt;She smiled patiently, and I couldn&#39;t yet tell if the guy was just awkward or super slimy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Didn&#39;t take long to figure it out.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 255, 153);&quot;&gt;About another minute in, he was asking if she&#39;d heard of a certain club, would she like to go there with him, and could he take her to his hotel room while they were at it?&lt;/span&gt;  I was done, and I could see there was no easy way for her out of the situation.  I got up, approached the counter, made a face behind his back, and looked at the girl until she told him, &quot;Let me help her.&quot; We then proceeded to talk about tea selection and shop hours for long enough that after she was done talking to me, the girl had an excuse to walk to the back of the store without further addressing the dude.  He stood around for a while longer but finally had to sit down again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my way out, I stopped to see if she was alright, mouthing to the back of the kitchen area where only she could see me, &quot;Are you okay?&quot;  She came up and thanked me, and her coworker came over too, saying, &quot;I&#39;m a chicken.&quot;  I told them that I wasn&#39;t about to disempower them, but it obvious to us all that the douchebaggery guy wasn&#39;t about to take a reasonable &quot;no&quot; for an answer.  Their manager had left a while ago - I&#39;d seen him go - and I told them I had their back.  &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);&quot;&gt;It&#39;s my cafe too, damnit, and if we all aren&#39;t safe and happy, no one really is.   If we don&#39;t watch out for each other, who will?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Brittany</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/9161871906313393518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/9161871906313393518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/04/counter-service.html' title='Counter service'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-5180853397671164043</id><published>2008-03-12T13:45:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T13:48:33.246-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things will be great when you&#39;re...</title><content type='html'>I was at Downtown Crossing heading to a meeting down a side street when a guy yelled, &quot;HEY BABY!&quot;  I turned around, but he wasn&#39;t even looking back at me anymore.  It&#39;s not like this encounter ruined my day or hurt me, but what pisses me off is that I looked.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(204, 204, 255);&quot;&gt;He has that power over me - all men do - and that by just randomly screaming at me, he can have my undivided attention.  &lt;/span&gt;And people think a power imbalance doesn&#39;t exist.  Hah.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5180853397671164043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5180853397671164043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/03/things-will-be-great-when-youre.html' title='Things will be great when you&#39;re...'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-7636385272413616392</id><published>2008-03-07T12:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T12:26:22.365-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Park it over there</title><content type='html'>I was walking through the Common this morning, in a hideous mood and on the verge of tears for legitimate personal reasons.  As I walked past one of the maintenance buildings, a man came out carrying a huge garbage bag.  I had my head down, sunglasses on, and there were quite a few other people around, but - no surprise - he came right at me.  &quot;Hey honey, you got a cell phone, wanna make a dollar?&quot;  So angry that by being in public, by existing, I was immediately assumed to be available for whatever some man wanted from me, I snapped back loudly, &quot;NO,&quot; and kept walking.  He said loudly to my retreating back, &quot;Well gee, thanks a lot,&quot; as if I&#39;d seriously inconvenienced him. I was furious. &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;color: magenta&quot;&gt;Instead of turning around and berating him with tales of my personal sadness, reasons why he should have left me alone; and instead of just letting it go or being afraid, I yelled back, even more loudly, &quot;FUCK YOU!&quot;&lt;/span&gt;  And it felt really fucking good.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/7636385272413616392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/7636385272413616392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/03/park-it-over-there.html' title='Park it over there'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-5513566760225492893</id><published>2008-02-28T14:24:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T15:43:36.624-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Jerkoff on the Peter Pan</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YK0i9Bb8iOr1NVJYgLbdc6Y0z5Jd1oMT3OwKl9XYjA98Zhd8I2DlMoFiDjuxwsQzgX0XFemA2nrwlYjo_jxvFtSU9swLwIgjFQFkWsAcHX7TRx1tRHNYrbYDWxxo7BoilxuEJA/s1600-h/dude.JPG&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YK0i9Bb8iOr1NVJYgLbdc6Y0z5Jd1oMT3OwKl9XYjA98Zhd8I2DlMoFiDjuxwsQzgX0XFemA2nrwlYjo_jxvFtSU9swLwIgjFQFkWsAcHX7TRx1tRHNYrbYDWxxo7BoilxuEJA/s320/dude.JPG&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172124587534287634&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I took the Peter Pan Bus from Port Authority to Providence on Monday, Feb 25 at 8:00pm. The man across the aisle from me got pretty chatty right away, and I was friendly toward him until he started annoying me and I put in my headphones and stopped paying attention. &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 255, 255);&quot;&gt;I could feel him staring at me for most of the ride, but I didn&#39;t want to encourage him, so I kept my eyes on the road outside.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;After a couple of hours (and after ignoring several attempts on his part to get my attention) I got fed up and turned to look at him, hoping he&#39;d leave me the fuck alone. No such luck. &lt;div class=&quot;gmail_quote&quot;&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 255, 255);&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had his dick out of his pants and was openly jerking off - while staring at me.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I froze, turned away, looked back out the window; when I glanced back he was pretending to sleep. I sat there for a few minutes trying to will the bus to get to the city quickly, trying to figure out what I should do, and finally I gathered my things and stood up to move toward the front of the bus. He sat up, said &quot;Oh, are we there?&quot; and pulled his dick out and got back to work, this time with eye contact. I don&#39;t remember what I said - probably &quot;Oh my god&quot; - before I found a new seat. &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called my best friend &amp;amp; kept him on the phone til I was in a cab on my way home. &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 255);&quot;&gt;I felt so ashamed that I hadn&#39;t made a scene - I was so shocked that I just sat there, frozen. I didn&#39;t know what to do.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst part is: this guy is from my town &amp;amp; I have to take the city bus with him every single evening. Last night I talked to the bus driver &amp;amp; supervisor &amp;amp; they&#39;re going to help me do something. &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, I took this picture. Hopefully it&#39;ll help somehow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;Amelia Allard&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;Providence, RI&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;(there&#39;s no Prov hollaback site yet - but I thought maybe it&#39;d be good to post this)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5513566760225492893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5513566760225492893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/02/jerkoff-on-peter-pan.html' title='Jerkoff on the Peter Pan'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YK0i9Bb8iOr1NVJYgLbdc6Y0z5Jd1oMT3OwKl9XYjA98Zhd8I2DlMoFiDjuxwsQzgX0XFemA2nrwlYjo_jxvFtSU9swLwIgjFQFkWsAcHX7TRx1tRHNYrbYDWxxo7BoilxuEJA/s72-c/dude.JPG" height="72" width="72"/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-3582842431066720774</id><published>2008-02-19T13:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T13:01:39.269-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Even my mental health clinic isn&#39;t safe</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;This is a little different than the usual harassment stories that I have seen on the site, but it&#39;s just as frightening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt;I live north of Boston. I have Asperger&#39;s Syndrome (an Autism Spectrum Disorder), Bipolar Disorder, and slight Agoraphobia (fear of leaving a safe place), and I go to a center in Lawrence for mental health and cognitive care on a weekly basis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt;As I was arriving for an appointment a few months ago, I had barely put my car into park, when I looked up and found this strange man staring at me, literally inches from my driver&#39;s side window. With my developmental delays and poor mental health, I often have trouble responding to social cues and situations that require quick thinking. So I sat there, my eyes getting huge and paralyzed in my seat. &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);&quot;&gt;Suddenly, he starts repeatedly knocking on my window, all while staring and nearly breathing on the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt;I abruptly put my car into reverse and backed out of the spot like a bat out of hell. I almost ran over his feet, but I really didn&#39;t care. I didn&#39;t know where to go - it was a small parking lot, and I was worried that he would catch up to me. Luckily, the front parking space was open, and a few people were standing by the door smoking, so I parked there and booked it, not looking back until I got to the front desk. After my appointment, I had to go through more humiliation and ask my counselor to walk me to my car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt;It wasn&#39;t that long ago that I couldn&#39;t even walk to my mailbox without having a panic attack. Being able to run errands on my own is a huge step. &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);&quot;&gt;But every time I get harassed, I get afraid that it will cause me to revert back to my old ways. &lt;/span&gt;I hated feeling that I needed a chaperon everywhere I went. Having AS and being mentally ill at the same time is already discouraging in many situations. &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);&quot;&gt;The added trauma of being harassed and having trouble doing something about it is downright dehumanizing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt;I hope that this might influence some of you to speak out a little louder, for those of us that need extra help fighting back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Sara C.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/3582842431066720774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/3582842431066720774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/02/even-my-mental-health-clinic-isnt-safe.html' title='Even my mental health clinic isn&#39;t safe'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-1116607992471693585</id><published>2008-01-30T13:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-30T13:12:47.826-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Never ends</title><content type='html'>I was visiting from friends in New York city (I live in Boston) and one night, my boyfriend and I went to see a movie in the East Village. It got out pretty late, and as we were trying to hail a cab, one drove past and its passenger screamed at me, &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 255, 51);&quot;&gt;&quot;HEY BEAUTIFUL!&quot;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;It&#39;s not like I don&#39;t experience harassment that&#39;s much worse all the time, but it spooked us both that even another man&#39;s presence did nothing to stop this one.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/1116607992471693585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/1116607992471693585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2008/01/never-ends.html' title='Never ends'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-6233459952641001518</id><published>2007-12-18T14:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-18T14:11:43.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Harassment comes in many forms</title><content type='html'>I was walking into the Borders at Downtown Crossing and this guy said hello to me and held open the door.  I responded, &quot;thank you,&quot; and continued into the store.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;I guess I shouldn&#39;t have been so polite, since he followed me all over the store.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I even went into the ladies room and stayed there for a few minutes, but when I left he had been standing next to the door and started following me again.  I should have gone to a clerk and have them paged the manager or something.  I really should have.  But instead I was just ducking behind shelves and called one of my friends, letting her know what was going on, and keeping her on the line.  I finally made a beeline for the door and when I got outside, I turned around to make sure this guy wasn&#39;t following me but sure enough, he was heading down the escalator staring rather evilly at me.  I took off in a rather unconventional way to get to the Government Center T stop, absolutely terrified.  And when I thought I saw him in the T station, I even got on a different train than the one I needed.  Luckily, I heard a guy on the phone behind me calling the MBTA police, and the chaser disappeared.  Not so much verbal harassment as stalking, but absolutely terrifying all the same.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6233459952641001518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6233459952641001518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/12/harassment-comes-in-many-forms.html' title='Harassment comes in many forms'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-6661484581547595606</id><published>2007-12-13T00:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T23:52:36.013-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bring it on home</title><content type='html'>I&#39;ve experienced many lewd comments whilst living in Boston, but definitely one of the more disturbing incidents of harassment occurred when I was in my hometown for a couple days this past summer.  My car was running on empty, so I stopped to get some gas.  It was the middle of the of the day, and at a busy suburban intersection.  I filled up the tank and walked to the store to pay.  A group of guys were sitting in a decrepit vehicle next to the curb, and one shouted at me that I dropped my keys.  I looked down and nope, no keys.  I threw a withering stare their way and kept walking, to hissing and cackling and &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 102, 255);&quot;&gt;&quot;oh come on baby, we just tryin&#39; to have some fun!&quot;  &lt;font size=&quot;4&quot;&gt;No, assholes, not fun.&lt;/font&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And they just didn&#39;t know how to quit.  They were still sitting there when I returned to my car and one guy stuck his head out the window and yelled for me to &quot;bring [my] sweet self back over.&quot;  That did it.  &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);&quot;&gt;Normally, I ignore disgusting creeps like these guys.  But I turned around and told them to go fuck themselves, as clearly they didn&#39;t know how to respect women enough to actually get one.  &lt;/span&gt;And with that I got in my car and drove off.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6661484581547595606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6661484581547595606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/12/bring-it-on-home.html' title='Bring it on home'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-5899886113626737181</id><published>2007-12-11T11:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-11T11:27:21.880-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Creeper</title><content type='html'>I was out playing pool with my boyfriend one night, and he calls his friend to come pick us up. The guy shows up, and he&#39;s 24 years old- and he&#39;s talking to my friend about his crazy drive there and then goes on about how he &quot;has a little one on the way&quot;. Mind you, I&#39;m only 16. My boyfriend turns around to grab something out of his bag, and as he does &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);&quot;&gt;this guy looks me up and down a few times, then smiles and winks at me- all the while as my boyfriend was standing mere feet away!&lt;/span&gt; Not only that, but he was about to have a baby?? WTF is that, and why is he creeping on little girls? I was too embarrassed to complain to my boyfriend about it, but I made sure to stick close to him whenever this guy was around.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5899886113626737181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5899886113626737181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/12/creeper.html' title='Creeper'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-1875195976100969547</id><published>2007-10-19T01:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T01:20:44.691-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Walking while female</title><content type='html'>A few weeks ago I was walking home from Davis Square along Highland Ave around 10pm.  I heard a bicycle behind me on the sidewalk so I moved to the side to let the biker pass me.  He doesn&#39;t pass.  So I glance back, thinking, that&#39;s kind of weird.  Keep walking.  Bike stays very close to me.  Comes up beside me, falls back.  Still doesn&#39;t pass me, despite the fact we&#39;re on a flat straightaway, very little traffic, he could comfortably be in the road and on his way anytime.  &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);&quot;&gt;I was starting to get nervous, as I was alone on a residential street and the only business that I knew I could duck into was still several blocks away.&lt;/span&gt;  Eventually I realize he&#39;s making these hissing noises.  I glanced back again, and this time gave him a good hard look to let him know I see him.  More hissing, more getting close, falling behind.  Identify the hissing noises as something to the effect of &quot;senorita&quot;.  Eventually he also throws a &quot;beautiful lady&quot; in there.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 204, 0);&quot;&gt;Luckily another woman was walking a little ahead of me and I caught up with her and we chatted until he took off.&lt;/span&gt;  This was about a month ago and I haven&#39;t seen him since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Sarah</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/1875195976100969547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/1875195976100969547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/10/walking-while-female.html' title='Walking while female'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-1457356545794399543</id><published>2007-10-18T11:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T11:49:07.627-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Stop touching women!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1oYXxmjykDi26kVj6ogGc5ElcEmUBc3RjlPfcbY7XfWUfgVVk73bRcLlIF0VCV0lMJAMYUST-3nMEGnPsZvf0eECGqESGYcLPQU1TxSLrSvrzobv-TbZCHAzlWr6MTQG0xMAow/s1600-h/Picture+24.png&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1oYXxmjykDi26kVj6ogGc5ElcEmUBc3RjlPfcbY7XfWUfgVVk73bRcLlIF0VCV0lMJAMYUST-3nMEGnPsZvf0eECGqESGYcLPQU1TxSLrSvrzobv-TbZCHAzlWr6MTQG0xMAow/s320/Picture+24.png&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122702390221735730&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Dear guy at the Spoon concert,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It&#39;s one thing to trick women into shaking your hand by acting like you are old friends, only to then start &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);&quot;&gt;massaging their hands&lt;/span&gt;.  It&#39;s another thing to ask my friend for &quot;a high five before she goes&quot; (she said no with bewilderment - you are a stranger).  It is yet another thing for you to then approach us all again - five of us in total, including a 6&#39;3 male - and &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);&quot;&gt;try to hug our friend who has already said &quot;NO&quot;&lt;/span&gt;.  After yelling &quot;NO!&quot; again and very forcefully telling you to leave, our other friend yelled, &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 153, 153);font-size:130%;&quot; &gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&quot;Stop touching women!&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  Fucking asshole.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/1457356545794399543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/1457356545794399543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/10/stop-touching-women.html' title='Stop touching women!'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1oYXxmjykDi26kVj6ogGc5ElcEmUBc3RjlPfcbY7XfWUfgVVk73bRcLlIF0VCV0lMJAMYUST-3nMEGnPsZvf0eECGqESGYcLPQU1TxSLrSvrzobv-TbZCHAzlWr6MTQG0xMAow/s72-c/Picture+24.png" height="72" width="72"/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-6955892281040332530</id><published>2007-10-03T01:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T01:44:22.432-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I just walked outside</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyijJ7ENKJF2ZBq23_rlOd43FVPHH5U8uoSu1p6SfoWHIdeWLl_2tkxGJO1rgYo_BM3SGl29L5jThByyZdcWqPeQTjQIzNjoPuXOV2PJpTHRi5BTM0YUUJn1AXIA_Rebel5g-W1Q/s1600-h/IMG_5900.JPG&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyijJ7ENKJF2ZBq23_rlOd43FVPHH5U8uoSu1p6SfoWHIdeWLl_2tkxGJO1rgYo_BM3SGl29L5jThByyZdcWqPeQTjQIzNjoPuXOV2PJpTHRi5BTM0YUUJn1AXIA_Rebel5g-W1Q/s200/IMG_5900.JPG&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116981064286734066&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was going to an appointment.  I walked into my own parking lot outside my building.  There were two of them, working on something on a next door house/building.  Not like it matters.  I carried my trash to the dumpster and came back to get into my car, right next to where they were working - though until then, I hadn&#39;t noticed them.  They&#39;re making noise, and I therefore look up to see what it is.  Then I&#39;m greeted with a &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 102);font-size:130%;&quot; &gt;&quot;How you doin, honey?&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 204, 102);&quot;&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I stammered back, &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 204, 102);&quot;&gt;&quot;I&#39;m fine, but I&#39;m not your honey.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;  Doesn&#39;t matter that I&#39;m not - they leered at me as I blasted my stereo and drove away, praying they wouldn&#39;t be there when I came home.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6955892281040332530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6955892281040332530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-just-walked-outside.html' title='I just walked outside'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyijJ7ENKJF2ZBq23_rlOd43FVPHH5U8uoSu1p6SfoWHIdeWLl_2tkxGJO1rgYo_BM3SGl29L5jThByyZdcWqPeQTjQIzNjoPuXOV2PJpTHRi5BTM0YUUJn1AXIA_Rebel5g-W1Q/s72-c/IMG_5900.JPG" height="72" width="72"/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-4188530537251654997</id><published>2007-08-26T08:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-26T14:12:08.658-04:00</updated><title type='text'>On the road again</title><content type='html'>I&#39;m walking home from work at like 1am on Friday.  It&#39;s pretty well lit so I&#39;m not too worried at all.  &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);&quot;&gt;Then out of nowhere, some guy in a giant white SUV with out of state plates yells at me, &lt;span style=&quot;font-size:130%;&quot;&gt;&quot;Hey ma&#39;am, do you need a ride??&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  I was too freaked out to do anything but say &quot;No, I&#39;m fine, thank you&quot; and watch him drive away.  If I didn&#39;t act polite, was he gonna jump out and force me in?  &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 255, 153);&quot;&gt;If it was a nice offer, that&#39;s too bad that he doesn&#39;t know how scary he was acting. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Allston</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/4188530537251654997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/4188530537251654997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/08/on-road-again.html' title='On the road again'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-230575735566867038</id><published>2007-08-22T14:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T15:05:14.760-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Elevator eyes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSHpyZppmmjlUz02t3FX4kL0V5ky04994RzdcdSrZeELzCtH4kJ9U_pDnwcl8UYSrKZyKHv4njtKSBlFyL1i03WqdVO_FHLpranvsdmCcj-AxeSxMEkkIwXZ9KvnVz7RywHF0_A/s1600-h/IMG_5761.JPG&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSHpyZppmmjlUz02t3FX4kL0V5ky04994RzdcdSrZeELzCtH4kJ9U_pDnwcl8UYSrKZyKHv4njtKSBlFyL1i03WqdVO_FHLpranvsdmCcj-AxeSxMEkkIwXZ9KvnVz7RywHF0_A/s320/IMG_5761.JPG&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101596693307630450&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 102, 204);&quot;&gt;Smirking, elevator eyes dood&lt;/span&gt; in Brighton/Brookline cafe last night, do not look at every woman, including my roommate, with your skeezy shit.  You think we don&#39;t see you staring at everyone&#39;s ass who stands next to you at the counter?  Did you order slop for dinner, you pig?  Disgusting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 102, 204);&quot;&gt;Later, my roommates and I were walking home from dinner and got screamed at by some more doods in a truck.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;They saw no men and three women and that&#39;s the invitation they need?&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(102, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;What is wrong with our world?&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/230575735566867038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/230575735566867038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/08/elevator-eyes.html' title='Elevator eyes'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSHpyZppmmjlUz02t3FX4kL0V5ky04994RzdcdSrZeELzCtH4kJ9U_pDnwcl8UYSrKZyKHv4njtKSBlFyL1i03WqdVO_FHLpranvsdmCcj-AxeSxMEkkIwXZ9KvnVz7RywHF0_A/s72-c/IMG_5761.JPG" height="72" width="72"/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-5946736502884708267</id><published>2007-07-21T00:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-20T23:57:43.743-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Not very yummy</title><content type='html'>Walking down Beacon St. w/ friend and ice cream, enjoying our night, we pass this dude leaning against a car, watching us all - women - walk by.  He leans over at me and says in this totally nasty way, &lt;font style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot; color=&quot;hotpink&quot;&gt;&quot;Oooh, that looks delicious!&quot; &lt;/font&gt; We walked a few feet and I turned and yelled back, &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;&quot;Don&#39;t harass women on the street!!&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- from Brookline</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5946736502884708267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5946736502884708267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/07/not-very-yummy.html' title='Not very yummy'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-3172736606588015197</id><published>2007-07-17T00:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-17T00:05:26.369-04:00</updated><title type='text'>More hose play</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7aZqIHTnsYjaDa5KH8HGHZZdOPwvd3L6KDNshXRAPyB63aqXRWhyvZ4OitZcs1IFK9s2ofmAxWiYvMsAmFLJvUEDZ4eJ3wGvVTV-_M1qNbjLp4EtKomoaFRe356Xxb6vJj4OHQ/s1600-h/Picture+15.png&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7aZqIHTnsYjaDa5KH8HGHZZdOPwvd3L6KDNshXRAPyB63aqXRWhyvZ4OitZcs1IFK9s2ofmAxWiYvMsAmFLJvUEDZ4eJ3wGvVTV-_M1qNbjLp4EtKomoaFRe356Xxb6vJj4OHQ/s200/Picture+15.png&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot;id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088012039409792706&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holla back for someone else - the motherfuckers doing this late night construction &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 255, 255);&quot;&gt;whistled across the street at four young women half their age&lt;/span&gt;.  Grow up, men children.  I want to walk home in peace and these ladies deserve the same.  I should have asked who they work for and called the boss.  I&#39;m sure they&#39;d love to know the fellas yell at little girls on the job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- G.R.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/3172736606588015197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/3172736606588015197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/07/more-hose-play.html' title='More hose play'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7aZqIHTnsYjaDa5KH8HGHZZdOPwvd3L6KDNshXRAPyB63aqXRWhyvZ4OitZcs1IFK9s2ofmAxWiYvMsAmFLJvUEDZ4eJ3wGvVTV-_M1qNbjLp4EtKomoaFRe356Xxb6vJj4OHQ/s72-c/Picture+15.png" height="72" width="72"/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-6520483605786632580</id><published>2007-06-26T00:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T23:52:11.472-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wait, what the fuck did you just call me?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmiHKXETIKRgYk9c2kbLECz95RaHvxDfhGaLmFNROO7_iXDoOBcMXyodaCrGpsUuNwEipDqMHog7eQXi98VYW1uL5tO-f8dmfCY_FfSdk-YtAKqLsBMBul-jlTpcoV2PAIHIvtZg/s1600-h/smoothiewtf.jpeg&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmiHKXETIKRgYk9c2kbLECz95RaHvxDfhGaLmFNROO7_iXDoOBcMXyodaCrGpsUuNwEipDqMHog7eQXi98VYW1uL5tO-f8dmfCY_FfSdk-YtAKqLsBMBul-jlTpcoV2PAIHIvtZg/s320/smoothiewtf.jpeg&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080215225653285538&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So I&#39;m walking home from work and as I turn onto my street, a rather jovial man greets me with &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-size:130%;&quot; &gt;&quot;Hey! What&#39;s up, smoothie?&quot;&lt;/span&gt; I turn and look at him like, wtfwtfwtf? Amused by my scornful facial expression, he made some salacious noises and crossed to the opposite side of the street whereupon I reached into my pocket for my cell &amp; snapped the image you see here. &quot;Did you just take my picture?&quot; he asked laughingly. &quot;Word.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as I walk to my front door*, I&#39;m thinking &quot;What the fucking fuck is a smoothie?&quot; I immediately consulted urbandictionary and my results are not encouraging-- and not just because the entries are über-misogynist. &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 102, 102);&quot;&gt;&quot;Smoothie&quot; seems to mean either a female [or the naughty bits of a female] with no pubic hairs, or else it means a blow job. &lt;em&gt;And this epithet is directed at me . . . . why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Yeah, I don&#39;t care that he knows where I live, either-- he&#39;s clearly the type who feels that his harassment is friendly and that his targets should feel flattered by his unwelcome advances. He&#39;s otherwise harmless, but even in the highly improbable event that my freakishly accurate instincts prove disastrously wrong, I&#39;m never without my big knife and my willingness to kill or die fighting rather than get raped again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- from Dorcester&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6520483605786632580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6520483605786632580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/06/wait-what-fuck-did-you-just-call-me.html' title='Wait, what the fuck did you just call me?'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmiHKXETIKRgYk9c2kbLECz95RaHvxDfhGaLmFNROO7_iXDoOBcMXyodaCrGpsUuNwEipDqMHog7eQXi98VYW1uL5tO-f8dmfCY_FfSdk-YtAKqLsBMBul-jlTpcoV2PAIHIvtZg/s72-c/smoothiewtf.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-533468324067339575</id><published>2007-06-19T00:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T00:45:51.765-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Not worth my cash money</title><content type='html'>Some fool looked me up and down when he sat down next to me tonight in the T station, and I whipped out my camera and took his picture!  I was so proud of not just letting him get away with that crap because I was just trying to go home, just like him.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 255, 153);&quot;&gt;Instead of being pissed, I remembered I could do something.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only I can&#39;t get the picture off my phone.  I don&#39;t want to pay the fee to send picture messages, so I guess I don&#39;t get to show him to the world.  &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 255, 153);&quot;&gt;He isn&#39;t worth it.  &lt;/span&gt;But I still feel better and know I&#39;m not alone.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/533468324067339575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/533468324067339575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/06/not-worth-my-cash-money.html' title='Not worth my cash money'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-8639291359888031862</id><published>2007-06-14T00:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T00:15:26.240-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Your humps</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was going to meet my friends at Fenway for a night game so I hopped on the T at north station. It wasn’t too crowded and I was psyched. I noticed this guy like in his 30’s kind of staring at me and I was like, no big deal. I was dressed a little hot and I get looks sometimes and I don’t mind. But this guy was looking at my breasts and my skirt like he was going to EAT me up. First of all, I was scared. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 153, 255);&quot;&gt;I’m 16 and this guy is looking at me like he is going to rape me, and second I’m alone.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;So the train gets a little more crowded and he keeps staring. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 153, 255);&quot;&gt;I also noticed that he is playing pocket pool.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; I cant believe nobody else noticed because it was kind of obvious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, at Govt center: the train got really filled up and he moved right behind me. I was so freaking out…I could feel him breathing on me now and he was bumping into me all the time. I had a very thin short skirt on so I could literally feel him humping me. I jabbed him with my elbow and said “excuse me” and he ignored me. It was honestly too crowded to do anything at the next stop and he got close to me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I thought I heard him whispering shit to me like “oh yea baby, you little @#$# fuck yeah” and I totally felt him humping me. At this point it was one stop until I was getting off and I was sick of it but I just went to my happy place and didn’t worry about it. Then it happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really felt his penis go under against my butt like he was trying to fuck me through my skirt. Then I hear him go “aww you little cunt” and I could feel him do his thing. I tried to move away but I couldn’t. I jabbed him with my elbow and said WTF! At that point the train stopped and I felt wet all over my butt. The train let out and I pushed to get off. I looked and saw that he came all over the back of my skirt. I was horrified and I ran off the train and called my friend. She met me right at the station and we went to a hotel bathroom to clean up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was the most disgusting thing that ever happened to me. I reported it to the transit police and they are investigating it. &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 153, 255);&quot;&gt;I hope they catch this guy because I basically feel like I got raped by this scumbag. &lt;/span&gt;The crazy thing is that the cops said this happens sometimes and usually the guy keeps doing it until he gets caught.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;- Anonymous&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/8639291359888031862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/8639291359888031862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/06/your-humps.html' title='Your humps'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-5408074179288538897</id><published>2007-06-08T00:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-08T00:39:28.080-04:00</updated><title type='text'>How can I best harass you?</title><content type='html'>Last Friday night a group of men pulled over and asked me, &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;“How do we do a gay drive by? Throw skittles at you!?”&lt;/span&gt;  I’m sure they saw my new tattoo which reads “sissy.”  At least this time the harassment was semi-clever - a refreshing break from the usual homo/faggot shouts.  I told them to look at my tattoo again and think about whether or not I give a shit what they think.</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5408074179288538897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/5408074179288538897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/06/how-can-i-best-harass-you.html' title='How can I best harass you?'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27341451.post-6664257279647929390</id><published>2007-06-06T00:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T00:46:32.616-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Just not worth it</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;A couple of years ago, a friend and I were on vacation. We&#39;d made our way to El Paso, TX, and decided to go across the border to Juarez one Sunday morning. We were just walking along - it was probably only 10am - and suddenly there was a man in my face, &lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-size:130%;color:#ffff99;&quot;  &gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(255, 204, 102);font-size:130%;&quot; &gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(204, 102, 0);&quot;&gt;trying to kiss me!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;A few minutes later, someone asked us out for drinks. At 10am?! We got some souvenirs and took off. I didn&#39;t want harassment to ruin my trip, but it just wasn&#39;t worth it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;- Kate</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6664257279647929390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27341451/posts/default/6664257279647929390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hollabackboston.blogspot.com/2007/06/just-not-worth-it.html' title='Just not worth it'/><author><name>B</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12467128630702568597</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>