bitch

I don't know that I've ever been called a bitch before. I've been called plenty of other things, but not a bitch.

Or maybe it's just that I don't bike enough on Saturday nights. On the way back from some Los Feliz thing, I had a perfectly delightful ride. Really good, in fact, until about a mile from my house, at which point a Jeep driver was compelled to impart his opinion.

"Bitch!"

I was doing the bike driving thing (acting like a car in the absence of a bike lane), in the right lane. They were in the left lane. Then the light turned red. I passed them, they passed me. I gave them the "I'm looking at you because I want to not hit you, but I'm looking with cold, dead eyes." Then, this:

"GET ON THE SIDEWALK, HIPPIE."

Wow, wrong. I would have expected "hipster" before "hippie," but hipster's not right, either -- I do bathe. Most accurate would be "Nine-year-old boy!" because, well, I dress like a nine-year-old boy. Or "Fashion-Lazy!" I would have taken that. Or, like, "Rigorous with your Political Beliefs, in your Words and in your Actions!"

Oh shit, I am a hippie.