I am almost at the point where almost every single day a stranger talks to me. And not easy benign stuff, like "hey do you know where the nearest bank is?" Like weird crap.
I went out Saturday night for a concert and to see friends I hadn't seen in a long time. I ended up staying over on a friend's couch for the night. Needless to say, riding home on the subway for an hour after a bit of overindulging and sleeping on a couch in my clothes, maybe I wasn't at my best.
But this guy comes up to me, despite the headphones (side note: this always gets me--I have headphones on; unless you want to ask me a question because I look knowledgeable, don't bother me, just don't do it) and gets in my face and starts talking to me.
Weirdo Guy: Hey, I couldn't help but notice you sitting over here, looking all beautiful.
Me: [after I recall how I hadn't brushed my teeth in over 24 hours, had slept in a rumpled mess, and also didn't wash off any eye makeup before bed, so I clearly looked like I had died a few days earlier and just didn't know yet]
Mmm.
Weirdo Guy: No really. What's your name?
Me: [I stare blankly and just motion to the headphones to be like, "oh can't hear you."
Weirdo Guy: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?? [he upped the volume to be sure I heard. Thanks, guy.]
Me: [I start panicking--I can't think of a single name that isn't MY NAME to give this guy and I am clearly uncomfortable and saying nothing for seconds on end; COME UP WITH A NAME ALREADY!]
My name is... Annnnnnnnnnnn.
Now I like to think I am usually a little better at thinking of things. But seriously, if I am going to bother with a fake name, WHY pick a name that is basically MY NAME? Diane, Ann. Not so different...
Weirdo guy: Well you look good. What, you got a boyfriend or somethin'?
Me: oh, mmm-hmm. Yup. I got a serious boyfriend. We are like, so serious. He's great. We're so happy. He's tall.
Another note: Maybe don't overplay how happy you are with the non-existent boyfriend, because the more you go on, the less it seems like he exists.
So the guy was like "awww, dag." And he went to sit diagonally across from me and half sleep, half stare for the next half hour. Before getting off, he decided to use the subway pole to do some kind of weird, backbend stretching for a few minutes. Awesome.
Anyhow, then I was walking home on Monday night from the subway. I walk next to this guy who feels the need to start talking to me.
Street Creep: EXCUSE ME! [yeah, I had headphones in SO HE YELLED.]
Me: yes?
Street Creep: Are you okay?
Me: .... uh, yeah. I'm good.
Street Creep: You sure?
Me: [I look down to make sure I'm not randomly profusely bleeding, or missing a limb--but no, I'm good]
I'm positive.
Street Creep: Where are you from?
Me: [gesturing widely with my hands despite being about a block from home] I live in the Bronx.
Street Creep: What do you do? Like, for a living?
Me: Publishing.
Street Creep: And do you enjoy walking? Like, do you do it a lot?
Me: ..... uh, I don't think much about it.
Street Creep: Okay, well have a good night, sweetheart.
I mean, I don't mean to sound totally antisocial. But honestly, don't stop me when I'm trying to get home, before I have to make dinner, and go grocery shopping, just to get home and put off doing taxes yet again so I can go to bed and wake up for work. FOR NO REASON. That's the issue--people don't bother me with legitimate reasons, they bother me because they are crazy and for whatever reason, it is like they can find the crazy gene in me and identify with it and think I am a person happy to connect with them. Not so.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
What's My Age Again??
So I am basically a bachelor. Nobody thinks of single females as the type to despise food shopping, cooking, and doing dishes. But oh yeah, that is so me. So I have a tendency to get home, look in the barren fridge, have a pepperoncini or pickle slice, and go "I should SO just run out for a sushi roll or turkey burger" (to one of the places within half a block of me that make either option phenomenally convenient).
The other night I am craving sushi, so I head around the corner and order one sushi roll for myself and there is a sports game on the TV. Whatever, sushi is super fast, and I am good watching TV myself and then going home.
The guy next to me is about 65 and seems pretty benign, so when he starts talking to me I am pretty polite. It all seems like normal things; then he gets around to saying, "I have been a huge, huge Mets fan ever since the team came to be! I have loved them since '62! Will always be a fan!!" So things seem to be interesting for me. I asked "so how do you like CitiField?" His completely blank stare should have been a sign that maybe he wasn't totally above board with normalcy. "How do I like WHAT?"
"CitiField?"
"No, that is where the Yankees play."
"No, actually, they have enough money to STILL call their new stadium Yankee Stadium, but we play in CitiField."
"Really?!"
"Yup."
"Well."
I mean, that was kind of sign one. But my sushi hadn't arrived yet, and I was hungry, so we ended up still chatting a bit about stupid things I don't even remember. I start to think, "this guy is a little weird" right as my food comes. Strange Guy goes to the bathroom and the weirdo to the other side of me goes, "yo. yo. Yo, you eatin' Sushi????" So I look over and go, "ha, yeah. Sushi!" and he responds by saying, "can I get me one of those?" I mean, the roll has 8 slices and I paid almost $16 for it. Because I LOVE it. So no, I am not throwing $2 at you for no reason. So I totally ignore that guy and decided the crazy older fella is my best bet.
Boy, was I wrong.
So he gets back and starts telling all sorts of stories about the old days. And finally he gets to "so I'm not sure if you remember this, or heck, maybe you were there, but the '64 World's Fair was one heck of a time."
I mean, seriously???? I was born in 1980; the END OF 1980. I really, really don't like being compared to someone who would remember an event almost 20 years before my existence. Really??? If there is one thing you should never, ever, EVER do, it is telling someone they look like they could "remember" an event that happened 16 years BEFORE THEY WERE BORN. And at this point, I started staring at him in horror and distaste. Add 20 years to my life, and you are so dead to me...
So then he takes a call outside. And comes back in complaining about his girlfriend. I just kind of shrug along with older guy, because what do I know about that crap? Simultaneously, creepy "can i get some of dat" sushi guy keeps trying to "wave" me over, while I am sitting just 2 seats away. (I mean, really? Just speak up...) Then the phone rings again, creepy older guy answers it, and then puts THE PHONE IN MY HAND and says, "you have to talk to her, she won't listen to reason."
I am a wuss, by nature (working on that) so I go, ".....helloooo?" when I pick up the phone. This woman starts yelling at me. "And just who are you? Who do you think you are? You are out there trying to pick up MY MAN?" So I start to calmly explain to her the situation. I mean, why did I even try to do this?? Really, I am so stupid for not going, "oh I just developed a random case of being MUTE."
Oh my God.... I am NOT picking up a SIXTY-FIVE YEAR OLD MAN! I WAS JUST TRYING TO GET SOME SUSHI!!! And why did I field this call? Oh yeah, I am the biggest wuss ever.
"Hi, so I just want to let you know that I am here and there is absolutely nothing inappropriate going on, and he was just talking to me about sports while I waited for my sushi and he was just making small talk while I'm here, which is soon to come to a rapid end as I'm on my way out and there is absolutely nothing, nothing, for you to worry about. I mean, I'm THIRTY-ONE YEARS OLD... CLEARLY nothing is happening."
her: "Well how do you think I feel when I hear that my BOYFRIEND is talking to some... TEXTBOOK EDITOR??!"
She spits the words out like it had been "prostitute" or "terrorist." I mean, really? Editors are SO not that bad. And frankly, SO not a romantic threat to you... we EDIT. Come on....
But anyway this complete stranger is yelling at me over the phone over a complete stranger who I was having less than 0% romantic chats with, and never would, and it just all felt so surreal. And I hate the part of me that goes, "But I have to fix this for him and PROVE that we aren't romantic!" Because how much is that NOT MY JOB in life.
Also, I never, ever, ever want to be the girl who actually speaks to someone on the PHONE when my significant other says "but no, she isn't a big deal!" Because I 100% wasn't, but come on. How pathetic is that. You guys have issues.
The other night I am craving sushi, so I head around the corner and order one sushi roll for myself and there is a sports game on the TV. Whatever, sushi is super fast, and I am good watching TV myself and then going home.
The guy next to me is about 65 and seems pretty benign, so when he starts talking to me I am pretty polite. It all seems like normal things; then he gets around to saying, "I have been a huge, huge Mets fan ever since the team came to be! I have loved them since '62! Will always be a fan!!" So things seem to be interesting for me. I asked "so how do you like CitiField?" His completely blank stare should have been a sign that maybe he wasn't totally above board with normalcy. "How do I like WHAT?"
"CitiField?"
"No, that is where the Yankees play."
"No, actually, they have enough money to STILL call their new stadium Yankee Stadium, but we play in CitiField."
"Really?!"
"Yup."
"Well."
I mean, that was kind of sign one. But my sushi hadn't arrived yet, and I was hungry, so we ended up still chatting a bit about stupid things I don't even remember. I start to think, "this guy is a little weird" right as my food comes. Strange Guy goes to the bathroom and the weirdo to the other side of me goes, "yo. yo. Yo, you eatin' Sushi????" So I look over and go, "ha, yeah. Sushi!" and he responds by saying, "can I get me one of those?" I mean, the roll has 8 slices and I paid almost $16 for it. Because I LOVE it. So no, I am not throwing $2 at you for no reason. So I totally ignore that guy and decided the crazy older fella is my best bet.
Boy, was I wrong.
So he gets back and starts telling all sorts of stories about the old days. And finally he gets to "so I'm not sure if you remember this, or heck, maybe you were there, but the '64 World's Fair was one heck of a time."
I mean, seriously???? I was born in 1980; the END OF 1980. I really, really don't like being compared to someone who would remember an event almost 20 years before my existence. Really??? If there is one thing you should never, ever, EVER do, it is telling someone they look like they could "remember" an event that happened 16 years BEFORE THEY WERE BORN. And at this point, I started staring at him in horror and distaste. Add 20 years to my life, and you are so dead to me...
So then he takes a call outside. And comes back in complaining about his girlfriend. I just kind of shrug along with older guy, because what do I know about that crap? Simultaneously, creepy "can i get some of dat" sushi guy keeps trying to "wave" me over, while I am sitting just 2 seats away. (I mean, really? Just speak up...) Then the phone rings again, creepy older guy answers it, and then puts THE PHONE IN MY HAND and says, "you have to talk to her, she won't listen to reason."
I am a wuss, by nature (working on that) so I go, ".....helloooo?" when I pick up the phone. This woman starts yelling at me. "And just who are you? Who do you think you are? You are out there trying to pick up MY MAN?" So I start to calmly explain to her the situation. I mean, why did I even try to do this?? Really, I am so stupid for not going, "oh I just developed a random case of being MUTE."
Oh my God.... I am NOT picking up a SIXTY-FIVE YEAR OLD MAN! I WAS JUST TRYING TO GET SOME SUSHI!!! And why did I field this call? Oh yeah, I am the biggest wuss ever.
"Hi, so I just want to let you know that I am here and there is absolutely nothing inappropriate going on, and he was just talking to me about sports while I waited for my sushi and he was just making small talk while I'm here, which is soon to come to a rapid end as I'm on my way out and there is absolutely nothing, nothing, for you to worry about. I mean, I'm THIRTY-ONE YEARS OLD... CLEARLY nothing is happening."
her: "Well how do you think I feel when I hear that my BOYFRIEND is talking to some... TEXTBOOK EDITOR??!"
She spits the words out like it had been "prostitute" or "terrorist." I mean, really? Editors are SO not that bad. And frankly, SO not a romantic threat to you... we EDIT. Come on....
But anyway this complete stranger is yelling at me over the phone over a complete stranger who I was having less than 0% romantic chats with, and never would, and it just all felt so surreal. And I hate the part of me that goes, "But I have to fix this for him and PROVE that we aren't romantic!" Because how much is that NOT MY JOB in life.
Also, I never, ever, ever want to be the girl who actually speaks to someone on the PHONE when my significant other says "but no, she isn't a big deal!" Because I 100% wasn't, but come on. How pathetic is that. You guys have issues.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Come on.... That's your "come on"?
So I suck at food shopping; I absolutely hate it and frequently find myself opening the fridge and seeing a barren wasteland.
Today I found myself home around 7 pm with nothing for dinner. I decided to walk a block to a cool restaurant/bar right near me.
I got down there and sit with my new Nook (I can't figure it all out yet, but I am in love with it) and there is a riveting football game on between the Giants and the Packers. I order a turkey burger and a glass of wine, and all is seemingly going well. It is early on a Sunday night so I am just trying to relax before another week of work and get some down time in. (This is the boring back story so it doesn't seem jarring when I jump right into creepiness.)
I finish eating and am having a water just to get me through to the end of the game and head out. The bartender, a lovely girl, comes over and says the guys at the end of the bar have offered to pay for my next drink. I look down and they wave me over. It was about 8:00, so I figured why not. I make a big deal about never making new friends, so I figured I should start being more social. The bartender lady goes "they're really nice!" so I walked down to them and got another wine.
I sit down between the 2 guys and the first one, who was way creepier, immediately starts talking to me in a heavy accent. I am not bad with accents, but I was so not understanding about half of what he was saying. I nod and smile when seems appropriate, but I was way uncomfortable. His first words were just "you are so beautiful. You are beautiful. I am telling you, you are beautiful. We saw you sitting over there, and thought, 'she is beautiful.' You are beautiful." So I just go "okay, thanks" and kind of figure we will get on with some conversation. No. Apparently all this guy has got up his sleeve is to keep telling me how beautiful I am. And, awesome, he does most of it while staring at my chest.
I even got a few "the bartender? She no have what you have" while he uses his hands to imitate big boobs on his own chest. Awesome. Let's keep talking more about nothing but my boobs, shall we?? So then his friend goes, "Today is my birthday. So can I get your phone number and call you one day?" I haven't spoken more than ten words to this guy. WTF? Seriously? No. I appreciate the straightforward approach without staring at my chest, but still. What has happened to people having conversations? And like, actually talking?? Besides something other than my boobies?
The first guy just keeps tapping my shoulder every time I even look away from him for a second, which I gotta say, is a REALLY attractive trait (SO ANNOYING).
So he hands me a business card and says, "I own 5 restaurants. This is one of them. You should stop by and get some food there." So I say, "Ok, thanks!" and go to put it away. He grabs it out of my hand and goes, "Wait, do you speak fluent Spanish? No? Then you can't come here" and puts the card back in his pocket.
Then I get "tomorrow night I come to your place and cook you dinner. You like Spanish food?" I say "no" with extreme vehemence. I really don't want Creepy McGross coming over...
Then he tells me, "you are... you are princess. What do you do?" So I say I work in publishing and he goes, "PUBLISHING? PSHHH. No, you should not work in PUBLISHING!" He says this like it is the most disgusting job in the world.
"No, you are princess! You should be... you should be a building manager!!"
I kind of just stared at him at that point. I mean, I have nothing against building managers, but it was just a weird job to pull out of a hat. Especially for a princess.
So I am finishing up my wine (I mean, you'd have to be pretty damn creepy to make me want to leave some wine behind) and the first creepier guy goes, "May I show you something?" So I go ".... uhm, what?" And he says, "just to illustrate to you how beautiful you are? I have your permission?" so I go "... okay, I guess." And he puts his hand under my boob, palm up, completely trying to cop a feel. And when I slap his hand away and go "no" and he says "you give me your permission?" WHAT? That was a complete misrepresentation of your intentions. Guy.
The friend then began to tell me how beautiful my eyes are, and waxed on and about what a beautiful shade of blue they are.... yeah, I don't have blue eyes.
Then I got hit with the awesomely hot line, "So you have a husband? No? So maybe one day... you and me... you know." And he did that weird hand gesture of like "hook up" that you can't explain, but you know it when you see it.
And this is why I should be smarter about food shopping.
Today I found myself home around 7 pm with nothing for dinner. I decided to walk a block to a cool restaurant/bar right near me.
I got down there and sit with my new Nook (I can't figure it all out yet, but I am in love with it) and there is a riveting football game on between the Giants and the Packers. I order a turkey burger and a glass of wine, and all is seemingly going well. It is early on a Sunday night so I am just trying to relax before another week of work and get some down time in. (This is the boring back story so it doesn't seem jarring when I jump right into creepiness.)
I finish eating and am having a water just to get me through to the end of the game and head out. The bartender, a lovely girl, comes over and says the guys at the end of the bar have offered to pay for my next drink. I look down and they wave me over. It was about 8:00, so I figured why not. I make a big deal about never making new friends, so I figured I should start being more social. The bartender lady goes "they're really nice!" so I walked down to them and got another wine.
I sit down between the 2 guys and the first one, who was way creepier, immediately starts talking to me in a heavy accent. I am not bad with accents, but I was so not understanding about half of what he was saying. I nod and smile when seems appropriate, but I was way uncomfortable. His first words were just "you are so beautiful. You are beautiful. I am telling you, you are beautiful. We saw you sitting over there, and thought, 'she is beautiful.' You are beautiful." So I just go "okay, thanks" and kind of figure we will get on with some conversation. No. Apparently all this guy has got up his sleeve is to keep telling me how beautiful I am. And, awesome, he does most of it while staring at my chest.
I even got a few "the bartender? She no have what you have" while he uses his hands to imitate big boobs on his own chest. Awesome. Let's keep talking more about nothing but my boobs, shall we?? So then his friend goes, "Today is my birthday. So can I get your phone number and call you one day?" I haven't spoken more than ten words to this guy. WTF? Seriously? No. I appreciate the straightforward approach without staring at my chest, but still. What has happened to people having conversations? And like, actually talking?? Besides something other than my boobies?
The first guy just keeps tapping my shoulder every time I even look away from him for a second, which I gotta say, is a REALLY attractive trait (SO ANNOYING).
So he hands me a business card and says, "I own 5 restaurants. This is one of them. You should stop by and get some food there." So I say, "Ok, thanks!" and go to put it away. He grabs it out of my hand and goes, "Wait, do you speak fluent Spanish? No? Then you can't come here" and puts the card back in his pocket.
Then I get "tomorrow night I come to your place and cook you dinner. You like Spanish food?" I say "no" with extreme vehemence. I really don't want Creepy McGross coming over...
Then he tells me, "you are... you are princess. What do you do?" So I say I work in publishing and he goes, "PUBLISHING? PSHHH. No, you should not work in PUBLISHING!" He says this like it is the most disgusting job in the world.
"No, you are princess! You should be... you should be a building manager!!"
I kind of just stared at him at that point. I mean, I have nothing against building managers, but it was just a weird job to pull out of a hat. Especially for a princess.
So I am finishing up my wine (I mean, you'd have to be pretty damn creepy to make me want to leave some wine behind) and the first creepier guy goes, "May I show you something?" So I go ".... uhm, what?" And he says, "just to illustrate to you how beautiful you are? I have your permission?" so I go "... okay, I guess." And he puts his hand under my boob, palm up, completely trying to cop a feel. And when I slap his hand away and go "no" and he says "you give me your permission?" WHAT? That was a complete misrepresentation of your intentions. Guy.
The friend then began to tell me how beautiful my eyes are, and waxed on and about what a beautiful shade of blue they are.... yeah, I don't have blue eyes.
Then I got hit with the awesomely hot line, "So you have a husband? No? So maybe one day... you and me... you know." And he did that weird hand gesture of like "hook up" that you can't explain, but you know it when you see it.
And this is why I should be smarter about food shopping.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Frotteur!
So I have been commuting on the subway for a few weeks now. Of course, in any large group you get your... freaks.
I hate crowded subways; I usually wait like, 3 trains even to try and get on one that isn't as bad. Last week I waited for my 3 trains, get on the 4th, and some guy jams in behind me. All seems fine. He was in the middle of the door area and for some reason, moved away from there to get further inside, which was weird. So I ended up in this weird like, half turned position with my bag shoved into a poor guy in front of me. Hate, hate, HATE crowded subways!
So I'm already figuring I'll go the one stop on the express, then get off and wait. Meantime, I am listening to music and just trying to get through this hot, jammed experience. The guy behind me suddenly like, smashes into me and against the back of me. Meantime he's talking to himself and look wicked creepy. So I was like, "oh man, that crazy old guy really has no balance." So it happens again. And then I realized, it is suddenly lingering. So I do the casual shift trying to jam more of myself into the door area and inch of space around me. But the guy follows me. And as I'm annoyed about it, I realize--that's his hard junk pushing against me. I was experiencing one of the most creepy subway events. Yes, way worse than someone falling asleep and putting their head on your shoulder. But no, not worse than the guy who takes his junk out and plays with it while leering at you. Probably somewhere in the middle. I'd equate it to a flasher.
So I am now stuck on the train with a guy rubbing his "member" against me, while talking to himself and seeming overall crazy. And that's the thing--they have you between a rock and a hard place. Or in my case, a "you're a little old so it is more of a somewhat firm" place. So I turn so that my hip is more facing him instead of my fleshy behind. And that doesn't matter. He takes a second break, then starts the rubbing again. As I went to turn again, a little voice went "Hey stupid, turning so your FRONT is facing him is probably not better" so I just jammed my bag between us. He somehow just pushed on through that. So I ended up shifting again and lodging my elbow into his gut, effectively holding him at just enough of a distance that he was still gyrating in an attempt to find someone to rub against, but couldn't quite reach me.
I got off the train and went to look for an MTA member or something to say, "hey, I got frotteurized," but there were none around and the MTA booth was up a flight, a giant escalator, then another flight of stairs. So by the time I got there in rush hour I figured my "some creepy dude was on a train that left a few minutes ago" wouldn't be much help.
But anyway, I can't understand this. I know it is a psychological condition indicating you ain't right, but do these people have day jobs? I mean, I couldn't just go into a meeting and start rubbing myself on someone at work. Can they refrain from it all in open spaces but in a crowd something in them just goes "must....rub.....on a disinterested person"? So many questions.
And, frankly, what is the ultimate goal? Do they ever "finish" (EWWW) or do they just like, take their member home and handle it?
I like how THIS is my return to blogging. A story about a pervert.
I hate crowded subways; I usually wait like, 3 trains even to try and get on one that isn't as bad. Last week I waited for my 3 trains, get on the 4th, and some guy jams in behind me. All seems fine. He was in the middle of the door area and for some reason, moved away from there to get further inside, which was weird. So I ended up in this weird like, half turned position with my bag shoved into a poor guy in front of me. Hate, hate, HATE crowded subways!
So I'm already figuring I'll go the one stop on the express, then get off and wait. Meantime, I am listening to music and just trying to get through this hot, jammed experience. The guy behind me suddenly like, smashes into me and against the back of me. Meantime he's talking to himself and look wicked creepy. So I was like, "oh man, that crazy old guy really has no balance." So it happens again. And then I realized, it is suddenly lingering. So I do the casual shift trying to jam more of myself into the door area and inch of space around me. But the guy follows me. And as I'm annoyed about it, I realize--that's his hard junk pushing against me. I was experiencing one of the most creepy subway events. Yes, way worse than someone falling asleep and putting their head on your shoulder. But no, not worse than the guy who takes his junk out and plays with it while leering at you. Probably somewhere in the middle. I'd equate it to a flasher.
So I am now stuck on the train with a guy rubbing his "member" against me, while talking to himself and seeming overall crazy. And that's the thing--they have you between a rock and a hard place. Or in my case, a "you're a little old so it is more of a somewhat firm" place. So I turn so that my hip is more facing him instead of my fleshy behind. And that doesn't matter. He takes a second break, then starts the rubbing again. As I went to turn again, a little voice went "Hey stupid, turning so your FRONT is facing him is probably not better" so I just jammed my bag between us. He somehow just pushed on through that. So I ended up shifting again and lodging my elbow into his gut, effectively holding him at just enough of a distance that he was still gyrating in an attempt to find someone to rub against, but couldn't quite reach me.
I got off the train and went to look for an MTA member or something to say, "hey, I got frotteurized," but there were none around and the MTA booth was up a flight, a giant escalator, then another flight of stairs. So by the time I got there in rush hour I figured my "some creepy dude was on a train that left a few minutes ago" wouldn't be much help.
But anyway, I can't understand this. I know it is a psychological condition indicating you ain't right, but do these people have day jobs? I mean, I couldn't just go into a meeting and start rubbing myself on someone at work. Can they refrain from it all in open spaces but in a crowd something in them just goes "must....rub.....on a disinterested person"? So many questions.
And, frankly, what is the ultimate goal? Do they ever "finish" (EWWW) or do they just like, take their member home and handle it?
I like how THIS is my return to blogging. A story about a pervert.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
I swear I bathe
So yesterday I was leaving for work (really late, again) and as I headed out the door I saw my landlord/fake uncle parking his car. (Meanwhile, how someone who is retired can be up, ready, out and BACK before I can even force myself to leave for work is really beyond me.)
I stop to wait for him and notice a lady walks by me, pretty slowly. So I chat with my fake uncle for a few minutes, about pretty much nothing, but just small talk. Then I turn to go to my car, which is probably only 30 feet away, and see that the lady who had walked by is still kinda there. Just loitering near where we had been talking. So fake uncle goes inside, and I start to walk to car.
And the lady is like, "Sweetheart! Can I ask you a question?!"
Now, I get bothered a lot. I don't know what it is about me, but so far on my street alone I have had several weird conversations. One guy tried to sell me a half-eaten muffin from a dirty old rag, one guy just asked for money, one guy was yelling at himself and then me when he passed by, and one guy knocked on my passenger car window one day when I had just gotten in. I opened the window like, a decimeter. First, he asked me for a quarter, and I was like, "ooh, no. I don't have it." So then he asked if he could just borrow my cell phone. And I swear, I am a nice person. But I typically don't like to lend things to strangers, especially things I can't really afford to replace, and they had literally just shut down an institution/rehab in my neighborhood about a week earlier and just let the "healthiest" people go. So I was like "you know, I don't have a cell phone." Of all the inopportune moments, he looked down at my passenger seat where apparently my cell phone was peeking out from my bag. So I broke down and was like, "you know what? I just found a quarter." I gave him that and he seemed happy enough.
So anyway, back to my lady and the story at hand.
Lady: "Sweetheart?"
Me: "[walk, walk, walk]"
Lady: "Sweetheart, can I ask you a question?"
Me: "mmm-hmm?"
Lady: "Just a quick question. Real quick. Honey, can I ask a question?"
Me: "yeah, what?"
Lady: "In the mornings, how long do you wait after showing before you leave the house?"
Now this did give me pause. Because I honestly thought she would ask for either directions, or money.
Me: "Uhh, I actually usually shower at night."
Lady: "At night?! I can't do that!"
Me: "Yeah."
Lady: "But see, I keep getting sick. And I don't know if it is because I leave the house too soon after showering."
Me: "/stare/"
Lady: "I have been waiting an hour. Do you think an hour is enough time? Sweetheart, do you think an hour is right?"
Me: "Yeah, I definitely think that an hour is enough time. You should be good to go."
Lady: "BUT I KEEP GETTING SICK!"
Me: "Well, it is cold season."
Lady: "But this is from showering. You shower at night?! Huh."
At this point, I had arrived at my car already, been putting my stuff in, and was trying to leave.
Me: "Yeah, but I am sure an hour is enough time. One would certainly think so."
Lady: "Yeah. But I mean... I sure keep getting sick."
Me: "Bye."
I also took a moment when I got into my car to reflect on how not only do strangers like to talk to me, they also really like to call me "sweetheart." I get that a lot. I guess it's just 'cause I seem and look so darn nice.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Hair update
So I think I am getting kind of used to my bad haircut. I am just putting it back a lot. I tend to do those 2 half-ponytails. But the one problem is that people keep being like, "Can't you just put it in a ponytail?"
Here is a photo I took yesterday of how my hair looks when it is in a ponytail. And if you look at me head on, I just have this weird section that sticks straight up about an inch from my head.
And somehow, this picture doesn't even do my bad haircut justice. It is so much worse than I could capture with a mere camera phone.
Here is a photo I took yesterday of how my hair looks when it is in a ponytail. And if you look at me head on, I just have this weird section that sticks straight up about an inch from my head.
And somehow, this picture doesn't even do my bad haircut justice. It is so much worse than I could capture with a mere camera phone.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Haircut
Okay, so I have no idea what happened here.
I went to get my hair cut, and I went to a lady that I had been to before and I was pleased with. And I even brought in a photograph. A photograph of me with a haircut from years earlier that I liked and wanted again.
So I show the woman the picture and go, "I think I'd like my hair to look like this again."
Hair destroyer: "No, your hair is too thick for that haircut."
Me: "But see, that IS me. That IS my haircut. That's MY head."
HD: "No, that would poof up too much with your hair and would look too big. How about I cut it a little longer than you want, and then do some minor angling towards the front?"
So I thought about it and figured, why not? It's just hair, and even the worst haircut can't be that bad. I mean, it grows out. And usually when I listen to the people, it turns out pretty good.
So I am sitting there watching my hair falling around me, glad that I am cutting off my hair to shoulder length as I wanted. You always have that weird sense of freedom when the weight of your old hair is just falling away from you. And angles are good. People look OK with angles. I was getting excited for my new look.
Suddenly I feel a tension in my stomach: why did she just cut that big chunk from so far back? That can't be an angle, can it? What is happening? But no, I don't know anything about cutting hair. I'm sure it's fine. It must be fine. She knows what she is doing. And anyway, she's done already. The scissors are away in that strange blue liquid. Why worry now? It will be FINE.
I see my sister come back in and mouth, "Oh my God, am I getting a mullet?" She looks at me like I'm crazy and I am appeased. Noooo, it's not a mullet. She'd tell me. It was just that my hair was so wet, so I couldn't tell how it would look.
We finish the hour of hair drying, and I look up again as my sister is staring at me in blatant horror. Then she bursts into silent laughter and hides it behind a People magazine. Oh my God. What is it? How bad is it? I can't have a...mullet, can I? No! I am just being obsessed. I don't have a MULLET. Pshhh.
I do find it a little bit odd that the woman has me facing away from the mirror, though. Don't they usually show you with the big "ta-da!" and are happy when you smile and go, "Wow, it looks great!" even when you just got a trim and you can't even tell that anything was actually cut? I mean, does anybody ever look and go, "MY GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
But I turn, and I see this (see right for Exhibit A--also known as Exhibit mullet-head). That is the side of MY HEAD. MINE! Not some guy in a rusty pick-up truck down in Florida. Me. I live in NEW YORK CITY and I have a mullet. Look at that party in the back! I tell you, IT'S NO PARTY!! I am horrified.
And the worst part is, I am terrified of washing my hair. I have wavy hair, so once I wash this mullet sucker, I am going to look like carrot top. But with a worse haircut. Which I never thought possible until I saw my sister hiding her hysterics behind People magazine, because reading about Britney Spears and her latest antics was less horrific than seeing me in this haircut. She was frightened by the mulletude of it all.
Oh...my...God.
I went to get my hair cut, and I went to a lady that I had been to before and I was pleased with. And I even brought in a photograph. A photograph of me with a haircut from years earlier that I liked and wanted again.
So I show the woman the picture and go, "I think I'd like my hair to look like this again."
Hair destroyer: "No, your hair is too thick for that haircut."
Me: "But see, that IS me. That IS my haircut. That's MY head."
HD: "No, that would poof up too much with your hair and would look too big. How about I cut it a little longer than you want, and then do some minor angling towards the front?"
So I thought about it and figured, why not? It's just hair, and even the worst haircut can't be that bad. I mean, it grows out. And usually when I listen to the people, it turns out pretty good.
So I am sitting there watching my hair falling around me, glad that I am cutting off my hair to shoulder length as I wanted. You always have that weird sense of freedom when the weight of your old hair is just falling away from you. And angles are good. People look OK with angles. I was getting excited for my new look.
Suddenly I feel a tension in my stomach: why did she just cut that big chunk from so far back? That can't be an angle, can it? What is happening? But no, I don't know anything about cutting hair. I'm sure it's fine. It must be fine. She knows what she is doing. And anyway, she's done already. The scissors are away in that strange blue liquid. Why worry now? It will be FINE.
I see my sister come back in and mouth, "Oh my God, am I getting a mullet?" She looks at me like I'm crazy and I am appeased. Noooo, it's not a mullet. She'd tell me. It was just that my hair was so wet, so I couldn't tell how it would look.
We finish the hour of hair drying, and I look up again as my sister is staring at me in blatant horror. Then she bursts into silent laughter and hides it behind a People magazine. Oh my God. What is it? How bad is it? I can't have a...mullet, can I? No! I am just being obsessed. I don't have a MULLET. Pshhh.
I do find it a little bit odd that the woman has me facing away from the mirror, though. Don't they usually show you with the big "ta-da!" and are happy when you smile and go, "Wow, it looks great!" even when you just got a trim and you can't even tell that anything was actually cut? I mean, does anybody ever look and go, "MY GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
But I turn, and I see this (see right for Exhibit A--also known as Exhibit mullet-head). That is the side of MY HEAD. MINE! Not some guy in a rusty pick-up truck down in Florida. Me. I live in NEW YORK CITY and I have a mullet. Look at that party in the back! I tell you, IT'S NO PARTY!! I am horrified.
And the worst part is, I am terrified of washing my hair. I have wavy hair, so once I wash this mullet sucker, I am going to look like carrot top. But with a worse haircut. Which I never thought possible until I saw my sister hiding her hysterics behind People magazine, because reading about Britney Spears and her latest antics was less horrific than seeing me in this haircut. She was frightened by the mulletude of it all.
Oh...my...God.
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