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.

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 looking 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.