Another Year, Another Physical

Recently I went for my yearly physical again. And I swear, every year they change the stupid gowns. This year, they were really spacey looking. But also, they have this plasticy lining that makes you so hot and gross inside. It felt like wearing saran wrap. And you have that little tie around you, trying to hold the gown together. I mean, it opens in the front and you have to sit and they just don't cover anything. You think you are all covered up and then a boob falls out the minute you sit down.

Anyway, we got past all that initial stuff, and I made it through the breast exam this time without yanking his head into my chest (woo hoo!).  He asks how my stomach has been because I had issues the previous few years with stomachaches and pains.  I mentioned that I had the same issues as before.

He was like, “Okay, that’s it!  You have put me off enough on this problem, this year we are doing a rectal exam.”  I started to edge away from him, awkwardly shoving the back of my body towards the wall.  “What?  No no, when I said the same I meant BETTER.  It’s totally better.  Not at all the same or worse.  Nope.”

He wasn’t having it, so he was like “roll over and I’ll bring the nurse in.”

Me: The Nurse??  What, do you want to bring the whole waiting room in here too?  God!

Dr: I have to have her in here for that type of exam.

Me: Maybe you can also ask on the street if anybody wants to catch this sight? [I know it's legal, but man, it is hard to give up your modesty like that.]

Dr: [Sigh] I’ll be right back.

So I’m on the table and trying to figure out a way to get around this whole thing.  I know it isn't a big deal but this is a whole new level with my doctor and frankly, I’m not sure I am ready to go there.

He comes in with the nurse and starts giving me a speech over me as I am trying to deter him from coming near me with his gloved hand.

Dr: Okay, for a few days you may be red and sore at the site, and you may have some itching or start to feel sick...

Me: WHAT??

Dr: Oh my God, I’m so sorry, it is flu shot season and I am so used to giving that speech I just automatically started on it.  Please, you will be fine.  You won’t even notice.

Me: You know, this isn't instilling in me a sense of comradery and the desire to tell you things in the future!  I’m not a big fan of this!

Dr: Yeah, I hate to tell you this, but it isn't really the highlight of my day, either. Sorry.

Point taken.  Anyway, it seriously was like five awkward seconds and then over.  It really isn't a big deal, but man, I hate those awkward doctor moments.

My One Prophetic Shining Moment

I have absolutely no ESP.  Like everybody I will get bad feelings and try to read into them and pretend, but overall, honestly I have no connection to the powers beyond.

However, my single prophetic experience happened in college.  Was it some kind of feeling about a close family member?  A dear friend?  My boyfriend of several years?  A dire warning or helpful sign? Nope.

I woke up one day and said to my friends, “I just had the craziest dream that Dudley Moore was dying from a brain disease.”  I got blank looks and “.... who the hell is that?”

“You know, he was in that movie Six Weeks with Mary Tyler Moore [I loved that movie], and he was in Arthur, and Crazy People?  Man, I haven’t even thought about him in years.”

Nobody really cared or even knew who I was talking about.  

Two days later, the news came out that Dudley Moore DID have a serious brain condition.

I’m just sayin’... not that I don’t love the guy as an actor, but if the universe saw fit to send me some kind of prophetic dream, I think it could have been something a little more exciting.

C'est La Vie

Way back in 2006, Leigh and I found a deal to go to Paris for only $499 a person, and it included the flight and hotel for 5 days.  We were like, how can we not take part of this tres magnifique deal?!  

Anyway, when you do one of those deals, they always offer you the cheapest flight and you can pay more to change the time, or the airline.  Our flight happened to be on Air India and the times worked.  Leigh and I figured, what’s the difference?  So we booked it.

We get on the plane and I end up between Leigh and this much older woman who was sitting by the window.  Things seem mostly okay; we watch a movie or whatever, we ate the airplane food they offered (which was curry!  Pretty good!).  Suddenly when the movie is ending the woman next to me starts holding her watch out to me and speaking to me in a language I was very unfamiliar with.  She kept waving the watch and pointing at it, so I just tried to say, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.  I’m sorry.  Yeah, I don’t get it. No, I still don't get it. I don't know. Please stop.”  But she just kept hitting my arm and then pointing to watch with a really annoyed expression.

So I turned to Leigh and went “I don’t know what to do here” so for some reason, Leigh takes the watch, changes the time to Parisian time, and gives it back.  She was like, “Maybe she just wants it updated.” (Meanwhile, the flight was stopping in Paris just to let off like, ten people.  The rest of the people were going to Mumbai and never even getting off the airplane.)

The woman takes back the watch and seems annoyed, but finally stops trying to talk to me after pointing at it a few more times.  We try to go to sleep, and just as I drift off in my seat I am woken up by the woman, who has put her head on my shoulder to try and sleep herself.  I said, “oh.  No.  No, no no.”  And she just looked at me.  I start to sleep and she does it again.  

At this point I am starting to get a little annoyed because we don’t have a lot of time in Paris and I need some freaking sleep so I’m not passing out when we land.  But I just keep being woken up and trying to use gestures to show that I’m not cool with cuddling with a strange older woman.

After getting maybe 20 minutes here and there throughout the night, they serve the morning meal.  I was like, “thank God, coffee.”  I stir my coffee and put the tiny spoon down on my tray.  The woman next to me picks up my spoon (Why?!  She had the SAME EXACT THING!) and as I stare confusedly, she stirs her own coffee, puts the spoon in her mouth, then puts it back down on my tray.  It really wasn’t cool. Needless to say, I was unable to consume my tiny plane yogurt.

After breakfast she starts to freak out a little bit so Leigh and I try to let her out of her seat; she doesn’t want to get up, she just is talking agitatedly and apparently nobody on the plane could communicate with her.  She spoke a dialect that nobody knew so she was just yelling, I was staring, and the flight attendants were trying to just calm her down.  She calms down enough, gets up to use the bathroom, and I am so ready to get off this flight.

The woman comes back and we go to let her back into her seat, but she emphatically gestures to show us that we should just shift in and take the window.  I move to the window, Leigh the middle, and the woman sits on the end.

I am like, “oh good, at least now I can look out the window and enjoy seeing Paris as we fly in!”  That thought was great for about 5 seconds, until I realized the seat stank.  I was like, “uh oh!” and showed Leigh that there was just vomit down the wall of the plane like 2 inches from me.  Leigh was like “oh, here, just cover it with this blanket and come share the middle seat with me.”  So we jam our 2 bodies into a seat and a half, and then Leigh goes, “oh God, that vomit is going to make me sick” and takes out the barf bag and starts dry heaving.  I was in hell.  

Luckily she held it together, and we landed in Paris. Leigh gets out of our row and the woman moves back in as soon as Leigh is out.  So I stand up and am showing her I have to get off the plane... she just won’t let me out.  To the point that a mess of flight attendants had to come over.  The woman was yelling and refusing to move, I was freaking out that I was going to end up in Mumbai if I didn’t get the fuck off that plane, and I was really tired of sitting with vomit.  They ended up physically pulling her out of the way so I could get off the plane.

Anyway, I mean, Paris was great.

Dead Fish Mouth

Last night, I was walking down the street towards my house and a random guy on the street stopped me and said, “excuse me.  Do you know where Path Mark is?” So I turned and pointed and said, “Yup, it’s right there.  See?  You can see the sign for it like, right there?  Like, RIGHT there?”  (It was half a block away and the sign was really clear as day.)  

So he was like “oh okay, thanks!” and I go to leave.  He stops me again.  “Oh, you know, I saw the sign, I actually was just wondering if you were Russian.”  So I was like “.....uh, no.”  

He walks over closer to me and shakes my hand.  I mean, it wasn’t a job interview so I’m not clear on why that had to happen, but whatever.  He tells me that I look just like a friend of his, and she is Russian, so he was just wondering if I was Russian too.  As established, no.  I repeat that no, I’m not in fact Russian.  He tells me he is from Paris and most people think he’s hispanic but he’s French.  Okay... And?

Him: But you have such beautiful eyes!

Me: Thanks, but... that doesn’t mean I’m Russian, does it?

HIm: But you look so much like my friend!

Me: Okay.

So then I started to leave and say, “Well, have a good night.  Path Mark.  Right there.  Enjoy it!”  I turn to try and get away.

Him: Oh are you walking back that way?

I mean, he saw me walking up the street in a specific direction.  It isn’t like I was standing still when he came up to me.  Nor was I just wandering and veering in many directions.  

Me: Yes, I am walking up there.

Him: Okay me too.  [what?  No you aren’t, I thought you were going to Path Mark?]

Me: What?  I thought Path Mark?

Him: Oh I wanted to go walk by Pep Boys.

Pep Boys?  Pep Boys was closed.  And who wants to walk BY it?  It isn’t the Macy’s Christmas window.  So he starts walking with me and I realize that basically, I am a block from my house and I can’t lose this guy and I really don’t want him following me in.  So we get up near my house, he is still talking to me about absolutely nothing, and I am starting to wonder what the best move would be.  

Him: You should take my number so you can text me and I can make you dinner.

Me: Oh, right.  [I make no move to take out my phone.]

Him: So you live here?

Me: [Staring at the house next to mine vacantly] Yeah, I live over herrreeeeeeish.

Him: Do you want to go in and have a drink?

Who the heck meets you and in 5 minutes wants to come inside your house?  Murderers, that’s who.  So I was trying to be nice enough to not have a situation on my hands, but ugh.  I try to give him helpful information, like “the train is over there!  Are you taking a taxi?  Do you need directions somewhere?” and he just won’t go.  He wants to know if I live alone.  I was like “no, actually, I live with family. A lot of people.  I’m NEVER alone.”  

HIm: awwww.

Me: Yup.

Him: Do you want to sit outside with me for a minute?

Me: I really have to get inside.

Him: I would love to see your apartment.

Me: That sucks.

Him: Can I not see it?

Me: No.

Him: Let me touch your hand.

Me: [thinking he wanted to shake hands] okay, bye!

Instead he takes my hand, waxes on and on about how soft it is (it isn’t), and kisses my hand, and starts in on my fingers.  It felt like someone was rubbing a dead fish all over my fingers. How someone could have a mouth that was so.... cold.... ick!

I pulled my hand back, horrified, and said bye.

Him: Don’t forget to call me.

Me: Sure.

Him: Did you get my number?

Me: yeah, you already gave it to me. Bye!

I just don’t know how to be meaner in these situations.  Because I always feel like when someone is crazy, it makes it worse to be mean!  Like then you’ll make them snap.  

But even still, I wonder if it isn't better than my brief foray into online dating, where I opened the app and THE VERY FIRST THING THEY RECOMMEND TO ME is this gem.

Where has he been all my life? So romantic!

"Desserts Are for One"

Many, many years ago in my youth, I was going on a date with a guy that I liked a lot.  He was driving down from pretty far away for dinner, so I picked the place (my favorite restaurant) and told him it would be on me.  I was like, 22.  Making $25,000 a year.  But I was so excited and wanted to be able to share my favorite place.  

After we ate and enjoyed and chatted, the waiter came around with the dessert menu.  Having seen countless romantic comedies, I batted my eyelashes (I mean, I probably really just looked like I had dust in my eye because I can't roll like that) and said "oh, do you want to spliiittttt something?" 

He smirked, and then looked at me, in earnest, and said "Diane, I am pretty sure the desserts are FOR ONE."  Then continued to peruse the menu. And order a dessert...  For himself.

SHOT DOWN.

Oh Life

There are very few feelings like the one you get when you realize you just spent God knows how long walking around with your skirt tucked into your underpants.

Motorcycles Suck

A few weeks ago, I was on vacation in Croatia.  Oooh!  Ahhh!  Beautiful!  Lovely people!  Living the dream.

My friend and I got to Split and got off the bus. We try to take a cab, but because our hotel was in the older part of town, cars weren't allowed.  The cab driver gives us vague directions.  "Go that way.  You see stairs.  Walk past them.  Then up."  Okay.  We start trekking. Sounds clear enough.

Despite being New Yorkers, we wait for the light to change to cross all streets.  We get to a major intersections, and stand around waiting.  Finally, it has the little walk guy lit up, and a bunch of other people start crossing as well.  My friend steps off the curb, and I'm right behind her.  All seems well.

Suddenly when I'm a few feet into the street, I hear a horrible screeching sound.  The next few seconds are basically just gone from my life...  From what I gather, a guy on a motorcycle either turned and wasn't looking, or ran a red light, not sure.  But he knocked my ass down.  Me, the guy, and the motorcycle are all splayed out in the street.  Laid the fuck out.  My friend turns and screams, "OH MY GOD, DIANE!"  I got up myself, some other people helped the dude on the bike up.  I was standing there shocked.  

(As a side note, I had the Samsonite spinner luggage, which wheeled itself to safety and left me to take the hit. It was standing proudly to the side, unscathed. Little bastard spinner.)

While I was standing in the street, just looking around completely shocked, I look down at the guy while he's still on the ground. We make weird eye contact, and then my friend screams again, "get out of the street!  The light is going to change!  Don't get hit again!"  So I grab my still upright bag and we cross over.  The guy on the motorcycle gets up and drives off.  We are standing there, in shock, and my friend is making sure I'm okay.  I suddenly can't stop laughing.  The whole thing was so unbelievable.

We get to the hotel, finally, and the woman is telling us that even though we had booked on Expedia they didn't charge it and we had to pay for it, in cash.  She has a little bit of an attitude problem, but I am just sitting there.  I take out everything from my wallet and say, "here is all my money."  I hold it out in my hand with a vacant smile on my face. I am fanning out every form of kuna and blindly staring. My friend says in a gentle voice, "no, no, Diane, put your money away now..."  

I really wasn't at my best.

After getting that settled all I want is dinner and some wine.  I had a skinned knee, and my hip ached, but really, for having been hit by a motor vehicle I was as best as could be expected.  

We go find some food, and I (apparently) order lamb chops.  After the waiter leaves and I think for a minute, I say, "wait.  Did I order lamb?  I hate lamb."  And my friend looked a little horrified and says, "... yeah, that's what I thought.  Are you sure you are okay??"  But I just had some more wine and felt better.  

Luckily our hotel that night had a shared, small bed that felt like we were sleeping on old hay.  

I even wanted to stay in the hotel the next day, but because it was all so uncomfortable, I just took the boat to Hvar and held my friend back from moving around much...

Meeting my favorite celeb

So my friend tells me "you really have this unnatural love for Josh Groban.  He's doing this thing for the NY Philharmonic, why don't you come?  You can't like, touch him, but you can just come look at him from afar." (Side note: "unnatural" means I listen to him and am not over like, 50 years of age.  This is the rule per all my friends.  Not unnatural like I follow him around.  Just to clarify.)

So I take a short day from work, go down to view Josh. I was standing with the photographers waiting for the Philharmonic.  They were nice and we had chatted.  I had to explain to them who Josh Groban was, as mostly they were excited about Alec Baldwin and stuff.

Right before everything is about to start, my camera dies.  Like, dead and never to be revived. I am freaking out, and having my little fit about how I will get a picture of him.  My phone camera was OKAY, but this was my moment to shine! The moment when Josh Groban would look over and realize he loved me!  The group of professional photographers are all looking at my cheap ass camera trying to fix it. No luck.  We can't bring it back to life.

Suddenly my friend shouts "I got eyes on Groban!" or something equally creepy in the context.  She takes off across Lincoln Center towards where he is standing with a gorgeous blonde "friend."

He comes over for the pics and is so nice, my friend asks him if he would take a picture with me.  He was the nicest person ever (sigh) and he was very accommodating and I was finally getting the picture that would hang next to my bed for years to come.  (Yeah, that's not creepy...)
So as he puts his arm around me and we are posing, what slips forth from my mouth?  Nothing cool.  Nothing that I had prethought out.  Someone says you are going to meet your favorite celebrity and wouldn't you, like, I don't know, THINK about what to say?  Well, not this girl.

So as we are standing there and I am grinning so wide I feel like I'm going to hurt my mouth, I say in a fake and extremely exaggerated Southern accent (and yeah, I live in the Bronx): "Oh myyyy.  I shoulda brought my smellin' salts!"

But I think I took him off guard so much he looked down at me and did a half laugh.  Probably as in, "what the hell did I just get myself into?"

The professional photographer ends up snapping the picture, which then had to be purchased from his website (thanks Xander!)... but totally worth it.

Anyway, the moral is, if it is even remotely possible that you may speak with a celebrity you love, maybe think about what to say first.

Naughty Puppets

Lately I have been thinking a lot about people I have met up with, and dated, and past relationships.  I know people say that online dating opens you up to weirdos, but honestly, I meet weirdos constantly in person anyway.

There was one guy I met out, and he seemed like a cool guy.  I gave him my email because he claimed that he was too wordy for texts and his thoughts can't be constrained by a mere 160 characters.  Kind of a douche thing to say in an attempt to sound smart, but okay.  The exchanges were interesting.  He spelled well. Things seemed pretty good.

We decided to meet up one night and I dragged my friend along (I know, kind of not cool on my part, but he wanted to meet way downtown and I didn't want to take the subway home alone and frankly, maybe he was psycho).

We get there and he seems okay.  Clearly it won't go anywhere with us, but maybe he can be a friend.  I like friends. 

He did spit a little when he talked, and as the night went on he kept inching closer and I kept having to retreat away.  But still, it wasn't a heinous night.

He then starts talking about his ex.  I mean, enough with the exs, people.  I am so tired of constantly hearing about it, but whatever.  And he is saying how much they had in common, and how they still ran into each other because they hung out in the same crowds.  He proceeds to tell us then how they bonded over their passion for "adult puppetry."  

I smiled and said, "excuse me?"  

"Yes, it is REALLY a niche group of us who are into that kind of thing.  You'd be surprised.  But we were both pretty intensely into it."

Puppet erotica?  Really?  This is a thing?  And you think I'd be shocked to find that it a small group of you?  Not so much.

I think the shock and horror showed on my face, as the night pretty much ended there.  He walked us outside and said, "Well I'd offer to drive you guys home, but I don't really want to."  Such a gentleman!  I like the fact that he even brought it up... we weren't expecting or requesting a ride.  But hey, at least he pointed out he WOULD if he felt like it.

But I am pretty sure that experience and hearing about this underground group of puppet fanatics made this one of the best dates of my life.

Strangers Just Keep Getting Stranger

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.

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.

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.

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.