Gift Idea

Only for a very special person in your life.

Pick-up Strategies of the Moment

So here are three pick-up strategies that were attempted on me last Saturday at (gulp) the Dark Room. I found them alternately surprising, appalling, and so far off the mark as to indicate the shooter was blindfolded.

The first happened soon after my arrival – which was pretty early in the night so the bar was hardly crowded. My friend Laura and I were at the bar, I leaning over on the counter, and I felt a backside brush(ing) against my own. I would hardly have noticed if it was a regular, fleeting brush against, but it was a lingering brush against, so after a few seconds I turned around to see what the fuss was about. And then he pounced! “Hi! I’m James, what’s your name?” I mumbled mine and turned back toward the bar to pay for my drink. Wallet in hand (three year old, faded ass, beat to hell, literally falling apart wallet), James took the opportunity to compliment me on it. “Nice wallet. What’s it say on there?” It being in an Oriental character, I had (and have) no idea. Sorry bro. Strike one.

Back to the corner by the DJ booth where my friend Alex was Djing. This poor guy has to play music for Dark Room assholes every other Saturday; at one point in the night he played “What About Your Friends” by TLC, during which a young “lady” came over to the DJ booth to request…another TLC song. Me and Laura thought we were safe over there. We’ve known the Dark Room to be full of sexual predators for a long while now, so keeping a low profile there is key to having a reasonably ok time. But alas, the corner was not safe for us, twice over.

The first one to venture into our space came over and asked us why we weren’t dancing, and proceeded to try to pull first Laura, then myself, onto the dance floor with him. Laura wrangled herself out of his grip pretty quickly, but he managed to clamp his paws on both of my wrists in a death grip. If not for Laura karate chopping and verbally eviscerating him, I might be in tiny, chopped up pieces in this guy’s freezer. Strike two, fellas.

The second to venture into our corner was far more clever than James and far less creepy than wrist-grabber. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” If ever there was a line to get me out of a corner and onto a dance floor and into a stranger’s bed, that’s probably it, but I’m a bit of an odd bird. Alas though, in my mind I already had one foot out the door, and no amount of Dirty Dancing quoting could tether me. Strike three.

I first wonder if these strategies ever work – and then I realize that they must have at some point in the past, otherwise the dudes wouldn’t still be using them, right? You find something that works, stick to it? Forever and ever? Then I begin to weep for all of ladyhood, that they would ever reward such poor efforts.

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

I'm struck by the number of rageful blogs I've been posting - but I'm just going to blame that on the plentiful existence of douchebags. Of which there were two tonight in the reading room. Now, even if you are not in school, or in my school, or never go to the reading room, you can probably imagine what it is. A room in which one reads. Ideally, a quiet room in which one reads. And in fact, that's just what it is. What's more, there are instructions painted on the wall that indicate "No Loud Talking" and "No Cell Phones."

I come to the reading room because let's face it, given the chance to either read and take notes on Schelling, or eavesdrop on the many banal conversation going on around me in such places as the local public library, or a cafe, I'd choose eavesdropping hands down. But when I have made the decision to spend some dollars on public transit so I can study in a safe haven, well, I expect a goddamn safe have.

When I first got here, there was only one other girl sitting, reading, studying. Moments after I came in and set up, a fella came in to join her. They started chatting. Not whisper chatting, but like, real live chatting. I figured I'd give them some time to catch up, get it out of the old system if you know what I mean. But they kept going. And kept getting louder. The stories they told! Apparently so hilarious as to inspire guffaws. After some guffawing, they looked over and asked if they were being too loud, to which I heartily replied "YES, please keep it down," after which they continued, almost uninterrupted, for another 2 or so hours.

They left together, laughing on their way out about how I must be so happy they were leaving, and in fact I was.

And then the guy came back - I was deep into Schelling, finally - and this ASSHOLE has the nerve to INTERRUPT me to ask if I had noticed an umbrella where they had been sitting. A spot that he could easily clearly see himself. No indeed, I did not see it. And if I had, I would have destroyed it.

My Hero

This morning, round about 10:30 am, some asshole took to honking his horn just outside my apartment. I hate when people honk their horns to no reasonable/good end. Why do they do it? What are they trying to accomplish? As far as I'm concerned, there are only three reasons to honk a horn: 1 - when you are about to hit someone, or they you; 2 - when you drive by a hot broad, or when she walks by your car; 3 - in solidarity with the protesters who have gathered to fight against/for [insert meaningful cause here]. A light tap to alert a driver who isn't paying attention to the formerly red, recently turned green light is acceptable, but I do not support honking for the purposes of getting people out of the way, whatever that may mean (making them go faster, rerouting traffic, hurrying them into or out of a parking spot).

So like I was saying, when I was still in bed late this morning, I was roused from light slumber by the horns. Followed in quick order by the voice of a young lady yelling out her window, "Jesus people are trying to sleep!", which I certainly appreciated, but nevertheless wondered over. Like, really? 10:30 am? Where was she when that goddamn jack hammering started at 7:30 am, an hour at which even normal people, ones with jobs, are still trying to sleep? How very ballsy of her to yell at the honker for that particular reason.

Excuse me, or in other words, get the fuck out of the way of the subway entrance

I mean, seriously. RIGHT at the top of the stairs, just STANDING there chatting. Like blah blah blah, not like we're on 14th Street or anything, let's just shoot the fucking shit right here, and never mind all those people rushing at us to get to the subway at rush hour!

Crazy Over Daisy

Donald Duck - Crazy Over Daisy

"I wanna be with you"

I have this pal that meets and dates people via interweb. I have a few pals that do that and ok maybe I've done it too, but this is not about me, this is about her. She's been chatting with a fellow, a 40ish or so neuroscience researcher fellow that sounds like quite a catch, and by chatting I mean texting. They've yet to actually meet, but the texts are being exchanged by the dozen. She and I were at a party Saturday night, and there was the texting. It seemed a bit much to me, all those sugary sweet one liners, but I'm an awful cynic. We reconvened for brunch on Sunday, and she relayed the following tale: He sent her a text 'round 11:30, and she didn't text him back until she was off to bed around 2 - he replied immediately in a textual tone that implied that thoughts were being thunk. She was determined to go to sleep and told him as much. The last text she received that night, from that man she has not met, has not spoken to on the phone, has exchanged but a few emails with, was: "I wanna be with you". No punctuation. Those words in that context make me feel like a 50 year old greasy haired cologned up skeezbag is breathing heavily on my neck and looking down my shirt. But hey, maybe he meant in in the most wholesome way?