Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Subway Car Confessions

Reason #147 why there is no place like New York. After a fruitless afternoon of shopping, I found myself on a crowded subway car, homeward bound. Standing all straphanger-like, I was minding my own business while pretending to be enthralled by an above Budweiser advertisement, when I suddenly heard a raspy voice whisper, "Daayum. You have got the perfect body." I glanced down to see an attractive black girl licking her lips, staring at me. My jaw dropped, and I pointed to myself, mouthing, "Me?" I will never forget the 10 minutes that ensued for as long a I live: 

Girl: Mmhmmm. You got some cuuurves. (As she traced an invisible hourglass with her well manicured hands.) Mmhmm. You got a perfect body, girl.

It hadn't yet registered that this woman might have been hitting on me. Naive New Yorker that I am, I assumed she was simply very outgoing, friendly and appreciative of other women. Bear in mind that I had just tried on a pair of too-tight, too-low jeans and was not feeling very fond of the junk in my trunk, muffin top and all. So her compliments were more than welcome. I felt my face flush crimson, as I fumbled over my words.

Me: Wow. Stop! Thank you! That's very sweet of you to say. You honestly just made my day.
Girl: Ooh yeah, you like them meat and potatoes, girl. Your booty, mmhmm, I just wanna lay you down... you got a boyfriend?

It then occurred to me that she likes girls. Tugging on my sweater, I began to feel slightly uncomfortable, what with the way she was looking me up and down. It was as if I'd somehow walked onto the train, forgetting to wear pants.

Me: No, no boyfriend.
Girl: You got a girlfriend?
Me: No.
Girl: You want a girlfriend?
Me: No, thanks. I prefer boys.
Girl: Alright, that's cool. So where you from?
Me: Kansas City.
Girl: I knew it! I knew she ain't from around here. They don't grow 'em like that here. (Gesturing to a tall, slightly nerdy guy behind me.) See?? He be peepin' at you, girl! She from Kansas! Meat and potatoes! She be thick, mmhmm. I just wanna stick a chicken wing up her... look at her, she blushin'! I guess they don't have lesbians in Kansas!

At this point, people were starting to stare. The tall guy behind me seemed delighted to be dragged into this unexpected conversation. Slightly offended at the term thick and rather confused-slash-appalled about the chicken wing, I went into defense mode. 

Me: Yes, we do... one of my best friends back home likes girls. But I don't like that you called me thick.
Girl: Don't worry, you ain't fat, you perfect. I'mma take you to dinner. (Gesturing to a larger woman a foot away.) Now that one, she fat. But you, you're not fat.
Me: Shhh!!! Don't say that! She'll hear you...
Girl: She don't care. She know she big.
Me: But... but you'll hurt her feelings...
Girl: Eh, it's alright. See, I'm a renegade. Always causing drama. My fiancé is mad at me 'cause I got a girlfriend on the side. He don't like that. But I'm a renegade. So it's cool. I'm just honest.

Ignoring the fact that the attention of the entire car was on us, I found myself intrigued... 

Me: Yeah, I respect that. By the way, you have great hair.
Girl: Oh, this? Thanks, I just bought it yesterday! $150 a pack.
Me: Oooh, um... how many packs are in your head?
Girl: Three. I sewed 'em in myself. It's curly now, but I can straighten it, do whatever.

At this point, we were nearing my stop. It was time to say good-bye. 

Girl: I'll see you later. I won't forget you, Kansas.
Me: Oh, I won't forget you either...

Only in New York, kids. Only in New York.

Monday, June 22, 2009

The Art of Importing Coffee

True Story: While walking to work, I notice a cute cop blocking the entrance to the Hoboken PATH station. We lock eyes; I blush. Gesturing to my large iced coffee*, he says, "You can't take that in there, miss." My jaw drops when I realize that no, Cute Cop is not flirting with me. The man is serious. "Are you serious?" I ask, panic rising in my voice. "You can't be serious. It's Monday. This is my morning coffee." His curt reply: "Yes. You have to toss it out."

It is then that I notice four other cops standing around, regulating coffee imports into New York. There are also about 10 pissed-off commuters sucking down their coffees. I make puppy dog eyes at the officer (I've gotten out of speeding tickets this way, surely he will make an exception for me and my beloved beverage?) He snarls, "Don't look so sad. I've been up since 3:30am..." I block him out, sip suck down my coffee and seriously consider sprinting across the street to the unguarded, unused PATH station entrance, coffee in hand. I debate running home, switching outfits and returning with coffee securely hidden in handbag, foiling their plan...

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

My Day at the Office Wellness Fair

So there was a 'Wellness Fair' here at my office today from 12-2pm. People from my gym next door came over and I was told they'd have Personal Nutrition and Fitness Assessments. Their Nutritionist is this older lady who gives off the 'Mean Old Lady' vibe. Anyway, so I went to her table to look at some nutrition fliers. Our conversation:

MOL: Let me know if you have any questions about anything.
Me (trying to initiate a conversation/seek help): Well, my biggest problem is that I eat too much late at night...
MOL: Oh, so is the problem acid reflux?
Me: No. It's weight gain. I eat before bed and gain weight.
MOL (openly grimacing): OK.

And then she just walked away. WTF? Thanks for the help. She could have been like, 'Don't eat past 8pm,' or 'Eat an afternoon snack.' Something helpful? Anything? On my way out of the Wellness Fair, the gym's Personal Training Manager stopped me:

PTM: I haven't seen you at the gym lately!
Me (shocked he's calling me out/feeling really guilty and fat): Oh! Well I had my wisdom teeth taken out last week. (It was the week before last.)
PTM: Oh! That's a good excuse then, no worries. I don't want anyone working out on pain meds.
Me (I quit taking the pain meds regularly over a week ago): Haha.
PTM: Let me know if you have any extra pain meds, haha!
Me: I don't.

Disclaimer: I am very grateful that my office housed a Wellness Fair. I just don't think my gym's Nutritionist is very friendly.

Friday, January 30, 2009

The New York Haircut

In a town where a decent haircut can cost you upwards of $70, it was inevitable. Cleverly called D.d.U. Model Project* (aka Dumble & Dumble University*), they make it their mission to lure you in with fancy paper cups of water and a hip meatpacking-district location. That, along with the trendy marketing, the rave reviews from acquaintances and the fact that it was free — OK, maybe just the fact that it was free — and I was hooked. They assessed my hair type, told me I was suitable for a haircut (praise Jesus!), and booked me for a Long Layers Razor Cut. Just one thing. Everyone who knows me, knows that I can't make a decision to save my life. A week before my appointment, I decided I wanted a change and switched to a Razor Bob Cut. I was under the impression that the cut would be funky and cool, not Hillary Clinton. My mistake. Have you ever heard of a cool bob? Am moron. Nonetheless, I assumed they would work with me, my hair type and my lifestyle (I have a creative job and don't wear pantsuits to work).

I was doomed from the moment I sat down. There I am, with about 19 other girls sitting in little barber stools. The students stylists shuffle in and make small talk with their victims clients. I'm alone. Palms are starting to sweat. Am feeling like the odd man out in 6th grade gym class. Finally, a petite woman wearing a giant rhinestone belt buckle walks over and introduces herself as Jody*. I have a thing for firm handshakes; hers was weak. Strike one...
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