That moment when you’re doing laundry alone in the tiny laundry room and the cute guy from down the hall comes back to claim something he left behind:
Luckily, it was just me in there, and I’m very understanding and sympathetic towards these kinds of embarrassing, awkward things.
I laughed in his face.
Loudly.
Then I blogged about it.
Lyrics to a song, guys. Called “Cocaine Blues.” Jesus.
Go see this band: Escort
Like, immediately. They were AWESOME. I am not one to go to random concerts (seeing as though I’m afraid of loud noises, hot spaces, and people in general) but the Escort concert last night at Bowery Ballroom was unexpectedly phenomenal. I’m not sure why I said “unexpectedly,” as I knew nothing about them going in other than the fact that they were not Taylor Swift.
My one word of advice is to avoid this creepster, whose head was constantly, not-at-all-accidentally placed right in front of lead singer Adeline Michele’s vagina the entire night:
Seriously. Everything about this dude screamed “bodies in my basement,” and I’m pretty sure he spends his days sitting on playground benches with a high-zoom lens. I give props to the band for not kicking him in his serial killer face.
Also, highlight of the night: At the end of the last song, a wildly enthusiastic, sweaty dude (who had minutes ago removed his shirt) asked if he could kiss me. To which I obviously replied no, got super scared, and hid behind my date like a 3 year old who just saw the boogeyman. Then the girl next to him said “Aw, you can spin ME!” And he did– he benignly twirled her around. Then he twirled all the other girls in the vicinity around. Because he hadn’t asked to KISS me, he had asked to SPIN me– making my dramatic, awkward reaction wholly unnecessary and causing me to look like a complete uptight bitch.
Secretly I’m glad he didn’t touch me, though. He was really sweaty.
Anyway go see this band. That’s the point here. I recognize it’s not an entirely clear point.
I’m pretty hung over, guys.
I’ve been called many names by standard NYC crazies in my 10-year stint living here. This includes, but is not limited to:
These name-callings are always unprovoked. I’ll admit, the first time it happened, I was pretty taken aback, but now I welcome it, as I feel every time a derogatory name is spat my way, I become more a citizen of this city.
And in that spirit, I would like to proudly announce that as a group of us were getting off the D train last night, the conductor took it upon himself to stick his head out the window of the subway car and yell “Get off my train, you pussy dicks!”
Game, set, match.
I’m a New Yorker, guys!!!!!
(That man maybe shouldn’t be driving trains, though….)
(Part of the Sassy Pedicurist series)
Just popped into the nail place…
Me: “Hi there! Do you have time to give me a quick eyebrow wax?”
Sassy: “Not now. You come back in one hour.”
Me: “Eek, I can’t. I’m going out tonight, and have to leave kind of soon.”
Sassy: “You have date tonight?”
Me: “Yes…”
Sassy (staring at my eyebrows): “Wax is good decision. I do you now. Come.”
Me: “Thank you!”
Sassy: “Yes. Good eyebrow important for date.”
(long pause)
Sassy: “We do bikini too.”
I just did that awkward thing where I stopped someone walking by to ask her where she got her outfit, because it’s so damn cool and classy, and I just HAVE to have it.
But sadly she didn’t know where she got it.
Because her mom got it.
Because she’s 10.
“There’s no gift card in it.”– kid, handing my coteacher a birthday card.
He didn’t even sign the card. Or write a message.
He knew there was no point.
And just like that, Jeremy breaks the rule I made after his last trip to NYC, which is that he may only spend 1 night in my apartment, and I require 48 hours notice.
To be fair, he didn’t know about the rule. My friends, colleagues, students, extended family, and the cashier at the liquor store knew. Just not sure I actually ever told Jeremy.
Well. Now he knows.
Boob and ass grabbing on the subway is NEVER ok, I don’t care how crowded and rocky the train or how “accidental” it might have been.
So again, ma’am– I apologize.
Lady in dressing room (to saleswoman): “I feel like this dress is way too short.”
Saleswoman: “That’s because it’s a shirt, ma’am.”
Oh how sad. Try again next time, lady.
Alright fine that lady was me.
There is a staff photo wall in our school, with pictures of staff members partaking in activities they enjoy. My photo is an action shot from the NYC half marathon I ran.
Kid: “Ms. Emily, you look different in that picture on the wall downstairs.”
Me: “I know, I look super tough and athletic right?”
Kid: “No. Just younger.”
Then I ripped up the paper he was working on and flunked him.
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