Please note the date stamps.
And you WOULD bring a fruitcake.
Forgive my blatant racism, but here’s a list of the most respectable group of men (from most to least respectable), by race, based solely on who has been standing up to give me their seat on the subway in this last trimester of pregnancy.
So that’s it. Those are my findings*. Did I really need to break this down by race, and was doing so kind of offensive? No, I did not. And yes, probably? But I notice what I notice and thought it was an interesting trend, and unlike people who claim “I don’t see race,” I’d like to counter with “Ok, but I have eyes.”
*Findings of this study** are based solely on MY experience and observations alone. They should not be generalized to apply negative stereotyping to any particular group of people, which shouldn’t really be an issue as all races above are presented in a complimentary manner. Except, as a reminder, white men. They are all dicks.
**calling this a study is an insult to the word study.
“Oh my god, have so much fun [at your bachelorette party] tonight! At my bachelorette party I got so drunk, there were MULTIPLE strippers, and there are just these ridiculous photos of me hanging off of stripper poles and, like, penises EVERYWHERE.”
— Parent of former student, just now on the street, while holding her 5-year-old daughter’s hand.
The kind of convo you’d only have with your best friend….
Best friend: “Your ring! Oh my god! Give me your hand right now (grabs my hand)– let me look closer. How many carats is that?!”
Me: “I don’t know…”
Best friend: “You don’t KNOW?! Oh, honey, you better find out. Who doesn’t know how many carats their ring is?!”
Me: “I don’t know…it’s his grandmother’s diamond, I’m not even sure he knows…”
Best friend: “Oh he KNOWS. Trust me. You go home tonight and you ask him.”
Me: “I’m not really concerned with that kind of stuff…”
Best friend: “Well, you’re wearing the ring so GET concerned, honey.”
Only this wasn’t my best friend. This was a random lady who lives in my building. Who I met ONCE.
This is why I don’t talk to people.
A few months ago a girl moved into my building– young, a teacher, seemingly normal and cool. Someone I would actually hang out with. We spoke in the lobby for a bit, exchanged apartment numbers, and said we’d see each other soon. I haven’t run into her since– until just now, in the elevator.
Girl: “Hey! How have you been?!”
Me: “Not much!”
And then our friendship ended.
Sitting here at DTUT coffee shop, sharing a small couch space with a stranger. Standard NYC Sunday. He is reading a very thick, distinguished looking book. I am reading my computer screen.
He glances at my screen, laughs, and says:
Guy: “Well that looks like something that will make someone dumber after reading it.”
Me: “It’s my blog.”
Guy: “Oh, shit. Sorry…”
Me: “No, it’s fine. You’re not wrong. You’re also now the star of my next post.”
Guy: “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that…”
Oh. I don’t care.