Random Encounters
So, because I thought I might see MacB tonight (a friend told me he was planning on attending the show I was planning on attending tonight) I wore my lavender haltertop, which, if I do say so, makes me look rather booby-licious. Of course MacB did not attend, but my haltertop did get me some interesting advances today.Story #1:
I'm walking to meet my friend at her house, down 50th. A guy walks next to me, says "Is this the way to 1st Ave?" He has a foreign accent, so I say, yeah, this way. He asks if I speak French. I muster up some high school French and respond "a petit peu" (a little bit).
"Como ca va?"
"bien," I giggle. My French is terrible.
He explains that he's a designer, just got back from Paris, just moved here, which is why he doesn't know where 1st ave is (yeah, right). His friend is having a party tomorrow or Thursday, do I want to come? He wants to teach me French, what's my number?
He was so relentless, I figure what the hey. He gives me his card, writes down my phone #, walks me to my friend's door (at least he has more manners than MacB!). Says he wishes he could take me to coffee, I say, no I have to meet my friend.
He reaches over, grabs my chin, and goes to give me the French double kiss (right?). Kisses my right cheek, I go to kiss his left and he plants one on me, boom, just like that.
Woah, that was unexpected. I say goodbye and depart.
What was that about??
Story #2:
Coming home on the subway. Score a great corner seat, put on my melancholy thinking-about-MacB music and chill out. Somewhere along the way, maybe 42nd street, I notice this guy sitting next to me who is totally passing out drunk. He's drooling out of his mouth and falling all over the place. Practically falling on me. And then, actually falling on me. I semi-push him out of the way and this guy next to him nudges him, stops him from falling on me. I smile. "My savior," I think. The almost-falling and semi-rescue bit goes on and on, probably for 50-60 blocks. It gets to the point where I'm just laughing, it's so ridiculous. So the rescuer starts chatting with me, in between rescues. Asks if I'm married. Asks if I'm single. Asks for my number. I shake my head (people are listening! I don't want them to think ill of me!). He asks if I'll take his number, I say okay. But he doesn't have a pen. He asks a couple of people for a pen, no one has one (or will give him one). It's his stop. He gets off the train. Turns out the passed-out guy was his friend. He waves goodbye.
Um, so wait, I give my # to the skeevy French guy, but not the semi-cute rescuer? What's wrong with me?
posted by . @ 12:47 AM
5 Comments:
Holy Crap. I had no idea women get hit on that often here.
I only get hit on like that when I have major cleavage showing. My competitive advantage, if you will. ;)
Does that mean you don't get hit on during the winter when you're wearing a coat on the subway?
Are winter "hits" an indoor sport only?
Or do you have a winter cleavage?
I think we should be told.
A
hey, its great for the whole "fuck macB and his stupid non-email responding slack ass anyway" mindset. i mean look - one night and you're (or your cleavage) is getting hit on right and left. its probably good he didn't show...he sounds a bit like mr. emotionally unavailable, really, at least in the mind fuck department.
I think everyone hits on everyone more in the summer. NYC just goes crazy with all the flesh showing!
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