I’ve always been under the impression that my San Francisco Giants are of the most attractive bunch in Major League Baseball. This has only been confirmed as two of my team favorites have been featured in April’s edition of GQ. Buster Posey in SWEATPANTS? Zito in McQueen?! Swoon.
Anyways, you’re welcome.
Golden Bear Sportswear Jacket, $637;
Alexander Wang T Shirt, $76;
Unis Pants, $198;
Puma x Alexander McQueen Sneakers;
Banana Republic Jacket, $150;
Merz b. Schwanen Henley, $100;
Michael Bastian Sweatpants, $325;
Sandro Sneakers, $475;
TAG Heuer Watch;
See the complete slideshow with other guys like, Brandon Phillips, Chase Headley, Andre Ethier and Jake Peavy here.
I always knew these faces were GQ worthy. Sorry Dodgers, I only see Ethier in there… maybe money can’t buy you class.
Remember when you were younger and if you were going to celebrate Valentines Day it was necessary you brought treats for everyone? Maybe you even painstakingly wrote each of your classmates’ names on your Necco Sweetheart boxes or Strawberry FunDip packages. Or, maybe you were super cool (like I was, of course), and made your own valentines for your class of 30, and taped a piece of candy. I actually liked when Februrary 14th rolled around back then. YES! I get shit tons of candy! It was like Halloween, except not. Then it was fun and everyone loved everyone! YOU BETTER FUCKING LOVE EVERYONE, OR ELSE. Now, I, probably like most of you, dread February 14th because A) we hate being reminded how seriously single we are, B) its a pointless day, or C) pink and red together are disgusting.
Last year my boyfriend at the time sent me something through the mail. At the time, living in a college dorm of 950 NYU kids, I was notified I had a package downstairs on V-Day (V as in you need a Valium to get through the day) which I slumped downstairs to retrieve and sign for. Note: Even though I had a boyfriend, I still loathed the idea of celebrating Valentines Day, and always will. I went downstairs, signed for my package, and to my disgust, what emerged from the mailroom was a 6foot tall cardboard box which was really awkward for the person to hand off to me. As I grabbed the unweidly large box, the person said, “Wow, you’re so lucky”. But was I? No. I was mortified to carry this large monstrosity of a package back to my apartment on the 10th floor while passing tons of students who knew what was up. I didn’t even open the damn thing when I angrily texted the significant other at the time how angry I was that I was to carry the huge thing around and how much I hate Valentines Day (Don’t worry, there was a ‘thank you’ in there too). So what was in the large fucking box? 3 dozen roses, and a big f****** stuffed bear. Roses: cute. Bear: not so cute. Sure, you get your 5th grade girlfriend a big bear… but not your college aged girlfriend. Especially when you supposedly are 25 years old. Not okay. Chalk it up to a fail (whatever, call me high maintenance or whatever, but I would rather have not celebrated VDay at all). Now this year, I already have plans of getting drunk, disregarding the date, and possibly even going to a shooting range on February 15th (we will see about that – my friend’s brilliant idea, but I’m not sure I can actually follow through).
So whats the deal? I’m not here to examine my Valentines Days of the past. I’m also not here to be a bitter bitch and condemn the Hallmark holiday either. However, I am saying we do away completely with any significance we have of February 14th and this so called Valentines Day. It’s repulsive.
- I don’t want another day to remind myself how singularly single I am. I am constantly aware. This is a day that is totally discriminatory! COUPLES ONLY! Don’t you dare even try to eat out on Feb 14th by yourself (unless you’re totally into masochism), or even with a friend NO I DO NOT WANT THE MOTHERFUCKING COUPLES PRE FIXE MENU GODDAMMIT. Where’s the holiday celebrating single people?!
- If you’re in a relationship you already have a day to celebrate your relationship – its called your anni-fucking-versary. Get. It. Together. Also, its kind of a cop out that its only one day you guys are truly in love and show you care and blah blah… you should be doing that shit all the time.
- Valentines Day makes you fat. So many chocolates and candies… and cute cupcake specials and desserts. I’m a sucker for cute sweets. Also, after Valentines Day theres clearance candy (also follows Halloween and Christmas). Discount candy is irresistible. Even if it does have hearts and cupids all over it. It also makes you fat because if you’re single you might be one of those people who eats their feelings… or drinks your feelings (like me). Racking up them calories!
- People feel awkward about meeting new people / making connections on February 14. Oh shit, he probably thinks I’m desperate or something, it IS Valentines Day. It shouldn’t be that way. You shouldn’t give a flying fuck about when you’re setting up dates / meeting new people. (Although one time I accidentally scheduled a first date on Halloween night and didn’t realize it until I had been confronted by a witch, Superman, goblins, and a slutty fairy on my way to the restaurant. At least I looked normal on my date compared to the freaks around us).
- Technically, Valentines Day is Saint Valentines Day. St. Valentine lived in the Middle Ages as one of the first Roman martyrs. He was imprisoned and tortured in Rome on February 14, 273. Someone please explain to me: what about that screams romance and love? Clearly it sounds like a set up to torture single people all over.
- Again, pink and red are really ugly colors together.
But in all seriousness, Happy Valentines Day y’all. I love all you readers, for real (just don’t tell anyone I’m capable of that type of emotion). May your day be oozing with love!
and the excitement that you might get laid tonight.
You deal with average men on a regular basis. I’m well aware of how superior I am to them. They really don’t do you justice.
This by far has been one of my favorite things a heterosexual male (this one I am actually friends with) has ever said to me. Preach, jock. Also, check out his blog – who said muscular jocks can’t write well?
We need to speak.
I’m so in to Cali girls.
I feel the sense of urgency here. I really do. Its just, I don’t give a shit. And I hate being stereotyped as a “cali” girl. I’m from California. Not Cali. Nails to a fucking chalkboard.
……..Ok, I admit it. I like your style and I think we might well be the two coolest people out here! We should totally take advantage of it, and elope to Tibet, spend a kick ass year in Shangri La and live happily ever after, throwing money in trash and partying like Charlie Sheen. I have this whole thing planned out, so all you have to do is sit by the pool, drink margaritas and get oiled up by hot pool boys all day while I go on my mountaineering expeditions. So I’m really banking on you to say yes to this or I’m going to have to just find Liya Kebede and I don’t think the plan will turn out as well.
Wow. First of all, I don’t want to party like Charlie Sheen. Second of all, your mountaineering expeditions? Third of all, NO.
The law says that you cannot touch, but I think I see a lot of lawbreakers up in this house tonight.
Oh yeah? I see a lot of creeps and rapists too.
Ok you are seriously adorable. Can I adopt you as my little sister? I’ll make us kool-aid and protect you from the other kids on the playground, I promise
WHAT?! This reads: I’m into exploring role playing where you are the younger girl and have to depend on me for help. Does it not? Stop please.
You’re cute and seem to have substance, not an easy combo to come by. I’m intrigued
No, no, no, no, no, bro. I get you’re trying to compliment me (and I’ll be the first to admit I’m terrible at accepting compliments), but I SEEM to have SUBSTANCE?! NO! I have fucking substance and don’t you forget it bro. You seem to be an asshole Also, speaking for my ladies out there… everyone has substance. You’re just a douchebag if you can’t see it.
How would you rate your snarky humor?
Is my humor snarky? What?
You have a blog that you shamelessly plug yet only one pic of yourself. That’s a-grade narcissism and a complete lack thereof at the same time. Consider my circuits scrambled. Not serious… Kinda serious…It’s all good if you are aware of it… I have an intuition that you are the type you have to shuush at times when there’s too much crazy stuff popping out that turns heads at surrounding tables… haha
I’ll agree with you on the “a-grade narcissism”. What can you do. However, don’t agree with you calling me a cocky, crazy bitch though. Learn your manners! RUDE!
Have crazy OkCupid stories? Do men say weird shit to you on a regular basis? Lets hear it! Email that shit in pronto to firstname.lastname@example.org .
You complimented me on my shoes. Said you liked them. So I figured I’d give you the time of day, compared to those boys who holla atcha gurl. Thanks! They just came in yesterday. Theyre one of my cyber Monday purchases. You didn’t know what Cyber Monday was. AKA you probably lived under a rock. So I decided I would try to lose you if I walked faster, considering you were walking a bike. I failed miserably. Well, actually I didn’t foresee you catching up to me while I waited to cross a busy street. You looked like a generic, normal dude. 30 something Jewish guy who probably still lived with his mother. Except you told me 5 minutes after meeting me that you didn’t (TMI guys… incase this is a thing you do). You also told me you worked in publishing, at which point I had the fleeting thought of actually getting to know you in order to leverage our newly made friendship into a book deal (I have morals, really). I decided against it after you didn’t get the hint that I no longer wanted to talk to you. Okay, I’m walking this way (I pointed left when really my building was to the right). It was great meeting you! (Also, I’m incredibly good at faking enthusiasm).
As I made a dash for the opposite direction, you grabbed my phone, which was in my hand as I was ready to call someone if you decided to jump me. My first reaction to you grabbing my phone was to grab your bike, since I knew I could out run you and/or kick your ass sans your bike. To my relief, but not really, you just called yourself on my phone like a bonifide creeper, so you had my number. The line was officially drawn. I grabbed my phone back and gave you a look that said, What the actual fuck did you just do and who the fuck do you think you are you big weirdo? No more playing nice. Umm, that was weird. My apartment is near and quite frankly I don’t want you seeing where I live so you can keep walking to where you were going and I’ll be going somewhere else. Bye, I said. Sufficiently weirded out, I took the longest walk back to my apartment making sure I wasn’t followed / being incredibly paranoid.
We could’ve been good together. That couple that was like 10+ years apart. Typical Jewish American man dating a fashionable, smart, young, Asian American girl. The New York City stereotype. You could have been my Woody Allen (umm…well, questionable. Also, I hope you got a whiff of sarcasm). My friends said you probably would commit serious crimes against me. I thought differently. You probably were just a sad, lonely, harmless soul. I wasn’t 100% creeped out (okay maybe I was like 95%)… that was until you went, full on, bonafide, creeper status. You stalked me for 48+ hours straight. Calling me every few hours and leaving voicemails. Maybe I would have been flattered (again, questionable), considering you were a successful 30 something, mildly attractive man. Instead, I was sufficiently creeped out by your long and very detailed voicemails and persistence.
We could have been friends that met randomly, spontaneously, serendipitously outside of the gym. Oh, but instead three days later I saw you lurking outside the gym, trying to catch my eye. Thank god for headphones and an iPhone that otherwise make me look preoccupied and busy. Except I accidentally made eye contact. Oh fuck.
At this point consider NYPD notified. As much as I love Law and Order SVU, I’d rather not be a victim. But lets be honest bro, I saved you a few wasted hours/days analyzing some weird chick who probably isn’t interesting at all to stalk. If anything, this ordeal showed me I’m a creature of habit. I frequent the same places, pretty much at the same time of day. Pro? IF some circumstance were to happen where I needed an alibi, my alibi would probably always check out. AND were I to perish from point A to point B, at least one person would worry somewhere along the way, “Wow. Maddy hasn’t been to the gym in 2 days… she must be dead. Notify the authorities”. Con? I’m obviously that much easier to follow around. Also… I’m in a rut that is called life. There. I said it.
Anyways, goodbye forever… hopefully… creepy guy I met walking a bike outside of the gym who liked my shoes. I like my shoes too. Maybe one day I’ll find an attractive male, non creepy male who likes my Sam Edelmans just as much as you did.
Last fall a co-worker of mine taught me how to tie a turban on my head out of a pair of tights! Eccentric, easy and utilitarian! Trust me, it’s especially useful during the cold months to cover up your ears and keep your pretty cranium toasty… and its downright fabulous. Anyways, despite it being 70 degrees and above 50% humidity on a Friday night, I came up with the brilliant idea to wear a turban out in the East Village. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. It was 12am on a Friday night and I was in the East Village, looking like a freak/wannabe hipster / crazy person… albeit a fabulously classy, glamourous freak / wannabe hipster/ crazy person, might I say. The night consisted of getting a round of applause by a passerby, getting honked at and yelled at in a car, and having a few particularly interesting conversations.
Overweight brooklynite man about 26-29: I really like your hat.
Me, while speeding up walking trying to lose this guy: Oh stop. Don’t lie to me right now.
Overweight brooklynite man: No really, I do.
Me, while crossing the street, hoping he wouldn’t cross the street as well: You’re just being ironic.
Overweight brooklynite man, definitely crossing the street unfortunately: What? Ironic? What does that even mean? I really like it. Very 1950s, it looks good. Old school.
Upon realizing that a white man wearing a Yankees hat and some probably FUBU or Rockawear T-Shirt with jeans too big and probably most likely a pair of air force ones was giving me a compliment on my style, I proceeded to turn off the corner to lose the poor guy and his friend. He was a sweetheart. He really was.
Having turned off the street too soon to lose the guy, I was then approached by another guy and his friend who had clearly overheard a conversation I was having with my friend about how I had almost had a near death experience by nearly choking on a gum wrapper.
Very attractive, well dressed man 25-27, probably 5 beers in, upon lurking and eavesdropping on said conversation: What do you want to choke on?
Me, while walking faster and simultaneously rolling eyes: Wow. That was really good timing there, my friend.
Attractive man: I know, I really had to.
Such is the life on a Friday night with a pink/magenta turban on.
Laughs were to be had by all that night… except for me. Hours later upon returning home, I had the most excruciating headache – from tying the tights around my head too tight of course. The next morning I went about my business… until a friend (who’d seen my instagram photo of pink turban) texted me that “someone definitely wrote a Craigslist missed connection about you bby”.
I cannot even BEGIN to describe the excitement that followed. I was studying in the New York Public Library and had to do everything in my power to contain my excitement. I hadn’t even seen the post, it could’ve been a joke, it was possible it wasn’t even about me… BUT CRAIGSLIST MISSED CONNECTIONS?! THIS WAS A DREAM!
You know how young girls dream of the day their wedding is featured in a top bridal magazine? Well, as a little girl (well, teenager) my dream was to be mentioned in Craigslist Missed Connection. not a joke.
Missed Connections is possibly the BEST entertainment there is for anyone looking to
spice up their lifefill up hours of boredom and have a good laugh. Read through, you’ll find the posts downright vulgar (not my favorite), creepy/stalkerish (lets be honest now, aren’t they all?), or extremely poetic (my favorites!). I looked online (it didn’t take very long, considering I have NYC Manhattan Missed Connections bookmarked on my browser), and voila! There it was (click HERE for link)- assuming another asian wasn’t walking around the EV this weekend with a pink head thing.
I died. I most likely was the ‘asian w pink head wrap’ walking on 2nd ave. I also know right away this will not work out – he can’t even spell ‘confidence’ and I strongly dislike that he used the word ‘exuded’. Sorry I’m particular when it comes to men on the internet. After confirming with my friends and other people I saw that night, I came to the conclusion that no, this is actually real, and no, no one was playing a mean joke on me by using my ultimate dream against me. Skepticism aside, I am now evaluating what I do know from that night:
- I was undoubtedly wearing a pink turban on my head
- Multiple, random people did approach me and comment on my headwear. But no one was extremely attractive (aside from that one guy who made the lewd remark)
- I don’t know how I walk – but I am very grateful that it appears as if I have confidence (AKA I’m glad I don’t have a Quasimoto from the Hunchback of Notre Dame strut).
- I am also grateful said person noticed my smile. Not because I’m flattered, or because I’m vain. It’s because my parents paid a lot of money for this smile and I endured years of braces, routainers, fluoride rinses, teeth cleanings, and countless whitening strips to get these pearly whites.
- 2nd Ave on a Friday night is mecca for drunk people, due to the fact that some of the best bars line the avenue. That being said, this poster was probably heavily intoxicated – thus, his comments on my style and confidence are probably to be taken with a grain of salt. Have you heard of THE MANREPELLER? THE Leandra Medine, AKA my style guru, AKA my idol in all things man repelling.
–noun: outfitting oneself in a sartorially offensive mode that may result in repelling members of the opposite sex. Such garments include but are not limited to harem pants, boyfriend jeans, overalls (see: human repelling), shoulder pads, full length jumpsuits, jewelry that resembles violent weaponry and clogs.
–verb (used without object)-pell·ing, -pell·ed: to commit the act of repelling men
–sartorial freedom is yours. You haven’t renewed your birth control prescription since Proenza Schouler’s debut collection but hey, more cash for you. In the battle between finding yourself a man friend and investing in some sweet new shoulder pads, your priorities are perfectly in order. Sure, you may reinvent the “cat-lady” credentials but who cares? Your closet rocks my Missoni printed ankle socks.
I’ve embraced my proclivities towards manrepelling. I’ve not only embraced them, but I’ve absolutely embodied them. I am just in complete and utter shock that someone else of the opposite sex would be remotely attracted to such man repelling tactics. It’s not absurd. It’s potentially romantic. Actually, it’s more likely potentially creepy. Afterall, all I’m picturing from this dude who wrote this on Craigslist, is a not 28 (as advertised), but 38 year old man-boy who is more or less 10lbs overweight, has an asian fetish, and enjoys watching the Jets play, but not as much as he enjoys going into Brooklyn alone just to eat meatballs from IKEA and pick up on girls shopping in the furniture section… or maybe I’m thinking of Lutz from 30 Rock.
Either way, ladies, and gents too I suppose – this may just be a testament that as long as you have the confidence and the balls, you can pull off (and get away with) essentially anything, and even turn a few heads here and there.