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.
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?
Subway and bus rides to work can be a frightening place if you loathe public transportation. Luckily, I don’t. But I do find myself bored/needing a shield from wandering eyes and weirdos. So I turn to my iPhone readers… My favorite being Pocket, where you can read online articles offline… so it comes in handy when I need my fix of ThoughtCatalog and get some other reading done. The other day a guy was looking through my phone (Did I want to cry/shit my pants? Yes) and briefly scrolled through my saved articles on my Pocket app. Thank you, baby Jesus that he didn’t decide to read in depth the titles of my articles, because he would have ran the other way… fast. So I present to you, the 7 most recently read articles on my Pocket.
Lets just say I sit somewhere in between the “Forever Alone” and the “Well Adjusted Single Person”. Why, might you ask? (Or maybe you didn’t ask because obviously you know me too well or can tell from my blog) Well, just read on…
This dude knows my struggles as a non-stereotypical Asian. Ask me for help with your calculus/math homework one more time, and I swear to God I will flip a switch. I’m not good at math you motherfuckers. Just like the assholes in foreign countries (especially Europe) who think that just because I’m Asian I speak Chinese. One time I was walking through the Grand Bazaar in Turkey, and this Turkish merchant looks at me and goes, “Konnichiwa!” BITCH! First of all, I’m not fucking Japanese dude. Second of all, I don’t speak Japanese. Third of all, I don’t speak any Asian language. Lastly, I’m not from the motherland of Asia… I’m AMERICAN. Amurrrica bitches.
Enough said. But I’m not proud… per se.
Maybe not the same reasons. But close enough.
True story. It’s a tough life when the streets of NYC are full of gorgeous, handsome men.
I can empathize with this chick. Can’t call that racist now, can you?
This just justifies my profanity. Apparently swearing is good for you, and makes you feel good. That’s right motherfuckers.
You get the picture. Needless to say, what I read could possibly say a lot about me. Or does it? Maybe I’m not a needy, forever alone, single, hopeless asian racist who swears too much. Or maybe I am. You make the call.