Monday, July 21, 2008
I Am a Sweaty Girl
It's hotter than Mercury here in NYC, which is a problem is you're a sweaty person like me.
Most people sweat in this weather: What I do is mutate into a human sprinkler. I seriously look like I've been hit with a hose. Like maybe one of those guys who's always spraying down the sidewalks in front of apartment buildings got me by mistake. (Note: They never do this. There's clearly a lot of training that must be gone through before one can become a Hose Guy.)
Today, I walked my usual eight blocks to the train, only to discover that I was completely covered in perspiration. I mean, but completely. Usually I'm a tad damp. It looked like I had neglected to dry off at all when I got out of the shower.
It was so bad that I couldn't even tell myself it wasn't that bad. This is because people were staring. I learned something today, though: I learned that if you're a sweaty girl, people will fuck right off out of your way on the train.
I owe this realization to the dried up ol' sourpuss who was standing next to me on the B train this morning. She had a lot of bright red hair, nine gold necklaces, actual stone-washed jeans, and a face full of puckers that weren't entirely the fault of the aging process and/or overexposure to the sun and Merit Ultralights.
She stared at me in disgust as I continued to water my little square foot of standing room, so I stared right back at her. After a moment, I began wiping my chest and making horrid sickly little groaning sounds, like maybe the TB was going to take me at last. Finally, she looked away.
Seriously, lady: Would I sweat this much if I could help it? Just because you haven't had a natural bodily function since 1983, is that any reason to take it out on me?
Most people sweat in this weather: What I do is mutate into a human sprinkler. I seriously look like I've been hit with a hose. Like maybe one of those guys who's always spraying down the sidewalks in front of apartment buildings got me by mistake. (Note: They never do this. There's clearly a lot of training that must be gone through before one can become a Hose Guy.)
Today, I walked my usual eight blocks to the train, only to discover that I was completely covered in perspiration. I mean, but completely. Usually I'm a tad damp. It looked like I had neglected to dry off at all when I got out of the shower.
It was so bad that I couldn't even tell myself it wasn't that bad. This is because people were staring. I learned something today, though: I learned that if you're a sweaty girl, people will fuck right off out of your way on the train.
I owe this realization to the dried up ol' sourpuss who was standing next to me on the B train this morning. She had a lot of bright red hair, nine gold necklaces, actual stone-washed jeans, and a face full of puckers that weren't entirely the fault of the aging process and/or overexposure to the sun and Merit Ultralights.
She stared at me in disgust as I continued to water my little square foot of standing room, so I stared right back at her. After a moment, I began wiping my chest and making horrid sickly little groaning sounds, like maybe the TB was going to take me at last. Finally, she looked away.
Seriously, lady: Would I sweat this much if I could help it? Just because you haven't had a natural bodily function since 1983, is that any reason to take it out on me?
Labels: city stank, gross, Subway
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Update on the Subway
My week began on Tuesday with vomiting.
Not mine, I'm pleased to report. Someone else's. I got out of the subway and there she was, Ms. Honorary Monday Hangover Right-Now, puking elaborately into a trashcan just outside the 14th street F.
Now, if she'd looked distressed, I might've stopped and lent a hand. I don't, as my English friend Luke would say, mind doing a bit. Howsomever, this young lady was grinning maniacally whilst puking, which to me says crazy. If you're smiling and puking , you better be on peyote. And even then, I'm not a-gonna stick around to talk to you.
The rest of the week was less eventful, but a definite step up.
Not mine, I'm pleased to report. Someone else's. I got out of the subway and there she was, Ms. Honorary Monday Hangover Right-Now, puking elaborately into a trashcan just outside the 14th street F.
Now, if she'd looked distressed, I might've stopped and lent a hand. I don't, as my English friend Luke would say, mind doing a bit. Howsomever, this young lady was grinning maniacally whilst puking, which to me says crazy. If you're smiling and puking , you better be on peyote. And even then, I'm not a-gonna stick around to talk to you.
The rest of the week was less eventful, but a definite step up.
Labels: i still love you new york, Subway
Monday, August 27, 2007
Two Conversations: Mostly-Shirt-Free Lady on the Train
Me: Oh my God.
Matthew: I know.
Me: Look at them.
Matthew: I am. OK, don't look at them.
Me: Sorry. They're just mesmerizing.
Matthew: Uh huh.
Me: Maybe we could draw little eyes on them.
Matthew: [Looking at me in alarm.]
Me: And stick a carrot between them!
Matthew: ...
Me: And then do you know what we'd have?
Matthew: ...no.
Me: SNOW BOOBS!
Matthew: You. Are. So. Weird.
Me: I know.
Matthew: WEIRD.
I mean, come on.
Matthew: I know.
Me: Look at them.
Matthew: I am. OK, don't look at them.
Me: Sorry. They're just mesmerizing.
Matthew: Uh huh.
Me: Maybe we could draw little eyes on them.
Matthew: [Looking at me in alarm.]
Me: And stick a carrot between them!
Matthew: ...
Me: And then do you know what we'd have?
Matthew: ...no.
Me: SNOW BOOBS!
Matthew: You. Are. So. Weird.
Me: I know.
Matthew: WEIRD.
I mean, come on.
Labels: i still love you new york, Subway
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Am I a New Yorker Yet?
Lady Sitting Near Me on the 2/3: Your bag keeps bumping into me!
Me: Shhh, no one cares.
Me: Shhh, no one cares.
Labels: New Yorkers, Subway
