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
Monday, May 19, 2008
Today in Delusional D-baggery
I think it's safe to say that if this guy weren't married, he'd never be getting any ever again. He still might not. After all, the whole name of his article is The Affairs of Men: The Trouble With Sex and Marriage. I think it's totally possible that his wife is pretty grossed out by him, too.
My favorite part of this piece, also highlighted by Jennie Smash girl-crush Jezebel, follows:
Bear in mind that this dude is 52 years old. I admit to reading the whole thing with one hand over my eyes, as if looking at an eclipse through a piece of cardboard, but I'm pretty sure he never once mentions that these cute little hipster waitresses might not be on the lookout for married dudes who are the same age as their fathers. Ew. EW!
My favorite part of this piece, also highlighted by Jennie Smash girl-crush Jezebel, follows:
Sitting in Schiller's, I ... suggested that we could change sexual norms to, say, encourage New York waitresses to look on being mistresses as a cool option.
Bear in mind that this dude is 52 years old. I admit to reading the whole thing with one hand over my eyes, as if looking at an eclipse through a piece of cardboard, but I'm pretty sure he never once mentions that these cute little hipster waitresses might not be on the lookout for married dudes who are the same age as their fathers. Ew. EW!
Labels: gross
