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Monday, April 30, 2007

How to get the girl

“The problem most men have is they don't know how to talk to women...” – Cal

The dry cleaner that Ken Mehlman and I frequent, is located at a busy intersection, where families with dogs and dads with babies strapped in a bjorn stroll, while driving tourists question how to get to the other end of the street at the opposite side of the city. My response is a standard: keep going straight for five miles. They perk up and I mutter "too bad, sucka, it'll take you like 45 minutes."

They – the dry cleaner – leave the doors open on nice days, as it was on Saturday afternoon. I had literally rolled out of bed after a night of a very poor Beirut performance and slipped on my practically crotchless jeans and the t-shirt I had slept in with my Vineyard Crew 80's-esque sweatshirt. I had rushed out without brushing my teeth in my haste to get to a mani/pedi appointment. My hair was pinned up with 17 bobby pins and a headband to keep the afro-mass o' curls hybrid at bay. I had hairs coming from strange parts of my face and no makeup to cover up the random chin hair or ten.

All of this while standing at the dry cleaner waiting, until a black man came up to the door and leaned on the frame.

"Pssst. Hey girl"

I looked up and saw a gangly man with an oversized Skins t-shirt and gray sweatpants on. He had fuzzies in his hair. I then closed my eyes quickly promising my first born child to the Lord if he just made the stray man go away.

I went back to rummaging around in my bag looking for a credit card. When the woman at the desk asked if he needed any help.

"No, I'm just trying to holla at her."

He then went back to interrogating me:

"Girl, you gotta boyfriend?"

" Can I take you out on a date?" [insert off color and horribly un-PC joke about the location, say to Taco Bell? Or perhaps BK, where I can have it my way]

When it was finally my turn I ran up and whispered my phone number handed my credit card and turned back around and wouldn't you know, that motherfucker was still loitering outside waiting for me to come out so he could sweep me off my feet. Perhaps he would take me to McDs for my filet-o-fish fix.

Upon completing the longest dry cleaning transaction ever in the history of the earth, I sprinted outside and there he was standing on the sidewalk. So I sprinted across the street and was almost a causality of woman versus Lexus. All to prevent myself from being love interest of random street man. And here I’m thinking that I’ll never find anyone – at least according to Oprah – but then again, there apparently is something mighty attractive about a woman with plaque covered teeth, a bird’s nest on top of her head and reeking of Natty light. I am every man’s dream.

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Blogger Dagny said...

Ooooo. You met the twin brother of the guy I met in the grocery store on Sunday. At 9 friggin 30 in the morning. I was sporting a baseball cap at the time. I mistakenly thought that it would be safe to wear the ultra lowrise jeans at that hour. Silly me.

10:44 PM  
Blogger metalia said...

Sounds like some of my NYC hobo friends are migrating south, which pleases me to no end. I am, however, incredibly sorry you're on the receiving end of their ministrations, though.

10:55 PM  
Blogger mdvelazquez said...

Dude! Are we related? That happened to me on the subway on Sunday.

5:47 AM  
Blogger Liz said...

Some people have all the luck! God.

8:42 AM  
Anonymous freckledk said...

I just turn on the Super-Bitch, and tell them to GO AWAY. It seems to be an effective strategy, although one that might put me in danger at some point.

8:43 AM  
Blogger Heather Anne said...

This made me laugh super hard because: a) I understand so much. b)you said Natty light. Oh, Heather B. You're so fun.

8:45 AM  
Blogger green_canary said...

I make it a rule never to acknowledge men who "pssssst!" at me on the street. The "pssssst!" freaks me out!

8:51 AM  

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