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My last post was a little harsh on the male species. I was going to apologize for that, but as I was writing this post, and happend to be dancing to this coffeeshop's overheard muzak of "I Will Survive," a businessman approached me and said he'd loved to see how I'd react if I saw Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture.
I told him I loved it when I saw the Marinsky Orchestra's rendition last spring.
That shut him up. Ladies, a solid knowledge of classical music will never be a bad thing.
However, take heart, men of the world. I don't hate you specifically. You're actually quite convenient when the internet goes out at my apartment or when I need to borrow a coat. And as this post shows:
Bitches be crazy too.
The autumn of my junior year of college was a strange time. I had just returned from my kickass internship in NYC, full of big-city "life experience" and the belief that I now possessed some amount of coolness and, ugh, edginess. I chopped all my hair off before leaving, not out of badassery but sheer laziness. When you live and work in buildings that do not have AC, you can either have snarly sweaty knotted bun atop your head, or a chic pixie that requires no hairties and a lot less perspiration. Helloooo, not having to pack a blowdryer. I loved the look but I wanted some more. Something cooler. Something to make it clear that I was a hip, New Yorker babe who totally understood modern theater and maybe could tolerate wheatgrass shots.
I needed another piercing.
My face would probably be covered by a million piercings (because they're rad) except for one thing: I hate visible scars. So my piercing options are limited. Already had an industrial and a bellybutton ring, so what could come next? Though I'd threatened lady mother with getting my "naughty bits" pierced, I wanted something far more visible (so everyone could see how cool I was), and less likely to damage my reproductive organs. So I decided upon getting my septum pierced. The bull ring. Center of my nose. A full ring, not the little spikes. Yup.
[I almost chickened out and the whole following story would have been avoided. But no, my then-boyfriend thought it was a great idea and offered to buy me a lump of smoked gouda if I went through with it. SMOKED GOUDA, people. I couldn't resist. So I got a ridiculous nose ring and a chunk of delicious cheese all in one day.]
I went back to college with a teeny-tiny pixie and a circle of steel hanging in the center of my face. I thought I just radiated cool, big-city artsy chick... I was certainly giving off a strong vibe, just not the one I expected.
That first weekend I went out to a party with some of my roommates. Giant house, two kegs, a liquor luge - one of those places. There was some dancing to awful top-40ish hits, but mostly drunken conversation and catching up about everyone's soooo cooool summers.
I happened into conversation with a chick who wore a really rad vest (and I mean, other clothes too, not just a vest, but the vest was rad). All I can remember about what she looked like was the cool vest and long blond hair, so for the purpose of this story we'll call her Goldilocks.
Goldilocks complimented my nose ring, which was GREAT because I'd gotten a lot of no-really-what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking from friends and family. I'm still amazed Dr.Dad didn't try to pull it out of my head with pliers. I was SO STOKED about this awesome chick with similar music taste who thought I had good style. I mean, hello new bff?! However she then followed her compliment with:
"So you like piercings? Wanna see my nipple rings?"
I mean, yes I like piercings but... whaaat? Of course my confusion was more of a logistical one than wonder why this girl wanted to show me her boobs. So instead of walking away, or changing the conversation, I blundered right ahead with why that didn't make sense and this happened:
Me: "Hahahaha yeah right there's like fifty people in this room." (Logistics! Silly girl.)
Goldilocks: "We could just go in the bathroom; no one would know." (Still, STILL, I don't understand what's going on and continue)
Me: "One of my friends in highschool got her nipples pierced and they got all gross and infected and were like, oozing puss. I heard it was disgusting!!" (As Dr.Dad's kid I will forever throw in disgusting medical references. However, even the mental image of oozing slime did not deter her.)
Goldilocks: Mine aren't gross. I bet you'd really like them.
Okay, FINALLY I realized there was some weird vibes going on. I really didn't want to see her boobs, or sneak off into the bathroom with her. It started to dawn on me that perhaps I had been too friendly and given her the wrong impression, so I wildly veered the conversation to something something about my current boyfriend. No, I didn't leave or go talk to anyone else... still in discussion with crazyboob Goldilocks. I thought a boyfriend (aw-shucks-sorry-I'm-flattered) would deter her... not entice her more.
Me: Blah blah blah my boyfriend woooo tru luv forever blah blah (or something similar, I'm sure)
Goldilocks: Oh you have a boyfriend? Is he here?
Me: Nooooo we're long distance. (sad face)
Goldilocks: Long distance, that must be tough.
Me: Oh yeah it's really difficult and sometimes it feels impossible (STOP TALKING IDIOT BRAIN) but together forever truuuuu loooooooveee blah blah blah...
Goldilocks: So if you're long distance, is it an open relationship? (What?!?! Is that a common thing? Just because you don't see your beau on the regular you can go smooching on someone else?)
Me: Noooo we're definitely just us... ummm... like... super monogamous and boring. Nothing exciting here. Noooope. Boring ol' boyfriend-girlfriend-just-us relationship yuuuup.
Goldilocks: Do you want to make it an open relationship? (?!?!?!?!?! Props for boldness at least? NOTHING, nothing is stopping this chick.)
Me: WHAAAAT?! (I probably flailed my arms around. That's a thing I do when I get flustered.)
Goldilocks: I bet he wouldn't mind if you surprised him with a crazy story later. He'd probably find it really hot. Most guys do.
And Goldilocks stared me down. She was not going to let me go. Now I may condone a lot of bad-ish behavior but cheating is not my jam. Nor is making out with girls in cool vests at parties, but like, seriously. Not cool. And YET, I do not leave. I continue to engage. And instead of saying something polite, or politically correct, or just not god-awful stupid, I blurt out:
"I AM NOT GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU IN THE BATHROOM."
She glared at me, and snarled "stupid BREEDER," and turned and stormed off.
Apparently this is a forreal anti-heterosexual insult, but BREEDER? I realized I was probably supposed to be offended but it sounded so ridiculous (what am I, an ox?) so I... busted out laughing as she walked away.
Sorry, Goldilocks. You shouldn't assume that girls with super short pixie cuts and facial piercings want to hop on you. Or maybe that is a valid assumption at an art student party in a college town...
And I shouldn't assume that people with cool vests want to be my new best friend.
The epilogue is: I removed my nose ring two days later. And my boyfriend two weeks later. Whompwhomp.