I Am This Many Fingers Old

I just Googled "idk" because "idk" what it meant.

Two Fights in Two Days

When I had braces at 13, my orthodontist Dr. Tenenbaum would twist the little screws on my teeth a tiny bit on each visit over two years instead of jacking them up to 11 all at once, presumably to prevent excruciating pain. Nice man, that Dr. Tenenbaum.

Conversely, my pelvis felt like separated itself overnight on Monday.

It turns out it felt like it did, because it did. I can blame relaxin, a hormone released to make ligaments loosey goosey for the baby's luge run. I guess my body orthodontist doesn't use the same technique as Dr. Tenenbaum. Maybe it's because I don't have two years to work with, perhaps not even two weeks or two days. It's up to baby. At any rate, now I walk like I can't, because my legs certainly can't be very well attached to their sockets.

Thus, for the purpose of this post, please picture a wobbly-legged woman smuggling a men's NBA over-inflated but regulation-sized basketball under her coat. That's me. Now picture me yesterday, fresh off the 5 train waddling my way through Grand Central for my now weekly visit with my obstetrician. As I passed Papyrus, the stationery store, I noticed a youngish woman pushing one end of a valet cart stacked with recyclable boxes. She had a helper in tow who was carrying a garbage bag. At some point during my waddle, I heard in a very bitchy Valley Girl tone, "Excuse me!"

In New York, we're unofficially trained to ignore people, so natrually, I ignored this.

"ExCUSE me!"

Certainly this person couldn't be talking to me.

And a third time, "EXCUSE ME!"

At this point, I assumed I dropped something, so I turned to see not someone running up to me with my wallet--or my uterus--but the woman with the cart and the helper, right behind me, totally up my ass. Really? Grand Central is such a tiny place that my path is the only one to wheel your shit around in? Is it not called GRAND Central for a reason? Her "excuse me" was essentially a "Beep beep!" for me to get out of the way, and not a friendly "Beep beep" which wouldn't have mattered anyhow. My fuse is short these days. I responded in kind at the top of my lungs with, "I'M EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS PREGNANT, AND YOU'RE A BITCH!" As she passed, she had no comment, obviously.

That was yesterday. This morning, I had another adventure. I walked onto the 6 train and stood in front of two occupied seats in the corner. A teenage girl and a man in his 20's. Both saw me, my belly, and quickly closed their eyes to pretend they were sleeping. I felt like tapping the one chick on the shoulder to ask her how her fake nap was going, but I was more concerned with monitoring the rest of the train as we approached the next stop to see if any seats would open up. One did, and I approached it, as fast as I could waddle.

I wasn't fast enough.

A tall 30-something hipster dude with Peter Jackson hair and a stupid trendy raincoat started his descent into the seat. Before his fat ass could touch the plastic, I tapped him with, "May I sit down?"

"Umm...But I was going to sit down," he said incredulously, snarkily, totally prepared for a confrontation.

I paused.

"Are you also 8.5 months pregnant?"

"OH! So sorry, I didn't notice. Yeah, sorry about that. And I get really mad when people don't give up their seats and yeah, sorry..." his voice trailing off as he stood in front of his lady friend whom he was hoping to sit next to.

"Thanks," I quipped, as I whipped out my copy of Pregnancy & Newborn. Needless to say, the small talk between him and his lady friend was awkward at best. On their way off the train to catch the express, he tapped my knee with another apology, "I'm really sorry about that. Have a great day."

"Yeah. Thanks." I wanted to then say to his lady friend, "He's a keeper!" in the most sarcastic tone I could muster (my specialty). Fighting a petite woman who politely asks for a subway seat you know you're only using for two more stops? Then to give it up only when I tell you I'm with child? I've got to provide a doctor's note? A-hole.

I hope his trench got caught in the subway doors trying to squeeze his ass onto the 4Train and his body was violently dragged down the platform ending with a big splatter of brain matter and Peter Jackson hair, but it probably didn't.

I guess I'll have to wait for him to develop an enlarged prostate.

IvyLeaguer123*

No stranger to the thrills and chills of online dating, this story forwarded to me yesterday has to be one of the best I've ever read. Married people? You're really missing out on the fun here. Please enjoy, IvyLeaguer123*.

*not his real screen name (it's worse)
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From: XXXX
Sent: Thursday, October 04, 2007 11:01 AM
To: XXXX
Subject: Match Nightmare

So I winked at this guy on match. Should have known better considering his screen name was "IvyLeaguer123" He responds with the following email:

I live in a 31 story high rise condominium, right in the middle of the Buckhead nightlife district. Do you ever come to this area of town to shop/go out/visit/explore?

I went to an Ivy League school - the University of Pennsylvania - for my undergraduate degree in economics and my graduate degree in management (Wharton School of Business). Where did you go to school?

What activities do you currently participate in to stay in shape? I work out 4 times a week at LA Fitness. Do you exercise regularly? I am 6 feet tall, 185 pounds - what about yourself? I am truly sorry if that sounds rude, impolite or even downright crass, but I have been deceived before by inaccurate representations so I prefer someone be upfront and honest on initial contact...

I do mergers & acquisitions (corporate finance) for xxxxxx(xxxxx, xxxxx, etc). Enjoy any of our stores/divisions?

Do you have any other recent pictures you care to share? I have many others if you care to see them.

Regards,

John
---------------------------------

So, I in turn send him a polite "No Thanks" thru the match system which send him the following email:

Thanks for writing to me, but unfortunately, we're just not a good match. Good luck in your search!

Our Portraits didn't match on:

Â. Personality

------------------------------

To which he replies the following:


I think you forgot how this works. You hit on me, and therefore have to impress ME and pass MY criteria and standards - not vice versa. 6 pictures of just your head and your inability to answer a simple question lets me know one thing. You are not in shape. I am a trainer on the side, in fact, I am heading to the gym in 26 minutes!

So next time you meet a guy of my caliber, instead of trying to turn it around, just get to the gym! I will even give you one free training session, so you don't blow it with the next 8.9 on Hot or Not, Ivy League grad, Mensa member, can bench/squat/leg press over 1200 lbs., has had lunch with the secretary of defense, has an MBA from the top school in the country, lives in a Buckhead high rise, drives a Beemer convertible, has been in 14 major motion pictures, was in Jezebel's Best dressed, etc. Oh, that is right, there aren't any more of those!

Regards,


John

http://www.johnfitzgeraldpage.com

When Two Can Anne Has Had Five or Six Cans

Here's a real conversation I had at a bar with a perfect stranger a few months ago. Matt Sears was so inspired by it that he has kindly transcribed/condensed the conversation into screenplay form for your convenience. Enjoy.


GUY AT BAR: So, what do you do for a living?
ANNE'S FRIEND: I'm a Graphic Designer
ANNE (excited): Yeah! She can Photoshop a cock on your face if you want!
GUY AT BAR: Why would I want a cock Photoshopped in my mouth?
ANNE: Whoa. No. I didn't say mouth. That's gay. Yowzer.