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Sun, November 12

Being Polite

At a comedy show a couple of weeks ago, a singing comedian duo sang a song in which the refrain was something like, “nobody wants to read your blog.” They sang about how no one cares about what you did last weekend, what you ate, or what your political views are. Your coworkers only read your blog to be polite. (Well, on that last one—that’s not true. Some anonymous coworker of mine reported my blogging to my boss, and that most definitely was NOT polite.) So the thing is…I stopped writing here because I started feeling insecure. Who cares what exhibit I saw today? (But just in case someone does care, it was Picasso and American Art at the Whitney). Who cares that I bought amazing goat cheese at the Green Market, where the guy hawking it sang, “It’s just like cheddar, but BETTER!” Well you know what? My mom does. She reads this blog. And so does one lady in Paris. So I’m back…

Last night I went to La Caverna in the Lower East Side for Linz’s bday party. I was talking to Dan at the bar, and there was this guy next to us who looked like he wanted to ask the bartender for a drink. “Do you want to get in here?” I asked him. “No,” he said, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the chemistry between you two.” And then Dan and him started mock punching each other and smiling, so I realized that this must be a friend that Dan brought to the party. “Hi, I’m Alexis,” I said, reaching out my hand for a shake. “I know. I’m Andrew. You’ve met me like, ten times.” Oh shit. I remembered. I do this EVERY TIME I meet this guy. I can’t believe this happened to me AGAIN! I am horrible with names, but faces I never forget. This guy’s face goes in one eye and out the other. It’s like there’s this black hole in my memory when it comes to poor Andrew.

Turns out David W. (from Inner Monologues) was there too. And apparently there are only two bars in all of New York City, because when I left La Caverna to go to The Black Door for Aly’s bday party, who did I see at the bar, but David W. again!

I didn’t notice the line for the bathroom, so I pushed open the door to one of the restrooms. Oops. There was a dude, just standing there, peeing. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I said, flustered. I looked to my left and noticed the long line of people glaring at me. Duh. So while I realized that I shouldn’t feel badly about walking in on a guy in the bathroom because it was his own fault he didn’t lock the door, a girl walked by wearing the most hideous dress. She was wearing something quite unflattering, with pockets on the front of the dress that only accentuated her extra wide hips. I noticed the guy on line in front of me give her a puzzling look. “Those were pockets on her dress,” I informed him, “Oh! Is that what those were? I couldn’t figure it out. That’s too bad.” “What’s too bad?” I asked him. “That she’s wearing that dress. Her hips are way to big for that dress.” Woah. I knew that girls were critical but I always assumed that guys couldn’t tell the difference from a dress or a burlap sack as long as some leg or some cleave was showing. Since we were already talking, and since this guy seemed to have insight into important matters such as pockets on dresses, I asked him why guys don’t lock the door when they’re in the bathroom at a bar. “Because they don’t really care. They’re standing with their back to you. All you’re gonna see is a guy with his back to you, so what’s the problem?” “Really? They really don’t care that anyone can see them peeing?” “Nah. And either they don’t care, or, it’s an invitation.” Hm. So guys leave the door open hoping some randy chick will just walk in and be turned on by a row of urinals? Sometimes men are very hard to understand.

Here’s an “only in New York” moment. On the subway coming home from work on Friday, a homeless lady came on the train and did the “I’m hungry I’m homeless but I don’t do drugs can you spare some food or some change?” speech. As she walked past a woman who was clearly ignoring her, she quipped, “Time to get your hair dyed again, sweetie.” Which kind of reminded me of Jessica Delfino’s joke about the homeless guy who commented on the fact that her outfit would look a lot better with a belt. “You know what would look good on you?” Jessica asks the guy. “A house.” Well I made sure to give the woman a dollar because I didn’t want her to criticize my looks and go and hurt my ego. God I can be so insecure…

Posted by lexzog at November 12, 2006 11:52 PM

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