Yasmine finally arrived in a sexy grey corset top and went into full-on shopping mode as Gonzi and I people-watched from some steps. Boomboomboom. She hit up all the attractive stalls within the hour before the market’s closing time. Yasmine ended up getting a 5-pound golden-coloured ring with the Allah inscribed on it in Arabic, making her parents proud. We said bye to each other, four separate times on the subway, finding out each time that we were actually going in the same direction. I love awkward moments like those.
Gonzi and I got off the subway in the Lower Eastside, only to find that Mr. Brown was flaking out and not going to he random party celebrating The National’s new record that was supposedly going to take place somewhere in the East Village to which he had invited me. Our failed try at spontaneous party-crashing was not a complete fail, however, because we did stumble upon an open gallery on our way to St. Mark’s Place. Our dear friend, Richard Prince, was exhibiting his t-shirt art. People of the artsy crowd casually stood about and talked about his art: t-shirts that are screen-printed/freely hand-painted stretched over canvases. Gonzi and I scored some free Coronas from the two guys (with good bodies) who were serving drinks on the side. Perfect after a long day of walking in the sun. Too bad Gonzi couldn’t grow a pair to drink more than a few sips from his bottle.
At St. Mark’s Place, I finally tried the $1 slice that I’ve heard my NYU frie
nds talk about since freshman year. The pizza actually wasn’t bad! The grease didn’t soak through the plate like Yorkside’s and didn’t taste bad like A-1’s. It was actually quite good. I’m craving it now. And you can’t beat the price!
Celebrity spotting: Fatima Siad, 3rd placer from ANTM 10 in SoHo... Creepy picture time...
And then the harassment began. Maybe the dusk made guys more inappropriate. Catcalls I can take, but beyond that is so not cool. Just because I’m wearing shorts at night, people, doesn’t mean I’m a prozzie, okay? It just means I didn’t have the time to go back to change into pants, aight?
Episode 1: As I was walking arm-in-arm with Gonzi by Union Square to Trader Joe’s where I would proceed to buy the juiciest and most delicious-tasting Fuji apple ever, some white homeless-looking man yelled at me, "Heyyyy!!! Come over here! I want to eat your pussy!!!!" Ew. Lewd. I clearly don’t want your mouth anywhere near me.
Episode 2: As I was talking on the phone outside the subway station, some black guy in a denim jacket walked by quickly and touched my ass. Being distracted by my phone conversation, I was too slow to react. Dammmn it. All I could do was tell my friend on the other line, “Uh, I think some guy just touched my ass. I’m going to go into the subway now and not hang around on the street…”
Episode 3: As I was chatting on the phone outside my friend's apartment in Little Italy/Chinatown, some old, Italian guy in a suit made eye contact with me across the street. I thought, "Oh god, please don't harass me" and he didn’t. Phew. Ah, But his friend did! He came to me a minute later and told me that his friend (the old creeper) was Italian and wanted to get to know me better. When I told him no and that I needed to enter my friend's apartment. He asked if his friend could come with me. Uh, NO.
Mad creep, yo.
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