Tales of a Delectable Redhead

Turnstile Jumper

Last night, the sad little chief of the Union Square subway precinct asked me, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven”, I replied as he shook his little head at me and watched me walk off. It’s been more than 12 hours and his question still bothers me. Is he my father? I jumped a turnstile, I didn’t rob a bank, yet the man in the white shirt felt the need to express his disproval of me.

Yesterday wasn’t a good day for me- at all. I got “dis-invited” from a work meeting which never bodes well and is indicative of the constant lack of communication between me and my boss. I explained to a friend the other day that 90% of our problems are due to poor communication and talking is 85% of the time the solution. I am trying not to take my employment issues personally, but I can only do 50% of the work in any relationship. Whatever.

After moping around Park Slope and Prospect Park for most of the day, I decided to go to running club. I have absolutely no idea what any of my friends are up to- due to lack of communication. When I was severely bummed out over work, I didn’t have anyone to call and talk to- so I went and ran with a bunch of strangers in the rain. We ran through the Upper East Side and central park. By the time we were done, I had no makeup left, my hair was saturated and I didn’t have an inch of dry clothing- but it felt fucking fantastic.

The problem with joining any club is getting past the sexual issues, the fresh meat. Joining anything opens you up to new people, new people you specifically have not had sexual relations with. I have disabled almost 90 percent of my charm; I keep my conversation limited, and try not to flirt. Essentially, I have made myself into a very boring person. Last night I really began to notice how much I have curbed my personality to keep myself from doing something stupid or (heaven forbid) hooking up with any of the men. And some of them are fucking cute, it takes a good portion of my will power not to giggle and flip my hair. With respect to my blogger friends, I would love nothing more than to turn back the clock and not have dated some of the blogger males. Because that didn’t lead to the most awkward year of my life or anything.

So begins the era of new responsible me. I keep my relationships very private, I don’t need to sit around and rehash every moment with whatever guy is in my life at the moment. I am attempting to compartmentalize the ways in which I meet them and to make sure they stay separate from things I really enjoy doing. It’s probably why I haven’t had a date in 3 months, but I can’t handle having to go through a breakup and a friend breakup.

What was running through my head at midnight last night when my new friend K pulled me through the emergency exit door after my metro card wouldn’t swipe – not a damn thing. What was running through my head as we were escorted to the station and K patronized the police officers for 20 minutes for “picking on nice girls”- not a damn thing. When the opportunity to open my mouth for the first time during the 30 minute ordeal, what did I say, 27.

Labels: fun shit I do in my spare time, I hate New York, transit cops are sad men

posted by Betty @ 1:24 PM