Intolerance on the Megabus

Every discount bus line seems to have its horror stories. The Fung Wah is plagued by bus breakdowns and drivers being pulled over for traffic violations, Greyhound has creepers cutting off random people's heads, and Megabus, well, Megabus has passengers blithely reading pro-racial segregation and anti-caucasion faux-textbooks with such gems of wisdom as, "negroids should not mate with caucasians because the caucasian race is only trying to infect others with their leprosy." WHAT? What does that even mean?!?

I was able to snap a picture of the book he was reading after catching a few horrifying sentences. I guess the (caucasian) woman next to him didn't notice what he was reading because I saw them animatedly chatting later on. My only hope is that he was reading along in that book out of some morbid curiosity and was just as disgusted as I was.

In more pleasant news, I was recognized on the bus by two girls who read my blog! Hooray for random internet connection encounters :)

Us New York Girls, We Stick Together

Yesterday, while riding the 6 home from work, I thwarted a crime. Yes, you read that right. I am a real-life crime fighter. Okay, so it wasn't that big of a deal, but it did shake me up a bit.

I was sitting on a crowded train heading back to Midtown when I noticed that the man next to me was taking pictures with his camera phone. Since I am often one to take camera phone pics of outlandish fashion or strange happenings, I nosily looked over to see what he was noticing.

Little did I expect to find that he was trying to get a crotch shot of the girl sitting across from us wearing a short skirt! I stared for a second, flabbergasted and not knowing what to do, before saying as loudly as I could, "Woah, THAT's inappropriate."

He got really mad at me and started yelling that he wasn't doing anything and I could check his phone. I just looked straight ahead until he stormed off at the next stop.

The woman started getting teary and thanked me profusely. I was honestly a little shaken because I wasn't sure how he would react to a little redhead calling him out, but I wasn't about to let him get away with that nastiness.

Once I calmed down, I was really proud. To paraphrase a man wiser than I, Evil is allowed to take hold when good people stand by and do nothing.

You mess with one of us New York ladies, and you mess with us all!

Porno pickup line

Just had to take a quick moment to share with you my new favorite creepy New York guy pickup line:

I was riding the subway out to Brooklyn this past Sunday morning to work on an independent film I've been shooting for awhile now and since it's been a long time since I've worked on this particular film, I was studying my lines that I had previously learned and forgotten before I had the chance to use them.

My focus was broken by a very average-looking middle-aged man who tried to lure me in with, "You know, the great thing about porn is that there aren't many lines."

Priceless.

Pick-up doozie

Tonight, while walking home from the gym, I was reminded of why I started this blog in the first place: to share all the nasty pick-up lines with someone other than my fiance.

Tonight I got "Hey beautiful, can I eat your p*ssy?"

How offensive and disturbing.

Happy accidents

I'm pretty sure that one of the best compliments a girl can get is to have some random guy on the street stare at you so intently that he walks right into the side of a building. While pushing a handtruck. Loaded with heavy boxes. It really made my day.

My fiance later told me that this incident makes me a real geisha. Whew, my life is now complete.

So, thank you, random man with the staring problem, you really did make my day. I couldn't stop giggling, and this day really needed that.

Misplaced Gratitude

Today, as I was walking down my street, a creepy Wormtail-esque man shouted, "You're really pretty, you know that?" I, of course, continued walking and tried my best to pretend he wasn't screaming at me. After a brief pause in which he must have determined that I would not be responding he yelled again, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SAY THANK YOU!!"

This was the first street-yeller I've encountered who expected me to express my gratitude at being leered at.

The shorts I never want to wear again

So, I thought I had this cute outfit on. I had my favorite blue polka dotted spaghetti strap shirt on and my cute little tan shorts with some white heels and white beads. Sounds kosher, right? Wrong.

In one singular afternoon of wearing this outfit, I tallied three reasons to never wear this outfit again. Or at least never wear this outfit again until I can afford a professional security team.

1. Before I even made it off my block, Creepy Parking Garage Man proposed to me. Let me tell you, I've now been proposed to twice and after the first proposal, this one was a real letdown.

2. Only a mere three blocks away, an older lady tapped me on the shoulder as I was crossing the street to inform me that yet another creepy man had taken an interest in me. Only this time, he was an old, would-be-homeless-looking-if-he-wasn't-carrying-an-expensive-handheld-camcorder-in-his-hands, dirty man who was apparently videotaping my ass. Thank you, lady, for informing me of this travesty. If anyone recognizes my ass walking across Broadway from somewhere on the internet, can they please inform me immediately? I want my residuals.

3. And finally, as I was standing outside of Tisch waiting for my new actress-friend Tal to go have coffee with me, I was offered the role of a lifetime: a lead in a high-quality (or so I've been lead to believe) porn. I've got to admit, this guy's opening line of, "baby, let me make you a star" was almost remotely tempting, but I haven't been a starving artist for quite long enough yet for the idea of being a star at the price of removing my clothing for anyone to see to be appealing.

And so, as many of you know, The Men of New York are often offensive, frightening, creepy and leering (or any combination of the above), but never have I been so disturbed or harassed on any one day. Therefore, I have no choice but to conclude that my outfit was to blame. And since I've never known any man to tell me that polka dots were particularly scandalous, I must conclude that my choice in shorts was to blame. The offending shorts have now been relegated to the bottom of my bottoms drawer. And let me tell you, I have enough clothes that the bottom of any of my drawers is like garment purgatory.

The Offenders: