You may recall that I posted a few weeks ago about this ridiculous dress I bought. Well, I wore it out earlier this week to a magazine party*, and... something happened. I'm not sure what, but something switched on in me. Walking down the street, I felt more like myself than I have ever felt, and more like I was living the life I have always wanted and worked for. Also, inexplicably, I adopted a No Shit Attitude (NSA) toward pretty much everything, and it carried over to the mornings after. Kind of like a hangover. The best hangover ever.
Z accompanied me to this party, and as we waited (im)patiently for the bartender to pour us our (free) drinks, a man came up behind me and reached past me to get the drink menu off the bar. This behavior was totally acceptable, as it was crowded and loud and he probably just didn't want to ask me to hand it to him. We waited some more. Wait wait wait. Then the same man came around to my right, leaned forward to the bartender and ordered his drinks before us, even though it was very clear that Z and I had been waiting longer. Oh. Hell. No.
I turned to him, heels clacked and hip jutted, looked him in the eye, and said directly (and with some indignation), "We were here before you. And you know it." The Douche avoided my eye contact, saying nothing and looking away sheepishly as the bartender set out two glasses for the drinks he had ordered. I repeated myself, for emphasis. "No, I'm sorry, but we were here before you. That's not OK." He again ignored me, turning to his lady friend to say (undoubtedly) something completely ignorant and base and fucking devoid. Devoid of what, you may ask? Everything and nothing. Just fucking devoid.
Seeing that my current course of action was going to have no effect, I turned to the bartender, who was most likely a completely innocent participant in all this foolishness, and said, "I'm sorry, but my friend and I were here before that guy." She immediately apologized and asked me what I wanted to drink, and thanked me for telling her what was going on. I ordered our drinks, which she promptly prepared - before The Douche's - and I tipped her $5 for doing the right thing. I then turned my back on The Douche and walked away feeling very good. Very, very good.
So good that the next morning on the train, I asked someone to move who was taking up more than his fair share of the middle of a seat. Normally, I just sigh and accept it as fact that many New Yorkers are inconsiderate assholes and that even if I ask someone to move so I can sit, there is no guarantee that he actually will. But this time, I simply said, "Excuse me," and moved to squeeze my ass into what little space was left beside him. He sighed loudly (as if to say, "UGHHHHH how dare you try to sit next to me on this, the New York City public transit, widely lauded as the most spacious and least crowded of allllllll mass transportation systems the world over?!?!") before moving to his right a little bit so I could fit. Yeah, that's right, asshole. Sorry to inconvenience you, but I am sitting here. I don't care if you like it or not, and I care even less what you think about me. Move. Down.
What is with this sudden onset of NSA?! I can feel something growing inside myself, a newly found lust and love for my life, an irresistible urge to exert my independence, and a fierce compulsion to protect it at all costs. Maybe it's because I've been thinking a lot about how lucky I am to have this amazing life. Maybe I'm starting to become a real, living, breathing New Yorker. Maybe I'm just terrified of losing all these amazing things I hold dear. Maybe I've simply removed the filter on my bitchdar. (I can hear the snarks now: What filter?)
Or, maybe - just maybe - it's the dress.
Fuck. Take 2.
Gratuitous BFF pic.
*Again, my life is ridiculous.
INTRODUCING: HARLEM EATUP! 2017
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