Tag Archives: awkward

The “Look”

As a young 20-something female from the burbs who recently moved to a more “urban” area, I’ve adopted a defense mechanism to save me from disgusting, embarrassing and/or uncomfortable situations. I call it the “look.” The “look” is a face I make for approximately 5-7 seconds: head slightly down, eyes peering at you from the right, brows raised, lips closed but not pursed. It says everything and nothing all at once. It says “Why the fuck are you standing in the doorway? They’re trying to close the doors to the damn subway so we can peace the fuck out.” it says “Why the fuck are you clipping your fingernails here? You’re disgusting.” and it even says, “Stop staring at me like I’m a fucking plate of lasagna. Try to be a bit more subtle, creep.”

I’ve perfected the “look.” I’m serious. I mean, I don’t mean to brag but people see it and they GET me. I know this because one woman put her nail clippers away pretty much ON CUE. I felt powerful.

Now, there are some situations when this “look” is not enough. I need a Plan B. I NEED A BACKUP PLAN, PEOPLE. Sometimes the “look” simply will not do.

For example, a few weekends ago I was in some trashy skank club/bar/wait-is-this-a-high-school-dance? in Manchester. We were all swaying our butts and doing that white girl thing. Two of my girfrans had some dudes come up behind them and they started junk-swaying together. I hate that shit and will have none of it, so naturally I began to panic because junk-swayers usually attack groups and I was the only victim left. Lo-and-behold, I got attacked. I moved away. My attacker didn’t relent. Then, I shot him the “look.” HE DIDN’T LISTEN. He continued his attack. Then, I turned around and shot the “look” for, like, twenty fucking seconds. He said to me, “You want to dance?” and I said “NO!”

HELLO? Did you NOT understand the “look”? DID IT NOT SPEAK TO YOU? I’m confident that the fact that he was foreign might have skewed the translation, but I’m still pretty shattered by this.
Do you have a “look”? Does it work? DO YOU HAVE A BACKUP PLAN TO YOUR “LOOK”?
Tell me!
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Bad Fashion: The “Hotness” Test

Have you ever seen a new fashion trend and said “What the fuck?” to yourself? The fashion industry comes out with something new or recycles some style from the 90’s that makes you look like you’re walking around with a load in your pants. I’m taking about Kelly Kapowski acid-washed high-cropped jeans or those Jasmine harem pants or overalls or anything that makes you look like you weigh 500 lbs more than you actually do. I want to know what runs through someone’s head when they’re considering purchasing them, don’t you?

I mean, what the fuck? How can you think the illusion of a droopy crotch is sexy? When looking at a woman wearing Kelly Kapowski jeans, what man says to himself, “Hmmm she’s so sexy. I can’t wait to unzip that unreasonably long zipper covering her foopa to reveal those granny panties underneath. YUMMY”? No man. NO ONE!

Now, I have this theory. Many people assume that the women who buy into these hideous styles are trying to be trendy. This makes sense because they’re usually out at parties in the city with flatironed hair and tons of colorful makeup on. However, I DON’T BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE. My theory is that the joke is on all of us. They think they’re hot shit and know their pants are ugly as fuck but figure, “Hey, if I can go out and get laid wearing these heinous pants, I’m a fucking goddess.”

Am I right here? I mean, if you can get laid wearing harem pants, then you must have a pretty attractive face and a body to die for. If I were a man, it would take a lot for me to look past that.  You’d have to look like Megan Fox or something.

Maybe I’ll take this theory a bit further. Maybe it isn’t the women themselves fucking with us, but the higher-ups in fashion. They sit together and come up with these trends to challenge all the young ladies out there that think they’re hot shit. It’s some unwritten and understood agreement.These fashion moguls are like, “Hey, NYC babe, you think you’re sexy, huh? Try getting laid in these vintage floral mom jeans. Muahahahha!” And these twenty-somethings everywhere collectively sign whilst saying, “Challenge accepted.” Then they go out, buy the ugliest new trendy snow pants they can find, wear them out that Saturday night and don’t stop droppin’ it like it’s hot until some hipster buys them a PBR. It’s the ultimate way to test how hot you really are.

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I Don’t Trust “Displaced” Sports Fans (And Neither Should You)

I’m from Boston. I’ve lived in New England for my entire life. This means I cheer for the New England Patriots, the Boston Red Sox, the Boston Celtics and the Boston Bruins. It’s in my blood. I’m genetically programmed to do so. I know, I know, we’re obnoxious but we can’t help it. It’s just the way we are- love us or hate us.

Now, some people confuse me. You know, the “displaced” sports fans. The people who don’t cheer for the home team. Football fans from New Hampshire or Massachusetts, even, who cheer for the Dolphins or the Broncos or any teams that are not the New England Patriots. I mean, seriously? (This applies to all sports, obviously)

In some cases, it’s understandable. I’ll let it slide. You just moved up here two months ago. Tim Tebow’s your brother or something. Fine. Yet, some excuses are lame and I judge people on it.

For example, the “sports fans” who cheer for a team because “Oh, I went to college there!” or “Well, my dad’s a huge fan!” or they were “really really good when I started watching football as a kid.”

No. You can’t do that. It’s not fair. It’s not right.

Look, I know that people move around the country. They miss “home” and cheering for their team helps that. I get it. Yet, if you’re like a third generation Broncos fan living in New England, I’m going to judge you. I don’t trust you. You’re not “one of us.”

Let’s apply this same logic to countries. Say you know someone who emigrates from France to the US. They’re your next door neighbor or something. Twenty years into their new life in America, a fierce, raging war breaks out between France and the US. Who should they and their kids support? The US, right? I mean, they LIVE here. They have their LIFE here. This is their country! It’s their duty! (Please note: I’d apply this same logic to someone who emigrates to France from the US as well.)

Sometimes, “displaced” sports fans try to “fit in” a little bit more by supporting some local teams and not others. This actually makes things worse. An example of this is a Giants fan I know who cheers for the Sox. Um, excuse me? You gotta be all in or all out, buddy. Not to mention the fact that there’s a raging arch-rivalry between New York and Boston. You can’t do that.

Not everyone needs to love Boston/New England (I know we’ve got a lot of haters) but I think anyone can agree with this. If I move to Pittsburg tomorrow and raise a family there, my kids will be Steelers fans, as they should be. What do you think? Are you a “displaced” sports fan? Do you hate people who don’t cheer for your local team?

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The Sex Talk

Today I started thinking about The Sex Talk and how I never really had one. I mean, I vaguely remember middle school sex ed and coming home and telling my mom things (why, I don’t know), but I never had a sit-down talk with my parents over condoms or birth control or the pull-and-pray method or abstinence and that crap.

I’m split between feeling very gypped while also feeling very relieved. I mean, it’s a rite of passage. I should have experienced it, ya know? But, at the same time, it would absolutely be the most tense, awkward conversation I’d ever have, so I’m just very glad it never existed.

There are two times in my life when my parents approached me with the topic of sex but not in that awkward birds-and-the-bees type way. It was much more subtle. The first time was when I was a senior in high school. I was a few months away from moving to college and my parents were driving together in the front seat while I was in the back. They were going to drop me off at a friend’s house.

“You’re not having sex with these boys, are you?” My Mom says as she turns around from to look at me from the front seat. Now, this sucks in particular because I’m trapped inside of the car so I’m forced to acknowledge the question.

“Mom, is this The Sex Talk? Don’t you think we should have had this discussion like 5 years ago?” I quip back to deflect the question.

My Dad laughs.

“Just answer the question!” She doesn’t take the bait.

“Mom, we’re not even going to meet up with guys tonight,” (lie) “And no, I’m not.” (truth).

Silence for the rest of the car ride.

The next time my pseudo-sex talk comes is months later. Now, I’m home from a short break from college, pining over some dumb guy and I can’t stop thinking about him. I decide to go to my Dad for advice over this because, who knows young fickle boys better than someone who once was one? Plus, I could tell that my friends were getting annoyed with me so I had to begin using other resources.

I take a good twenty minutes to explain how cool he is and how much I dig him and another twenty minutes explaining what I thought was between us. “He totally told me he’d call me but then he texted me. What does that mean? I mean, he still wanted to talk so that’s good, right?” You get the idea.

My Dad  stays silent the entire time until I say, “So what should I do?”

He takes a breath, thinks for a second and then says, “Daisy, guys at your age just want to spread their seed. They’re not looking for a nice girl, they just want to sow their wild oats. That’s all.”

I think that’s the best answer anyone could have ever given me.

So those two times are what I had instead of The Sex Talk. What about yours? How did you/will you approach this topic with your kids?

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“Grinding” = The Worst Invention Ever

One of the worst, pit-in-your-stomach type of moments for me is when I’m out dancing with the girlfranz and some dude comes up behind me and starts to “grind” with me. It’s very bothersome not only because I don’t know what this guy looks like or who he even is, but also because nothing makes me feel like more of a skank than a guy thinking it’s OK to swish his dick up against my ass.

I just want to turn around and say, “Hey! Can’t you introduce yourself to me first? Shouldn’t you ask me for permission? Why are you dancing like you’re blocking for basketball?”

I’ve never said any of those things. Usually, I feel bad and “grind” for a solid 2.5-3 minutes until I “have to go to the bathroom” or “have to find my friend who’s missing.”

I want to meet the person who invented grinding and then ask them why. Why did you come up with this idea? Why are you doing this to me? What is so bad about normal dancing? I mean, not only is grinding not attractive by any means and under all circumstances (aside from Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” music video), but it’s also very invasive. You’re literally pushing your junk into someone’s butt and then swaying back and forth. In a public setting!

Nothing is more awkward to me than trying to escape a grind-attack from behind. I’m sure some people will think I’m a tight-ass or a grandma here. Does anyone agree with me? What are some of your grind-avoiding techniques?

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