"Don't get shot five times in the head!"

Cute. Can you run in them?

This was the goodbye I received as I left my sister's apartment at 11 o'clock on Sunday night. Thanks, sis! I'll try! That's love. Apparently, my wonderful, peaceful, little neighborhood has experienced three murders in the past three weeks, the last of which was a 41-year-old man who was shot five times in the head. Five times. In the head. Isn't once enough? Anyway, as he wasn't robbed and he had been arrested multiple times since 1987, authorities are thinking it might have been a targeted shooting, possibly related to drugs.  However, that doesn't bring me much comfort as I'm trundling the 15 or so blocks home from the N train at midnight, house keys jangling from my nervously clenched fist. However, I suppose I can take minor solace in the fact that the sheer number of people in New York City reduces my likelihood of getting attacked, at least compared to the slimmer females in the non-strategic footwear who obviously make easier targets (I'm sorry, but it's true. The wolves pick off the slowest sheep). On the flip side of that coin, though, more sheep means more wolves. I guess it's all relative. And so I'll keep my wits close and my pepper spray closer, and for the time being, that should be enough (unless someone tries to shoot me five times in the head, of course).

While I'm on the dark topic of mortality, I must mention that I saw the greatest birthday card in Papyrus a couple weeks ago. On the front was a cute picture of a puppy wearing a birthday hat. The message read: "In dog years, you're dead!"

I think that's hilarious. Is something wrong with me???

As I haven't had the chance to write in a little while, this entry is going to be kind of like a life casserole (Gross). A life casserole that got ruined the first time I tried to write it two days ago because when I hit the "publish" button, the computer gave me a "log in" screen, which clearly meant that two hours of reflective writing had been lost to oblivion. Great. Since then, my cell phone died, I bought and then returned a really abrasive alarm clock, and I got a truck load of fresh produce for really, really cheap. But that's not what I feel like writing about right now. So instead, I'll write about what prompted me to change the title of my blog.

Recently, as I was walking home from my internship, I spotted a very tiny Asian woman, who was walking toward me on the sidewalk. She was wearing an incredibly cute dress. I, a lover and collector of dresses, was feeling amiable and so I decided to brighten her day a little with a random compliment. 

"That," I said, radiantly smiling, "is a super-cute dress!"

She stopped.

"Really? You think so???" she replied happily in a thick accent, smiling back. "Thank you! That is so nice of you!"

At that point, I was feeling pretty good. But here is the conversation that ensued. Interpret as you will:

[HER]  "I actually custom make dresses!"

[ME]    "Oh, really?"

[HER]  "Yes. Let me give you my card!"

[ME]    "No, I'm sorry. I'm actually kind of between jobs right now. I don't think I can afford a hand-made dress.

[HER]  "You're just going through a change right now! Things will get easier. Here's my card, just in case."

This would have been a good place for our interaction to end. But it didn't. Employing the expressive art of hand gesture, she added, nice and slow and very emphatically, because it was crucial that I understood:

"I don't just make dresses for skinny people! No, no. Not just for skinny people! Skinny dresses are easy! I custom make for people like you too! Also very important!"

People like you.

For a second, I almost said, "That sounds like something my mother would say." And then I thought I might add to the Astoria death count. And for a brief second, I had a feeling I might break down in a horrifying display of hysterical tears right in front of her. But there she was, standing before me, very skinny in her adorable sun dress and smiling, like she was doing me some great humanitarian service. And so I grit my teeth and grinned [grimmaced?] broadly. "Thank you so much!" I gushed and accepted her stinking card. 

Now, the logical part of me says that her English just wasn't quite there enough to say with tact what she was really trying to say. After all, implying that your customers are great, ponderous sea mammals is... well, it's bad for business. And it goes without saying that I'm not quite big enough to need custom-made clothing yet. But then again, it was also suggested to me that her forwardness might have been a cultural thing or that she said "custom made" because all of her dresses were custom made. It's just that these ones in particular were custom made for people like me. Whatever that means.

But why spend tons of money on custom made dresses when people like me can buy trash bags, burlap sacks, and maternity moo moos for less than half the price?

Thanks, anyway.

After many weekends of watching bad cable TV, reading books in restaurants, and going out for drinks alone, I've decided that enough is enough and have turned to finding friends on the internet. This may seem desperate, and maybe it is a little bit, but all I need to do to remind myself that it's a perfectly sane course of action is recall a conversation I had with a couple of my fellow interns a few weeks ago. 

[GIRL] What do you mean you smile at people on the subway???

[GUY]  Yeah, that's a little weird.

[ME]     God, well it's not like I ogle them with an absent smile on my face. If I accidentally make eye contact with someone, I smile politely and break it. 

[GUY]  What do you do if someone talks to you?

[ME]     Um, acknowledge them?

[GIRL] OMG! What if they're a murderer?

[ME]     I doubt murderers frequently approach me on the subway.

[GUY]  But it's weird if anyone approaches you on the subway! 

[ME]     What's wrong with friendly conversation?

[GIRL]  Erm, with strangers?

[GUY]  Yeah, if someone I don't know approaches me, I automatically assume they're weird or trying to sell me something. I'm instantly weary.

[ME]     How do people make friends?

[GIRL]  I go to college! 

[GUY]  I already have friends.

[ME]     How do I make friends?

[BOTH] Oh, huh. Good point. I don't know. 

Well, guys, it seems I have found the answer: Craigslist. And if that makes you feel a little crusty and gross, it's okay. Sometimes it makes me feel that way too. But I have found that, upon weeding out the porn, hair weave advertisements, and clearly illiterate people, the "w4w" link in the "strictly platonic" section of the personals actually leads to some real people! So far, friend fishing has led me to four friend dates, two of which have been with the same person (ooh, getting serious)! And guess what? They've all been fun meet-ups with normal people like me. Although I do prescribe to the saying that "normal" is just a setting on the dryer...

Anyway, I think life should be approached with humor and an adventurous frame of mind. And if I get stuck sharing coffee with someone who is truly strange, creepy, alarming, off putting - or hell! All of the above - then I guess it will make all-the-better a blog post for the next time around.