Boyz

What up, thugs?

Warning: this blog post undoubtedly will make me come off as conceited, judgmental, and/or rude. But whatever, I tell it how it is.

K, so I've officially been in Boston for a month, and I was hoping to have met the man of my dreams by now. But alas, all of the scenarios I've concocted about meeting the perfect guy in the Public Garden or on the T on my way to work have yet to come to fruition. But never fear, friends! I've sure had some winners approach me in the past week. Check it:

Monday. Waiting for the train after work. Some dude wearing glasses, a gray track jacket, and some form of khaki-colored dress pants asks me if a Lechmere train has come by yet. I know what you're thinking: he doesn't sounds so bad at all! False. He's not wearing any form of fashionably acceptable glasses frames/shape. Wire framed. Oval. And a track jacket? Come on. Unless you're super jacked or an athlete of some sort, you just look like a dweeb (I hope you're taking notes, boys).

So I reply with something like, "No... not yet. I've only been here for a few minutes though." He doesn't say anything back, yet continues to stare at me. Smiling. Creepily. I then, of course, pretend to be fascinated by the granola bar ad across the tracks.

Another train comes by. Government Center. He looks at me again, smiling. I just kinda shrug my shoulders as if I'm actually upset my train hasn't come yet. This happens again about two more times. And I'm feeling increasingly awkward. He tries to start conversation again a few times, but it's pretty damn loud and I can't hear anything he's saying. I nod and smile, and promptly look away again. Finally the right train comes, and he looks at me AGAIN smiling. I'm determined not to have any further conversation with him. I smush my way into the train, almost have my ass pinched by the doors, and I'm free. Is it bad that I'd rather have my face in some stranger's ass than talk to that guy?

Wednesday. Waiting for the bus after work. It's snowing. A shockingly similar guy to the first one stands next to me, and asks me what time it is. TYPICAL. "It's 5:35," I reply, disinterested. Hunk #2 has the type of haircut where it's almost like he has really short bangs, and the precipitation plastering it to his forehead isn't helping him any. He then goes on to ask me if I work around here (TYPICAL), says he works by the Charles River (don't care.), and that it's too bad he forgot his umbrella today... but good things it's snowing, cause he can just shake it off his jacket (complete with a demonstration)! I reply with just enough information to not be rude. I proceed to pull out my phone, text my mom, and act as preoccupied as possible. Clearly the guys are just lining up wanting to take me out.

Now, the problem isn't necessarily with the strategy, but with the execution. Well, that combined with their poor fashion choices. I mean, A for effort and for these guys having the balls to start up a conversation with me, but what exactly did they think was going to happen? I wouldn't go asking out Brad Pitt. I'm just sayin'. Thank goodness I never gave them enough to work with for them to deem it appropriate to ask me out, cause then I'd have to make up a fake boyfriend. Ok, so I'm an asshole. Tell me something I don't know.

Take it sleazy, and I'm out.