HEALTH Perplex NYC's Dance Party Seeking Hipsters
Just the title of that article makes me vaguely horrified to be a part of it. But there I am in all my fuschia Judi Rosen glory.
You know wearing pink jeans really gets a girl in trouble. This morning I was standing on the F platform minding my own business playing Sudoku (fucking crack) when a giant dude in baggy jeans and a sports jersey approached me. Seriously, he was huge, at least 6'3" and well over 220 pounds.
I looked up and he opened his mouth before he figured out what he was going to say. After a couple of false starts (dudes, seriously, decide what line you are going to us BEFORE you approach a chick) he laid out the "I just had to approach you, you're so beautiful" gem we all know and love.
I tried to brush him off nicely saying, "I'm just trying to get to work, I'm really not in the mood to be meeting anyone right now."
He shook his head disappointed in me. "I see how you are. You're racist. You just don't like black people."
Now if I was awesome I would have said, "I'm not racist, I'm just superficial. I have no problem with black people, I just don't like fat people." Well he wasn't fat so much as just giant, dense both physically and mentally.
But since I am only internally a jerk I told him that I wasn't racist, I just feel no obligation to hold a conversation with strange men who approach me. Being a chick in New York City, especially one who wears tight pants (okay skin tight pink jeans) and has tattoos, I'm pretty used to it. I practically have a sign around my neck that says, "ASKING FOR IT"
Anyway, check out the link. It's pretty funny. It's my second time on Spin.com and I'm wearing the pink pants that make weird dudes bother me constantly and I'm totally not gonna stop wearing them.
And p.s. I am totally not racist. I even went through what we lovingly like to call my brown period. Seriously, there was like an entire year where I didn't kick it with a single white dude. There was a the chubby stoner rock Mexican who actually said "mang", the cokehead islander with the sweet pad and an intense designer pedigree, the dreadlocked black clothing designer aka walking talking Bad Brains reference, and the mystic Iranian who liked to do it to Neo Nazi black metal and wore more chains that I did. See? Race doesn't matter when it comes to getting into my pink pants. Ridiculousness is what really counts.