Guy With White Hair at Laguardia

I had just stepped off my flight from home tonight and reached for my phone to call my parents. I briefly looked up while entering the "H" in my phone for "home" and saw you coming toward me in your teal windbreaker. Cool man. You ran into me, ie. you totally sideswiped me. If we were cars, you would be paying damage repairs from your insurance for 10 years. If we were planes, we would have blown up. If I was Rabbit's rabbit hole and you were Winnie the Pooh, you would be stuck forever. You not only ran into me once, but I continued to be knocked about by your body like I was in some sort of wind tunnel. I looked up, and you glared at me and said, "OH COME ON, get off your phone." I get that you grew up in a time that didn't have phones for you to call your parents when you arrived safely at the farm next door, but mine like to know what's up. If you see this, you're the reason I missed this city. Next time, get the hell out of my way. Thanks for the welcome back.

Forever 21 Biznitch

I was trying to cure my loneliness the other day (because my roommate had peaced for home and I was waiting for tasty taco time) while in the city. I had some time to kill so I hopped into Forever 21, a.k.a I will Forever buy 21 things every time I go in. I was stoked; I was not stoked to run into bitches. I grabbed a couple things to try on- a denim onesie to add to my collection and some other shit. Going upstairs to the dressing room, I waited in line and recognized that the lovely piece of humanity working the fitting rooms was not having it. Holidays be busy timez so I totally get the annoyance with the clusterfuck she had probably been enduring for the past week. When a room opened up, I asked, "can I just go in?" But she said I had to wait because she had to count my items. She took her sweet time. It was getting a little old, but I wasn't going to rush her. Another room opened up, and I was still waiting. Then you, the blonde skag behind me, went around me and marched straight into the room while muttering something like, "I'm just gonna go." I was fuming the whole time I tried on my clothes, and I kept thinking how lucky you would be to NOT see me in the store afterward. I couldn't stop whispering profanities to myself while I was trying stuff on because you PISSED ME OFF...and the sizes were too small. If you see this and if you have any friends, I want to meet them.

You Fucked Me Over

You came into the store tonight with your family and asked about gloves. I showed you what we had, and you asked if we had anything for around $10. I said sorry but no. You told your wife (I'm guessing) and your child (also guessing) to go outside and hail a taxi. You turned to me and asked if I could make change for you from a $50. I'm not even supposed to make change for people given that we barely keep enough to use ourselves, but wanting to be helpful, I gave you a 20 and the rest in fives. I had an off feeling about you and grabbed the counterfeit pen to check your bill as you turned to leave. You wished me a happy holiday and left in a merry mood. Right before I marked the $50 bill with the pen, I said out loud to myself, "please let this be real money." As the ink turned the dark brown, I could hear shit hit the fan and wanted to cry. You were just outside, and I considered my chances of victory in tackling you down...I would die. Plus, I didn't want to cut a bitch in front of your daughter. If you see this, you're probably using a federal prison's computer. 

You Called me Domino

You came into Mama's in the East Village where my roommate and I were already imbibing. You made quite the stumbling entrance, and after the bartenders waved a quick hello like you were da man, they told me they'd probably have to throw you out soon cause you be ridiculous. You sat down next to me, and I tried to keep my back facing you, but you would have none of that. You started saying, "domino! Hey domino!" And I tried to pretend you weren't at all referring to my domino necklace. I decided to throw you a bone, ( I had to cause you wouldn't shut up) and turned and said, "yeah?" At this moment the bartender went outside to smoke, and you began to jabber on for several fuggin minutes about how he had left and how you were just about to make your move. Man, I did NOT wanna see what moves you had. I was like, "dude, he'll be back soon, don't worry." I thought you were diggin the bartender and got a little relieved that you weren't gonna try and get in my pants. I said, "do you like the bartender?" And you said, "NO!" all disturbed that I suggested it. I had to fuggin guess everyone in the bar before I finally said, "do you like me??" And you yelled, "WELL DUH!" I'm pretty sure you were on an unheard of amount of drugs and were shortly thereafter thrown out of the bar but not before you did your best to make me feel like an idiot because I didn't know that was your sorry ass attempt to hit on me. No one has said DUH to me since elementary you terd. And if making a move for you involves yelling out the name of an accessory, go do some more drugs man. If you see this, just throw money at me next time, it's your only chance.   

To Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal

I was with my roommate at Gorilla Coffee, and you both walked in. I totally didn't see you until you were already at the other end of the cafe putting fixings in your coffee. IT WAS AWESOME. Jake, you're a lot skinnier in person that I expected, sweet plaid timez. Reese, you're a lot shorter than I expected, sweet towering over you timez. As you both walked out, each with several cuppa joes in your hands, I (conveniently right behind you) opened the door for you. You both looked at me and said, "thank you." I said, "ANYTIME," like the BALLER I am. If you see this, I will marry your children. 

To the Guy Who Made Fun of My Teeth

I had just finished dominating PacMan at a bar and was walking with my roommate and newly formed friends down the street heading toward the next bar. I shouted something about Texas and you looked back and asked "Are you from Texas?" You were with some chick, and I said "YES." I thought we were gonna be bros after that. You said you were from Bedford, which is unfortunate but not your fault. I said something like, "oh, so you're a Bedfordian." And then you made fun of my teeth. YOU MADE FUN OF MY TEETH. Sorry I party with dental hygiene. Sorry I HAVE all my teeth. Sorry the girl you were with had to spend her evening with you. If you see this, please stop talking to people.

To Mark Fisher

I was trying to get some work done at Starbucks last night before going to a party. I sat down, got my music going, and you walked by. Glancing back at me you said, "are you using IWork?" I said, "I have no idea, what's that?" You sat down surrounded by ciggy smoke and asked, "may I?" gesturing toward my Macbook. I don't know why I said sure, but for the next hour, you "updated" my computer with a bunch of shit I don't know how to use or pronounce. You gave me tons of programs and changed all my computer preferences. You also told me you were Mark Fisher, a well-known rock-n-roll photographer/filmmaker. Each time after you added another program you said, "Merry Christmas, eat shit and die." I couldn't stop giggling and blushing because that was the least offensive out of all the phrases you uttered. You eventually left me to die a slow technological death with my "new" and "improved" computer. If you see this, cut your fingernails. Oh, and fix my computer cause I have no idea how to use it.

They Don't Have Shoe Dyers in Poland

You came into my store today-a shoe store-and thought it would be fun to try on every single pair. I disagreed. You kept saying out loud how we didn't have the shoe you liked in your size, as if repeating it a bazillion times would make it appear in our stock room. While you tried them on, you kept talking out loud to me making me an integral part of the process. I acted like I was paying attention. You stayed for oh, about an HOUR. Other people came and went, but you couldn't take a hint. You were worried about getting the shoes dyed because as you explained it to me, "I'm from Poland, we don't have things like that there." I said, "you don't have people who dye shoes in Poland?" You said, "no, I don't think so." Why do I find that incredibly, INCREDIBLY hard to believe?? No one dyes shoes in Poland...IN THE WHOLE COUNTRY? If you see this, looks like you better run your ass home and set up shop, cause this is a big effing niche that apparently no one in your country knows about. Boom goes the dynamite.

You Gave Me Your Number

As I was crossing Essex, I saw you see me and pretend to stand against a wall. You started walking with me as I walked up Rivington. You asked where I lived, and I said Brooklyn. You made a noise like you were a horrified child and asked how that was. I told you I'd been murdered once and mugged a couple times, but it wasn't so bad. You thought I was pretty tough, and as I turned to go onto Ludlow, I was afraid you were going to accompany me to the bar. You said, "can we talk later?" And as I admitted that I was trying to break a habit of giving out completely truthful contact information to strangers, you thought it was my way of saying I can only correspond by email. This was not true. I didn't want to communicate in any type of way, but I did give you props for being ballsy. When I wouldn't give you my number, you asked if you could give me yours. This sounded like the best win/win of the day. You opened up a whole new world for me, one in which, I don't have to not remember who I gave my number to the next morning. If you see this, you can't ever contact me because you don't know how, and I have you to thank.

To the Guy Who Said I Was Missing Out (Because You Know DMX) by Not Accepting Your New Year's Eve Date Invitation

53 is still too old.

To the Kid on the Playground

You're about three-years old. You carry a pale around like you're the shit and you're a mini hipster wannabe. You told the kid I sometimes babysit, "Thanks for nothin," after he wanted his toy car back. Meanwhile, you were hoarding your huge, semi-wooden car in front of his face not letting him come within an inch of it. Then, you wanted to play with his ball and his cars and talk to me about how cool you are. If you see this, you suck.

To the Lady Who Asked if I Knew Your Daughter's Dress Size

You came in the store where I work with your daughter. You had a ton of shit with you cause it was a day of shopping. Y'all dropped every single one of your bags right next to my desk like it was out of the way. You chose a lot of items for your daughter to try on and I thought to myself, "I'm gonna make bank." Even though I don't make commission, I thought I was gonna get a sweet pat on the back from da boss. We were small talking, and then you looked at me and asked, "do you know my daughter's size?" What? Uh....what? How the hell would I know her size? Do I look like a measuring tape? Then you told me she's French as if that was in any way relevant. THAT'S WHAT DRESSING ROOMS ARE FOR. I also know her birthday, her favorite foods, a list of things she's allergic to and her daily horoscope. If you see this, Je ne sais pas toujours que la taille de votre fille est.

To Colin Firth

I went to the press preview of your store, Eco, in Chiswick when it opened. You were supposed to be there, but your Catherine Zeta-Jones-esque wife managed on her own along with every in-law you have. So I shook her hand fervently while pretending it was really yours. When leaving the event and feeling sufficiently important, my co-worker and I grabbed our bags that we had placed downstairs. I smelled something burning and noticed my purse was singed, or more like there was a GIANT ASS HOLE IN MY PURSE. The floor lights in your store burnt right through my Urban Outfitters bag, but I was too embarrassed to tell your wife. So instead I did the mature thing and had my editor call and gripe to your PR people and demand the value of the purse. It was $30 but we requested £30. Someone grudgingly handed it over, and I was happy as a clam thinking that I surely was the topic of a Firth family dinner conversation. If you see this, I'll reimburse you the £30 if you get drankz with me.

To the Wiitala Bros

I gots yo CD!

Didn't quite make it to Sufjan. If you see this....we need to talk....it's about your music.

To Sufjan Stevens

I was happening down a street in Park Slope going to one of my friend's apartments. While waiting outside for her to run upstairs, I noticed some mail sitting on the stoop. It had been waiting for some weeks as it was addressed to you, Sufjan Stevens. I guess you used to live in the Slope and forgot to change your forwarding address. Seeing as how this was probably years ago, and the package was already opened, I took me home a little souvenir. Some band called the Wiitala Brothers wrote you a nice note and sent you their latest CD wishing you well and wanting to get together soon. Don't worry, I listened to the CD, it's not great. If you see this, maybe you should give them a call. No one knows where you live now cause you're famous, but maybe y'all should get drankz?

To the Guy Who Took My Cab

I was coming out of Ratagast with my friends, happy, drunk and ready to go home. I stepped into the street and began dutifully hailing a cab. Minutes later across the street, you began doing the same. Finally, a car pulls up to my feet, and who jumps in from the other side? You and your douchebag trio. I said, "this is my cab," to which you replied, "sorry honey." YOU SHOULD BE SO LUCKY TO CALL ME HONEY. I wasn't the third wheel on a date that night. If you see this, I stand by what I yelled after the cab as it drove away, "you better hope I don't see you in a dark alley."

To David Blaine

I called you on the Fourth of July from some rando's phone in a bar who was trying to impress me with his contacts and ability to continuously buy rounds for me and my friends. Other than Bill Clinton, you were the next most interesting number in his phone. What the hell does that say about him? I gave you a ring to wish you well on our nation's birthday and 1. you didn't pick up, 2. you don't even have a personalized voicemail. Shouldn't you have a voicemail that says something like, "WHAT UP HO it's David Blaine. I'm standing in a cube of ice right now suspended above a pit of spikes waiting for my balls to fall off. If you want me to appear in a box at your child's next birthday party, dial this extension." If you see this, please call me back. I was the message that said, "I have questions about your magical abilities."

To My Old Boss

I was so proud of myself for landing a job helping you out with excess press coverage. With all of my credentials, schooling and internship experience, I was more than prepared for the tasks that awaited me. Or so I thought. Turns out you thought you hired a robot and not a girl who just got her Bachelors in journalism. You micromanaged the hell out of me and never even gave me a chair to sit on. I said the couch was a fine location for the first day (we worked out of your apartment in the city), but I didn't know I was agreeing to day after day of total discomfort. Who buys couches with extremely low backs anymore? Come on. Each day one of two things would happen: You would ask me to do something completely out of my realm of knowledge (and yours too) and then get gripey on my ass with an overbearing parental tone of utter disappointment; You would ask me to do something that I completed like a baller, and then you would slyly disregard my efforts only to later come up with the exact same ideas disguised as your own. After two weeks of evident disapproval on your end and dozens of drinks on mine (and a day where I showed up for work and you asked "what are you doing here?") you "fired" me. You sell feminine independence and girl power, but you never actually gave me the satisfaction of being fired. Like a bad date you just blew me off until I realized I wasn't going to ever get another paycheck from you. The employee before me lasted two hours, and I lasted two weeks. Doesn't that deserve a termination notice? A kick to the curb? An egotistical blow? If you see this, PLEASE FIRE ME. Also, don't put so much cheese in your pasta.

To the Lady Who Lost Her Sweater

You called me at work the other day after you had come and gone. You asked if I had seen your brown sweater, and after I made a quick sweep of the store and told you that we did not in fact have your sweater, you tried to convince me that I had your sweater. I'm not a fuckin sweater hoarder lady. If I say I don't have your sweater, I don't have it. You told me that you had been in the store only two hours before like that somehow magically meant I had your sweater. You then hung up (finally) and called back 5 minutes later only to tell me that our store's other location doesn't have your sweater either. Uh, cool? I still don't have your sweater. Oh, OH, THAT SWEATER?? OH! Now that you call back and tell me ONCE AGAIN that you lost your sweater, I all of the sudden have it. If you see this, stop being a jackass.

To the Guy Who Challenged Me to Ms.PacMan at a Bar

I was at a bar in Park Slope with my friend. We were getting drankz, and I was dominating the local Ms.PacMan game. We were getting low on quarters and you and your friend, after assumedly noticing my screams on the verge of defeat, approached us and challenged me to a game. Being two older, financially secure and slightly married men, you put a round of beers at stake. Seeing my jaw drop- me being a younger, financially fledgling single gal- the stakes were lowered to loser buys winner a beer. Here's the deal, we should have decided how to determine who wins because I clearly beat yo ass in the number of levels, but your points were double mine. Why should I be punished for wanting to get out of each level as QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE? Whoever instantaneously decided the winner was determined by points can kiss my ass because I didn't want to buy you a beer!? And then you told everyone that you tried to buy ME one, NOT TRUE dude. Hope you enjoyed your fuggin tasty beer on the house...the house of poors. If you see this, move out of Bayridge, no one lives there, and stop preying on the pockets of girls who happen to be BALLER at Ms. PacMan.

You Were Being Inappropriate on a Plane

I was flying home and your shennanigans caused the captain to come over the speaker system and say something that involved the phrases, "not on my plane", "I will have federal authorities arrest you," and "turn it off!" I don't know what you looked like, but if I had to guess, I'd say a big fat creep who looks at porn on airplanes that have ballin wifi technology. If you see this, what the hell were you doing?? Did you get arrested? If so, what does prison food taste like?

To the Guy in a Wheelchair Who Dared to Ride Between the Subway Cars on the N Train Going Across the Manhattan Bridge Just so You Could Smoke

Even though the voice in the subway says that's illegal, I salute you.

You Told me Your Dog was Tibetan

I met you at "Bar" in the West Village. You were old, like white hair old and drinking alone. I was actually trying to make eye contact with the guy sitting on the other side of you who was under 50. You were chummy until you made fun of my being from Texas, and you also planted an unwanted surprise kiss on the cheek. You claimed your wife was at home in your million dollar penthouse and that you were up for a Nobel Prize. You pulled out some pretty good BS about what you did to deserve a nomination, but I couldn't follow. To top it all off, you told me you were going to drive home inebriated in your BMW that was parked down the street. In it waiting for you was your Tibetan dog. Then you asked if I wanted to see your car, which I took as code for: "OLD SEX?" If you see this, please mail me your dog because it deserves better--like beer--while it waits for your drunk ass.

To the Short Guy I Made Fun of on Halloween

Don't dress as Napoleon if it's not a joke. If you see this, please dress up next year as the Jolly Green Giant.

Bitch in My Store

You were short and had light brown hair. You had to wait for a dressing room to try on a dress, which you then decided to buy. It looked all-right on you. At the checkout desk with my stature towering over you, you tried to weedle a discount out of me by pointing out problems with the garment. You could only see the "holes" because you kept stretching the fabric. It was fine, the holes were indecipherable and there were no runs. You were stupid. I found you the same garment in the same size at another location. You huffed and scoffed and wrote down your name and number so that we could give you a brand new holeless shirt tomorrow. Sorry you're gonna get a sweet ass brand new piece of fine craftsmanship delivered to the store so you don't have to walk your ass the five blocks and get it yourself. If you see this, please come back to the store so that you can witness me throwing the shirt under moving traffic.

Creepy Guy Who Came into My Work Today

Today, you came into my work with one hand in your pocket and the other holding coffee. You were obviously scruffy around the edges, I thought you were going to shoot me. You walked swiftly toward me as I stood frozen behind my desk. Grabbing my hand, you shook it vehemently while muttering an incoherent string of words of which I remember three specifics: "your eyes are so blue," "what's your name?" and something about me being Jewish. I said nothing. You walked out and I watched to make sure you disappeared from sight. Then you CAME BACK to the store five minutes later, stood outside smoking and moved away once I gained some proximity on your ass. I waited for my untimely demise for the next two hours. If you see this, please respond so we can grab coffee over a RESTRAINING ORDER sometime.