Confessions of a Chick in Paris

Confessions of a Chick in Paris

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My Notes on New York City: 2011 Edition

February 27, 2011 , , , , , , , , , , ,

Visits to New York City seem to always come equipped with insane moments and/or people, captured by my inability to ignore ANYTHING (which is why I walk way too slow to ever be a New Yorker, they would trample me like a herd of elephants as I made sweet love to my thoughts!).

So here is the February 2011 edition:

That murderer-Wallstreet-guy on the plane

Just when I thought there would be no one beside me and my arms could stretch out freely…he arrived. All beige suit, stressed-out face, no hair, small teeth, sensible tie and piercing blue eyes, he was an older businessman and I was fit to be his concubine (but this isn’t a Continental Airlines version of “Memoirs of a Geisha” so let’s move along…). I was impressed by his bitchy phone call to a business associate, and doubly impressed that he was juggling between a Blackberry AND an iPhone. When he pulled out that morning’s copy of the Wallstreet Journal, I was at serious risk of unzipping my jeans in his honour (a true New York businessman just for me , how exciting!).

I gazed at the window with a mischievous smile on my face; perhaps I would abandon my original plan and follow this epic man all the way to Manhattan? Hmm??? Surely.

Until of course, I turned back around in his direction. There he was, with a ballpoint pen and his crazy blue eyes, not READING the Wall Street Journal, but frantically colouring in the letters and any white spaces he could find. My GOD the colouring, it was a beautiful madness.

So he’s an obsessive colouring serial killer. I bet he colours in his victims with ink. I wonder how many people he’s offed since February 18th…

That murderer-guy in Central Park

So it’s a beautiful warm evening in Central Park, and a man in short-shorts runs past me (yes they were short-shorts, and yes he had muscular thighs. A very relevant fact to the tale).Β  “Where did he come from?” I wondered. “I didn’t even hear his approach!”

Of course I didn’t hear his approach, because before he ran too far ahead of me, I noticed that he wasn’t wearing shoes. Barefoot on the pavement, barely making a sound. For those of us with sensitive ear drums who still might hear the rhythm of his feet, his shoeless strategy was aided by the muddy padding on the pavement. I’m quite certain all that sound-softening mud didn’t get there on its own. He must’ve been there the night before, with buckets upon buckets of mud, creating the most silent serial-killer run he could manufacture.

As night fell, I shuddered and wondered if he’d double back around in silence and strangle me from behind. But his sprint into the Central Park Zoo was the last I ever saw of him. I bet he’s still there in the sea otter reservoir as we speak; crouched behind a rock…waiting for you.

The barefoot Central Park killer.

That guy who needs to pick up a girl…badly

Imagine thinning hair, too much hair gel, big eyeglasses, inadequate height and a massive erection. That last part I made up, but the “erection of his mind” was growing strong as last call approached. As time ticked down his desperation grew; first he was dancing with some girl and holding both her hands, swinging them to and fro. He must’ve thought the hand-to-hand contact would seal the deal but she turned away. The sweat beads began to gather on his forehead, and eventually he just started humping the stale club air, hoping for a woman’s ass to unwittingly back into his growing erection (I’m still making that last part up). I myself became a little distracted by the end of the night, so I’m unsure of what became of him. I can only suspect that his trustworthy hand and a pool of tears are what carried him through to sunrise…

That guy in the red t-shirt who can dance like no one’s watching

I admire him. I want to be him. No one danced with him all night, but would he ever have even noticed? His eyes were always closed and the music was his mistress. At one point he began to clap fiercely, like the way those wind-up monkey toys from the 1980’s with the clapping cymbals would do.

He is my inspiration in life and I want to be him.

That guy in Harlem who undressed me with his eyes

I think the title says it all. I’m not sure how many Indian-Canadian women frequent Harlem, but I strongly suspect he’d never seen one of me before. So there I was, on a sunny cool day in Harlem at three p.m., as this seventy-year-old man carrying a grocery bag sauntered towards me, licking his lips and giving me the “eye fuck” of my life.

The world may end in 2012, but I will never be cleansed of the Harlem “eye fuck” man.


There may have also been some crazy WOMEN in New York city, but I was singularly focused on this trip…you know what I mean? πŸ˜‰

Until next time and my next location… πŸ™‚


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Your description of New York’s wildlife makes me want to visit it all the more… The fact that I would suddenly cease being the strangest person within throwing distance would only be a bonus. πŸ™‚


February 27, 2011

I think you’d be embraced with the warmth of a thousand suns. Go there.


March 14, 2011

Wow, I can’t believe you almost unzipped for a crossword doodling iPhone/Blackberry carrying nutter! I have to admit, I’ve often fantasized about filling in the little boxes randomly, with numbers, Chinese characters, whatever, but my wife always gets to the puzzles first. And asks me shit like, who was in Spanglish besides Adam Sandler? What’s the 8th letter of the Hebrew alphabet?

Anyway, I’m so glad to read of your NYC adventures here. And glad that you made it back home safe and sound.


February 28, 2011

Tea Leoni! πŸ˜‰

And yes, back safe and sound; slightly emotionally battered by now, but it was worth it πŸ˜‰


March 14, 2011

I’ve been to Seattle, San Francisco, El Paso, San Antonio, New Orleans, Tampa, Orlando, Los Angeles (the closest thing to Hell I’ve ever seen), Portland, Atlanta, Birmingham, Mobile (of course), Houston, Dallas, Asheville, Charleston, Charlotte, Knoxville, Dayton, but never New York–that’s the one U.S. city I want to visit most!

Oh wait, I did visit it–I was the man you saw in Central Park! But I’m not a murderer–just a werewolf! That’s why I was barefoot, and muddy! The shorts I’d just thrown on after transforming back into my human state–didn’t want to get arrested for indecency. And though I can’t be sure it was you, I do remember seeing a really hot girl who looked rather nervous. But I wouldn’t have eaten you–I’d have just chatted you up (had I been dressed more appropriately). Because I don’t eat humans–just dogs, cats, cattle, deer, etc. That’s why I went into the Central Park Zoo–too drool over the caged animals (especially the big cats, yum)!


February 28, 2011

so happy that you found this blog, barefoot-Central Park man! πŸ˜‰


March 14, 2011

Yeah, while I read the description of guy #1, all I could think about is Patrick Bateman from American Psycho.

The Girl from the Ghetto

March 4, 2011

hahaha….when he’s running naked with the chainsaw….AHHHH… πŸ˜‰


March 14, 2011

Sounds like the appropriate level of madness and sexual tension was present in your trip. Hugs, Romi-cakes!


March 7, 2011

Madness plus sexual tension, what more does one need in life? πŸ™‚


March 14, 2011

remind me not to hang with you in nyc- I cannot deal with SLOW WALKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. WORD.


March 8, 2011

hahaha…I know, the locals (and even my friends) are never impressed with my distracted Canadian stroll πŸ˜‰


March 14, 2011

Hi Romi… It is thatpessimist… do you remember me? I used to write about things that pissed me off.


March 14, 2011

yes I remember you, thatpessismist! :-)What do you write about these days? Hopefully something, don’t let your humour go to waste!


March 14, 2011

You should try London, its much more worse but for you more adventurous unless you have already experienced the air of London.

Awakening Tempest

April 1, 2011

1 notes

  1. New York City and Male Specimen Nostalgia: Conquered! « Romi reblogged this and added:

    […] experience. From an enraged lady with a wooden stick chasing me along Fifth Avenue in 2010, to serial-killer types with no shoes on in Central ParkΒ  in […]

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