AUUUUGH YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.
(Yup, still alive. I sprained my ankle kind of badly on Saturday, I have to wear a splint, it's all very badass-looking. Apart from that, I'm doing good!)
Maybe it's just me, but I hate, hate, hate being hit on (in the flirtatious sense) in the street. It just makes me squirm. Talking to a random guy whose single preoccupation is to have sex with me is NOT my idea of fun, sorry to say. Maybe some girls (or guys, or arthropods) like it, but I don't.
A few lessons you, hitter on random girls in the street, should learn:
- No, your hitting on me doesn't make me feel good/desirable. It makes me feel like a piece of meat. I don't need some random guy eyeing me to get my self-esteem up, thanks. (This goes for comments on my cleavage as well.)
- See those things in my ears? Those are headphones. Repeat after me. Head. Phones. You know, those stuff you listen music with. If they're in my ears, it means I'm busy listening to music. And between The Decemberists and your bland conversation focused on getting my phone number, guess which one I'd rather listen to? (Tip: it's not you)
- If you want to strike up a conversation because you're interested in the book I'm reading or because you really like my clothes, Please do. I like talking about stuff I like. Otherwise, don't talk to me at all.
- No, The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan and Mick Jagger aren't the only rock artists in the world, and not my favourites, at any rate. If you're having difficulties coming up with something more recent or more obscure, you just look like you're only interested in rock because I told you I am.
- Just because I don't club you to death with a baseball bat (and believe me, that's just because I'm nice and I don't carry a baseball bat with me at all times) doesn't mean I'm overwhelmed by your hotness. Maybe I just want to be polite and not figuratively kick you in the balls. I thought you'd get the hint when I refused to make eye contact. Or when I said I had stuff to do. Or when I sighed for the 25th time. Or WHEN I REFUSED TO GIVE YOU MY FREAKING NAME. Jesus.
- If you want to have any chance of me being overwhelmed by your hotness, please shower regularly.
- If you have to push to get a phone number, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG, OKAY? The only thing you'll get is a fake number so you leave me alone. I don't like lying to my friends, but lying to you? Not only do I have no scruples doing it, but I do it instinctively. Not a tenth of what I told you was true.
- Calling me a bigot when I tell you no, I don't want to have a drink with you? Is just the worst thing to do, EVER. It makes you immediately switch categories from "vaguely annoying guy" to "complete prick whose face I'd bash in if I knew how to fight and weren't a hippie."
- If I hear "you're just saying you're gay to get rid of me" ONE MORE TIME, I'm gonna commit murder. Hippieness be fucked.
- And last, but not least: Hitting on random people in the street just because you think they look hot (WTF? I don't look hot. Especially not in baggy jeans and a worn-out shirt) is just tacky. DON'T DO IT OKAY.
Doesn't happen to me all that often, but donce every two months or so is still way too much.
Maybe it's just me, but I hate, hate, hate being hit on (in the flirtatious sense) in the street. It just makes me squirm. Talking to a random guy whose single preoccupation is to have sex with me is NOT my idea of fun, sorry to say. Maybe some girls (or guys, or arthropods) like it, but I don't.
A few lessons you, hitter on random girls in the street, should learn:
- No, your hitting on me doesn't make me feel good/desirable. It makes me feel like a piece of meat. I don't need some random guy eyeing me to get my self-esteem up, thanks. (This goes for comments on my cleavage as well.)
- See those things in my ears? Those are headphones. Repeat after me. Head. Phones. You know, those stuff you listen music with. If they're in my ears, it means I'm busy listening to music. And between The Decemberists and your bland conversation focused on getting my phone number, guess which one I'd rather listen to? (Tip: it's not you)
- If you want to strike up a conversation because you're interested in the book I'm reading or because you really like my clothes, Please do. I like talking about stuff I like. Otherwise, don't talk to me at all.
- No, The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan and Mick Jagger aren't the only rock artists in the world, and not my favourites, at any rate. If you're having difficulties coming up with something more recent or more obscure, you just look like you're only interested in rock because I told you I am.
- Just because I don't club you to death with a baseball bat (and believe me, that's just because I'm nice and I don't carry a baseball bat with me at all times) doesn't mean I'm overwhelmed by your hotness. Maybe I just want to be polite and not figuratively kick you in the balls. I thought you'd get the hint when I refused to make eye contact. Or when I said I had stuff to do. Or when I sighed for the 25th time. Or WHEN I REFUSED TO GIVE YOU MY FREAKING NAME. Jesus.
- If you want to have any chance of me being overwhelmed by your hotness, please shower regularly.
- If you have to push to get a phone number, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG, OKAY? The only thing you'll get is a fake number so you leave me alone. I don't like lying to my friends, but lying to you? Not only do I have no scruples doing it, but I do it instinctively. Not a tenth of what I told you was true.
- Calling me a bigot when I tell you no, I don't want to have a drink with you? Is just the worst thing to do, EVER. It makes you immediately switch categories from "vaguely annoying guy" to "complete prick whose face I'd bash in if I knew how to fight and weren't a hippie."
- If I hear "you're just saying you're gay to get rid of me" ONE MORE TIME, I'm gonna commit murder. Hippieness be fucked.
- And last, but not least: Hitting on random people in the street just because you think they look hot (WTF? I don't look hot. Especially not in baggy jeans and a worn-out shirt) is just tacky. DON'T DO IT OKAY.
Doesn't happen to me all that often, but donce every two months or so is still way too much.