About a couple of things

So, being a new blogger, I'm not really sure what the procedure is when  you have unrelated things you want to post about. (Nor am I really sure whether anyone is reading, but I carry on!) Is it kosher to post a few posts in immediate sequence, or should a person lump it all into one? Of course, I'm sure there's no right answer. Which is kind of why I hate blogging. (Okay fine I don't hate it).

A few things I've been thinking about:

FEET

New Yorkers have a reputation for being obsessed with getting manicures and pedicures. Now that my feet are mangled, blistered mess, I understand why. The feet take enormous wear and tear here. Within your shoe closet, it becomes immediately apparent who is friend and who is foe - and  foes get banished fast. It's not even just heels that are the problem. Even my cute, innocent-looking flats - or flip flops! - have recently wreaked havoc on my delicate appendages.

Hands, too, need upkeep here. At the end of a long day, I'll look down at my nails and see that there's grime under them! Ick. Hence the obsession.

CATCALLS

I like to joke that walking through my neighborhood serves as a good fashion barometer. I know I've got a good outfit on when I hear a lot of "Hey gorgeous" "It's a hot night and it just got hotter" - that sort of thing. If I don't get any catcalls, I figure I'm not in my best ensemble.

Usually I just smile or shrug the remarks off, sometimes I say thank you, or sometimes just ignore them (I'm really not sure of the proper etiquette, only that I don't want to get too involved). But occasionally people are aggressive, unpleasant. Crossing Broadway the other day in a skirt and tank top, someone called out of his car: "It's hot!" (It was, but he seemed to be talking about me, though I actually wasn't one hundred percent certain). I just kept walking. "Don't be stuck up!" he exclaimed angrily as he turned the corner and zoomed by. 

Leaving Adam Rio's house in Williamsburg this past Sunday morning, I passed a couple of guys on the street. "Beautiful," they assessed as I passed. As is my habit, I simply kept walking. I might have smiled - can't remember. "You could say thank you!" cried one guy with a thick New York accent. "Thank you," I said, turning around, and then I immediately felt like a fool. Why was I doing as told? It's not like I asked them to make dubiously desirable comments about me.

This whole thing is very hard to figure out. I don't ask to be commented upon, I don't want to be rude, but I also don't want to encourage these guys by being too receptive. So usually I just keep walking. Let them think I'm stuck up, I guess. 

It's funny, because ever since the stabbing I've been even more uncomfortable about associating with the neighborhood kids, so I'm even more inclined to ignore them. Yet somehow I get sucked in, because they don't ignore me. I remember talking to my old roommate Dave about this, and how he said that he would just kind of wave as he passed, if they were hanging around out front. I wish I could get away with just a wave. The problem is, if I give any encouragement, they'll want to get to know me (They already do. A whole group of them loitering outside the convenience store shouted my name the other night. I smiled weakly and said a quick hi). I don't want to get to know them, not after what happened. I wish I could be like Dave and simply be left alone. Being of WASP stock, I'm simply not culturally programmed to deal with all this attention!