It’s a wonderful world

So I know I’ve been painting this horrible picture of NYC since I became a true New York hipster and and started blogging but I am here today to tell you that it’s not always the worst. I thought I would share some of the good experiences I’ve had as well and hope that I haven’t already scared you into not ever wanting to visit NYC (for those of you who live here, you already know). Although no one that I am about to write about was anyone that I was remotely interested in, they were all very nice people, had good intentions and made my evening just a little bit better. 

Let’s start with Justin. See, already it’s starting out better because I actually remember his name. Normally, with the usual douchebag, the name goes in one ear and out the other. I was sitting at the bar one Friday evening at one of my local favorites. It was a Friday night, but a quiet Friday night, the best kind. The bro’s and hoes were not out in full form. I was sitting at the end of the bar by myself, enjoying an extremely well made and delicious cocktail. I had to work the next morning so I was most certainly not trying get crazy. Two men had been sitting at the opposite end of the bar for quite awhile and I’d been noticing some glances in my direction but didn’t think anything of it until one of them got up and headed in my direction. He said that he had noticed me and couldn’t leave the bar without coming over to say hi (although some guys have said this to me before in the absolute creepiest ways, this was actually the opposite of that, and I felt flattered). He said that he had bought a Groupon for dueling pianos and wanted to invite me to go with him the next evening. I told him that while it sounded great, I already had plans. He took the declined invitation extremely well and we continued talking. We discovered that we were both from Southwest Virginia (for those of you who read my post this week where I bashed the guy from Virginia, take note, this was the exact opposite). We knew the same places, and laughed at people who said they had been to Virginia when really they just meant Northern Virginia and the greater D.C. area. No offense but it’s completely different. After a lovely conversation Justin said he should rejoin his friend, wished me a very pleasant evening and left without any hints on my part. It was a revelation after so many terrible guys.

The next night, Saturday I met a girlfriend of mine in the West Village. We met at a neighborhood joint called Corner Bistro. It’s a great spot with cheap burgers and even cheaper beer. A gem in the West Village where any drink normally costs a fortune, instead you walk away with a $25 dollar tab for two people. Unreal. Anyhow, my girlfriend and I were sitting at a table together, and let’s just say we were there for awhile. The tables around us were always full but changed occupants somewhat frequently. At some point later on in the night, two guys came and sat at the table next to us. They ordered food and drinks and seemed to be doing pretty much the same thing as my friend and I. Enjoying cheap food and drinks and good company. They sent a few looks our way but picking up girls was not their goal for the evening. When my friend and I had had our fill of drinks and sleepiness started to settle in we discussed giving another bar a try but in the end decided it was time to call it a night. The guys also paid their tab and made their way out slightly before us. Upon exiting their table they stopped and chatted with us for a few brief seconds. They said they had overheard us saying we were leaving and had decided that since the best part of the bar was leaving, they thought they would too. As corny as this may sound, late on a Saturday night after several drinks, it’s cute and exactly what you want to hear. Instead of trying to convince us to come with them to a different bar, or try and get numbers, they wished us a great night and then went about theirs.

My friend and I walked to the train station together and parted ways as she lives way the fuck in Washington Heights and I had to make my way back to Bushwick. On the train I ended up with a seat (saturday night on the L train heading back to Brooklyn, this was practically a miracle) and sitting next to me was the sweetest old man. We exchanged smiles when we first sat down and then he proceeded to tell me that he thought I was extremely beautiful and some man out there was very lucky. He guessed that I lived in Williamsburg (maybe I am turning into a hipster, God help me) and when I corrected him to Bushwick he was ecstatic. “Beautiful and with an actual personality!” he said spiritedly to me as if excited that young people still wanted to push the boundaries and not be complete sell outs (not saying that’s what I think about myself, or anyone in Bushwick, but that’s what the old man seemed to believe). We chatted happily until it was my stop. The chatty old man wished me “A beautiful night to a beautiful lady” and smiling I exited the train. 

Even in NYC you have experiences which make you feel good, individual and happy in the place that you live in. None of these men tried to get numbers or force anything on me. They were generally nice humans, giving compliments in the right places and knowing when enough is enough. Weeks like these make me believe that there are still good guys out there and that it’s not just creep after creep that I normally get stuck with. Not that I actually believed good guys were going extinct, but sometimes you just need that happy reminder and a boost in your day. 


This weeks song, just a little corny: Louis Armstrong; What a Wonderful World:


About 25shotsandcounting

My name is Sylvia. I’m a 22 year old girl living in NYC. For reasons I wish I knew, I get hit on a lot. I don’t think it’s because I’m particularly more attractive, funnier or even more intelligent than other girls. I’m convinced that it’s some kind of weird aura that only men can sense. An invisible sign that says, “Well hi there, I’m open for business.” Ironically, I’m usually not. The idea for this blog came about while I was dating a bartender in Williamsburg. I would go his bar and have several drinks by myself while waiting for him to get off work. Like clockwork, it was usually only a matter of time before I had a parade of guys come and talk to me. So much so that it became a running joke between my boyfriend at the time and all of his co-workers, just betting how long it would take before I had my next victim. Sometimes flattering, sometimes annoying, other times like some sort of scientific curiosity, the unelicited attention became enough of a pattern to notice and, free drinks aside, generally dread. I seem to be a magnet for awkward pick up attempts, which sometimes lead to misadventures of one kind or another. I know this is a common phenomenon for young women in NYC, but I figured, why not write about it.
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