7a plus some

dear michael (i believe that was your name),

you had the kindest eyes that i've seen in a very long time. and you actually made eye contact when you spoke to me about the most trivial things: would you like some more water? how would you like that burger cooked? sorry i spilled water on you shoe.is there a storm coming tonight, etc. etc. etc. your smile was gentle too, so thanks for being so darn lovely. 

                                                             -j

ps. also, your having a well-groomed mustache automatically added a bonus point in my book

Dear BDFV/ACE

Dear New York Transit Gods,

Please send more cute, non-gay boys who read books and don't listen to Eminem out loud on their phones into your subway domain. The amount of soulmate prospects is becoming staggeringly low during the past few weeks and I am crest-fallen. I'll make you a deal, MTA gods, I'll even stand to be humiliated by getting my foot caught in the door of the train (like that one time, bitches) if you send prince lumberjack to rescue me from quite a dramatic death. Deal? Hope I have not offended you, because heaven knows I don't want to accidently sit on anything wet on the subway seats.

Love,

J

Questions in the tube...

Dear hair plugs,

Did your wife/girlfriend/best dude REALLY tell you that hair plugs were a good idea? Eww.Gak.Vom.com. Seriously I couldn't figure out what organism was growing on your head at first--I thought--maybe, just maybe you had a hair gel accident or...something. But no, I can't make excuses for your horrible hair plugs. I mean. It looked like 2.5 inch nappy man-weave. And that's just wrong. Also--if you're going to get hair plugs, you might as well cover the whole surface area of the balding spot instead of just half--even if you ARE trying them out (which I don't see how you can) cover up that whole palette, man! Tobias Funke didn't pull it off and neither do you. Take my advice and just shave the whole darn head. I promise, and oddly-shaped head underneath there is much preferred to whatever hair-pluggish organism is thriving in your bald spot at the moment.

With hopes that you find Rogaine or buzz-clippers,

J

a crutch, man, a crutch??

Dear sir,

How old are you? Come on, out with it. I'd say, early fifties, no? A dad-ish age, huh. Well, I would be quite ashamed of myself if I were you sir. Sitting in traffic leaning on your horn when a construction crew is busy unloading bricks in front of you. It's a one-way street, sir! And oh-my-heaven-forbid that there are other people working when you with your crazy hair and glasses decide to drive your spiffy little honda down Degraw Street. That, sir, should be a crime. Oh! And may I commend you on your excellent critical thinking and communication skills! Firstly, it was so ingenious that you decide to lay on your horn whilst the gentlemen obviously have their hands full of bricks. That really got the point across and didn't end up annoying anybody at all. But your genius laying-on-horn plan failed and so, of course, you go on to plan b. A crutch. You grab a crutch (not two, but one) out of your car and wave it wildly in all the workers' faces. Really? Really. Wow. I guess that did it. I mean, I was laughing watching you outside my window when you finally got your way and how you slammed your little Honda door and angrily buckled your seatbelt and THEN proceeded to hold up everyone behind you by flipping the workers the bird AND saying f-you in sign language--yes I do know that sign (thanks Mr. Holland's Opus.) 

Sir, I hope your day ended up just beautifully. And I hope you have a reason to use that crutch--because if you're pretending to be handicapped ON TOP of what you just did. Well. I have no words for you.

Thank you for being oh-so-entertaining, crutch-man.

J

Last stop on the G train

Dear Kensington pizza shop,

You made my day. Maybe it was because these girls with thick New York accents came in screaming because they hadn't seen the gal from behind the counter in a few days (the girls were 'in the woods on vacation, eating twigs and berries and shit') Maybe it was because you lured me into writing this with your amazing cheesy pizza and just the right amount of pepperoni (you know how just 2 extra can be too many?) or maybe it was because you were bursting with the type of family that you get to hand-pick from the thousands of strangers that you come into touch with every day. Maybe that was it...that and the guy at the counter called me Senorita. Yep, you got me there.

All my love for your cheesy goodness,

J

Falling in love on the F train

Dear bucks-wearing boy,

Brooklyn boy I think of you often. You and your beard and your barely sipped stella artois. You drink and read and muse the day away. You (oh you philosopher) with a BA in photography. You’re probably gay though. And why do you make me fall in love with you? With your disheveled hair and cabin hat and scraggly beard that is not in the least bit patchy and preteen. You are a man. And you are gay and wearing skinny jeans and air force ones, which by the way, look very stupid on your feet, with the skinny wash jeans tucked into them. I’m telling you. That won’t make me fall in love with you and it’s probably better that way.

Dear subway boy,

Scratching you corner of your mouth and tapping your toes as the car makes us lean this way and that. You have no earbuds, your hands are free, you stare about and scratch your beard and every now and then dart away from looking at your reflection in the window or at the eyes of that man or woman (two seats caddy cornered to the left of you). You grip the metal poles, oily hands smudged with grime from the subway rats of people. You’re reading a yellowed copy of an old book which I lean over your shoulder to try and glimpse what it might be, but you pull your legs in tighter and cough into your scarf and curl even tighter into this little shell that you’ve molded into. What are you? Who are you? Let me see your left hand? are you in love, married, do you have a dog? Is it a bitch dog. I hope it doesn’t wear sweaters, if so this may not work out because I am in love with you. Don’t wear those shoes with the pointy up toe, unless you're going to be a professional who kicks people in the rears. I’m just saying, you look like a bird. I much prefer you in your dad’s old flannel, with your khakis that haven’t been washed for a few weeks and your tattered sweatshirt underneath this pilled wool coat with the scarf that you attempted to knit on top. It’s unraveling, just tuck it in. no one will notice if you act like it’s supposed to be that way. you get that sausage egg cheese bagel and bring it on the train. Come on, Brooklyn boy, don’t you know better? Put it in your man satch and wait until you’re darting through the endless queue of people into the elevator at work that’s three sizes too small. You’re the guy who keeps checking his watch every 7 minutes on the train because it makes you feel like you have everything under control, but you don’t, and it’s ok. 

Oh girl

Dear cottage cheese boot-ay,

Gurl, I know it's super hot outside and white linen pants seem like the best summery option to be fashionable and breezy. But with your choice of undergarments you were neither. Two words: granny panties. Wear them. Cover up the junk in the trunk. And girl, I know you want to shake what your mother gave you, I would too, but not in my face. Not in the subway. Not when I can't tell whether you're wearing a lacy g-baby or if you just decided not to pick that epic wedgie exposing your rump. So next time: pick the wedgie. Don't wear linen pants. And please, for the love of all things holy and sanitary, don't get your groove thing on in front of me.

lylas,

j

Jan.23 (from the archives,yo)

dear dave,

sorry i was awkward on the A train today when you said i had a cute hat. i know you were trying to make conversation and i kept trying to memorize my shakespeare. really, in these situations, i’m oh so horrible. because you said hi, i started blushing, and then i didn’t say much. except that it was creepy that you were majoring in ‘persuasional technology’ and that it made me think of the matrix. you said you just wanted to save the world (captain planet), and that’s cool. anyhow, sorry i couldn’t have a normal conversation with you and started rambling and being all ‘baladflakjghfdskl’-y. i tripped on the way out. hope your life is lovely and the universe delivers this to you.

sincerely,

jessika, the non-nyu-going actress with the squirrel hat

also,

dear man in drama bookshop,

i know you meant well when you told me your story about finding your girlfriend on the internet. however, i did find it quite disgusting when you told me that story about what she told you after two weeks, you know, that story involving the 5-letter-p-word. uh huh. you don’t just offer that information up to strangers. future reference. k thanks.

reservedly,

defenseless listener