chicks over dicks

Thanks to simple laws of supply and demand, it is often the women who must assert themselves romantically or be left alone on Valentine’s Day, staring down a George Clooney movie over a half-empty pizza box.

- "The New Math On Campus" (NYTimes)

texts from last night

But texting and the utilitarian mind-set are naturally corrosive toward poetry and imagination. A coat of ironic detachment is required for anyone who hopes to withstand the brutal feedback of the marketplace. In today’s world, the choice of a Prius can be a more sanctified act than the choice of an erotic partner.

- "Cellphones, Texts and Lovers" (NYTimes)

please be punctual

"Excuse me. I know this is random," he said, "but I've been standing here at the metro stop waiting for my friend, and I saw you and said to myself, 'If you don't go and talk to that girl over there, you're going to be kicking yourself later.' You have this grace about you. Do you do yoga or meditate?"

I said no to both.

He was a med student from New Jersey interning in eye surgery and next told me I looked like his ex-girlfriend, some girl from Australia who was skinny and tall and worked in the fashion industry. He kept touching my elbow, but seemed relatively harmless, though a little awkward. He wasn't unattractive, but I wasn't attracted to him either.

He asked if we could grab coffee, but I declined and said I was waiting for my friend for dinner (which was true).

Then shit got weird.

The random touching of my elbow, which seemed a little forced to begin with, led to him touching my hair, saying it was "cool." Next thing I knew:

"I have this really big urge to kiss you right now," is what he's saying to me. "It's spontaneous, a little taboo in broad daylight...."

Mentally I cursed my friend for, of all days, being late that day.

slow motion for me

I officially have a crush on a local.

Let me backtrack for a minute.

About four nights ago, we were wandering around the city, as per our usual favorite nighttime activity, when we stumbled upon a large square packed with kids doing karate, riding bikes, etc. Each activity had its own little corner of the square, and right at the top of the stairs was a group of high school students breakdancing and popping and locking. The best guy was dressed head to toe in black (black baggy jeans, black T-shirt, silver chain, black bandana) and looked like the 14-year-old, Vietnamese version of the guy from Dirty Dancing Havana Nights (and the age description here is not the usual oh-Asians-always-look-younger-than-they-are comment; this kid was actually only 14). You know the cool kids in school that already had a bunch of groupies and that all the other kids wanted to dress like and talk like and be like? We were pretty sure these were Those Kids.

So we made friends.

Fast forward to the next day, and Johnny is back from hanging out with said Cool High School Kids to tell us about the Even Cooler High School Kids that he had met. Apparently, he had befriended the pop and lock champion of the city -- and said champion had agreed to give us lessons.

Which is why last night, Rosie, Johnny, Sam, and I found ourselves surrounded by some the sweetest pop and lock moves I've ever seen and some of the sickest outfits (one guy had on a doo-rag and another had on an outfit that I've definitely worn before -- tight black T-shirt, skinny grey jeans, black ankle boots, red and black checkered bandana), the music blasting from a bike that Rosie and I had chased a guy down to borrow and that was pimped out with speakers and lights. The second-in-command dancer was surprisingly cute.

And what can I say, I'm attracted to talent.

where your boyfriend at

At 7 this morning, just as I had gotten out of the shower, I hear a knock on my door. (Did housekeeping come this early? Was I late for breakfast? Was my director telling me something about my internship since it was my first day of work?) Thu (the roomie) was still asleep, so I quickly put on a bra, underwear, and shorts, grab a dress out of the closet (they were already knocking for the third time so there was no time to actually put it a shirt on or to yell at them to hold on a second since Thu was sleeping), hold it up to my chest and open the door a crack, wet hair and all.

Only to see Philip and his Vietnamese roommate standing in front of my door with about six long-stemmed flowers. I could make out some roses.

And, always the lady, the first thing out of my mouth is, "Holy shit! Fuck! Hold on." After which I proceeded to shut the door in their face so I could find a shirt to put on.

Sometimes I amaze even myself.

Turns out, the guys had gotten up at 4 this morning to go to the flower market that's open from 2 to 5 am and bought flowers for all the girls, including two directors. Phil had told me last night that he had planned to do it, but I didn't think he actually would, especially since we had been up late talking with Yushen and Thu.

Anyway, to make up for my lack of grace (and for essentially shooing the guys away so I could put on real clothes and dry my dripping hair), Thu and I wrote a little thank you note on Thu's "special" stationary (she told me she bought it just to write letters to me on -- ISN'T SHE THE SWEETEST THING EVER? I had to ask if it was alright that the first letter we write is to the guys, and she said that was okay). It was so pretty, with flowers and the Eiffel Tower and fashion cut-outs and stuff on it in a collage-like fashion on a pink background (I can tell by her taste in stationary that me and Thu are going to get along just fine) and it even came with a tiny little envelope.

I saw Phil and his roommate downstairs at breakfast later and asked him if they had liked our card because we had loved the flowers. He said that apparently his roommate had liked our card so much that he had asked if he could keep it because he had never gotten something like that before. I felt a little guilty because I had signed the note off, as a joke, "The back of your head is ridiculous, Lucie and Thu," in tribute of our maybe 2-hour-long YouTube session last night (and since Phil had been all, "So can I have yo numba?" at the door earlier), but apparently Phil's roommate thought it was hilarious and told one of our directors, Hiliary, all about how we had an inside joke.

My first day of work has definitely been off to an interesting start.