Stop staring.

by M. Lizabeth Currain

You know what I love? And by love, I mean can’t fucking stand? When men on the subway, who happen to be with their wife/girlfriend, are staring at you inappropriately. Especially ones holding bags of McDonald’s. I happened to be sitting down with my friend and this guy was standing in front of us. He basically kept staring down my top. Sure, it’s low cut; but guess what? It’s really fucking humid outside and I don’t feel like wearing a turtle neck so that creepers won’t stare. Dude, you’re with your woman. Stare at her tits.

Also, I can’t stand the “comedians” in Times Square that are always bugging you to go see their comedy shows. I feel bad, because I know they are just trying to make it…but there’s got to be a better way to go about it. And if you’re going to be pestering people to go to your comedy show, you might want to coordinate with your fellow comedians so YOU AREN’T SAYING THE SAME JOKES. Two “comics” both said, “You want to see a comedy show with a friendly black guy”? Um. Not really. I’d rather see a comedy show with a funny black guy.

Ya’ll can file both of these under pet peeves.

Also, I feel kind of bad because I made my friend walk close to 40 blocks in the heat and humidity. I guess I was punishing her because she wanted to see Times Square. You give and you take. That is the beauty of friendship.

Unless I kill her by making her walk a million blocks in the heat.

::Image from Jhocy::