Utah? Is that in Brooklyn?

Quote of the blog:

A date to me (said in his Jewish-New-Yorker-Italian-accent): Brook, you’re the kinda girl, I know, that if I was ever a paraplegic you’d never leave me.
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I’ve heard some amazing pick-up lines since moving to New York. One of my favorites happened this last summer. One morning I was crossing the street to the park when I noticed a golden Chow at the park entrance. I like all the different types of dogs in the city and I don’t see chows that often so I was paying attention to the dog. When I got about five feet away I looked up to see the owner watching me. He smiled, nodded towards the dog and said smoothly, “I used to think she was the prettiest lady in the city.” I couldn’t help it; I laughed right out loud. Did he just compare me to his dog? Yes. Yes he did.

Another morning I got on the 1 train headed downtown. It was early-morning for me but late-night for the drunk who sat next to me. As the conductor announced each subway stop the drunk exclaimed, “Uptown! Oh man! I wanna go downtown!” He said this at every stop: 125th, 116th, 110th all the way to 42nd street. In the middle of one of his loud laments he looked over at me and stopped. He leaned towards me and said, “I don’t know what you do to your eyelashes, but it’s working.”

Last summer my friend Allyson and I were in a stationers store buying some birthday decorations. A man in rollerblades rolled into the store, looked at a few items, skated over to Allyson, looked down at her pedicured feet, and said in a Barry White voice, “I like your toes.” Then he did a 360 turn and sailed out the door. Amazing.

A few years ago, a few friends and I decided to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge (a must if you visit New York!) and eat at Grimaldi’s. It’s a famous Brooklyn pizzeria just off the water. When we arrived I washed my hands. When I got back to the table everyone thought that was a good idea. As they got up to stand in line for the one bathroom my friend Richard nudged my arm and whispered, “We’re sitting next to the Sopranos!”

I looked over. In classic New York restaurant-style the tables were just a few inches apart. Two dark-haired Italian men in suits sat kitty-corner across from me, less than three feet away. They were both broad, imposing men in tailored suits. One of them was about 60 and the other about 30. Across from them sat a middle-aged woman with magnificently teased blonde hair, a fur collared jacket and long acrylic nails. I waited for her to speak. I like to imagine it would have been a high-pitched Jersey voice that said something like, “Morty, I need to get my nails done!” To my disappointment, she never said anything while they were there.

The younger one looked at me and in a thick Brooklyn accent said matter-of-factly, “So. You’re pretty.” I was alone at the table and said, “uh, thanks.” He continued, “What’s your name.” I told him it was Brook and asked him his. He responded, “Tony.”

Tony?? Was I in a movie? I looked over to see if anyone was coming back from the bathroom but they were all waiting for each other.

Tony was still staring at me. He said, “So. Whereya from?” I responded, “Utah.” His thick brows drew together as he looked at me. Then he asked, “Utah, is dat in Brooklyn?” I paused before saying, “Oh, uh, no. It’s a state – out West…One of the fifty.” About this time everyone came back to the table and sat down.

Tony and his friends finished their pies a few minutes later and got up to leave. As they walked out the door the older man turned and looked at me. He drew his lips way down at the corners like an upside-down horseshoe, squinted his eyes, and nodded his head at me. What did that mean? Was I made? Was I dead? I wasn’t sure but I avoided the docks down the street just in case.

I’ve never had anyone tell me, as a man in Harlem said to a friend Amanda, “The man who gets to suck those toes is one lucky dude,” but in the meantime I can remind myself that I can give those chows a run for their money.