Just a Jew. Named Mitch. Writing about his feelings.

Archive for June, 2010

How do you tell someone…

Posted by JewMitch on June 30, 2010

I would argue that the most dangerous threat to single guys in New York City is the intense focus that can come from a crazy girl that you might have hooked up with a few times when you were really drunk, but clearly never want to see again. I don’t really understand how girls get this crazy or why they think this is a good way to get guys to date them, but every guy I know in New York has at least one of these stories. Luckily, because of the magic of text messaging, I have been able to reproduce the entire “break up.” Note the dates; I believe the last time I saw this girl was some time in February, and I had already been ignoring her messages for a while before this.


H:  Snug?  (Note: the Snug is the name of a bar)

M:  Nope. I have kickball.

H:  That sounds cute.

H:  Lemme know next time you go.


H:  Are u in ny?


H:  Hey! What r u up to tonight?

H:  Snug?

H:  ?

H:   😦 why am i being ignored? 😦

M:  Busy

H:  Ok. Guess no snug then 😦 call me when u r free- I miss hanging out!

H:  U arent mad at me r u?


H:  I think it sucks that you arent talking to me.


Voice Mail Received (from her, asking what I was up to and if I wanted to hang out sometime).


H:  Know u are over talking to me for some reason but wanted to let u know that miley cyrus is in the park Friday. Wouldnt want u to miss it 🙂

M:  Honestly, it’s time you stopped texting me.

H:  Ok. Dont know get it but fine. You are a jerk.

H:  Fuck you

Epilogue:  Checked her Facebook page one week later to discover that we are no longer “friends.” Double win.


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Summer Picnic

Posted by JewMitch on June 28, 2010

So instead of having a company Christmas party, my company has a giant summer picnic every year, with insane amounts of food, rides, bumper cars, karaoke, climbing walls, a giant TV screen to watch World Cup games, etc. I could go on and on about it, but instead I just wanted to share this one story.

I was standing next to a female co-worker that I’m friends with, who obviously hadn’t had a pedicure in a while (the polish was flaking pretty badly). Looking down, I said, without really thinking about it:

“Do you realize that your toenails look like the walls of an East Harlem public school? It might be time to take care of that.”

Of course, this was in front of a large group of co-workers.

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Chinatown Bus Fun

Posted by JewMitch on June 22, 2010

Back when I used to live in Baltimore, but liked to pretend that I lived in New York City, I used to take the Chinatown bus up almost every other weekend. Nowadays, a few legitimate companies have taken over this business, and offer clean, comfortable buses that safely get you between DC, Baltimore and NYC. But back when I did this, the companies were “AABus,” “Lucky Star Bus,” “MVP,” and “Apex.” You didn’t so much buy a ticket, as much as you went to the Baltimore Travel Plaza (a great place to go if you’re a hooker who doesn’t like earning a lot of money), gave some random guy with a walkie talkie and a clipboard $20, and got on a sketchy white bus.

Still it was so cheap (I mean, a cab ride from one neighborhood in Baltimore to another was $13) and the bus drivers sped like hell, so it was worth doing when you didn’t think there would be traffic. Also, the crowd was always interesting, since it was mostly Chinese. The first time I rode the Chinatown bus, someone actually had a live chicken on it. It was loud, and smelled, but I would just take an Ambien and pass out.

However, as more people found out about the bus, it eventually became more gentrified, and I found myself doing odd things like helping a twenty year old read/revise her first lease. One time I had forgotten the Ambien and was talking to a buddy on the phone. We were having a typical guy conversation: giving play by plays of our latest dirty hookups, telling stories about getting too drunk/throwing up, swapping pick up strategies and R rated jokes, etc. This went on for at least half an hour or so.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I have no control over the level of my voice when I’m on the phone and always talk too loudly. And of course, there was a nice couple in the seat ahead of me. They were in their mid twenties, but everything about the girl made me assume she was a bitch. Cropped haircut, conservative/sensible Walmart clothes, a lot of denim. Also, I could tell that with every minute of me talking, she got more and more physically upset by the content.

As soon as my conversation was over, she leaned into the aisle, and sternly said to me, “You know, not everyone on the bus needs to hear your conversation.”

To which I replied, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m hard of hearing. I wish you had told me earlier.”

She immediately apologized profusely, and didn’t say a word to me for the rest of the trip.

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Peer Advisor

Posted by JewMitch on June 14, 2010

So at my law school, they had these things called peer advisors– where they would assign a few 2L’s (second years) per small section of 1L’s (first years), to answer questions and help the 1L’s get situated. I’m told that the process to become a peer advisor is now very strict (due to me), but when I applied, all I did was have a fifteen minute conversation with one of the 3L’s that I used to go out drinking with, and then she handed me a red t-shirt that said “Peer Advisor” on the front and had a Thurgood Marshall quote on the back.

Mainly, all I wanted to do was organize happy hours/parties, where I could teach the 1Ls how to play “Partner Track,” which is a law school drinking game that I made it up. Basically, you take one shot for each year of law school you have left, and then one shot for each year that it should take you to make partner (7). The 1L’s would usually get to 3 or 4 shots and then quit, and then I’d yell at them and tell them that they would never make partner with that attitude.

Unfortunately, my group of 1L’s was not nearly as cool as we were, and all they wanted to do was have brown bag question and answer sessions in the courtyard– where they would ask me boring questions about the trial team and where to buy books and stuff. (We were convinced that the law school went out of their way to find really boring 1L’s after us, because our class was so crazy/alcoholic).

I would usually get tired of their questions, and after a while I would just start going on random rants. The best one was when I was conducting a Q&A session and only girls from my small section showed up, so I started giving a speech about how this was a really great law school to find a husband at, and how I think they all made really good decisions for their futures to come here.

They were not especially pleased with this. “But what if we want to practice law?” one asked. “Oh that’s just silly I replied. Especially when your husband can practice law and you can just reap the benefits without any hard work.” I then started explaining how you could tell which boys were in the top ten percent of the class by seeing who was wearing a suit during on campus interviews, and that you definitely wanted a guy on law review or a journal.

Then one girl stood up and said, “But what if you’re already married?”

I stopped mid-spiel and just looked at her. I couldn’t come up with an answer. After a moment, I said “I guess I don’t have any advice for you. I’m not really sure why you’re here.”

Epilogue: One year into law school, she was divorced. By second year, she was dating a guy on law review. By third year, she was pregnant and they were engaged. Some days, it’s like I have a gift.

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Fire Island Weekend

Posted by JewMitch on June 4, 2010

Last weekend, my roommate and I decided to go to Fire Island, which is a small beach island in Long Island, about two hours north of Manhattan. You can only get there by Ferry, and the island is filled with beach houses that you can rent a share in (meaning you can rent only half of a bedroom in the house for 1 or multiple weekends). The island is really unique in that there are almost no cars; so people ride bikes everywhere and wheel their bags/groceries around in red Radio Flyer wagons. We lucked out and got a house that was right on the beach, and we roomed with a bunch of UPenn frat guys (in their mid twenties now) who were pretty awesome. One of them insisted on being called “Business.”

To run through some of the highlights:

  • Playing beer pong and bbq’ing from our deck, while overlooking the ocean.
  • Meeting girls, simply by letting them use the bathroom.
  • Actually “hollering” at girls walking by from our deck.
  • My roommate (who is British) sitting in the direct sun all day on Saturday without sunblock, and getting so sunburned that he didn’t leave the house at all Sunday or Monday, and then missed work on Tuesday and Wednesday because it was so bad. He also was wearing manpris on Saturday – so he sustained a permanent manpri tan (on the area above his ankles up to his mid shin).
  • A lot of Bros Icing Bros; including going out to fancy lobster dinner, then just after we finished, one guy pre-apologized – and then dropped a six pack of Smirnoff Blueberry Lemonade on the table – icing all of us. Then we iced our waiter.
  • Playing Ultimate Wingman – where I would help my friends try to meet girls using the worst pick up lines imaginable, such as: “Do you girls like strangers?”, “Hey, have you met my friend Scotty, he works for BP”, and “Are you girls looking for casual hook-ups or more serious relationships?”
  • Constantly texting each other “The McRib is Back!!!
  • Excessive use of the phrases “crymax” and “masterdate.”
  • Talking about trying to impregnate the daughter of the President of Citibank (who was staying in the house next to us), by finishing inside and afterwards bringing her knees up to her chest, keeping them there, and saying “This is how I cuddle.”
  • Teaching one of the UPenn guys that if you accidental light a Marlboro Red backwards, the workaround is to break off the filter and smoke it filterless.
  • Explaining to another UPenn guy what a DTR talk was, and that he had just unwillingly participated in one.
  • Creating awkward sexual tension after anyone did any sort of action (like taking up a sip of a beer) by looking at them and saying, “Slower.”
  • The guy in the next room bringing a girl home, then the next morning when they woke me up, I plugged in my iPod speakers and blasted Boyz To Men’s “I’ll Make Love To You” through the paper-thin wall.

All in all, a pretty successful weekend.

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