My guy friends are all about picking up women on the street. Their take on it is, “What’s the difference between meeting a woman on the street and meeting them at a bar?”

Um, a bar has alcohol. A bar is where people congregate and meet other people. A bar is structured and designed for socializing. A bar has alcohol? The streets of Manhattan are an open jungle where you are trying to dodge taxis, bums, and Falun Gong protesters. The streets of Manhattan do not have alcohol. (Unless you are standing in front of an OTB.)

The street is where I like to walk and ponder the important things in life. Like wondering if communism will collapse or persist when Castro dies. Or wondering if I remembered to shower that day. Why do I have to be subjected to an unctuous pick up line when I’m trying to walk and think at the same time?

There should be an area in New York City that is impervious to corny pick up lines. A dating DMZ if you will. I think this restriction should be strictly enforced in pedestrian heavy areas. It is hard to walk away from a man when there is a wall of people charging at you.

One time I was walking in Chelsea (which is sort of a dmz for straight women) and this guy just sidled next to me out of nowhere and asked me out. I lied and said I had a boyfriend. Then I put my ipod headphones on. This is the universal sign of politely telling someone “Leave me the eff alone.” But the guy doesn’t leave. Not only does he not leave but he’s still talking to me!  And the worst part was standing on the street corner and waiting for the light to change. All I kept thinking was: Please turn green. Please turn green.

But women will occasionally make an exception for street pick-up lines. Especially if the exception is cute, well-dressed and has a full set of teeth. What, did you think I was going to give you some glorious insight on picking up women? Do I look like Neil Strauss to you? Just be nice and normal and not homeless and you should be fine.

For example, yesterday was the first time that I gave my number to a guy I met on the street. I was even feeling like crap that day and in a horrible mood. The kind of mood when I’m only pacified by a voluptuous bowl of pasta and five hours of tv.

I was feeling under the weather so I threw on the only clean clothes I had and my new ankle boots. I didn’t feel like washing my hair so I threw on a beret.

After work I’m walking down second avenue to my bus stop and I notice this guy walking in my direction. I think “Oh, he’s cute” and right when I’m about to cross the street he comes up to me.

Boy: I like your boots. Where’d you get them.
Me: Coach. (Please don’t tell me you’re gay.)
Boy: Are you Chinese?
Me: No, Korean.
Boy: Yepuda.
Me: Haha. (This guy is telling me I’m pretty in Korean. Normally I would puke in my mouth a little but he’s kinda cute.)
Boy: Do you wanna go to this reception with me tonight? It’s for carbon.
Me: Carbon? Like the element? (Why can’t I think of better lines?!)
Boy: Yeah, we’re trying to find sources for alternative energy. There’s a reception at the Javits Center.
Me: Sorry, I have a writing class on Monday nights. Well, I gotta catch my bus. (Why am I  walking away? He’s cute! It’s too late now. He’s walking away. I should have showered!)

So I cross the street and I notice that the guy has crossed the street and is now walking towards me.

Boy: Hey, what’s the rush? Do you live with your mom or something?
Me: Do I look like the kind of girl that lives with her mom? (Please don’t answer that.)
Boy: Is it okay if I get your number? We should go out for drinks some time.
Me: Um…okay. (Of course!)

And then I give him my number.

He could be the Ted Bundy of energy markets for all I know.  But at least he was my age and had all his hair. I guess I should change the name of this blog to Szechuan and the City.* If only it weren’t for that being Korean thing…not that anyone would know the difference.

*Title courtesy of Billy.