As many of you might already know, I lived in Barmbek area of Hamburg for about 9 or 10 months back in 2006. I wrote about it back then, but I'm not sure how extensively and I don't feel like taking a trip down memory lane to look it all up again. It was a "challenging" roommate situation and I nearly got deported and I was broke as shit. Ok, that last part hasn't changed so much, but it's definitely not as bad now as it was back then.
Despite the crap I went through while living in Barmbek, the place grew on me. It remained one of my favorite areas of the city even after I moved away and, as such, it was definitely a contender during my apartment hunt. So here I am again.
One of the things that I simultaneously love and hate about Barmbek is the frequency with which I get chatted up by random dudes on the street. It's not a never-ending, constant stream of men. But it is enough to call it a frequent interruption of my laundry time. Because it's often at the laundromat (just like a romcom meet cute, minus most of the cute and plus a perturbed me).
It's also not a new phenomenon for me by any means. Barmbek just happens to have a higher concentration of guys who are looking for meaningful, yet completely platonic friendships with women. Just kidding! They like big butts and they cannot lie. It's no secret, I might be poor in money, but I am Bill Gates rich in booty. And so it goes.
Six years ago, it was a revelation, as it essentially meant that I could get play any time I wanted. Granted, it also meant that I gave out my number to a lot of unwanted "suitors". But I solved that by just saving a lot of numbers under "Don't answer". Now, I've caught some flack for this from guy friends, as it apparently comes across as disingenuous. However, here's the thing: often I've felt like there was no other option. While I do enjoy compliments, I don't necessarily enjoy them on the street or with my arms full of dirty laundry. And both ignoring and responding, in my experience, winds up with the same result: more pestering and questions. Or, in the near-worst case scenario that I've personally experienced, a headlock and declaration of wanting to "do me in the [butt]". By the way, I only say near-worst case scenario, because in that case, Schmiddy was around to extract me from said headlock. Worst case scenario would have been the absence of Schmiddy's presence and a follow-through on that butt thing.
Wait, where was I going with this?
Yeah, ok, so there's a big filtering process and younger me was fairly well-versed in it. Younger me would have seized at least a couple of the opportunities that have presented themselves. Especially given the whole newly single/breakup situation. 2013 Raven is decidedly not into it (as yet?). I'm just not ready to get back out there. As nice as I think it would be if someone called me up to tell me how beautiful my eyes and smile are every goddamn day, I equally do not want that same exact thing right now. Funny, isn't it?
I've tried all the tricks though. I've pretended that I didn't hear anything and walk away. I've declined the offer to go out for a beer/coffee/tea/shisha/just be friends/dick. I've claimed that I have a boyfriend/husband/fiancé/girlfriend/children. I've said that I don't have a cell phone/landline/electricity. None of it seems to work. Nothing except the telephone number swap + ignore forever after that (unless I don't want to ignore).
I've been tempted to say/do some shit like the following:
Acting full-on crazy is, unfortunately, the least optimal option. Mostly if you consider the fact that eventually, I do want to get back up on the horse, figuratively, and the world is very small indeed. I do not want to be haunted by a Super AIDS rumor...or even a regular AIDS rumor. Or especially not actual real or super AIDS. No AIDS.
As you can see, giving out my real phone number is the absolute least of my worries.
Despite the crap I went through while living in Barmbek, the place grew on me. It remained one of my favorite areas of the city even after I moved away and, as such, it was definitely a contender during my apartment hunt. So here I am again.
One of the things that I simultaneously love and hate about Barmbek is the frequency with which I get chatted up by random dudes on the street. It's not a never-ending, constant stream of men. But it is enough to call it a frequent interruption of my laundry time. Because it's often at the laundromat (just like a romcom meet cute, minus most of the cute and plus a perturbed me).
It's also not a new phenomenon for me by any means. Barmbek just happens to have a higher concentration of guys who are looking for meaningful, yet completely platonic friendships with women. Just kidding! They like big butts and they cannot lie. It's no secret, I might be poor in money, but I am Bill Gates rich in booty. And so it goes.
Six years ago, it was a revelation, as it essentially meant that I could get play any time I wanted. Granted, it also meant that I gave out my number to a lot of unwanted "suitors". But I solved that by just saving a lot of numbers under "Don't answer". Now, I've caught some flack for this from guy friends, as it apparently comes across as disingenuous. However, here's the thing: often I've felt like there was no other option. While I do enjoy compliments, I don't necessarily enjoy them on the street or with my arms full of dirty laundry. And both ignoring and responding, in my experience, winds up with the same result: more pestering and questions. Or, in the near-worst case scenario that I've personally experienced, a headlock and declaration of wanting to "do me in the [butt]". By the way, I only say near-worst case scenario, because in that case, Schmiddy was around to extract me from said headlock. Worst case scenario would have been the absence of Schmiddy's presence and a follow-through on that butt thing.
Wait, where was I going with this?
Yeah, ok, so there's a big filtering process and younger me was fairly well-versed in it. Younger me would have seized at least a couple of the opportunities that have presented themselves. Especially given the whole newly single/breakup situation. 2013 Raven is decidedly not into it (as yet?). I'm just not ready to get back out there. As nice as I think it would be if someone called me up to tell me how beautiful my eyes and smile are every goddamn day, I equally do not want that same exact thing right now. Funny, isn't it?
I've tried all the tricks though. I've pretended that I didn't hear anything and walk away. I've declined the offer to go out for a beer/coffee/tea/shisha/just be friends/dick. I've claimed that I have a boyfriend/husband/fiancé/girlfriend/children. I've said that I don't have a cell phone/landline/electricity. None of it seems to work. Nothing except the telephone number swap + ignore forever after that (unless I don't want to ignore).
I've been tempted to say/do some shit like the following:
- pretend I'm blind/deaf/mute (but that could be a lot more trouble/danger than it's worth)
- say, "I see dead people."
- try to convert them to be a Jehovah's Witness/Scientologist/switch cell phone plans
- re-enact this scene from The Color Purple
- "Would you be opposed to wearing a Justin Bieber mask? Like all the time. I really love the Biebs."
- "Only if you tattoo my name on your face."
- "Only if you tattoo an ice cream cone on your face."
- this:
- "I have Super AIDS."
Acting full-on crazy is, unfortunately, the least optimal option. Mostly if you consider the fact that eventually, I do want to get back up on the horse, figuratively, and the world is very small indeed. I do not want to be haunted by a Super AIDS rumor...or even a regular AIDS rumor. Or especially not actual real or super AIDS. No AIDS.
As you can see, giving out my real phone number is the absolute least of my worries.
Comments
But, yeah, it's a pretty good system on the whole.