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.
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