They just brightened up this gray, drizzly day (and make my bedroom smell amazing).

I’ll be back (hopefully tomorrow) with my photo diary of NOLA!

Thursday, I went Halloween costume shopping (you’ll see!) and planned on spending the evening cutting, gluing, and sewing. But then I came home to some news that wasn’t pleasant and decided I needed to go out to take my mind off things. My girlfriend, Kristin, and I got invited to a party at Greenhouse for Neyo’s birthday. I’ve had a great time there before and it’s not somewhere I go often so I decided to go.

Either I’m getting older or people are getting douchier…or both…because the experience was not fun at all. The place was crowded with rude men, girls in too tight too short dresses (and that’s saying a lot because there’s never too short for me), 1 girl with dreadful, gag inducing B.O., people pushing from all directions, and the following most awful guy ever:

This guy approached me and asked me where I was from. I said I lived here, meaning New York. He said, “I know that but where are you from originally?” I said Thailand. He said, “Oh, I could’ve guessed that.” I’m certain he couldn’t have or else he would’ve guessed that to begin with. So he asked, “Do you speak Chinese?” This did it for me. Why the fuck would I speak Chinese- I asked- Do you speak Chinese? “No,” he answered and tried to change the subject but I couldn’t even hear him anymore. I turned to Kristin and said- We’re leaving.

Honestly, is this all that’s left? My girlfriend, Hannah, said to me, “I never realized how much racial douchebaggery you have to deal with.” Please tell me there are still intelligent, cultured, funny (and bearded and tattoed) men out there. Please.

Last Friday I was meeting a friend at Gansevoort Park Avenue. She was running late so I decided to grab a martini across the street at Les Halles while I waited for her. I sat there alone for a while, only me and one other patron at the bar, when a man approached me. He said to me, “Is that a headband?” pointing to my forehead (see first photo above).

“Yes?” I answered, unsure as to whether there was also a parrot sitting on my head.

“Why are you wearing it,” he asked, “does it soak up sweat?”

Instantly annoyed by this drunken d-bag, I answered, “I’m sure it could.” Right then my friend arrived.

He continued, “Ask your friend if she understands the headband.”

“I’ll ask her and I’ll get back to you,” I told him and turned my back to him.

He left for a few minutes and then, luckily for me, he returned. “You look like Rambo,” he said.

“Did you come over here just to insult me?” I asked.

“No, no,” he answered, “I love Rambo. All guys idolize Rambo. So, like, we love girls that look like Rambo. Can I buy you a drink?”

“That means you’re gonna stay and talk which is not the desired outcome right now.”

So the guy finally scurried away and the bartender came up to me and asked me what the guy said to me. I said I couldn’t believe it, “He literally came over here to both insult me and hit on me.”

The bartender said, “I thought that’s what he did. You know, there’s actually a term for his pick up technique.”

“That was a technique?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “it’s called Negging, where a guy approaches you and picks on an insecurity, making you vulnerable, and then hits on you.”

My girlfriend and I were so shocked we couldn’t stop laughing. We had never heard of this technique, let alone, known that there’s a coined term for it.

“It doesn’t really work on smart girls,” said the bartender. Damn right.

We finished our drinks and headed over to Gansevoort. After a few minutes there, another guy approached us. We chatted for a few minutes when he brought up the subject of Thailand. My friend said, “Oh! Nina is from Thailand.”

“Oh really?” He asked and we started talking about how much we love it there.

“It’s funny,” he said, “there are so many beautiful women in Thailand, but they really don’t export there women do they?” I cocked my head, I was a little bit drunk, and needed to process what he just said. “You never see any beautiful Thai women outside of Thailand,” he added.

I had no words for this comment but my friend pointed to him and said, “You’re negging aren’t you!”

It was a night of meeting complete d-bags. I couldn’t believe some of the stuff the men were saying. When I got home I decided to google the term, negging, and couldn’t believe all the links that came up. Urban dictionary defines it as:

It’s a way to pick up girls. How it works is you use remarks to tap into female insecurity; Shake their confidence. Neg is a negative remark wrapped in a back-handed compliment. So your neg will confuse and intrigue them and maybe even shake their confidence a little bit, but only enough for them to fall from the clouds and be interested in talking to you. Its way to get through their defenses at bars and such.

I’ll admit, the one thing that my girlfriends and I most often say is lacking after a sparkless date is the banter. I have a very sarcastic sense of humor and I love someone who can give it back to me. Women also want someone to challenge them. We don’t want a spineless guy who says, “Whatever you want, Dear.” If I’m wrong, I want you to tell me I’m wrong. If I just made the lamest joke ever, feel free to call me out on it.

But this negging thing is something else completely from the banter we crave. Unless these losers, who need to refer to a Neil Strauss book to pick up a girl, are executing the technique all wrong. I think there was some confusion when they read the book. There is a huge difference between flirting and insulting, yet it also lies very closely on opposite sides of a fine line. If that makes any sense. I can see how negging could work, if done correctly. Saying, “Oh my god, did you just say cool beans? Who says that?” That is acceptable. Because it’s something stupid that I sometimes say and I have no idea why and I should be called out on it. Saying, “Why are you wearing that headband? You look like Rambo.” This, this does not work. Ever.

So until you guys have perfected the technique, I’d say play it safe and stick with the flattery. Or, of course, the tried and true, “Can I buy you a drink?”

(image via Le Love)

Do you think this is true? In my case, I hope so.

I was watching Seinfeld last night and it was the episode where George tells Jerry that he’s got a date. Jerry asked George how Susan, a woman who he is seeing, would feel about that. George, oblivious, asked why she would care. Jerry explains that he’s been seeing her for a while and it might not be ok to be seeing other people. George still seems perplexed by this so Jerry says, “Well let me ask you something, how often do you guys talk? On the regular?”

“No,” George answers, “just about 5 times a week.”

“And are Saturday plans implied or do you have to ask?”

“Well, um, uh, they’re implied,” George admits.

“And what about your medicine cabinet? Is there anything of hers in there?”

“Well, just some moisturizer and stuff,” George answers.

“And what about Tampax, George? Is there Tampax in your apartment?” Jerry asks.

“Well, uh,….. yeah,” George grudgingly answers.

“Then it’s official,” Jerry says, “she’s your girlfriend.”

I was skyping with my sister last night and we were pondering the same topic. When does a guy become your boyfriend? Officially, we mean. Is it implied after a certain amount of time? And how long? Or does there have to be a “talk?” I was seeing a guy for 5 months and never once was it assumed that he was my boyfriend, which was a good thing, since a girlfriend was the last thing he wanted. If I’m going by Jerry Seinfeld’s definition of a girlfriend, well, I haven’t talked to someone on the regular, had implied weekend dates, or left any of my personal belongings at someone’s apartment in 4 years.

(Leaving stuff on purpose to have an excuse to call them doesn’t count. That confirms you’re not a girlfriend).

I didn’t mention earlier in my post but my visitor last week was S from London. I had met S almost exactly a year ago in Bangkok and I was completely smitten. I thought, after all the guys I’ve dated, I had finally figured it out. He was the first half Thai guy I’ve ever dated who also spoke the language and has grown up in Bangkok but lives abroad. He was always a true gentleman with me and kept in touch throughout the year, calling to tell me he misses me and to remind me how beautiful I am (in his British accent that didn’t hurt).

A few weeks back he called me to tell me he booked his ticket to New York. I was filled with nerves. I had fantasized about us meeting again after all this time and couldn’t believe he was really coming. But the timing couldn’t have been any worse. I had just started seeing someone. I haven’t been seeing him long enough to rule out everyone else completely but I also knew that I was going to have a hard time not thinking about him. I fretted about S’s visit as the day got closer. What if it’s awkward? What if I don’t like him? What if I do like him? I didn’t have a choice but to just wait and see.

From the moment he arrived it was nothing that I had expected. He came with a friend (I had thought he was coming alone) and already had a dinner party planned for the evening. A year ago I imagined waiting for him at the airport, running into his arms when I spotted him, and rushing back to the hotel to order room service and just catch up in private. So dinner with 9 other people was not how I imagined our first night. I was nervous to see him and uncomfortable around all of these strangers. To make it worse, I couldn’t stand the strangers. They were the spoiled, rich kids that I avoid here in New York. Over dinner I learned that the things he wanted to do in New York was nothing that I would’ve taken him to.

As the night went on, and the more drinks I had, I started to see everything so much more clear. He was not the guy I wanted to be with. We had fit together so well in Thailand, someone who understood what it was like to never feel at home in your own country or anywhere else. But here in New York, we couldn’t be more different. I didn’t want to waste anymore of the evening being somewhere I didn’t want to be. He apologized for the night. I told him there’s nothing to be sorry about, this just isn’t meant to be, and took off in a taxi.

I met up with him again over the weekend, this time for dinner, just the two of us. I thought, perhaps the fact that I couldn’t stand his friends made me judge him in a harsher light. Over a sushi dinner, I saw again the guy that I had fallen for a year ago, kind and attentive. I thought, could this work? He said, babe, order anything you want. I thought, maybe it could. I made a joke and he didn’t smile. I thought, no, he doesn’t fit.

We went out for drinks with his friends after dinner. Everyone was tired from a big night out, the night before. S was clearly irritable, wanting to be at a more upbeat bar. He sulked in his chair. I thought, wouldn’t he be happy just to be anywhere with me?

I didn’t see him the following night, telling him to just go have fun with his friends. I met him at his hotel on Sunday to say goodbye. I was suddenly sad to see him go. I’ve never been good at goodbyes, especially when letting go is best. I felt so down for the rest of the day. I felt guilty for not spending more time with him. I was upset that the trip wasn’t how I pictured it. I imagined showing him everything I love about this city, everything I’ve wanted to do with someone I care about, not meeting him out at clubs. I was sad that he wasn’t the guy I remembered, the one that was always on the back of my mind. I thought, it would’ve been better if he hadn’t come, if he could just be the fond memory I could keep forever.

But maybe this is how it was supposed to pan out. I continued to date jerks in the past few months, and S was always there every time I was heartbroken, reminding me that I deserved better. Each time, I would be able to move on knowing that better does exist. So perhaps I needed to see him in person to see this clearer. Better does exist. It’s just not S.