Bankers & Bagels
I heart NYC. It's the best place on earth with the smartest, coolest people.
But anyway, moving on. So I met this guy. He's cool. It seems like we have some things in common. I mean, we both like to travel, go on health kicks and it's fair to say that if given a kosher opportunity, we would rip each other's clothes off. Like naked. New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner's says to "Always surround yourself with people a lot smarter than you." As difficult as it is for me (there are a lot of dumb people in the world), I subscribe to this. I always date guys who can elevate my intelligence. Although it's too soon to properly assess, I think I might be smarter than him. The other potential issue is that he's a banker, and I've already dated fifteen bankers and sworn them off many times over. And the final issue, he has a girlfriend. And she's pretty awesome.
To the naked eye, this appears a situation ridden with both pointlessness and hopelessness. My intuition is borderline impeccable, and personally, I don't see a lasting marriage in their future. But I barely know them, so that's probably not a fair assessment. I don't have a lot to work with here people, and I'm not a homewrecker. I once walked in on my boyfriend in bed with a girl. She had a large forehead, so we used to call her Fivehead Courtney, which was basically a compliment compared to the things we called him. After that I spiraled into a situational depression, lived off of Starbucks rice crispie treats and lost ten pounds. I do not have ten pounds to lose. Five, yes. Ten, not so much. But I digress. Despite awesome girlfriend, questionable level of intelligence and American Psycho tendencies, I have a hunch. Due to said hunch, I extended a friendship invite. Being my friend is easy; it's getting to the friend level that takes work. To make it in my inner circle, you have to get me. To get me, you have to be wicked clever, love dancing, read, know yourself and most importantly, never wear Crocs. Don't even look at a pair of Crocs. I am not certain that the banker dude is up for the task. It's a tall order but a very special gesture based on nothing more than a hunch.
Emma Dinzebach
But anyway, moving on. So I met this guy. He's cool. It seems like we have some things in common. I mean, we both like to travel, go on health kicks and it's fair to say that if given a kosher opportunity, we would rip each other's clothes off. Like naked. New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner's says to "Always surround yourself with people a lot smarter than you." As difficult as it is for me (there are a lot of dumb people in the world), I subscribe to this. I always date guys who can elevate my intelligence. Although it's too soon to properly assess, I think I might be smarter than him. The other potential issue is that he's a banker, and I've already dated fifteen bankers and sworn them off many times over. And the final issue, he has a girlfriend. And she's pretty awesome.
To the naked eye, this appears a situation ridden with both pointlessness and hopelessness. My intuition is borderline impeccable, and personally, I don't see a lasting marriage in their future. But I barely know them, so that's probably not a fair assessment. I don't have a lot to work with here people, and I'm not a homewrecker. I once walked in on my boyfriend in bed with a girl. She had a large forehead, so we used to call her Fivehead Courtney, which was basically a compliment compared to the things we called him. After that I spiraled into a situational depression, lived off of Starbucks rice crispie treats and lost ten pounds. I do not have ten pounds to lose. Five, yes. Ten, not so much. But I digress. Despite awesome girlfriend, questionable level of intelligence and American Psycho tendencies, I have a hunch. Due to said hunch, I extended a friendship invite. Being my friend is easy; it's getting to the friend level that takes work. To make it in my inner circle, you have to get me. To get me, you have to be wicked clever, love dancing, read, know yourself and most importantly, never wear Crocs. Don't even look at a pair of Crocs. I am not certain that the banker dude is up for the task. It's a tall order but a very special gesture based on nothing more than a hunch.
And the other thing I love about NYC is bagels. Bagels. Bagels. Bagels.
Emma Dinzebach
Posted by Emma Dinzebach at 6/21/2010 12:07 PM 
Categories: What I Think Now
Tags: NYC Emma Dilemma Emma Dinzebach bankers bagels George Steinbrenner
Categories: What I Think Now
Tags: NYC Emma Dilemma Emma Dinzebach bankers bagels George Steinbrenner
Some commenting folks here need to write their own damn blogs. And "like naked" is not vivid detail. She says that about everyone. -Josh, for Emma, via Sydney-
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I am wearing my Crocs while I read this. No lie.
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The funniest part of this is that you basically said nothing in this post but caused such a reaction. And from what I know, you're too thoughtful AND lazy to screw a someone's boyfriend.
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