Since I've moved to New York, several people have asked me for directions as I wait for the train. Usually when a person asks me if the train stops at a certain place or how to get to Yankee Stadium, I can only say, "I'm not sure. I'm sorry!" and leave without helping them at all. I always feel bad and wonder as I walk away, "When will the day come that I can actually be of use to direction-seekers?" Well, yesterday was that day...and I've only been here for a few months! Luckily the lady asking for directions had a map, otherwise I would have had to do the shoulder-shrug-I-don't-know routine. Hopefully I gave her pretty accurate directions. I would hate to find out that they got to Coney Island only to discover my directions were wrong! Oh, and did I mention that the subway line they needed to be on wasn't running, so they had to catch a free shuttle bus? And because I'm so perceptive I had noticed a service change poster on the train that said they'd need to catch a shuttle bus so I was able to tell them, even though I've never been on that subway line! (The only reason me never riding on the Q line is significant is because I only really pay attention to the service change posters that refer to the subway lines I usually take; the Q is not one of them.) Can you tell how proud I am of myself?
Luckily for you, that's not the only never-thought-this-would-happen moment I had yesterday. On my way home I walked by a rather large man wearing sunglasses. As he passed me, he turned his head slightly in my direction and said in a deep voice, "Juuuicaaayyy." (I don't know how to spell it out to convey the hint of predation and his obvious overconfidence.) As soon as I had crossed the street I called Evan to relay the story to him. He told me Blake would be there to defend my honor. What a loyal son! As I laughed about the incident, I wished I had said, "You obviously haven't seen me at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, not showered, still in pajamas with nice accents of spit-up and poop adorning my clothing. Oh, and did I mention I have no make up on and my hair is in the same ponytail it was in when I woke up?" Or, I could have just shown him this picture:
Yes, I'm pregnant in this picture. Not very juicy, eh?
or this picture:
Maybe it's just me, but neither of these pictures scream, "Juicy!" I don't consider myself a juicy woman. I don't even know what that means. But thanks to our friends at Google images, we never have to wonder again what it means to be a juicy woman:
As you can see, being juicy can pretty much mean anything. It can mean being a Big Mac, being a grass covered lady with half a face of glass, being a laughing man with a leather jacket and faux-hawk, or being a normal looking woman. At least we don't have to wonder what it means anymore.
P.S. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT Google image "Juicy Woman". This is a family friendly blog.
