So I finally met one.
A Garamond-loving, electronica-thumping, fedora-wearing, Jipster.
(For those of you who don't know this semi-offensive term I've coined, a Jipster is a Jappy Hipster. Other variations include Hippy, Happy, and Japster. Should I conduct a Gawker-esque poll like they did for Fauxhemians?)
Where we went: Masa 14. The place was really great, but our waiter was very rude. I consider myself a friendly person, and I just felt majorly disrespected. Luckily, after speaking to the hostess the situation was remedied. AKA -- I was that girl and told her how uncomfortable the waiter was making us.
(What would you do in this situation?)
We just went for drinks, but the menu was extensive and delicious-looking (I guess I'll have to go back for the gazpacho that I will inevitably pour down my front.)
What I wore: Pleasure Doing Business blue bandage skirt (it should just be called No You May Not Breathe But Your Ass Looks Fabulous And This Skirt Stands Up On Its Own and May or May Not Suck the Life Out of You), a white Splendid tank, a cotton Alternative Apparel grey vest, and MIA slide wedges. I may have looked a tad suggestive, but it was hot as balls and I didn't really care.
The Happy and I had a ridiculous amount in common.
We're both writers, music-lovers, half Latino (he is, I pretend I am), font sluts, and general sluts (kidding!) His favorite movie is Rushmore, one of mine is Garden State. Could we be more predictable in our supposed unpredictability? I think not. Unless we showed up wearing matching TOMS.
"I'm so glad I went organic. No, I know it changed my life. No, I LOVE the co-op farmer's market! Wanna do yoga later?"
JINX!
In Garden State Zach Braff said one of the most intimate things you can do is share music. The Japster and I shared writing. Which is almost as intimate, except the entire time you're thinking, "I hope he doesn't notice the cellulite in my run-on sentences" and "I should have worn my subject-verb-agreement undies instead of my Spanx."
He told me he loved my tone, IF YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN. It was one of the nicer compliments I've ever received.
As he rode away on his bike into the night, I thought to myself, "I'm going to go finish the Moonshine I was drinking in my dumpster pool. I guess the skirt's staying on."
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