Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

So this is resolution time.

And this year, I am determined to live a more reasonable life. To save more and spend less. To eat less and exercise more. To listen more and talk less. To be more adventurous and nest less. To praise more and complain less. To give more and take less

I will not elaborate on any of these but rather leave them as they are.

I always seem to fail at keeping my resolutions. This year though, it is different.




Cheers to you and yours. May 2008 be a year full of balance, gratitude and truthfulness

Happy New Year Folks!

Sometimes I wonder if cutting all my ties with the Pearl was a mistake. Sometimes I sit and wonder if I had given all my time to her that perhaps I could have taken another chance with her. Sometimes though, I wonder if I should have thought with my heart and not my head. Sometimes I just wonder you know?

So many chances were taken, so many time I’ve felt like I was at the end of my rope and other times I wanted to give more of myself. Even knowing I would have gotten my heart broken way too much. The Pearl wasn’t a great person to be in a relationship with. Everyone around me knew that. I was so drawn to her and I couldn’t escape what I felt for her.

Sometimes it is too late to take chances.

And sometimes you have to take them. Even when you know in the end that there might be a slight hint that it wouldn’t work.

I haven’t spoken to her in months. I cut all ties. Occasionally she texts me and asks me how things are or why things happen or why I refuse to negotiate some sort of speaking or friendship terms. And my reply : “I cant”.

I cant talk to someone who will manipulate what we had. One day its cold and the next time its hot. You can never tell with her. I don’t need someone like that in my life. I am not into games. I am not (again) in the mind set to do so. I’ve done my part and played along and pretended that everything was okay and I believed her every time when she told me that it is me that she wanted. I took in her countless apologies. I chewed them, swallowed her mistake and walked with pride.

In fact it wasn’t pride.

It was shame.

I will never say that I wasted three years of my life with her. But I will say this: I should have known what I was getting myself into. I never knew then what I knew now. I never knew that I would have fallen in love with a woman, got my heart broken and took her back many times. It was a cycle. In my mind at the time it was what it was. I chose that path as some would say. I chose her. I dealt with her and managed to succumbed to her ways.

In a way it is my fault. Also hers.

Now, I can’t get her out of my head. Part of me needs her. Still. The other part thinks that it is too late.

I don’t know if I still love her. I don’t know if the same feelings I had are still there…hidden somewhere. I don’t want to see her because of that. I am afraid the feelings I once had will resurface.

I am sure many of you have been in situations like mine and didn’t know how to deal. Perhaps some of you have managed to control those awful feelings.

Perhaps you are what I need right now. My answers can be found right in front of me.

I am waiting.

I grew up Catholic. My mother is somewhat religious and my father doesn’t believe in anything. My surroundings growing up in the catholic faith seemed natural to me. I went to church on Saturdays and bowed my head and held my hands tightly and prayed for forgiveness. I also grew up knowing that being a good catholic is the best way to reach the pearly gates and play in heaven among the good people of the earth, bouncing on snowy clouds.

Then I go older.

The people who surrounded me were Catholics. Die hard Catholics. The kind of religious folks in this part of the country who have trouble comprehending other issues concerning other religions and not theirs, the kind not allowed to be fags. They were the kind of religious you see in documentaries, railing against homosexuality and abortion. One of the hard-faced tiny warriors lined up on pews being filled with a boiling rage larger than our own small frames.

I believed unreservedly that my lord and savior had died for me to cleanse me of my sins. That the end of the world was coming and that I must spread the gospel of Jesus Christ to save those I cared about from an eternity spent in hell. God could see inside my very mind and heart, I was taught and that God is everywhere even when you are doing naughty things. And he knew when I was tempted by the devil, who would speak to me through secular music (Michael Jackson), friends (the one who smoked cigarettes in the school bathrooms) and television (MTV). I asked Jesus into my heart at an early age, was baptized in front of the congregation, and swallowed down the bitter intolerance they taught as easily as the cheap wine that was supposed to symbolize Christ’s blood.

So deeply did the hellfire and the hate lodge themselves inside me that on a trip back home, just pulling the car up to the church where I spent my formative years was enough to make my heart flap in my chest like a trapped bird. The conviction that I am a worthless sinner is the very deepest layer of my low self-esteem, and the unrealistically rigid morality I learned imbues the very sexuality that became my livelihood with guilt and fear. The church was not good to me.

But for all the fucked up things about the religion of my childhood, faith itself is a beautiful thing. The people I went to church with weren’t bad people, they just believed in a concept so fervently that it grew bent and warped in the fire of their fanaticism. In the beginning, God was good. And when I look back at the Christmases of my childhood, I remember the best parts of Christianity. I remember joy to the world. I remember peace and goodwill (of course Santa Claus and the Christmas carols).

The next time I talked to God, it was in a room filled people crying and a casket suspended on two pillars gracefully gazing at the sobbing witnesses. When I tried to reach out this loving higher power, all I saw was the stern father of my youth, as oppressive as a suburb. The God I knew damned you to hell; he didn’t pull you out of it.

As many of you have noted, I am not a perfect person. I have made mistakes, over and over again. And sometimes the only way to get back up after you’ve fallen so far is to rely on something bigger than yourself, to pull your head out of your ass and notice that there even IS anything bigger than yourself. And it’s awfully sincere, but when I went looking for God, I found a whole big world out there that saved me from myself. Whether it’s the love of friends and family, the talent that comes and faithfully offers me the right word, the potential for kindness between people, or the ability to tell a story that comforts others. These things can be holy too.

I will not call myself a devoted Catholic. But this year I approach happiness. And in those creeping moments when I walk down the street and look to the tops of the buildings that skim an endless skyline, when joy unexpectedly fills up my lungs like crisp winter air, until even my blood is sweetly singing. Then I am feeling God.

Happy Holidays

Merry Christmas to ALL...

I will be back on the 26th.

When most people are blinded by things that are inevitably materialistic, some are mesmerize by things aren’t so much of a fad but in fact are rarely recognizable by many. Love at first sight.

I personally don’t believe in love at first sight. Then again, not so much of a believer of our dear ole love cherub - cupid. But really, love at first sight is only witnessed by so few people that sometimes I wonder if it really was love that they encountered or simply an attraction more so - lust. How about this, is love a one way street? The connection you get with someone which some may describe as pure and everlasting love is somewhat a joke to me and Or the whole soul mate thing is a really a myth. Attack me now. Please.

I do though, believe in love. I think everyone on this planet who feel a heartbeat on their left upper peck is aware that love is there somewhere. Again, very few experience it and very few lose faith. Doesn’t mean at some point they didn’t believe in love.

I have fallen in love twice. I have been with many - many people and yet what I felt the first time I fell in love was nowhere close to any of the women I had after. I came close though to finding my ideal lady. But my first impressions weren’t the ones I gotten to like after a few weeks.

Have you ever gotten a chance to talk to your crush only to find that you actually had nothing in common and so whatever you felt before you had the balls to talk to her/him has gone down the toilet faster than the toilet suction on a cruise? Yep. It happens to me all the time - no really, all the time.

I have three options there :
1. I can either keep talking in hopes of finding something - one thing good about them
2. I can walk away and pretend I got a call on my cell and never look back
3. Smile, offer a drink, walk away and say thank you ma’am.

Truthfully I go for option 2 or 3 depends on my mood. My time limit is 10 minutes. If my eyes are wandering and I start to nod it means that I am not interested and I just staying there because I feel bad. But otherwise, I am nice to those who are pretty.

Maybe that’s what my problem is, I don’t give chances. Life isn’t about wasting time. I don’t like to waste my time and the precious time of others. Trust me, I have gotten rejected once or twice. But you know, I just move on and hopefully the next one will be the love of my life.

I don’t know. I am one tough cookie when it comes to letting myself love again.

I am cursed.

I am alive.

I swear

I've survived.


I will post - soon.


In the meantime...Here are some stuff that you should check out.

Jeff Dunham - Amazing comedian and ventriloquist. here is a link.

Josh Groban - I know its pretty gay of me. He is a hot stud and his new CD NOEL is so christmas lovey stuff...it will put you right there in the xmas spirit.

Peanut Butter and Jelly- I rediscovered the joy and pleasure of PB&J. You should too.

Cipriani - Book your New Year's Eve table there. Its my new favorite club.

or you can join me in Paris with my parents - you get to celebrate New Year's Eve before America does. how cool?

My new favorite sweater of all time is this one. go get one. so soft.

Go see "I am Legend". trailor is here

I can't believe Tila the Skank picked Bobby. Message to Dani - Hey Dani...call me ;)

now...go elf yourself.


thanks.

Everything is mysterious, confusing, muddling. I feel like life is running me over, and I get so afraid that I sabotage everything. I think I must do it on purpose, albeit subconsciously, so I don't feel completely blindsided.

I suppose I'd rather walk straight into traffic so I can brace myself before being struck down. If that makes any sense. Instead of being run down on the sidewalk, unsuspecting.

I was in a very frightening car accident a couple of months ago and I now have a very visceral memory of what it felt like to be the one careening out of control, feeling yourself floating in air, about to hit cement and feel glass and metal crushing but not feeling it yet. And powerless, in the hands of God some would say. Suspended in time between the unchangeable past and an imminent razor-sharp explosion.

You hold your breath.And I mean its nothing so serious. This feeling now, it isn't life and death. But you're still running out of air and the consequences are coming closer and closer. It all happens so fast. One gesture and its all over.

And you can stop everything and at the same time you can't. You're omnipotent and yet crippled by what you can't control. You're just scared scared scared.

That's what's horrible about falling in love. I think I need to breathe. I think that's the key. I think I need to breath and let go. Why do I worry so much? If I'm suspended, frozen between what I've already done and the inevitable consequences, then what have I to worry about?

Today I will ground myself and focus on what's at my fingertips. And breathe.

Stay with me…I am bored and thought of this when a coworker mentioned her son having sex with a skank (that’s how she said it).

I remember this one time when my brother was fifteen and dating the girl next door - Christina. She came over one day when I was home (because I was such a bad ass that cut class all the time- no I’m lying) and…

I was supposed to check on them every once in a while and make sure she wasn’t going down on him. Last time my mom found them on the couch with her head under a blanket. My brother is very very cool, he's good looking, great at sports, and very good with girls. His girlfriend was quiet, agreeable and completely beautiful. Her parents seem not to worried about her spending the day at her boyfriend's house "watching movies," probably because she is a Good Girl. I think parents forget that Good Girls are really good at doing what they are told.

My mom has read their IM conversations (which is sick, but he did print them out and leave them in the printer?) and they mostly consist of him talking about what they're going to do to each other. She's sent him cell phone pictures of her boobs. Welcome to the club. That shit is fun. But I didn't do that till I was 18 (late bloomer and zach morris phones didnt have cameras).

Maybe this was typical of 15 year old interactions, but the way they work is he sets up an afternoon, she came over and did...something... and then she sat on the bed or couch while he watched tv or played video games. I wonder how long it took for her to realize she should have expected more of him. I mean seriously, she's so beautiful, he should have been looking at her, not the tv!When I was 15 I was sort of awkward with my boyfriend (yes I had a bf), we watched a lot of movies with a blanket over our laps, and like my brother and his girlfriend, out interactions were dominated by not wanting to say or do the wrong thing. But it was mutual, my boyfriend seemed invested and he wanted me to be comfortable and happy. Instead, I stressed over why he wasn't trying to get me to do more. I had to initiate everything advance, and as a result I was paranoid for ages that I wasn't desirable. You aren't going to have any more self esteem after hooking up with someone that you started with.

I just wonder how long it took her to realize that, and to figure out that she should have demanded what she wanted instead of trying to be what she thought he wanted. It's sure taking me a long time to get that through my head (but does anyone really?) . I thought beautiful skinny girls were already like that.

So maybe I was negligent on my part but I'm wasn’t worried about them "going too far," I think she was within her right to give him head if she wanted to.

I just hope he didn't make any of his other gfs watch him play video games because that shit is degrading.

I know, I know, its late. I should have written this yesterday. But I was stuck up North - surrounded by snow my dear friends. I was eating and snowboarding all day.

So…

Things I am grateful for this year:

1. Tila Tequila’s “a shot at love”. I heart Dani
2. Office tea and coffee supplies
3. vagina my vibrator (I got the bullet from my sister and it is still wrapped up).
4. Blogs Blogs not titled _______ in the City. Its lame. Get over yourself. Life in NYC isn’t as glamorous as they portray it.
5. Grey’s Anatomy and Catherine Heigl. (marry me)
6. Romance Sex Making out Baskin-comfort food followed by a nice gym workout.
7. My fantabulous job and my family.
8. My mother being a wonderful cook.
9. Movies I am embarrassed proud to own in my DVD collection.
10. Jack Daniels and Mr. Coca Cola

Things I am not grateful for this year

1. NY Knick, New York Mets
2. The Writer's Strike (before y'all get indignant, I'm actually for it, just disappointed that Broadway is closed and restaurants are losing money, those poor mexicanos don’t have jobs.)
3. The NJ transit
4. The MTA
5. Horrible top shelf expensive gin.
6. The over used guido video on you tube “skanks”
7. The office manager at work who brings in all sorts of snacks. These hips don't get fat themselves!
8. Any commercials/tv shows involving Tim Gunn
9. Starving children around the world.
10. My so-called friends from college. Yeah. Fuck you.

Ok that’s it.

Enjoy the weekend.

It happened. I was confronted by the Model the other night with one of my least favorite questions on the planet. Right up there on the same level as, “How many people have you ever slept with?” is:

“What are you doing for New Years?”

As if I’ve even thought about that! I still haven’t even worked out the details of what I’m doing on my vacation in Brazil and it’s a week from today. I haven’t even started mentally preparing myself for the disgustingly glossy, commercial ‘cheer’ that is Christmas – a holiday I find not only stressful, but vomit inducing.

New Years conversations? Really? Already?

Ironically enough, I don’t find New Years vomit inducing (although I think January 1st may be our country’s national high for people puking). New Years instead is an annoyingly tricky holiday, and it doesn’t help that people (especially people in Manhattan) are obsessed with it. Everyone wants New Years to be a good time, but ultimately the pressure to have fun undermines the holiday. Plus it’s an opportunity for every bar, restaurant and half-decent club to rip off the American public.

Some of the abuse people have to look forward to on New Years Eve includes:

1. Buying three hundred dollar ‘tickets’ a month in advance to enter your typical douchey club on 27th street.

2. Being forced to hitchhike, hire a limo, or take the bus, since finding a free taxi in the city will be more competitive than purchasing a Hermes Birken bag.

3. Should you venture outside of Manhattan, being subject to drunk partiers irresponsible behind the wheel judgment.And last, but perhaps most importantly:

4. That dreadful awkward ‘after the ball drops’ moment. I feel pretty confident that the first few nano-seconds of 2008 are inevitably the most uncomfortable of the entire year. I’d like some sort of award-winning psychologist to develop an informational pamphlet on how to handle those theoretically ‘joyous’ after midnight moments.Technically, you’re supposed to embrace/kiss/slobber on your significant other in a state of euphoria as confetti swirls around you like in an uber-cheesy movie. So if you’re a serious couple at least you have a game plan.

The out of control drunken nature of New Years however, has been known to cause fights between even the most stable couples. So even if you’re hitched, there’s no guarantee you and you loved one will be on speaking terms by the time the clock hits midnight, in which case you can pretend to mack on each other as the ball drops and welcome in the New Year secretly hating each other. Not fun.Even less fun, is surviving this entire situation with someone you’re in a grey relationship with. Suddenly, what you do together when the ball drops serves to define your entire relationship. Like if you kiss in front of everyone during those chaotic New Years moments (as if anyone’s watching…or cares) you suddenly run the risk of morphing into a ‘real’ couple. You could just pull each other into a joyous hug, that’s very grey appropriate.

Or you can avoid eye contact all together. Or hide under a table with a bottle of champagne and wait for the moment to pass. Grey relationships thrive on grayness. The smog is the relationships fuel. So any social situation which calls for a clarification of your status is probably best avoided. Yet another reason why New Years often sucks.Single and spending the holiday with friends is probably the least stressful option. Then you can spend the moments between 12:00 and 12:01 A.M. squirting champagne in one another’s faces and jumping around like apes.

Unfortunately, a New Years level intake of alcohol usually makes people hornier than an in-heat hippopotamus on estrogen medication, so you run the risk of hooking up with one of your friends, or worse, some predatory sleazo at the bar.

So a New Years game plan where you don’t end up pissed, an embarrassment, insanely emotional or full of regret?

If someone comes up with something let me know, because apparently I have to start planning now.

I have been MIA I suppose, or simply “out”. Truth is, I’ve just been busy with work and planning amazing (very costly) vacations for the next upcoming weeks.

It’s been the usual here at la casa of NYC.Lezie – well besides the little fling the Model and I are having. Last week at our re-launch party, I looked fabulous and so did she – the weird thing really was that we sort of looked a little like each other that night. We wore similar dresses- same designers. We got the occasional “wow, you look like you shopped in each other’s closets”.

Negative.

The closest I have been to her fabulous midtown apartment closet was for a quick pre-game in her living room during our lunch break.

The night of the Party, we obviously avoided each other in fear of getting caught in our little naughty office fling. I didn’t know her, nor did she know me. It was even and beautifully coordinated. From the time we arrived (I got there 15mins after her) and I left before her (5min) and later met up for some late dinner.

This girl is so straight is unbelievable. And that’s what kills me. The flirting, the kissing the fingers…I mean…the talking…the flirting….

I am not a relationship kind of girl. I don’t like being tied down. I don’t like having to call someone every night before I go to bed. I don’t need extra drama in my life when I am obviously surrounded by it at work and outside of work. I don’t need someone to hold my hand every time they have a chance, I don’t need someone to be “up all in my business”. It’s not me. I don’t like the extra attention someone gives me. I like a whole lot of attention from different people. That’s what excites me. That’s what gets me going – knowing that lady A is one hell of a sex kitten and lady B is adventurous and crazy in bed.

I think the majority of my friends know how much I can’t deal with someone who calls me 10 times a day. At first it’s cute. But come on… I had this one girl who literally called me every hour just to chat and see what was going on, and another who called at night (when I was watching my precious TV programming) to hear me talk. Really? Get a life.

My point is, The Model is the complete opposite. She likes what relationships have to offer; the feeling of knowing that one person will come back to you every night, that connection you get when you are home on a couch and your partner is next to you and you have this crazy amazing eye talk, the feeling you get every time you see that person.

She is that. She looks for someone who shares the same thing. She wants the phone calls at night and the reassurance that everything is perfect, the kisses, the holding hands and the serenades.

I used to be that person. Is that even possible? I use to love waking up next to the same person everyday, I used to love holding hands and stealing a kiss – preferably on her hand, I used to love the routines, the dinners under the stars and the lunches under a clear blue sky.

I know that now, I am not that. I don’t do relationships. I don’t know why. Actually I do. But I will write it in a different post.


On that note. I am going to visit The Model.

Wasn’t this entry supposed to be about the Model and how I got to 3rd base? Yeah.

Another time.

A couple of months ago – soon after I broke up with The Gym Addict, I had a one night stand with a girl I’ll call Annoying. It happened back in January on a cold winter evening in Midtown, when I met some friends for dinner and drinks and she was part of that group.

When you look at her, she is absolutely stunning. She has this really really strong Italian Accent, about my height and beautiful with long dark hair and eyes the color of a gorgeous summer sky and a smile that can melt you instantly.

But, she’s so fucking annoying. Sort of like a bird that wouldn’t shut up and it just kept chirping and chirping and all you wanted to do was to shut it. Well, that was her. That night while heading uptown to her place, I found myself wondering what on earth I was doing. Something about her mannerisms and what she talked about and how she actually spoke just grated on my nerves. Alas, I had just broken up with The Gym Addict and was kind of in my I’m free again period. I was just having fun.

I think I am pretty much a really good person to get along with. I also like different kinds of people, that’s why I have a plethora of friends. I have my sports friends, my drinking buddies, and college folks, work peeps and people I truly enjoy talking to about anything. The big plus too is that I enjoy having gorgeous ladies around me. But this girl? Just irritating in every way possible. It's unfortunate, really.

This past Monday evening, after spending hours at the office, and out of the blue, Annoying called me. I looked at my phone and just wondered what she wanted – sex, alcohol, my office…

She wanted to grab a drink at my favorite bar on 8th avenue.

It wasn’t until I went to meet her in the lobby that it all rushed back to me that I hated this woman’s company. It was already 7pm on a Monday night. And I had to go to work the next morning. Not all of us are fortunate enough to be freelancers.

So I looked at her and she knew that I changed my mind. But she had those piercing blue eyes that got me. They got me good. They got me to sit at a bar and eating calamari and drinking mojitos. The clock was ticking, and I was getting more annoyed at her. She wanted to discuss our one night stand from last year in excruciating detail. And then she started to tell me about other encounters that she’s had, in an equally graphic way. And then I felt a hand on my knee. And then she was asking me if I wanted to come back to her place.

I was polite. I said no. Paid for the bill and called her a cab. And I could see that she was kind of disappointed. She obviously wanted to have sex with somebody.

But it wasn’t going to be me.

PS: Tomorrow's post should be super exciting - tonight is my company's website re-launch party. and guess who will be attending?? The Model.

Stay Tunned.

I’ve realized you can have an intimate relationship with someone you've never touched. Souls can find a home with a person that you only share words with, that you know you'll never share a physical space with, that you know this life isn't to be, it's only going to be those words, that sense of safety, that knowledge they are there for you in that deepest meaning of the words safe and home.

Kisses are magic, and what can make or break a relationship. They are that intimate bit of self-sharing we hope for. They are special, beyond sex. It’s that push beyond into the private boundary, the area we hold sacred. We hand over kisses, playful, passion-filled, the fast peck on the cheek...but the ones on the mouth, they are a gift.They do inspire the belief that love is possible... the dream, the hope.Sex... it is something handed out in an easier way by many. That fast connection, that hope of becoming one with a person, if only for a short time… The need to be cherished, if for a short time, the hope it will let you click and build on the physical to an emotional level.I know couples who, met, slept together, and are still locked in their couple Dom years later.It can work, it appears.A kiss gives us the belief we can be cherished, beloved... sex adds the senses to the flavor of that belief.

Almost like the fairy tales, all it took was that gentle kiss on the lips to fall madly in love and live happily ever after.


Fairy tales can come true, right?

How do you know when you've hurt someone?

When you've relationships built on the delicacy of butterfly breath, of walking softly, of text that I despise, when getting a response is almost impossible, in dealing with a friendship that is important, how do you know?

How do you know when things are okay again? If the forgiveness is real, if that person has moved on and the breach is healed? With no voice to communicate, how do you know?It's difficult enough when you say something or do something inadvertent to a friend or loved one and you are there... you can assess the damage, realize the immediacy of the depth to which you've put your foot into your mouth, make amends, using facial responses, tone of voice, body language to guide you in this all important task.

How do you do this when you communicate by text, by email? We all know you send an email with one voice in your head, and the reader absorbs the words with their version.

I can only wait and see, I suppose. It's all you can ever really do, isn't it?

I never actually talked about what happened with The German in fear that she may be hurt by it. I received an email from a reader wondering what happened to The German. So here is the story:

Remember when I went to Boston to visit her? Okay, well the weekend went well. I met a couple of her friends and they were absolutely charming. We hung out, walked around…I got to know her better but with every hour passing by, I realized that I was not attracted to her like the way you would if you wanted to date someone. Its not that she was dull or unattractive, I just didn’t feel a connection between us. Usually, if I don’t see a connection within the first few minutes I am talking to you face to face, I just give up and let it go. I hate wasting my time, and I sure hate wasting other people’s time. She might actually feel the same way, I am not too sure. In fact, after I came back to NYC we hardly spoke. I wasn’t trying to be malicious. I just couldn’t tell her that there wasn’t anything…I have a really hard time admitting to someone that there is no possible chance. I don’t like seeing people getting hurt (I’m sure she wouldn’t be hurt). Even with The Gym Addict, I broke up with her via email (sad and pathetic - I know) because I couldn’t see her getting all emotional and crying (I think she cried actually). I can’t deal with super emotional people. That is why I work in a field where you have to be a cold blooded asshole.


But anyway, like I said before, The German is someone that I really enjoyed talking to. Although we have a few things in common - the arts, dining and museums but on that scale, there were a lot of things we didn’t share. We were both raised differently, so we have different views on a lot of things. This is why I always say that I get involved with people with the similar background as me. It is easier to deal with, I don’t have to lower my standards for someone, instead I am on the same eye level. I like it that way. It has always been that way. I cant change for anyone. In fact isn’t it one of the rules of dating? Be yourself.


She is an intelligent girl, she has a lot going for her. She is currently in Grad School in NYC - for Textile something, I have to confess that I still have no idea what it is. I just don’t get it. I’m sure its super exciting but it is one of the few things that I have a mental block on. I don’t know why. I am so traditional in that sense, I am used to traditional master programs. Does that make me ignorant? But whatever floats her boat.


We are two extremely different people. I always hear that opposites attract- I call that bullshit. Whoever can tell me that they are currently with someone who is the complete opposite, I‘d give them 5 bucks. You got to have a few things that you can relate to whether it was the way we were both raised or the type of schools we went to or the lifestyle we each lead. Truthfully, I just thought that I was really different from her. When I spoke to my friends about The German, they were always wondering why her, what is so special about her.

It is again one of those theoretical questions about relationships that no one really know the answers to.

Picture Catherine Heigl and you have yourself The Model. She is beautiful like the Grey’s Anatomy bombshell.

Every morning when I wake up, I think of how my day will be much better than yesterday because of her. I think of her and how beautiful she is and how surprisingly delicate she is or how sweet she will be. I head in to work only to find that all I have hoped for in the morning when I wake are all true. It has come to the point where I look forward to going to work because of her and truthfully, I know how horrible it is to have come to that point but I just can’t help it. I can’t help but think about her, analyzing every detail about her, memorizing and learning things about her everyday. It is almost like a sweet lullaby you never want to stop playing. I am in a daze, in clouds, in an infinite warming sensation of everything I love. It can only be a dream right? If so, I never want to wake up from this beautiful, peaceful paradise that I am stuck in.

Now you may think that I have fallen for her, I am not. What I know is that it is blissful. Whatever I am feeling it is something I have not experienced in a very long time (not with The German, or the Gym Addict). It is a feeling I really can’t grasp completely but I am willing to accept it as it comes. I am willing to breathe. I am willing to be in that imaginary fairy tale that I have mentally created. My only wish really is to be able to let myself be.

You see, The Model gives me butterflies. I blush when she says things that are completely ordinary and yet unordinary. I look for my words, I look for ways to see what she thinks, or what she wants. I am clueless. Truly clueless. It’s almost like I forgot how to talk to woman. It feels like I am taking baby steps and with every step I feel like I may be getting closer to knowing her better than I did yesterday.

I am someone who hides the way I feel about someone. I carefully manage to hide every possible facial expressions so that she or other people don’t see me - the real me. She may have a clue, but I am not sure. I don’t want her to be scared of whatever is thrown at her. I don’t want to seem like a pusher. Because she is strictly dickly I am forced to fall back in line. I am forced to stay where I am in fear that I may project something that she isn’t ready to experience.

The way she talks to me, the way she tucks in her hair behind her ear , the way she turns red and can’t look at me in my eyes I know that there may be a connection somewhere. She is intrigued. She is curious. I know.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe I am wasting my time because I know that today might be my last day persuading her. And then, I think about how she has become something I want. How much I crave her and how happy I would be. So selfish of me. Maybe she wants me. I wont know until I ask her.

The other night at Cavalli’s party, she sat next to me, her hands on my thigh and a champagne flute in the other. She looked at me differently…outside of work, outside the suit, outside the corporate lies. She saw me; the lesbian, the girl who like girls, the girl who is real. That night I was comfortable, most importantly, she was comfortable being around my friends and I. That night, I felt lucky. I did not sleep with her and I wouldn’t unless she wanted to, I didn’t kiss her because she wasn’t ready. I held her hand and reassured that she was safe. With every squeeze she returned it with a gentle and delicate smile. I was in heaven.

There you have it. I am afraid to fall for her. I’m losing it. I admit it. But is she?

I know I know...you guys are waiting patiently for the post about Model and my Halloween thing with Roberto Cavalli @ Cipriani.

Tomorrow I promise.

see, I have been busy all morning. I actually came in to work. yes. deadly. Slightly tired. Mostly hungover. Mainly satisfied. Loved ever minute that I actually remember, I do know I ended up stealing Poland springs water bottles from someone’s limo and apparently pissed off a Mexican delivery boy and two 411 representatives. All in all I would say it was fun.

It was all I expected though. Douchebags, no name celebrities, whores –male and female and the entertainment was crazy. For 4k it was worth it. I didn’t exactly pay all 4k, I got a couple of people and we split the VIP bill. The good thing about the VIP table is that you get to have 7 of your friends sitting and enjoying really good champagne and bottles of liquor. When the reservations were made for Halloween, we had an option to where we wanted the VIP table to be. Of course, I love being around everyone and I secretly wanted to see drama, I decided that it would be great to have it near the dance floor, that way we can sip our champagne and watch the ones who only paid 200 bucks to get in. that was mean right?

It’s a different feel I tell ya. I’ve been to VIP areas a couple of times and I’ve been a regular patron and honestly, everyone treat you differently when they glance at your wrist and see the shiny bracelet. You are an instant celebrity until 5am when the club closes its doors.

but more to come. I am way too tired.

Is it bad that I am totally head over heels for someone who works in my department? Let me explain:

Let’s call her Model. There is a story behind this but first let me tell you how her and I found each other, or rather I found her. Model and I started working around the same time (I started a week before she did). When I first saw her (during interview times) I found her to be just like anybody else I know – Tall, dumb and blonde. For the first 6 months or so, I didn’t pay attention to her – I am someone who takes time to really like someone, because I study them, I see all their flaws and all the good things. Her package is totally good and no flaws (perhaps I am just telling myself that). So back to the first few months; She was just a normal girl who works in my dept, I saw her everyday, meeting here and there, drinks after work and all. But not until recently (3 or 4 months) I started to talk to her – more like, I made fun of her for being really shy, or I laugh when she blushes – typical of me (when I like someone – so childish). She in facts returns the favor by poking fun or rolling her eyes at me. I dig it. Trust

So Model and I have this insane connection where she got me all weirded out man. I am not known to be shy, but for some reason I am sometimes shy.

Lets discuss.

Pros:

She is amazingly beautiful – shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes, tall (5’8), super slim (she does her yoga – sexy), she has a very (very) good sense of style – very trendy with a mix of preppy-button down, and sweater around the neck.

She lives in Midtown – Easy access to all major fine dinning and trash bars available at any hour of the night AND easy access to work – less than 5 minutes.

Did I say she was stunning?

She went to Harvard – Journalism major.

She is only 2 years older than I am.

Cons:

She’s totally straight. Had a boyfriend all her life.

She works with me. Typical “you don’t eat where you shit”

She’s straight – that is the most heartbreaking thing to hear.

Overall, She has no idea that I have a giant crush on her. So the flirting remains on a PG level. Maybe I need to really take her out one night and really get some dirt. Maybe she is the kind of girl who kisses other girls…you know... just for fun.

Hey, if Hope (the ex) ended up dating some straight girl for 2 years plus (and still are happily dating – from what I’ve heard) I’m sure I can do the same with this Model of mine.

Cross your fingers. I’m inviting her to that Halloween Party I told you about.

Have you heard of Tavern on the Green? How about their famous Halloween parties? Well that’s where I was. Halloween is a holiday that I love very much and since I know a lot of PR people/club promoters, I know that Halloween is a great excuse for them to financially ass rape the NY population with an extra thrust by charging $50 entrance fees, justified by the concept of a “Halloween Party”.

And clubs aren’t the only ones cleverly commercializing on Halloween’s easily exploitive nature. Costume shops somehow convince normally savvy Manhattanites to shell out a hundred bucks for a disintegrating cliché costume in a plastic bag that cost $2.50 to produce in China or India.

I’m being the textbook definition of a party pooper, I know. And I apologize. Anyone who follows this blog knows hating on an excuse to party isn’t my nature. But I spent a wretched twenty minutes competing with sluts, Ghost Busters, and a lot of slutty outfits (ref, genie, cop, wonderwoman) for a cab home Saturday evening on Seventh Avenue after I prematurely aborted my evening plans. The city was that overcrowded. I wasn’t drunk, and an especially disorganized trip to a stupid opening night at a restaurant led to a hit and run (drunk driver speeding and went in my dad’s new 2008 BMW) on Friday night had cut into my quality weekend costume planning time, which I wasn’t looking forward to anyway. Sober in a sweater and jeans isn’t really the best way to crash a Halloween party, especially when you’re still upset about the asshole who crashed into your car.

I enjoyed an especially leisurely dinner with The Writer Saturday night, so we didn’t even get to Tavern on the Green until around midnight. It was clear from twenty yards away that entering the establishment was a lost cause. Lines branched off in two directions outside the entrance, both so long and winding that they were difficult to follow even while squinting. Mobs larger than anything I’ve seen on 27th street launched themselves through the middle.Who were all these people?

Another disturbing thing about Holidays…those who consistently stay home on a Saturday night come out for the ‘special occasion’ of Halloween. The city becomes disproportionately packed! The entire party-going system is clogged with outsiders. Which is fine. I have nothing against non-religious-party-goers, although I wish they’d try harder to not get so ripped off.In order to even out the New York going-out equilibrium, I feel the regulars like me need to stay in. That’s why I was home by 3 a.m. The Writer and I took one look at the throngs outside Tavern, calculated that everyone lucky enough to negotiate a successful entrance would be coughing up $40-ish for the privilege of buying drinks inside, silently applauded Tavern’s money-making savvy, and high-tailed it out of there.

A girlfriend of ours who’d wisely arrived at ten p.m. and had a table in the VIP section (Tavern on the Green has a VIP section? Apparently on Halloween they do…) confirmed that the party was fabulously fun. So I’m not bad-mouthing their bash. I like Tavern if only for the sparkly Christmas lights wrapped around all the trees. Cheers to them for monopolizing on Halloween in the most lucrative scheme I’ve seen yet.

The good news is that if I have the willpower, I can redeem myself Wednesday night – the official day of Old Hallows Eve. Word on the street is that Cipriani’s 42nd street is throwing some sort of Wednesday night Halloween ‘ball’ in collaboration with Roberto Cavalli vodka, Pink’s hosting a ‘disco inferno,’ and the Italians will be rocking their own mini party at I Tre Merli in SoHo. See yout there?

Along the deep constricted path of life, it allows us to meet, appreciate and love a lot of people. It obliges us also, to develop relationships with others. They either grow along the way or fall like rotten fruits.

Nothing is lost; all is used at one point.

Sometimes after many years, we find ourselves either misplaced or astonish and happy to have grown in parallels.

So…

I have the impressions that I have to fight to keep the friends I had during my college years. Our paths have separated inexorably.

What is left of them (for me)? And here I am alone…alone in this situation.

I also have the impression that I have done a lot of things wrong and I deserve what is happening to me today. But in fact, I have an extraordinary Family and other friends I have made throughout my years of existence…but…well…

Am I responsible for the things that are changing?

Should I continue to get hurt whenever I hear from them when in fact they hurt me even more without even knowing? How about not bringing up the “hurt” subject because it makes us both uncomfortable?

Should I, in contrary try to make amends, or try to reconcile my relationship with them?

These are questions I often ask myself. Somehow, I can’t even answer my own questions.

Pathetic.

Yesterday morning I booked my round trip flight on Orbitz and in this world of heightened security, my flight needs to be confirmed by the airline.

So I am flightless as I wait for Virgin to confirm that I am not a terrorist.

On that note, let me share a funny dream I had last night that made me smile when I woke up this morning:

I was at the airport waiting for my flight at one of those chained restaurants with a bar (Applebee’s? TGIF? Unos? Like always, my flight was delayed and the only thing that seemed perfectly fine (logical) for me to do was to grab an appetizer and 1 drink while my Virgin arrived.

For some odd reason, I was a virgin (not the plane but sex challenged). I was at the bar when she (I wont say whom, because it was embarrassing) sat next to me and ordered the same drink. We talked and talked and got loaded. As luck would have it, we noticed that we were sitting a few rows away from each other.

When we boarded the airplane, we asked a woman if we could switch seats so we could sit next to each other, to continue the conversation. We order more drinks and continue to chat. The lights in the cabin grow dim, and we are getting drunker. She puts a blanket over us and starts to lightly touch my leg. Now, I could say that I had no idea, but that would be bullshit. I wanted to see how far it would go. Her hand moved up to my breast and she began to kiss me. Between sips of our vodka tonics, her hand ventures into my pants and she feel that I have a Brazilian.

She invites me into the bathroom to join her and the mile high club. I turn her down. I was a virgin and didn't feel like losing my virginity over a toilet at 37,000 ft. She went to the bathroom, and waited for me. And returned all disapointed. I fell asleep with my head on the window after she returned to her seat.It seemed like It was one of the biggest regrets of my life. I mean, how fucking poetic would that have been? Losing my virginity on Virgin Atlantic.

Let's hope this trip will have the same luck.

Yesterday morning I booked my round trip flight on Orbitz and in this world of heightened security, my flight needs to be confirmed by the airline.

So I am flightless as I wait for Virgin to confirm that I am not a terrorist.

On that note, let me share a funny dream I had last night that made me smile when I woke up this morning:

I was at the airport waiting for my flight at one of those chained restaurants with a bar (Applebee’s? TGIF? Unos? Like always, my flight was delayed and the only thing that seemed perfectly fine (logical) for me to do was to grab an appetizer and 1 drink while my Virgin arrived.

For some odd reason, I was a virgin (not the plane but sex challenged). I was at the bar when she (I wont say whom, because it was embarrassing) sat next to me and ordered the same drink. We talked and talked and got loaded. As luck would have it, we noticed that we were sitting a few rows away from each other.

When we boarded the airplane, we asked a woman if we could switch seats so we could sit next to each other, to continue the conversation. We order more drinks and continue to chat. The lights in the cabin grow dim, and we are getting drunker. She puts a blanket over us and starts to lightly touch my leg. Now, I could say that I had no idea, but that would be bullshit. I wanted to see how far it would go. Her hand moved up to my breast and she began to kiss me. Between sips of our vodka tonics, her hand ventures into my pants and she feel that I have a Brazilian.

She invites me into the bathroom to join her and the mile high club. I turn her down. I was a virgin and didn't feel like losing my virginity over a toilet at 37,000 ft. She went to the bathroom, and waited for me. And returned all disapointed. I fell asleep with my head on the window after she returned to her seat.It seemed like It was one of the biggest regrets of my life. I mean, how fucking poetic would that have been? Losing my virginity on Virgin Atlantic.

Let's hope this trip will have the same luck.

My weekend was spent with the family, peaceful for once sans the bickering.

I actually saw and spent time with the entities that gave birth to me this weekend, something that doesn’t happen too often since accessing them is similar to trying to get a direct call into the President. They travel frequently. They work a lot. They have a lot of phones. By a lot I mean like three each. A completely futile system since they never seem to answer any of them, and when I call I’m never sure if the cell’s going to ring American style or beep and inform me that they’re in Europe or go static and inform me they’re probably in Haiti and I should use the Haitian mobile number I’ve failed to program into my phone despite the fact that I’ve had it for over seven years. Don’t get me wrong; we all love each other (with the assistance of consistent therapy). Our paths just don’t cross as much as some ‘more normal’ families (in my words) probably do.

On Friday night (our actual family movie night) we watched The Reaping. It was good. Profound. Excellent directorial skills. I am not a huge fan of Hillary Swank, but she was cute and even did an amazing job with her role. Watching that movie sparked my interest in getting a Bible. I know I know.

I am not one of those super freak Catholics who believe everything in the Bible. I am though, a believer. I have faith. I always said that I didn’t agree with the church (The Catholic Church is one of richest in the world) but there is not a doubt that there is something out there that is bigger than all of us. Heck, I don’t even know all Rosary prayers and I went to a Catholic Boarding school. It’s to tell you that I could care less about what’s written in the Bible. I read some of the passages as just plain literary work – a story, a tale, and folklore. I am not someone who believes that everything that is written in our sacred book is REAL.

Saturday, I ventured into Barnes and bought myself a Bible. I still haven’t opened it. It is still wrapped up in the B&N bag with the receipt in it.

Also, Saturday I visited some houses in Saddle River – NJ. My parents are looking into buying a new home – a bigger home (as though, our 6 bedroom house wasn’t big enough). They are secretly trying to keep my siblings and I under their roofs until we can escape by marrying someone (eww) or be a homo (brave) and move out.

Sunday was the Breast Cancer Walk. 3 People stopped me (at different times) and thought I was Eva Pigford. When I had my hair really short, people always asked for an autograph. I used to get really upset because I am unique – duh. But really, yesterday I had my hair in this little messy bun with a scarf and looked absolutely cute in my outfit. I do look like her but I can only see it when she is profile. But my skin isn’t dark like hers – she’s black, I’m half. – Actually I don’t know if she is. Nonetheless, she is dark and I am not. Although I should say that she does have a nice color, which I envy during the cold winters, when I am as white as Casper (our friendly Ghost).

I am sure all of you have seen her show on MTV, or at least you’ve seen the previews. I have never been a huge fan of Tila, although she is cute in her own little “slutty” way but she is just someone I’d sleep with and not call the next day – ok I take it back, I’d go for seconds and that would be it. I swear.

I’ve noticed that there are only two dykes (I wouldn’t really say dykes – rather butch) and a dozen of feminine –bleached fake rocker looking girls with silicone tits and porn star attitude. Even the one girl who claims she’s a virgin. MY ASS. She looks like she’s into some crazy shit – like dominatrix. The one girl whom I’ve instantly fallen for is this half-breed. She is totally not a knockout but she is sweet (although in the next episode, Tila catches her making out with some other chick). If you’ve seen the first episode, she was the one with the angel outfit. Remember the cartoon with the wolf when he gets excited, his tongue rolls out of his mouth and his eyes pop out of his head – yeah. Enough

Now now, hold your horses. I need to talk about the two dykes. Dyke #1. I’ll call her Shane wannabe. From the hair to the way she handles herself – purely Shane. I don’t have a problem with her, except when Tila asked the girl to wear an outfit that describes them (or something like that, it may have been “find the dirtiest outfit you can find” and this Shane wannabe comes down the runway in some Hugh Heffner type of robe and a Fedora Hat. I’m positive there are little Lezies out there who found Shane wannabe a total knockout. I didn’t. I wasn’t impressed at all.

Dyke #2 was fucking hot. A lot of people who know me would be checking my temperature right this minute. I don’t really do “dykes” per se or Butch ladies. Lets call her, Your so hot I Wanna Know Ya - aka YSHIWKY. There is something about her. AND when YSHIWKY came down the runway, she had her firefighter pants on and she looked amazing. Wow. Ok, I think I should stop.

Dyke #1 went home this week. Hopefully Dyke #2 stays for a very long time. But Tila said it herself that she is more attracted to the feminine ones. Well Tila, if you don’t want Dyke #2, I will gladly take her under my sheets. wings.

Since I am still too sick to go out and party – pretty much the best excuse I’ve given everyone who invited me out the past two weeks (it worked so far), I’ve resorted to the next best thing – stalking my friends’ online albums for pictures of myself. Sound pitiable? It is. I’ll be the first to admit it. I came across a bunch of pictures taken almost a year ago and to my disappointment found that I look absolutely atrocious in every single one and no, I am not giving you the link.

Usually these so called-professional (my friends) photographer people take good photos. Usually I’m out in a place that’s dark enough with such an impressive but minimal make-up on that I always come across looking acceptable. Usually, I pass for having a sense of style.Not on the night these photos were taken.First of all, I’m wearing a top and leggings that don’t match. Two, the top isn’t a top anyone should wear with leggings. Three, I’m way shiny, and silly, and look lost. Four, my hair looks drier than hay.

At the particular party where these photos where taken, there happened to also be in attendance a young woman I especially dislike. Everyone has people in this world we scribble on our imaginary hit list, either because they trash talk our friends, are clueless about proper social behavior, are extremely desirable, or have fucked the girl we like (in my case with this woman, all four). The worst part about this group of online photos is that however much I look awful, my nemesis looks fabulous.

She’s a knockout in every frame! I’d say we’re tied for the number of photo opts, but while I look remarkably unwanted, she’s glowing like a model straight from a Maxim cover. Her outfit was also casual, classy, and…perfect.Guess you can’t win ‘em all.

I don't know for you, but I hate calling the Boss early in the morning and telling him that i will not be coming in. Seriously can NOT do it. This morning though, I woke up extra early, snoozed like 10 times and debated whether I should call or not. No i wasn't really sick, I wasn't hung over...I just didn't feel like going to work.

I woke up at 6am, snoozed until 7 and decided at 730am that i wasn't going in. I called the Boss and said:

"Hi (Boss's name) I hate to tell ya, I will not be able to come in today, (fake cough) I woke up with a terrible cough and I really (cough) don't want to infest anyone at work. It is best that i stay home and watch lifetime and sip on really really hot tea with lemon. Call me if you need anything (cough)"


I am pretty sure he laughed or not. yikes! I'll find out tomorrow.

I have (i think) a few excuses for my voicemail or the fact really that i didn't want to show up to work. Since i have a gazillion vacation days left, I have to used them . I don't think I mentioned here or not about my vacation in December. no? OK. well, I practically have the entire the month of November and December off. I am heading to South America with the siblings for a week and a few days (all paid for by my wonderful parents) and I when i come back i am doing a little tour of backpacking through Spain (only two weeks).

Even with all the days that i have taken off for my trips I have about 10days left. the worst thing is that they don't carry over for next year, so i either lose them or i have to figure out how i am going to use all 10 days before December 31st.

anyway, yeah. I am going to drink some tea with some lemon now.

I haven't dressed up for halloween in a very long time. I always find it to me somewhat lame. I actually know a lot of people who go absolutely insane with costumes - buying the most extravagant dress to making it themselves from scratch.

This year, since I am going to some random Brooklyn-trendy-rich fucks party where if you don't wear a costume you have to pay 20 bucks. I am forced to wear one.

So, I have a few in mind...

This one my friends, is something I've always wanted to be on Halloween - a guidette.


The Guidette is the female version of the guido. She either resides in Staten Island or New Jersey. She is usually moderately pretty, with nice boob job or natural ginormous tits. She is usually a skank (please refer to the youtube video - my new fucking haircut), her accent is something foreign - like guido talk. her personality is so repulsive that no one pays attention to her. Some of them look like post-op trannies. She idolize the Sopranos or anything italian related. She believes she is God's gift to mankind.




I would have to stuff my bra, and wear a ton of eye makeup and wear those aweful looking shoes.

My next choice is a Hipster. Everyone thinks that I am already but seriously am not!

A hipster is someone who is living off their parents' money. Listen to indie bands no one outside of Williamsburg/Park Slope has heard of. Tattooed. most likely a vegan, a lesbian or gay. He/She dines at local coffee shops while reading the New York Times. artsy, or so he/she claims. He/She has this one shirt that they love and they wear it everywhere. all her/his friends are just like them. addicted to coffee, looking like they are poor (but they have more money than me and you COMBINED) cigarettes. They are usually complicated and fucking weird. they majored in writing, queer/gender studies, art...music. AND they always deny being a hipster.

This isn't hard at all. Skinny Jeans and some flats or my old converse sneaks and some old tee shirt. - SCORE!




My next all time "I wanted to be one for halloween" is a Hoodrat

A hoodrat is a girl who sleeps with a whole lot of men in the hood (ghetto). Usually noticeable via her slacking standards of personal care, hoochie outfits, big gold (fake) jewelry and hair extentions that can cover the whole island of Manhattan.


All the girls on Flavor of Love were all Hoodrats!

Will I get a prize with that one? I dont think so...

Reason #1

Since I am in the entertainment industry (no I am not a stripper) I get invited to a lot of those super show off events that are filled with gorgeous celebrities and heiresses dressed to impressed in lovely evening gowns designed by I don’t know who and Men in stunning tux but rather generic. Anyway, this particular event is an award show and to top it all – a black tie affair.

I really want to go. The problem really is that I am not going to know a large amount of people there. Ok fine. I wont know anyone. Every single event that I get invited to, I naturally bring my platonic female friend, The Writer (remember the Sex Museum Gala?). She is always perfect at these shindigs. She’s pretty, elegant and extremely pleasant. If we’d gone together, we would’ve met a ton of people and gotten involved in all kinds of interesting conversations. We would’ve had slightly too much to drink but still remain poised, laughed ourselves silly and just had a good time.

But, She will not be in town this week.

It even crossed my mind to ask The Pearl. It would’ve been fun for her and she too, has certain flair. But, she is not someone I would bring to a black tie. I dont really know the real reason...Plus, after what she recently did to me, I scratched the idea immediately.There are a few other potentials, but they just wouldn’t be a great fit – we wouldn’t look great together you know?

And that awful blind date that I had a couple of weeks ago emailed me. She recently renovated her apartment, and wants me to come over to see it on Saturday night. I considered telling her that I had moved to Indonesia. But then I decided I just couldn’t be bothered to type the name of a country with that many letters in it. So I just didn’t answer.

Which means that, if I want to go, I'll have to attend solo. I just don’t like walking into parties alone. It sets a bad precedent for the rest of the night.

Reason #2

One nice thing among many about being in a couple is that you watch each other’s backs. Support one another. Look out for the well being of your partner. Make sure important things don’t slip through the cracks.

The big posh award dinner that I got invited to?

It’s tomorrow night.Which means I won’t be going. Not enough time to find a fabulous dress, or to find somebody to accompany me. I don't know what happened. I got the invite in the mail, glanced at it quickly and figured that I had plenty of time to deal with it and respond. So I tossed it into my ever growing, already enormous Papers to Deal With pile.

And then quickly forgot about it.If it hadn’t been for one of the party’s organizers emailing me yesterday to ask if I was coming or not, I would’ve totally spaced on it. I'm just so busy and overextended that a few things are bound to slip through the cracks here and there. Even though I carefully record all appointments, meetings and obligations on my blackberry. I feel like I need a week to just do paperwork and get back on track.

My thinking is, if I was in a relationship, my girlfriend might’ve said to me, What about that party on Thursday night? We still going?

To which I would’ve replied, Why yes, of course. Looking forward to spending a glamorous night out together.

And she might’ve then coyly said, After I am done doing yoga, which I do six nights a week to make myself super flexible and limber, I’ll go dress to the nines in my fancy evening gown. Though I won’t be wearing any underwear underneath, of course.

Hey, give me a break. If I’m not going to get to go to the party, at least allow me this one daydream.

There’s no harm in that. Right?

And, of course, next week I have to attend an Off-Broadway play that one friend is directing and another is acting in. Which means this whole dilemma begins again very soon. I guess I can always just ask a random friend to go with me, but it's never quite as much fun to bring a random woman who probably would not enjoy herself.

My mother’s best-friend, Melissa is a woman who terrifies me. She is a brilliant, petite blonde who is a total firecracker. She runs marathons; she has written articles for magazines; she has owned a boutique on the Champs E. in Paris...and not to be a total namedropper, but she also dated some pretty famous dudes before they became famous. Melissa works out with a trainer three days a week at Equinox; she owns a spectacular apartment with panoramic city views; and her closet could easily be mistaken as an outpost of Bergdorf Goodman...filled with more Roberto C. and Chloe than you could shake a stick at. She finishes the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle every weekend with nary a mistake. She has a wicked sense of humor and is universally adored by all of our clients and co-workers alike. Melissa comes from a wonderful family who gave her the best education money could buy - along with frequent trips around the globe...to hone her shopping, skiing, and scuba diving skills to boot. Did I mention that she is always perfectly plucked, groomed, and manicured at all times as well?

The problem, you wonder? She is 45-years old and single. She has never been married, never had a child, and hasn't even had a serious boyfriend in the past three years. Melissa goes home every night and watches television alone; she cooks a healthy dinner for one to eat at her dining table by herself; and at bed-time, she crawls solo into her Frette-laden bed wondering things like "Is it too late to freeze my eggs?" and "Why aren't Russian mail order grooms available?"

Melissa’s three dating options are as follows: 1) Going to bars in a low cut top (she has fake tits) 2) Paying a match maker $10,000 to find her a husband 3) Putting her photo up on every online dating service known to the world wide web. She chose option three and is thus an active member of Match, J-Date, and e-Harmony. In the past three years, she has endured countless blind dates and over time her desired age range has gone from 35 to 45, to 30 to 50, and now I think she is somewhere between 24 and 67 years of age for her "ideal match." God help her...another couple years of single hood and Melissa might end up as the only girl on a dating website willing to date any man between the ages of 18 to 99, of any race, any religion, any income...with the sole requirement being a pulse.

Since I am sincerely inattentive at work today, I figured I would write a little something about me. I compiled the most important facts about me. Enjoy.

1. I get a steady pay check every two weeks from a magazine company. No no. I do not write my friends – my day consist of making endless and meaningless (to me) phone calls to people, writing emails and confirming things and dates and I get paid to look good. I basically ended up where I am by default, which is how I make most of my important life decisions. Yes.

2. I was born in a country far far away – one of the poorest countries in the western hemisphere to parents who were doctors without borders. I was shipped to boarding school in France and since we were a big happy family, we moved to NY. (though, I rarely admit where I was born, but I thought I’d share because a friendship is built cautiously selected moments of honesy.)

3. There were two things that I wanted to accomplish since I was a teeny weeny child – 1. I wanted to be a professional tennis player (scratch that now, I am too fat and slow) and 2. I wanted to be an actress. After all, I grew up with Pretty Woman (romantically challenged during my teen years, I wanted to be rescued by a rich man and I would never have to worry about anything but blowing him. My second all time favorite was The Goonies. Who didn’t want to explore old pirate ships and fight bad guys?)

4. None of my childhood dreams ended up working.

5. I went away to college and discovered that yes, all those years I was clearly gay. It took me a number of women to figure that out. As if wearing my brother’s ninja turtle shirts and his jeans didn’t ring a bell to my parents.

6. truth be told, my parents told me they knew before I even figured it out myself. Made sense? Hold on let me re-read that. Ok yep. It did.

7. lastly, I enjoy long walks on the beach, playing the piano and striking the chords of my lovely yamaha guitar. I paint and I wouldn’t mind re-filming the body paint scene from Better Than Chocolate with me as the lead and Jennifer Beal as my bitch. I enjoy a good conversation and women.

Call me.

As I am typing this, I am beating myself up because I really don’t want to finish the “It all began” chapters.

See, that is my problem. I get bored.

I get bored with people; hence the short terms relationships and so lack of commitment. I hate repetition. Other attractive ladies effortlessly distract me and my mind wanders while the person I am theoretically “getting to know better,” chats my ears off.

I hate hurting people; I hate to lead women on. I hate not being able to tell them that I am not interested. I don’t even know the best approach for these kinds of situations – so I shun them.

I know there may be a few people I’ve dated or hooked up with in the past who are avid readers of this confession space. Knowing that, sometimes limits the stories I want to write about; either they involve something that they did or it involves how I felt about them. I was serious I when I said I would not date any of my readers.

How can I when they would know all about me and judge me before I even got a chance to explain my Barbie experiments, the many girls I slept with, my social life, the parties I have to go to, the elaborate relationships I had in the past. How can I date someone who knows all about it?

Trust me, I am all about being truthful in a relationship. Sometimes, secrets are meant to be secrets. I like being anonymous. I like that some of my readers don’t know who I am. I like the anonymity.

I’d like to keep it that way.

There were times when I wanted to start all over, a new blog, a new mystery lady. But I just couldn’t retire Confessions of a NYC lezie. This is who I am. Some of you judge my life and others compliment my writing style. Thank you to both.

And so, if you know me – either you are my friend, and ex-lover or someone I was “getting to know better”; it is your choice to stop reading. My quest to confess will thrive.

Get ready. This is a carte blanche. No mercy.

I sat in the middle rows, not too far from the stage since I wanted to hear everyone loud and clear. The show started with a couple of artists who weren’t up to par with the next act.

The 5’2 young college student came on stage and belted, “his eye is on the sparrow”. My stomach dropped, my mouth watered, my eyes glued to her, my heart was melting and every hair on my body were as hard as a porcupine’s back. Not only was I amazed at her capability to sing but also I felt every note she was projecting and so began a long crush with Hope.

Hope had a girlfriend on campus and everyone was aware of it. I knew that my chances were extremely slim as they were utterly in love with each other. Whatever feelings I felt were there and obvious – I smiled and looked away when I saw her, I talked about her all the time and I’d ask people about her. It wasn’t something I could have avoided and buried. During the course of the semester, I would see her around campus with her friends and girlfriend in her arms and my heart would just ache. What I wanted more than anything was the happiness and the love they both shared.

The remaining of the semester I had given up on Hope and I had moved on and I was seeing The Tennis Player.

She and I met through mutual friends and immediately clicked. We exchanged AIM and phone numbers and thus began a week of constant text messages, emails and long phone conversations. And by the second or third day, they started to get pretty smutty. And Tennis Player said she wanted to see me. And so I decided to visit to her– about an hour from where I went to school. And we went over our schedules together, and decided that two weekends from now worked out perfectly for both of us. We were both really excited, and I began to plan our weekend. What we’d do during the day. Like any new juvenile “getting to know you” relationship, we opt for a movie at her place. We talked for hours about how much we liked each other.


And then they just stopped. And the text messages and emails no longer came in. And I was puzzled, but just thought that maybe she was busy at school. And one night, I decided to go to her AIM profile. Which were just photos of her and friends goofing off, getting drunk, driving around and that kind of thing.

And the most recent entry was four days old. It consisted of photos from a party at her School. And in almost all of them, Tennis Player and some girl who looked to be over thirty had their arms around each other. The girl had wrinkles and looked like she smoked for years. And her clothes looked old and cheap. And I didn’t hear from Tennis Player for several days after that. And one day, I clicked on her profile and she had written about being in a relationship. I knew then, I wouldn’t be welcomed at her place for a fun, sex filled weekend. Out of the blue, she messages me to tell me that she had met somebody and it had gotten serious pretty quickly and she hoped that I wouldn’t be mad.

And that was that.

My sophomore year began, Hope had broken up with her girlfriend over the summer and her and I began to chat…

To be continued

My first year of college was total chaos. I partied like it was my last days on earth before meeting the devil for a lust fest. I met Turkish around the end of my first semester. She was one of the prettiest girls I have ever met. Long flowing dark hair with very deep olive –green eyes, her skin so soft and with a touch of caramel – a rich Turkish Mediterranean color with an alluring body dressed very hipster-ish/trendy. She had an infectious smile and great laugh, which were to die for.

Turkish and I met at one of the local college bars down in the East Village. I noticed her staring at me and since I was young, drunk and ballsy I marched right up to her and said:

“I know you are interested, I’m interested.”

And she replied, “I know.”

The Turkish took my hand and lead it to her neck, which forced me to caress her cheek, and we kissed.

And kissed more and more…

Just writing this makes me quiver. See, that was Turkish. She was beautiful and super sexual but not a lesbian. It didn’t bother me too much since I wasn’t too much into the gay scene anyway – how can someone say that they are gay and hooking up with guys. It wasn’t right for me. Especially when I was in the stage where I was discovering myself. I knew I was gay but I didn’t know until I replayed all the memory videos in my head – the Barbie situation, the best friend and the touching, how I felt when I saw a girl. It all added up at that point. Accepting myself was a different story.

I went home one weekend, and when I came back to school, everyone knew who I was. It was fine because I didn’t have to deal with saying “I’m a lesbian” – people knew.

My second semester was a new beginning, Turkish had left the country to study at Oxford and I stayed in NY. Since everyone knew I was a little lezie, all the girls had the occasion to experiment with me. I became the big dyke on campus. I was okay with that, since I didn’t make any commitments with anyone.

My weeknights and my weekends were spent boozing – don’t ask how I managed to graduate. But there was one night when I really didn’t want to go off campus. All I really wanted to do was stay in and I read a flyer about talent show on campus. It was far more interesting to me than going out to a college dive bar.

Before I go on, I should state that I'm a creature of habit in many ways. Despite my intense wanderlust for far off places and my tendency to become involved with glamorous yet troubled women, I like a certain bit of stability in my routine. Boozing was habitual, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t live without. My friends didn’t understand that.

It was right after my tennis practice, I rushed to my room, dropped my gym bag and headed straight to the auditorium.

That night I heard the most amazing voice and for the first time I said to myself:

“She is absolutely perfect”

To be continued….

Before I go on with how Turkish got it on - or not. I had to tell you this story. When I re-read my last entry I remembered something that was -well amusing.

I considered myself a sexual child- more like experimental child. I tried everything to see how it felt and really to see how far I can go with things without having the guilt halo hovering my head. Like most young girl, my sexual fantasies played themselves out on the bare floor of my childhood bedroom, with Barbie and Ken and sometimes Barbie and friends (girls).

All sheltered little girls live vicariously through Barbie, that whore. While we learn how to write cursive and do long division, she takes it up the ass and eats Skipper's box. I may have been privy to a strict moral code of conduct, but Barbie got gangbanged with abandon and didn't seem to give a shit about Jesus, STDs or teen pregnancy.

I have to admit that I was not a big fan of barbies but they were the closest objects to resembles the ideal woman that I craved to be one day. I played alone, constructing sketchy situations with the girls and ken. Often, Ken was always invited to Barbies Malibu house. As soon as he rang the door bell, you would hear Barbie shout “come upstairs, I have a surprise for you”. He would walk upstairs to her bedroom to find Barbie in her birthday suit dancing around teasing Ken. Other times, Barbie had major pool parties where all her girlfriends would come over. But the rule was, bathing suits off in the pool.

I was also developing a flair for inventing my own fantasies.

Sabrina was just a regular girl at my CATHOLIC grammar school, not popular or unpopular enough to attract attention. It’s hard for me to remember what specifically motivated me to talk to her. It wasn’t that I wanted to have sex with her. Perhaps I was trying to be helpful; I knew how much I wanted to be found sexually attractive, and she probably had the same secret longings that led me to bang Barbie and Ken’s smooth plastic crotches together. Isn’t it funny that no one in Malibu Barbie world had pubes? Just an observation. Whatever cryptic intention was in my mind, I decided to draft a secret admirer note.

“Dear Sabrina,” it began simply, but quickly spiraled into more lascivious territory. I left it in her desk, then loitered on the edge of the circle of girls that gathered around as she read it. “Dear, Turkish: I want to feel your...” she squinted at the next word quizzically. “I think it says BREASTS,” I interjected helpfully, drawing suspicious glances from her friends. Each preceding line required the same sort of interpretation. They didn’t seem to understand ANYTHING about sex, even the basic facts I had slightly incorrectly interpreted from my father's hidden stack of pornos. Did I just say that?

She read the closing, in which I had signed the name of a boy in class who wore army fatigues to school and so seemed unlikely to mind, but for some reason they were all staring at me instead. I even tried to get the ball rolling by looking toward the boy like “Get a load of this sex freak,” but it didn’t deflect their disgusted but pitying stares. It was at that point that I realized I was in trouble. It wasn’t long before the guidance counselor called me into her office, just to “chat.” I was not previously the kind of child who saw the inside of any kind of School offices.

In kindergarten I had been sent to the principal’s office for biting another girl on the playground, but had used my superior intellect to explain that I was merely standing there with my mouth open when she had decided to hit me. I was not entirely sure what intellectual voodoo it would require to forestall the consequences of dirty-note writing. Yet the counselor seemed strangely nice, tentatively asking about my home life, my parents, school.

When she finally brought up the note, she just wanted to “talk about it.” She dashed my hopes of a career as a private investigator by telling me that Sabrina’s friends had not only seen me scribbling the note at my desk like a mini-Danielle Steele, but had seen me deliver it as well. She had also recognized my handwriting, and everyone had been tipped off by the fact that I was the only one who knew what cumming meant. Faced with this seemingly insurmountable evidence, I did the only thing that could still get me out of this bind. I burst into tears. I cried until she called the other girls into her office, and when they arrived I cried so long that even they seemed a little convinced. I wailed and sobbed and swallowed my own snot and choked out, “I...just...don’t...understand...why you guys would ACCUSE me of this!”

Everyone seemed disturbed by my outburst, especially when my glasses started to fog up from the excess moisture. The other girls even apologized and hugged me before going back to class and still I cried. Apparently desperate to get this nymphomaniac out of her office, the guidance counselor let me go.

I lived in fear for weeks, waiting for my parents to bring up the dirty note. But as I rode home in my dad's car, it became obvious that she hadn't mentioned it. I have no idea what the guidance counselor was thinking letting an obvious psychopathic deviant like myself run around free, but she never did tell my parents.

I am known to chase skirts like a sailor. But add some shots to my evening, I become a pussy hound. I chat up strangers at the bar and then try to pressure them into making out with me. I have talked many straight girls into a bathroom stall in this state through a mixture of confidence and shameless flattery.

I grew up like any other privileged children at my boarding school. I met my best friend there and we played lots of games. I was 9 mind you. We managed to play house, doctor and my favorite – teacher. Our evaluations turn into elaborate role-playing games, which ended with us exploring each other’s genitals in my tree house. I felt guilty about what we were doing, but since every sexual encounter was masked in the guise of a game in which a male and female character had sex, I could sort of pretend it was all just make-believe. We never peeped a word and till this day we both won’t admit to having played doctor.

Around the age of 12 (soon after I left boarding school and came to America) I had a best friend and his name was Mark. He was my first kiss along with major bonus package of feeling me up but we never had sex. These experiences I had growing up caused me to consider myself “bisexual” (I was in HS – don’t worry) but now that I look back at it, I was craving the attention of someone who would perform these naughty acts. It didn’t matter if it were a boy or a girl. Hands and lips felt the same with both genders.

I started my freshman year of HS with a boyfriend and I supposedly had a boyfriend until my senior year. But truthfully, he went to the all boy schools and I went to the all girl school of my town. He had no clue who and what I was doing. When I met my friend Butch, I was totally open to the idea of a lesbian relationship. She was butch. Package included : short hair (I just got out of bed hair but pulled back in a pony) stocky cause she played some serious softball for the team and wore men clothes outside of our habitual catholic school girl skirt and button attires.

I don’t really know what drew me to her. Butch was a senior when I was a tiny freshman shrimp. She wasn’t anything I wanted in a person but she provided me with a satisfied service, which was a total plus. Everyone knew she munched the carpet but they never assumed anything happened between us – big save.

Nothing attracted me to Butch but somehow whatever we had lasted two long exhausting years. She did drive a nice Jeep Wrangler – soft-top and always spoiled me with goodies. I had my own personal chauffeur and I was ok with that.

Our relationship fell into a pattern of supply and demand. I demanded something, and Butch supplied it, although often with a sexual price tag attached. I didn’t like that one bit. 1) She was practically a man – pubes flowing everywhere and I sure was not ready to floss 4 times a day. And 2) she wasn’t what I called a pretty young woman. I tried to break up with her several times, but every time I managed to tell her I was done she’d show up after my tennis practice with a car trunk full of presents for me. Surveying the booty, I still wanted out, but, well, I really wanted those presents too.

In truth, Butch was deeply in love with me; the sexual exploitation resulted from the fact that not only was I probably not even attracted to girls, I definitely wasn’t attracted to her. And for my part it didn’t occur to me that not wanting to have sex with someone was grounds for breaking up; I always worried more about how others felt about me than how I felt about them. So I threw myself as heartily into lesbianism as I had my affairs with men, even growing fond of lesbian movies and anything gay - RENT.

A budding teenager, I also cheated on my grown-up lesbian girlfriend left and right. She couldn’t even leave me alone at a party while she went on a beer run before I was chatting up some cute college-aged girl I didn’t just have sex with girls behind her back; I had whole relationships. Remember my boyfriend? Well he was in my umbrella of relationships as well.

When I left for college, I left behind Butch, Mark and my other side dish. I wanted a clean slate, I wanted no one to know of my pass and so, my little liberal college was my escape - lesbians of all sorts purring at the inexperienced “bisexuals” . The good thing was, I already knew the words to all the Ani Difranco songs that are required college-girl listening and I fell hard for a girl I will nickname Turkish.

To be continued…