Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

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….