Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

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.

Totally forgot about mentioning my birthday bash this past Friday. So here is the 411. Cliff notes will be available at the end of the post – that way you will have to read the entire thing. Ha!

So Friday was supposedly going to be a mellow happy hour with some of my bestest minus the Pearl (she’s being a total bitch to the entire group of friends. She didn’t even call on my bday)

I got out of work at 4:45, well it was more like I ran like I’ve never done before, pressed the elevator door and I swear it took twice as long but anyhoo I walked outside and BAMMMMM my little shrimpster was there. We walked for what seemed forever because apparently there are no cabs available at 4:45 in the afternoon. I’m on 57th (no stalking please) and 8th and we had to go to my favorite bar “third and long” on 35th and 3rd. if you are not from NYC, you have no idea how far it is. Its far – lets leave it as that. Meanwhile, we are almost walking on the streets trying to hail a cab – me in freaking 4inch heels and in a tiny white babydoll dress which kept blowing and revealing what my momma gave me and shrimp in her usual jeans, tee and flips. This girl is veryyy tiny – like 5’1 and she’s almost jumping up and down waiving her tiny arms in the air and I, being the Jacqui O. that I am, just laughed and made believe I didn’t know her.

So finally after 20,000 miles we saw this little UES rich Jewish lady who gets out of her cab, I literally ran across 5th avenue and jumped in the cab before she even had the chance to come out and the driver who was Haitian told me “sorry miss, but I can’t take you” so I glanced at his ID (I always do – ever since that scary movie about NYC cab drivers who kill, along came a spider? I may be wrong.) I noticed he was hardcore Haitian (accent and all) so broke out some French mixed with whatever language I came up with which I taught was Creole but probably wasn’t. He turned around and laughed and said “anything for a little rich French girl”. Shrimp and I seriously looked at each other and whispered – wahhhh??

We get to the bar, very parched I must say. We head to the bar and I hand over my debit so that I can drink freely and not have to worry about looking for cash. Shrimp and I began to drink and drink and drink. The place gets packed within an hour and some of my old buddies from college showed up which made my night extra special it meant that 1. I won’t be bored and 2. more fun, and more fun on the dance floor.

A couple of beers and shots later- I wasn’t drunk and neither was Shrimp. We are true Champs, college taught us well. I go on to the dance floor and no one was there. I kept pulling people I didn’t know to come dance and get this boring corporate happy hour party going. I kid you not, as soon as I heard Rihana’s umbrella song, I went nuts – it is currently my favorite song. I got all my girlies to dance and all the fake guidos with their popped collars and pink shirts (here in NYC – we call those automatic douche-bags) stood in the back, bopping their heads and checking out everyone’s asses. I would have done the same, but knowing me – I wouldn’t pass a good song for that.

About two hours later, I tell the bartender that I would be right back because I was starving. I grabbed Shrimp and we went to the pizza place next door and I shoved a mushroom slice as fast as I could because I heard Bon Jovi playing. We ran back in, took another shot – there were amazing looking tequila shot girls serving some amazing tequila shots the entire night. Totally was not interested. So I went back to my corner with the girls and chatted and nursed a Budweiser.

Fast forward… it was about 930p when I decided to close my tab, which to my surprise was only 120 bucks, of course I didn’t pay because the bartender said that someone took care of it and all I had to do was come back and be merry. Good deal right?

Shrimp and I decided to walk to Penn station, along the way we made friends with some really strange peeps and also, shrimp kept saying she was hungry, so I told her to just grab one of the pretzels from those food carts people (they are everywhere in NYC) and she did – she just walked up to the cart and grabbed the pretzel, added some mustard and walked away. The food cart guy didn’t say anything I think he was more shocked than I was. I think she was done for the night (I asked her the next morning if she remembered the pretzel and she had no idea) poor child.

We get to Penn, hopped on the train and I pull out my book. First of all – I don’t remember what I read and secondly who the hell reads when they are intoxicated?? 45 min later I get home and I was going to walk up the stairs when my dad says to me “are you drunk?” and I told him “no pa’, you are seeing things” he just laughed and told me to go to bed.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken my clothes off so fast before – ok, I’m lying (there are other “important” times when clothes come off faster than…uh…lighting?) I stripped to my underwear and jumped into bed and turned on the tv and texted and spoke on the phone, slept in between, woke up and I ate again at 3am with my brother (don’t ask) and texted more and talked on the phone and slept and I woke up with the worst hangover of my life.

The end.


Ook cliff notes:

--Got out of work early
--Couldn’t get a cab so we walked half way
--Jumped into a cab and begged the cab driver to drive us to the bar in an unknown French-creole language
--We were so thirsty that within the first ½ hour Shrimp and I had 4 beers and 2 shots
--We danced, drank, and danced
--We walked to Penn station and made friends
--Shrimp stole a pretzel from the Cart man on 34th and broadway
--Jumped on the NJ transit and pulled out my book like I really read or understood anything
--Got home, layed naked on my bed watching tv
--Ate at 3am with the bro
--Texted, talked on the phone and more texting happened
--Finally passed out cold at 5am
--Woke up with a killer hangover

The end.

S ince I wrote my last entry - like 4 hours ago, I sat at my desk and I got the idea that I needed a "fuck buddy". A little background about me, I am not a girl used to going without having sex. In my two-years out of college, I have always been dating the Pearl or another or had an ex on the side. The longest up until now that I have gone is 3 weeks, current running time 1 and 1/2 months.

Sex is a need akin to food; it makes you sick when you have too much and it makes you crazy when you don't have enough. When I get ass once or more a day (back in college – now I am a workaholic as some would say), I become positively stupid, every thought runs out of my head and all I can do is smile at everyone and everything. When I don't have sex, I become bitchy and desperate. Or moody and feel rejected, as my current state. There is a point, I am led to understand where you go so long you forget about sex altogether, now I have obviously never gone this long, but I will take everyone's word for it.

So back to my story, when I drink all I want to do is either make out or pass out, usually a combination of both, which is how I got my reputation as a tease. If I am not dating you, I am not fucking you; I will only use you for kissing and your bed. Don't bother trying, my answer will never be anything but no, and I have had too much bad sex to last a lifetime. My theory is one night stands are only acceptable if it is the Sports Illustrated Spokes model, who is a MODEL, and you wake up in the midtown Sheraton with no recollection of having gone there. That's obviously bragging rights. Other than that, Buyers Remorse is a bitch to deal with.

So for the past month and a half I have played the virginal act, no kissing, sucking, or fucking; and after a while this gets old. So I am not sure what came over me but last time I did HH (happy hour) I probably would have gone home with anyone, thank god I threw myself in a cab. So after some heavy drinking with the writer as well as a few other lezzies upon I dared one to put her hand down my shirt and made out with another on another dare (who does that?), I began my deliberation of who would be my new fuck buddy.

Now I have no clue how to pick a fuck buddy, but based on past experiences with a sexual relationship with an ex, I thought a couple of ground rules were appropriate. Personally I prefer recycling, because it’s comfortable and I don't have to increase my numbers and chances of more bad sex. To define my idea of bad sex requires background, I have been with extremely bad lovers, a girl who have pretty talked their way into my pants and then have not cared about finishing me or have any intention of trying. But I have also been with women who actually cared, which is why I prefer to hold out for these ladies. These are women I am usually dating.

How does one choose a fuck buddy?

1. First off, it can't be someone that my friends have met or will ever meet.
2. She can't be a tool or douche bag who is going to embarrass me in any way.
3. No weird fetishes like feet or something remotely related to that.
4. She has to be good with her hands.
5. STD free.
6. No personal information required, so as to not form any attachment.
7. Has to be free for drunk dials.
8. No drama, I don't want to hear about her ex or current girl she's in love with.
9. No falling in love with me, I know I am charming and it’s hard.
10. No bragging rights, if you tell people you have slept with me, I will deny it. I can lie, I took acting classes in HS.
11. I am a bathroom talker, so I will tell everyone about everything including technique used or not used.
12. No meetings outside the bedroom.


Then I went down a list of people who have actually propositioned me in the past two weeks. So no one I can see me doing such naughty things to – yet.

After this drunken train of thought in which I was determined to proposition someone. I was ready to make any number of phone calls and completely committed to this idea. I woke up the next morning and realized this would never work, I get way too attached to anyone I sleep with. I have decided to shelve this idea and rediscover it in two more years. That and I got a 4:30 am phone call from the Pearl while I was asleep, so self-confidence is back up (even if I don’t talk to her). I got her and dealt with her craziness, I can deal with anyone thanks to her.

L ast night I attended a gallery opening of a family friend. Overall rating – 7. Is it so wrong of me to critique his art poorly? It isn’t my style but I like it a little bit. The reason really is not his art per se, but the curator itself. The canvases were not properly positioned and too much direct light affected some of the artwork.

I am always fashionably late at these kinds of events because I want people to see me when I walk in (it might be a Gemini thing) and I want the second rounds of fresh shrimp and cheese and other hors-d’oeuves. I feel as though, the first round is not so fresh because the waiters end up walking aimlessly around the gallery, trying to force feed some of the anorexic ladies and the second rounds means that – YES it is a mouth-watering and people want more.

I walked in, 30 minutes late and NO waiters, no bartenders – self-service. Who are they kidding? The cheap bastard told me that it wasn’t in the budget. Then I suggested next time he should get some of his students (He teaches art history at NYU) to do the work. I saw the entire gallery in less than 20 minutes. I was not impressed with the elephant head and the penises all over the painting. I will admit the cool thing about it was that you really had to look into the picture to see them- it was very graphic design[ish].

I left my parents there and met up with the architect for a quick happy hour. All I have to say is that it was quick. I was in bed 10p.

So this weekend I will be doing the following:

Friday – I want to stay low-key. A beer [or two] and a movie. I absolutely love Fridays because I like staying home and get my sleep on for Saturday nights.

Saturday – I am heading down to Sandy Hook with my dogs…they love going to the beach and in the evening I will be at several bars, no bars are confirmed. A little madness is planned. Trust me.

Sunday – Brunch with the Writer in Soho. Perhaps some window-shopping on 5th because I am too broke to even buy a key holder from Louis Vuitton.

It may not sound so eventful but between shopping and drinking I get tired. Don’t worry, I always make time for my yoga.

T his past Saturday I decided to venture out to some wine and beer spots in the west village with the publicist. I know I know…she’s a crazy lady but there is something about her that just drives me crazy. It might be the italian in her. I don’t know.

Well, last night we were drinking wine and making out (somehow, wine and make-out sessions are steamy) and for some unknown, unconscious, uncontrollable, unfortunate reason, she blurted out "I love you." I flinched, but pretended not to hear. we finished the wine. The vibe was weird. She wanted to disappear. Well more like, I wanted to disappear. What a crazy fuck? What? I’ve gone out with her maybe 4 times…the lesbian joke with the uhaul truck holds some truth to it.

I mean, I've had passionate moments like that, where I'm like "don't say I love you, don't say I love you." But usually that means you don't say I love you. It just means that you are drunk off your ass and you are thinking with your lips rather than your brain. And so last night, I decided to meet up with the Model.

I was disappointed – he is a fun guy to hang with, but he only attracts men and whats the use? I thought hey…pretty model guy + pretty model ladies = me having lots and lots of fun.

Then an hour after the model and I got there, some broad brushed up against me and asked if she can buy me a drink. First it is always –always no possible way that some random blonde would just buy me a drink at a straight bar when she obviously has no idea that I like pretty little things. Unless she wanted a threesome. Hey she did make out with the Model. Since the Model was busy, I looked around for my own prey. I stumbled upon this actress (UNEMPLOYED) who happened to be jobless but was at the bar with a couple of her friends (lezzies) and I quickly said buh bye to the Model and made myself available. I am like a Lezzie Magnet I tell ya.

Later on my evening, the one girl that I thought was the carbon copy of a young J. Biel dissapointed me with some heartbreaking news. Wait, I am NOT a snob and can say from the heart that a woman’s job, wallet size or social status does not impress me (ok sometimes). But I'm also a girl who knows that there's nothing worse than being with a lazy woman....or a mooch! And she unashamedly admitted that she was both! That was a stab in the heart – I kid you not. She is under "mooch" on my Bberry.

But I feel like I'm being shallow. My philosophy has always been Live and let live. So why am I not giving this girl a chance, right? I always admire those who live on just nothing and they always seem happier without the hectic New Yorker life.

I know it sounds like my life is a little girl crazy, but isn't that what being single is all about? Taste a little of this, a little of that? Sometimes though, I wonder if my mind is not all over the New York City with this one and that one maybe I’m not built to be in a relationship or maybe I just need to focus and stay focused.