Showing posts with label Outings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Outings. Show all posts

Walking in Manhattan

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Random guy smoking outside my favorite bar: Ooh exotic young ladies, my favorite.

Me: [overhearing, looks over shoulder and smiles - he was under 30 and cute, you've got to give them some encouragement.]

Him: Tell me you're a half-breed.

Me: [over shoulder, still walking] I am.

Him: Take me home.

It's amazing how such a small thing can give you such a massive ego boost. I'm going to bed with a smile on my face.

Honestly, if I were into schlongs, I would so do him.

But really, who says half-breeds?

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This Weekend's Debauchery

Friday, April 20, 2007

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.

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Snob and Single??

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

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.

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El Therapist

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

A bout a month ago I went to see a therapist. Don’t judge me. Now, I don’t mock people who seek help or the session itself. I haven’t gone to see a therapist since College – long story short, someone made me go, she thought I needed to let things air out. These days, therapy is a la mode. Everyone sees one – at least once. Don’t deny. But I thought, after college I didn’t think I needed professional help to analyze my drama. Usually I am pretty self-aware and usually work out my own shit on my own. Any therapist would say that is the worst thing you can possibly do.

But Lately, I started to suspect that things in my past might be affecting me in a calculated field of my life. AND since I had recently done my benefits for the new year and noticed that I am covered for X amount of visits at a therapist or psychologist ( I wouldn’t go there- it would really mean I have issues) I jumped on the therapist wagon and opt for a session with an Upper West Side therapist. I’ll call her D.

Dr. D's office seemed like any good ole apartment in Manhattan…a little crowded, a little stuffy; book shelves everywhere and no pictures. As soon as I sat down, she said to talk. So I go on and tell her about my concern and that it may affect my daily routines. I talked and analyzed my own shit, I basically did her work, but I am sure all therapy sessions are like that. More like… “Hey, talk, you are the idiot for sitting here and spending 500 bucks an hour when you obviously know where your problems are coming from”.

The hour went by rather quickly. She fired lots of questions and I utterly responded with pure honesty. There were moments though where we would stare at each other. Awkward moments.

As soon as our chitchat time was up she asked if I wanted to come back and I said, “should I come back? Are you telling me something here?” and she replied “no no no” and so I got up and said, “ok then, I think I am done here”.

The good thing about this little therapy trip is that I found out that I am not a crazy fuck and trust me it was a big load off my shoulders. So I should take the time and thank Dr. D.

Thank you, Dr. D.

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Am I too Old?

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

B eing the Sex and The City addict that I am, I can recite episodes after episodes, tell you what Carrie was wearing when and where, who Samantha was fucking, who Miranda was fighting with and how Charlotte decorated her apartment. I am THAT good. I’m sure you’ve seen a couple of the episodes yourself. Remember the episode where the girls headed to Connecticut for a baby shower? Once they arrived, they felt uncomfortable, the little talks, babies crawling everywhere, baby gears in boxes with ribbons of every color of the rainbow, little finger food to munch on. Okay, the first time I saw the episode I was in college and none of my friends had babies – yet. So I thought, “it can’t be that bad…right?”

About 6 months ago, I received an invitation for a friend’s baby shower – sealed in a cute blue envelope and there is this lullaby tune once you open it. Really cute. I don’t even know why they send invitations months ahead but anyway all my perception of baby showers changed. Imagine this, you had to RSVP. Seriously, how many people were they expecting?

My really good friend J. from boarding school lives in Bergen – husband in tow, white picket fence, huge colonial house, two dogs and nice cars. He’s a lawyer and she’s a stay at home/daycare teacher/first grade – I don’t know really. All I know is that we have strikingly different lives. Lets compare:

She’s a teacher of some sort and she lives in suburbia like the Desperate Housewives. I work in magazine publishing and I write. I’ve slept with [exclude number] of women and she’s married to the only person she slept with. She’s a crazy conservative Catholic. And well…I’m just a liberal lezzie. But she will always be a part of my life – we survived boarding together. But we’ve drifted a lot and occasionally talk on the phone. I just don’t think we will be able to relate to one another until I eventually have milk in my breast and ready to pop my third kid.

When I stepped into the foyer, I just knew I didn’t belong there. I am pretty sure I had the same “what the fuck am I doing here” look Carrie had when she went to the party. I thought a pretty Lacy black dress was appropriate baby shower attire – vomit and spit proof. but I was wrong. I looked more like the entertainment of the party – sort of like the stripper guys hire for parties not the girl who bought the bibs and matching bottles with the days of the week engraved in them.

I was ready to head back out when someone came running cheerfully with a giant smile on their face and welcoming me to J’s baby shower. I wonder how teachers are so happy all the time? I dragged my foot and managed to walk to the living room where balloons hung from the ceiling and finger foods were everywhere, children screaming and crying for their mothers and J. sitting looking more gorgeous then the last time I saw her. I felt awkward – all eyes on the girl who wore the black dress with heels instead of wearing loafers and elastic waist pants.

I spent the entire 6 hours glued to a chair saying Ooohs and Aaaaahs at the slightest sight of pajamas and cute little tees and socks. Her friends by the way, are all married, teachers, pregnant or already have children and are on their second or third and all look a-like. I felt out of place. More like Julia Robers in Pretty Woman when she went shopping in her stripper-ish outfit. I made a couple of jokes here and there, told them about my plans for the book, you know, my trademark. I wanted to make them as uncomfortable as I was and also to prove that – YES, I am happy being not married and no poop diapers to change every minute of the day. Of course to them, anyone outside of suburbia is completely insane, naive (for not having kids and a husband) and overly self-absorbed.

I always pictured myself married by uhhh…35 and children a year later. Everyone knows I love kids. Absolutely love them. Being at that shower made me realize that there is a world outside of the city, suburbia isn’t bad, having someone to come home to or vice versa (for those power hungry women) and having children running around, screaming and laughing, but most importantly, hearing them say I love you when you tuck them into bed at night is something worth knowing and fulfilling. What is better than that?

It was almost 7p and I wanted to get home and this really attractive teacher came up to me and asked about my writing and you could just tell that she envied my life – you know the one where I work like a slave, attend black tie parties and basically have a night life. It is exciting. Really.

They always say the grass is greener on the other side. I had my glimpse of suburbia life and I am not too sure if that life is for me yet. Perhaps in the future.

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Crushing it or Loving it?

Monday, April 9, 2007

I usually don’t do the whole crushing thing. It is so passé in my book. But something changed with the writer. I don’t know. For the past weeks or so, I’ve been getting the sweaty hands, the butterflies in my stomach, the occasional blushing when her name pops up, the smiling and the giggling just for the sake of hearing her voice. Anyway, the other day, she stepped really close, making it difficult for me to breathe. I think I did that thing where I look up through my eyelashes and ducked inside. How embarrassing.

Anyhow, Thursday I met up with the writer. She is the most stunning woman I know within my bunch of friends and she always looks good when we go out, she can wear a plain tee and it would look amazing on her. Maybe if I grow a pair I would essentially be able to talk to her about it.We went to dinner at Sushi Samba and the food was delicious – as always. But sadly, despite my best efforts to stay focus on the dinner and conversations, my mind was so not focused. The chemistry we share is fucking irrefutable. I am sure she feels the same way. Or maybe I keep telling myself that. I can just say that 20 minutes into dinner and my goal of keeping this thing on the tame side had disappeared.I kid you not, every time we meet for dinner and drinks I always have to remind myself to “Go with the flow and have fun”. Sounds simple to you, but to me it’s probably the hardest thing to do when I am sitting in front of her and trying to have a decent conversation without thinking about sleeping with her. Shit I just said it AND I thought about it.

For those who know me, you will agree that one of my personality trait is that I am bold I think the shy me disappeared that night and the bold, fearless feline that I am, took over. She invited me back to her place. She always does that. She knows she is torturing me and she probably enjoys every minute of it. The make-out session started on the couch (It isn’t the first time). She is a great kisser and she figured out pretty quickly I liked to be kissed on my neck.

I am a good girl, really I am. I convinced her that we should stop since we are both really good friends and probably are too drunk to do what we envisioned would happen. She agreed. We went to the kitchen to grab some wine and (blush) she pretty much puts me on the counter. I couldn't let that go on for long because it was too hott and would have went south fast....The writer is a friend and as much as I want her (oh I do), I couldn’t do the one night stand and be totally strangers the next day. I slept in her bed that night and nothing happened – just a few heart palpitions everytime she’d roll over and her hands gently caressed my back.I went home the next morning and acted as if I couldn’t remember the night due to too much of Mr. Budweiser and Madame Pinot. She broke the ice though later on that day with a sweet voicemail ( I wouldn’t pick up the phone):

The writer:

"Hey its me, I guess you forgot my number already, or was it the awkwardness you were talking about last night when you decided that south was not the way but north is a lot colder and better for the both of us. Mr. Bud and Madame Pinot would like to know if you’d join me for dinner next week. Let me know. Bisous.

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