Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

I will admit that sometimes I have a tendency to live my life in major extremes. I can be terribly motivated or not so much, satiated with joy or crushed by despondency, excitedly optimistic or absurdly pessimistic.

I think we can all be a little like what I described. Of course not in a mentally unstable way – of course, but in a way that can be entertaining. For example – One day I am convinced that I will never date another woman again, I will never speak to the Pearl or that I will die alone in my bedroom surrounded by paraphernalia or collectables that creepy old ladies have in their living rooms and no one will know that I even existed.

And then there are days where I am so optimistic about my future that I am mentally monogramming towels for the guest bathroom and planning perfect outings and the perfect outfits and being annoyingly cheerful about the romantic road ahead.

Take the Pearl (who, it is worth noting, called. Of course I didn’t pick up. The last time I heard from her was last week – Wednesday. Really.) Something about tall girls with blonde hair sends me into a state of frenzied hopefulness that lasts until something crazy happens – like she disappears for good, or another woman does something so terribly stupid that I lose faith in the entire gender or someone I know announces that they are engaged/pregnant and I start mentally counting how many years I have left until I get too old to “do it”.

I haven’t quite decided if optimistic or pessimistic is easier for me – on one hand I am somewhat of a hopeless romantic who does want to believe that there is someone out there for me. On the other hand, I have dated some of the least eligible women in the tri-state area, been lied to, emotionally misled, made to feel inferior by some and generally creeped out by others. I could choose pessimism, and who would blame me? Conversely, I could plug my fingers in my ears and ignore the mounting evidence against happily ever after for a little longer, choosing instead to default to the fairy tale stories that nurtured my dreams as a child.

I try to maintain a balance – hopeful enough to stay open to a relationship, but cynical enough not to fall for the first lady who buys me a beer and checks out my ass. But I am constantly teetering between WOE is me and one day my Prince(ss) WILL come.

…I’d miss going to work. Today was my first day back since I got sick and it feels amazing. It’s weird. Work is my escape in a way. I get to boss people around, I get to tell my intern to get me coffee and make 800 copies when I only needed one. I’m kidding. I am actually really nice to her. She bakes me cookies and brownies and I give her an extra 10 minutes for lunch. Pretty fair deal. I was an intern once; I know how cruel interning can be – getting coffee, making paper clip jewelry, staring at the walls, shopping online – interning can be a bitch.

This morning I actually woke up an hour before my alarm went off. I heard the birds chirping, and the sun creeping through my curtains and gently tickling my eyelids and I said to myself “what a wonderful world”. I kid you not.

I had set my clothes aside the night before like I always do. I hate rushing in the morning. So anyway, got in this morning and found a pile of things to do, which I am staring at right now with the “I kinda don’t give a fuck – but what the heck, It will give me something to do later”.

But anyway, no Happy Hours are scheduled for the next two weeks. Now that’s something I am not looking forward to. No social interactions, no steamy love making, no booze or cigarettes (I quit – FYI whatever happened to my lungs was not caused by nicotine, thankyouverymuch) and no more booze – fuck I already said that. No more yoga?!?!? My social skill points a la SIMS will probably be in the negatives starting tomorrow. So sad.

Ok now its time to go take my pills and two puffs of Abuterol. I am short of breath.

Gravity can mean a lot of things – sometimes absurd things like love. Gravity to me, at this point in my life means finding some sense and meaning to my life. I need gravity to keep me stable to the ground or I should say – sky. Sometimes I feel like I am not in reality and only seeing the world as a picturesque daydream.

I have this invisible metaphorical rope pulling me in every direction. Right now I feel like I am being pulled and tugged across hidden valleys, incredible mountains, across oceans and right back to solid grounds. What does it all means? Indecisiveness. Confusion. Lost.

I need that gravity. I need some sort of sign to lead me where I should be going. But honestly, what I am looking for is pulling against me in a way. The one thing I want the most has been taken, the least that I can do is pull myself away from it for now – forever. I feel like I am begging, begging to be heard but I can’t. I have never used gravity in a sense where it was my only hope. Gravity is my enormity.

The other night (in my dreams) she married her woman. For some reason I was there, standing next to her friends, crying as I saw my life crumbling before my eyes. In my pocket was a wedding ring- my grandmother’s. I stood among some guests as her woman made her way down the aisle, my eyes full of tears, which kept creeping down my face because I knew that she was no longer the one. Instead of me walking to the altar and hearing the wedding bells ringing and seeing her glorious face at the end of that carpet – I was a guest. I watched her waiting for the love of her life as I was waiting for my life to end.

My dreams are sometimes harsh. Sometimes they are so real and scary. But that wedding dream was a wake up call – literally. I was there, the ring in my pocket. I had my hands in my pocket to make sure that it was safe and I would play with it – running my finger tip along the edge of the diamond, circling it to the point where my finger burned. It just seemed nearly impossible to hold myself. She looked my way a few times and turned her eyes to her prize possession walking.

She was gone. Gone for good. It feels like once someone gets married your chance to carpe diem is lost. And so I fell back in my chair and watched her say goodbye to me with her “I do”. I nodded. I woke up hurt like it really happened. I cried.

I am not even too sure why I was there, but I was. The worst thing EVER was that she had no idea how I felt. She saw the tears as me being happy, she saw my eyes and never wondered. I think her not knowing hurt me even more.

I just need one gentle push. Instead of me wondering what I am doing so wrong I need that guidance. I don’t want to be the pilot with a broken heart, I want reality, I need time, I need to wake up and not have to worry about my dreams and what they really mean, I need gravity.

I am writing to you from my hospital bed. Since this is about me talking about myself and my misadventure full of madness - well this one.

Sorry. Im on the bberry. And im too lazy to check for spelling

I don't remember much of yesterday, but according to my sister and parents - i was a mess. They heard me cough from my room, what sounded more like a death cough and soon after they heard my puppy cry, which was strange to them. They ran up to my room and found my dog licking my face and sort of bitting my lip to try to wake me up. Let me tell ya, my parents are both docs and i guess when they have to deal with their own kids being extremely sick it puts another feeling in them. My dad picked me up and drove to the ER and i was awake at some point. - rememeber telling my nurse not to worry, let my mom do everythingn all the shots would be fine. Then my mother said that my entire body turned frigid cold and my completely white. Of course my dad freaked out and left my mom with me along with the other docs.

Fast foward (it was about 10am when i got to the ER) its 9pm and none of the meds are kicking in. It all started with an asthma attack - weezing, coughing, having trouble to breathe. But the docs were still unsure - my xrays pointed out some inflamation in my right lung and some major infection which may have cause some bacterial damage to my lungs. Which leaves me with just one lung to function. Last night i was intubated to the max. My parents were freaking out, the doctors were freaking out and i on the other hand, kept saying desperate housssewiiiife finale...fuck. Take me home.. Bring the oxygen, i'll be fine.

But in reality, i was shitting in my pants. My parents are very calm people, and seeing them all worried, my mom strocking my arm because i was in so much pain, and having my dad telling me that i am a champ. I teared, i teared alot.

I woke up this morning, with my mom next to me and a nurse trying to draw some more blood- now my freakin arm is blue. I am doing a lot better. I dont need all the extra oxygen, so im only on my nasal oxygen thingy, and every four hrs i have my treatments for my lungs. And 6 times a day i gotta have a lady check out my tits and vag - i am being violated.

I should be here for the next few days, my intern came in this morning so that we can work on my clients and my boss is being a dad and checking in.

I have to admit here, i have never been in so much pain in my life. But i am a big girls, and girls dont cry. Truthfully, i may be writing this now, and you dont see me because i am obviously very far away but behind me typing and telling you this, i am as scared as anyone would be.

Dont worry, im not dying -yet. Hahaha. The priest guy came in this morning and said a little prayer for my gay soul.

Btw, the nurses and docs kept asking if i were pregnant and my mother who was vry cranky said "my daughter is gay, she's'catholic, can we move on please!!!

Until then- ciao

A fter my extreme amount of champagne-filled night yesterday, I forced myself to the gym during my lunch break.

It always makes me feel better about myself when I work out instead of shoving down greasy cafeteria food down my throat at work. On the plus side, there are really good looking mid-town stay at home wives at my gym during the hours of 12 and 2p.

After my 40 minute workout, I run to the locker room and took a quick shower and came back to my spot to find a woman standing – naked, her crotch almost touching my shit to the point where I wanted to tell her to get her vag off my suit. But I didn’t. I made believe I was fixing my hair in the mirror and waited patiently for the exhibitionist to get away from my locker.

So wouldn’t you know it, I waited for 2 minutes and she didn’t move—she decided to apply lotion all over her naked body—it reminded me of that Demi Moore movie when she was a stripper and dressed as a teacher. I don’t know. It just did.

Now, I don’t think I look like a licker. Although many women showed interest in the locker room and during yoga…but this particular woman kept smiling at me..and I’m pretty sure she was smiling at me in a very inappropriate way. I looked directly her way and her eyes locked on mine. I am not shy, if someone smiles, I will smile back except…when I am rushing to go to work, PMSing, in the elevator at 530pm or reading at Barnes.

She was something else. She made me blush. It was probably the fact that she was greasing up her body or Demi’s movie. Not too sure. But I can’t remember the last time I blushed that noticeably. I could feel the redness creeping over my cheecks, and after quickly smiling back I looked away, afraid to sneak another peek. I seemed that shy!

There are times when I can’t handle when men or women catcall me or make stupid remarks and I get really upset when someone gets too close to me on the subway. But throw a cute all greased up naked girl my way and I’m a total loser.

E ven with the monsoon weather or what looked liked scenes from War of the World, the Writer and I managed to attend the event of the month. I can’t say event of the year, but there are so many other events that are much better than the Sex Museum Gala – like the Met annual costume ball.

The wind and the rain died around 6pm, which allowed us to look stunning for the night. I wore a plain little black dress with a skinny red and black belt and wore some killer (literally) red stilettos (my feet still hurt). The Writer looked amazing. She wore black tuxedo pants, black button down and red suspenders, and black stiletto pumps – it sounds so not hot, but it was.

So we marched in, showed our VIP tickets, grabbed some champagne and headed to the back where the majority of the celebs were. I always feel more confident with a glass in my hand/stomach. As soon as I walked in the VIP area, I saw Mr. Perez Hilton. He is probably one of my favorite Queens. I introduced myself and we chatted for a mere 2 seconds until his bitch – Dita Von Teese showed up and scooped him up and dragged him to the other D fucking Listed Celebs. She is amazingly hot but in a weird pin up chick way. Her performances were steamy and people could not keep their eyes off of them. Mine were set on a gorgeous pair (exposed) of breast. I was only focused on them and nothing else mattered. Come on, give me a break; the breast bearer wore a mesh dress!!!!

The Writer and I picked up our gift bags on our way out and we were flabbergasted at the “gifts”. Dildos and vibrators, lube and “other” accessories. I turned red as soon as the Writer gave me a “you wanna give these things a test ride” kinda look. But what she probably meant was “shit, I already have these!” either way, it was worth the blushing.

The night ended well for me, slightly buzzed, I hailed a cab and went home to my lovely, clean-sheeted bed.

This morning, my alarm must have rang for a long time because I don’t remember doing my usual 3 time snoozing. I got up at 730 and got ready in less than 20 minutes. No shower, same makeup from last night and I probably look like I’ve been to war.

I don’t care.

T onight is a big night in NYC. The Museum of Sex Gala. It is one of those events in NYC where C and D-listed Celebs will be there to grab free shit at the gift section in the VIP rooms where I will also be snatching up some goodies. I am crossing my fingers on some 7 Jeans.

I am staring out my office window and it looks like the horrible Tom Cruise movie "War of the World". I kid you not. I got a little nervous when I saw the bids flying away and heading north it must mean that they are running away from Aliens - right? There are ginormous black clouds and I can't even see Central Park anymore. It's terrifying because my hair looks amazing and by the time I will get home to get ready for the D-list party of the year, my hair will be an uncontrollable frizz ball. I don't know maybe it will be the new Hairdo for the summer.

Also, I just got a call from my brother who is home probably watching porn who told me that the tree in my front yard disappeared. So I said "What the fuck do you mean disappeared? like Harry Potter...Boom shakalaka Boom, uhh abracadabra??" then I realized I was making the subject worst then it already was. I hung up and said my sweet prayers of forgiveness. I don't mess with nature.

Now...I can't have my cigarette break on my walk to the subway because I will have to run to find shelter in this stormy weather and it upsets me.

In conclusion, I hate it when it pours and when my hair looks like crap!