Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

I smiled inwardly, remembering how highly aroused I had been. How my attraction to her had taken me by surprise; I hadn’t expected to bed her and I certainly hadn’t expected to want to bed her so very much. But her description of all the things she was going to do to me, directed into my ear via a soft whisper, combined with a firm hand on my thigh, had made me yearn for her to be inside me.

Somehow, after hours of non-sexual conversation, the dynamic had radically changed. Before I could analyze how, or why it had, her lips were on mine; my hands were traversing the brief expanse of naked skin between her shirt and her jeans; and her fingertips were drawing small circles along the back of my neck. We both sat there, wanting, and it was no longer a question of if we would get naked, but when.



To be Cont.

In the beginning, everything is a mystery. When Hope and I started dating, started to learn each others’ likes and dislikes, our personality glitches and our idiosyncrasies, it seemed the learning curve was steep. “How do you take your coffee?” I asked, the first time we went to the Dinner – not even sure if she liked coffee. I approached each question with rabid curiosity hoping to learn more about this woman with whom I was falling in love.

Within the first few months, certain things became apparent: Hope hated fried food, had to sleep with her hair down ( I pulled mine in a bun), hated small talk, was ferociously loyal, was a talker not an AIM person, loved dogs and loved adventure. In the beginning you store this information like pieces of a puzzle, trying to construct, in your own mind, the full picture of the person.I didn’t take too long to piece Hope together, to be able to get a clear picture of who she is and to anticipate her actions. In the year that we have lived together (part-time, my place and the other half hers), I have learned her inner-workings, what makes her tick. I was pretty sure there were no more mysteries.

Hope can fall into a deep sleep for 15 minutes after work, awake without an alarm and have the energy to do her tae bo or her abs of steel. She was never late. Hope folds her t-shirts and underwears, instead of shoving them like sausages into the drawer. “You get more room this way,” she claims. She refuses to go to the beach without sunblock, even when I tell her that we wont burn, “I am olive. I don’t burn. It’s greasy, forget it.” Sure enough, hours later with angry red skin and a nasty tan, I inform her that she was right. Also, she will never trade dessert (at Cafe Lalu) for anything.

Now, with each gf I had, I had to learn each and everyone of them. Surely every single one was different. The Pearl was basically my twin – highly opinionated and defensive, loves a good beer and conversation and laughs at practically any joke thrown at her. The Gym Addict was a different and probably the hardest to learn but during the short months that we were together I managed to know that she hated girl cut tee-shirts, she loves sushi and is overly sentimental.

Perhaps it was the time Hope and I spent together that made me piece the puzzle to form the complete picture or perhaps it was just me eager to learn more about this amazing woman. And even with The Pearl (2 years together), I wanted to know everything about her. Coming from similar backgrounds, it made it easier for me to understand who she was. But, I feel with every break up, the puzzle pieces crumble and the picture vanishes.

I don’t know Hope anymore (as much as I am telling myself I still do). I don’t know what bothers her, what ticks her, what makes her smile anymore.

All I know is that when she makes up her mind about something or someone – you can’t try to change it.

I guess there will always be some surprises with Hope. (that’s one thing I liked about her)

Sometimes, late at night, when I’m tired, I get kind of loopy. It’s a little bit like being drunk. I get sentimental, and can be prone to doing things like calling people, sending text messages that are hopefully slicker than the ones I get from [annoying texter] or emailing people that I not only really shouldn’t, but saying things that I should probably wait until morning for in order to make sure that the content won't embarrass me.

It’s the drunken equivalent of sending a late night text message to some girl who broke up with you and telling her that you love her or you want to come over to her place. Except that, instead of alcohol, it's just me running on far too little sleep.Needless to say, doing things like this is not always a smart move.

Friday night, I was absolutely exhausted. I don’t always get a lot of sleep from Monday through Friday and this week has been no exception. It’s been work, work, work and more work.Before going to bed sometime after 1:00 a.m., I was so tired that I was almost dizzy.

Having a late night coffee (it helps me fall asleep – believe it or not), I began typing the names of people from my past into the search function of myspace. Now, looking at profiles on myspace is a bit different than on other sites, primarily because you can’t see somebody’s contacts unless you’re already friends with them or their profile isn’t blocked. And as far as pictures, if you are not friends and they are blocked you can only see their first picture – which initially isn’t that bad.You may not be surprised to find out that my second grade teacher isn’t on myspace.

But, amongst somebody else from my past whom I’m not going to mention because I haven’t told that story yet, I found E. her profile features a cute picture of her and her niece. Smiling. As her hair is being whipped about by the wind.

And E. and I still haven’t been in touch for months – perhaps even years, really. It’s been about a year now since I last saw her. And checking out her profile made me miss her. And, as I said, I was seriously over tired. So, I thought about it for a second, and decided to shoot her an email. Hey, it never hurts to try (and try and try and try), right?Here’s what I wrote:

Hey

I know this may be a surprise or even a shock to you (as it was for me to grow a pair and actually write this) I had the occasion to chat with an old friend of ours – Aisha who asked for you. And so I wanted to say hello.

So hope all is well and best regards to your family.

Ciao,

NYC.Lezie

I sent it to an email address I had. And of course, the email bounced back. I figured she changed her email address and so, no luck. I really don’t want to send her a message over on myspace – I don’t want to seem like a loser.

I'm a Lezie who enjoys good beer. My preference is the darker the better just like my women – European but slightly Mediterranean. However, any active beer drinker knows that the heavier the beer, the more the calories. I drink on a night of drunken debauchery an average of 7 or 8 beers.

Guinness is my favorite, but I only reserve that for when I decide to drink my dinner. However, I've been known to drink 3 or 4 on a given night. At approximately 200 calories a pop, that's 800 calories right there.

My second favorite beer, Saranac Amber, we'll say is approximately 175 calories based on the caloric value of similar amber beers. Now, given that they aren't as heavy as Guinness is, I can drink more. I remember one night I drank 10. I know I'm a mathlete, but I bet most of you can calculate10x175=1750 calories. In one night.

My third favorite beer, Leinenkugels Honey Weiss, is sadly (or thankfully) no where to be found anywhere in NYC. Still, I would say the caloric value of this beer ranges from 150-165 or so. We're still in the 1500 calorie range for a night of heavy drinking. Lord knows when I head back to the land of Honey Weiss, I make up for any time I spent away from this delicious brew.

So my point? Bud Light, Amstel Light, Coors Light, while they all may be shitty and taste like water or cat piss, only have approximately 100 calories per beer. I can go out, get shit faced, go to the gym the next day, and still retain my semi girlish figure. I've resigned myself to the fact that my slight beer pouch (not really a gut, but an inch of skin I can grab right below my belly button) will never go away due to my heavy consumption of beer, but I'm okay with that. At least I'm having fun, right?So next time you see me out, and you make a comment on my crappy water downed beer, give me a break, mmm k?

You don't want no fatty slobbering on your knob now do you?

NOTE: Yes, I could drink vodka, which I do at times, but the results are never pretty. Hard alcohol's influence over me deserves its own post.

Ever tried one of those craigslist missed connections? I practically live on CL and for maybe a month or so, I’ve been going to CL MC just for fun. The Writer mentioned to me that there are people who write them sorely for the entertainment and others do it to really reconnect with someone. And Everytime, I am flabbergasted at some of the missed connections.

And so I tried my first.

Me: I was the young, nubile girl sitting across from you in the brown dress and curly hair pulled back in a loose pony tail with a couple of curls dangling on her face, listening to her iPod, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with you by staring at the subway ads…


You: You were the over weight, could be 50, could be 70 year old man sitting across from me. I thought you might have been cross-eyed at first, but it turns out you only had one wonky eye. I appreciate your wonky eye checking me out though. It's always nice to have creepy old men staring at your chest when you are clearly uncomfortable. I also am not sure if you were just itchy "down there", or you were trying to seduce me with your plastic bag and all your rubbing.


Either way, it was a nice touch. That coy look on your face was irresistible, and I really appreciate you letting me off the train first so you can try and look up my skirt as I walked up the stairs.


Call me [wink, wink]

Yep it’s like 430 right now. And I am supper excited because I get to home at exactly 5pm. So basically no blogging really. Just me rambling about things that probably wont make sense to you or myself but it will kill time and I LIKE IT.

Wanna know something that irks me?? Sure??

Ok.

So I walked into my office this morning, closed the door and put my head down for a little because I had a killer headache and I don’t deal with headaches very well. I either cuss like a dirty truck driver from upstate or I make you feel like you are nothing to me like the upper east side trophy wives. And THEN…I heard a child running down the hallway and I cringed. Really. What the fuck?? It’ s Wednesday people. Keep your kids at home! See, I would understand if it was a Friday and there was nothing to do – not that sleeping at the office isn’t doing something damnit!


I really don’t like to be woken up in the middle of a glorious morning nap by screaming kids while at work. I mean, I don’t hate kids. I’m sure I won’t mind it when I eventually have my own future perfectly behaved, above average in every possible way beacons of joy who will someday not only cure the common cold but also win Wimbledon. Twice.

But come on, can I get a break? When I become CEO of my own ad Agency there will be a wall full of rules. The number 1 being the no kids rule and the last being - bring your beers to work on fridays.


Ok good. We are on time here. It is now 432. umm…I looked amazing today. With the gloomy weather I forced myself to look decent for once this week. NYC when its gray is depressing. This morning I didn’t want to get out of bed. Ok – that’s every morning.

Anyhoo…maybe I’ll get up and walk around and do my usual “I have nothing to do but stare at other people work” checkup.


I promise. Tomorrow will be better.

It is now 4:34pm ahhhh

To the Unsuspecting Woman of the W. 53rd St New York Sports Club,

Do you realize the terror I must have experienced around 600 this morning, August 21st, 2007.I hope for you that that your intention was NOT to parade through the women's locker room, wearing nothing but your birthday suit.

I have to admit, It seemed that you were too preoccupied with checking your voicemail and obsessing about something or other in your highly pms state, to comprehend that you had left your towel in the locker. I hope It was a purely innocent move on your part, as you gallivanted to the shower, all saggy tits and pubes. You should be fully aware of the trauma you may have caused some of us, having no choice but to stare unabashedly at your slightly unmanicured bush.

It's times like these, dear woman, that you should appreciate the need for regular waxings.

I noticed that your faux pas was unnoticed until you reached the shower, looked down and said "fuck". You did try to redeem yourself by grabbing a towel on your way back to the locker, in order to not subject ME to double the pleasure of your nubile self.

Woman of 53rd street, I hope you are on your way to get a Brazilian, some lipo, and a tit lift.

Sincerely,


NYC.Lezie.