Happy Fucking Valentine's Day

Like most people, and all single people, Valentine's Day is certainly not my fav holiday. You can't dress up in a fun costume nor eat a big meal and the last present I received was 4 years ago when dead flowers arrived on February 16, due to an ill-fated snowstorm. Last year was alright because I received a "happy v-day" text from 4 different guys. This year? A big, fat zero. Not even from Mason, whom I had been seeing for four months. We'll get into that in a second.
The day had started out alright. I had killed a presentation that morning at work (my second day, boom) and was feeling pretty good. I had dinner plans with JM and a couple of her lady friends in the East Village. I was ignoring the fact that I was very pissed at Mason and had basically decided to write him off. I was also ignoring the fact that the awesome gold flats I had purchased were a size too small. I could barely walk down St. Marks and I later discovered that my toes were actually bleeding! Unfortunately my glass of wine at dinner put me in a melancholy mood and I was starting to get a bit upset realizing things were Mason were finished. I kept it together though and afterwards got on the First Ave subway to head back to the Shwick (passing by the infamous spot where Ibanker ended things, Happy Fucking Valentine's Day, huh!). As I sat on the train, I began to feel terrible. My stomach was in knots and I was starting to feel very nauseous. The crepes were not sitting well. I was sweaty and kept squirming in my seat. I'm sure the guy next to me thought I was insane. A couple stops before mine I knew I was going to vom and I even debated running out of the car to take care of it. I decided I couldn't face the humiliation though and kept holding it in until I got to my stop. I ran back to my apartment, swallowing it down the whole way. I was able to hold it in til I walked in the door and then pretty much threw up all over myself. I spent the next two hours curled up on the bathroom floor, puking my guts out. Happy Fucking Valentine's Day.
This is also a good analogy for how I feel about what went down with Mason and I. My suspicions were correct--things were ending. The unfortunate part is throughout our 4 month long "courtship", I knew things were not right. I had thought about ending it a couple times, but unfortunately never was able to man up and do it. We started out strong for the first 6 weeks or so--we were going out all the time, doing cute shit like carving pumpkins and got along really well. Around the holidays things started to decline but that's to be expected. We picked back up again after the new year, and were doing alright even though we should have been more comfortable than we were with each other at that point. There were qualities that I really didn't like about him--he was cheap, a bit selfish (esp in bed) and too serious. But I kept cutting him slack because of a tragedy he had endured not too long ago. There were a lot of times I didn't even think I liked him but I kept holding onto the whole thing out of a sense of boredom or morbid curiosity or god knows what.
Unfortunately my inability to act caused him to do it first, and that may be the thing that bothers me the most. He didn't text me for a week, including over Valentine's Day, so I knew what was up. I was over it and was planning to ignore the whole thing. Then I got the text asking me to meet him after work and I knew he had won. There was no way I could willingly walk into a conversation like that; it was humiliating enough having Ibanker see me cry and get upset. And though Mason is certainly no Ibanker, I still did not want to chance it, so I refused to meet him. Maybe not terribly mature of me, but what was the point of talking about it? This was what I said to him and his response made me glad I didn't meet him--"I just can't give you what you deserve". No shit, buddy. He really wanted me to waste my time going to have a chat with him when he was going to feed me lame excuses like this one, which he must have read in a guidebook on how to dump someone. I called him out, told him he should've been honest, and not dragged it out (though I am more to blame for that, considering I recognized he was not interested even before he did). And that was that.
Though what I really wanted to tell him, was that the Magnum condoms he used--totally unnecessary.
Happy Fucking Valentine's Day!!

                                                                          Don't bother.

Notable Nights in NYC

The first was a weeknight where GF successfully convinced me to meet him out. He was on a "date" at Flaming Saddles and apparently wanted some company to coincidentally drop by to help alleviate the awkwardness. So off to Hell's Kitchen I went where I met GF and the "date", a much older, but extremely nice and successful guy. It turns out he went to the same college and was in the same frat as my crazy friend from Hamburg (the third member of Team USA), which was a strange coincidence. After buying us a couple rounds of drinks, he headed out and GF and I took the train to the West Village where he wanted to meet up with a former fling. We figured we would be heading to a gay bar, we were just surprised at the type of gay bar. It was filled with waaay too many women and when GF made a comment, we were informed it was a lesbian bar. That explained its name, the Cubby Hole. Ehhh.
So instead of letting lesbians hit on me and buy me free drinks I went the opposite route and yelled at one for cutting in the bathroom line. It's amazing I did not get my ass beat. The former fling was with his best girl friend. I had met the two of them before, months ago, and I happen to love this girl. She was hilarious and kept yelling that this bar "was the tits!". She also listens to me rant about stupid guys that I'm dating/have dated. We had a couple of drinks and even though GF tried to convince me to stay out, I knew I needed to call it a night early, since I had to work the next day.
Later this week I also went out with Russian Rocher. She is very in the know, and was privy to a private party at one of Meatpacking's most exclusive clubs, the Boom Boom Room. There is no way in hell I ever would've been able to get in on my own so this is why I agreed to go out, late night, on a Tuesday. After work we met at a gallery opening for some free booze and then hit up a Mexican place in the West Village for dinner. That killed enough time so that we could make it to the party on time, but not too early. We stood in the short line and watched people being turned away who were not on the list. Luckily we were, and we were let in. We took the elevator up to the penthouse (Boom Boom is located on top of the Standard Hotel) and were let out into an opulent space, with views of Manhattan on one side and New Jersey on the other.

                                                                                Ballllllla
Unfortunately being in surrounding such as these comes with a price--drinks were almost $20. Russian Rocher and I bought one and nursed it the entire night. Every girl there is also absolutely gorgeous so the guys weren't exactly rushing to buy us drinks. The people-watching was phenomenal. The waitresses resembled Greek goddesses, and I witnessed an old black man in sunglasses and a cape dancing with a Heidi Klum lookalike wearing a woman's tuxedo. Even the bathrooms were ridiculous--each one had a floor to ceiling window facing out over the NYC skyline. So you were literally peeing looking out over New York (and since I am scared of heights, I was slightly terrified).
Russian Rocher had been able to get us on the list courtesy of her friend's brother, who throws parties at clubs in Meatpacking. Both were there, both were French and both were super nice. I talked to the brother for awhile on the rooftop, while the gaggle of Aussie girls they were friends with smoked cigarette after cigarette. They were all very nice though and I felt bad when I acted super awkwardly when one told me her grandmother had just died. I am the wrong girl for things like that, and I had to stop myself from saying something along the lines of  "Well, that's to be expected". Another ehhhh. RR and I made a night of it and I didn't get home until nearly 3:30am, when I had to wake my roommate up because I had left my keys in my other purse. Well worth it for my one night at the Boom Boom Room!
Russian Rocher, GF and I tried our hands at being VIP again, courtesy of the same French guy, a couple weeks later. We had been put on the list for another exclusive club in Meatpacking and I was pleased. GF and I had just found out we had both gotten jobs and we were out to celebrate. And celebrate we did, by popping a bunch of adderall and drinking too much at his apartment beforehand. I am pretty sure his roommate wanted to kill us when we were both screaming out stories about our shenanigans at 100 miles an hour. Then we met Russian Rocher in Meatpacking, whom I think was as equally overwhelmed. When we arrived, we were greeted by a huge, surly-looking bouncer with a checklist. RR informed we were on the list and he smugly told us he was not using the list tonight. He also did the same for the people behind us. Even when we called the French guy to come out the bouncer was a dick to him and wouldn't let any of us in. Oh, Meatpacking. Remember the scene from Knocked Up when she yells at the bouncer for only having power between midnight and 4am or whatever? This guy exactly. What a douche bag.
After being rejected from yet another club in Meatpacking, we headed to one of the only normal bars in the area, the Tippler. Things there were fine until they escalated. A very drunk, older guy came up to me and asked if I wanted a drink. Not sure if I should accept, I turned to GF and he signaled for me to do it. I tried to  half-heartedly make conversation with the guy as he ordered our drinks. I chimed in ones for RR and GF as well and this is when his mood turned. He yelled that he wasn't going to be paying for those drinks and I told him that there were for my friends and they would of course pay. In the confusion, the bartender poured too many and the guy began to get angrier. I decided I needed to remove myself from that situation immediately so I turned to GF and RR and told them we were leaving. The three of us basically ran out of the bar, leaving the horrible angry man with 4 shots and 2 drinks, all unpaid for. I don't normally do stuff like that, but this guy was a real ass and deserved it.
Feeling dejected we for some reason decided to try our luck at Le Bain, the other club on top of the Standard Hotel, and also notoriously hard to get into. The gods were finally smiling at us, and we were let in, no questions asked. To celebrate GF ordered us a round of shots and drinks, which cost him over $100. We went to dance and after a few minutes, I realized that all the adderall mixed with alcohol was not a good idea. I apparently left to go to the bathroom twice in 10 minutes and I don't remember any of this. I guess GF and RR were concerned and decided that we should leave. Once again, my drunkface ruins the party. We had a good time while it lasted though.
I stayed at GF's that night and in the morning decided to get brunch at Schiller's. Except I only had my little dress, lacy tights and heels from the night before to wear. I decided I might as well really go for it, so I neither brushed my hair nor my teeth and left his apartment with makeup smeared all over my face. We walked in and a woman looked me up and down, with a disgusted look on her face. While we were waiting to be seated, I loudly thanked GF for taking me to brunch "since they don't normally do that", making sure she could hear. Luckily we were sat right near her, so all throughout brunch, and every time the waitress came up, GF would ask me questions like "So how long have you lived in New York?" or "So what do you do?". We were cracking ourselves up and they soon digressed into the raunchy, such as "Don't worry, that rash should clear up soon". I'm sure that woman did not approve, but what else can you do when you're wearing lacy tights at 11am? At least I didn't really have a one night stand. This time.

The Ski Trip (Part DEUX)

Once everyone had had their fill of skiing, a few of us stopped by the local grocery store to pick up food for dinner, which ended up being a massive feast. I somehow ate 2 huge cheeseburgers and drank a bunch of beer and was still standing. I was a bit concerned about having to put on a bathing suit later that night, but apparently the friend who met us earlier in the day at Killington wasn't. His response when I said I wouldn't play hands-free flip cup after dinner because I was wearing a white shirt was that I should simply remove my shirt. No thanks, guy. We did play some other card games but the mix of the huge dinner and the long day outdoors was making everyone a bit lethargic. Russian Rocher and I had a conference downstairs and decided that this party needed to pick up. We changed into our suits (despite my food baby) and ran upstairs. There were no shot glasses in the house but there was plenty of tequila, so I poured shots into wine glasses and doled them out. I did not measure well, so it looked everyone was drinking a glass of chardonnay instead of tequila.
After, it was hot tub time where we managed to squeeze 9 people into it and a very wasted Deux managed to spill an entire drink down my back. As we all sat uncomfortably close to one another, our topics of choice included my blog, how it was unbelievable that all of the spice girls were still alive and how we were probably all going to get a staph infection from the hot tub, which was beginning to smell strongly of mildew. We slowly started to trickle inside and someone put Zoolander on the tv. I was the last one sitting in the hot tub and by the time I got inside I was disgustingly wrinkly. While I had been roasting outside with a couple of the others, the people inside had started to couple up--Russian Rocher and her guy, as well as JM and the guy's roommate were all getting pretty cozy. Now I was slightly disappointed in the Eagle. We had been talking a lot the past few weeks when we all had gone out, but we had barely spoken on this trip. I had been prancing around in a bathing suit the whole time and he had even walked in on me in my underwear, to no avail. A couple minutes after I sat down with everyone in the living room, he announced he was going to bed and quickly locked himself in his room (his own room!). I gave up--perhaps the Eagle was a bit too boring for me anyway. Plus I had noticed when he was laying on the couch that his hair was not as full as it looked from the front. A Bald Eagle!
Now Deux was throwing back beers in lightning speed and was quickly getting more wasted. I laughed at him while he tried to eat a leftover cheeseburger, which he had piled high with salsa, and could barely stand.

                                                              Blackmail shot
Back in front of the movie he sat next to me and pounded a beer. He then very slyly tried to hold my hand. I contemplated it for one milli-second, until I realized that he had passed out in the chair. I then decided it was absolutely time to call it a night. I woke up early in the morning and noticed a guy in the bunk bed across the room from me. It couldn't have been Deux since he had spent the night in the chair. I put my glasses on and for some reason, decided it was Yahtzee, even though in the full light of day it was revealed that it had been Russian Rocher's dude the whole time. Whaaat.
Half the group split off from us to spend the last day skiing. I had vetoed this immediately. I ate the breakfast that Yahtzee and the Eagle cooked and then crafted my message for the cabin guest book. It reads as follows:

WHAT a weekend! 11 single people in one house makes for some interesting times. Especially when you have the Ultimate Dance Party-1997 cassette to set the mood. We left it behind as a gift, so hopefully future cabin go-ers have the same luck. We also enjoyed our time skiing and it was a success because no one died. Afterwards we took a rejuventating dip in the hot tub (yes, we fit 9 people in it, beat that bitches!), which, fyi, is starting to smell a bit mildewy. We will keep our fingers crossed that there are no staph infections in our future.

Thank you for letting us use your cabin to escape the rats and garbage of NYC for a glorious mountain retreat. For the rest of my life, the wafting aromas of booze and bacon will remind me of this weekend. We heart Vermont.

Xoxo,

“Our initials”

It was time to put the cabin behind us. We split off even further. My carload was the four main girls--me, JM, Russian Rocher and her friend. We wanted to try tubing, so we drove to the place and were thoroughly disappointed when the hill was barely a hill and filled with children. We vetoed it and decided on the next best activity--visiting the Long Trail brewery. Indoor booze, so I was pleased. It turned out to be cute as shit. Next to a river, with a heated deck and a campfire, plus awesome food and a delish sampler of beer. I thought of the other suckers, freezing up on the mountain, while we were cozy inside and I was pleased with our decision and with Vermont. This took an abrupt turn when I took a wrong turn when leaving the brewery, to head back to NYC. The GPS led me up a small road next to a river. It was growing steeper and icier and there was no guardrail. Before I knew it, the road was barely wide enough for the car and my wheels were making bad noises on the ice. I was terrified we were going to plummet down the cliff into the river. We came to the top of the crest which I thought was the light at the end of the tunnel. It turns out, it was a dead end. I could go no further so I had to back down this icy road of death until there was enough space for me to do a 27483 point turn, to turn around. We slid the whole way back down the hill with me cursing the whole time. We made it without falling to our death and it was then that I couldn't wait to get the hell out of Vermont and back to the City. We were of course stuck in traffic for most of the way home and by the time I drove into Manhattan the Volvo was making a terrifying high-pitched squeaking noise. We had made it home alive and though I enjoyed my journey into the countryside, I was glad it was only for a weekend.

The Ski Trip (Part Une)

This had been in the works for awhile and now the time for a weekend ski trip to Vermont had arrived. I am not a skier, but the opportunity to spend a weekend in a cabin with a hot tub enticed me. Yahtzee and Russian Rocher had done most of the planning. Other notables that would be coming along were the Eagle, JM, and Deux, which I was not too happy about. We made up the first two cars and there was a third filled with new characters. An overview: a girl who was good friends with Yahtzee and Russian Rocher, who I had met before. Also, a guy who had history with Russian Rocher and was also present at our 1 Oak night. His roommate was coming along as well as their friend, a girl with a guy's name. She also had a guy friend who was going to be meeting up with us in Killington. So that makes for 11 single people in one cabin--shit was bound to go down.
I happened to be one of the drivers for the trip, as I had my Volvo in town for awhile. JM and Russian Rocher were scheduled to go in my car but at the last minute there were some changes and Deux ended up replacing RR. I was not pleased at this one bit because of the brief history with us but I knew I couldn't say anything so I reluctantly agreed to transport him. I'm sure he sensed my annoyance, so he was on his best behavior for the trip. He even bought me a red bull at a reststop. I happen to hate red bull, but I suppose it's the thought that counts. He also joked around when I paid more attention to my ipod than the road and at one point almost drove into a ditch. Five hours later we pulled up to the cabin in Killington. I had driven the whole way by myself, mostly to rub in Yahtzee's face, since when I told him I didn't like to drive long distances he sent out a mass email to the group telling them I failed my road test twice and didn't like night-driving (both false). So take that Yahtz!
I parked my Volvo next to the Eagle's Audi, noting how yuppie we looked. The third car wasn't due to arrive for awhile so the six of us claimed our rooms and hung out. The cabin was pretty cool, but a little retro. This meant that there was no ipod dock, just an oldschool cd player with a tape deck. Luckily I had something that could help us out. I had some cassettes from 7th grade that I kept in my car. They were:
1) The Spice Girls
2) Ace of Base and
3) Ultimate Dance Party 1997.
 Real gems. I of course brought them inside and put one on. But they had apparently been sitting in my car for so long that they had warped, so the song would be playing normally and then all of a sudden slow down to a terrifying level. Ace of Base, with its early 90s dance beats, was the most hilarious. The Eagle looked especially horrified so I of course took the liberty of playing these cassettes for the rest of the weekend, especially to wake everyone up in the morning.

The six of us had a few drinks and then decided to go in the hot tub for awhile, to wait for the others to arrive.  It was on the deck so you had to run barefoot over ice and it was so hot when I jumped in that I screamed. We all squeezed in and Yahtzee, who had grown a little tipsy, set his phone down, at what he claimed was a safe distance from the water. Apparently he didn't notice that it was now laying in a pile of snow. We stayed in for about an hour, which is definitely not a healthy amount of time. When the last car pulled in we all decided to head to bed since we were only getting about 4 hours of sleep before we needed to be up for the day. I was not pleased about waking up early and even less so when I thought about how I would be spending the day outside, doing exerting physical activity. The Eagle helped to ease my pain by getting up before everyone and making waffles on his waffle-maker that he had brought (I chuckled when I pictured him walking down the streets on New York with it, swinging it like a briefcase).
Now I had been set on learning to ski, just in case I married rich and needed to take ski trips. But I had a revelation that if I stayed in New York, the odds of me marrying at all were slim to none, so I decided that that day I would be snowboarding. I used to in high school but I hadn't been in about 8 years. I knew this wouldn't be pretty, but figured it was better than getting really pissed off in front of everyone when I was unable to even stand up on skis.

Turns out I did slightly better than I thought I would, despite looking like a complete douche bag in my horrible ski outfit I had thrown together. It was a strange feeling to be back on a snowboard. I was always pretty terrible but I did make it down the greens. I just get terrified when I start going to fast, plus I am the least athletic person in the world, so this activity only interests me for about an hour. I pushed through and made it to the end of the afternoon. Of course on my last run, I ate it so hard twice, almost snapping my wrist and bruising my left butt cheek. I had had enough--time to head to the lodge for some hot toddies and wait for everyone to regroup. To be continued....

The Job Hunt

It has recently come to a close, thank god. I have finally found a job! But I before I put this miserable process behind me, let's review it. Besides boys, it made for a high stress level in New York City. I was giving myself a year of looking before I called it quits and moved away. 8 months and 25 interviews later, I know now that I am able to stay, as I am gainfully employed.
I started the process right after I finished grad school last May. I had my lists of websites that I would check every day to try and find new positions. Luckily this wasn't as intense over the summer, as I found another temporary part-time position at a museum (2 part-times make a full-time right?). So the pressure wasn't so bad, because I was busy enough to forget that I eventually needed a real job. This soon ended though and I was back to job-hunting 3 days a week. Probably why I had so much time to go out.
Now job interviews are probably the worst thing in the world. I would honestly rather go on an awkward first date than a job interview. It's way less pressure and at least you can drink cocktails. Job interviews involve ugly suits and "selling yourself", which I've never had a skill for. I prefer that people are observant enough to notice that I'm a winner on their own, without me having to throw it in their face. This is probably why I'm not good at meeting guys at bars either, but that's a whole different topic. Some notable bad moments of my 25 interviews (yes that's serious), were:
--an interview for an archivist position at a snooty art gallery with two sexist and condescending men. They scoffed at almost every answer I gave and also somehow got it out of me that I have a blog. I of course was asked to send them an entry (choosing an appropriate one was almost impossible), knowing full well that I wasn't going to be offered this job
--I also went on two interviews for a research position at a major law firm near Wall St. They seemed to go very well and I got along well with the four people I interviewed with. Maybe a little too well with one of the younger attorneys. We had a good conversation during our interview, mostly about non-job related topics and when we parted it was slightly awkward in a first date type of way. Perhaps why I didn't get the job?
--There was also the interview I kick myself for. It was with another major law firm, notoriously good to work for. It was near Grand Central and that morning was rainy and miserable. I somehow got completely turned around and arrived to the interview 10-15 minutes late. Needless to say....not hired.
--One of my best interviews was for a research position at the Bronx Zoo, which would have been amazing. I love zoos and animals and after the interview I was giving free reign to carouse around the zoo and check out all the exhibits. I particularly loved the seals, who were sunning themselves and making seal noises to each other. There was a baby one who kept throwing himself in the water repeatedly. I was delighted, though I did feel a bit like a creeper trucking around a zoo filled with children in heels and a suit. I was seriously disappointed when I didn't even get called in for a second interview.

But after all these disappointments, I was asked to do a phone interview for my current position at a legal publisher. This led to two more interviews, one with the VP of the company and was very intense. As if all this wasn't enough, I had to do 6 (!) more phone interviews with different people at the company. By this point I was so discouraged that if I didn't get the job after all this I was probably going to run out into traffic. Luckily, for both my sanity and my wallet I did get it and I started last week. As soon as I was offered the position, I headed straight to Zara and dropped a ton of money on new clothes. I hadn't been able to shop in months and my wardrobe was starting to look pathetic. I finally felt like a real person. Now I don't have to be jealous of girls on the subway in their work clothes. I won't have to pinch pennies as much and I will be able to move out of the godforsaken Shiwck in a few months. Though I am ecstatic to finally have a real person job, I am a bit nervous that it will take a toll on my going out. Obviously I may not be able to party quite as hard sometimes, but this is New York City after all, so I'm sure there will still be plenty of blog-worthy material from my nights out. At least now I will be able to afford them!

The 48 Hours from Hell

                                                                How we coped

Two days, two words--bed bugs. It says it all but for the sake of a blog entry I will say more. I had become suspicious when I noticed huge red bites on my hands and wrists that itched like a motherfucker. We had had mosquitoes hanging around our apartment until Christmas so at first I thought it could be them, but I thought I had killed the last one a few weeks before. Then one morning I got out of the shower and spotted something crawling across my bed. I looked closely--it was a little bug that looked exactly like the one from the bed bug ads on the subway. Cursing I lifted up my mattress (which I had been checking daily) and there was another little asshole sitting there. Horrified I called my roommate in to see the bad news and then killed them both.
I got to work and immediately started crying in front of my coworker and the new Korean intern who was probably convinced Americans are insane. They were sympathetic though and didn't treat me like Patient Zero, which is what I felt like. I had to leave early for a dentist appointment because I had had a wisdom tooth out the week before, as if things weren't bad enough. My dentist was cute and Italian though and my plan before the bed bug discovery was to try and look cute to seduce him. This plan obviously failed--he basically pushed me out of the door after I was finished, which was probably for the best. What would I have said "Let's go on a date, I have bed bugs"? Absolutely not.
After I went to Bed Bath and Beyond and discovered the horrible racket they have on bed bug materials--because $75 for a mattress covering is totally reasonable. I had no choice though and had to purchase, along with other supplies. I stumbled down the sidewalk with my oversized bags, and got onto the subway. There was a smelly homeless man stretched out on one of the benches sleeping, which is exactly what I wanted to deal with. And I wonder where I got the bedbugs in the first place. At the first stop into Brooklyn, I noticed the man waking up. He stirred and then reached for the zipper on his pants. He began to pull it down and I knew I could see no more. I rushed to the end of the subway car and never looked back once. The people's faces around me though made it very apparent of what he was up to. I was horrified.
I was able to put this behind me quickly though as Operation Fuck These Bed Bugs was getting underway. The exterminator was scheduled to come the next morning and we needed to have everything out of our rooms. My roommate and I took our bedding and piles of clothes and dragged them to the laundromat. We were there until the wee hours of the night washing load after load. The only way we were able to tolerate it this is with the Tall Boys we purchased from the bodega across the street. Once we were finished, we returned home and shoved the rest of our laundry into garbage bags. I stopped for about 4 hours, where I slept curled up on a couch cushion on the living room floor. I called into work the next day and we continued dragging everything out of our rooms. The exterminator arrived and we were still completely unprepared, so he helped me carry bags of laundry out to my car (which I luckily had in town for my upcoming ski trip to Vermont, post soon to come). Our cat was in the process of having a heart attack and my roommate had to take her to a friends' so she wouldn't be poisoned. I spent the rest of the afternoon doing the rest of my laundry that I hadn't gotten to last night. I was haggard and so exhausted that I was almost delirious. The only positive point about the whole experience was having my car, because there was no way in hell I would've been able to carry all that laundry by myself.
We had been told not to go back to the apartment for 8 hours because of the fumes but I did not heed that warning, as I had finished my laundry and was not looking suitable to go anywhere else in public, even in my ghetto ass neighborhood. I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour, keeping the window open and tried out new makeup styles. When the smell had dissipated enough, I crept out and surveyed the damage. Our apartment looked like we had just moved in, threw everything into the middle of our living room and then a nuclear bomb hit. There were garbage bags filled with clothes lining the walls, our couch was ripped apart and all the loose ends from our rooms had been thrown haphazardly into piles. I sighed and got to work. My room was completely empty except for my Ikea bed, which had been ripped apart. I spent the rest of the night putting my life back together and trying to tell myself my headache was from stress and not from the poisonous fumes I was inhaling. I spent that night curled on the couch cushion again since I was still too traumatized to sleep in my bed.
So far thankfully there haven't been any other sightings (or bites) but I am still terrified that they will return and I have woken up scratching myself in my sleep more than a few times.  To date that has been my worst experience in NYC. It's all fun and games til some bedbugs creep on in and fuck shit up.

NYC > DC

I decided to take a last minute trip to DC, after I found out that once again the godforsaken L train would be shut down for the weekend. Despite this annoyance, I feared I had made a hasty decision. JM texted me the morning I was leaving and informed me her boyfriend broke up with her. I felt badly that I wouldn't be around to go out with her. But I knew for sure I had made a bad decision when I was sitting on the bus, wedged next to a coughing fatty. I had just received a text from Yahtzee informing me the same hot Irish guy I had made out with at 1 Oak, had arranged a table at Dream Hotel for that night. If there had been any way for me to jump off of that moving bus and get back to Manhattan I would have. I cursed my decision the whole ride down but finally felt better when AD and ED arrived to pick me up. They had delicious food waiting for me and we nested on the couch in AD's apartment cackling at Jersey Shore reruns (I was going to make you chicken cutlets!). It was good to be back with my friends and this feeling continued when AD and I museum-hopped on the Mall the next afternoon and ate delish pho.
DC would have been fine if the weekend had continued like this--relaxing times with friends. Except I made the mistake of wanting to go out, and since I had had so much fun going out in DC over the summer I expected the same. Wrong. A stop at Whitlow's in Arlington made me want to shoot myself. My hopes that the night would improve once we got to U St. were quickly dashed as we sat in a bar filled with hipsters, then moved on to a crowded college bar in a rowhouse that played nothing but bad hiphop hits from when I was in college. Even after a couple drinks, I could no longer stomach the place and bitchily made our entire group leave. That left me, AD and a former hookup of hers who still wanted to try and go out. Turns out this former hookup, still harbored very intense feelings for AD (most guys do) and I felt like a bit of a 3rd wheel. Luckily he drove us to our next destination which was some club near Dupont I used to go to in my glory days in DC. It was decent, once we got to the back, but it was almost last call so we only had time for one drink. Luckily the night was saved when a black man with dreadlocks approached me while I was in the bathroom line. He asked me if I had ever modeled and before I could roll my eyes at his pickup line, he began to talk about his modeling agency and gave me his card. I looked at it later...the guy's name was Stretch. I keep meaning to email him, just for giggles, so I will obv update when I do. After leaving the three of us headed to a burger place for late night snacks and made new friends with some slightly obnoxious guys who sat at our table. I barely said two words to them though, as I was pretty occupied with my delish burger. Then AD convinced her wannabe lover to drive us all the way back to Arlington even though he lives in Maryland. I commend her.

The next night I met GF (who was also in town visiting) and HH for dinner in Chinatown. We had had quite the times in DC together when we returned from our semester abroad in Paris. It was nice to reminisce and catch up with them near our old stomping grounds. A good dinner, which was almost ruined by our decision to go out. Or rather mine, since the two of them left soon after we got to the 18th St. Lounge (which seems like it should be cool, but I always have a bad time whenever I go). AD met up with me and we were confused on our next move, since everyone we knew in DC had decided to stay in that night (on the Sunday before MLK Day....losers). We headed across the street to Midtown, which was empty but playing awesome music. We tried the bar next door, which sucked, and then decided we would just make our own fun at Midtown. To compensate for this complete lack of fun, we drank entirely too much. We also violated my rule of accepting more than one drink from a guy you aren't interested in. This probably had something to do with the fact that one of these men was one of our new friends from the night before at the burger place. A weird coincidence or a stalker? It didn't matter because it led me to appropriately celebrate MLK Day. After quite a few more drinks, I made out with said friend, who just so happened to be Black. There I was, making out with randos at the bar again. It quickly became apparent that these guys wouldn't be leaving us alone any time soon though (I guess making out with one will do that) so AD and I regrouped in the bathroom. We decided that an appropriate plan of action was to act like I was going to be sick and needed to leave. In my drunken mind I was convinced I was about to win an Oscar for my performance. I stumbled out of the bathroom, knees buckling and holding my arm to face. AD put her arm around me and we quickly told the new friends we had to go. She led me down the stairs while I made gagging noises and lurched forward. The friends were close behind. As soon as we made it outside, I straightened up and ran for a cab, which we quickly hopped into, leaving our dismayed new friends behind. The whole ride back to Arlington we screamed to the cab driver about the annoying pushy guys while he cracked up. I would pay good money for a recording of that conversation.
And the next day my weekend ended where it began--with AD and ED, getting food. We were trying a new Mexican place near AD's apartment where the waitstaff was entirely too attentive and the music was much too loud. I was too hungover for any of it, so ED demanded they turn the music down while I had the waitstaff repeatedly refill my drink (they needed something to do). Though not a complete loss, this trip solidified my decision that though I have fun visiting my friends in DC, NYC is way cooler.

"Hey, do you guys want a shot?"

Would crazy times continue over from 2011 into 2012?? This particular weekend proved it. As most of my crazy weekends in NYC, GF was involved in the first night of it. We were meeting up in the West Village (I had officially gotten over avoiding this neighborhood as the likelihood of actually running into Ibanker was slim to none, and really, wtf did I care anyway??). We walked towards a bar I wanted to try, Employees Only. On the way, a ghetto looking woman grabbed GF's ass, and started cat-calling him to the point of verbal abuse. We quicked our pace and arrived outside the bar just in time to see a guy unknowingly step into a misleading puddle, which was about as deep as a kiddie pool. We stifled our chuckle and headed inside--the bar was very narrow, very classy looking and filled with beautiful people. Pleased that we had gotten in, we fought out way to the bar and decided that we needed to take a shot. While mulling over what to get, the guy next to us randomly turned to us and asked "hey, do you guys want a shot?". It was like a gift from the heavens. We paused and both said yes, at the same time, a little too enthusiastically. We then took a massive shot of Jameson, with this man and his group of friends, the first of many for the night. Our guy of course worked in finance and was mediocre looking, so GF was convinced I would go for him, since considering my track record, that is my type in New York. It turns out his other mediocre-looking (and very wasted) friend was interested. Kind of. He had been talking to a very drunk girl at the bar that night. She had at one point explained to us her reaction when a guy "sticks it in the wrong hole"--true story. She was apparently their friend and it was very clear that this guy wanted to get with her. His gameplan--to hit on me, while very obviously looking at her the entire time. She had been amicable earlier in the night but she must not have been pleased with these developments. She kept shooting me death glares, and in my drunken haze, I grew scared for my life. I informed GF that we needed to leave immediately and he took me seriously. We were out the door in about 10 seconds, barely saying goodbye to our new "friends".
Once in safety, I admitted that I had overreacted a little bit, but we headed to a fratty hookah bar nearby to dance it off to some house music for a bit. We did just that for about 20 minutes then decided it was Mystiqrious time. It had been quite awhile since either of us had been there and we were pumped. Except when we walked inside, there were about 4 people. It was prime club time, yet the place was empty. Disgusted, we didn't even stay for a drink. We both decided that good old Mystiqrious would be open for another two months, tops. As usual, GF made the executive decision that we were headed to Hells Kitchen. I didn't object because I was staying on his couch that night. We stood outside one of the gay bars, so GF could smoke a cigarette and this is how we met new "friends" in an unexpected way. He turned around to spit, not realizing that there was a small girl right behind him. The loogie landed right on her arm. She looked up, in shock, and GF brushed it off her jacket before she could notice. That is when our friendship was born. She had a gaggle of gays in tow with her and we ran around with them for the rest of the night, hopping from bar to bar. At one of them, I got involved with a convo with the only straight guy in the gay bar. He was of course hideous, and also French, and I was convinced he was gay. Once found out, one of the gays came to my rescue. I wish he had been there after we parted ways with them. GF was being heavily pursued by a huge gay ginger and his tiny asian boyfriend. They followed down the street, where we were in search of an afterparty in vain. I don't know what the fuck these aggressive, drunk, horny gays thought was going to happen, but GF was almost run over trying to hail a cab asap. We got one and jumped in and sped away from that hot mess, making a pit stop at the bodega. I demanded Doritos and GF and I were making such a commotion that somehow the bodega man gave me my Doritos for free. The second time one of them has hooked me up--the first, was with Ibanker when I had to secretly buy a box of tampons without him seeing and the clerk very stealthy put it in my purse with lightning speed!
The next morning GF took some aderol to push through his hangover and be an effective person. By the time I got up, he was talking a mile a minute while simultaneously cleaning and cooking eggs. He shoveled some on to my plate and I obediently ate them, feeling both dazed and overwhelmed. We cackled over our recap of the night before I headed back to Brooklyn.
The next night I was set on not going out but at around 8pm I began to grow bored. I decided that I would go out if someone texted me with plans. Not 20 minutes later I received a text from Yahtzee asking me to go there immediately--they had a ton of leftover booze from the party that they needed to finish. I took that as my cue and got ready as quickly as I could. When I walked up to his building, I saw that the Eagle was walking in as well. What a coincidence. So I'm sure the fact that we walked in together got people talking. Turns out this leftover booze was an entire counter filled with an assortment of bottles. They had more booze here than most bars in NYC. I grabbed a spot in the kitchen where I chatted with Yahtzee and some others, and was pleased when Russian Rocher showed up. I hadn't seen her since she had returned from Russia for the holidays. We fell back into place by making fun of this nerdy guy who was spazzing out about some fact, which he insisted was true and almost went through the roof when Russian Rocher told him it was an "urban legend". We also made fun of a couple girls who walked in, who were apparently new to drinking and thought you could make a mixed drink with Soco. Gross. Deux was also present and he was much less friendly to me than on NYE--probably b/c he had a date with him and didn't want me to become inspired to tell her that he is a pseudo-rapist. Luckily they did not accompany us to Lit Lounge, where a large group of us headed. I had never been and it turned out to be an extremely dark hipster bar, where I felt we didn't really belong, especially the boys in their Vineyard Vines. They were not phazed though and bought us all a round of drinks. Well done. High School had been texting me; he was out in the East Village as well, so I invited him to come meet us. I was slightly concerned of how this would work out with the Eagle and our potential interest in each other, but it turns out it didn't make any difference, since I gave my number to a guy I met in the bathroom line right in front of him anyway (he never called, fyi).
High School showed up with his roommate (the same guy I had met over Thanksgiving) and they were, not surprisingly, pretty wasted. They were both in North Faces and did not seem pleased with the Hipsters. At the end of the night, High School, the Eagle, Russian Rocher and I all decided to head to another bar. As we exited, High School threw open the door a bit too hard and it slammed into the wall. The bouncer was not pleased with this and it led to a screaming match between the two of them on the sidewalk. I was trying not to laugh while being mortified at the same time. Classic Syracuse move. I coralled the Eagle and Russian Rocher away from the bar, saying he was now on his own. We were sidetracked on the way though when we discovered Yahtzee down the street in a falaffel place, which led us to each buy falaffel as well. It took me roughly an hour and a half to finish mine and I made everyone wait with me. By this time, no one else felt like going out so we all parted ways and the Eagle and I stopped back at Yahtzee's to pee and walked to Union Square together. He once again made no moves and feeling a bit dejected, I hopped on the L train and made my way back to the Shwick.

Oh, it's a new year you say?

                                                           Happy New Year Bitches!

They always tend to sneak up on you. Luckily this year I had some solid plans to ring in 2012. Yahtzee and Deux were having a party at their apartment, which is exactly what I wanted for NYE--a house party with plenty of free booze. I had just arrived that morning from my red eye from California, so after sleeping all day and a trip to the liquor store for champagne, I was good to go. I set out in my gold sequined shirt and met up with JM and her friend, Flower, on the way to the East Village. The party was popping and all the usual suspects were present--Yahtzee of course, Deux, whom I was trying to avoid, the Eagle and the boob ice luge, which was also present at Yahtzee's bday party over the summer (see Yahtzee). I grabbed an overflowing red cup-full of their potent punch and began to make my rounds, all the while trying to get out of taking shots from the boob luge. The Eagle and I ended up talking for most of the night though, just like at 1 Oak a couple weeks before. Again, he was a slightly nerdy and not all that interesting investment banker, but for some reason I liked him. I noticed JM and Flower talking about us and giggling and I was seriously afraid that when the clock struck midnight they were going to try and force the Eagle and I to share a NYE kiss. Luckily this did not happen, as JM planted a kiss on my lips before anyone else could. She had had quite a few shots from the boobs and was pretty wasted. Though I was in no situation to judge, since I was carrying around an entire bottle of champagne, all for me. This is what led me to start speaking to Deux--apparently I really needed to ask him how his very cute lab was doing. He was very receptive and we began to chat, until JM rounded the corner and spotted us. She ran up to me shaking her head and wagging her finger. Very suavely, I announced that I had to pee and ran off to the bathroom. When I exited I saw Deux and the Eagle mid-convo, and I did an about-face and went in the opposite direction.
This is when JM and Flower left me to go find food. I was not through partying and was still on California time so I decided to stay. I still had the Eagle by my side for company and he had discussed heading out to another bar, since the party was winding down (the nips were running dry!). He gathered together a group of people, none of whom I knew, and I made the executive decision that we would go to the 9th Ward. There was no cover and I was handed a Purple Haze as soon as I entered. A delight. The Eagle and I split off from the group at one point and chatted at a table, just the two of us. I then proceeded to lose my jacket, until he located it at the table where we had been sitting. The whole time I was chuckling to myself, as I used to do the same thing with Ibanker. We then all decided to try and go to PDT (apparently my nights have a pattern) but the street was blocked off because of the Occupy Wallstreet protesters (I'd put my money on them all eating at Yaffa Cafe). So the Eagle and I went for late-night cheeseburgers, and then back to Yahtzee's to pee, where we ran into him on the walk back. He was wasted and cursed at us for no reason, which was our cue to call it a night. We parted ways at Union Square and I spent my subway ride talking to an Australian guy (which I do not normally do, but I had just left Aussie and missed her). A classic NYC night for my transition to 2012.

I had the next couple days off (part-time work will do that) and I was spending it with my cousin and her husband. They were back in town, and luckily this time around stressing me out much less (see Weekend with  some Fam). They pretty much just requested me to take them out at night and then I could stay in their hotel suite, which was fine with me. The first night, which was New Year's Day night, I led them to the West Village, thinking we could go to Poisson Rouge. Except to my chagrin, it was closed. As a backup I led them to the Dove, which was open but completely empty. We grabbed a drink and luckily Hus decided our next move--the Bitter End, a classic NYC spot, where pretty much every famous singer from the 60s and 70s played. I had of course never been, as it's not really my scene, but it turned out to be interesting. It was open mic night, but most of the people up there were actually pretty good. We ended up sitting at a table in the very front, directly in front of the stage, which was a bit awkward. The musicians were an assortment of characters, including a crazed Southern man, who was clearly a former rocker and still tried to dance like one.  There was a Jon Stewart look-alike and also a guy who looked creepily like our Aunt (Cous and I had a good chuckle over that one). After I introduced them to Artichoke pizza before we headed back to the Suite.

Our second night took us to Midtown, not far from their hotel. I had decided that the Library Bar in the Hudson would be a good spot, since they had considered it for their NYE plans. After trucking around in the cold I met them inside and we ordered our fancy drinks and took a seat at a group of chairs nearby. Not five seconds later, a short balding guy asked if he could sit at our fourth seat, even though there were plenty of other seats nearby. I was not pleased and was even less so when Cous and Hus started chatting with the guy. They work in entertainment so are naturally friendly with people, whereas I am not, but I felt obligated to not act like a bitch in front of family so I halfheartedly joined the convo, which was pretty much him talking about how much money he makes and how he goes to the clubs in Meatpacking. Doubt it buddy--if I can't get into some of those clubs, you certainly can't. We entertained this asshole for a bit longer, until we decided to head to another place. I knew it was coming but was still thrown off guard when the guy asked for my number. Not knowing what else to do, and pretty embarrassed in front of the fam, I relented and gave it to him. And this is where my New Year's Resolution was made--just say no to guys I'm not interested in. This way I can avoid feeling uncomfortable and slightly disgusted when he calls me 8 times over the next month (with a follow up text, "call me" after every one) and I ignore it all. Maybe this is bitchy of me, but what makes him think that we would be a good match? He had mentioned in his blabbing that he needed to marry a Jewish girl--I definitely don't look Jewish, so there is only one thing he could possibly be interested in. Unfortunately I am not outwardly bitchy, and I should've just politely declined. Or made up a fictitious boyfriend. Either way, hopefully with some hard work on my part, this new year can weed out some of the d bags from my life.