Obviously things with Jersey came to a screeching halt and sitting down to write about it was difficult. Not only because I just housed a bunch of tacos and because I'm still recovering from the weekend. But because I'm disappointed in myself for ever even entertaining this idiot. I knew the whole time that I was seeing him (2-3 months) that I wasn't interested and by the end this apathy had hemorrhaged into a strong distaste. He started out as a bit of a novelty--he was unlike anyone I had dated and we had history, since we had met so long ago. For some reason, the story of how I met someone can outweigh negative qualities for me. Plus he was very persistent--it's hard to refuse nice dinners and rides in Range Rovers. Plus it was convenient, since he lived right near my work. Sleepovers were easy and he seemed very attracted to me.
For awhile I was able to look over some of the things I didn't like. Mainly the fact that he was a Jersey bro. He had lived in NYC for four years but knew basically nothing about it. He didn't know the different neighborhoods, the cool bars, etc. He never spent any time there because he was so obsessed with NJ. Lame. And despite having so much money, he was not very cultured. He had never been to Europe and ate like shit. He also made a big show of signing the bill at dinners, so that I could see the total, which I'm sure Daddy was footing. He was a whiny little bitch as well. He spent one dinner miserable and complaining about how working 6 hours a day for his father in Jersey was difficult because of all the traffic driving back to Manhattan at 3pm. Wah wah, poor Jersey!
Another thing that gets to me, is that I realized basically our whole "relationship", with a few exceptions of course, was going out to dinner, then going back to his place, smoking weed and hooking up. Now every once in awhile that is fine by me, but all the time? No thanks. Towards the end I was refusing to smoke but he still would, which is a red flag in my opinion. Also the fact that he laid it on so thick in the beginning (calling me all the time, saying how much he liked me, introducing me to his sister) just didn't seem genuine. I saw this as bullshit but also had an unsettling feeling. Little things were coming out, which at the time I didn't pay much attention to, because I frankly didn't care enough. I was suspicious that he was seeing someone else, but I did nothing because I couldn't prove it and I wasn't going to be making this kid my boyfriend so what did it matter. But I realize now that I should never let someone get away with that, because I deserve better. And looking back now it was clear he was definitely seeing someone else. It started with the girl's clothing item, which he claimed his sister left behind when she stayed with him, as well as the feminine shower products. He never left anything in his bathroom trash, which he blamed on OCD. He received a call from a girl named Julie, which he didn't answer. And my suspicion was pretty much confirmed, when I snagged his phone once while he was in the bathroom and saw that he was also texting this Julie. When I questioned him about whether he was seeing other people, he was very concerned and sincere and swore he wasn't. The sneaky bastard was a good little actor.
So unlike the condom incident, I decided I would play it cool. Despite all the signs, I had no reason to not believe he was telling the truth. I also think part of me just didn't care and the other half really didn't want to know what was going on. We weren't exclusive and if I had the chance, I would do the same thing. I let it go, until--he started cancelling on me. I had moved into Manhattan, and my neighborhood is much cooler than Hell's Kitchen, where he lives. Stuff was happening and the couple times I invited him to my hood and out with my friends, he cancelled at the last minute. He had also bailed when I asked him to set up some shit for me when I moved in. Enough was enough. I was going to ignore him until he called me a couple days after the last cancellation. Here's what went down:
I missed his call and called him back.
He answers- "Hey, I'm at the gym. I'll call you tomorrow".
Me- "Just call me back when you are finished"
Him- "I can't, I'm going out"
Me- "Just call me back. It won't take long"
Him- "Can't"
Me- "Fine, I'll tell you now. This isn't going to work"
Him- "Uhh that's what I was going to tell you"
Me (laughing)- "Oh really, any particular reason for that?"
Him- "Uhh we are just going in different directions. Do you have reasons?"
Me- "I have plenty"
Him- "Want to share?"
Me- "No. Bye."--I hang up.
That's that. We of course haven't spoken since, he put me on a limited profile on facebook, I removed him, no big loss. I am still slightly annoyed with myself for dating a Jersey bro in the first place and for letting it go on for so long, but I guess that's water under the bridge (and tunnel). So go Jersey, go hard? I'll pass.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Ridic as Usual
Ever since I had moved to Manhattan it seemed like things were non-stop. There was always something going on and since I lived in the midst of it, I told myself that I had no excuse to not take advantage. Though it was starting to take its toll. I was overtired all the time and after my shitshows the weekend before had developed a case of strep throat which had killed me for the week. I was finally starting to feel better in time for the weekend but I knew that I needed to take it easy. This particular Friday I had a party to go to in Williamsburg. It was one of JM's friend's bdays. My plan was to stop by for a bit and then head home. I showed up after a work happy hour and was glad to see that it was pretty relaxed. Just a small group of people sitting on her patio, passing around a bowl. The friend's roommate had an adorable cat, with a festive bow around it's neck, there was plenty of free food and I was pleased. I fed my face and talked to a couple of the guys, who were in town from Chicago. I mentioned that I would be there later in the summer for work and that we should all hang out because I didn't know anyone. To my surprise, one in particular seemed to agree with this and we exchanged contact info. He is not at all cute but it could be nice to have a friend, when I'm ready to escape working and want to drink some beers.
I hung out there for a couple of hours and then decided that it was time to head back home. I was hoping that I would be late enough to miss Atl and GF. They had plans to go out to one of GA's events that night and I didn't want to get coerced into going. But of course they were still hanging out at the apartment and coerce me they did (I'm easily swayed, as we know). So against my better judgement, I donned a dress I had not yet worn, some heels and headed out with them. The event in question was a charity event being held at Spin (the ping pong bar) so it seemed a little weird to be dressed up for this. The crowd consisted mainly of swamp donkeys, except for us, of course. We were on the fence until GA showed up and had a table with bottle service waiting for us. We drank and hammed it up for the photographer. These ended up being the sloppiest photos ever, so we decided to have a fat girl in a giraffe print dress (whom we nicknamed Bam Bam) try and take some pics of us as well. This did not turn out well either, as the shadow from her long fake nail were in the bottom corner of every one.
GA's boss showed up and soon after decided that we would all be heading to Meatpacking. GF and I were concerned--we had not ever had good luck in Meatpacking, besides the one time we had gotten into Le Bain. Usually the bouncers picked everyone around us to go in, leaving us heading for the local dive bar to drink away our sorrows. But that is where the group was heading, and GF and I were left to fend for ourselves when they all hopped into a cab ahead of us. Atl yelled that we should "find a fat girl" and then cackled as the cab drove by us. The whole way there I informed GF that he wasn't getting in, like the fabulous friend that I am. When we arrived at Double Seven I hesitatingly told the bouncer we were with the boss and to my surprise he lifted the rope and ushered us in with a smile. GF and I were convinced we were in an alternate universe, especially when we were led over the VIP section in the very middle of the club. We helped ourselves to plenty of Grey Goose and just enjoyed ourselves that night. The boss seemed pleased with all of this and started out by hitting on me and then turning his attentions to Atl. I finally decided to call it a night around 2:30, as my parents were coming into town the next morning.
I wasn't in the best shape the next morning, but carrying a ton of shit they had brought for me up 5 flights of stairs certainly helped me to sweat it out. We then proceeded to eat a big meal and then walk across the island of Manhattan to the High Line. I obviously didn't go out that night and passing out early helped a bit. They left the next afternoon and I of course decided to head to the event that Russian Rocher had invited me to--a Patricia Field party on the rooftop at 230 Fifth. She said that it was always amazing people watching, since everyone showed up in ridic costumes. I didn't have enough time nor energy to plan one so I showed up looking totally normal. But the costumes were absolutely ridic--it looked like Carnival. Feathers, sparkles, spandex and headdresses everywhere. I took it all in, while eating the fig newtons I had stashed in my purse then moving on to the free bbq, then to the Bok Choy that Russian Rocher's friend ordered. I also got a free drink from the bartender because they didn't have what I originally ordered, so between the free food and bevs and the crazy costumes, the evening was a win. Just an average weekend in New York.
I hung out there for a couple of hours and then decided that it was time to head back home. I was hoping that I would be late enough to miss Atl and GF. They had plans to go out to one of GA's events that night and I didn't want to get coerced into going. But of course they were still hanging out at the apartment and coerce me they did (I'm easily swayed, as we know). So against my better judgement, I donned a dress I had not yet worn, some heels and headed out with them. The event in question was a charity event being held at Spin (the ping pong bar) so it seemed a little weird to be dressed up for this. The crowd consisted mainly of swamp donkeys, except for us, of course. We were on the fence until GA showed up and had a table with bottle service waiting for us. We drank and hammed it up for the photographer. These ended up being the sloppiest photos ever, so we decided to have a fat girl in a giraffe print dress (whom we nicknamed Bam Bam) try and take some pics of us as well. This did not turn out well either, as the shadow from her long fake nail were in the bottom corner of every one.
GA's boss showed up and soon after decided that we would all be heading to Meatpacking. GF and I were concerned--we had not ever had good luck in Meatpacking, besides the one time we had gotten into Le Bain. Usually the bouncers picked everyone around us to go in, leaving us heading for the local dive bar to drink away our sorrows. But that is where the group was heading, and GF and I were left to fend for ourselves when they all hopped into a cab ahead of us. Atl yelled that we should "find a fat girl" and then cackled as the cab drove by us. The whole way there I informed GF that he wasn't getting in, like the fabulous friend that I am. When we arrived at Double Seven I hesitatingly told the bouncer we were with the boss and to my surprise he lifted the rope and ushered us in with a smile. GF and I were convinced we were in an alternate universe, especially when we were led over the VIP section in the very middle of the club. We helped ourselves to plenty of Grey Goose and just enjoyed ourselves that night. The boss seemed pleased with all of this and started out by hitting on me and then turning his attentions to Atl. I finally decided to call it a night around 2:30, as my parents were coming into town the next morning.
I wasn't in the best shape the next morning, but carrying a ton of shit they had brought for me up 5 flights of stairs certainly helped me to sweat it out. We then proceeded to eat a big meal and then walk across the island of Manhattan to the High Line. I obviously didn't go out that night and passing out early helped a bit. They left the next afternoon and I of course decided to head to the event that Russian Rocher had invited me to--a Patricia Field party on the rooftop at 230 Fifth. She said that it was always amazing people watching, since everyone showed up in ridic costumes. I didn't have enough time nor energy to plan one so I showed up looking totally normal. But the costumes were absolutely ridic--it looked like Carnival. Feathers, sparkles, spandex and headdresses everywhere. I took it all in, while eating the fig newtons I had stashed in my purse then moving on to the free bbq, then to the Bok Choy that Russian Rocher's friend ordered. I also got a free drink from the bartender because they didn't have what I originally ordered, so between the free food and bevs and the crazy costumes, the evening was a win. Just an average weekend in New York.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Shitshows
Two nights in a row of shows, both shitshows. Would you expect any different in my life? I woke up one morning to a late-night text from High School who asked if I wanted to see M83 the next night. I was very surprised by this but also very pleased as I had been really wanting to see M83 and it was a sold out show. I wasn't about to ask him where his girlfriend was and accepted the invite. I technically already had plans with my new roommate and old coworker--the Georgia girls. My old coworker (GA) was now an event planner and hosted parties at different clubs. This particular Thursday she was hosting a lingerie fashion show at the Hudson Hotel. My new roommate (Atl) was her best friend and it was going to be her first night out in NYC. But I figured since the show was right near the Hudson, that I could swing by before or after for a bit. And because I am excessive I did both. I arrived there with Atl and the place was filled with a bunch of sleazy Europeans. Even though I love Europe we weren't too pleased with the crowd. But we were pleased with the open bar so I drank free beer until it was time to meet High School.
I trucked over to Terminal 5 in my platforms, almost eating in potholes a couple times. I met him in line and we headed straight for the bar, which is typical of us. We ordered our dranks and squeezed in with the hipsters. We had a decent view and the band went on just as we walked up. Aaaand they were awesome. Hipster/electro/tres tres French. I loved it. They were intense and the best was the female keyboard player and her amazing backless dress. I cannot wait to see them again especially since my memories are a little hazy due to all the drinks I had already consumed. Which led me to think it as an excellent idea to head back over to the Hudson, with High School in tow, after the show. We thought we had missed the lingerie fashion show but lucky for us it was just beginning. It was tacky and every girl looked so uncomfortable and we thought it was amazing. The two of us and Atl stood on our tiptoes to get pictures of the girls trying to cover their asses (literally). We then kept drinking and made the hazy decision to head back down to our hood and drink some more. Why not? Don't worry, you don't have to be at work the next day and it isn't already 1AM. I told myself that I would drink water but when I returned from the bathroom, there was a beer sitting in front of me so what choice did I have but to drink it? We had unknowingly entered a hipster lair, the second for the evening and we were surrounded by hipsters that literally smelled like cigs and BO. Charming. After a couple more dranks we decided enough was enough, High School headed back home to his girlfriend and I passed out for a few hours.The next day at work was not pretty.
I stuggled through, being a complete waste of life and headed home to immediately take a nap. I woke up to a text from Charlie Kelly inviting me out that night, which was even more surprising than the invite I had received from High School. He said his brother was in town, whom I had not seen since we met at Ultra. I had no idea what the night was in store for so I dressed in an outfit I would normally wear out--platforms booties, jeggings and a shirt. Turns out that when I headed out to meet them, they decided we were seeing the Crystal Method at Webster Hall. Not an appropriate outfit. But too late to change so I met them outside for a somewhat awkward reunion. I hadn't seen Charlie Kelly since our times last fall with AD and Bawseton and it was weird without them. But once we all started drinking things were fine and we yelled to each other about inside jokes from those times (I think you can turn down this street....).
At one point the boys headed to the bathroom (probably to do drugs) and I stood in a corner, going through old texts on my phone. All of a sudden I felt a firm grasp on my ass. I looked up and there was a huge black guy staring right in my face, his hand still firmly planted. I was partly in shock because I couldnt believe this was happening, so I said "What are you doing? Why is your hand on my ass??" and his response "Oh you don't like it?". I then tried to twist away from him until he finally got the hint and wandered off. Sexually molested by a stranger, cool. Why do guys think they can do that??
The show had started and the opening set was two young female djs who I thought sucked. And worst of all they had some NYU kid jumping around on stage with them, screaming into a microphone. He was annoying as shit but luckily at one point everyone started throwing plastic balls at him that had been dropped from the ceiling. Luckily the girls wrapped up fairly soon and the Crystal Method came on. They were actually awesome despite being old, fat Brits. Towards the end of the set I decided to make a trip to the bathroom. I had been well aware the whole show that I was overdressed but on my walk back from the bathroom I decided to walk with an attitude, like I was much cooler than everyone else. Welp, that failed. Scene: I'm walking like I'm cool and then all of a sudden I ate it. Really ate it. My foot had slipped in a puddle and there was no time to try and recover. I was upright to flat on my back, drink flying out of my hands, in half a second. I laid there for a second in disbelief, until someone finally rushed over to help me up. I was mortified but luckily the boys didn't even notice. This didn't stop me from yelling to them that I had just fallen as soon as I walked up. I think they were pretty upset that they missed it.
After the show, there was no way they were done drinking so we headed to a bar nearby. It was dark and neither of us had ever been to it. When we walked in there was a mirror on the wall to the right. Well apparently Charlie Kelly thought this was another room and bee-lined straight for it. Luckily he stopped directly in front of it, realizing, and did an about face. After we finished dying, he later said that he thought there was an angry man walking quickly towards him and he needed to check it out. I didn't feel so bad about falling then. We sat at the bar and I regaled them with funny things my roommate had said to me earlier that night. Ex: "People who saw you can't wear leggings as pants, I say, you're just fat" and how she called fat, trashy people "swamp donkeys". We then all tried to drunkenly dance to the salsa music that was playing and I looked like an uncoordinated rag doll with cement blocks stuck to my feet. We left at last call and I stumbled back to my apartment, pleased with the unexpected events of these shitshows.
I trucked over to Terminal 5 in my platforms, almost eating in potholes a couple times. I met him in line and we headed straight for the bar, which is typical of us. We ordered our dranks and squeezed in with the hipsters. We had a decent view and the band went on just as we walked up. Aaaand they were awesome. Hipster/electro/tres tres French. I loved it. They were intense and the best was the female keyboard player and her amazing backless dress. I cannot wait to see them again especially since my memories are a little hazy due to all the drinks I had already consumed. Which led me to think it as an excellent idea to head back over to the Hudson, with High School in tow, after the show. We thought we had missed the lingerie fashion show but lucky for us it was just beginning. It was tacky and every girl looked so uncomfortable and we thought it was amazing. The two of us and Atl stood on our tiptoes to get pictures of the girls trying to cover their asses (literally). We then kept drinking and made the hazy decision to head back down to our hood and drink some more. Why not? Don't worry, you don't have to be at work the next day and it isn't already 1AM. I told myself that I would drink water but when I returned from the bathroom, there was a beer sitting in front of me so what choice did I have but to drink it? We had unknowingly entered a hipster lair, the second for the evening and we were surrounded by hipsters that literally smelled like cigs and BO. Charming. After a couple more dranks we decided enough was enough, High School headed back home to his girlfriend and I passed out for a few hours.The next day at work was not pretty.
I stuggled through, being a complete waste of life and headed home to immediately take a nap. I woke up to a text from Charlie Kelly inviting me out that night, which was even more surprising than the invite I had received from High School. He said his brother was in town, whom I had not seen since we met at Ultra. I had no idea what the night was in store for so I dressed in an outfit I would normally wear out--platforms booties, jeggings and a shirt. Turns out that when I headed out to meet them, they decided we were seeing the Crystal Method at Webster Hall. Not an appropriate outfit. But too late to change so I met them outside for a somewhat awkward reunion. I hadn't seen Charlie Kelly since our times last fall with AD and Bawseton and it was weird without them. But once we all started drinking things were fine and we yelled to each other about inside jokes from those times (I think you can turn down this street....).
At one point the boys headed to the bathroom (probably to do drugs) and I stood in a corner, going through old texts on my phone. All of a sudden I felt a firm grasp on my ass. I looked up and there was a huge black guy staring right in my face, his hand still firmly planted. I was partly in shock because I couldnt believe this was happening, so I said "What are you doing? Why is your hand on my ass??" and his response "Oh you don't like it?". I then tried to twist away from him until he finally got the hint and wandered off. Sexually molested by a stranger, cool. Why do guys think they can do that??
The show had started and the opening set was two young female djs who I thought sucked. And worst of all they had some NYU kid jumping around on stage with them, screaming into a microphone. He was annoying as shit but luckily at one point everyone started throwing plastic balls at him that had been dropped from the ceiling. Luckily the girls wrapped up fairly soon and the Crystal Method came on. They were actually awesome despite being old, fat Brits. Towards the end of the set I decided to make a trip to the bathroom. I had been well aware the whole show that I was overdressed but on my walk back from the bathroom I decided to walk with an attitude, like I was much cooler than everyone else. Welp, that failed. Scene: I'm walking like I'm cool and then all of a sudden I ate it. Really ate it. My foot had slipped in a puddle and there was no time to try and recover. I was upright to flat on my back, drink flying out of my hands, in half a second. I laid there for a second in disbelief, until someone finally rushed over to help me up. I was mortified but luckily the boys didn't even notice. This didn't stop me from yelling to them that I had just fallen as soon as I walked up. I think they were pretty upset that they missed it.
After the show, there was no way they were done drinking so we headed to a bar nearby. It was dark and neither of us had ever been to it. When we walked in there was a mirror on the wall to the right. Well apparently Charlie Kelly thought this was another room and bee-lined straight for it. Luckily he stopped directly in front of it, realizing, and did an about face. After we finished dying, he later said that he thought there was an angry man walking quickly towards him and he needed to check it out. I didn't feel so bad about falling then. We sat at the bar and I regaled them with funny things my roommate had said to me earlier that night. Ex: "People who saw you can't wear leggings as pants, I say, you're just fat" and how she called fat, trashy people "swamp donkeys". We then all tried to drunkenly dance to the salsa music that was playing and I looked like an uncoordinated rag doll with cement blocks stuck to my feet. We left at last call and I stumbled back to my apartment, pleased with the unexpected events of these shitshows.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Art Baby
This was my first weekend in Manhattan and I was puuumped. No more trucking back to Brooklyn on the L train at 3am by myself, a neighborhood filled with bars right outside my doorstep. Things were looking up. Except when I got home from work, no one was around. AD and her new boyfriend, Big Tones, were in NYC for the weekend but had dinner plans. Would I really be staying in on my first weekend night in the big city?? This fear led me to agree to go out with Coffee, purely out of desperation. Now Coffee is the little short guy, who grew up in NYC, but had been living in Cuse. We met when I worked at the coffee shop, and hung out a couple times when he was in New York and I had the unfortunate decision of making out with him when I was feeling vulnerable (See Mini Trip to Cuse). Afterwards he had been very clingy and I had made up a fictitious boyfriend to keep him at bay. And it had worked--until now. He wanted me to meet him at some wine bar in the Lower East Side, which I was delighted to be able to walk to. I was not pleased though when he gave me the wrong address, taking me dangerously close to the projects across Delancey, where I witnessed the largest rat I have ever seen. After a couple drinks though, we were chatting and everything was fine. AD texted me saying she and the bf (Big Tones) where heading down my way and that we should meet at the Back Room. I wanted to ditch this guy and see them but as the Back Room was right next door to where we currently were, it was next to impossible to shed him.
So he tagged along and apparently was under the impression that we were on a double-date. I had never met Big Tones and he was awesome and totally understanding of my situation. When we had a creepy drunk Russian guy keep trying to talk to us, we formed a tight circle, with Coffee and this guy on the outside. We figured they could occupy each other for a bit while the three of us gossiped. Big Tones happened to be best friends with Paddy, the guy I had gone on a really good date with, and then things went quickly downhill on St. Patrick's Day. I hadn't heard from him since soon after St. Pats and it turned out he had a new girlfriend, whom the two of them had gone to dinner with. The verdict--trashy AND boring. I was delighted.
Meanwhile Coffee had fought off the Russian and weaseled his way back into our circle. He was not taking the hint. Or was merely choosing to ignore it as was demonstrated by the following debacle. We told him we were going to leave and he followed us out. I thought he would get in a cab like a normal person but he kept walking with us. We told him we were going one way and he said he was too so we quickly said we needed to go the opposite way. I wanted to get to the Playboy's but apparently Coffee had the idea he was coming home with me. As we all struggled to come up with credible lies he stated "So I'm not going with you?", with a look of disgust. I replied that I would call him the next day (not) and the 3 of us practically dove into a cab.
We were all pretty drunk at this point and we spent the cab ride yelling belligerently about how terrible he was, while also making some pretty terrible comments then all agreeing I had to make a speech at their wedding. I hopped out and we agreed to meet for brunch the next morning.
The 3 of us had a packed day ahead of us. After brunch we were going to be attending the Frieze Art Fair, which is why they had come to town. I felt like my parents were in town--they paid for all my meals and my cabs, except they get along better than my parents. The Fair was on Randall's Island, so we had to wait in line for the ferry. We amused ourselves with all the artsy people in line who were "smug as fuck". The best sighting though was 2 artsy parents with their toddler. He was wearing a toy plastic bucket around his neck and looked like he would grow up to be a teenager that would get the shit beaten out of him. He had a little scowl on his face and we nicknamed him "Art Baby". We then invented a dialogue between his smug as fuck parents. My favorite line-- "Damien, did you get his art bucket?". We of course died at this, and continued to crack up on the ferry, especially when we hit a wave and I got a terrified expression on my face, as I was momentarily convinced we were going over. The art fair was huge and I pretty much wandered around in a daze, overwhelmed and hungover. The amazing people-watching continued though and we even had an up close and personal sighting of Adrian Brody. And luckily there was no escaping Art Baby. We kept seeing him everywhere and even at one point spotted him outside, digging in the dirt with his art bucket--busted!
Afterwards I was sad to leave my Mom and Dad but they had another dinner with Paddy and his new bitch and I was going to stop by Yahtzee, Deux and Khia's Kentucky Derby/Cinco de Mayo party. By the time I got there everyone was pretty wasted and I was dead sober, having been cultural at a snobby art fair all afternoon.The Eagle was there with his new girlfriend, which explained why he had suddenly stopped talking to me when we were all out. Though she was not that cute, they looked together. I soon grew bored and headed back to Alph City to nap, which was followed by a mediocre night out with GF, where I was able to walk home, instead of slumming it on the subway.
And don't worry, Coffee was still being persistent and texting me. I decided that the only thing I could do was ignore them and vowed never to speak to him again.
Judging from these events, not a bad first weekend in Manhattan.
So he tagged along and apparently was under the impression that we were on a double-date. I had never met Big Tones and he was awesome and totally understanding of my situation. When we had a creepy drunk Russian guy keep trying to talk to us, we formed a tight circle, with Coffee and this guy on the outside. We figured they could occupy each other for a bit while the three of us gossiped. Big Tones happened to be best friends with Paddy, the guy I had gone on a really good date with, and then things went quickly downhill on St. Patrick's Day. I hadn't heard from him since soon after St. Pats and it turned out he had a new girlfriend, whom the two of them had gone to dinner with. The verdict--trashy AND boring. I was delighted.
Meanwhile Coffee had fought off the Russian and weaseled his way back into our circle. He was not taking the hint. Or was merely choosing to ignore it as was demonstrated by the following debacle. We told him we were going to leave and he followed us out. I thought he would get in a cab like a normal person but he kept walking with us. We told him we were going one way and he said he was too so we quickly said we needed to go the opposite way. I wanted to get to the Playboy's but apparently Coffee had the idea he was coming home with me. As we all struggled to come up with credible lies he stated "So I'm not going with you?", with a look of disgust. I replied that I would call him the next day (not) and the 3 of us practically dove into a cab.
We were all pretty drunk at this point and we spent the cab ride yelling belligerently about how terrible he was, while also making some pretty terrible comments then all agreeing I had to make a speech at their wedding. I hopped out and we agreed to meet for brunch the next morning.
The 3 of us had a packed day ahead of us. After brunch we were going to be attending the Frieze Art Fair, which is why they had come to town. I felt like my parents were in town--they paid for all my meals and my cabs, except they get along better than my parents. The Fair was on Randall's Island, so we had to wait in line for the ferry. We amused ourselves with all the artsy people in line who were "smug as fuck". The best sighting though was 2 artsy parents with their toddler. He was wearing a toy plastic bucket around his neck and looked like he would grow up to be a teenager that would get the shit beaten out of him. He had a little scowl on his face and we nicknamed him "Art Baby". We then invented a dialogue between his smug as fuck parents. My favorite line-- "Damien, did you get his art bucket?". We of course died at this, and continued to crack up on the ferry, especially when we hit a wave and I got a terrified expression on my face, as I was momentarily convinced we were going over. The art fair was huge and I pretty much wandered around in a daze, overwhelmed and hungover. The amazing people-watching continued though and we even had an up close and personal sighting of Adrian Brody. And luckily there was no escaping Art Baby. We kept seeing him everywhere and even at one point spotted him outside, digging in the dirt with his art bucket--busted!
Afterwards I was sad to leave my Mom and Dad but they had another dinner with Paddy and his new bitch and I was going to stop by Yahtzee, Deux and Khia's Kentucky Derby/Cinco de Mayo party. By the time I got there everyone was pretty wasted and I was dead sober, having been cultural at a snobby art fair all afternoon.The Eagle was there with his new girlfriend, which explained why he had suddenly stopped talking to me when we were all out. Though she was not that cute, they looked together. I soon grew bored and headed back to Alph City to nap, which was followed by a mediocre night out with GF, where I was able to walk home, instead of slumming it on the subway.
And don't worry, Coffee was still being persistent and texting me. I decided that the only thing I could do was ignore them and vowed never to speak to him again.
Judging from these events, not a bad first weekend in Manhattan.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Playboy
Aka the musician, whom I had met on the Thursday night booze cruise. We had left off exchanging numbers and discussed hanging out that Saturday night. And to my surprise, he actually texted me early Saturday evening, with enough time to plan. He said that he was having a pre-party at his apartment in Union Square, before heading out, and invited me to come over. Not wanting to show up to this party alone, I recruited Russian Rocher to come with me. Except when we arrived the "party" turned out to be just the Playboy and his two friends, a couple. I immediately cringed and felt badly for Russian Rocher, who was now going to be the 5th wheel. But when one says party, I think a group of people, not a double date.
Now this guy had seemed very nice and amicable when I met him and he still was at this point. But the Playboy qualities were already glaring. I knew that he was in his early 30s and his only job was being a musician. It turns out he lived in the biggest one-bedroom apartment I had seen in New York City. It was decorated very well, though not at all my taste (black walls? no thanks) and he made a reference to his cleaning lady within the first few minutes. Also the couple friend--a surgeon and his 22 year old model girlfriend. The whole thing was ridiculous, and I could tell Russian Rocher wanted nothing but out, but I had no choice but to see this through. He all sat around drinking and they discussed all the different clubs we could go to--which ones would be good tonight and how most would inevitably be bad. Luckily another one of the Playboy's friends stopped by for a bit which brightened things up. He was covered in tattoos a had a black eye. He was apparently a waiter at Sushi Samba, and started to complain about all the B&Ters there on the weekend. I was alarmed; I had been there the night before with Jersey and his trashy Long Island friends. I had until then been unaware that it was a B&T scene, and this guy was total right.
Sidenote-- for those outside of the NYC area, B&T is short for "bridge and tunnel". It means someone who travels into New York via a bridge or tunnel, but more specifically from New Jersey or Long Island. Qualifications to be B&T are: the Jersey Shore look, ie lots of makeup and tan for girls and gelled hair and tan for guys, lots of Ed Hardy, an interest in "passe suburban culture" ie PF Changs and top 40 radio hits. They are often loud, rude and obnoxious. The group I had been with the night before could be considered mildy B&T--they had chosen a passe restaurant in the City, as Jersey had always done. The girl was a tan idiot and the guy had gelled hair and a gold chain. Afterwards, we had walked over to Bleecker St. Out of all the bars we could have chosen, they settled on the equivalent of a pizzeria uno, because they "were tired of walking". You get the picture.
So I could only hope that he hadn't noticed me. Lucky for me, who worked at the one on Park (I was at the flagship 7th Ave) so I was off the hook. However he did continue with a pretty humorous story that the B&T guys have routinely gotten upset with him for staring at their girlfriends fake boobs. When they call him out on it (because what B&T guy doesn't love confrontation), he acts hurt and says that he is gay. The B&T boyfriend is then ashamed and tips big, at his girlfriend's urging. Well played.
Unfortunately this guy decided not to come out with us, even though I could tell he had an interest in Russian Rocher. Instead she was back to being the 5th wheel, as we all squeezed into a gypsy cab to head to the West Village. And again, despite the plethora of bars in that area, we somehow ended up at a sit-down restaurant, where the couple had had their first date. It was quiet and romantic and at his point I knew Russian Rocher wanted to kill me. Halfway through, she decided she had had enough and left. She asked if I wanted to go with her, but I knew if I left now, I had no chances with this hottie and decided to stay. Luckily the couple left after the restaurant too so it was just the two of us. We headed to Meatpacking, to one of his favorite spots, SL. We strolled past the line and walked right in. Once inside, he literally knew every attractive female bartender and I tried not to roll my eyes. We stood at the bar and he talked about growing up in New York City, his parents' summer house in the Hamptons, and the trials of being a musician. He did not ask one single question about me. Of course at the time, I didn't pick up on this because he was still somehow very charming, and really fucking attractive. I was drawn to his lifestyle, which was foreign to me, a la Ibanker's. So I did end up back at Union Square with him that night, but I refused to do anything but make out with him, which he was surprisingly ok with. In the morning he said he wanted to see me again and slapped my ass as I walked out the door.
I was happy with the way the night had gone, until I had to walk to the subway, looking like a total one-night stand. I was in a cocktail dress and heels, with makeup smeared across my face. This was my payment for not leaving with Russian Rocher the night before. I walked with my head held high but I have never been leered at so much. It was fitting that this was my final weekend subway ride back to the Shwick.
The Playboy and I saw each other once more after this. We had been exchanging texts all that week so the next Friday I ended up meeting him at his apartment after a night out, where I once again did not hook up with him. He didn't take it as well this time, as I caught him rolling his eyes. In the morning I couldn't sleep because he was snoring. I rolled around to wake him up, but he had no interest in listening to me discuss how "scuttle" was my new favorite word nor how I had had a dream that he had a backyard with a walrus living in it. When I left he was polite but not as friendly as the time before. We continued to text for a few weeks. I had given up on it but he would send a friendly one and then when I tried to get a dialogue going he would become very brusque. Finally one day I had had enough and asked him if he wanted to go get a drink, though I knew it was pointless. He made up an excuse and I never heard from him again. He was extremely good-looking but that does not make up for being a total narcissist. It's a shame I didn't get another night out with him because I know it would've been an interesting scene, but is that worth whoring myself out for? I think not, Playboy.
Now this guy had seemed very nice and amicable when I met him and he still was at this point. But the Playboy qualities were already glaring. I knew that he was in his early 30s and his only job was being a musician. It turns out he lived in the biggest one-bedroom apartment I had seen in New York City. It was decorated very well, though not at all my taste (black walls? no thanks) and he made a reference to his cleaning lady within the first few minutes. Also the couple friend--a surgeon and his 22 year old model girlfriend. The whole thing was ridiculous, and I could tell Russian Rocher wanted nothing but out, but I had no choice but to see this through. He all sat around drinking and they discussed all the different clubs we could go to--which ones would be good tonight and how most would inevitably be bad. Luckily another one of the Playboy's friends stopped by for a bit which brightened things up. He was covered in tattoos a had a black eye. He was apparently a waiter at Sushi Samba, and started to complain about all the B&Ters there on the weekend. I was alarmed; I had been there the night before with Jersey and his trashy Long Island friends. I had until then been unaware that it was a B&T scene, and this guy was total right.
Sidenote-- for those outside of the NYC area, B&T is short for "bridge and tunnel". It means someone who travels into New York via a bridge or tunnel, but more specifically from New Jersey or Long Island. Qualifications to be B&T are: the Jersey Shore look, ie lots of makeup and tan for girls and gelled hair and tan for guys, lots of Ed Hardy, an interest in "passe suburban culture" ie PF Changs and top 40 radio hits. They are often loud, rude and obnoxious. The group I had been with the night before could be considered mildy B&T--they had chosen a passe restaurant in the City, as Jersey had always done. The girl was a tan idiot and the guy had gelled hair and a gold chain. Afterwards, we had walked over to Bleecker St. Out of all the bars we could have chosen, they settled on the equivalent of a pizzeria uno, because they "were tired of walking". You get the picture.
So I could only hope that he hadn't noticed me. Lucky for me, who worked at the one on Park (I was at the flagship 7th Ave) so I was off the hook. However he did continue with a pretty humorous story that the B&T guys have routinely gotten upset with him for staring at their girlfriends fake boobs. When they call him out on it (because what B&T guy doesn't love confrontation), he acts hurt and says that he is gay. The B&T boyfriend is then ashamed and tips big, at his girlfriend's urging. Well played.
Unfortunately this guy decided not to come out with us, even though I could tell he had an interest in Russian Rocher. Instead she was back to being the 5th wheel, as we all squeezed into a gypsy cab to head to the West Village. And again, despite the plethora of bars in that area, we somehow ended up at a sit-down restaurant, where the couple had had their first date. It was quiet and romantic and at his point I knew Russian Rocher wanted to kill me. Halfway through, she decided she had had enough and left. She asked if I wanted to go with her, but I knew if I left now, I had no chances with this hottie and decided to stay. Luckily the couple left after the restaurant too so it was just the two of us. We headed to Meatpacking, to one of his favorite spots, SL. We strolled past the line and walked right in. Once inside, he literally knew every attractive female bartender and I tried not to roll my eyes. We stood at the bar and he talked about growing up in New York City, his parents' summer house in the Hamptons, and the trials of being a musician. He did not ask one single question about me. Of course at the time, I didn't pick up on this because he was still somehow very charming, and really fucking attractive. I was drawn to his lifestyle, which was foreign to me, a la Ibanker's. So I did end up back at Union Square with him that night, but I refused to do anything but make out with him, which he was surprisingly ok with. In the morning he said he wanted to see me again and slapped my ass as I walked out the door.
I was happy with the way the night had gone, until I had to walk to the subway, looking like a total one-night stand. I was in a cocktail dress and heels, with makeup smeared across my face. This was my payment for not leaving with Russian Rocher the night before. I walked with my head held high but I have never been leered at so much. It was fitting that this was my final weekend subway ride back to the Shwick.
The Playboy and I saw each other once more after this. We had been exchanging texts all that week so the next Friday I ended up meeting him at his apartment after a night out, where I once again did not hook up with him. He didn't take it as well this time, as I caught him rolling his eyes. In the morning I couldn't sleep because he was snoring. I rolled around to wake him up, but he had no interest in listening to me discuss how "scuttle" was my new favorite word nor how I had had a dream that he had a backyard with a walrus living in it. When I left he was polite but not as friendly as the time before. We continued to text for a few weeks. I had given up on it but he would send a friendly one and then when I tried to get a dialogue going he would become very brusque. Finally one day I had had enough and asked him if he wanted to go get a drink, though I knew it was pointless. He made up an excuse and I never heard from him again. He was extremely good-looking but that does not make up for being a total narcissist. It's a shame I didn't get another night out with him because I know it would've been an interesting scene, but is that worth whoring myself out for? I think not, Playboy.
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