Monday, January 24, 2005

Another reason why I am alone

I came to a realization why I hate Sundays:

It isnt because of the impending work week, nor even the remanants of a hangover from a ruckousy Sat night, no I hate Sundays because I am left with my thoughts, re-playing the embarassing moments of the weekend, when you are soaring with the Eagles,thinking you are hott shit--checking yourself out at every other min in mirrors/reflections, dancing like you are a stripper. A black one at that. All at the height of your inebriation. Alcohol infused confidence.

Why wouldnt you continue to keep drinking?

On my 4 1/2 hour train ride from DC this afternoon, I punctuated my silent reading of Bukowski with deep sighs and throwing my book over my face, repeating in a hoarse whisper to myself how I am such a fucking alcoholic...rehashing my drunken screw up. I am doing the same thing as I write only saving grace? He lives in DC. I may have given him my blog adress, without the comments and find out at a later date.

I am an alcoholic. I even think about getting drunk before work.

So we are at a bar in DC, walking around...looking so obviously NY. Dressed well, hair and make-up. DC is a lot like Hoboken, the city will drive a woman's confidence through the roof...women not too cute, not dressed well...thighs jiggling all the way. BTW: Manolo Blahnik does not do well in, we start to talk with these guys...the drinks that I pounded at the mini-pub crawl begin to take their effect, I think I may have even told him my plan to marry a trustafarian...and there was a porsche mentioned. He was 37. I think architecture. My memory is fuzzy. But I looked fucking hott...

So we are talking, he comes with us to the diner...I go back to his place. We are hanging out, cuddling...he isnt even trying anything. A gentleman...I put on a t-shirt of his and as he is cleaning up, putting the fire out in the fire place...I pass out in his bed. Very sweet...wake up when he comes in...and THROW UP in his bed. And my legs are hairy since I wasnt expecting to go home with some guy.

But he is nice about it.

And helps to clean up.

I get cleaned up, pass out in his bed. This time without vomming.

I am an alcoholic. Where are AA meetings held?

Weird thing...he is really nice to me in the morning, lets me sleep in, walks me downstairs, offers me $ to get back home, and tells me he is going to call me and that I shouldnt be embarassed about last night...And he wasnt busted. And he had a decent body. Really nice broad shoulders. I thought he was 25. Born in Rome. Did I look that cute last night? Or is the 23 yr old/14 yr age difference thing that hott? Hott enough to forgive vomming in his bed? Or was he just a gentleman? Even nice to girls who barf in his bed.

I am one class broad. Now I know why I am alone.

But I enjoy being alone and know that I would be a terrible girlfriend. I mean I puked in some guys bed! I have the emotional maturity of a child with autism. It's funny, even in the winter when most people just want a bfriend to watch movies with and have sex as it snows, I couldnt be bothered. The thought of waking up next to the same person (except for Lu-ookie ) over and over again...having to be taken away from my writing, my alone time, sitting in my bed watching Dave Chappelle at 1am. What the fuck is wrong with me? I want to be alone. And with invention of the wabbit, my satisfaction is a guarantee. Tell me how many men can brag of a return rate like that.

What has happened to me since I moved back to NYC? I have turned into this huge bitch who worries about her own ass...

Moment that made me smile and forget that I vommed in some dude's bed:
Met a cool cabbie who when I told him to let me off a few blocks away from my apt b/c I ran out of money, told me to take my cash back and the ride was on him b/c a girl should never be w/o cash. I didnt do it and felt bad that I didnt have more to tip him...but how cool was that? It reminds me that this city isnt as cold as I thought it was...there are pleasant surprises to be found here.


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