Try try try again

Growing up, I always held the ideal of the 'NY woman' as my aspiration -- fashionable, feminine yet assertive, tough, and always extrodinarily put together. I acheived my goal when I was 17, right before my first year of my women's college experience. I was always well dressed, 15 lbs thinner, make-up on perfectly, the perfect first date who laughed at the the dumbest jokes and struck the balence of making a man feel like a million dollars yet making him second guess whether you were completely into him. The summer before I began my first year of college, I was unstoppable when I went out. I would walk into a gay club and I would end up pushed against the wall being ravaged by some hot sexually confused older man.

Now let's examine where my I am 6 years later. 15 lbs heavier, forgotten how to put on make-up, there is something always eskew with my outfits (yesterday I ran out of clean clothes and had to febreeze myself and this morning I got deoderant all over my black summer dress that did not quite fit perfectly), and I lost my nasty streak -- the streak that made men find me so insanely attractive.

Proponents (aka the marketing professionals of MHC, Smith, and the other 7 sisters) will boast how a women's college education makes women more assertive, allows us to pursue our intellectual potential w/o male classroom domination and all in all, a women's college education makes us better humanbeings. If I am such a better humanbeing, why am I pining away for the days when I was 17? The days I would laugh in a guys face if he didnt kiss well, buy me my drink on time, or wasn't hot enough for me. Granted, I am a nicer human being, I no longer laugh in guys faces, give everyone a chance (because there may be a diamond in the rough), and try to keep in mind that even the ugly men are humanbeings with a story to tell.

Fuck my education, college gave me a conscience.

Living in sweatpants for 4 years will fuck with a girls sense of fashion and her self esteem. Granted during those 4 years I worked on my "self:" I can debate the validity of Nietzsche, hold intellect in the highest regard, and value life experience rather than the mall experience. I learned to value myself as an intellectual as opposed to a cute well put together LI girl. Hence why I have been single ever since. Living in those sweatpants taught me that sometimes fabulous people dont always look so fabuous.

For the past year, having become a bonafide NYer, I have tried so hard to become the woman I once was..the woman who always had her hair straightened, always had a quick joke, an a cigg dangling out of her mouth. The woman who would never get horribly drunk, who sipped her vodka as opposed to chugging, and cured hangovers with water and fruit as opposed to scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. I tried hard within this past year to become the woman I was at 17 but since I worked for a small start-up in NJ, and there were no eliglble men who I worked with, I went back to old habits. Same ratty jeans and same ratty sweatshirts that punctuated my college experience, and same old drinking habits that I learned in college. You may have chugged coors light back in the day, my friends and I chugged shots of absolut vodka.

Now that I have everything in place that would force me to become the woman I have always wanted to (appearance and alcohol consumption wise, everything else I am really happy with myself), I think I forgot! This morning I got my deoderant all over my black summer dress. Instead of making a big deal, scrubbing it out, I shrugged my shoulders and rationalized that we are all human, as I pulled my hair back into a messy bun.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I have spent the last 5.5 years romanticizing the messy intllectual, the quiet one with a nose in her book, who always looks slightly astray. I am 23 going on 24...I am last few singletons who have not found a fling this summer! I am working with cute boys with prob even cuter friends. Oh 17 yr old me...where are you?

In other news, I signed my lease today. Am moving into my new digs Aug 10, around the block from my old place. Traded in the seventh floor walk-up for a third one. YEA!! As exicted as I am to move in with John John, I realize that I am fucking myself over. Let's think why we date...companionship, cuddling, and putting up with my neurosis. Not sex. I mean, with the wabbit and hott erotica, I get myself off better than any guy. Fine, I do miss kissing and being thrown up against a wall...but most men dont do assertive like that well anyway.

As of 8/10 I will have no reason to date or to pursue a boyfriend. John John and I are taking Merengue classes together and I love just hanging out with him. No need to spend the hour and half getting ready, no need to sit through shitty dates and he occasionally treats me. What else does a girl need?

A missing species

I know vacations are supposed to be really good but honestly after not working for 2 weeks, I learned a few very important things about myself:

1. When my time is not occupied, I become incredibly alcoholic. Instead of spending my time in London and in NYC going to museums and expanding myself culturally, I ran exhorbant bar tabs in numerous bars and ate in expensive restaurants. Suffice to say, that I am going broke.

2. I actually enjoy work.

When I went to work this morning (at my new and very cool company), I was actually excited. Think about it. I do the exact same shit at home, read the news online, IM my friends, and check my email repeatedly, except I get paid and since I have to be at the office by 9am, it ensures that I will not be out drinking until 2am.

This past weekend was just one such example of how out of control I become when I do not have work/responsibilities/give into peer pressure when I have out of town friends visiting me. On Fri night we go to the bar that Lu and I have nicknamed the "gravy train bar." Since the average age of the male patrons is about 45, they get very excited when cute young women sit and chat them up. So Lu and I have been hyping this bar up to our non-NYC friends. Telling them how we walk in and immeadiately we are innundated with not only men offering to buy us drinks, but men picking up entire bar tabs and smoking expensive cigars with us (of course their treat). We decide to bring our friends from out of town who are not used to such ostintasious decadent behavior from older men hitting on us youngins. First we get seated in a corner and no men are talking to us. It kind of sucks, especially since drinks are like $14 a piece and none of us are I-bankers. So then Lu gets this idea to move to the bar...and wouldnt you know, 2 older (like mid 60s) men start to talk to us, find us "dollys" cute, and they proceed to tell our friend Kate that "Don't worry, your entire tab is on us." Well with that type of Carte Blanche, my fucking martini glass does not know the word empty.

The guys talk to us about hunting, civil war history, what-fucking-ever. I am getting drunk on their dime and they are enjoying our company. I see snarly baldy (who I wrote about in the sexless escort post), and he begins to hit on me, as he is with this semi-attractive woman. As an aside, I love this bar because since I am the youngest thing there by like 20 years, I could walk in wearing a behive and a mumu and still get hit on. One of the older guys, gramps (he looks exactly like my dead granpa), saves me, by whisking me away to dance to some old skool jazz. As the night progresses, we want the party to continue so the 2 older guys suggest that we go back to their law office. 4 girls in their mid 20s and 2 guys in their 60s go up to an office in midtown manhattan, and the security guard in the building turns a blind eye. It makes me realize that when I am older and married and if my husband has a night security guard, I am sooo putting the guard on a private payroll to tell me if my husband is fucking around with women half my age.

We go to the law office, and we sit as the old guys hit on us, I am drinking 25 yr old single malt scotch as my friend is picking up Cuban cigars.

I fucking love NYC.

Although, I was flying high on Fri night, looking hot in a pair of Seven jeans and stilletos, Sat night shatttered my self-esteem. I realized, on Sat, that out of my friends in NYC that I am a fucking dinosaur of singlehood. During the summer, the city of one night stands pairs off 2 by 2, like members of Noah's Ark. And I am the loan singleton, at the back of the line...the last of a dying breed. And all I have to show for summer lovin' is a bad one night stand in London and finding out that the guy who I had this horrible horrible thing for (like I fell hard...the woman with no feelings suddenly found them) HOOKS UP WITH MEN. Now I know I wrote about this in my last post, but I truly want you, my reader, to understand the magnitude of this. My entire life I spent pining after gay men. Falling hard, only to find out that we shared one very important thing in common...an enjoyment of getting fucked by men. Not exactly the thing I want to have in common with my soulmate, the man who will father my children. Imagine my suprise, when I thought I found someone who I incredibly clicked with THINKING THAT HE WAS STRAIGHT...hooks up with boys. I'm sorry, I think I should have been notified BEFORE I was fucked, before I found out that I have to wait 6months from the date that we fucked before I could give blood!

I got over the heartbreak. You can't ask someone to fall in love with you, especially when you are such completely different people. Especially when you both share a love of men.

It's just that this experience has confirmed my deepest fear, that is why I am having issues. I am going to end up as one of those stories where the husband "suddenly realizes" that he is gay. It confirms that I am only attracted to gay men. So, being activists kate and are working on a non-profit- Cleanshave.org. Preventing women being used as beards since 2005. I think it has a nice tone to it.

On a side note, I really like my new job.

Just when you thought...

Wow, so I really have not been keeping up with this blog. Part of the reason is that I have been insanely busy/drinking too much/out of the country/any other excuse that I should interject. Last time I wrote, I quit my job and I have been walking on cloud-nine. Right now the new hurdle has been trying to find an apt in NYC. And the broker's fee is absolutely fucking ridiculous. The finders fee that I am paying is about $4000 (15% of a year's rent) for finding the apartment of my dreams. Now the incredibly fucked up part of it is the ad that I answered was posted in the "No-Fee" apartment section of craigslist. Which just reinforces what a fucking scam finding an apt in NYC is actually like.

Now am I going to pay this fee? You bet your fucking ass I am. Right now I am living in Greenwich Village and I am in love with my area. Since it is basically on NYU property, I come home drunk off my ass, teetering on my heels and NOTHING. It is a super safe area, I get to keep my lovely Chinese launderers (who btw I am in love with), the grocery store is 2 blocks away, and my pretentious indy movie place is still right around the corner. We HAVE A LIVING ROOM!! And 2 proper bedrooms. And I am around the block from my old apartment. YEA!!! I am an incredible creature of habit, any changes in routine spell disaster for me. I get all anxious, cant sleep, and think that I am going to die. Which is funny because I have spent the last 6 years of my life living out of 2 suitcases. Perhaps this is why I have never felt this emotionally well, until I stoppped living out of a suitcase.

But I am paying $4000 for some jerk who is in cahoots with the building management for the privelage of finding that apartment. But I am also paying $4000 to ensure my emotional well being. God I hate NYC sometimes.

Last night, I think God had a question with my integrity and he tried to test what type of person I am. I think it may have had something to do with the fact that I had my first one night stand while I was in London and might have also quasi-kissed a woman on the airplane. Rather she tried to kiss me and I just gave her a half kiss (who thought losing weight would make me that desiarable?). So I am out having a cigg and this woman asks me if she could have one. Being a smoker (God I admitted to being a smoker...fuck my life is ending), I completely believe in "Smokers Karma," the next time you need a cigg, someone will help you out. The woman basically collapses, and I help her into the bar area. Since it is a hotel bar, the hotel staff swarms around her, and I am making phone calls to her friends using her cell. Now my question is...

HOW THE FUCK DO YOU LEAVE A FRIEND WHO IS THAT FUCKED UP?!?!

She couldnt even stand!! Hotel staff takes care of her...score 1 on the mitsvot scale.

Mitsvot #2, I found a credit card on the floor and returned it to the staff at the bar.

Why am I such a good person sometimes?!?! And what do I get? Paying a $4000 finders fee to real estate.

So as I said before, last night I was out at a bar, Rare View (one of my favorite date places in the city--comfy bed like patio furnitute, outdoors in the middle of midtown manhattan) and this sketchy dude talks to me. Buys me a scotch and seems all impressed that I can drink it. For some reason, I feel compelled to tell him about my weekend plans which includes a titty bar and getting incredibly fucked up. I feel it goes well with a woman drinking scotch. He shakes his head and asks me whether I am serious, and of course I am. Those of you who know me, I LOOOVVEEEE titty bars and getting fucked up with my girls. So his friend hears the tail end of the convo and gives me this look. I tell both of the guys, "Listen, I went to Mount Holyoke, I think it explains it enough."

And it fucking did! Wouldnt the trustees be so fucking happy to hear that among the Harvard Business school set, when I say the words Mount Holyoke College, they immediately think of women fucking each other, oogling breats at the titty bar and being incredibly fucked up. Maybe that is the reason why I couldnt get a real job out of college and I had to work for my hellish company.

Now boys (if there are any of you who read this), do not use as a pick up line, "I am going to marry a Jewish girl." Especially if you are not Jewish. Listen, when I am out at a bar drinking and going out to meet people, telling me that you are going to marry a member of my tribe is not exactly the type of thing I want to hear. Considering all the stereotypes about my people (being Jappy, cheap, the women are overbearing, too neurotic) why the fuck do you make it your goal to marry one of us? I mean, if you are Jewish, I understand. You want to keep and raise a nice Jewish family together, keep the tribe flouirshing. Good for you. I too want to marry a nice Jewish boy and raise a nice Jewish family. But if you aren't Jewish, why? It's because he definately must still be in love with his ex/trying to recreate his ex.

Now, I want to pose a question to my readers. It isnt exactly a big secret that I like effeminate men. Not like the metrosexual type, but the "he may enjoy sucking dick" type. I do not know why, maybe it is in retaliation to my ubermasculine father or perhaps I subconsciously go for men who I know would understand my taste for the dramatic/who would accompany me to the opera and not be over 40. I found out that this guy who I used to have a thing for has fooled around with guys. Now, I know I cant raise a double standard because I have fooled around with my fair share of women in the day. Mostly drunken kisses. Nothing much more than that, a feeling of a booby here and there. Now, I am down with curiosity...I saw the movie Kinsey. I know that only 6% of the population is either exclusively hetero or homosexual. But, to be perfectly honest, I was horrified to find out that he hooked up with guys. All I know is that he has fooled around...it could run the gamut from kissing to have hott butt sex. I do not know to what extent that he has been with other men...but I am trying to understand what I am uneasy with.

Could it be that this solidifies that I am really going to end up with a homo? That my interest in this boy confirms my fear that I will be living in Greenwich, CT, him arranging to have someone else pick up the kids up from soccer practice so that he can share something importnat with me, and instead I am completely suprised when he introduces me to his lover paolo instead of the romantic dinner that I was counting on? Or could it be that it just reconfirms that he is sooo horny that he would fuck anything and that I was just a number another notch in his belt and that everything he ever said to me was a lie? Or that he is not hot enough to make out with men because I like my homos hot.

And it just came to my attention that my friend who I grew up with is preggers, I am going to 4 weddings by the end of this year. I am moving in with one of my best friends (like when I was hyperventilating at the apt and begging and crying jumping up and down he sat there unfazed and was like, "you are kind of nuts") and he is turning 26 this year...aka "staring 30 in the face." At the age of 23, what have I accomplished? I work for an ad agency, I have an over priced apt, no prospect of a serious relationship, and I have an addiction to travelling and drinking that is depleting my $$$$.

Fuck.

Patriotism, Getting out and other things

So this past fourth of July, with the boys in Iraq, it got me reflecting about our country, the values that we stand for. It left me with this burning desire to do something for the boys stationed overseas. I thought to myself, perhaps I should start a letter writing campagin. No, I can't commit to anything like that. Then I thought maybe I should give money to a Veterans cause. No, because I like spending money on myself.

I met this navy SEAL. Reminded me of Ray Romano, kinda cute. We met at a party on Fri night. He was hitting on me (not in the will you be my gfriend kind of way but in the let's fuck kind of way). Usually if a guy is hitting on me hardcore in an obviously "I want to fuck you" kind of way, and I am sober, I think to myself that he has to be a fucking jerk. So Fri night he hits on me and I do not reciprocate. Saturday my friend gerla and I are talking and we start to talk about sex. Long story short...we both agree that I need some hott mind blowing sex. So Sat I see Navy SEAL, picks up my friends and I in his brand new Denali...and the 20 drinks that I have earlier start to hit. After falling over into a pile of wood (stillettos at a field party will do that), wood chips all over my short skirt and probabley even dirt in my hair, I walk over to him...slurring my words and tell him that I want to perform a service for my country.

He pulls me away to his new Denali and we engage in a hot and heavy make out scene...

I am all ready to partake in my new found non-catholic/jewish guilt about sex, ready to have hott mind blowing sex in the back seat of an American truck with an American Navy SEAL and we have no condom.

Let me explain to you the frustration that a girl will experience when you have your heart set on wild windblowing sex. And there is nothing you could do about it, especially because you are a hypochondriac.

But thinking, last year on July 3 when I was flying over to London for White Trash Tour 2004, I ended up making out with some cute Brit in the airplane and was then propositioned to join the mile high club. Which I turned down (biggest regret of my life btw). WHAT THE FUCK IS IT ABOUT FOURTH OF JULY WEEKEND AND ALMOST SEX?! Fucking A man.

So that has been my life in the last few weeks. Almost sex, an almost apartment, a new job and hanging and heading off to London in a few hours.