Tag Archives: nightlife

Notes from the week

The past week was full of important landmarks for me. Here’s a list of them, as well as some not-so-important but noteworthy items:

1.) Weekend wins: Some of my favorite friends came to visit New York last weekend, and we didn’t waste a second of our time on things like sobriety or culture. It was one of the best weekends I’ve had since moving here. As a result of all the drinking, I made two bodega stops over the course of the weekend and BOTH TIMES I WON. The less exciting win was the discount I received on an arm full of candy I purchased – “All of this is five dollars, but for you, I charge three.” #fatwin. The super exciting win happened around 4 AM on Friday night, when I was waiting for my spicy special, philly cheesesteak and mozzarella sticks to finish cooking. A drunk, old fat man walked into the bodega to buy beer. He looked me up and down and walked to get his six pack. He must have been struck by my beauty; I was wearing a skimpy peach minidress and clinging to an assortment of cookies and candy… Sexy, right? Anyway, he walked up to the counter and says, “This beer and everything she’s having.” The clerk looked at him like you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into buddy, and goes, “Nonono. She has many other things.” The drunk man waved his hand up as if money was immaterial, purchased my $30 worth of drunk binge food and disappeared into the the night. Now I understand the allure of a sugar daddy…

2.) Summer’s arrival: Sure, it rained all week, but last weekend I got a fucking sun tan. I can honestly tell you the last time my skin was anything but disgustingly pale was two years ago. I’ve started carrying printer paper to the Duane Reade so I can make sure I’m properly matching my skin tone to my makeup.

Of course, along with the heat comes the need for an AC, so on Tuesday night I carried my window unit down our long hallways and propped it up in my window. I love my AC so much that I named him last year.

This is Coolio-

Welcome back Coolio, I’ll sing the theme song to Kenan & Kel to you all summer

3.) I STARTED MY NEW JOB!!!!: I’m super excited about this one. After a week of not fielding angry phone calls and emails from everyone and (sometimes literally) their mom, I remember that I like working. On top of that, working for a more established company comes with big perks like A KEURIG, AN IT DEPARTMENT, A REGULAR SIZED REFRIGERATOR, FAST ELEVATORS. I even have an ID badge to get into my building. Bad. Ass.

4.) Failing at the Financial District: I’m working in an entirely different area of town and it’s really cool to be somewhere new, especially a place that’s so iconically New York. On my walk to the subway every night I stare up at the new World Trade Center, and I walk past all these beautiful historical churches and cemeteries every day. That being said, it’s a confusing area. It’s not a grid, there are tourists everywhere and I keep fucking up with the subway.

Example 1 – There are like 14 entrances to the Fulton Street station, and I found a new one that’s super close to my gym yesterday. I was feeling so cool and I was so enthralled with playing Angry Birds on the platform/train that I wasn’t paying attention to anything going on around me. About 20 minutes later I looked up and realized I was not, in fact, almost to 23rd street, but instead I was deep in Brooklyn.

Example 2 – Earlier in the week, I’d found another entrance to Fulton Street that was more convenient than my first station and I hadn’t yet remembered Angry Birds, so I was very focused on my surroundings. As soon as I swiped into the station I realized that I’d swiped into a platform with a train only going in one direction. I wasn’t sure of the direction, and rather than asking someone I decided to walk out of the station and check for myself. It turned out it was the correct direction, but when I went to reswipe my monthly MetroCard I got the stupid Just Used message that turnstiles give you to avoid people sharing MetroCards. I’m poorer than anything right now, so rather than purchasing a one ride ticket for $3, I walked the four blocks to another station.

The turnstiles are smarter than I anticipated. I got the Just Used message from that one too. After a few very frustrating minutes of waiting, I saw a Youth jump over one of the turnstiles. I looked around, waited for all the people in suits to swipe in, and then attempted to jump over the turnstile. It turns out I do not have the tricep strength, and I ended up having to crawl underneath the turnstile. I got through this way, but not without awkwardly getting stuck underneath it for what was probably five seconds but felt like a minute.

Lesson learned (I think). I will be more conscious of my surroundings and I will not try to swipe in twice.

5.) Flailing at the gym: Now that I’m in a new area, I’m also going to a different gym than I was going to before. On Tuesday night I tried a class called Abs & Ass. There’s a couple men who like to teach classes in a ‘military style’ at Crunch, but like any other aerobic instructor they are still definitely gay. Imagine listening to a techno remix of Michael Jackson’s Black or White while some super-effeminate yet totally jacked guy yells, “Left, Left, Left Right Left!” at you. That’s really all that happens.

Eric, the Abs & Ass teacher was one of these. I’m fairly new to fitness – I started working out on a regular basis about two years ago with an amazing trainer I had in Atlanta named Ali. Our training sessions involved him making me do really simple things like squats and then laughing at me. He once said to me, “When I started training you, you were so weak that I didn’t understand how you could walk.” I miss Ali. While I’ve gotten a lot better – I can run several miles, I don’t throw up every time I work out and I understand that the elliptical was something invented so fat people can feel better – I’m still clumsy as fuck.

Eric had us doing these plank exercises that involved us laying on our side and then lifting our hips. It should have been simple enough, everyone else seemed to have no problem with it. I, on the other hand, could not manage to keep myself laying on my hip. I’m not talking about the actual movement he wanted us to do (a side plank), I just couldn’t lay on my side. As Eric walked around the classroom and yelled that we were not trying hard enough, I was continually trying to roll myself to my side, falling over onto my stomach and flailing my arms in attempts to regain my balance. Pathetic, Tiffany… Pathetic.

6.) My first Katz Deli experience: Katz Deli is super famous because it was the setting for Meg Ryan’s faked orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. On Thursday night, I got to try a pastrami on rye sandwich from the deli for my first time. HolyFuckingShit. I don’t even like pastrami OR rye, but oh my god this sandwich was amazing. Sidenote: It does cost $18…

I stole this photo from a google search

7.) Last, but definitely not least, my street interview: About 30 minutes before my Katz experience, I was standing outside of a concert in the LES, smoking a cigarette I’d bummed from some guy who seemed like he was giving me the cigarette just so I’d leave him alone. Another guy comes and stands next to me and introduces himself. He was a Bangladeshi masseuse who was very drunk. He offered me a free massage (which I declined) and somehow, despite my tremendous arsenal of standing outside a bar talking to a stranger questions, the conversation veered very quickly into him telling me that he masturbated a lot. It took him saying this three times, because it was hard to understand his accent, so I can assure you that it wasn’t one of those drunken word-vomit situations. He definitely meant to tell me about his extensive ‘personal’ time.

He then proceeded to interview-style ask me a number of questions about my sexual history, preferences, etc., including but not limited to asking if my gay roommate sleeps with girls too, if I like to sleep with girls and how my one-night stands have gone down. I answered far too many of these questions (mainly because I still had cigarette to finish, but also) because I figured at a certain point there would be no more questions, but the Bangladeshi guy was full of them. I eventually had to run back into the concert and hope that he wasn’t secretly a Candid Camera person asking me all about my sex life as a joke.

 

All in all, it was a typical New York in the summer kind of week. I’m so excited for so many more of them this year.

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Note to self: Don’t tell Online Dates about this blog

We were sitting across from one another at Big Bar in the East Village when I realized his interest  in me had turned to hatred.

“So… I guess I should just leave?”
“Yes.”
“Ok…. bye?”

I was a mess last night, which could have been predicted given my whole pre-date routine of ‘I’m drinking and having an emotional breakdown after hot yoga by myself in my apartment,’ but sometimes I don’t realize before it happens that my being a mess isn’t like, Zooey Deschanel adorable (Fuck you, Zooey! Why are you so cute that fucking COTTON wants you to represent it?!?). I was texting Nina tipsily my whole cab ride down about how much I was not in the date zone, how I’d be home in two hours, how Rutherford seemed super dumb. Yes, Rutherford… I make up names for all these guys and I’ve decided to just have fun with it because I’m running out of Johns and Kevins and because he really did have a weird name, even though it wasn’t Rutherford.

I realized pretty quickly upon meeting him that a lot of his stupidity was due to his being a recent Seattle-NYC transplant. People new to New York are like babies! I’m sure we wouldn’t like each other sober – he talked about himself a lot and asked me the worst questions… but then we started drinking. I really enjoy this part of my dating life; getting drunk with a total stranger is what I’d imagine a bartender experiences every night. Because we’ve only just met and we don’t know each other’s last names or social circles, the conversation gets more honest more quickly. I underestimated Rutherford until he admitted to me that he’d been on an online date RIGHT before meeting up with me. I high-fived him, because let’s be honest, anyone feels cool doing that. I went on two dates in one day last summer and I felt SO COOL and kind of evil but also in a cool way.

After that confession, most sentences started with “Since we’re being honest….” even though we weren’t telling each other anything that really needed the preface.

We smoked cigarettes outside and had idiotic conversations –

“Since we’re being honest…. I was fat in high school!”
“I was too! How fat?”
“175 pounds.”
“That is kind of fat – I got skinny around age 13.”
“Oh….you were much cooler than I was….”
“Yeah, I was kind of cool in high school. When did you lose your virginity?”
“I was almost 21. You?”
“Since we’re being honest… I was almost 17.”

I high-fived him here.

I didn’t think he liked me, because I didn’t like him, but when we got up to leave the restaurant he said something about there not being anything here (gesturing between the two of us) and I was like OMG I KNOW, RIGHT? I’M GLAD WE CAN BE HONEST.

And then he said, “I was joking? Wait.. you were joking right? Come have another drink with me?”

“Oh.. yeah. I was totally joking.” Some how that worked and we stumbled over to Big Bar.

I think it’s all the interviewing I’ve been doing that made me want to tell him at least one real thing about me. I’ve been answering all these questions about why I want to leave my job and where I see myself in 10 years and I’ve been lying through my teeth. I hate lying, and so before I knew it, the truth about why I go on online dates was tumbling out of my mouth at a terrifying speed.

“Since we’re being honest…”

I tried to backpedal after that, but there was no saving the conversation. I got up and saw myself out. I thought about feeling bad, but then I got into my cab and the super old Latino driver offered me a cigarette. He told me about how much he hated his job and how all he wanted to do in life is get drunk and watch tv. We bonded. I came home and threw up on my pillow… it’s been a weird week.

This morning I’m faced with a gross pillow and blurry thoughts of my conversation with Rutherford. Is telling someone, “This thing you think is a date isn’t really a date” any worse than when guys use online dating just to hook up with girls? I don’t think it is, but maybe I’m an asshole.

I’m going to comfort myself by thinking that Rutherford now has a story to tell his Seattle friends about crazy New York people. I had to wait until my fifth online date to have anything crazy happen so, YOU’RE WELCOME, Rutherford.

The great part of online dating is that when you fuck up royally as I did last night, you get to walk away with a feeling of lightness. I’ll likely never see Rutherford again, as long as I don’t eat at the restaurant where he’s a chef.

And since we’re being honest… I can’t afford that restaurant anyway.

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