Yummy, sweet, delicious sleep. I FINALLY slept last night, now that I'm back to my bed in perfect, serene, peaceful New York! ;-) I dozed off somewhere around 11pm and woke up at 9am.
Just wanted to give y'all an update on the dining experience in DC. Out of 7 meals, only one, ONE was good while all the rest ranged from sub-par to disgusting. What da dill wit DC yo?
The good meal was at Mie N Yu in Georgetown. Actually, it wasn't good, it was f'ing FABULOUS! It was like Christmas in my mouth and my tastebuds didn't know what they did to deserve such wonderful presents. It was an explosion of flavor!
If you ever go, I recommend the Fire Cracker Ahi Tuna Tartare for appetizer (chili peppers, soy, habanero masago, sesame wonton, lemongrass oil) and for dinner the Thai Red Snapper (wasabi mashed potatoes, snow pea sesame stir fry, thai citrus basil sauce). Although, I imagine everything on the menu is probably incredible. Each room in the spacious restaurant draws influence from a different country along the Silk Road. We sat in the Moroccan-inspired room. Oh, I nearly forgot, they bring out baked bread with a crushed edamame and herb dip that is to die for!
OK, it's 11:30am and I guess I should start my work day. I'm off to the mother country on Friday, so I may be MIA until I return on the 12th of November.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Bad food, too many Ks and exhibiting cougar-like behavior in the nation's capital
It's been a while since I've posted, but that is because I have been too busy not sleeping and having fun in the nation's capital. I came late Wednesday night for some fun with friends before work meetings tomorrow and Tuesday.
I am SUPPOSED to be hanging out with J, as we had planned MONTHS ago, but J had to cancel. France called and they needed her for hot French love-making and gallivanting across the continent to Tuscany with French boyfriend. In the world of women, French BF in romantic Paris trumps American BFF stateside. So I saw her Wednesday and Thursday and then she left me in her empty apartment on Friday and flew across the ocean to be with her amour for 2 weeks. I don't blame her. If I had the chance to have hot French sex for 2 weeks and go gallivanting to Italy rather than play tour guide at home, I'd sideline her ass too.
J left her apartment to me and her friend K Male (two characters by the name of K will be introduced in this post: K Male and K Female, heretofore known as K-M and K-F), who was flying in from Miami late Friday night to run in some military-sponsored marathon in DC today, Sunday.
Friday night K-F and her friend M and I went to dinner at Ardeo. Do not go there. I had a horrible pasta with smoked chicken that mistakenly featured cartilage, and sandy clams. K-F had a burger that kept her up retching all night. So if you dine there, it is at your own peril. I got back to the apartment just in time to let K-M in. He cooked pasta and we stayed up until 1:30am chatting.
After another night of restless sleep, K-M asked me if I wanted to go out for brunch. I was starving, so yes. We walked to this placed called Luna Grille, but there was a 20-minute wait. K-M then had the genius idea to try to find a restaurant that he used to frequent with J's BF, that has "AWESOME FOOD", but whose name he can't remember and whose location he's not quite certain of. So we start walking. And walking. And walking.
A: "K, this brunch had better give me an orgasm."
K: "It's around here somewhere, and the food's going to be great, don't worry!"
A: "Maybe we should call N (J's BF) in Paris and ask him where it is. I bet HE'D know.
K: "Patience!"
A: (Starts humming the tune from final Jeopardy!) "Are you starting to feel pressured yet?"
A half hour of "I think it's just up this block" later and I interjected, "That's it. We're asking for directions. Excuse me sir, do you know where we might find a certain restaurant with outdoor seating, which serves brunch and which might be located anywhere from 16th to 20th streets between P and T streets? Um yeah, I think that's it. So do you know where we can find it?"
You can divine the success we had with posing that question. About 15 minutes later K yells "That's it. That's the restaurant over there."
A: "I NEVER doubted you!"
Java House. Another disappointment. Turns out that they don't serve brunch. They serve bagel sandwiches with pork products, coffee and lunch. No sides. No homefries. No Steak & Eggs. So we sit outside, with my back to the street where I can't even people watch. I start asking the waitress if she can swap the bacon or ham in the sandwich for turkey and she kind of stares at me blankly. "OK, can you just leave the meat off altogether and bring me just the eggs and cheese on the bagel, but please substitute Swiss cheese for the cheddar?"
K: "God, I feel like I'm in the movie When Harry Met Sally.
A: "Hey, I told you I needed to get an orgasm out of this meal.
That afternoon I walked around the Museum of Natural History by myself and had an awesome falafel sandwich in Adam's Morgan. The toppings bar at this falafel place was out of this world. With my stomach not feeling quite full, I stopped by Tryst down the street and had a giant chocolate chip cookie. On my way back to J's place I was still feeling hungry and sleepy, so I stopped at CVS to buy chips and a Redbull as if I were Britney after an afternoon romp with K-Fed.
I got back to J's place only to find K-M wandering each floor of the building in search of J's apartment because he forgot her unit number. I let him in and lied down on the bed doubled over. I had eaten so much that I felt like I had a boulder resting in my belly. Contemplating the likelihood that I may have a tapeworm (why else would I keep eating?), I fart around the apartment and throw words of support to K-M while he prepares for his big run the following day. Then I give the Boulder-native sh!t about the Rockies's performance against the awesome Red Sox. I escaped his clutches just in time to go meet K-F and her friends out on U street. They had a couple of Halloween parties that they were invited to, so we hit the first one.
At the party there was a cute guy stroking his lone, protruding breast, smiling at me. "Pray tell, what are you dressed up as with your uni-boob?" He turned his left side to me and showed me that he was a guy on the left side and a woman on his right side. Unique & very well done. We started chatting and I learned that he's some Frenchie from the World Bank. Side note. It's hilarious to me to listen to K-F and J talk about their world here in DC. "Oh yeah, so he's shipping out to Baghdad tomorrow but his girlfriend just got back from assignment in Afghanistan." or "Yes, she works for the counter-terrorism unit at the CIA and is currently assessing the likelihood that Bhutto won't get her brains blown out."
Frenchie learns that I speak French and then mysteriously walks away. Odd. I see some dude dressed in a skirt and so I grab his skirt. He lifts it up higher and shows me his adorable boxer briefs and fine ass. Then he turns around. Very cute face. Nice broad shoulders. Oh my God. He looks pregnant! What a beer belly! How does that happen?
The first party had many guys there, but K-F's friends had another party to hit up. We were told that there'd probably be more single men there. Feeling unsure, K-F and I agree to go with them. We should've stayed put. The second party blew.
So K-F texts her friend N and finds out that he's at some bar called the Science Club. We hop in a cab and start chatting about escapades with men. I'm learning about K-F's kinky side and we soon realize that we're similar and that it's probably a good thing that we don't live in the same city because we have the same taste in men. Outside the Science Club I see a dude and we start staring at each other. He asks me why we both look confused and I tell him it's because I had already seen him earlier that day at Tryst. Cute red-head in a Beckham soccer uniform.
We go inside and about a half hour later, I ask Opie Beckham if he can bend it, and he asks me if he can buy me a drink. I acquiesce, naturally. We start chatting and it turns out that he's from Peabody, MA, right outside of Boston. I know Peabody from my Boston days so we begin chatting about that. Turns out that he works at the bar as a bartender. It figures that the ONLY dude I chat up in DC is a total non-DC type; doesn't make for an exciting story to recount later on. He was pretty boring, so after a few minutes we part ways and I head back to K-F and N.
N leaves us to fetch drinks at the bar when a cute young guy walks up to K-F and me and says "I'm not trying to F*** you, I'm just trying to sign you." I guess this is some line from the show Entourage. "Yeah, I just wanted to come talk to the 2 hottest chicks in the bar." A couple of fake laughs later, and there's dead silence.
A: "Oh come on now, Danny boy. If you're going to walk up to the '2 hottest chicks' in the bar, then you've gotta bring your A game. There can't be silence."
He was so easy to tease. Young, all-American. He asked us our names and what we did.
A: "Vivienne. But my friends call me Viv. I'm a student at NYU. Geology. No I don't know what I will do with that degree. I just love diamonds and rocks, so I chose that. Oh, I just turned 20. Shhhh... I used a fake ID to get in here."
I was in rare, top form. You know, being out of town and all, because God forbid I'm relaxed and fun and cool in my own hometown.
I finally fessed up to Danny boy that I was 31, and that my name was A... He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that I was 31 and that K-F is 34. We look WAYYYYY too hot for our age. What does this guy think 30-somethings looks like?? He asks me what I do for a living, since I'm not a geologist nor gemologist from NYU.
A: "I'm an acrobat in Cirque-du-Soleil. No? You don't believe me? OK, I'm a QA specialist for Trojan Maxx condoms."
Then I told him what I really did, and he didn't believe that either. He said that the first 2 lies I gave were more credible.
As the evening wore on, I was told that I'm a cougar. Can one be a cougar at 31? Seriously? I take offense to that. Why am I a cougar? Just because I'm teasing a 25-year old and just because the last guy I got jiggy with was 20? Please. I've got plenty of years left before I can officially take on that title.
I gave props to Danny for having the balls to walk up to us and for bringing his game. Didn't know if it was his A game or B game, but he brought game. I told him that that would work for him some day. Just not today. :-)
OK, Kudos to you for having stayed with me this long. I'll wrap it up. I got home at 3:30, saw K-M off to his run at 6:30 and crashed. I'm hung over, hungry and exhausted. But, I'm also having a blast.
I am SUPPOSED to be hanging out with J, as we had planned MONTHS ago, but J had to cancel. France called and they needed her for hot French love-making and gallivanting across the continent to Tuscany with French boyfriend. In the world of women, French BF in romantic Paris trumps American BFF stateside. So I saw her Wednesday and Thursday and then she left me in her empty apartment on Friday and flew across the ocean to be with her amour for 2 weeks. I don't blame her. If I had the chance to have hot French sex for 2 weeks and go gallivanting to Italy rather than play tour guide at home, I'd sideline her ass too.
J left her apartment to me and her friend K Male (two characters by the name of K will be introduced in this post: K Male and K Female, heretofore known as K-M and K-F), who was flying in from Miami late Friday night to run in some military-sponsored marathon in DC today, Sunday.
Friday night K-F and her friend M and I went to dinner at Ardeo. Do not go there. I had a horrible pasta with smoked chicken that mistakenly featured cartilage, and sandy clams. K-F had a burger that kept her up retching all night. So if you dine there, it is at your own peril. I got back to the apartment just in time to let K-M in. He cooked pasta and we stayed up until 1:30am chatting.
After another night of restless sleep, K-M asked me if I wanted to go out for brunch. I was starving, so yes. We walked to this placed called Luna Grille, but there was a 20-minute wait. K-M then had the genius idea to try to find a restaurant that he used to frequent with J's BF, that has "AWESOME FOOD", but whose name he can't remember and whose location he's not quite certain of. So we start walking. And walking. And walking.
A: "K, this brunch had better give me an orgasm."
K: "It's around here somewhere, and the food's going to be great, don't worry!"
A: "Maybe we should call N (J's BF) in Paris and ask him where it is. I bet HE'D know.
K: "Patience!"
A: (Starts humming the tune from final Jeopardy!) "Are you starting to feel pressured yet?"
A half hour of "I think it's just up this block" later and I interjected, "That's it. We're asking for directions. Excuse me sir, do you know where we might find a certain restaurant with outdoor seating, which serves brunch and which might be located anywhere from 16th to 20th streets between P and T streets? Um yeah, I think that's it. So do you know where we can find it?"
You can divine the success we had with posing that question. About 15 minutes later K yells "That's it. That's the restaurant over there."
A: "I NEVER doubted you!"
Java House. Another disappointment. Turns out that they don't serve brunch. They serve bagel sandwiches with pork products, coffee and lunch. No sides. No homefries. No Steak & Eggs. So we sit outside, with my back to the street where I can't even people watch. I start asking the waitress if she can swap the bacon or ham in the sandwich for turkey and she kind of stares at me blankly. "OK, can you just leave the meat off altogether and bring me just the eggs and cheese on the bagel, but please substitute Swiss cheese for the cheddar?"
K: "God, I feel like I'm in the movie When Harry Met Sally.
A: "Hey, I told you I needed to get an orgasm out of this meal.
That afternoon I walked around the Museum of Natural History by myself and had an awesome falafel sandwich in Adam's Morgan. The toppings bar at this falafel place was out of this world. With my stomach not feeling quite full, I stopped by Tryst down the street and had a giant chocolate chip cookie. On my way back to J's place I was still feeling hungry and sleepy, so I stopped at CVS to buy chips and a Redbull as if I were Britney after an afternoon romp with K-Fed.
I got back to J's place only to find K-M wandering each floor of the building in search of J's apartment because he forgot her unit number. I let him in and lied down on the bed doubled over. I had eaten so much that I felt like I had a boulder resting in my belly. Contemplating the likelihood that I may have a tapeworm (why else would I keep eating?), I fart around the apartment and throw words of support to K-M while he prepares for his big run the following day. Then I give the Boulder-native sh!t about the Rockies's performance against the awesome Red Sox. I escaped his clutches just in time to go meet K-F and her friends out on U street. They had a couple of Halloween parties that they were invited to, so we hit the first one.
At the party there was a cute guy stroking his lone, protruding breast, smiling at me. "Pray tell, what are you dressed up as with your uni-boob?" He turned his left side to me and showed me that he was a guy on the left side and a woman on his right side. Unique & very well done. We started chatting and I learned that he's some Frenchie from the World Bank. Side note. It's hilarious to me to listen to K-F and J talk about their world here in DC. "Oh yeah, so he's shipping out to Baghdad tomorrow but his girlfriend just got back from assignment in Afghanistan." or "Yes, she works for the counter-terrorism unit at the CIA and is currently assessing the likelihood that Bhutto won't get her brains blown out."
Frenchie learns that I speak French and then mysteriously walks away. Odd. I see some dude dressed in a skirt and so I grab his skirt. He lifts it up higher and shows me his adorable boxer briefs and fine ass. Then he turns around. Very cute face. Nice broad shoulders. Oh my God. He looks pregnant! What a beer belly! How does that happen?
The first party had many guys there, but K-F's friends had another party to hit up. We were told that there'd probably be more single men there. Feeling unsure, K-F and I agree to go with them. We should've stayed put. The second party blew.
So K-F texts her friend N and finds out that he's at some bar called the Science Club. We hop in a cab and start chatting about escapades with men. I'm learning about K-F's kinky side and we soon realize that we're similar and that it's probably a good thing that we don't live in the same city because we have the same taste in men. Outside the Science Club I see a dude and we start staring at each other. He asks me why we both look confused and I tell him it's because I had already seen him earlier that day at Tryst. Cute red-head in a Beckham soccer uniform.
We go inside and about a half hour later, I ask Opie Beckham if he can bend it, and he asks me if he can buy me a drink. I acquiesce, naturally. We start chatting and it turns out that he's from Peabody, MA, right outside of Boston. I know Peabody from my Boston days so we begin chatting about that. Turns out that he works at the bar as a bartender. It figures that the ONLY dude I chat up in DC is a total non-DC type; doesn't make for an exciting story to recount later on. He was pretty boring, so after a few minutes we part ways and I head back to K-F and N.
N leaves us to fetch drinks at the bar when a cute young guy walks up to K-F and me and says "I'm not trying to F*** you, I'm just trying to sign you." I guess this is some line from the show Entourage. "Yeah, I just wanted to come talk to the 2 hottest chicks in the bar." A couple of fake laughs later, and there's dead silence.
A: "Oh come on now, Danny boy. If you're going to walk up to the '2 hottest chicks' in the bar, then you've gotta bring your A game. There can't be silence."
He was so easy to tease. Young, all-American. He asked us our names and what we did.
A: "Vivienne. But my friends call me Viv. I'm a student at NYU. Geology. No I don't know what I will do with that degree. I just love diamonds and rocks, so I chose that. Oh, I just turned 20. Shhhh... I used a fake ID to get in here."
I was in rare, top form. You know, being out of town and all, because God forbid I'm relaxed and fun and cool in my own hometown.
I finally fessed up to Danny boy that I was 31, and that my name was A... He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that I was 31 and that K-F is 34. We look WAYYYYY too hot for our age. What does this guy think 30-somethings looks like?? He asks me what I do for a living, since I'm not a geologist nor gemologist from NYU.
A: "I'm an acrobat in Cirque-du-Soleil. No? You don't believe me? OK, I'm a QA specialist for Trojan Maxx condoms."
Then I told him what I really did, and he didn't believe that either. He said that the first 2 lies I gave were more credible.
As the evening wore on, I was told that I'm a cougar. Can one be a cougar at 31? Seriously? I take offense to that. Why am I a cougar? Just because I'm teasing a 25-year old and just because the last guy I got jiggy with was 20? Please. I've got plenty of years left before I can officially take on that title.
I gave props to Danny for having the balls to walk up to us and for bringing his game. Didn't know if it was his A game or B game, but he brought game. I told him that that would work for him some day. Just not today. :-)
OK, Kudos to you for having stayed with me this long. I'll wrap it up. I got home at 3:30, saw K-M off to his run at 6:30 and crashed. I'm hung over, hungry and exhausted. But, I'm also having a blast.
Monday, October 22, 2007
My non-date date with Mr. Charming
Last week at a business function I met a Turkish guy who gave me his card and insisted on getting together. I thought he had professional reasons for wanting to meet, so I made plans to get together with him for coffee during the work day, which turned into lunch, which morphed into happy hour drinks, which materialized into dinner and an after-dinner martini. When he called me today to confirm our get together and suggested 8pm, I knew that he didn't have projections on emerging markets and equities trading on the mind.
So I met him at Jewel Bako in the East Village, a restaurant that serves sushi for $45-$75 a plate. Shortly into the dinner he starts talking about how girls he's been with have all wanted to get married to him and how this is such a turn off to him. He asks me why all women are obsessed with getting married and having babies. I'm still stuck on "women want to marry me" so I haven't been able to process the question about why women want to have babies. I can't get past the notion that women want to marry this guy.
He proceeds to answer phone calls throughout dinner, apologizing for being so rude (apparently, that's soooo out of character for him - major f'ing eyeroll). Actually, I'm relieved. The more time he spends on the phone, the less time I have to spend dodging his X-Ray stares. I jokingly say "No problem. I'll just finish the edamame while you take your calls."
To which he replies, "Yes, I noticed you finishing them. Are you getting fat?"
He's a foreigner, so I take this as a misuse of the English language. "Fat? No, you mean, full."
"No, I mean fat. Do you feel fat? You know, women are always thinking they're fat and I think that's funny, so I go after them and push their buttons."
"Excuse me. I'm just going to go to the ladies room."
A calmly walks into the bathroom, closes the door and dials her sister, "Hello? Yes, oh my God. You have to call me in 15 minutes and pretend like there's some sort of emergency. I'm on a date that's as excruciating as peeing out shards of glass. PLEASE! We're almost through with dinner but he wants to take me out afterwards for martinis. I've suffered through a bottle of wine, appetizers, entrees & now dessert with this dude. I can't take martinis! I'll have to endure a walk to the next bar. That's just adding to the time that I need to spend with him!"
"OK, but do you really think you can pull this off? You're pretty transparent."
"No. I don't think that I can pull it off. I'm the worst liar. Damnit! This is like a $250 dinner too!"
"Oooooh... yeah, just suffer through it hon. It's one night."
So I suffered through more smarmy talk, and grazing of my neck and leg and arm. The dude was completely clueless. How could he not tell that I wasn't the least bit interested? Didn't my endless yawning give it away? When he touched me, I jerked back like I had just stumbled upon a beehive. Wouldn't that have done the trick? Why did he think it was OK to touch me? He insists on taking me to eat steak next week. I was too chicken shit to say no, so I said "Tentatively, yes."
So my "tentatively, yes" will need to become a "definitely, no". What shall I state as my reason? I should tell him that I was so taken by him that I must marry him straight away and produce a litter of babies. That should send him running.
So I met him at Jewel Bako in the East Village, a restaurant that serves sushi for $45-$75 a plate. Shortly into the dinner he starts talking about how girls he's been with have all wanted to get married to him and how this is such a turn off to him. He asks me why all women are obsessed with getting married and having babies. I'm still stuck on "women want to marry me" so I haven't been able to process the question about why women want to have babies. I can't get past the notion that women want to marry this guy.
He proceeds to answer phone calls throughout dinner, apologizing for being so rude (apparently, that's soooo out of character for him - major f'ing eyeroll). Actually, I'm relieved. The more time he spends on the phone, the less time I have to spend dodging his X-Ray stares. I jokingly say "No problem. I'll just finish the edamame while you take your calls."
To which he replies, "Yes, I noticed you finishing them. Are you getting fat?"
He's a foreigner, so I take this as a misuse of the English language. "Fat? No, you mean, full."
"No, I mean fat. Do you feel fat? You know, women are always thinking they're fat and I think that's funny, so I go after them and push their buttons."
"Excuse me. I'm just going to go to the ladies room."
A calmly walks into the bathroom, closes the door and dials her sister, "Hello? Yes, oh my God. You have to call me in 15 minutes and pretend like there's some sort of emergency. I'm on a date that's as excruciating as peeing out shards of glass. PLEASE! We're almost through with dinner but he wants to take me out afterwards for martinis. I've suffered through a bottle of wine, appetizers, entrees & now dessert with this dude. I can't take martinis! I'll have to endure a walk to the next bar. That's just adding to the time that I need to spend with him!"
"OK, but do you really think you can pull this off? You're pretty transparent."
"No. I don't think that I can pull it off. I'm the worst liar. Damnit! This is like a $250 dinner too!"
"Oooooh... yeah, just suffer through it hon. It's one night."
So I suffered through more smarmy talk, and grazing of my neck and leg and arm. The dude was completely clueless. How could he not tell that I wasn't the least bit interested? Didn't my endless yawning give it away? When he touched me, I jerked back like I had just stumbled upon a beehive. Wouldn't that have done the trick? Why did he think it was OK to touch me? He insists on taking me to eat steak next week. I was too chicken shit to say no, so I said "Tentatively, yes."
So my "tentatively, yes" will need to become a "definitely, no". What shall I state as my reason? I should tell him that I was so taken by him that I must marry him straight away and produce a litter of babies. That should send him running.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Breathe
Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe
Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now
Why do I feel like I'm breathing for the first time?
Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe
Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now Now
Why do I feel like I'm breathing for the first time?
Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Committment
I'm afraid of committment. I'm afraid to make a decision and commit to it. I'm afraid of committing to myself. I'm afraid of committing to success. And I'm afraid of committing to something that may bring me failure.
I'm afraid of committing to anything that could help me grow, either through pain or through pleasure.
I've entered every single area of my life straddling the fence, one foot hanging over into the garden of "go for it" and the other hanging over into the garden of "get the F outta here".
I just want to make a decision and not look back. Invest in something fully and accept whatever it brings: good or bad. I just want to make a decision and not question it to death.
I want to commit and still maintain my breath.
I'm afraid of committing to anything that could help me grow, either through pain or through pleasure.
I've entered every single area of my life straddling the fence, one foot hanging over into the garden of "go for it" and the other hanging over into the garden of "get the F outta here".
I just want to make a decision and not look back. Invest in something fully and accept whatever it brings: good or bad. I just want to make a decision and not question it to death.
I want to commit and still maintain my breath.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Corresponding expression with corresponding emotions
Last night B and I went to dinner at FR.OG which was a fusion of French and Moroccan cuisine. Pretty tasty.
B and I have been friends for about 14 years - we go back to our college days, though he's 44 and I'm 31. I shared with B how I've always appreciated that there's never been any sexual tension between us. About how he's the only guy friend who's stayed with me through all the years because he's never had an ulterior motive.
B responds, "I'm so glad you said that and that you feel that way, because that's definitely the truth. Now show me your boobies."
"Excuse me?"
"I want you to prove to me that you trust that I don't want anything more from you. What better way to show me your trust than to show me your boobs?"
Did I mention that B is an ass? He didn't get to see my boobs, nor immortalize them in a photo, as he so begged to do. I don't get it. There ain't much there.
So I relayed my recent experiences with men to B and he asked "Dude, what's wrong with your mojo?" That's precisely what I'm trying to figure out myself. Because it's taken me SOOOO long to get to the point of being ready to date seriously and have a relationship, I never really got too experienced with New York men. Never before in my life have I been exposed to a more fickle and sensitive crowd.
He asked me how I flirt, because he's apparently an expert on it. B is always talking about how women throw themselves at him at weddings (he's a photographer and has a shoot nearly every weekend) so he's got big time "game". As he's listening to me, he says "You need to get that bitchy edge off your shoulder. It works like a force field around you." I told him that I've been making progress, but he just stared at me and blinked. No comment. Did I mention he's an ass? He tells me about how flirting is such an art form, and how I need to be playful and subtle and work my way up to a crescendo wahh wahhh wahhh wahhh wahh.
Enough with this already. I can toy around, laugh, touch, and banter back and forth just as much as the next person. But I have never been fake. I've never before in my life tried to morph myself into someone I'm not just so a man will feel comfortable enough to ask me out after he's spent the last 1/2 hour chatting me up. These guys have no follow through and I'M supposed to coddle them? I soooo don't think so. I can't be someone I'm not. One of my favorite lines ever comes from the movie French Kiss when Meg Ryan's character is telling Kevin Kline's character that she's pretty uncomplicated. That she can't play games and how in her world corresponding expressions go with corresponding emotions. Yes means yes and no means no.
I'm the same way. I understand that this city is filled with beautiful women, so men can afford to be fickle. But I really don't WANT the guy on whom I'm going to spend so much energy just to try to keep his attention. I want the guy who finds me attractive AND wants to get to know me.
So the German commander from Hogan's Heroes emails me today asking me "What's your story. do you have any plans for the weekend?" I told him that I'm pretty busy - that but that I'm free on Saturday afternoon. He asks again if I have plans, and I'm not sure why. So I said that I was free outside of tonight, tomorrow night and Sunday and he responds with "Sorry I asked". What?! I wrote him back asking "Are you asking to hang out?" I then explained how since I work from home I try to keep busy outside during non-working hours. His reply? "Makes sense."
Did I bruise his ego by daring to be busy? Mind you, during all of this there were plenty of jokes being sent on my part, with smiley faces. He never ASKED me to hang out. He just asked what my plans were. So I told him. And then I get the cold shoulder?
I feel like a guy going "What does she want? I wish she could just be clear with me." I swear, I'm a guy's wet dream. I'm independent. I need my space. I'm not clingy. I'm honest & to the point. I don't beat around the bush and I can totally get freaky.
People have always told me about how men have such sensitive egos and how not many of them can handle a strong independent woman. My single status is living proof of that.
Wait. I think I hear bells. Is that the nunnery calling?
:-D Tah. Happy weekenj'all!
B and I have been friends for about 14 years - we go back to our college days, though he's 44 and I'm 31. I shared with B how I've always appreciated that there's never been any sexual tension between us. About how he's the only guy friend who's stayed with me through all the years because he's never had an ulterior motive.
B responds, "I'm so glad you said that and that you feel that way, because that's definitely the truth. Now show me your boobies."
"Excuse me?"
"I want you to prove to me that you trust that I don't want anything more from you. What better way to show me your trust than to show me your boobs?"
Did I mention that B is an ass? He didn't get to see my boobs, nor immortalize them in a photo, as he so begged to do. I don't get it. There ain't much there.
So I relayed my recent experiences with men to B and he asked "Dude, what's wrong with your mojo?" That's precisely what I'm trying to figure out myself. Because it's taken me SOOOO long to get to the point of being ready to date seriously and have a relationship, I never really got too experienced with New York men. Never before in my life have I been exposed to a more fickle and sensitive crowd.
He asked me how I flirt, because he's apparently an expert on it. B is always talking about how women throw themselves at him at weddings (he's a photographer and has a shoot nearly every weekend) so he's got big time "game". As he's listening to me, he says "You need to get that bitchy edge off your shoulder. It works like a force field around you." I told him that I've been making progress, but he just stared at me and blinked. No comment. Did I mention he's an ass? He tells me about how flirting is such an art form, and how I need to be playful and subtle and work my way up to a crescendo wahh wahhh wahhh wahhh wahh.
Enough with this already. I can toy around, laugh, touch, and banter back and forth just as much as the next person. But I have never been fake. I've never before in my life tried to morph myself into someone I'm not just so a man will feel comfortable enough to ask me out after he's spent the last 1/2 hour chatting me up. These guys have no follow through and I'M supposed to coddle them? I soooo don't think so. I can't be someone I'm not. One of my favorite lines ever comes from the movie French Kiss when Meg Ryan's character is telling Kevin Kline's character that she's pretty uncomplicated. That she can't play games and how in her world corresponding expressions go with corresponding emotions. Yes means yes and no means no.
I'm the same way. I understand that this city is filled with beautiful women, so men can afford to be fickle. But I really don't WANT the guy on whom I'm going to spend so much energy just to try to keep his attention. I want the guy who finds me attractive AND wants to get to know me.
So the German commander from Hogan's Heroes emails me today asking me "What's your story. do you have any plans for the weekend?" I told him that I'm pretty busy - that but that I'm free on Saturday afternoon. He asks again if I have plans, and I'm not sure why. So I said that I was free outside of tonight, tomorrow night and Sunday and he responds with "Sorry I asked". What?! I wrote him back asking "Are you asking to hang out?" I then explained how since I work from home I try to keep busy outside during non-working hours. His reply? "Makes sense."
Did I bruise his ego by daring to be busy? Mind you, during all of this there were plenty of jokes being sent on my part, with smiley faces. He never ASKED me to hang out. He just asked what my plans were. So I told him. And then I get the cold shoulder?
I feel like a guy going "What does she want? I wish she could just be clear with me." I swear, I'm a guy's wet dream. I'm independent. I need my space. I'm not clingy. I'm honest & to the point. I don't beat around the bush and I can totally get freaky.
People have always told me about how men have such sensitive egos and how not many of them can handle a strong independent woman. My single status is living proof of that.
Wait. I think I hear bells. Is that the nunnery calling?
:-D Tah. Happy weekenj'all!
Es la revancha del tango
M took pictures of me this past weekend for a project and B reworked them. This is one of my favorites. I like the lines, the vintage look and the blurs of movement.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sex and mirrors
I’ve not written much lately because I’ve not felt very inspired. I’ve yo yo-ed back and forth between “Life’s grand!” and “WTF?(*#^*!!!!!” and so thought it best to just not say anything at all.
So that last declaration I made where I said I’d own my own place within the next year? Yeah, I might need to take that back. It’s amazing to me how whenever I make a declaration to the universe, it sends me a test to see how resolved I am on sticking to my guns. This most recent test, or obstacle, or slap in the face (however you choose to look at it) is showing up in my world saying “Now if you REALLY want your own place, you may need to move out of the country’s most expensive real estate market to get it. That or do like most other New Yorkers and continue to pay your landlord’s mortgage each month.” I can’t go into why it no longer looks like buying an apartment in this city in the next year is possible but know that, barring the receipt of a mysterious inheritance or winning the lottery, it’s pretty much impossible.
Last night I went to a French Tuesdays party at the Times Square W hotel’s Whiskey Bar. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the club, every other Tuesday a bunch of ridiculously good looking & rich people get together at some of the city’s most posh venues for a night of champagne drinking, dancing and anything else you can imagine rich, good looking, single, drunk people would do. I haven’t been to one of these parties in at least a year as I found them to be one of the loneliest experiences ever. Imagine being surrounded by such a group and not being anything like them (at least where finances & sexual morals are concerned). Yeah, kinda lonely.
So anyway, I mentioned recently that I was trying to get back into the Frenchie world and that I had met a French lady, F, who wanted to hang out. So our first outing was to French Tuesdays. We were there for a bit before I saw my friend A and her posse (A had a rooftop party last weekend with STUNNING views of the city) and so I began chatting with them. I lost F & a couple of other people on the dance floor somewhere. I went back to find them and when I found them, I realized that there was no room for me as both gals were dry humping some dudes on the dance floor. Okkkkkaaayyyy… Movin’ on.
At one point I saw this HOT dude that also looked familiar to me (picture a young, thinner and attractive Peter Brady). I kept trying to remember where I knew him from when it suddenly dawned on me: I had exchanged a couple of emails with him a couple of years ago when I briefly partook in the dreaded online dating world. He was Turkish and I remember thinking “Score! He’s hot AND Turkish. What a RARE find!” But, like with most of the online dating guys, nothing materialized. So last night I figured “F it. I’ll go up to him and say something.”
So I walk up & tap him on the shoulder: “Hi, I SWEAR this isn’t a pick up line but you look so familiar. Where do I know you from?”
“Hmmm… not sure. You don’t look familiar to me.”
“Really? What’s your name?”
“O…”
“You’re Turkish! I am too. I’m A… We must’ve met at some Turkish outing.”
“Yeah, don’t know. I don’t remember you. Sorry.”
And he turns his shoulder to me.
Are you FRIGGIN’ kidding me? Some chick approaches you (and you’re with your guy friends, not a girl) and you SNUB her?!? That’s a GOLDEN opportunity!
Later on I’m in the bathroom, which happens to be unisex, and I’m fixing my hair in the mirror because, between the humidity and sweat in the air, it was inflating at scary rates by the second (think Chia Pet head). Some guy comes up behind me and says “I’m so glad you fixed it. It was really beginning to bother me.”
Cute. So we start talking to each other via the mirror. At one point he says “This is strange, talking to each other through the mirror. Kind of like sex and mirrors. That makes me uncomfortable too.”
I gave him a look (normally I’d just brush this off and not even respond. But I had had a shitty day and I decided to try on ‘relaxing’ and ‘flirting’ for size). He interpreted this to mean I wasn’t into sex & mirrors because he says “Oh, you’re clearly the timid type and haven’t done that.”
“Actually, no. I was just thinking how sex and mirrors so DON’T bother me.”
He smiles and walks away.
What’s with these guys?!!?! If you’re going to be bold and talk about sex and mirrors with some chick that you just met, at least have the balls to follow through when she matches your bet! Or in this case, calls you on your bluff!
Oy. So I spent the rest of the evening dancing with 2 guys I had met at A’s party. They’re both nice. One, to whom I wasn’t attracted, was very sweet and seemed like he wouldn’t mind exploring what’s in my head. The other, to whom I was attracted, was funny and seemed like he wouldn’t mind exploring what’s in my pants. So I just danced with them both, giving them equal amounts of attention, not playing favorites. Actually, that’s not true. I did play favorites with Mr. “Your hair’s fine. Trust me, no one’s looking at THAT part of you anyway.” He’s Persian and German, which makes for a cute face but for a VERY bad accent. He sounds like a German commander from Hogan’s Heroes. Ah well. Nothing happened. We shared a cab ride, I gave him my 411, kissed him on both cheeks goodnight and came home and showered. With cold water.
So that last declaration I made where I said I’d own my own place within the next year? Yeah, I might need to take that back. It’s amazing to me how whenever I make a declaration to the universe, it sends me a test to see how resolved I am on sticking to my guns. This most recent test, or obstacle, or slap in the face (however you choose to look at it) is showing up in my world saying “Now if you REALLY want your own place, you may need to move out of the country’s most expensive real estate market to get it. That or do like most other New Yorkers and continue to pay your landlord’s mortgage each month.” I can’t go into why it no longer looks like buying an apartment in this city in the next year is possible but know that, barring the receipt of a mysterious inheritance or winning the lottery, it’s pretty much impossible.
Last night I went to a French Tuesdays party at the Times Square W hotel’s Whiskey Bar. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the club, every other Tuesday a bunch of ridiculously good looking & rich people get together at some of the city’s most posh venues for a night of champagne drinking, dancing and anything else you can imagine rich, good looking, single, drunk people would do. I haven’t been to one of these parties in at least a year as I found them to be one of the loneliest experiences ever. Imagine being surrounded by such a group and not being anything like them (at least where finances & sexual morals are concerned). Yeah, kinda lonely.
So anyway, I mentioned recently that I was trying to get back into the Frenchie world and that I had met a French lady, F, who wanted to hang out. So our first outing was to French Tuesdays. We were there for a bit before I saw my friend A and her posse (A had a rooftop party last weekend with STUNNING views of the city) and so I began chatting with them. I lost F & a couple of other people on the dance floor somewhere. I went back to find them and when I found them, I realized that there was no room for me as both gals were dry humping some dudes on the dance floor. Okkkkkaaayyyy… Movin’ on.
At one point I saw this HOT dude that also looked familiar to me (picture a young, thinner and attractive Peter Brady). I kept trying to remember where I knew him from when it suddenly dawned on me: I had exchanged a couple of emails with him a couple of years ago when I briefly partook in the dreaded online dating world. He was Turkish and I remember thinking “Score! He’s hot AND Turkish. What a RARE find!” But, like with most of the online dating guys, nothing materialized. So last night I figured “F it. I’ll go up to him and say something.”
So I walk up & tap him on the shoulder: “Hi, I SWEAR this isn’t a pick up line but you look so familiar. Where do I know you from?”
“Hmmm… not sure. You don’t look familiar to me.”
“Really? What’s your name?”
“O…”
“You’re Turkish! I am too. I’m A… We must’ve met at some Turkish outing.”
“Yeah, don’t know. I don’t remember you. Sorry.”
And he turns his shoulder to me.
Are you FRIGGIN’ kidding me? Some chick approaches you (and you’re with your guy friends, not a girl) and you SNUB her?!? That’s a GOLDEN opportunity!
Later on I’m in the bathroom, which happens to be unisex, and I’m fixing my hair in the mirror because, between the humidity and sweat in the air, it was inflating at scary rates by the second (think Chia Pet head). Some guy comes up behind me and says “I’m so glad you fixed it. It was really beginning to bother me.”
Cute. So we start talking to each other via the mirror. At one point he says “This is strange, talking to each other through the mirror. Kind of like sex and mirrors. That makes me uncomfortable too.”
I gave him a look (normally I’d just brush this off and not even respond. But I had had a shitty day and I decided to try on ‘relaxing’ and ‘flirting’ for size). He interpreted this to mean I wasn’t into sex & mirrors because he says “Oh, you’re clearly the timid type and haven’t done that.”
“Actually, no. I was just thinking how sex and mirrors so DON’T bother me.”
He smiles and walks away.
What’s with these guys?!!?! If you’re going to be bold and talk about sex and mirrors with some chick that you just met, at least have the balls to follow through when she matches your bet! Or in this case, calls you on your bluff!
Oy. So I spent the rest of the evening dancing with 2 guys I had met at A’s party. They’re both nice. One, to whom I wasn’t attracted, was very sweet and seemed like he wouldn’t mind exploring what’s in my head. The other, to whom I was attracted, was funny and seemed like he wouldn’t mind exploring what’s in my pants. So I just danced with them both, giving them equal amounts of attention, not playing favorites. Actually, that’s not true. I did play favorites with Mr. “Your hair’s fine. Trust me, no one’s looking at THAT part of you anyway.” He’s Persian and German, which makes for a cute face but for a VERY bad accent. He sounds like a German commander from Hogan’s Heroes. Ah well. Nothing happened. We shared a cab ride, I gave him my 411, kissed him on both cheeks goodnight and came home and showered. With cold water.
