I’ve Got Game: Part 2 of 2

To follow up with Part 1: I’m totally aware that sneaking out of Joey’s apartment was incredibly sketchy. However, the sole motivation being making out with him was to somehow prove to myself that I could still make out with anyone I chose. Why I chose HIM is entirely beyond me and is not the point. I think you’ll find I’m getting less sketchy as the Saturdays progress.

Saturday Night #2

Saturday-day was gorgeous and almost 80 degrees and R2 and I had a roommate date because R1 is in China with her bf visiting one of our friends from HS. We took a picnic to Central Park and snacked/read/napped/chatted/relaxed until 7pm and it was glorious and warm and sunny and I even have a slight tan line! Then we went to dinner at a southwestern restaurant and split a pitched of so-strong sangria with raspberries in it! It was so fun, I need to end every statement with a lot of enthusiasm!

After dinner, I was of course already drunk. R2 was pretty sober, so she was enjoying my intoxication. We walked back home, where I showered and poured myself a giant cup of wine. I had plans to go to BoyB’s roommate’s birthday party and R2 announced she no longer wanted to make the trek to Brooklyn with me. I became drunk enough at home that after the hour-long subway ride to BoyB’s, I was still very much buzzed. The party was very low-key, I was overdressed (as I always am when I head to Brooklyn), and there was a giant gallon-sized jug of sangria sitting there waiting, as it seemed, for me to arrive!

Eventually, we all headed to the bar nearby. At one point I played PacMan. I only knew two or three people there and BoyB was wasted and distracted and was not paying enough attention to me, so I started making new friends. Before I realized it, I was sitting in a booth chatting up the birthday boy, BoyB’s roommate…we’ll call him T. T is very, very tall, very, very skinny, and not really my type at all. I realized after a while that we were flirting. I also realized after a while that BoyB had abandoned us at the bar and we were the only ones left. BoyB called immediately after these realizations and demanded I come back to his apartment. I informed T of this demand and we headed back. There were five of us at the apartment and of course we proceeded to have some kind of dance party in BoyB’s room to Motown music. Or something. It’s unclear at this point.

Suddenly, BoyB’s friend passed out in his bed, T’s friend passed out on the couch, and BoyB decided he was going to sleep – and he shut his bedroom door. T and I stood in the living room for a second before I announced that I was going to go sit in his room.

T follows me and I berate him briefly for having absolutely no decorations in his room. I believe I used the term “jail cell.” T’s defense was that he had a lot of books, so I asked which he was reading, and T pointed to a book of poetry. Being the obnoxious girl I am, I demanded he find his favorite one in the book. At this point, neither of us could see too well, although I still managed to veto his first selection and require he find another poem. After this awkward, drunken, silent poetry-reading of sorts, T just looked at me.

“What.” I said. Or demanded. I was very demanding that night.

“Nothing…” He replied. I think he might have been scared of me.

“Not nothing. What?” I asked. Nicely this time, I think. Or just slurringly. Who knows.

“Well, I was just thinking…maybe…we should make out?”

It was so tentative and innocent that the cheesy awkwardness almost disappeared.

Once again I’m fairly certain I passed out mid-makeout and once again I woke up Sunday morning fully clothed and slightly confused about where I was. However, this time I knew I couldn’t just get up and leave – this guy is my best friend’s roommate! I will absolutely see him again.

Surprisingly, it was anything but awkward and it was like T and I were just old friends who happened to drunkenly makeout and wake up next to each other. It was also hysterical when we both blacked into the bizarre poetry reading of the night before.

I’ve Got Game: Part 1 of 2

The last couple posts have been fairly serious and/or though-provoking, so I thought I’d give you some lighter reading.

The past two Saturday nights, I’ve managed to make out with two different guys. I’m also pretty sure I passed out mid-makeout both times, which resulted in the awkward Sunday Morning. Since I’m in San Francisco right now, I’m splitting the Saturdays into two different posts in an effort to fulfill Mama Bird’s demand that I post more. My stupid blackberry wouldn’t let me access these drafts to post while I was in San Francisco all week even though I wrote them in advance!

Saturday Night #1:

Twin, Bex, and B2 came over to my apartment. B2 showed up with two bottles of champagne and I’d gotten a bottle of vodka earlier in the day. Between the four of us, we finished almost all of it. As a direct result of this massive amount of alcohol, we had a dance party in my living room. With the lights off. We also had a photo shoot with R1’s shower cap.

Yeah, it's a raspberry.

Circa 12:30 am, we all decided it was time to go out. Clearly this involves fixing a solo cup of mostly vodka (with possibly some orange juice for coloring) and taking it in the cab with us. I don’t think any of us got the memo about open container laws that night. Anyway, at the first bar, B2 meets up with her HS bf, Bex finds some dudes celebrating a bachelor party to chat up, and Twin and I chug a beer and peace out. As can be expected, we needed pizza but also wanted to stay out, so we cabbed it 3 blocks to Crocodile Lounge, where you get a free mini pizza with every drink you buy. Seeing as it was the night before Jesus’ resurrection, there was not a huge proponent of people out binge-drinking like we were.

Anyway, we got a pizza and also attracted a few guido-esque guys to our table. They shared their pizzas with us and also their beers. I decided I was going to make out with the cutest one, Joey. Twin declared this would be a regret and I agreed. We decided if I pregret something, I can’t regret it, too. Pregrets > Regrets. So Twin made up a fiance, Calvin, who kept magically calling her and demanding she get home to him. After she left, I explained to Joey that Twin and Calvin got engaged in December but hadn’t chosen a date yet. We agreed they’d likely pick sometime next summer.

So Joey, his roommate, and I went back to their apartment where the roommate proceeded to smoke weed and become hilariously and absurdly intoxicated and therefore entertaining. Once the roommate went to sleep, Joey and I made out for 3 seconds before I announced I needed to lie down. I then proceeded to take off my boots, make out for possibly an entire minute, and immediately pass out.

I got to wake up Easter morning fully clothed and in Union Square, at which point I pulled my boots back on and snuck out without saying goodbye.

Why not?

“We’re heading to Vegas in a couple weeks. Maybe you and [Twin] should just book a flight and come with us.”

The suggestion was so far out there. I can’t go to Vegas. And then it occurred to me – why not?

My thoughts snowballed from contemplating the realities and logistics of booking an impromptu trip to Vegas to considering the general concept of Spontaneity. The idea of “why not?” took on an entirely new meaning and I couldn’t for the life of me answer the question.

Twin explained to me the next day that she’s been feeling the same sense of restlessness I’ve had recently. She spent a semester in Australia and has been missing it desperately lately. Bex is quitting her job in June, bumming around NYC for July, and then leaving in August. She doesn’t know where she’s going or what she’s going to do – but that’s the beauty in it. She’s just going. Frere is graduating from college in three weeks and he has no plans. While that’s a major source of anxiety for him (understandably so), it incites an odd sense of envy within me.

I don’t want to be jobless and I certainly don’t regret my job in any way. I actually really enjoy it and, like I said in my last post, I love my life here a lot. I know I don’t plan to live in Manhattan forever; when this job reaches its peak or when it ceases to hold so much excitement for me, I know I’ll leave and I know there’s a chance I won’t come back. In the meantime, though, why aren’t I doing crazy, spontaneous things like booking a flight to Vegas for a weekend?

As Twin and I discussed this concept of Being Spontaneous, we came up with a whole host of excuses for why it wouldn’t work. No vacation days, work is busy, obligations here in the city, it’s too crazy, we’re too poor. And then we’d say – that’s what weekends are for, work is not life, plans can be changed, nothing’s too crazy, and that’s what credit cards are for. We realized we were almost looking for excuses – and when we were able to rebut them all, the restlessness went full throttle.

I’m not exactly financially secure; living in Manhattan is kind of a trade off for any kind of savings opportunity. But I’m also not entirely broke and I have really good credit, don’t carry a balance, and have a pretty large limit on my card. Money is kind of the only real logistical road block – and I can’t even use that as an excuse.

To clarify: Twin and I are not going to Vegas. That weekend happens to be the one where I have had plans for quite some time to visit Mama Bird and her computer just died so her finances are a bit tied up in a new laptop. I also happen to have plans every single weekend in May.

But what is there stopping me from hitting June or July and dropping everything for a weekend and going to Vegas? Or L.A? Or anywhere else you can fly there and back within a 72-hour period? Even writing about the potentiality of all this is incredibly exciting…which makes it that much clearer to me that this is something I need to turn into a reality.

Hannah Montana is in My Fridge

 Yeah, you read that title correctly. Hannah Montana is in my fridge.

It’s Easter weekend, which means there is probably no one reading this anytime soon, but I promised to post more often and I have free time now. My office was closed yesterday for Good Friday (ironic since most of my co-workers are Jewish, but I’m not complaining) so the fact that today is still Saturday makes me incredibly happy.

The entire day free of work was totally devoted to crafts, which was surprisingly refreshing and a lot more fun than I’d expected. In honor of the pending resurrection of Jesus, Twin and I dyed eggs yesterday. The only options at Duane Reade were High School Musical and Hannah Montana. And I sure as hell didn’t want Vanessa Hudgens chilling in my fridge (shit – that pun was so not intended, but it’s too good/cheesy to change now). So anyway, Twin and I sat in my kitchen as 14 eggs boiled and then high-speed-cooled in my freezer. We mixed the little dye tablets and punched out the cardboard “bracelets.” It never became clear if the bracelets were for the eggs or our wrists. They’re still on my counter.

I got to have my first experience with those shrink-wrapping covers for eggs and we each had “Secret Pop Star” glitter stickers on our shirts as we focused on egg dyeing. Now, when you open my fridge, this is the first thing you see:

My fridge is more colorful than yours.

 In case Hannah’s not clear enough for you, I have this close-up:

I wish I was cool enough to be on eggs.

After these masterpieces were complete, we went to ladies’ night at Make, this paint-your-own-pottery place where, on Friday nights, they let the ladies paint for half price and serve us unlimited free red wine. There were about 10 of us and we were by far the loudest in the shop…maybe because everyone else there seemed to be on a date? (So unclear to me why any guy would agree to paint pottery with a chick on a Friday night, but whatever works for you, right?)

Anyway, I painted a mug but I can’t pick up the finished piece for a week. I’ll probably post a picture of that, too, because I mean…it will either be way better or way worse than Hannah Montana Easter eggs. And either way, you’ll probably want to see it.

Am I missing something here?

Mama Bird told me some bad news today. She no longer checks my blog every morning like she used to because…well, because I have stopped posting. I could offer excuses like work has taken over my life and made me really stressed since the 1st of April (it has), I’ve been too busy consuming ridiculous amounts of wine, beer, and other liquors to have any time to write about what happens when I do that too much (I have been), or I’ve had so much on my mind that the funny stories don’t flow as easily and I’m not quite ready to start blogging about the serious stuff (I have).

Or, I could just start posting as much I’d like to. It’ll take some shuffling of my time management skills, but I think I can make it work. I will, eventually, learn how to do it all.

For now, there’s been something on my mind that I hope hope hope will bring some commenters out of the wood-works. (Note: I realize the questions later are entirely rhetorical, but if you’re reading and you can relate - I would love to hear your insights.) It started last week when Mama Bird had the beginnings of a quarter-life crisis (she’s turning 25 in 2 weeks), to which I then decided I could completely relate, since I am the next of our close group of girls to turn 25 (in September). Then it continued to take over my wandering mind and culminated when I drunk-dialed Mama Bird Friday night at 11pm on my way home from 2 Texas-sized margaritas at Dallas BBQ (yeah, two).

I won’t speak for her this entire time, but to start off, it’s easier to use both of us as examples. Both of us are, for all intents and purposes, very happy with our lives. We both have great jobs that we actually enjoy, we both have active social lives, we are both physically fit and healthy (maybe with exception of our livers, but don’t those regenerate themselves?), we both live responsible, (relatively) financially secure lives. We’re both single, but we’re confident, beautiful girls (women? maybe not yet) with high expectations and ambitions for ourselves and others.

On a more personal note – I love my life right now. For the most part, I don’t want it to change. I can’t think of a life I’d rather be leading right now. But there’s just something not quite there. It’s so subtle, most of the time I don’t even notice. Even when I do notice, I can’t place my finger on what it is. Mama Bird feels it too – and I’m sure there TONS of other early- to mid-twenties girls in exactly the same position who know just what I’m talking about.

In the most basic, generalized way, I guess it is some kind of boyfriend, spouse, significant other, whatever. But when I start thinking about it, that’s not at all what it boils down to. If I wanted a boyfriend, I could rearrange my priorities so that finding one was higher up there. So that kindling a new relationship was more important to me. I’d stop giving out fake names and phone numbers. I’d maybe adjust some criteria or standards so that a real person could actually fit and meet them all.

Does it make me clueless or nuts to have no desire to do any of those things? Does it make me not ready for a ‘real’ relationship? Am I just selfish or is this something that makes sense?

What I just can’t figure out is why some people seem to have it all figured out – the dating thing, the relationships thing. Maybe they’re just really good at faking it or maybe they really do – but how? Why don’t I?

Mama Bird and I agree that our best friend B appears to have it all figured out. Now, I know she doesn’t, but when it comes to dating – whether she knows it or not – she has it down. She may not know what she’s doing right, but whatever she does, it’s right. B’s had one serious relationship in the two years since college, a couple short-lived-slash-on-and-off fling-type-things, a few guys others might say she dated (but she’d never refer to them as exes), and the guy she’s “dating exclusively” now.

So I guess what I’m saying – or asking – is: What separates me from B? I’m not talking attractiveness level, intelligence, or anything like that. I am confident in who I am and in the fact that B and I are different people; I know Mama Bird is, too. I’m fairly certain that every girl like me, on some level, wonders about this, though - just what is the difference between the people who have it all figured out and…me?

Manhattan is a tiny, tiny island.

So last night I had dinner at a friend’s apartment. She and her fiance live 15 blocks down from me, which is great because then I can just walk home after. We ate delicious food and then played Rock Band until 11:30. Then I was tired and it was time to go home. Twin was with me (obviously, when is she not?) and planning to take a cab to her borough apartment. I almost took a cab the 15 blocks, but then they were all going downtown and I needed to go uptown so I just started walking.

I live on the upper east side and there are a lot of puppies on the upper east side. And I love puppies a lot. So of course, whenever I’m walking around in my neighborhood, I focus on the puppies passing me by. Tiny ones, old ones, fluffy ones, ones that look like their owners…you get the idea. There are just so many!

So I’m walking up York Avenue and I’m about 5 blocks into my 15-block walk (if you’re struggling with this math, this means I’m about 10 blocks from my apartment) when I see an especially cute puppy. I think it was a bulldog puppy. You know the kind with paws that turn inward and insane under-bites? Yeah. I saw one of those coming toward me.

Obviously the puppy was on leash, but why would I care about that? Owners have nothing on their puppies. So the puppy gets closer and so does the guy walking it. I need to switch to total stream-of-consciousness to really get you in the moment.

The guy…walking the puppy…is really tall. Looks slightly familiar. I know him. I don’t know him. Where am I? I could … no, I … wait. Oh. My. God. I made out with him.

Oh yeah. It was Tall One (since renamed TBA for Ten Blocks Away). Walking his apparently new puppy down the street. Toward me.

I have not communicated with TBA in any way since his weak-lame-ass text to me telling me he was trying ‘really hard to find a job and that’s it’ over a month ago. I shoved his giant sweats and t-shirt far under my bed, where they have been (hopefully) accumulating all the dust in my room.

As we awkwardly passed each other on the street (which was suddenly void of any other human being OR puppy!), I very briefly considered saying hi. Or acting surprised and too cool for him. He must have seen me although I have no idea if he saw ME or just that a person was walking past him. It’s been a while, it was dark…I don’t really care.

I also briefly considered sending him a text message (remember, I don’t delete – I add the Z) saying anything from “Nice to see you just now” to “Follow me if you want your sweats back.”

Clearly I just texted Twin frantically as I realized how tiny Manhattan is and just how dangerous it is to hookup with guys who live within a 10 block radius of you.