Meatpacking mayhem under the deep blue sea
Saturday night, Cyndi and I ventured out into the Meatpacking District after months of not hanging out for various reasons and plans that fell through. Decked out in my new fedora and a flirty white linen skirt, we headed to the Maritime Hotel to kick off the evening.
When I arrived at the hotel, a clap of thunder struck and the rain came pelting down. I meet Cyndi under the awning of the entrance and am informed we can't go to the bar through the hotel but have to walk, around the block, in the rain, to use the bar entrance because this *special* entrance is for hotel guests only. We couldn't even stand inside the glass doors to stay dry. I have immense dislike for this hotel. While standing there, for a good 20 minutes, a British woman, wholey drenched, is turned away by the door guy and she makes a complete scene. She asks for the manager who lets her in and we, still, just standing there. The door guy, I decide, is a putz and this greater-than-thou hotel is not so great. Do not patronize this place unless you're one of those hoity-toity types who likes to run from the entrance in the rain to a car to buy your drugs and bring back to the hotel, as we saw one older gay gentleman do.
We take ourselves two blocks south to Gaslight where my fedora starts working its magic and the compliments and introductions start rolling. We are first approached by two very drunken man-boys or boy-boys, whatever, who want to entice us with a game of "let us guess your age?" Just a note, boys, this is *not* the best way to pick up a woman. They could've been smarter about it and just complimented the hat and her jewelry which I thought was very mod and lovely. No, instead they guess she's much younger than she is and I'm much older than I am. That pretty much started nailing their coffins. Then, the blondish guy talking to me... whose name is forgettable, starts chatting to me up about how his buddy Dave, the birthday boy, is his best friend and the greatest guy ever. Yadda, yadda, something about suicide of a friend, how he's awesome. Then, he pretty much buries himself when I start asking questions about him and he just shakes his head because he doesn't want to talk about the three things he's passionate about. He starts, but only give superficial answers. He gives me a really perplexed look and says, "You're challenging, I like that." Not two minutes later, "Why do you have to be so challenging?" Um, I'm sorry, just because you had 10 beers which gives you alcohol-induced confidence, I'm supposed to lay down and spread 'em? Oh please. I don't ask what he does, because I figured, he's some money-monger who parades his benjamins like a soldier with his stripes and am justified by this when he say, "Now listen to me: Dave and I are VERY SUCCESSFUL PROFESSIONALS." Professional what--liars? morons? drunks? I've become annoyed by him, even more so when he places his beer on the bouncer's stool even though it is labeled reserved for the bouncer; I find that rude and classless. He finally gives up and goes away.
Cyndi and I recap our first sad encounter, a couple more fedora compliments walk by, and two older 40-somethings decide to collect themselves and entice us. We're the most pizzazzy girls they have seen in this place. Pizzazzy? I'm ready to go, but can see Cyndi is digging tall, dark, and handsome (not to mention classy) gentleman while verbally incontinent hand-roamer is still trying to get me with pizzazzy. The rain lets up and the four of us head to one of my preferred places, Rhone, where they buy us drinks, but we've established that we're showing these out-of-towners (Miami) the Meatpacking District nightlife--we're not their pick-ups. Touchy-feel-me is the more obnoxious one. Tall-dark is the gentleman. I spot a tall, cute boy in a red shirt about 20 feet away and use the "bluebird in the nest" signal (don't ask) to alert Cyndi, I found a cute boy. I manage to slip past him later and say hi. I've made enough eye-contact to get a fleet of rescue planes to spot me in fog and so has he in about 10 minutes, but alas! all I get is a "bye" as he leaves with his group of friends. Bye? That's what I get for liking them young. Young and spineless.
Cyndi has grown more attached to tall-dark and they want to go to Lotus. I do not. BUT, I'm the best wing-woman, so I go with. I hate Lotus. Cyndi and I meander, somehow lose the older gents as tall-dark helps verbally incontinent find a chicky for the night. We leave after she has hit on the bouncer and a 24-year-old tries his hand with her.
I have to acknowledge, Bridget Harrison's article in the NY Post on how men in NY act like kids in a candy store is true in many ways. But it isn't like they are guys who want the L.A. Burdick mouse truffles; they only want Hershey Kisses or M&Ms. That is, they want it cheap and easy yet can satiate their current desires. Anything that involves investing time for quality apparently needs to have 36C bra size and be blonde, 5'9" and 110 lbs. Keep dreaming. I am extremely wary of people in general who think that things in life shouldn't be a challenge. Who'd want to stay at a job that doesn't challenge them? Don't we strive to overcome difficult tasks in order to feel they are worthwhile? And for her girls are mean response to her previous article: yes, they are. Many are--without a doubt. They tout how the current boy they are dating makes this much, got his MBA at Harvard, and takes the company jet to the Hamptons over the summer. I think there are tons of money-grubbing, status-seeking, social-climbing harpies who make it hard on the rest of us gals who want a nice bloke who doesn't parade his cash, job, or degree around like medals. Personality is underrated as a result and you get these mindless, colorless clones of financial analysts and lawyers trying to fit in a mold that is similar to the mold many women try to fit in with their anorexic bodies and huge breasts. I'm not saying I want to date Quasimodo; attraction still has to exist, but I don't need any bling-bling to make me happy. If I lose it, then what?
Sunday, I helped finish painting my godson's new bedroom in the city. Shenan and Alex are moving in this weekend and there are so many handsome boys in their building. This could be a good omen or just more drunken successful professionals. The theme of the room: under the sea. Doesn't it sound like a prom theme? It is lovely and we used some Ralph Lauren textured paint (River Rock) to do the sand part of the wall--very good and looks exactly like sand! That kid is one lucky baby.
This week, I've got more rehearsals (we need work), a haircut, my new cell phone coming in (Thank you Mike at Verizon Wireless--the best customer service), Liane in town though briefly, Shenan and Alex's big move, and Aurora's last week of meds. Also, if you haven't already, go check out Troy. Forget Brad Pitt. Eric Bana is this movie's gorgeous creature. As the brave and admirable Hektor, he's the man every woman will want to drool over. All those Aussie men... how do they do it?
Watch It: Troy with Brad Pitt, Eric Bana, Orlando Bloom, Peter O'Toole, Brian Cox, Sean Bean, Brendan Gleeson, Julie Christie, Diane Kruger, Saffron Burrows, Rose Byrne.
When I arrived at the hotel, a clap of thunder struck and the rain came pelting down. I meet Cyndi under the awning of the entrance and am informed we can't go to the bar through the hotel but have to walk, around the block, in the rain, to use the bar entrance because this *special* entrance is for hotel guests only. We couldn't even stand inside the glass doors to stay dry. I have immense dislike for this hotel. While standing there, for a good 20 minutes, a British woman, wholey drenched, is turned away by the door guy and she makes a complete scene. She asks for the manager who lets her in and we, still, just standing there. The door guy, I decide, is a putz and this greater-than-thou hotel is not so great. Do not patronize this place unless you're one of those hoity-toity types who likes to run from the entrance in the rain to a car to buy your drugs and bring back to the hotel, as we saw one older gay gentleman do.
We take ourselves two blocks south to Gaslight where my fedora starts working its magic and the compliments and introductions start rolling. We are first approached by two very drunken man-boys or boy-boys, whatever, who want to entice us with a game of "let us guess your age?" Just a note, boys, this is *not* the best way to pick up a woman. They could've been smarter about it and just complimented the hat and her jewelry which I thought was very mod and lovely. No, instead they guess she's much younger than she is and I'm much older than I am. That pretty much started nailing their coffins. Then, the blondish guy talking to me... whose name is forgettable, starts chatting to me up about how his buddy Dave, the birthday boy, is his best friend and the greatest guy ever. Yadda, yadda, something about suicide of a friend, how he's awesome. Then, he pretty much buries himself when I start asking questions about him and he just shakes his head because he doesn't want to talk about the three things he's passionate about. He starts, but only give superficial answers. He gives me a really perplexed look and says, "You're challenging, I like that." Not two minutes later, "Why do you have to be so challenging?" Um, I'm sorry, just because you had 10 beers which gives you alcohol-induced confidence, I'm supposed to lay down and spread 'em? Oh please. I don't ask what he does, because I figured, he's some money-monger who parades his benjamins like a soldier with his stripes and am justified by this when he say, "Now listen to me: Dave and I are VERY SUCCESSFUL PROFESSIONALS." Professional what--liars? morons? drunks? I've become annoyed by him, even more so when he places his beer on the bouncer's stool even though it is labeled reserved for the bouncer; I find that rude and classless. He finally gives up and goes away.
Cyndi and I recap our first sad encounter, a couple more fedora compliments walk by, and two older 40-somethings decide to collect themselves and entice us. We're the most pizzazzy girls they have seen in this place. Pizzazzy? I'm ready to go, but can see Cyndi is digging tall, dark, and handsome (not to mention classy) gentleman while verbally incontinent hand-roamer is still trying to get me with pizzazzy. The rain lets up and the four of us head to one of my preferred places, Rhone, where they buy us drinks, but we've established that we're showing these out-of-towners (Miami) the Meatpacking District nightlife--we're not their pick-ups. Touchy-feel-me is the more obnoxious one. Tall-dark is the gentleman. I spot a tall, cute boy in a red shirt about 20 feet away and use the "bluebird in the nest" signal (don't ask) to alert Cyndi, I found a cute boy. I manage to slip past him later and say hi. I've made enough eye-contact to get a fleet of rescue planes to spot me in fog and so has he in about 10 minutes, but alas! all I get is a "bye" as he leaves with his group of friends. Bye? That's what I get for liking them young. Young and spineless.
Cyndi has grown more attached to tall-dark and they want to go to Lotus. I do not. BUT, I'm the best wing-woman, so I go with. I hate Lotus. Cyndi and I meander, somehow lose the older gents as tall-dark helps verbally incontinent find a chicky for the night. We leave after she has hit on the bouncer and a 24-year-old tries his hand with her.
I have to acknowledge, Bridget Harrison's article in the NY Post on how men in NY act like kids in a candy store is true in many ways. But it isn't like they are guys who want the L.A. Burdick mouse truffles; they only want Hershey Kisses or M&Ms. That is, they want it cheap and easy yet can satiate their current desires. Anything that involves investing time for quality apparently needs to have 36C bra size and be blonde, 5'9" and 110 lbs. Keep dreaming. I am extremely wary of people in general who think that things in life shouldn't be a challenge. Who'd want to stay at a job that doesn't challenge them? Don't we strive to overcome difficult tasks in order to feel they are worthwhile? And for her girls are mean response to her previous article: yes, they are. Many are--without a doubt. They tout how the current boy they are dating makes this much, got his MBA at Harvard, and takes the company jet to the Hamptons over the summer. I think there are tons of money-grubbing, status-seeking, social-climbing harpies who make it hard on the rest of us gals who want a nice bloke who doesn't parade his cash, job, or degree around like medals. Personality is underrated as a result and you get these mindless, colorless clones of financial analysts and lawyers trying to fit in a mold that is similar to the mold many women try to fit in with their anorexic bodies and huge breasts. I'm not saying I want to date Quasimodo; attraction still has to exist, but I don't need any bling-bling to make me happy. If I lose it, then what?
Sunday, I helped finish painting my godson's new bedroom in the city. Shenan and Alex are moving in this weekend and there are so many handsome boys in their building. This could be a good omen or just more drunken successful professionals. The theme of the room: under the sea. Doesn't it sound like a prom theme? It is lovely and we used some Ralph Lauren textured paint (River Rock) to do the sand part of the wall--very good and looks exactly like sand! That kid is one lucky baby.This week, I've got more rehearsals (we need work), a haircut, my new cell phone coming in (Thank you Mike at Verizon Wireless--the best customer service), Liane in town though briefly, Shenan and Alex's big move, and Aurora's last week of meds. Also, if you haven't already, go check out Troy. Forget Brad Pitt. Eric Bana is this movie's gorgeous creature. As the brave and admirable Hektor, he's the man every woman will want to drool over. All those Aussie men... how do they do it?
Watch It: Troy with Brad Pitt, Eric Bana, Orlando Bloom, Peter O'Toole, Brian Cox, Sean Bean, Brendan Gleeson, Julie Christie, Diane Kruger, Saffron Burrows, Rose Byrne.
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