The past few days have been crushes and being crushed. Hangovers and hang outs. Shaved hearts and broken hearts.
This story begins sunday.
Sexybitch. a party I used to dance at- which like any good lesbian party, is full of herstories of fisting and exes and tequila fueled shenanigans. Somewhere in between the pina colada jello shots and photo gallery invitations, I met a girl.
Can a girl be 31? While others did the drunken cab shuffle, I giggled with her over capoiera and glitch music. In a bar where most girls look the same (pale, tattooed, short dark hair, punky-urban clothes) she looked just like everyone else. Leave it to me to find the only undercover raver.
She doesn't invite me home because I'm too young. As consolation we head to my favorite east village late-night haunt and she kisses me goodbye at the subway.
The next morning. Hungover and hungry bike ride with the girl (not a girl, the girl. you see the difference?) to a diner with the prettiest blueberry peach cobbler. She's been busy. You know, she's important. But hey its nice to see you and lets hold hands and go shopping for cameras like we're not dating other people.
Later that night. I'm full from hummus and rooftop picnics. She is drunk. We sit in the park and the sangria is a truth serum. Out comes the story of the hour: We're not allowed to sleep together, according to the girl that replaced me when I went away.
A word about replacements, if I may.
I left. I did, I know. And I don't regret it.
You make decisions and you live them and sometimes you lose things. Like shirts and ipod chargers and sometimes its bigger, its the girl you're falling in love with because she meets someone new who sticks around and the other lovely girl you were dating who only wanted the monogamy you couldn't give her.
Still despite the rule she scribbles hearts and initials on my thigh. kissing turns to touching turns to that face she makes turns to the two bodies waiting for the hearts to slow down as one echoes another. She falls asleep in my arms.
Tuesday. I tag along with a boy to guitar center where I meet men who fuck all day and night and boys who own bars and are in bands. next-the strand: reading sentences in silly voices, quoting dorothy parker, picking apart poems. go to my first barbershop. Ride uptown to expensive wine and beers, to discuss the trilogy of monotheistic religions with fancy bengali men and pretty faux girlfriends.
Wed. My new haircut is commemorated in a You Vs. Me photoshoot by the rad Jessica Glick [here are samples]
There's nothing wrong with vanity, and I'll admit it gladly: I think I look slammin' in these.
Onto another cute dinner meeting with the girl and my best friend. my best friend has a heart shaped bruise on her breast from good sex. I show them the heart in my hair, with the girl's initial in it. A token of my commitment to her cause. the girl seems mildly amused.
she is busy busy bumblebee. I leave to go off and live my life.
and here is when things go wrong. the rest of the night I get phonecalls from friends. About lies and supposed girlfriends. I get that punching vomit feeling. i've been duped and shit, how did the most honest chic in the block end up getting two timed again?
liars are cowards.
Here are a few tips to the world:
Try not to sleep with people who love you if you don't love them. It's called leading them on.
Try not to sleep with people by making them think you're not in a serious relationship. that's dishonest.
Try not to say "yes I want to see you" when what you really want to say is "no". It makes it simpler.
And just tell it like it is, kids. Save the drama for someone else. I can take the truth.
So, what next? what? after belgian ice cream consolations and shaving the A out of my heart leaving it empty? learning to stiltwalk? screaming loudly? laughing till I dont want to cry?
I have this healthy habit. I take pain out in tattoos, dyed hair, branding, piercings, drunken fights, and rough sex. I chose the last.
We got classy drunk on tequila and pbr and I went home with the prettiest most handsome boygirl who lives one block away from me. makeout so fierce I lost my nose-ring. bites and scratches. blurry lost clothes and muffled gasps. dont remember getting to bed. lost all concept of when and how. woke up curled up and happy to an offer to stay for breakfast.
Here's the funny part:
I left to get OJ and when I returned with the keys, I had no idea where I had come from.
I had to ask the construction worker hanging out across the street if he had seen me exit, and could he please point out what building it was?
More kisses and cuddles and I headed away.
Got on a bus. Preparing to switch reality for a desert adventure.
Wondering what I will lose by leaving this time,
but moreso- what I stand to gain.
This story is brought to you by maryland. bon Iver. Brazilian girls. my iced coffee.
and my new favorite recieved text message:
"I think you should fuck me at our earliest convenience."
This story begins sunday.
Sexybitch. a party I used to dance at- which like any good lesbian party, is full of herstories of fisting and exes and tequila fueled shenanigans. Somewhere in between the pina colada jello shots and photo gallery invitations, I met a girl.
Can a girl be 31? While others did the drunken cab shuffle, I giggled with her over capoiera and glitch music. In a bar where most girls look the same (pale, tattooed, short dark hair, punky-urban clothes) she looked just like everyone else. Leave it to me to find the only undercover raver.
She doesn't invite me home because I'm too young. As consolation we head to my favorite east village late-night haunt and she kisses me goodbye at the subway.
The next morning. Hungover and hungry bike ride with the girl (not a girl, the girl. you see the difference?) to a diner with the prettiest blueberry peach cobbler. She's been busy. You know, she's important. But hey its nice to see you and lets hold hands and go shopping for cameras like we're not dating other people.
Later that night. I'm full from hummus and rooftop picnics. She is drunk. We sit in the park and the sangria is a truth serum. Out comes the story of the hour: We're not allowed to sleep together, according to the girl that replaced me when I went away.
A word about replacements, if I may.
I left. I did, I know. And I don't regret it.
You make decisions and you live them and sometimes you lose things. Like shirts and ipod chargers and sometimes its bigger, its the girl you're falling in love with because she meets someone new who sticks around and the other lovely girl you were dating who only wanted the monogamy you couldn't give her.
Still despite the rule she scribbles hearts and initials on my thigh. kissing turns to touching turns to that face she makes turns to the two bodies waiting for the hearts to slow down as one echoes another. She falls asleep in my arms.
Tuesday. I tag along with a boy to guitar center where I meet men who fuck all day and night and boys who own bars and are in bands. next-the strand: reading sentences in silly voices, quoting dorothy parker, picking apart poems. go to my first barbershop. Ride uptown to expensive wine and beers, to discuss the trilogy of monotheistic religions with fancy bengali men and pretty faux girlfriends.
Wed. My new haircut is commemorated in a You Vs. Me photoshoot by the rad Jessica Glick [here are samples]
There's nothing wrong with vanity, and I'll admit it gladly: I think I look slammin' in these.Onto another cute dinner meeting with the girl and my best friend. my best friend has a heart shaped bruise on her breast from good sex. I show them the heart in my hair, with the girl's initial in it. A token of my commitment to her cause. the girl seems mildly amused.
she is busy busy bumblebee. I leave to go off and live my life.
and here is when things go wrong. the rest of the night I get phonecalls from friends. About lies and supposed girlfriends. I get that punching vomit feeling. i've been duped and shit, how did the most honest chic in the block end up getting two timed again?
liars are cowards.
Here are a few tips to the world:
Try not to sleep with people who love you if you don't love them. It's called leading them on.
Try not to sleep with people by making them think you're not in a serious relationship. that's dishonest.
Try not to say "yes I want to see you" when what you really want to say is "no". It makes it simpler.
And just tell it like it is, kids. Save the drama for someone else. I can take the truth.
So, what next? what? after belgian ice cream consolations and shaving the A out of my heart leaving it empty? learning to stiltwalk? screaming loudly? laughing till I dont want to cry?
I have this healthy habit. I take pain out in tattoos, dyed hair, branding, piercings, drunken fights, and rough sex. I chose the last.
We got classy drunk on tequila and pbr and I went home with the prettiest most handsome boygirl who lives one block away from me. makeout so fierce I lost my nose-ring. bites and scratches. blurry lost clothes and muffled gasps. dont remember getting to bed. lost all concept of when and how. woke up curled up and happy to an offer to stay for breakfast.
Here's the funny part:
I left to get OJ and when I returned with the keys, I had no idea where I had come from.
I had to ask the construction worker hanging out across the street if he had seen me exit, and could he please point out what building it was?
More kisses and cuddles and I headed away.
Got on a bus. Preparing to switch reality for a desert adventure.
Wondering what I will lose by leaving this time,
but moreso- what I stand to gain.
This story is brought to you by maryland. bon Iver. Brazilian girls. my iced coffee.
and my new favorite recieved text message:
"I think you should fuck me at our earliest convenience."
3 comments:
yes, I was on a bus though. so it was slightly useless...
Sometimes that's the best kind, having a little secret among strange faces.
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