They want a dose of your impressiveness, your personality, your wit, that's up to snuff and entertaining and not over powering, and they want to basque in your good looks. They want to gawk and awe at the glory of you. Then they want you to shut up and listen to them talk about themselves- is this sounding mildly correct anyone? And yes I'm leaving that an open ended question- comment below.
I decide to meet with bald eagle at the old same place where I sit down to a group of four men and one questionable female subject- tits bursting at the seams of this black, body hugging tank/ tube spandexy number. She has a gaudy gem incrusted finger/ wrist cuff and stilleto heels. Shes uncommonly tanned and titty and miamiy for this neighborhood but I'm beginning to realize women of this type and size are not uncommon specimens here, or even to the newfound group of homies I am beginning to roll out w more and more. I'm questioning my place.
There's bald eagle on my right of the round table, a boy sits next to him- like a literal child, (how did he end up with this rat pack?) who annoying can't take his eyes off me, I notice, from the moment I sit. Every time I look over I meet his staring eye, a just gaping mouth- yo get it together! clearly fortunate yet immature he is the nonconversational, overwhelmed and socially awkward breed. Next to him is the NFL hulk blaring his championship ring, and a new piggy faced attorney who's short and smart and glasses wearing and has these expensive ass business cards. Come full circle and titties is next to me on the right. I survey the situation and to my disappointment Count Dracula has not decided to join us this evening- I'm amused by this feeling. I want to learn why. Is the man eater developing a crush? I'm begin to think of the girl who painstakingly goes out with one person because they are attached to the hip with the person they really want to see. Yes we have all been there, and no it's not cute or pretty it's just desperate.
I air out this laundry thought as eagle hands me a cocktail menu. I had prefaced my arrival via text "starved", so instead I order a medium rare piece of salmon then I make everyone order food from the menu so I don't have to eat alone. I had planned on drinking a soothing nightcap, and getting a good dose of sleep. I tell myself I'm turning in after this bite but somehow endup with a stimulating champagne and gin martini cocktail that's doing great for the energy and pulverizing my initial plan. The girl leaves, I'm alone with the rat pack and Count Dracula cooly slides into her place on my right. I take a good third look at him, and reassess his appearance. He's not youthful in any regard, if anything he's more aged then I remember and less shiney don drapery. He's wearing these pinstripes and paisley red tie and it's all wrong but something about him is mildly irresistible to me. He excuses his lateness by talking about some girl that wouldn't get out of the jag so he had to drive her around-"entertaining women in this car- annoying!" Then he turns to me and winks that he has his exceptions.
Ok hustle bustle forward, and admist a covered table of tun tar tar and califlour and $40 entrees, we engage in more side conversations, business proposals, the shearling coat they will cough up for me, we are also joined by a Siberian chick. With brows to boot, theres just another big and alarming question mark to the nature of her profession coming across.
I've had three martinis. Now I'm off to some cigar bar on the UES and I'm back in the temporary throne of the jaguar that he puts that evening's companion in, and it makes them feel luxurious and special.
We arrive and I ask for the champagne by the glass and by "insult" they offer me Moët rose. "Like we can't afford anything better on the menu!?"- the count. "Bring us your best!"
They pop a fresh bottle of drinkable God knows what, and I'm off to high heavens and more intoxication with the pick me up I indulged in the jag and these rose bubbles. I'm sitting there like a bad bitch with the OGs- eagle, the count and NFL hulk. I think we're starting to become and unlikely and motley gang? It would be the worst and best awkward family photo one ever took.
Eagle has a driver he's just married to and follows us around and I request my girlfriend gets a ride from Nolita. The count is slowly coming onto me through very light and mild hand gestures and proximity and body language. He's getting more turned on by our like-minded dry sense of humor- "women either don't understand I'm making a joke and I'm ignored. if they do they don't think it's funny". The man is smart and subtley hilarious I must admit.
Zha comes to join us and uses her charm and wit and gets them smitten with her. She's a rare and drug like creature that's a naughty man butcher herself and has the game tapped. I observe her spit game with amusement, puff a cigar or two and the count and I cozy up more in this strange and interesting joint.
We ditch the jaguar- who the hell drove it home I now wonder??, and we are off to- my place? In an escalade. Eagle has left and it's two on two. Goddamn my doorman must be appalled at the sights! We proceed to play music loudly and they pour out a bag of blow on the coffee table and I stumble around my apartment. What was I doing the whole time they are ripping lines? Djing of course, tripping over the couch. And it's already 6 am. Holy fuck. Yes we all have "work" the next day. The count excuses himself to bed, I'm delighted by the sense of propriety at such an hour. Zha and the hulk are headed out to God knows where and God knows what. I ashamedly whip myself up a drunken and brimming wok of broccoli and sesame chicken sausage fried rice. It's like crack and now you know I have a knack- no more like an expertise for blackout, hammered gourmet cheffing.
I decide to meet with bald eagle at the old same place where I sit down to a group of four men and one questionable female subject- tits bursting at the seams of this black, body hugging tank/ tube spandexy number. She has a gaudy gem incrusted finger/ wrist cuff and stilleto heels. Shes uncommonly tanned and titty and miamiy for this neighborhood but I'm beginning to realize women of this type and size are not uncommon specimens here, or even to the newfound group of homies I am beginning to roll out w more and more. I'm questioning my place.
There's bald eagle on my right of the round table, a boy sits next to him- like a literal child, (how did he end up with this rat pack?) who annoying can't take his eyes off me, I notice, from the moment I sit. Every time I look over I meet his staring eye, a just gaping mouth- yo get it together! clearly fortunate yet immature he is the nonconversational, overwhelmed and socially awkward breed. Next to him is the NFL hulk blaring his championship ring, and a new piggy faced attorney who's short and smart and glasses wearing and has these expensive ass business cards. Come full circle and titties is next to me on the right. I survey the situation and to my disappointment Count Dracula has not decided to join us this evening- I'm amused by this feeling. I want to learn why. Is the man eater developing a crush? I'm begin to think of the girl who painstakingly goes out with one person because they are attached to the hip with the person they really want to see. Yes we have all been there, and no it's not cute or pretty it's just desperate.
I air out this laundry thought as eagle hands me a cocktail menu. I had prefaced my arrival via text "starved", so instead I order a medium rare piece of salmon then I make everyone order food from the menu so I don't have to eat alone. I had planned on drinking a soothing nightcap, and getting a good dose of sleep. I tell myself I'm turning in after this bite but somehow endup with a stimulating champagne and gin martini cocktail that's doing great for the energy and pulverizing my initial plan. The girl leaves, I'm alone with the rat pack and Count Dracula cooly slides into her place on my right. I take a good third look at him, and reassess his appearance. He's not youthful in any regard, if anything he's more aged then I remember and less shiney don drapery. He's wearing these pinstripes and paisley red tie and it's all wrong but something about him is mildly irresistible to me. He excuses his lateness by talking about some girl that wouldn't get out of the jag so he had to drive her around-"entertaining women in this car- annoying!" Then he turns to me and winks that he has his exceptions.
Ok hustle bustle forward, and admist a covered table of tun tar tar and califlour and $40 entrees, we engage in more side conversations, business proposals, the shearling coat they will cough up for me, we are also joined by a Siberian chick. With brows to boot, theres just another big and alarming question mark to the nature of her profession coming across.
I've had three martinis. Now I'm off to some cigar bar on the UES and I'm back in the temporary throne of the jaguar that he puts that evening's companion in, and it makes them feel luxurious and special.
We arrive and I ask for the champagne by the glass and by "insult" they offer me Moët rose. "Like we can't afford anything better on the menu!?"- the count. "Bring us your best!"
They pop a fresh bottle of drinkable God knows what, and I'm off to high heavens and more intoxication with the pick me up I indulged in the jag and these rose bubbles. I'm sitting there like a bad bitch with the OGs- eagle, the count and NFL hulk. I think we're starting to become and unlikely and motley gang? It would be the worst and best awkward family photo one ever took.
Eagle has a driver he's just married to and follows us around and I request my girlfriend gets a ride from Nolita. The count is slowly coming onto me through very light and mild hand gestures and proximity and body language. He's getting more turned on by our like-minded dry sense of humor- "women either don't understand I'm making a joke and I'm ignored. if they do they don't think it's funny". The man is smart and subtley hilarious I must admit.
Zha comes to join us and uses her charm and wit and gets them smitten with her. She's a rare and drug like creature that's a naughty man butcher herself and has the game tapped. I observe her spit game with amusement, puff a cigar or two and the count and I cozy up more in this strange and interesting joint.
We ditch the jaguar- who the hell drove it home I now wonder??, and we are off to- my place? In an escalade. Eagle has left and it's two on two. Goddamn my doorman must be appalled at the sights! We proceed to play music loudly and they pour out a bag of blow on the coffee table and I stumble around my apartment. What was I doing the whole time they are ripping lines? Djing of course, tripping over the couch. And it's already 6 am. Holy fuck. Yes we all have "work" the next day. The count excuses himself to bed, I'm delighted by the sense of propriety at such an hour. Zha and the hulk are headed out to God knows where and God knows what. I ashamedly whip myself up a drunken and brimming wok of broccoli and sesame chicken sausage fried rice. It's like crack and now you know I have a knack- no more like an expertise for blackout, hammered gourmet cheffing.
MM