...I Was A Teenage Fag-Hag
 

 
The story of a NYU student struggling to survive in a world where the shoes are pricey, the IDs are fake, and straight men don't seem to exist.
 
 
   
 
Monday, February 16, 2004
 
I had a life-changing experience last night! It was not nearly as exciting or impressive as I would have expected, and I feel kind of dumb talking about it now. Since I had such a great time a few nights ago walking to Battery Park along the Hudson and back up Broadway (in the middle of the night), I decided to fill the void left by the closure of Pop Rocks and walk the circumference of Central Park. I'd always wanted to do it, but in the absence of mental turmoil 6 miles is a long way, and I pussed out. To make a long story short, I started thinking about death, became terrified of my own mortality because I don't believe in god, and decided that I'd damn well better start living a more enjoyable and worthwhile life in the tragically brief time that I've got. So I'm going to go to synagogue on Friday night, just in case I start hearing angels sing and can stop worrying about it. I'm also going to have a baby someday, preferably when I'm 35 or so, but since that may not happen I'm going to donate eggs to an infertile couple - I'll call the agency this week.

I went out with Erik and his girlfriend on Saturday night. He wouldn't let me dance with her; apparently he was afraid that she would be struck by my slut rays and reduced to a drooling, raving ball of lust like myself.

Had another photo shoot, this time with two other girls. It wasn't great; way too much time spent close to other people's razor bumps. Gross. I like it better when it's just me hamming it up in fabulous coats.

My roommate got laid last night and her man is still here. Way hotter than she deserves, too. I went to take a nap in the study lounge to give them some privacy (ain't I a sweetheart?) and had a horrible, horrible dream: I was sleeping blissfully in the sun with my old cat Chester snuggling up to me, and he started to bite my hand. I thought he was play-fighting, but when I tried to move my hand to counter-attack, my muscles wouldn't work. I was completely paralyzed, and as he started to bite harder and harder I realized that he thought I was dead was trying to eat me. Ugh.

Friday, February 13, 2004
 
My absence over the last many moons is only party because I get bored with talking to myself - I lost my precious fake ID, which means that I haven't been going out and having adventures as much as I would like. However! I am turning 21 in less than a week, and you'd better believe that when that happens my life will be utterly fascinating. Exciting x 10. I'm gonna rock this city.

Highlights from the last seven months or so:

I got fired and my boss forgot to tell me, the bastard. That was in September, and I have yet to find a new job. Not even Starbucks calls me back, which is a major blow to my dignity because I thought that a Seattle-trained barista would be hot property. I'm thinking about donating my eggs to an infertile couple and spending the money on laser treatment. If I make a ton of cash by doing something difficult and deeply generous, it seems only fair that I should use it for something frivolous.

I am now a nude model! Gigs have so far included the Queens waterfront, the bathroom in a gallery building in the meatpacking district, and the Polish Photography Association of New York's banquet dinner. Cons - it's cold getting naked in the winter. Pros - I get lots of cute pictures of myself.

I was kissed on New Year's Eve for the first time ever! Amid champagne and fireworks! By a hot Japanese guy! Major milestone, in my opinion.

I've become involved in a liaison dangereuse, and unlike certain contestants on Survivor, I know how to spell it. I'm going to have to come up with some sort of impenetrable code with which to talk about it, so I can spill my guts without being indiscreet.

I rode the Howard Dean rollercoaster from the grassroots to the top, and I just looked down and realized that even though we've supposedly come down to earth, I'm still high enough to break my legs when I fall.

Oh yeah, and I'm on Atkins. Again. I lost 6 pounds! I might just be boring my audience (myself) to tears by obsessively talking about it. Example: "My suitemate had a baking party - there are plates of chocolate chip cookies and rice krispie treats and brownies all over the apartment, and ohmygodI'mgettingdizzyjustthinkingabouthem."

Stay tuned - this year's just gettin' started!

(music: Martin Sexton and the Gay Pimp)

Monday, June 30, 2003
 
Did anyone else recognize those purple trolleys in the pride parade yesterday? That's right, the members of Senior Action in a Gay Environment were riding in donated NYU transportation! I love my school!

Monday, June 23, 2003
 
Ah... all done with Mr. Potter for this year. Unless I read it again, which is a probability. My dad went back to Seattle, so I don't get to see anyone in my family again until August. Lame. I think having him around flicked a little switch in my head which is slowly returning me to more rational behavior than I've been displaying of late - I now fully understand that buying a pint of ice cream every night is counter-productive, for example. I think I might exercise tomorrow. I'm hungry.

Saturday, June 21, 2003
 
I left work early tonight, because my "bartending" shift consisted of pouring one drink for a nice but somehow disconcerting marketing exec who reminded me of John Leguizamo, only shifty and not funny. That's all, in two and a half hours... I left not because I was bored, but because he was creeping me out, and as I had no other customers and nothing else to do, there was no escape. Talked to Zoe for ages... we speculated about Red, the mysteriously benevolent (and generous!) waiter who comes in regularly to drink wine and converse with the lowly serving wenches. I might be a tiny bit irritated that he hangs out with her too. Not that I had any designs on him, although he is awfully cute and charming... I'm just possessive of my customers. I think it's likely that he has these long, interesting conversations with everyone, rather than just being inspired by my sparkling personality, and this hurts my feelings. In fact, I think that in his mind both Zoe and myself are faceless members of some sort of waiters' social club, which obligates him to charm the pants off us just as much as it obligates him to tip us well. Hmph.

My dad is in the city this weekend, and we had dinner at Sushi Samba last night. I got there early and sat at the trendy back bar, sipping on a mojito and chatting with the bartender, and when my dad showed up in his signature jacket and plaid shirt it was a very weird meeting of two worlds. I love him very much, but sometimes I wonder if he would be more successful in business if he followed basic social conventions, like getting a decent haircut and eating more slowly. Since I moved away from home I've become more aware of this kind of thing - my parents as regular people, not authority figures - and I sometimes worry that they don't have much of a social life. I've never noticed any sign that this bothers my dad, who never, ever has a friend over at our house or goes out with people other than family members and business parters. But my mom is a whole different story... she certainly has friends, but sometimes when I'm at home on break I can almost feel her isolation. Being the self-centered brat that I am, I'm terrified that someday I'll be the same - living in a nice house with few visitors.

In a stunning blow to my own social life, I left my wallet in a taxi last night. My fake ID is now gone, with eight months to go until I'm legal! Shitshitshit. I was on my way to a film screening at the Tribeca Grand, which did not go as planned because I failed to recognize the guy who invited me. Apparently there was a party afterwards, which I didn't know about, and Rosario Dawson was there. Too bad. And I spent $12 on a bloody apple martini!

Thursday, June 19, 2003
 
THE NEW HARRY POTTER BOOK COMES OUT ON SATURDAY!!! And one of the main characters dies! Oh, I do hope it's Hermione...

Cute barista boy has a girlfriend, much to my disappointment. She visited him at work on Sunday. Regardless, I still prefer working with him instead of the scary limping bleach-blonde German lady. Such a pretty name, such a bad attitude. Shameful. Tonight the cook was bursting out with a joyful, mumbling rendition of "Feliz Navidad." Maybe he'd been tippling in the back room? Seems unlikely, as I just found out that there are hidden cameras all over the store, and that the boss has them hooked up to the internet so he can supervise us even while he's at home. Creeeeeepy!

Positive side effect of looking like a sausage: My bosoms are reaching truly gargantuan proportions. That extra bit of lace on the bra I bought at La Petite Coquette last fall is actually necessary now, if you catch my drift. I was going to link to their web page, but the address I saw on the awning directed me to a teen porn site... I wonder if they know.

No work tomorrow. Here are my options:
1) Get up at the crack of dawn on the slight chance that I can get a student ticket to La Boheme, and then call the British critic I met online - he's offered to pay for my ticket and take me for drinks after the performance if I get one for him too.
2) Call Ex-Condenast guy, who I have not heard from since our little interlude in the park (despite his enthusiastic claim that he would "definitely, definitely" call me this week).
3) Call Alex, who I have not heard from since I cancelled our date-ish thing on Saturday.
4) Go out with Alisha, which would probably involve buying her several drinks. You see, I need to get her very drunk and happy so she won't totally kill me when I tell her that I tossed out her lumpy old husband pillow. I was planning to just go to Bed Bath & Beyond and get her a nice new one, but now I'm worried because when she visited me at work tonight she mentioned how much she's been missing it.
5) Call Stephen (smarty gay friend) to see if he wants to go to that Bangara night at S.O.B he was so excited about. Hmm... maybe Alisha would be into that.
6) Call Tim, since he floated the possibility of meeting on Friday and I've since committed to work that night.

I love having choices for a change! My Body, My Choice! Yay!

Sunday, June 15, 2003
 
I think cute barista boy was flirting with me tonight - he wandered into the back because he was bored, but significantly decided to chat with me instead of Madeleine. He playfully tried to convince me to dance on the bar to spice the place up a bit, and wrote 'HELLO!' on my hand with a smiley face inside the O. This may not sound like much, but in my experience guys do not write cutesy things on their coworkers unless they have ulterior motives. A-ha!

Contemplating last night's kiss with Mr. Ex-Condenasty, I've realized that my conversation with Jessica about how her boyfriend's big lips creep her out totally detracted from the experience. He does have rather large lips. I've always thought that was a good thing in terms of kissing (Henry had very luscious lips), but I kept thinking about it. I can never really switch my mind off during intimate moments - I might be thinking about lip size, or about the laundry I need to do, or even admiring his ability to hold an umbrella and make out with me simultaneously. And they say guys can't do more than one thing at a time!

 

 
   
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