Saturday in NYC. Perfect weather. PR, Italiano, AnnoyingPint and I are all dressed for perfection and ready to go on our booze cruise for the evening. We start off with delightful photos, then make our way to the pier. We get on the boat and set sail for the trip out to Lady Liberty and back. Open bar, beautiful Europeans, and food. Perfect.

Perfect until we are all dancing and I had a guy ask to dance with me. Ok. That’s fine. Problem was he was for TEXAS! What the hell?! I’m all the way in NYC and the one guy from Texas finds me on the boat. I had to refrain from insulting him. Furthermore, he wanted to bump and grind with me. Now I’m not European, but I dance like one. I like my space. I don’t care to give  you an erection on the dance floor.

I escaped eventually to be with my friends and then another creeper found me. He was from South Africa. Cute (as best I can remember). Problem was he had really lame pick up lines and he wanted to get me alone.
1. I came here to be with my friends and have a good time.
2. I’m not interested in getting in your pants.
3. You are really going to have to try harder than that to get me.

But back to the pick up lines. His top 3 lamest of the night are as follows:
1. “I love your dress but I don’t know about you.” –Yes insulting a chick is the best way to get her.
2. “I’m a bullfighter.” –This one has a story behind it. My response was “You live in NYC. I don’t think there is much of a market for a bullfighter.” He replied that he traveled to Spain to do so. Me– “Um. Yeah. Ok.” He follows that up with some off hand remark about how he wants to get me alone. My response–“The chase is half of the fun.” Him–“Oh I know. That’s what I do for a living.” Me–“Ah. No. You get charged at by a bull. You aren’t chasing anything.”
3. “Ah. It’s love at first sight.”–Literally almost vomited.

Either way, I got his number. After our delightful booze cruise ended, we all went out to 230 Fifth. The instant I walked in I felt like I was in Vegas. Our boozing continued. AnnoyingPint passed out in a chair at one of the high bar tables. Idiot. The night was a success.

All in all, NYC is always a shit show for me, and I love every second of it!

Welcome to New York

Yesterday evening I arrived in NYC to spend the weekend with my college roommate PR, her Italian roommate and best friend from childhood Italiano, and several other friends from around the world. Literally since the moment I set foot inside the city, it has been a nonstop adventure.

Before we (meaning Italiano’s friend from Washington DC AnnoyingPint and me) got to PR and Italiano’s place we got to experience the lovely traffic at the Holland Tunnel caused by “police activity”. Code for someone pulled out his/her piece in the tunnel and played target practice. Minor details in the grand scheme of things.

To start the evening off we ordered in and had Limoncello. Delicious. After a while we put on our New York City black, decked ourselves out and made our way into the night. 2 taxi rides and a subway ride later we found ourselves at an unmarked club in Chinatown. Immediately the door lady said, ” No no no. I can’t let you in. Too many people and you don’t have a reservation.” After standing outside for 15 minutes and at the European diligence of Italiano, we got in.

Sweet Jesus. Walking in was like going back to Europe. I instantly died inside. The smell. The people. The greetings (kiss on each cheek). God I missed it!  PR and I ordered drinks, of which the bartender have to us for free, and we danced the night away like Europeans.*

I few friends come in and out throughout the evening. We had 3 friends from Mexico and 2 from Germany. The one from Germany was very cute. 25/26 years old. Very aryan. He now lives in London. Does something with banking. Either way, he blessed me with for the evening with one of my favorite European traditions–the open stare.** I miss it so so much but when Americans do it, it’s creepy.
The Germans bought us a few drinks and a shot. All very mint flavored and mildly fruity. My stomach will not be thanking me later. We were dancing up a storm to a delightful club mix and then my night was made. They played “One” by Swedish House Mafia.

Around 0330 we made our way back to our place. Once inside our home we quickly changed into pajamas, put a pizza in the oven, and reminisced about Europe. I miss the culture more than anything. The food, the drinks, the love of the people, the openness.

That’s it I need to move outside of the US.

*If you’ve never had the pleasure of dancing Europe, you should give it ago. Unlike America where people feel the need to openly have sex on the dance floor, Europeans have a dance bubble. I have my dance bubble. You have yours. We don’t touch for the most part. It’s all about you and the music. The confidence you have with your body and the way it moves to the thriving beat. I love it.

**In Europe, it is openly acceptable for men to stare at you for however long he feels inclined to and check you out. This is done in broad daylight on a city street, in the evening in the club and anywhere else in between.