The Jaded Lady Brigade

I’ve been collecting comments from my girlfriends for a book proposal, and damn, they make me laugh, but I must say Cali and NYC girls are jaded.  And Vancouver. And Montreal. And…my gosh, is there anyone in the world who believes in, like, fairy tale romance anymore? Read below and weep. Or, of course, you might laugh. I did both. Next, I’m going to go rent a whole stack of intellectual European porn (does such a thing exist? In my head, it makes sense)…because clearly I’m among the more naive single women on the planet, and have a lot of catching up to do…

MARY, 26 Y.O. MONTREAL GIRL, ON DRESSING TO GO OUT
Two tips : Great looking shoes, and amazing bra and underwear 😉 

LESLIE, 25 Y.O. NYC GIRL, ON BAR PICKUPS 
Just do it.  It’s no fun to sit by and waste valuable time.  Let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger.

COREY, 26 Y.O. NYC GIRL, ON THE GIRLFRIEND JURY
Sometimes you don’t want to chat right off the bat about the guy you’re seeing because you need to figure things out in your head first. But your girlfriends know you better than anyone and can sometimes read between the lines of your descriptions/stories. You might not always want to hear what they have to say, but unfortunately, they’re usually right.

DARA, 31 Y.O. SAN DIEGO GIRL, ON THE LAWS OF ATTRACTION
Likation/Replusion.  You meet a guy.  He seems nice and you have a thing or two in common.  However, you are uncertain of the chemistry and level of attraction, hedge on accepting a second date or even remain unsure if you should have accepted the first.  At some point, despite earlier misgivings or in some cases because of them, you do decide that you like this guy.  At that very moment, a soundless, odorless, invisible signal is sent out across the cosmos.  You may not have laid eyes on or spoken to the guy in days.  No matter.  He just somehow knows that likation has descended.  Instantly, the tables have turned and this person is completely repulsed by you.  You never hear from him again.

It’s Up to You New York New York

That subject line really has no direct relevance–I just felt like quoting Liza Minelli.  

Moving right along, the luster of NYC hasn’t faded in the past week, and I’m still so ready to move there I can’t even express it. What a city!

I hit the ground with no sleep, having taken a red eye, and zoomed straight out the gate to the Hearst Building, where they took finger prints, a retinal scan and a DNA sample before letting me up 1, 108, 214  stories on the world’s most confusing elevator to meet w/Cosmo and Marie Claire.

Then met a friend (she is a Brides editor, but somehow we get along) at Stone Rose Lounge for a quietly gossipy cocktail surrounded by suits. On the dot of 7 she went buzzing off to a dinner while I found my way to CraftBar, where two rowdy drunken PR chicks awaited me.

I had invited my friend Carlton, but he was DAMN LATE, and was texting me requests like: Order me a glass of wine, say it’s for your imaginary friend. I ended up ordering him wine, an appetizer and dinner, much like I was his wife. (Actually all my interactions w/Carlton thus far have made me feel as though I was his wife…which is extra strange considering we’ve only met twice.)

From CraftBar it was off to Gramercy Tavern, and thence on an insane walkabout of underground mixology bars where the music is low, the patrons don’t speak, and the mixologists perform strange magic with infusions and tinctures. Around 5AM I simply couldn’t walk anymore and found myself curled up on the couch in Carlton’s suite showing him photographs of my family members on my laptop. My phone was dead, I couldn’t figure out how to get back to my hotel, and I had to be at a meeting in 4 1/2 hours, and…

…next thing I knew a phone was ringing, it was 8:30AM, and I hear Carlton saying: “I hope I earn brownie points for giving you the duvet and freezing to death all night long.” 

Ehh? Moments clanged by as I foggily realized that

a) I was in Manhattan

 b) I was on a couch

c) I was still fully dressed in last night’s clothes, and

 d) I’d have to wear them to a series of the most important meetings in my life

PLUS BONUS e) I’d only gotten 3 hours of sleep in the past three days.

Sweet!

Further domestic undertones ensued once I managed to free myself from the bowels of the couch. I staggered like a zombie to the shower as Carlton (who is, from the perspective of a woman oft mistaken for his wife, 1000% marriage material and the wife should count herself lucky) got back on the phone and ordered me coffee, a pastry basket and fresh fruit.  Then I banished him to another room so I could slap on some makeup. He bustled around tying his tie and so forth while I tried to come to grips with the fact that I was wearing my night-time going-out clothes (red knee-high ultra-suede boots, black stockings and a very small black dress) into the inner sanctums of several publishing houses. Before noon.

Finally I decided “Screw it. Start as you mean to go on.”

“Atta girl,”  said Carlton.

Off he went to tour Ian Schraeger’s new $10 million condos. Off I went to woo the publishers. And then to lunch at Blue Water…and then to the W Lounge at Bryant Park…and then and then–oh, there’s so much I can’t even track it.

New York is amazing. 

(Except for that club whadyacallit? Tenjune. The one where Britney Spears puked or whatever. Total ghetto. Four-foot dudes w/ jeri-curls, girls twice as tall and thrice as wide, and a meathead bouncer clearly suffering from small-penis syndrome. Don’t go there. Not worth the cab fare.)

But other than that…I’ll take another bite of the Big Apple whenever and however I can get it. And hopefully I won’t have to wait too long.