The other night was my boss’s birthday. We went out to dinner, as planned. Then as a “surprise” to me (even though it was HER birthday) we headed to The Boom Boom Room aka “Top of the Standard” aka THE most exclusive night club in New York City aka the architectural Notre Dame of NYC Bars. My night life dream come true!!!!
How we got in? I’ll never tell. ;) Let’s just say knowing the right people goes a LONG way. On a more interesting note: I was there stag… as per my usual lately. No thought went to this until my boss comments that her birthday wish for me was to “make out with a hottie.” As well-intentioned as this birthday wish is/was… most of the single hotties at the standard were making out with each other that night. Then it hit me: has my clutster-fuck of a social life become so obvious that my boss is making birthday wishes for it?!
It’s been ages since I’ve been on a date in Joneshaw years… which is like dog years, except weeks… even longer if you want to factor in how long it’s been since I’ve been on a second date. It’s not a problem to be solved or a plight to be dealt. After all, a night to remember at the Standard, sipping complimentary Moet, should not be measured by the candy on one’s arm… Especially since in this case, the City is your date. For a lot of women, having New York City as their boyfriend isn’t enough. Maybe because it’s straight-up polygamy, maybe its because its more effort to orgasm, or just maybe, it’s because sometimes people harshly judge us lovers of the città.
Loving the city like a person is something many New Yorkers claim to do. Carrie Bradshaw infamously declared it her boyfriend. The cold concrete, the culture, the 12 million people crammed into the peanut of real estate… what’s not to love? I <3 NY is not a sentiment instituted to fill a void. In fact, it is the exact opposite. New Yorkers don’t love it here or the “nights of our lives” that come with it because they’re single and trying to cope… On the contrary, those are the simply the folks who look at their reality from a place of gratitude.
The only love poem I’ve written that received any substantial feedback was entitled, “On the streets of my City.” Coincidence? No. It’s the first time I’ve conquered the emotional Olympiad of what it means to love. To look at someone [or in this case, somewhere] not for who or what you wish it to be but for who they [actually] are- ugly parts and all- and love them for it, wholly. I love my blackberry, I love my city, and while at the fucking Boom Boom Room, I decided to love myself… plus or minus one. Thus achieving an actual life goal here.
Bottom Line: Judging myself less. Loving myself more. Mainly because it’s easier and easier is fun and fun is what life is meant to be like.
Next Up: TBD… what would it take for the universe to send me a date that I don’t have to hunt for?
Your Undercover Lover,