Poison jOak

Why do I love the NYC nightlife? a) I get to dress up, b) I get compliments all night, and c) I can be a judgmental bitch.

Greeted with a kiss on the cheek from Wass, the doorman, I’m in.  The club flickers from the strobe lights, iphone flashes and the flashlight of security telling people they can’t smoke inside. Around me people exchange half introductions over the overbearing beat of the music.  

Within minutes of approaching the bar and ordering a drink an older gentlemen offers to pay for it.  He is an ex-lawyer who now manages a hedge fund (of course he is). There are only three types of men who go to clubs: 1) Models, who can’t be bothered to talk to us common folk, 2) Fabulous gay guys who are friends with the female models and can’t be bother to talk to us common folk (unless you’re wearing the latest season) and 3) the man in his 40s or 50s who undoubtedly works in the finance industry.  The third category is the one who is always offering to pay for your drinks.  He always casually mentions the gorgeous apartment he lives in with multiple floors, a stunning view of the skyline and with its own personal jacuzzi.  Trying to win your love (read: get in your pants) by impressing you with his bank account.

Tonight, this guy “Andy” buys me a drink, chats with me for a bit — making sure to “neg” me along the way.  This guy has clearly read “the Game.”  For those of you who don’t know.  A “neg” is a slight insult you use on a girl to tease her and keep her interested. After making the obligatory insulting comments about my job, he then asks for my number “just in case he loses me tonight.” He tells me just wants to get to know me better outside the club. Translation: He  trying to get my number and move on to the next chick or wants to booty call me later. NO. THANK. YOU.  

As I walk away he whispers in my ear “I miss you already.”

I meet up with my old promoter friend and he takes care of me. I am actually touched by his warmth, as I haven’t seen him in almost a year. He makes sure to introduce me to the other girls at the table and in fact, rescued me from being trampled by the busboys.  I climb onto the couches (my home), sip on my vodka cranberry and fade into the pop music that beats within my chest.

Oh NYC how I have missed you. Among the awkward attempts of shady characters trying to get lucky, the gay guys fawning over my outfit, the mismatched conversations between strangers straining to get to know each other, the continuous sea of wiggling bodies moving to the beat, this is where I belong.  It feel so good to be back.