...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.
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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