Thursday, 18 August 2011


Today's background music comes courtesy of Florrie - it's called "Left Too Late."

Grindr has taken over the world. It is everywhere! Originally marketed solely to iPhone users, they have now adapted the application into Android and Blackberry formats as well. If you're not sure what Grindr is (again, for any straight people that ever read this) it's essentially an app that uses your GPS location to tell other gay guys how far away from them you are. You can send messages, photos, and your exact location to other users for free. It is pretty hilarious - some people are on it ironically, but most seem to use it simply to show off their highly toned headless torso. It's gotten so big that it's even inspired a spin-off website called Douchebags Of Grindr, which essentially just calls out guys who have douchey things written in their know like "not into Asians" or "I like my guys to act like guys - no fems" kind of stuff. The Grindr website says they are approaching a million users worldwide. So with that kind of power, it's no surprise people have decided to use Grindr as an advertising platform, telling you about events in your area.

The other day I signed on and was greeted with an ad for an event at a place called Club 39. "20 of NYC's best dancers perform in a Cabaret show every Wednesday night." I was intrigued! I had visions of gorgeous Broadway boys performing numbers from their current shows - maybe whipping out some old musical theatre standards too. I envisioned a line of sculpted dudes taking on Hey Big Spender...which, now that I think of it should probably have prepared me for what the "show" turned out to be. I brought along my friend IR (International Rhythm, he's danced all over) for company, and he was skeptical. After a yummy casual Italian meal (essentially fancy mozza sticks) we headed over to 39th street. I showed my Grindr profile at the door and received a VIP wristband then I entered the space. I found a room full of boys in their underwear - one of whom was dancing at the front on a stage barely big enough for him to stand on.

We realized quickly that this place was really a spot for men to watch the man candy (for a price.) The bar informed us we had to spend at least $50 which wasn't going to be difficult between the two of us when a beer was $9, so we started a tab. The moment we were seated on a couch we were quickly accosted by a more aggressive dancer who grabbed our heads and held them near his crotch, which happened to be at eye level. IR looked at me across the bulge in between us and said "I think I just caught hepatitis A through F." When this guy realized we weren't going to tip him for this 'service' he called me a Bad Boy and ran off. Another one, who we will call FP (Fake Package) with an obviously stuffed pair of underwear didn't wait for our permission - he stood right up on top of IR and asked if he could handle a tidal wave. IR was concerned he might drown, but FP is apparently a master of CPR. FP let (or made?) IR touch it his FP...I was later informed that it felt like he'd wrapped his penis with a grocery bag. This was at least entertaining, and earned FP a $5 bill from me.

It was an interesting spectacle to behold. Some men were obviously older, wealthier, maybe closeted, and each of them seemed to have 'their guy.' The one dancer that they looked after. The set up of the club was done very well - the lap dance area was at the back but the view was only partially obstructed so the other patrons would watch and be envious of the goings on. There were moments when I thought I could be good at this job, but then I would see the faces on these dancers - an old man hugging one from behind while he gazed off seemingly pretending to be somewhere else. One dancer even took a bill from a man and immediately walked off, not wanting to be near him any longer. Assuming the place is about making these men feel special, I don't think that man left feeling very special at all.

But I did. I think I may have met my FH (Future Husband.) He was tall, muscular, and dark. He was wearing blood red underwear that complimented his skin tone perfectly. He came over and introduced himself earlier in the night and neither of us could remember his stage name - we must have been too distracted. I was sure it started with an F (Freeze? Fleece?) and IR suggested perhaps it was some sort of spice (Oregano?) When he came back to see us again, we found out it was Flex. I was close. IR told me he thought FH was straight, so I asked - and his reply? Bi. I wondered if that was a scripted response, designed to arouse the gay man who always wants what he can't have. We watched Flex dance on the podium and he actually had rhythm, a pleasant surprise. I went up to him and offered him a few dollar bills, and when I went to walk away he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. I told him he was beautiful, he told me I was beautiful. He came to see me again later and told me his real name (or, he said it was his real name) and explained how he had come to be here. I desperately wanted to see him in action, so IR decided to have a lap dance. (The ATM was broken, naturally, so we had to quickly run out to the bank and have pizza at a place called Hot & Crusty first...surprisingly tasty. Terrible name.)

IR's lap dance from Flex was impressive, passionate, and just plain hot. Perhaps he was more into it because he is used to doing the same to men who are generally unattractive, or perhaps he's just good at his job? He had succeeded in making me feel special. I watched voyeuristically from outside the curtain, and then the aggressive guy from earlier tried to pull me in too. I wasn't interested, I only had eyes for Flex. My jealousy was heightened when I found out IR had gotten his phone number. I hoped it was for me, but alas. I even checked the Missed Connections section on Craigslist today to see if he'd posted anything about was not meant to be.

IR and I discussed the possibility of working in a place like this and decided it wouldn't be worth it. Never do something for money that you wouldn't do for free. Besides, when we went dancing at Splash afterward I demonstrated some of my newly learned stripper moves and the crotch of my shorts split front to back and side to side (the second pair of pants I have ripped this week) so maybe the less of that type of dancing I do, the better?


Then again, I guess I wouldn't be wearing pants.


Tuesday, 16 August 2011

Red, White, & Britney

Soundtrack for today is "DJ, Ease My Mind" by Niki & The Dove.

I can't say I've ever celebrated the 4th Of July before. I'm not very patriotic in the first place, and I'm also not American by birth. I guess those are both good reasons not to wave my star spangled banner on Independence Day. This year, things changed. The 4th Of July would find me at a true American event - a Britney Spears concert. What could possibly be more USA friendly than a performance by my favourite southern belle?

The day of the show was my first day of bartending school. I arrived at noon to find a few other young people sitting outside the building in the sweltering sun waiting for our instructor to arrive. As we waited a delivery truck drove up to the restaurant next door and I could hear a familiar whistling coming from the trucks radio - the whistling from Britney's song "I Wanna Go." My excitement was already through the roof and this made my smile grow even wider.

Our drinking teacher arrived and told us we should probably not bother showing up before 12:05 the next day, or any day after. I liked her immediately. She began by asking us why we had decided to take the course. She went around the room and I grew concerned when I heard the answers:

"I want to open a bar in Ecuador."
"I wanted to make some new friends."
"I want to be a bartender?"

Didn't anyone in this room have the same motives as I did? Luckily my prayers were answered when she asked the youngest member of our class. We'll call him BD (Brother Doppelganger) because he immediately reminded me of my younger brother. His answer to the question? "I just like to drink." I knew we'd get along.

For lunch we all headed over to McDonald's (which would become a daily ritual) and on our way back I grabbed BD and pulled him behind a bank ATM. I grabbed a bottle of vodka out of my man purse and topped off our Fruitopias. It was Britney day, and it was time to celebrate. By the end of the class I was feeling well, a bit pissed - and BD had even broken a glass during the speed drink-making round. Keep in mind, we weren't actually pouring booze, it was just food coloured water. I don't think I corrupted BD though - the next day he told a story about him getting kicked out of his high school graduation for fighting with the principal of the school. This was my kind of guy. When I finally decided to tell him that he reminded me of my brother his reply was "I'd love to meet him, I bet we'd get along." Or their personalities would clash and they'd both end up dead.

Anyway, back to Britney. I sped off to my kindred spirit's house. His boyfriend was contemplating whether or not to buy tickets to see Britney with us. I told him he'd be sorry if he didn't, but my bestie was playing the "well can you afford it? Will you feel guilty?" cards. I wasn't having any of that "I will be pissed if you don't come to the Britney show, and you will regret missing it forever." In the end, I convinced him to go. Who can resist the power of Britney? We'll call my friend BA in this situation (Bad Angel, or maybe Boring Angel) for not insisting his BF join us at Britney...which I think makes me SA (Spontaneous Angel.)

Earlier in the day I had posted a Britney related Facebook status asking people to tell me their favourite Britney songs. BA's response was "Piece Of Me. I mean, please." which is total genius and I was mad about him being a better Britney fan than me on the day of her show. We drove off to the concert and I randomly decided to change lanes without shoulder checking - nearly cutting someone off before BA warned me. I apologized and he said he was not worried - that my Bubble would protect him. Now, I like the idea that I have a positive force field surrounding me...I'm not sure if it's true, but if there is one person who would know, it's BA. He's the intuitive inquisitive one. He's the one who asks the questions that I generally consider to boring to ask. He makes plans and knows the specifics. He is a fact based guy - which means you can tell him anything without fear of judgment. So he was the perfect companion for my Britney festivities - anyone else would blame me for their loss of hearing after enduring my high pitched shrieking for several hours.

We arrived at the arena, I bought my t-shirt and my Britney tights, and we made our way to our spectacular seats in the 5th row on the floor. An usher led us right up next to the catwalk and sat me immediately beside it. Tears started to well up in my eyes - I knew we had amazing seats, but these seats? They were perfect. Britney would be close enough to touch. And she was - and she was incredible. Say what you want about my girl B, but she knows how to put on a show. I'll always have her back - she's got Bad Initials too, after all: BS. My only disappointment was when I found out that in order to be selected to dance on stage with Britney during 'I Wanna Go' was that you had to enter a contest through the radio station a few weeks earlier. I wish I'd known - I would have outdanced every person on that stage. I thought I recognized the one Asian guy who was pulled up (some people from far away apparently thought it was me!) When I got home I saw someone had written "Great job up there tonight!" on his Facebook and realized I did know who he was. I quickly clicked UNFRIEND.

BA would actually make physical contact with Nicki Minaj before the evening was over. He would also tell me that Nicki's back-up dancers shared my physique - small waist, big butt.

 For me, there is no higher compliment.


Thursday, 11 August 2011

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Take Me In

Soundtrack for the day - "I And Love And You" by The Avett Brothers

The past few days have been exhausting! But rather than tell you about the issues I've been having unlocking my iPhone I've decided to list the things that have made me smile - trying to remain optimistic and all that.

Smile #1: I was walking along the street behind a toddler in a stroller who was playing with a bubble gun. The bubbles were spraying out to his right and floating back toward me - it was like being in a music video. Luckily I was listening to Lucky Day by Nicola Roberts (produced by the lovely and talented Dragonette) at the time so I danced alongside lip syncing the words. I find I've been smiling at many babies and toddlers - they are just so freaking cute. I feel like a bit of a creep though, and I wonder if their parents think I am some sort of gay pervert...they would not be wrong.

Smile #2: Fighting with the guy at T-Mobile because the SIM card he gave me won't work in my iPhone when the next girl in line told me she liked my Dries Van Noten gladiator sandals. Big smile for her. No smile for the guy who is probably going to make me buy a new phone though. I don't know if I can give up my iPhone for the duration of my stay in the States...

Smile #3: My parents arrived in town last night for a 5 day visit. I met up with them for dinner at Bubba Gump's seafood restaurant in Times Square - about as touristy as you can possibly get. Tables here have signs that say Stop Forrest Stop (you put this up if you need something from a server.) The waiter even asks trivia questions about the movie (I know who played Forrest and his mom - Tom Hanks and Sally Field, respectively, both two-time Academy Award winners haha) and the more obvious ones like "life is like a box of....?" but I did not know the three sports Forrest played (ping pong, football, track) or what shoes Jenny wore on their wedding day (trick question, she didn't wear any.) The thing that made me laugh here was on my way up the stairs the girls in front of me said "What is that picture from? Oh it's from a movie, I knew Bubba Gump was a movie, it sounded familiar, I've heard of it."
Clearly these girls were born post-1994.

Smile #4: After going to 3 electronics stores (one of them twice, the second time to return something that didn't do what they told me it would do, but alas, I have vowed not to whine in this post) I finally was able to retrieve my headshot from my external hard drive. I was told to take it to Walgreen's drug store to print it off - I stopped in a Starbucks on 5th Ave. to use their Wi-Fi and was told a Walgreen's was located only two blocks away. Upon arrival I found a huge line-up of people milling around outside, taking pictures. I looked up and realized this Walgreen's is located on the first floor of the Empire State Building.

It doesn't get much more NYC than that.


Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Home Sweet Home

Today's background music: "Always Like This" by Bombay Bicycle Club:

I wrote about going to see a place in Brooklyn on Friday night. This place has since become my home away from home. Friday's visit was longer than it should have been, probably - the apartments primary tenant and I hit it off well (minus the awkward moment when he told me he wasn't sure he liked the colour of the bathroom walls - and I looked down to see I was wearing the exact same inky shade of purple.) He's a health conscious guy (semi-vegan?) which is a definite change from my normal was of thinking with my stomach - I've already learned so much! Tonight he vindicated my love the ripe banana - apparently when they are green they are still a starch, not a fruit! Take that. Though I was hoping to use his really ripe ones for banana bread...

Anyway! Now I have a home. I still have to unpack my suitcase, but I went to the grocery store yesterday and that was a good first step in making it feel like home. You'd think I'd know by now not to go to the store practically starving, but apparently I never learn. The first trip was full of necessities (my least favourite kind of shopping) - flour, sugar, bread, potatoes, tonic, etc. I returned to the place to start cooking - got my pizza dough rising and had the lime sorbet in the freezer before I realized I'd missed a few key items. I still hadn't eaten anything, so I went back to Foodtown absolutely ravenous, almost dizzy from the hunger. This trip was full of less practical items like lemonade mix and blueberry tea - which coincidentally taste pretty good together on ice with some sugar. I was in a food craze by the time I was finished - I made blueberry lemon streusel, bruschetta, mango peach salsa, chicken avocado roasted garlic pizza. Mmm. Seriously contemplating culinary school once my Broadway bug has passed. I will have more on eating habits in the near future - this has reminded me of something else I wanted to talk about!

In other news, my friend Justin and I danced the night away at Industry on Saturday, which is rapidly becoming my favourite NYC nightspot. It was pouring rain - but it was nice to know my clothes were drenched with water and not my own sweat. My wet hair meant it was much whippier than usual too - this meant much neck pain the next morning. At Industry someone asked me "what did you take and are you offering any?" When I answered "no" he acted as if I was being selfish...I guess he didn't know I meant "No, I'm not on drugs" - he'd phrased it like I was definitely on drugs and there was no other way to explain my enthusiasm. What can I say? That DJ plays a lot of Britney - it gets me going!

To start our night out we had joined our new fave Diva by the name of Kelly King at Splash for the NYC gay nightlife awards and then hopped over to the New World Stages (great off-Broadway venue with 5 underground stages) where Kelly was performing a free show. You have GOT to hear this girl sing. It's like nothing I've ever heard. I had tears in my eyes during her rendition of Celine Dion's "The Power Of Love" and then the second the song is over she makes a joke about anal beads - this is my kind of woman.

One of the shows currently playing at New World Stages is called Naked Boys Singing...which is exactly what it sounds like (apparently it's a big hit with bachelorette parties and visiting gays.) A few of the cast members and the director were in the audience with us and we were introduced by Kelly. We know that Naked Boys has an audition coming up this week and the director tells us we should definitely come, and you'll never guess his reason:

"Oh please come! We only ever get white boys - the Asian guys are brought up so traditional and reserved and the black guys are generally raised they never come to our auditions!"

In case you were wondering, Justin and I are both white. Like...white as white can be. English/Irish/Welsch is my background. But if appearing semi-foreign to this guy gets me a job, I'm in! Come to think of it, since I arrived here I've been asked "what's your ethnic background?" "what are your ancestral origins?" and "what are you?" by every other person I've met. Maybe dying my hair black was a bad idea? It seems to be confusing everyone. Apparently the majority of the cast members are circumcised as well so I made it clear to everyone within earshot that I would be a great variation on their usual prospects.

 It might come in handy in more ways than one! If they think I'm Asian they'll be pleasantly surprised when they see me naked for the first time - it's always nice to find an outie when you were expecting an innie.


Saturday, 6 August 2011

Pop Goes The Weasel

Since I started updating this blog again I've had almost six people tell me how much they enjoy reading it. And here I thought the only active reader was my mom. Will this new found popularity change the way I write? Will it be like when Glee became unwatchable after they knew people loved what they were doing? I doubt it.

Here is the background music for today's entry - "Beating On A Better Drum" by Tove Styrke.

I'm not used to feeling like an outsider anymore. Sometimes I forget that there are bigoted people in the world who would discriminate against me for no good reason. When I express disbelief that people like that still exist my mom sometimes makes it sound like I've tried to create this fantasy world of unicorns and rainbows around me, almost as if I am the ignorant one. Maybe it's true. If you lined up everyone in my circle of friends it wouldn't take long to figure out what they have in common. They are generally a group of bright, open, accepting, artistically minded individuals. But isn't that what life is about? Maybe not necessarily surrounding yourself with like-minded people - if everyone thinks the same the thoughts probably don't go very far...but about surrounding yourself with similar energies and with individuals who have something that you might like to emulate. That's what I try to do. My friends are stylish, engaging, driven, and smart. I don't think I should have to apologize for that. We all want to have an environment that makes us feel safe.

So it's no wonder I've felt out of place on the streets of NYC in search of a place to call home. The first few days were the worst - I was eying everyone suspiciously as if they were about to cut the straps off my bag and take it from my shoulder or ride by on their bike and snatch my iPhone from my hand (apparently that kind of thing actually happens!) I've gotten more relaxed already though - last night on my way to see a place in Brooklyn I noticed an area surrounded with yellow tape in front of me. Instead of thinking "oh, I probably shouldn't be looking to live in a place where that kind of thing happens" I thought "Hmm, I wonder if that means the building is free now?" As if the landlord would show the place while it was still a crime scene - in NYC, I wouldn't be surprised.

This all turned out to be null and void because when I got closer I found out it was simply CAUTION tape around a section of the sidewalk that was being replaced. I knew this neighborhood would be ok - I just passed a freaking ice cream truck that was playing a twinkly version of "Pop Goes The Weasel."

More surprising is the experience I had when I was home last month in Carman. In case you don't know what Carman is, it's a small southern Manitoba town, home to about 2,500 people. When driving up to it you see 3 signs - one to tell you that famed NHL goalie Eddie Belfour is from Carman, one to tell you Olympic athlete Kelly Hand is from Carman, and one to warn you about the evils of abortion - LIFE: From Conception On.  I have an overpowering urge to set that particular sign on fire, but perhaps that is another blog entry.

Every summer Carman holds an annual fair - rides and mini donuts and fireworks and beer gardens. I hadn't been in at least five years, since I'd moved to Vancouver. I thought it would be a nostalgia filled blast from the past, and for the most part it was. At the beer gardens there were more shirtless guys dancing that I'd seen the previous weekend at the gay bar - though I suppose it has to be mentioned that I was related to all three of them. One of these shirtless wonders is a first cousin of mine, a few years older than me and a pretty macho dude. Later in the evening as things were winding down I was having a conversation with him when two of his dude friends came over. I remember in high school when people would see us talking they would always ask my cousin "why are you talking to HIM?"  If we weren't related would we be able to find any common ground?

One of his friends made a joke about how much dick my cousin sucks. He then demonstrated the size of this theoretical dick, dubbed it Culvert Cock and decided to see if I would be able to open my mouth wide enough to accommodate it - and I could. It was hilarious. I was surprised how much I was enjoying myself. Then this DB looked at me and said "you know, I really want to hate you - but you're actually a pretty good guy."

There's a backhanded compliment if I've ever heard one. It was spoken so casually too - like he'd been meaning to say it to me for a while, but not too long. It popped out just like that weasel in the song. A black, dirty, ugly weasel. I didn't know what to say. Why would this guy have decided that I was not a good person? My response was to mention the fact that we'd probably never even spoken before - trying to point out that he had no basis for this opinion. He said "Well of course - what would we talk about?" I reminded him that we were talking at that very moment, and he got on the defensive. Saying that he's not the only one who feels that way about people like me and that I can't hold it against him.

Why he thinks it's ok for him to be prejudiced against me for no reason but doesn't think I should be allowed to look down on him after he expresses an offensive opinion is beyond me. I left shortly after - though not before the police officer nearby took my half-empty bottle of vodka away and poured it out into the street.

I told my mom this story the next day and she couldn't believe I was surprised. She told me she had recently gone golfing with this particular guy's father and that he had pointed out something pink and spoken about it as if it was lesser because of what colour it was. As if it was inferior because it was girly. You know what they say about apples and trees. I know some people like to pretend that they are not like their parents, but here I am proud to say that my mother and I had the exact same gut reaction - to yell "WE KNOW YOU'RE STRAIGHT. YOU'RE MARRIED TO A WOMAN - WHO THE FUCK CARES? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE, BUDDY?"

 My mom doesn't like it when I use the word douchebag, but in this scenario I can't think of anything more appropriate.

Love you mom.

Friday, 5 August 2011

If I Was A Business Lady

If I was a business lady
I would wear those
Human barlae (?)
I hate the colour nostalgia
Grandma's lampshade - army/foliage
Stock foundation colour iridescent snakeskin
Oh look at these - stunning
Prostitutes lips camo ever not tacky?
And how much are they
Look like a different person
Stripper shoes = clear heels
Only shoes during sex
Sweatpant shopper cork
These are kinda cute
OMG it's a jaguar not a fan
Neat, intense, heinous
Foot collar darling

How is it that I have been in NYC for five days and I still haven't stepped foot inside a shoe store? My current footwear could not be more impractical for the daily activities that apartment hunting require - I finally understand what 'pounding the pavement' means. My body aches and my feet are blistered, my shoes have holes in the bottoms, the leathers are stained from rainy Vancouver days, but I hadn't even considered going into a shoe store until I came across a page in my journal from last year when I was researching my shoe-themed dance piece 'The Collectors' with now-defunct dance collective actualPLAY.

I've trying to write in my journal every day - just observations mostly. Trying to stick to my goal of writing something for this blog at least every 3 days. This particular page in my journal is close to the front - I always flip past it on my way to a clean sheet of paper. It lists everything that my friends Lucia and Sarah or I uttered and mumbled to ourselves while we were browsing the shoe section at Holt Renfrew. It now reads like a sort of bizarre poem, equal parts immediate visual observation and visceral gut reaction.

I suppose I haven't been shopping for several reasons, some more obvious than others. Firstly, I have no money. Secondly, I have more important things to be acquiring, like a home or a job. There is an underlying fear that I will see the perfect pair and I will be forced to buy them regardless of the consequences. There is the irrational fear that I will have the self-control to stop myself from buying them and always regret not buying them.

These shoes might not even exist. But I want them.


Wednesday, 3 August 2011

Oh Give Me Love In America

It's official - I am a New York City resident. Well, a resident with no actual apartment yet, but we'll get to that.

I'll take you through my first 48 hours in the USA in just a sec - first you need to press play on the video below to provide the accurate background music as this was the I was listening to on repeat during my (awfully bumpy) flights here.

Le Kid - America

There - that's better. Now you have about 4 minutes to read this entire entry. And you've just wasted about 5 seconds on this, so I suppose I should get to it.

I thought I'd fit in automatically. I was here for 10 days in April - very recently! By the end of that trip I felt like an NYC native. I was scoffing at tourists, ignoring the 'do not walk' signs, and shopping at Barneys.

My transition has not been as seamless as I imagined it would be. I had a 4 hour layover in the Montreal airport where I drained my iPhone battery completely, so when I arrived in Newark I had to plug it into a wall while I sat on the floor and decided I'd take a taxi to Brooklyn, where I'll be staying with my friend Justin for a few days. Upon being told the taxi ride would be upwards of $90, I reconsidered my options. Google maps told me I had 9 minutes to reach the train station on the opposite end of the airport - could I make it? I won't make you guess - I didn't make it. I was wondering around like a lost puppy - people actually asking me if I needed help. I wanted to say "oh no thank you, I'm here all the time" but what I actually said was "where the fuck am I?"

By the time I board the train to Penn Station I am the sweatiest I have been in my entire life. I listen to my boisterous train car companions discuss what they would do with their lottery money when they won it this week - buy each other at least small house, apparently. This struck me as a bit gay, but I didn't mention it.

The first thing I see in Penn Station is 3 men in army uniforms carrying guns. Actual guns! The states is a fucked up place. Fine for you to have a small one strapped to your thigh, but a 2 foot long one that you're waving around? I tried to act natural but it turns out lugging a 50 pound suitcase through a NYC subway turnstyle is nearly impossible. My body was stuck between two of the rungs with my carry on bags in one hand the my suitcase stuck on the other side. One of the army men sensed my distress and gingerly picked up my suitcase and handed it to me. I looked up at him like he was Buddha and said thank you through near tears. "Ugh," I said "I must just be SCREAMING tourist." I proceeded to shout the word TOURIST quite loudly, like the final competitor in the penis game* and the army man looked at me as if I was crazier than the man standing behind him screaming about how Jesus would be coming back next week.

Remember how I said I'd never been sweatier? That was before I lugged my suitcase down two levels into the Subway and stood on the platform so humid it was like being lowered into boiling water (which reminds me, I have to blog about lobster night too.)

I finally made it to Justin's place in one piece at about 8:30. I was exhausted, I'd been up since 3AM. I opened my mouth to say "OMG I just want to go to bed" and Justin said "It's your first night in NYC! Get dressed, we're going to the DIVA show at Industry."

Then I remembered why I wanted to come here in the first place. Every ounce of my heat exhaustion could be fixed with an ounce of vodka. I felt rejuvenated and alive and vibrant and I met stylish funny people who all came to NYC to make something bigger of themselves and then it felt like home. It took longer than I thought it would, but it didn't take long.

I spent all day yesterday looking at apartments in Harlem - all too small for the money, all in sketchy parts of town...and I realized I'd never had to find a place for myself before. My mom found my first apartment in Vancouver, and my (now ex) bf CW (Car Wash) found our joint place in Vancouver. Oh, I'm going to miss that place. I sent them both a teary eyed thank you message at about 3 AM last night before I replied to any Craiglist ad that sounded even remotely promising. My sandals gave me blisters and my thighs are chafed from rubbing together all day in my shorts that didn't used to be too tight but are now definitely too tight. I was in a foul mood - then Justin's roommate asked if I wanted to see Mary Poppins on Broadway with her for the low low student price of $30. Um, yes. Yes I did.

Is this what life in NYC is like for everyone? An awful stressful day followed by a night of pleasure and entertainment?

Seems like a fair trade.

*You know what the penis game is! It's where you see who will say/shout the word penis the loudest in a public area. See 500 Day Of Summer immediately and you'll get it.