I went out with London boy, yes the one who left me for a guy at the end of the night in my last post. I went into the night thinking of him as a new friend in the music biz and because I no longer judged him as a potential suitor the night was easy and fun. His company gave him tickets to see Freda Payne at the Iridium. I am always up for seeing live music, especially jazz in a city like New York. We both walked in the door right before 8pm and decided to get a drink near by. We quickly realized that we were smack in the middle of Times Square, where quality bars are few and far between. We ended up at the Michelagelo Hotel for a glass of Prosecco. The decor looked like a funeral parlor, which was only the beginning to a night of many laughs.
We shared a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the best seats in the house. I suddenly found myself happy and lighthearted (it's been awhile). We exchanged jokes by writing on each other's Blackberries and would just smile at each other in between sets. I was starting to think I had his guy all wrong, but came back to my senses at our next stop. He took me to some crazy New Orleans bar in the middle of restaurant row in Hell's Kitchen. We ordered the drink of the night, which was called a "hurricane" and looked like a bad drink they would serve on cruise ships. I don't have a clue as to the ingredients, but on sight knew it would be the drink that would unleash a memorable evening. I was still trying to choke down my first and he was sipping on his second when he took the straw out, aimed, and spit hurricane juice all over my chest. My jaw dropped as my eyes cut into him. He jumped up and said he was running to the bathroom laughing. While he was in the bathroom, I took most of the ice from his drink and put the cubes all over his shirt, scarf, and coat pockets. Fight immaturity with immaturity. I was ready to go meet Boo and get out of this increasingly messy date. We shared a cab and I sent him on his way.
The moment I stepped out of the cab the hurricane must have kicked in. I can't remember parts of the night, like scattered puzzle pieces in my mind. I know I came home and changed, but have no recollection of actually doing it. I had no concept of time, what I said to people, or what I looked like. I didn't care about impressing London, so I hadn't shaved my legs or washed my hair. I arrived to some after party at Rosebar and was the biggest flirt! I ended up in the corner kissing a guy that I just met, but I don't remember how or why. He was stuck to me like glue and at one point I decided I was going to go home with him for fun. This guy is a lawyer from Germany and he is....drum roll please.....6'4. I have no idea how old he and didn't remember his name until I looked at his text while laying next to him this morning. He had a very nicely decorated loft apartment that we ended up making a mess of. The chemistry was surprisingly amazing and I had the extreme sex hair to prove it. We enjoyed each other twice more in between the hours of sleepy cuddling. It was just the release I have needed and of coarse it happened when I was least prepared. He kissed me passionately before closing with "we should do this again sometime". We had exchanged numbers at Rosebar, which again I have no memory of. It was not my proudest moment doing the walk of shame by a group of toddlers, in fishnets and five inch heels, in the glare of 2pm daylight.
*Aries*
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