The glorious thing about Manhattan is that you never know how your day is going to end up. I mean, the possibilities are endless.
Let me explain:
I woke up hung over – last night my friend took me to an advance screening of Mamma Mia, which is not only fabulous, it’s fagulous. The after party was at some smarmy, but chic lounge on the lower east side. More importantly, the drinks and food were free. Since the economy is in the toilet, and pennies are tight, I decided to drink up. At 3 am, I walked – or stumbled – up Avenue A to my apartment. The entire evening: $4.
I had planned to spend the day in bed watching reruns of Project Runway when the phone rang.
It was the Israeli.
He wanted to come over for a visit.
I looked in the mirror.
Not pretty.
Give me an hour, I said as I reached for the concealer.
After a quick 90-minute love session, the Israeli was out the door.
As I lounged like a kitten in our sex sheets, the phone rang. It was Ken, an elderly South African diplomat that I had not heard from in months. He needed a date to a dinner party. With Ken, I never spend a dime, and so what if payment is his wrinkly hand giving me a hand job at evening’s end.
I tossed on a slim black t-shirt with some Prada pants and accessorized myself with a drum of Ivory Bisque concealer. Ken took me to an amazing dinner party at the United Nations. He kept commenting on my glowing skin - I did not tell him 45 minutes earlier I had been rolling in the hay. The other diners included various Broadway producers, diplomats and bankers - all very interesting. One savvy woman whispered to me on the balcony – “I know you look young, but I can tell by your conversation that you’re much older.” She winked at me and smiled.
Back at Ken’s Tudor City apartment, he served me a big glass of champagne. I saw him reach for the Kiehl's Extra Creamy hand lotion and I knew it was time to pay my bill. I leaned back in his authentic Barcelona chair and marveled at his spectacular view of the Chrysler Building. I fantasized about the Israeli and my payment came very quick.
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6 comments:
Damn, whore! You need a cameo in the next sex + the city movie.
Well at least you don't discriminate.
NYC is breathtaking but the Hotel Alexander on West 94th is the pits. It's the ninth circle of hell, the bottom of the barrel, the shit in the storm. Their website makes it look like Buckingham Palace but in reality it's F-ing Abu Ghraib! Tell your visiting friends to stay away!!
I don't know why you would stay on West 94th to begin with? Next time try the Rivington Hotel on the Lower East Side or the Dream Hotel in Midtown.
My apologies to Mr. Hobart - I read your blog entry and I now know why you ended up on West 94th.
When you comin to vegas?
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