Howard Does the Hamptons

I just got back from the Hamptons (Sag Harbor & East Hampton to be specific) after spending the weekend with some of my friends from college. You would think 11 people (yes, 11 adults) in one house would be problematic, but it wasn't. I mean sure, my first choice for sleeping arrangements is never going to be on a narrow couch, literally tangled up with someone else, and cold showers aren't exactly my favorite, but it was all good. No drama vacations, FTW!

We were supposed to leave sometime around 2:30 on Friday, however, we didn't leave until about 7. The friend we were staying with texted us twice to tell us, "ya'll some niggas," about our lateness, but I'm saying... one of my roommates didn't even get back from work until about 5:45! And I had to pre-mix drinks for the weekend (Gatorade bottles full of margarita, cherry splash margarita, and whiskey + cranberry)! When we finally made it to Sag Harbor, it was pitch black outside, and there weren't any street lights. I've never, ever, in my life seen the stars look that beautiful. I never realized there were that many of them. It took my breath away.

Right then I decided that, one day, I must get a summer home in the Hamptons for myself.

So anyway, we make our way inside and the night begins with Kings, the greatest drinking/card game ev-aaar! I got to make up three of the rules of the game =) Note: you should fear me when I get to make up rules in Kings. I made everyone talk in a British accent and decreed that whenever they had to take a drink, you had to drink for five seconds, minimum. 1-Mississippi style. I definitely ended up gettin myself done with my personal margarita mix and that 5-second rule. One of my friends also ended up incapacitating himself for the rest of the night because he took prescription meds and chased it with alcohol (not immediately afterwards, but close enough). Before he started drinking, we asked him, "are you sure you can drink after taking that?"

"Yeah, I asked my doctor and he cleared me," he assured us.

Hours later, just as the door swung open to let in the last car of people, one of my friends called out, "he's throwing up! He's throwing up!"

I looked to my right and wasted no time in leaping 10 feet across the room. But you know something? A sign of growing up is when, after an incident like that, the whole crew pitches in to take care of the sickling and clean up, even finding cleaning materials that the host didn't even know he had. We ended up putting the sickling outside with a bottle of water until he was finished and continued chillin. By the time we were all ready to go to sleep (at about 4 am), he ended up dancing and singing in the hallway in his boxers. He wasn't drunk.

Saturday, we went around town (when I get money... shopping in the Hamptons is so necessary) and two of us made it on the camera for Real Housewives of NY (whether or not they make it past the cutting room floor is still up in the air) and then we went to the beach. After going to Miami last week, I think I can make the call:

The Hamptons vs. Miami:

• Miami has better water (clear and warm); the Hamptons has better sand (soft and sculptable).
• Miami is more relaxed about things like clothing; the Hamptons has a more relaxing atmosphere.
• Miami is packed with activity; the Hamptons makes you forget everything but how beautiful the night sky and the endless ocean are.

All-in-all... I'd rather build a summer home in the Hamptons. It's a place that makes you feel like you're on the edge of the world... so peaceful.

After the beach we headed out to main shopping/eating district in Sag Harbor. Two of the guys and one of my roommates and I ate at this BOMB Mediterranean restaurant. If you haven't tried moussaka... do so, post-haste. While nursing moderate cases of the Itis, we walked down to the docks, looked up at the stars again, and fantasized about the yachts. Now, I've been on a yacht before and I didn't exactly enjoy the experience (I get nervous when I'm too far away from terra firma), but man... if I had the money... Fuck the fear, I'd get myself a yacht!

We were going to make a bonfire, but some of us chilled back at the house while others searched for a party at Pink Elephant, however they were having a private event and the only entry was the purchase of a table... for $1,500. Welcome to the Hamptons =). Pah-ty done.

Clubbin was a bust, but honestly... I wouldn't go to the Hamptons to club anyway. I'd go to get away from all that. And it's definitely on my list of places to Ctrl+Alt+Delete.

Private beach in Sag Harbor

This Has Nothing to do with Alcohol

Um, yeah... so... this post has nothing to do with alcohol. At all. I apologize in advance, but I still think I might have something worthwhile to say.

I'm sitting here packing for my weekend trip to the Hamptons with a still as yet unspecified number of my friends, and I just got to thinking...

(Well, I didn't just get to thinking. I was actually talking about relationships with the woman who has a nonprofit across the street from me, and thinking about the words my grandmother said to me from beyond. [Yes, the deceased do speak, if you're willing to listen.]).

Man, I've learned a lot of good lessons from all the relationship drama I've been through. And man, I don't know how I want to handle them going forward... 'cause man... man... my world-view has been tainted and I don't know what's right or wrong anymore.

I'm too nice to be a proper heartbreaker (I'm more aloof and oblivious than cold and cruel) and too self-absorbed to be a proper sweetheart. I used to be a real sweetie, though. I was THE Ride-or-Die Chick. THE Make-Dinner-for-You-on-a-Whim Chick. The Kiss-You-Anyway-When-You're-Sick-'Cause-I-Even-Love-Your-Germs Chick. When my boyfriend (at the time) and I offended our friends by arriving late to a get-together after we said we'd be an hour (hey... some things take longer than an hour if you're doin it right), after he tried to greet his best friend, his friend said, "Nah, sahn. I don't fucks with you!" My immediate reply was, "that's okay, 'cause I do!" That's the kind of girl I was.

It wasn't having my heart broken by the stereotypical "Bad Guy" that changed me though. I mean, I did have my heart broken, but he wasn't a bad guy... he was a scared, confused guy. It wasn't even a brief encounter with a violent, possessive guy. The straw that broke the camel's back (besides age) was a nice guy. That's right. The "Nice Guy" was the one who made me say "to hell with it."

And thus began my string of flings (which I'm winding down from. It's boring and I either want something REAL good, something REAL fun, or nothing at all).

How did this happen? He was too nice. He was too cautious. He was... rather condescending, actually. He pushed me away right when things started taking off only to later explain that he was trying to figure out who was real and who wasn't... and then came back. (They ALWAYS come back.). Too late, not interested... at all. The worst thing you can do to me is doubt my realness.

I feel like I'm at another turning point in how I view men and relationships. I know what I ultimately want in that regard: a husband I don't secretly/not-so-secretly hate and three adorable kids, but not anytime soon. There are a lot of changes I need to go through and experiences I need to have before I'm ready to seriously think about any of that.

I've done the steady girlfriend thing. I've done the "I'm going to focus on me" thing. I've done the "let's just play it by ear" thing. I've done the "we're just friends, but we go out on dates" thing. I've done the chick-on-the-side thing (don't judge me). I've done the playette thing. I've done the "it's 3 am, where you at?" thing. (Sounds like I've done a lot of things. Pause.).

I guess what I'm ready for now is the next thing. And I know what I want that next thing to be, but I have the feeling that what I'm going to get is going to surprise me. It always does.

BONUS! QUOTES from MY MOMMY:

After my first breakup:

"Niggas come and go, but mama will always love you."

"If I see him on the street, I'm going to push him into oncoming traffic. Just kidding!"

After my encounter with scary, violent, crazy man:

Mom: "He had a little dick, didn't he?"

Me: "Mom! ...Yes."

Mom: *Cackles* "See? Mama always knows! Five-minute, squiggly dick."

...My mother is a dentist with an expansive vocabulary and normally speaks with impeccable grammar (though she does have a potty mouth in private). Even after 22 years of her being my mother, I'm still shocked when she says such things.

Back In Black... No Really... I'm Burnt.

So, I returned from Miami on Sunday... chilled at my parents' place until Monday evening, when I arrived back in New York, minus (-) my phone charger and an unspecified amount of my checking account, plus (+) a skin cancer-worthy tan and some lessons learned:

-If it doesn't feel right, it isn't right. Alright, so I already knew this one, but intuition is one of those "easily-ignored-because-they're-so-abstract" things. The trip to Miami was for my high school best friend's birthday, and when it was planned, it included four people: me, her, and two of her other besties (one of whom is also one of mine). Eventually, more people were added... people I either didn't know, didn't really care too much for, or hadn't talked to in ages. I didn't really feel right going; I had a feeling I wasn't going to be able to enjoy myself, but I went anyway because it was for my friend's birthday. Lesson rephrased: don't commit yourself to something you know you can't actually do in the interest of keeping up appearances. My line of thinking went something like this: if I don't go, I'm a bad friend AND I'll look petty and immature because I'm not going because I don't want to be around the other guests.

But you know what? I've discovered that real maturity is making decisions based upon what you know you're capable of, and real friendship isn't based upon appearances. I would've better served my friend by coming down to MD to see her off for her trip/welcome her back and giving her a gift then. Instead, I was visibly Miserable-In-Miami and felt like I'd essentially wasted my money on a vacation that wasn't very relaxing at all.

I knew I wasn't going to enjoy the trip before we even took off. When, in the airport, my high school bestie introduced her college bestie to one of the girls I didn't know with, "and this is my best friend, ____," and didn't even bother to introduce me. And then said girl I didn't know copped an attitude with me when I questioned her suggestion that we take shots on the plane. Bad omens.

Do you know how frustrating it is to try to be nice to and sociable with someone who does nothing but stare at you? (Except when she wasn't around her core group... when she was outnumbered by "the original trip people" she was fine). ...And for the record, the reason I've even been on-the-outs with this person (none of which matters anymore), was firstly because I was angry at her and couldn't fake politeness, and secondly because she wrote me a highly contradictory apology which I couldn't accept for all of its contradictions and hurtful insinuations. I don't know what reason she has to stare at me. To not flip out at rude-ass, pretentious little bitches (TWO of them!) who can't at least do the fake "we're all girlfriends!" thing? To feel like a freaking camper, shuttled into group activities that I had nothing to do with? To have plans made and NO ONE tells you what the hell is going on? I just didn't have a good time. Thus, I have learned:

-Do what YOU want. Alright, so you've got to take other people into account sometimes, but you can't be of any good use to anyone else if you're not happy. It shows. My other friend told me that, "the best day I've had so far on this trip is the day I spent by myself." And you know? I wish I'd spent a day waking up early and eating breakfast by myself, going swimming and tanning on the beach by myself, going back to eat and read my book by myself, then maybe take a nap and meeting up with everyone else later. If I'd felt like I'd had some modicum of control or choice in the whole trip, I think it wouldn't have been so bad for me. To the extent that you're able, always make sure what you're doing is what you want... otherwise you'll be bitter.

It wasn't all bad, though... I enjoyed playing volleyball in the water with 3 cute Italian guys. (Which has cemented my decision to go to Italy next summer). The water was nice. There were some good moments. I've also learned that wine makes me EXTREMELY giggly (or maybe just the fact that I drank a whole bottle?). I picked up an addiction to a television show called Bones (I just watched three straight episodes tonight, in fact). I learned some valuable lessons, the last of which being:

If I ever want to get my mother to affect a pained, worried expression and moan, "oh, my poor baby doesn't know how to take care of herself!" all I have to do is get a sunburn.

...Yes, she actually did say that in response to me getting a sunburn. My mom's a special lady. I love her.

My Gameplan for This Week:

-Figure out how I'm going to pay for fashion school.

-Finish this marketing package for my producer friend.

-Finish this business plan and case for donations for my family's non-profit.

-Go to my sewing class and figure out exactly how I'm going to volunteer there.

-Go to The Hamptons with an unspecified group of people in an unspecified location by an unspecified means of transportation and have a completely undignified amount of fun!

Alright, you asked for it...

So, I'm going to continue blogging even though I'm not behind a bar right now. I decided to spend the rest of my summer being a fake socialite, hopping from one social engagement to the next. But really, you know, this is all field research: how am I supposed to know where I want to bartend if I don't go clubbin?

That's my story and I'm stickin to it.

In any case, my shenanigans will still be posted here. So! To begin:

I really love my building; my neighbors are extra cool. The guys that live across the hall invited us out to go to this (free!) party in the Village. Up until now, my partying has been limited to Chelsea, so this was my first Village night. The Village = Adams Morgan on speed. I can definitely see myself bar hopping around until 5 am.

The club we went to was kind of empty, but the DJ was NICE, and we had fun watching the white people dance. Now, all white people are not physically incapable of dancing. I've been on dance teams with plenty of white people, and they have proven that generalization to be false. HOWEVER, I have never seen a black person dance quite like this:

Yes. It was that bad. I'm not one to ruin anyone else's fun, but sometimes you just wonder: does this person realize that NO ONE else is moving like Gumby?

The roomies and I also found THE pre-game bar. 5 shots of ANYTHING for $10. That's just reckless. (And I love it). So the game plan whenever drinks are in order is to go there, get nice, then go to the club (where entry may be free, but drinks will cost a grip).

The story of the night, though, is the Afrocentric Puerto Rican construction worker-cowboy-hippie rapper/storyteller that provided us with subway entertainment on the way home. So, we're at the W 4th St. station, talking, waiting on the A train (which is taking FOREVER)... all of a sudden, our conversation is overpowered by loud banging and screaming rapping. We observe a short, stubby sort of fellow with sleepy eyes and plastic figurine mini fan necklace (which he was using as a mic), ripping his vocal cords to give us his message:

"You SICK wit' it; you ACT wit' it! Africa! Africa! Ooooo whatcha gonna do? Ooooo whatcha gonna do?"

He was so loud, we had to join in with our dancing, backup singing and beat-boxing. When he finished his song, one of my roomies entreated him to keep going.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why not?" she countered.

He continued. ...Even onto the train (when it finally came), where the rhymes got even more ridiculous: "We all gon' win, we all gon' win; we can't lose. Touchdown! Goal! Ooooh, whatcha gonna do? Ooooh, who you gonna call? Africa! Africa!" So, of course, we're all laughing and dancing along... until he gets to his second song:

"They all gon' laugh at you! They all gon' laugh at you!"

Everyone stopped laughing. We didn't know whether or not we should expect the next line to be:

"And then you get your revenge!" Complete with him going on a crazed attack on his fellow subway riders with his mini-fan.

Thankfully, he didn't. He did, however, tell my roomie, "I like you," and told her that he wanted to fall asleep on the train and wake up with her on his lap. He even made up a rap about it:

"Satin, silk lingerie with lace in the middle! I just wanna see you skeet! It's animal instinct! You just get inside and uuuunh!"

Good times.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

"I rep Brooklyn; Bed-Stuy... I rep Coney Island... Madison Square Garden... Midtown... Jamaica, Queens... I rep the Boogie Down too... I can't remember where it is, but I rep that shit. Canada too: I been to Buffalo."

-the same Afrocentric Puerto Rican construction worker-cowboy-hippie rapper/storyteller

...Sir. Buffalo is NOT in Canada!

Sayonara Sunday

That's right, I'm saying goodnight and goodbye to the bikini bar.  (I'm horribly fickle, I know.).  Reasons why:

1.  I can't hide my attitude problem with my boss.  I refuse to be ordered around like a dog.  I'm just not doing it, and I don't respect anyone who does it to me.  You tell me, "go talk to them," and I will answer, "alright, already!"  I know it's rude.  I know I'm the employee here.  But I don't consider that a real job and I'm not going to defer to such behavior.  Accordingly, my boss doesn't like me.

ASIDE: I don't know when I got like this, but I'm a lot less close-lipped than I used to be.  I used to take everything with a smile, but now I'm more "nice when I deem the cause worthy".  I... I... I think I'm becoming a bitch.  (Only when it's deserved, of course!).

2.  The customers get on my nerves.  After I reply, "no, I'm a bartender, not a prostitute," after you ask me to go with you tonight, do not ask me, "why not?"  ...Excuse me?  These perverts.

ASIDE:  I feel like I've got a pretty good handle on who I am and who I'm not; where I belong and where I don't.  I can chill in an environment I don't belong in for a minute, but I know it's not the place for me.  I feel like as long as you know who you are, it doesn't matter where you are, you can't get lost.

So, for all my family members who may be out there, reading all of my crazy tales: don't worry about me.  Of course, I don't know everything about who I am, but I know who I'm not.

3.  I made my rent money!  Consequently, I have no further use for that place.

4.  Boss Man took me off schedule (because he doesn't like me), which works perfectly for me because I didn't want to come back next week anyway.  Hel-lo free time!

This other bar wants to hire me to dance (salsa, merengue, etc.) with customers and bartend, but I want to work at a club, where the main focus isn't the bar.  It's more my speed.

I like really fast-paced places where I can keep my conversations with customers short and sweet, where I'm always moving so the night goes by quickly, where I don't have to work 5 frickin days a week.  ...Where there isn't a chance for customers to get perverted with me.  

So... bigger clubs, here I come.  I've got some NYC bartending experience under my belt: my resume has had its butt shots.  Let's go.

Before I left the bikini bar, I had the proper send off though.  We gave a Cablevision customer service rep (I actually think he might've been one of the ones I got loud and indignant with... whoops), the night of his life: five girls dancing for him at once.  He tipped us $20 each.  And another guy tipped me $20 just because I looked Dominican and he said I would fit right in in his country.  

Again: RENT MADE!

CHILL TIME shall commence once again.  Time to make a list of dance clubs and concert halls, etc.

I'm living in NYC: life comes at you fast.