I would call my brand over caffeinated. I give people who aren’t on my energy level anxiety. The world literally pulses at a million beats per minute in my mind. I see 1 million ideas and opportunities at once and usually have to go for a run to get the energy out before I can even attempt to accomplish anything. But then once I am focused, I’m hyper focused — in the proverbial “zone.” As long as it’s something I want to do. For instance this article started off strong and will likely gradually taper off.
When I decided to move to New York, I used my triple espresso gusto to find new friends and a lover. Forgot Lincoln Hardware or Wang’s Cleaners in Venice, New York is teaming with dry cleaners and hardware stores… not to mention weird social groups like the “leather BDSM Coffee Club” or “Babes and Bitches Brunch” (a dog thing). On the spectrum of weirdness, I must fall somewhere in between girls who “brunch” post Pilates and cokeheads who caffeinate before getting into some hardcore bondage.
On the application to date or friend me the only requirement is being into me. Because then I know at least we have one thing in common. I had a thorough application prepared, “35 questions to make anyone fall in love [with me],” based on The NY Times article. Read my answers here. So, bada bing bada boom, I stepped into my map (like Joey in London on that episode of Friends) and plotted my route. See, I had enough foresight to figure I should work my way into certain scenes. Making friends with the notorious “pigeon man” who lives in Washington Square Park for example would be much easier than the guys at the barber shop in the East Village. I really tried and couldn’t relate, but I do have a sick fade now.
It may seem like I cast a really wide net for friends or potential lovers. But I was just looking for interesting people and differing perspectives. They say you are your five closest friends. Well, if I made friends with pigeon whisperer, one of those savant chess players (who cat call for matches in the park), a ripped contortionist acro CrossFit dude, a supermodel from swanky Soho House, and a fellow nerd from the Morgan Library (look it up), then I’d be a pretty well rounded person. (Side note: I’m pleasantly astounded at how many more nerds there are in NY than LA.)
As with any large undertaking, research is paramount. Which is why I pre-stalked quality candidates on Instagram, sending each carefully crafted dms. “Hiiii…” Yes, it was weird of me, an adult, to dm another adult asking them to be my new best friend or lover. So, no I haven’t gotten any replies. I’m assuming they think it’s spam or maybe they’re just busy. Yet another trait I admire. Because I too am busy…busy writing this article about how they haven’t messaged me back.
Sober, single, and completely solo, I ventured through my map. It’s fun to play around with new personalities… and the Oscar for convincing a random stranger that you’re perfectly normal goes to…. Noel at a bar on August 22nd… the audience applauds, I take off my mask and everyone gasps at my pimple ridden face and then applauds again as I make my way into the crowd, mic in hand. “Thank you. Thank you. Please, please sit down.” The crowd silences, hanging on my every word. “It was a moment of artistic genius, summoning this character: a girl who makes eye contact, listens without checking her phone — really I don’t know where it came from but I went with it…”
I did experience a few moments of rejection, like when I sat next to this gorgeous chick on a stoop, reading a book. I too pulled out a book and began pretending to read my book while reading her book over her shoulder, looking for an entry topic of conversation. Me: “So, uh, have you seen Stoop Talk? It’s like a YouTube channel where they interview people on stoops.” Her: “No.” She didn’t look up from her book. Me: “Kewl. No, yeah. Me either.” When she finally noticed I was reading her book, she stood up and walked away. Her book wasn’t even that interesting anyways. It was about growing vegetables. Who reads a book about gardening?
Pigeon guy was a dud. He totally overreacted when my dog chased away his flock. I don’t get it. It’s not like they’re his pigeons. Plus, they shit all over the place. Still, I decided to make casual conversation. Me: “So, what’s up?” Him: “Can I help you?” Even the homeless in New York have an attitude. If I ever get to the point where I need help from pigeon dude, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
Next stop was the MOMA for a little culture. How hard could it be to sound sophisticated? I found a hunk (with a capital H) staring at a painting and parked next to him, pretending to appreciate this “abstract art.” Me: “I like the lines.” It was a poorly drawn circle so what else could I say? It turns out he’s an art dealer. Just my luck. When he asked who my favorite artist was, I said: “Do you know that guy on Instagram who draws doodles. They’re like memes but more fallick shaped?” Him: “Sorry, I have to get this.” He walked off, answering a clearly nonexistent phone call. And I was stuck staring at this circle for another ten minutes, because what did I see in this? I seriously don’t get art. I stared at it long enough, trying to relate to this, and finally was like, “Oh, maybe this symbolizes my life going in circles.” Right, because life imitates art. I get it now. “Hey guy come back. I get it.”
Most people have some sort of internal dialogue that prevents them from getting into such embarrassing scenarios. Instead, my voice of reason says, “why not?” There we’re so many awkward moments that day that I’ll probably need therapy to suppress. I’ll save them for another article and jump to where I ended up: bagels. Because, who doesn’t love bagels? My day ended with me schvitzing (sweating profusely) in a carb coma while sitting across from my dog, hand feeding her lox. Did I make any new friends? No. We’re the bagels better than sex? Yes. If you were really invested in where this was going I’m sorry to disappoint.
Here’s some smut for gluten lovers: the bagels had a gooey, soft, thick, flakey texture that crumbled in your mouth. Carbs are sac relig in LA so I’ve been seriously deprived. I asked only the hottest patrons of Essa Bagel “Why are these so freaking good. Is it really what’s in the wahtah?” And, they couldn’t be bothered to respond, probably because bagel particles spewed from my mouth as I talked or maybe they found my attempt at a New York accent offensive. I’ll never know if it’s the wahtah. But all in all I’d say the day was a success.