My Quirky New York   OR   What's Your Name Again?   OR   No News is Good News

My friend Lorenzo, a talented photographer, hates New York wedding gigs. If you visit his studio it becomes apparent that the last year has seen the absolute worst of it. Stacks of ornate wedding albums colored coral, lavender, beige, bowed, satin-laced, or packaged in some other luxurious material, are home to pictures that haven't yet been claimed. Professional wedding pictures take about three months to develop and package. This time span, says Lorenzo, is long enough for a New York couple to be signing divorce papers or looking for the best attorneys, or, at the very least, be starting their first affairs. Wedding pictures are the last things on their mind.

As you know, dear readers, this is one of the many quirks of life in this fascinating city. Here are some more.


*** Part I: New York Quirks***

1. Being on the first-date the Morning After. This is when the exciting debauchery of the night before has subsided, making it the perfect time for both parties involved to actually be interested in knowing each other and deciding whether they are as compatible for each other as much in Life as they are in Bed. Common questions asked: 1. Name. 2. Do you have roommates (will I have to worry about bumping into someone while leaving this place today) 3. Neighborhood/Do you live in the city/Will I call you again (see New York Nights). 4. Profession/How do you pay rent to live in this city (see New York Nights).

Side Note: New York singles often wonder how long the window of not knowing the name of the person you're dating stays open. At BrunchDish we say a maximum of three weeks. One can slide by through the first few weeks of dating, even attending parties together using the guidelines below:

Tips that Work

a. When a friend wants to be introduced to him, just say the friend's name first, like so: "Adam this is. . ."Then wait for him to say his name like so: "Hi Adam, I'm Brad."

b. If you haven't caught his name even after the Morning After, just text him and ask if he can spell out his full name like so: "How do you spell you full name?" If he's an expert he might call you out, as I've been called out before. Whoops.

c. If you really don't remember who you met the night before but receive a call/text from this person the Morning After, text him back asking to spell is full name, then add him on Facebook. This way you find out his name and who the hell he is. Two Birds With One Stone. Perfect.

PS-- If after adding him on FB, you still can't remember him from the night before, don't bother. Now.

Check into a self-cleansing Rehab for the next month because honestly, anything could've happened to you last night. Watch this film.. Stay in Rehab for another month as this city could do with one less HTM, if only for two months. Do mankind a favor and stay longer. Thanks.

2. Some Morning After Sundays become awkward if one party wants really badly to go on a date with their most recent bed-mate when the other doesn't. My gorgeous friend Lori always complains about this particular New York Quirk. During Morning Afters, guys will proposition her for a dinner or drinks date and are absolutely shocked when they realize that she's not interested in dating them. As most BrunchDishers know, this might be the only city where single girls enjoy life just as much as single guys, and have mastered the art of living lightly. "Just because I've had ten glasses of wine the night before," Lori says, "doesn't mean I want to see you this morning. Or any other day." Even after absolutely awe-inspiring nights, she hopes she never hears from them again. Just like the days following your visit to the gyno, "no news," in this case, "is very good news."

Perhaps my favorite quintessential "New York" story is this one:

***Part II: Hugs & Praises  OR  How Stella Got Her Groove Back***

Stella was inebriated. No, scratch that. With all due respect to the eloquent and exquisite English language, to make things as honest as possible for our fearless readers let's say this. Stella. Was. Drunk. Barely stumbling home to her apartment building at 5 am after an indulgent night of limitless booze (company party, bottle service, etc), she was more than happy to see a familiar face open the building door for her: the doorman.

"Hello beautiful miss," he said as he always did, "you look ravishing tonight and the moonlight is hitting your face just so, you look unreal."

She smiled and thanked him. Seeing her pull her best attempt of the Charlie Chaplin down the front lobby toward the elevator, he offered to walk her to her door.

Who knows if it was awkward in the elevator ride up for Stella and the doorman. She couldn't have told you. She doesn't remember.

As they reached the door, the Doorman attempted to lay it on thick as it was his last chance.

"Any guy should know how beautiful you are. Or he's just stupid," he said.

She kissed him.

She then pushed him off, banged the door shut, locked it, and passed out.

***The End***

NOT.

A few weeks later and after several entirely obvious attempts at avoiding him while coming in and out of the building by speed-walking past the reception area with her eyes fixated on the suddenly important lobby carpeting, she receives a text from him while vacationing in LA.

"Hey R U alive?  Haven't seen U since that Thurs."

Yes.  He used the abbreviations above.

Guessing that he had looked up her number in the apartment building directory, she was mortified. After consulting several friends, she wrote back how the whole thing had been a mistake and how she was definitely NOT interested.

And a few weeks after that, she ran into him in the lobby (no surprise as he was the doorman). After politely saying Hello and speed-walking past, Stella receives this text when she's back in her apartment.

"Miss, can you please come back down. You forgot something in the lobby. A hug from me."

The eventful scenes of the night came hurtling back to her. AGAIN.

They say all is well that ends well. Although it took the Doorman some time to get over her, he eventually did and now helps her in ways she would never have dreamt of.

For example, before taking a certain French lover upstairs to her apartment for the first time for an exciting night of rendezvous, she requested the Doorman to call her every hour to make sure that she was ok.

He did.

She was.

But still.

It was nice.

And the morning after, it was Sunday, as Stella shared this story with us during a delicious West Village Brunch of mimosas, benedicts and home fries.

And as the sun rises again, when one lives in an unpredictable, oscillating city such as New York, it's nice to know that some people will always find you beautiful. That some people will always find you.

***fin***

Of Love, Loyalty, and Everything In-Between OR

Just Say Yes

To indulge in delectable dessert and wine, they say, go to France. To master the the impeccable art of seduction, visit Spain. To learn about true romance in all its ancient idealism, give in to India. I did and I did. A country where the subconscious runs on the complexity of the Mahabharata, the fantasy of Bollywood, the devotion of Radha, and the tenacity of Draupadi, sexuality and spirituality are supplemental, inseparable, and in constant flux.  It is no surprise then, my dear readers, that I felt the tug and war of this unquenchable energy during my stay in Kolkata, India.

The romantic sentiments of Indians are based entirely on three paradoxical qualities: being restricted, giving, and giving in. Expressions of affection between lovers are forbidden in public. Young women growing up in middle-class to wealthy households are not allowed any physical interaction with men.  The only time they receive considerable attention from males is while carrying out mundane chores: having lehangas, blouses fitted by the tailor, having a sari draped on them by the sari-store salesmen, or visiting the doctor for a checkup (much like Fermina Daza in Love in the Time of Cholera). Therefore, the sensation of every glance and touch is heightened. During the days the air is balmy and thick with repressed desire. At night a breeze over the city hums ragas of want. It was on one of these nights that I met him again for the first time.

***Prologue***

My sister and I began frequenting a certain nightclub and had continued to do so every time we vacationed in Kolkata. That's where I had first seen him six years ago. Each time we'd return on our next trip the following year, the interaction between us would increase. Of course there was no eye-sex involved. (It is the BrunchDishers' firm belief that eye-sex occurs only in New York, where there are miles to walk and even more miles of attractive, single guys to appreciate. Other cities might have the first, but New York certainly beats any city in the last).

Although we had seen each other for years, we had barely talker.  Needless to say, the deal was never sealed.

***End of Prologue***

This time it was different. It was my sister's wedding. The bride and groom's friends were staying in the hotel housing this nightclub. As they were visiting India for the wedding, many for the first time, after hearing the prologue above, they took it upon themselves to not only ensure that the deal was sealed for me, but to also ensure that they could live vicariously through a great story. And to give me great writing material afterwards.
Before I walked into the lounge again for the first time in two years, of course I hoped that he’d be there and I'd see him. He was. I did. This time matters transpired instantly. He remembered what I had worn the last time he had seen me two years ago and other minute details that even I hadn't remembered about myself. For a jaded New Yorker who has built an entire fort around practicality and cynicism, this was absolutely eye-opening.  Even refreshing.

No hesitation should come between true matters of the heart. It was the best of times. If the days went on in this way, I thought, let them.

We saw each other often during those weeks and really enjoyed each other's company.  However, please note the difference in enjoying each other's company below.

Enjoying Each Other's Company (New York, New York) -- I'm attracted to you, enjoy the conversation that we have, and think you're fantastic. All in all, I like you. I would be interested in hanging out with you in the near future and we can see where things go from there.

Enjoying Each Other's Company (Kolkata, India) -- I love you and want to marry you.

Old-fashioned, chivalrous romance has managed to survive entirely pure and untainted in India, even with the onslaught of western ideology and “independence” mindset brought to the country by globalization.

***Sub-Plot***

Take my cousin, for instance. He's thirteen years old and a marvelous dancer. Completely taken aback by our friend Nadia's exquisite Moroccan beauty during the wedding, he fell head over heels. The night of the wedding he brought her a gift; a little hand game. "I don't have a lot of money," he stated humbly, "but I would like to give you something to remember me by." He then asked her to show the gift that he had given her to his parents. Before she returned to Paris, he got her address and promised to write her letters. Yes. I know. Absolutely adorable.

***End of Sub-Plot***

I suppose by now you've recognized the contradiction above (see definition of EEOC) and understood my dilemma.  However, it was so very refreshing for a cynical New York BrunchDisher to be part of such sweet, genuine, and sincere, old-world romance. My years of Bollywood intensity and passion growing up in Kolkata as a little girl happened to find me again, unapologetically. I was eager and willing as ever.  It is also important to note that he's seriously the cutest boy I've ever seen in India in all of my years of going there since I was little.  And completely charming and absolutely lovable.

He wanted me to stay.  I attempted to explain to him how we think differently here.  How we are more practical.  How we measure our compatibility with someone by comparing their neighborhood proximity to ours, their future career plans to ours, ther interests to ours.  "In India, people think differently," I tried to conclude, "they are more. . .more. . ."
"Emotional," he completed.
"Yes, that's exactly it.  More emotional,"  I agreed.

I would love for him to visit me in my city. However, the day he comes to New York, he says, I will have to be ready to marry him. “Don’t be surprised if you hear a cow-bell sometime soon,” he’s warned. We are planning to keep in touch. He says he trusts me. Let's see how events unfold. We can only play the cards we’ve been dealt already.

But until then, here’s to Romance. In this city and every other one. Genuine, magnificent, unappeasable, and incomparable.

Sweet Readers,

Wishing all of you very happy 2010.  I'm typing this from a tiny cyber cafe in Lake Town, Kolkata, at 1:30 in the afternoon, as street peddlers, MBA candidates, and convenience store owners share trade secrets outside.  I'm truly having the most magnificent time here.  I have bucket-loads of BrunchDish stories to share with you upon my return.  India is, as they say, contradictory on all levels.  I've been lucky to experience these dichotomies on the purest terms.  Hope all of you are well and good.  Write soon!

Until then,

Mauj aur Masti,

(Fun & Celebration)

-Sonia

Updates and Clarifications OR Our Favorite Characters: The Sequel

***It's A Small World After All: Third Time's a Charm***

Promptly a week after I first met Kevin Correlli in a West Village bar, a week after I realized that he had once dated my sister, I ran into him again on a Thursday night at the same bar.

"Fancy seeing you here!" he exclaimed, having no clue that I knew.
Or perhaps he knew that I knew that he knew.
I thought to myself as I smiled and said Hi. 
I decided to keep busy with friends so he wouldn't have the chance.
I need to come up with other strategems, ASAP.
"Hey remember the great conversation we had the other night about that actress??" he asked, perhaps puzzled at my detachment.
"Yup!" I responded, my eyes perusing the dim crimson walls, finding interest in every object, person, place, or thing.  Anything but him.
After some time he got the point and left me alone (for the most part), sometimes coming back to see if perhaps I'd changed my mind on my level of detachment for the night.  I hadn't.
Before leaving, he wished me goodbye and promised to look me up on Facebook.  Please do, I thought to myself.  Then you might realize that you once dated my sister.

A week later.  Friend's holiday party in Midtown.  In a heated outdoors terrace with great food and wine, I relax and really start enjoying the great company around me.  Speaking of great company, I browse the crowd (aka take a quick skim to learn the 3 Ws as my friend Mike had suggested: see New York Games and Gains), who do I see standing right next to me and crowd-skimming as well?  Yup.  It's our favorite character, Kevin Correlli.

"Sonia, this MUST be fate.  Three times in a row!"  he exclaims.
I had to laugh, because new york really is that small (smaller if you're single and date), and you more often run into the ones you don't want to run into, than the ones you do.  Which would be, the ones you haven't run into yet.
He started to really lather on the charm and wasn't taken my sudden appearance of apathy to heart.  He went on. . .and on. . .and on. 
I couldn't.  No, I really couldn't.  So I didn't.  So while he was talking and flirting and trying to charm the hell out of me, I exclaimed (perhaps a bit too loud):
"You dated my sister!"
Subways stopped running.  Pigeons stopped flapping their anxious wings.  Dogs stopped walking.  Dog walkers stopped walking.  Go go dancers stopped dancing.  It was no surprise then, that everyone at the party stopped doing whatever it is that they were doing and started listening.

Kevin: I know. . .
Me:  What??? You know? Were you planning on ever bringing it up?
Kevin:  Well, it wasn't really serious.  I mean, we didn't really date date.  We went on like four dates.
Me: Eyeroll and a "Seriously???"
Kevin:  Well we weren't boyfriend girlfriend.
Me:  Did you make out with her??? Then you dated.
He had nothing.

"Well. . .he's dated half the girls at this party"
-an unidentified observer.

***Peter Pan and The Enchanted Island:  Decisions, Decisions. . .***

Since the story on the PPS and Sergei, he has broken up with his girlfriend Erica.  He has let Lila know that he's broken up with Erica.  Five minutes after he did so.  He still continues to call /text/email/send her singing men and giant flower arrangements bigger than all our heads (and bonuses) combined.

***Playing with Fire: Good and Bad? ***

A reader wanted to know why Sophie didn't go on a second and third date with Ted, as he might certainly have taken the rough fireman image to a whole new pushing and showing eventually.
That's the key word:  Eventually.  Sophie did not want to wait.  Her last complicated relationship with a "complex" actor had been the final straw on her poor, already baggaged back, and Sophie was really looking for a light, fun, indulgent fling ASAP.  Actually SASAP. 
Yes my dear readers.
It is possible to want something so bad that you want it Sooner than As Soon As Possible.
Much SASAP.


***Brunch Bomb: Part III***

And as for Fabrizio. . .
ehhh. . .let's not even go there.


***BrunchDish, India***

After a few weeks of absolute insanity, I leave tomorrow for India for my sister's wedding.  I'm planning on collecting abundant amounts of BrunchDish stories, amusement, and humor for my favorite readers.  If there's a story that you would like shared, please feel free to email me (or comment here).
Will miss you all!
Actually I won't.  I'll be having tons of fun and documenting it.

Wish me Bon Voyage, my lovely Dandelions and Dandies!

New York Games and Gains

With a wide array of diverse stratagems and equally diverse success rates, men in this city are quite confident when they hit the bars to paint the town red. My friend Ron swears by the Sweater Rule. He goes for the girl at the bar wearing the turtleneck sweater or baggy sweatshirt. According to his theory, she hasn't received any attention all night and is beyond thankful when he approaches her and showers her with the utmost praise and adulation. Ron dates like he's playing Musical Chairs. He continuously has at least three girls on his speed-dial on a rotating basis. As soon as one girl fails to seat herself successfully in Ron's life, a new girl is there to take her place immediately. If he's been playing Musical Chairs with one girl more often than he wouldd prefer, (he's seen her Thursday AND Friday nights; Girls--these are the two most important nights for New Yorkers; if a guy has booked you for both nights, it's True Lust At Last), he'll stop the music abruptly for about a week by "falling off the edge" (not contacting her and not responding to her attempts at contacting him). This ensures that the girl doesn't get too attached, and he'll pick up the game (and the music) where he had left it a week later ,when he starts up again. During the early, cold days of fall this year, Ron had mentioned how he was tired of playing Musical Chairs and wanted to start hanging out with one girl instead. When I saw him the other day and inquired on how that was going, he shrugged: "Yeah. . .I changed my mind.  I'm having too much fun."

Joe, another good friend, is an adamant follower of the Out Of Element Rule when playing the game. Go for the girl who looks the most uncomfortable in a venue, he suggests. If she's a jeans and T-shirt girl at swanky Soho lounge, talk to her. If she's a DVF dressed girl at a west-village pub, talk to her. His theory: she's been feeling out of place and self-conscious the whole night, and is probably too sober for her own good.  Get her a drink. Better yet, get her three. Loosen her so she forgets where she is.  So she's finally feeling comfortable enough to want to know you better.

When interviewed for this article last night, my friend Mike insisted that although he's not a follower of a specific gaming strategy, his general game theory is that a guy knows the 3 Ws within the first 5 minutes of being at a bar: 1.  Who likes him  2.  Who he likes back 3.  Who's trouble (this could be a good or bad thing.  For your average American Joe looking for a girlfriend: Bad.  For a New Yorker: Good). Very. Very. Good.

Most New Yorkers, including my friend Lori, are also aware of the Vacation Rule. The best time to go out is the night right before you leave for vacation. This, my friends, is when you exude the most sex appeal as you're on vacay mode even before getting on that plane. You're carefree, confident, in-your-element, and TONS of fun. You are also aware that you have no obligation to call your chosen (lucky!) person for the night ever again as you'll be on vacation, and when you come back it's a whole new ball-game; the perfect time to have a no-strings attached light-hearted rendezvous without any consequences of bad follow-up dates. The introductory lines: "Hi, I'm going on vacation tomorrow. This is my last night in the city." does more to attract a beeline of men vying for your open NBV spot than a short skirt or a suggestive black dress ever has. These particular New York nights, my sweet friends, are even more adventurous and exciting because of the odd certainty they are laced with; certainty that there are no expectations of either party following up after because you just don't care! You're going on Vacation!!!

On one of these nights, Lori's friend Sara was the (lucky) chosen of a recent med-school graduate, Lev's, Night Before Vacation. After ending the night in his apartment with several of his friends, who all eventually left, Lori found herself sitting on the couch and waiting with Lev's younger brother.  On TV:  National Geographic Channel's Animals And Their Sexual Selection Special. It was 4:00 am. The flight to Bermuda was scheduled to depart at 6:00.  Lev's brother was furious.  Lori, amused as she watched him get up from the couch every few minutes, go toward his brother's bedroom, (where Sara and him were enjoying a fantastic, no-strings, NBV night), and BANG on the door like the world was about to end (perhaps Lev's would have if they missed the flight because of him). Finally at 5:00 am, Sara kissed Lev goodbye after seeing him pack (Yes. He had procrastinated that long), turn off all the lights in the apartment, and lock the front door.  They summoned two cabs: one for JFK, one for the girls' apartments uptown.  Yes, it was amazing.  No, she does not remember his name (or if she ever cared to ask).

Sara has definitely seen her share of carefree and confident New York men.  This isn't surprising, as she's a highly carefree and confident woman herself (like attracts like).  On another night, her FWB (Friend with Benefits) insisted that he accompany her to a West Village bar where she was supposed to meet up with the guy she was currently dating.  "If he's not here,"  her FWB suggested, "maybe we can hang out instead."  Unfortunately he was there, so the good friend left, satisfied in the fact that at least he had tried his best.  This is another secret that men in this city know well.  At the end of the night, it's really anyone's game, and sometimes the one who's slow and steady, (but around the longest), wins, as did the tortoise in this Aesop's Fable.

In this scene from A Beautiful Mind, John Nash explains in a pub that each guy should cooperate and go for the brunettes although they all want to go for the one blonde because: 1. she might not go for anyone if everyone's ogling her. Disappointed, they will go for the brunettes next, who will be disappointed in turn and reject them because no one wants to be second choice and everyone will lose, so 2. if they all go for brunettes from the start, they will all profit by having some return at the end of the night. This reasoning, however entertaining, is flawed and contradicts Game Theory and real life. In a perfectly competitive game where all players have perfect information about the other and about the game (they all know that each is going for a brunette), each player executes his best response given what the other players are doing. Given that all of his friends are going for brunettes, one player will certainly engage in Profitable Deviation and try his chance with the blonde. This is the true Nash Equilibrium and consequently, the true New York Equilibrium (have you ever seen a pretty girl alone at the bar)?

*** Miscellaneous Items ***

1. Just because a girl leaves an item at a guy's place does not mean that she's attempting to strategize to see him again. She actually and honestly could have forgotten it.  Examples of items include headbands, stockings, bracelets and other jewelery.  On the other hand, a guy leaving something of his in a girl's apartment (Example-- belt) does not guarantee a second date. She may just call you bright and early the next morning to drop it off at your place or have you pick it up from hers. If the leaving behind of an item occured during her NBV, forget it.  Just pretend you never had it.  You're never:

   a. Hearing from her.
b. Getting it back.

  c. All of the above.

Mixed Messages Or The Lack Thereof

After signing on to my mostly defunct myspace profile the other day, i checked my inbox to find this message from a Random:

Note: Besides name and formatting change, nothing else in the below message has been altered.

hi im kyle(45) and i live and work in nyc would love to chat with u on the phone so only if ur ok leave and or ask 4 my # i dont have a pic cause i am invloved and very unhappy and for now i need to b discreet. i am an hounest person who could lie to u but i choose not and would rather expalin to u where i am 100% no DRAMA all i am a good man in a bad place i am invloved but unhappy and looking for one woman that will understand and not prejudge me ru open minded for that i hope so kyl

Can I start???

Thanks.

1.  Ummm, SERIOUSLY???
2.  No. . .really. . .SERIOUSLY???
3.  I mean. . .i'm sorry, but what I really mean is. . .well, what i really mean is. . .SERIOUSLY???

*** Epilogue***

Next time hopefully he'll manage, at the very least, to sign off his whole name and not leave the E wandering around somewhere.  Come to think of it, the E is also missing from the bolded b.  Let's not even get started on what else is missing/wrong with the grammer, punctuation, and all-over thought that went behind writing this message.  I'm also almost certain that he copied and pasted this to a few hundred different girls to diversify his assets and hopefully maximize returns.  Keep hoping.

***Epilogue of Epilogue***

He has 0 friends.  Really??? Who can't even make one friend online???  The internet, besides being an information highway, was designed to allow socially awkard people and weirdos to make friends, look cool, and show off to other SAPs and weirdos.  After I saw this I was so creeped that I had to physically get up and walk away immediately due to major SBH (Something Bad Happening-- see Toto I have a Feeling, Part II: Man's Best Friend).

***Epilogue of Epilogue of Epilogue***

Good luck with the girlfriend, though it seems to me at this point that she's in a much worse-off boat than you are.

***End of Bracketed Madness***

The message reminded me of someone I had met last year who did not get the point, would not get the point, did not want to get the point.  After meeting him at a friend's birthday party downtown, we went our separate ways.  A few days later he called.  I screened.  (I always screen).  He went on to leave a voicemail, then five more that week after each screen.  Finally he texted me, listening to his heart and ignoring his head (always go for the head first.  it knows better).

Dan:  Hey, had a really great time meeting you at the birthday party!  Would love to take you to dinner sometime.  Hope to hear from you soon.
Me: 
Dan:  Hey so let me know when you're free ok?  Thanks.
Me:
Dan:  You know, if you don't want to hang out you can just say No.  There's no reason to ignore me.
Me:  No.
Dan:  What? But why?? I thought we really hit it off at the party.

*** Clif Notes***

1.  Get a clue.  If we had really "hit it off" at the party, I would not be screening your calls, ignoring your voice mails, and responding No to your invitation for a date.
2.  Reverse psychology does not work on us female Brunchers.  If you really thought the "Just say No" tag would actually lead me to say Yes, then again:
3.  Get a Clue.
4.  Here's some additional help.  Read He's Just Not That Into You.  This, as Shelly pointed out (Comments-- Letter from a Reader), applies to guys too.

*** On a Completely Unrelated Note ***

I must share this with my dear readers as it's possibly the funniest/craziest message anyone can ever hope to receive from a random on a social networking site:

hai sonia,

this is ram krishnan from hyderabad doing engg.i like maths,chating, making good friends,chess,watching hockey & swimming. if i have 2 be ur best friend if that's all i can get then i will take the job with honor i'll take the job with pride then i'll be the best one yet u need time 2 fine ur purpose u need tiem 2 sort ur thoughts but when ur course has ended and the race is finally run. but its ur best friend who has likes & helps u from day 1. ur sucha wonderful friend a blessing so special & rare. 2 have a friend like u is an answer 2 a prayer. so this brings the most best friend for all of ur ur warm caring ways & hopes god 'll bless u forever with the brightest & happiest day this is all i have 2 say 2 do & 2 be a best friend.i hope u will recognise my accept.i am doing my engg in C.M.R college of engg.i hope u will do friendship with me.hoping for ur reply.

bye
have a nice time & day
take care.

*** Cliff Notes ***

Toto, I Have a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore. . .

Part I:  Three's Company

After the cyclonic events of the night before, Travis awoke to find himself in someone else's apartment, in someone else's bed.  Facing the window and too nervous to turn around and find out who's, he lay there, attempting to decide the best possible course of action to take next, as he remembered absolutely nothing.  His prayers were soon answered when he heard a girl (presumably his girl from last night) in another room, talking on her cell phone to a fellow Bruncher.

"You will NEVER believe where I am!" she exclaimed.

Without turning or making any rash moves, Travis listened intently.

"I am in an apartment in the Upper West Side with two of my co-workers!"

TWO???  Travis quickly did the math and realized at once that there had to be three people in the apartment currently.  If he was one of them, and the girl on her cell in the other room was the second, the third must be. . .

In bed with him!

At exactly the same moment, the third party (who was also listening to the phone converation in her half-awake state) had also just finished her math calculations.  Aghast, they both exclaimed "TWO??" at the same time and turned to see each other.  Words couldn't express the shock, disbelief, and dread that followed the realization that the whirlwind debauchery of the previous night would have long-term consequences, as the three of them would have to continue being co-workers every weekday, and sometimes on the weekends (they were first-year analysts at one of New York's leading investment banks).

No questions were asked, no explanations sought.

That morning a cab-driver wondered why three co-workers he was driving to work on the Yellow Brick Road i.e. Wall Street were so quiet; the air around them tense and heavy, foreboding infinite days of awkwardness and unease that would stick around longer than Europeans in New York have due to the weakening dollar.

Part II:  Man's Best Friend

Speaking of Travis (and Toto) not being in Kansas anymore, my friend Carla, a New Yorker currently residing in LA, had recently met a  guy who perhaps loved his Toto a bit too much.  Jake, a documentary film-maker and New York transplant, was great on paper.  After a few fantastic dates, he had finally invited her over to his place to "watch a movie."

Carla was excited.  Jake seemed to have all the qualities she was looking for.  He was funny, smart, handsome, artistic and thriving in his career.  He might just be the perfect guy, she thought, or at least, perfect for her.

When she got to his house, Jake mentioned his dog and asked if she'd like to see a home-video of him.  "Sure," she exclaimed, pleased and thinking to herself:  He's sensitive and caring!  She thanked her lucky stars that she had finally met such a great all-rounder. 

After the first home-video, Jake showed her another.  And another.  And another.  Carla was starting to get creeped.  Was he planning on watching any real movies with her, or would his dog adulation continue through the night???  What was his deal???  During one of these home videos, he also mentioned how he wouldn't have children as long as his dog was alive, as he didn't want the distraction of kids detracting the love and attention he gave to his precious Snowflake.  She suddenly realized that "Snowflake" was nowhere to be seen. 

"So where is your dog??" She asked.

"Oh, Snowflake has his own room.  It's right there,"  Jake said, pointing to the largest bedroom in the apartment casually, as if there was nothing wrong with this statement.

"Well, can I see him??" Carla asked, biting the bullet.

"Actually, I don't let everyone meet him, only those who are very special in my life.  But I really think you are close to becoming one of them," Jake said affectionately, kissing her on the cheek.

Carla excused herself with the phone-is-on-silent-and-i-just received-a-phonecall trick, then said that she had to leave immediately because "Something Bad Happened."

*** Cliff Notes ***

SBH/Something Bad Happened--  Girl-code for You are a Freak/Serial-Killer/Underage/Out-of-Towner Imposter posing as a New Yorker and I have to leave ASAP if I plan on saving my life and/or dignity;  Line that has been used by New York girls everywhere since Charlotte used it in SATC to dump a blind date; If a girl ever says this to you on a date, she prioritizes her life over you (physically and metaphysically) and will call you back the day California becomes a Red State.

Epilogue

Carla later found out that Jake was a divorcee.  That his previous wife, a former brilliant and successful Broadway actress, had become a spiritual healer since the divorce and also speaks to fairies.

No kidding.  Can you blame her???  If your husband believed that his romantic destiny and spiritual soulmate was a dog, you too would go mental and need all the moral guidance and healing to bring you back to this world (and its sometimes disturbing realities).