Pubic House

I think I imagined landing in JFK and seeing beautiful anorexic models with clothes that I could never dream of owning. Instead, you just see middle America. Gathered at New York airports are exhausted families and the sweaty, morbidly obese (I was also sweaty). It is like every other airport in America! Also, I saw so many people with the worst shirts on. One girl wore a shirt which stated “Anything your girl can do, I can do better.” A boy, maybe 18, had a shirt which asked,”Drunk? Blow Here” and then there was a HUGE arrow pointing down towards his crotch. They both gave me looks like, yeah, you are looking at me. And I was like, NO I am looking at your disgusting shirt and wondering why you are wearing it. I really hope that boy is cursed with a life of celibacy for wearing that shirt. BUT THAT DON’T MATTER BECAUSE I AM IN NYC. Yeah, I moved. And yeah, I have a purpose for being in NY because I have an internship. This is exciting.

I wrote that a week ago, but have started to settle into NYC. Or by that I mean sitting and staring at all of the people around me. There are so many people, and big buildings. Staying in Manhattan the first few nights made me realize how insignificant you feel in a city like NY. I think that is true in any big city. It’s also really nice being anonymous. My anonymity also proved to be very apparent when we went out last night. I would have preferred to creep around in Williamsburg hipsta bars, but we decided to meet up with my friend at a place that served cheap pitchers and FREE hot dogs. After Lily relentlessly got guys to hit on us (and she was sober, I am in awe of her abilities) we decided to leave and go to some bar that her BU friends were at. How do I describe feeling out of place? I wasn’t flashing my vagina and didn’t have Daddy’s credit card. Not that this described her friends, but everyone else were clones of each other. Let me describe. Male: 6ft+, Ralph Lauren Oxford, “Chest Hair” exposed, Beer in one hand-Muscle Milk in the Other. Female: Vagina, Anorexia, DRUNK, A lot of hair touching.  I don’t even mean to be cynical, I am literally just describing exactly what it was like. That was kind of a first realization of the difference between the East and the West. Also, this place was called Public House but I called it Pubic House because there was a lot of pubic bone grinding.

Beyond that trauma, Lily and I have been enjoying the Brooklyn cat-sitting life. Actually, the cats keep us up all night. We have renamed them Frem-Frum and Crouton because I can’t remember their names. We accidentally got home at 5AM this morning, and the cats slept on our heads. Before experiencing Manhattan at night, we sat out on our fire escape and ate mangoes. We are trying to get jobs with the milk man at the Farmer’s Market. Shameless networking.

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One response to “Pubic House

  1. The east coast is scary, isn’t it? Just remember that the Siemasko sisters couldn’t have been raised anywhere else. Love the description of the women.

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