Aftermath

Last night was crazy; eight people, most near strangers having dinner at Primehouse http://eater.com/archives/2007/10/the_dish_primehouse_new_york.php
Primehouse is a large stunningly decorated- black and white, mirrors -nouveau steakhouse on Park South.

Everyone is dressed to the nines, making chit chat as we drink and get to know each other . The centerpiece of this dinner party are two people I know who I've introduced. The other six are witnesses to their first date. After two hours at the bar, we finally decide to get a table. There's much dancing on who will sit next to whom, and it ends up boy-girl-boy-girl.

We're laughing loudly, there's innumerable smoke breaks, someone orders bottle of champagne, a bottle of white appears, then something else, who can look at the menu with all this glorious chatter?

My across the table dinner partner is Dan, whom I've met before. He recently lost his grandmother, and I have recently (not as recently as Dan) lost my mother. I move over to his side of the table and we talk about non-party topics. I scoot back, everyone is playing musical chairs; one moment we're all sitting, the next... this is what happens when you get a bunch of social butterflies. Andrea brought the comic book she's working on. I impatiently wait until R's done viewing it so I can look. Oh, it's breathtaking, the artwork, the story line, it's amazing. Andrea mentions that she created a comic book so, "that all her friends can live there and have fantastical adventures."

Around 10 we finally order. The width of my steak is wider than my head. I look at it confusedly, I'm supposed to eat this? In one meal?

After dinner, it's decided that we're all going dancing. Colin's driver is woken up and the SUV is pulled around, 180 people pile in. No, not that many, but it did feel like a clown car. Blaine, who's been drinking champagne since brunch time is curled up around me, playing with my hands and crooning, "I'm the word, I'm superbr, I'm hot, I'm hot...baby if you want to find you, you gotta google me,"http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=76423635

over and over, and over, and over again.

We finally pull up to this club without a name somewhere in the L.E. S. hey, I was in the very backseat, what the hell do I know? Us back seat people were discussing different types of vodka.

We walk into the club. It's kinda small with white floors, a large bar, a raised area with a few tables and a stripper pole in a recessed niche. Hmmm, dancing!

A bunch of us danced, drank and flirtede. I left before the drama started and was home by 2:30am.

The next day, I crawl out of bed and stumble into the living room. My feet hurt because of the high heels, I can't turn my neck and my arms are sore-damn stripper pole-after downing advil, my cell rings.

"Hey PJ, I'm in my bedroom, where are you?"

"Hey Michelle! I'm in the living room, you wanna come out?"

After not seeing the roomie for, oh I don't know three or four days, we sit on the couch and re-connect. She tells me about one of her dates, "so we're walking through the park and talking. Finally,he puts one hand around my waist. Then he takes my hand. My waist is happy, my hand is happy, but he still hasn't kissed me!"

The good, the bad....you figure it out

Tonight I'm attending an impromptu dinner party. The hair has been professionally blown out, the nails have been done and accessories have been bought.

Why is it that if you get your hair done it only takes a half hour? You do it yourself, it's over an hour and you've poked yourself in the eye repeatedly? Forget about doing your own nails- I can barely draw in between the lines.

Two of the party are interested in each other, I think the rest of us are just a buffer if things go south. I'm hoping that it all goes well.

So that's the good, fun and nice social news of the day.

Here's the bad, not so good, shitty news of the day.

I've just destroyed a nascent friendship with someone who I thought was rather cool. Perhaps a little obsessive- not in a good way- but funny and kindhearted.

What did I do? I blurted something out that I swore (to myself) that I would never tell her. Whoops doesn't even cover it. How about fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I think that's a bit better, but doesn't really hit the depths of idiocy that I plunged myself into last night. There's not a thing I can do to rectify it either.

Last night as the snow is flinging itself around us, fucking up our hair, making our maquillage look like Tammy Faye's, we stand in a street talking. Well, I'm being talked at anyway. When I try to explain myself, I realize that I'm not being listened to, then again, if someone is angry with you, they're not going to listen to you because they're boiling over with emotions.
I then say a few things;

"Do not ascribe any emotions that I'm not feeling to me."

"Why don't you just admit what's really going on."

"This is a no win situation, I'm going home."

And you know what, I am positive I sounded like a bitch. And you know what, when someone is telling you that you ought to be feeling X, or you did something because you were feeling guilty (which I wasn't), you get bitchy.

I can be a bitch, I've been called one, also arrogant and a few other choice things. Yup, I can be that. I can and am usually the one who will take that 3 am phone call, who will meet you in the pouring rain at the cafe to hold your hand while you spill your guts out. I am a lot of things.

What I'm not is a one dimensional paper doll. Just because I may say or do one thing, don't expect me to follow the party line. I follow my own.

Speaking of following my own road, one night not too long ago I'm having drinks with someone, who apropos to nothing, turns to me and says, "I can't read you." I smile and keep drinking.

Of course you can't read me. I have no idea what your agenda is, I have no idea why you are seeking out my friendship, I have no idea what you want from me. The days when I babbled my heart's desires to almost total strangers has long since passed. Much like purple eye shadow. It's great for 12 year olds and that's about it.

You have to remember that we each view reality, if that's what it is, through our own filters of experience and emotion. And according to the ex-friend I am filled with self-importance.

If self-importance is being comfortable in your own skin, of knowing your worth, if it's having a good sense of self-esteem, than I am self-important.

As for the friendship I wrecked, what can you do? I did something very stupid and nothing in the world will fix what I've done. The onus is on me. I take responsibility for my great and stupid acts.

That anger thing

I'm pissed off; I don't want to use a euphemism, and I don't want to put it delicately, but I'm pissed on so many levels.

I'm trying to decide whether or not I am angrier at myself or the other person in this equation.

I just can't stand liars.

Conundrum

If i stay home to work, I find something else to do. If I go out, I worry about not doing all the piled up work. When I attempt working during the day, all I want to do is nap.

What to do, what to do, what to do???

And now for something serious

I'm not usually serious here, or really anywhere for that matter. There's a lot of stuff that I keep locked away in my brain; not to be used for public consumption.

But, this is something that I decided that I wanted to share, to say out loud. Who knows, maybe it will help some one, some where...

I have BDD; that's Body Dysmorphic Disorder. It's considered to be an outgrowth for people who have dealt with an eating disorder. It doesn't matter if you were bulimic, anorexic or anything that comes under the eating disorder umbrella, if you've struggled with it, there's a chance that you'll develop BDD. Not everyone who's had an eating disorder gets it, and I think, but I haven't done research on this, but I do think it's possible to have BDD without having to pass the prerequisite course. Having struggled with anorexia for years, I'm pretty much over it now, but I've got the side effect.

What is it? It's the inability to see oneself in a true light. A lot of people with BDD obsess over a particular body part; thighs, waist, hips. In their mind, the body part is grotesquely huge and out of proportion. It's another way to hate your body.

Me? I look in the mirror, acknowledge that it's me and that's just about it. For years I have stumbled around not knowing if I was pretty, ugly, coyote ugly (you gnaw your arm off in the middle of the night to escape), stunning or average. Had a dim idea of how I looked physically, but wasn't always sure.

It's like I've spent most of my life stumbling around in the dark. Now here's the weird part, it's fashion week, I'm up early stumbling around trying to get ready to go back to the tents and look at more clothes, I'm exhausted from lack of sleep and not coordinated at all.

Tripping over 10,000 pairs of shoes that are strewn across my bedroom floor, I glance at the floor length mirror in my bedroom. I stop. I blink. I walk closer and look again.

For the first time ever, I recognize myself. For the first time I finally see what the rest of the world sees when they look at me.

I'm a freaking knockout.

And I have a pair of shoes and a rolodex that I stubbed my toe on to thank for that relevation.

Weird, huh?