Searching

August 19, 2008

Sitting home alone on a Monday night, wrapped in a blanket, sipping on cheap white wine from California, Anastasia noted that many gymnasts in the Olympics shared her first name. Maybe she could go do gymnastics, she thought to herself.

Well, not actually do gymnastics, but maybe coach gymnastics. She could fake that she knew what she was doing, her name was  Anastasia, and she’s been glued to the Olympics watching gymnastics since it came on.

She took another sip of wine.

She felt her life was like a bad Woody Allen movie. Not that his movies were bad but that they were long, drawn out, moody, emotional, ironic, and deep on a pretentious sort of level. She could be an actress, she knew it. She was always told she was a drama queen.

Anastasia Sempura – movie star. Celebrity. But she wouldn’t be like a glamazon like Angelina, J.Lo, or anyone else who soaked up the limelight by being sexy all the time. She would be a hip star, kind of like a Sienna Miller, Kate Moss, Mary Kate girl but with something different – she was brunette after all. She’d be a brunette version of what they are.

Or maybe she could just be a model. She read enough Vogue and has seen enough America’s Next Top Model (all ten seasons) to know how to smile with her eyes, lift her chin, and contort your body to make it look skinny and waif-like.

Anastasia liked her food though. She was never more than 5 or 10 pounds overweight, but models are generally 10 pounds underweight and she knew she could never be happy and malnourished at the same time.

Taking the last sip of her wine, she grabbed the bottle quickly, almost knocking it over but catching it last minute, and filled up her glass. She shook her head at the tv, knowing the American girl was robbed.

She knew that the one she shared her name with should have won, she stuck her landing for chrissakes. She knew that the poor girl wanted to bawl her eyes out, kick the gold medal winner and take it out from under her.

Anastasia stretched on her uncomfortable leather sofa, put down her glass, and changed the channel. She wondered if she drank too much. She wondered when she’d get a new job.

She switched the channel to TMZ, watching stupid celebrity shows made life a little easier, or maybe it just made her forget, she wasn’t sure. She stumbled off her couch to her huge windows that overlooked the city down below.

She was wearing only lingerie, a D&G bra and panty set, with her bright green Louboutins.

Anastasia was hoping someone was going to stop by, but realised that at 1:30 am at night, it wasn’t going to happen for the thirteenth day in a row.

She thought of going to bed.

Instead she lay on the couch, watching Britney flail, and thought about how difficult it could be to come out with your own handbag line. Anastasia had huge ideas, green clutches, yellow croc, and even red satin, how hard could it be?

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Lobster & Wine

June 5, 2008

Todd & Ashley were celebrating in a posh restaurant in Yorkville last night. The type of restaurant where Ferraris, Porsches and Bentleys were on the curb outside, while the bar and the patio were filled with business types – old men and sugar mamas, younger guys in ill-fitting suits – and lovely couples were mixed in between them.

T & A just got the keys to their new loft yesterday. They were so excited they went to Tiffany’s and purchased keychains – a heart for her, a tag for him.

They took a seat on the heated patio, right in the front of the restaurant which offered perfect people and car watching. They started with a beer and a strawberry champagne cocktail, and watched the people around them.

A lady in her early fifties was smashed beyond belief at a large table of eight or ten people. She was yelling and laughing, generally having a good time even if it was embarassing to her friends. She wore a knee-length skirt and knee-high boots, but kept her legs wide open. Occasionally she would cross one leg over  another, but a minute later would bring her legs apart again.

T & A shared a cured meat plate, with spiced olives and buffalo ricotta.

An older man with an orange file folder sat at the table next to them. He sat alone with a glass of red wine, he looked as though he was waiting for someone. Another group of business men walked onto the patio. There was a younger business man, in his early thirties, wearing an ill-fitting cheap suit who eventually sat down next to the old man and started talking to him. A short while later a gorgeous blonde in her forties sat across from the old man, she gave him a look. The old man said he didn’t know who the young guy was, that he just sat down and started talking to him. The young guy left without a word.

T & A ordered their meals and a glass of white wine from New Zealand for Ashely. He had the ultimate street burger with frites, and she the lobster risotto. She loved risotto more than anything, for the texture, the comfiness of the food itself. She ordered another glass of wine.

T & A started talking about the people around them.

“Do you think we’ll be like this when we’re older? Wearing True Religion jeans in our forties?” She pondered.

T said, “Definitely.”

The bill was expensive. T said not to worry about it at all – they were celebrating! Enjoy yourself!

T & A walked over to Holt’s, only to find that it was closed. They started walking to their car, but looked in a window of a restaurant, stopped to read the dessert menu, and went in to sit at the bar.

Another glass of wine. A decadent chocolate cake.

Looking around the empty restaurant they realized they were almost alone – except for the bartender and the girl who sat by herself at the bar. T & A started talking to the girl, who had long dark hair and worked close by at another restaurant but came here for drinks after her shift to talk to the bartender.

Ashley was drunk at this point.

The girl went outside for a cigarette and Ashley went out with her – she didn’t smoke, but kept her company. Back inside they started talking about clubs – Atelier had a private party going on, but Lobby was the place to go on Wednesdays.

Ashley had another glass of wine.

Upon the urging of the girl and the bartender, Ashely tried a red wine that she actually enjoyed. She sat there on the bar stool next to her boyfriend, who was making plans for the night to go to Lobby, and she started feeling queasy.

Two trips to the bathroom.

Ashley told Todd it was time to go. Todd obliged and they were off on their way – the girl they had met at the bar said she would call them to meet up at Lobby. Todd asked Ashley, “Does she even have your number? How is she going to call you?” Ashley shrugged and jumped into the car, hoping she wouldn’t have to puke anymore.

Todd had to pull over into a nice neighborhood where Ashley continued to be sick out the car door.

Ashley cozied herself into the car seat, anticipating the drive home. As the pulled into the driveway, Ashley had already slipped off her Manolo’s and ran barefoot through the alley beside their home to the back entrance.

Just before midnight her phone rang but she never answered it.

She spent half the night by the toilet, the other half sleeping in bed with a plastic bag next to her just in case. In the morning she was still sick.

Ashley tried to remember everything that happened last night, she looked at the bottom of her feet and was surprised they weren’t completely dirty. Looking at her phone she had five missed calls. Two from a number she didn’t recognize.

Playing her messages she realized that she HAD given the girl her phone number.

Two gravols later she was at Denny’s reminiscing about the night before with a couple of girlfriends.

She blamed her sickness on the Lobster – not on the wine.