Posts by Emsy
Excerpt from The Chic Shall Rule the World by Emsy
Saturday was quaint. Timsy and I wanted a “detox night” as always, so we started getting dressed for it around 3 p.m. I wore glitter shorts, a black blazer, black platform pumps, chic brass knuckles, glasses that say “I will let you check out that encyclopedia with your library card, then I’m going to fuck you blindfolded,” and no shirt. Ready for a detox.
Naturally, we walked over to Therapy at 5 p.m. They have excellent happy hour specials, which means two-for-one vodka sodas, which means blackout Emsy before she even gets to the “two” portion of two-for-one. As usual, Timsy wanted to smoke after our first drink, so I slurred and stumbled after him like a little rehab-y kitten. All I remember from the cigarette break is Tim on the phone with his friend who was annoyed and complaining about how his boyfriend just broke up with him because he claimed he was cheating, and Tim replying, “But, like, you did cheat. With me.”
Back at the bar, we got our second drink a.k.a. we were both blackout. It was 6 p.m. We’re, like, really frail. I felt myself perched on a precarious ledge of out of control drunkenness, so we got on the subway to get more drinks at a rooftop bar near MSG. I felt real vulnerable, so luckily we were there just long enough for me to wave my hands in the air in a weak attempt to dance to rap, while someone took pictures of me.
At this point, Timsy and I couldn’t see, so we just went to another bar in Chelsea and sat in the quaint garden in the back. It was a dark, isolated corner where the shadows made us look coherent and pretty – maybe as though we were discussing our exhausting days at the jobs we don’t have? I imagine the lighting reflected perfectly off our Read more…
Remember that show on Bravo NYC Prep? It was on of my guilty pleasures during its first (and only) season. Another one of my guilty pleasures was S-ing the main character’s D on the reg in college. Now, I know he was a huge pretentious douchebag, but he was hot and gay.
I went to a tiny, pretentious, douchey school in Florida where everyone knew everyone, but only if you were thin and chic. On the first day of school, I spotted a familiar face. It was NYC Prep boy.
Like, what? At first I wondered why he chose such a random small school, but then I realized that he and the school had the same personalities. I decided to set a simple and fun goal for myself: hook up with him – it will be a great story to tell your grandchildren.
I found myself sitting next to him at one of the local bars that very night. He asked me my name, he told me what his was, and it took everything in me to refrain from saying “I know.”
Things were going well as we discussed everything from Michael Jackson’s death to starving children in Uganda. Things weren’t going well when I looked away from him for one second then looked back only to see that he had been punched off his bar stool by some equally douchey frat guy, no doubt clad in Vineyard Vines and entitlement.
“Ah well, I’ll sleep with him another night,” I thought.
Little did I know “another night” would be the next night. I have zero recollection of how I ended up in his dorm room, but I did. This dorm room was weirdly chic – it was a single room complete with hardwood floors, crown moulding, a wine refrigerator, and some of the best men’s ready-to-wear on campus. I must admit that I did some iTunes stalking while the little Bravolebrity was in the bathroom, which is when I discovered a large collection of NYC Prep episodes. Narcissism – I liked it.
So he came back, we hooked up, and then watched Family Guy. I would have forgotten how gay he was judging by how he navigated a vajine, except I didn’t forget how gay he was because the whole time we were hooking up, Seal and Shakira’s She Wolf were playing in the background.
We continued to hook up on occasion, until we started to do a lot of salsa dancing at normal clubs, and I found out that he was actually regularly fucking men. People always tell me they didn’t think that would stop me, but it does. Oh yes.
At least I know how to set goals for myself.
Here I am, snuggled atop my Ralph Lauren vintage floral sheets, engulfed in my white down comforter, sleeping like an Amish angel readying herself for a big day of cross-stitching. Next thing I know, I hear my roommate’s window fly open.
Now, being a young woman in New York City, this sort of thing should worry me. Nope, no it didn’t. There’s only a 10 percent chance that it is indeed a rapist/murderer climbing through the window. There is a 60 percent chance that it is my neighbor J.Mo, and there is a 20 percent chance that it is one of the young boys from the Midwest with whom he is currently hooking up. As I suspected in my half-sleep state, it was my neighbor. Into my bed pounces J.Mo. Well, more like on top of me.
“Come smokesies with us,” he slur-cooed, “I’m so highsies.”
He proceeded to emit a high pitched chuckle and lay down next to me and fall asleep. At this point, I had never really left my slumber, so I continued to sleep with my neighbor in my bed. A little while later, I awaken to my bed shaking.
“Why is my bed shaking?” I thought to myself, thoroughly confused. I look over at J.Mo – dick out, masturbating.
I just stared in disbelief for a few seconds then, without hesitation, bitch slapped him in the face and screamed, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Then he stopped immediately and went instantly back to sleep without saying a word like a narcoleptic sex addict. Then I turned over and fell back into my angelic slumber. Just another day in the gayborhood.