#9 - The Night I Got High On PCP

I was at one of those furtive warehouse parties deep in Flatbush when it happened. My friend “Greg” and I were tearing through cigarettes and four dollar vodka tonics. Greg was flying. He offered me some coke, but I declined; I only rarely even smoked pot. We were totally out of our element – we two bookstore clerks – but achieved a state of lucid comfort at around 2am on the roof of the warehouse.

On this roof, Greg and I spotted a cute girl and both attempted to hit on her at the same time. She wasn't having our drunken foolishness, but thought she might be able to get a cigarette out of the deal. Our packs were empty, so we both rushed out to try and bum one to curry her favor. A kid with Kanye West glasses and a shit-eating grin offered me a hand-rolled cigarette and I snatched it up immediately. Upon my return, our girl took one look at my gift and blanketly refused. As she walked away, Greg returned. “What the fuck was her problem?” We smoked that shit together and left the party.

I was by myself in the subway station when it hit me. I focused on the tiles on the opposite wall and time stopped. I was immediately aware of the musculature that ran from my shoulders to my fingertips. I could feel the underside of my skull. I sat there motionless waiting for the G train (probably for about 90 minutes, knowing the G train) and when it came I took great care in getting on, for with each footstep gravity seemed to have less of a hold on me.

Upon waking, I felt like shit obviously. I was catsitting in Williamsburg for the weekend and my friend “Joanna” came home to find me lying in her bed like a jelly. I told her of my night and her response was, “Yeah judging from your experience and where you were hanging out, it was probably PCP. Or maybe heroin.”

#4 - This One is a Doozy

My friend and I talk about these stories all the time. How our mothers have no idea who we really are, how they would be disappointed. My mom would tell me to go to church more often, get married, or have children. As if those are the things lacking in my life, and the sad things is, to her they are.


Sometimes these secrets are little innocent stories we don't want our mothers to know and sometimes they're slutty stories. Here's a few that come to mind...


I overdraft my checking account on a bi-monthly basis. And, I don't have overdraft protection. I lie and tell her I do, but I don't.


I will make-out with dudes for fun.


I show people my boobs for money. Not stripping, just strangers who are into that sort of thing.


I've had three ways.


My main motivation for going to the gyno is to be checked for STDs. Whatever else they due is a plus.


I have so much student loan debt, I'll be paying it off for 20 years. Most of the student loan debt was accured because I wanted to travel and buy cool clothes while in school. They (the banks- not my parents) gave me the checks and I cashed them. Now, I'm broke and overdrafting my account every other month. But, you already know that.

I charged up credit cards in college and never paid them.


I still smoke weed on a weekly basis and drink on a daily basis.

#1 - Casual Encounters

On a recent trip back to a city where I used to live, I had a casual encounter.

Upon arriving in said city and hanging out with my friends, and most notably, my ex boyfriend, I had a hormonal reaction. Let's just say, it's been awhile, and when you come to discover that all your friends are in relationships, with the exception of your ex, the casual sex applicant pool seems pretty shallow. Realizing I was still very very interested in my ex and knowing that wasn't going to happen, I did what any sexed-up 20 something with an iphone and cheap beer would do: I went online. At the suggestion and encouragement of my friends at the bar, I busted out my hand-held world-wide-webbing device and posted an ad on craigslist. Yes my friends, it was not a casual encounter, it was a "Casual Encounter". Within half an hour I had 4 responses, the next morning, a dozen more. For once, I felt like the prettiest girl at the dance. I responded to a couple of the ads after evaluating the applicants' photos, and the games began!

Now, granted, when you wake up in the morning, not drunk, and open your e-mail to receive sexual invites from men, sight unseen, it can feel a little awkward. But remember, it's only the internet, and who knows, maybe you're talking to a 12 year old girl. So, after a careful selection process based on level of creepiness, seeming level of desperation, and online humor, I went on a date.

I met the dude at a bar, and was surprised to see that he did not look exactly as I expected, or talk as much as he did online, but when you know there is the promise of sex, what's a hard-up girl supposed to do? The answer? Drink. Drink your ass off.

And so many stiff drinks later, we're off! I would love to say that this was a great experience, and everything went smoothly, and that anonymous sex on the internet is great, but, let's get real here. It's sex. It's always complicated. So...it started. We made out (not a great kisser, you forget that kissing is just kind of wet and awkward if you're not into the person), and then the clothes came off. I'd again like to say that we did it, I had multiple orgasms and everything was great, but no. At the end of some entended oral sex (score!) the dude announces that he drank too much, and has been feeling sick. Weak constitution? Can't hold his liquor? I don't know, and I don't care. All I can think is, thanks! Because: 1. I got off and 2. I didn't actually fuck someone from the internet. Double score!

Will I be doing this again anytime soon? Probably not. Was it satisfying? Well given the amount of alcohol ingested to get over my fears about the process, the memory of it is slight at best.

So, what have we learned? If you go on the internet, YOU WILL GET LAID, but don't expect much.