Live from the Upper West Side, it's Monica Drew.

Ohmigosh. Head is spinning. Can't believe I can't even set an alarm because I can't even go to sleep because I still haven't gone to bed. Weekends are more work than workdays. At least a few good things (orgasms, mainly) resulted from my wild night o'restlessness. Ciao for now.
posted by Monica Drew at 7:14 AM

Friends don't let friends make crude nicknames for potential boy-toys, because invariably they become so laughable you can't sit with a straight face talking to, much less fuck, the aforementioned man. Thursday's winner was "Vowel" -- on the "A" list, rolled "E" constantly, started every sentence with "I" statements, made "O" rings with anything smokeable, and did an illegal "U" turn to avoid West Side Highway traffic... I, of course, wanted to know where the "and sometimes 'Y'" section was, but my girlfriends would humor me not. Bitches. Regardless, the night was phat.

Getting my nails filled in Spanish Harlem by an Asian woman whose name, I highly doubt, was really Helen, my cell phone purred a Fur Elise and I grabbed it with my still-waiting-for-touching right hand. Benson was on the line, urging me to re-think my outfit (I was donning a cas combo, en route to a grape-leaves-and-sangria Greek fest) as we were jetting to Cream, a fun UWS club.

"No way is anything going to cut it there, short of slut boots."
"Fuck. I'm in my New Balance mode. Are you serious?"
"It will be worth it. Can't reveal more info. Come by in twenty."

Smudging all my newly-painted (in Vino by MAC, tres cute) nails while changing into skank garb, I arrived at Benson's bearing cash, Parliaments, an eighth of the greatest dope this side of Compton and a new glass piece that, according to the nice Lebanese man who sold it to me, is unbreakable. We smoked with Nelson, a fun football boy, and prepared for Cream.

Upon arrival -- no joke, 9pm -- we enjoyed the open bar festivities. Still in the dark as to why my mousaka evening had been postponed, Benson informed me that our BFF Roxy's boyfriend had just received a hefty raise at his money-mover-group -- he's either MSDW or Merryl Lynch, like I can keep them straight, ever -- and tonight was THE celebratory outing. Upset at the lack of "my crew" in attendance, I stole Nelson away from the guzzling-gin-and-diet-Coke Benson and made him get down and dirty in the techno room. Having already experienced him last year, I wasn't so interested in going home with him, so I flipped to g-rated gyrating and we moved back into the main bar area.

When Roxy, Spike (That's her boy's handle -- bizarre, but hey, who am I to argue? He called me Nancy's slutty sister!) and Mysterious New Man (aka Vowel) graced the scene, we made like J-Lo, Puffy and entourage and hit the roped-off, heavily-guarded-by-large-men VIP section, with bottles of Cristal, Stoli everything, and assorted high-citrus mixers floating around amist the smoke, loud music, and aire of money, pretension, and sex. Mysterious New Man and I struck up a conversation -- basically screaming over the Hot 97 hits (and wow was this "blazin' hip-hop" BLAZIN'!) -- and started to make out, the aftershock of my initial heavy weed party hitting me, and the Amaretto Sours starting to hardcore kick in. He whispered in my ear something about rolling, and instead of thinking of popping some fun, I was imagining Fred Durst. (The Limp Bizkit obsession has to stop! But that's another story...) We went into the snowy white "VIP Room Junior" and took some pills, washed down with Corona (of all things), and continued chatting. Soon the mere thought of him touching my arm was followed by him touching my arm, then unbuttoning my black satin shirt, then licking my torso. No joke, I was a laundry problem, I was jizzing so hard on this fluffy white couch. Running my fingers through his hair he was groaning like crazy, and until around 3am we proceeded to play like seventh graders and do "everything but" -- and it was exquisite. Drug du jour, and I'm psyched.
posted by Monica Drew at 7:37 AM

Played domestic tonight and charmed a dinner party with a fabulous Mississippi Mud Cake, oozing with chocolate and marshmallows, and also with witty conversation, oozing with inuendo and quick one-liners. Left with a saucy undergrad going pseudo-abroad next semester for drinks and smokes at the local neighborhood dive bar. Entertaining and relaxing but no real sexual energy... so, nice for a free Floridian Martini but not exciting enough to get naked. Tsk. Once my buddy was in a cab en route to dreamland-then-Canada I trekked back to chat (read: play tonsil hockey) with my most recent booty call fixture, a hot EMT who has lifesaving potential in that he needs neither paddles nor backboards to bring me back to my senses. All this, and leftover snack pre-bedtime. Seven hours until I need to be somewhere. Sweet dreams...
posted by Monica Drew at 2:39 AM

Thank God I don't need to set an alarm.
posted by Monica Drew at 4:54 AM

Alarm-setting is more detestable than anything else at this moment. Class and work schedules are advancing at lightspeed and my body is having trouble readjusting to someone else's clock. Luckily my social calendar is being filled up rapidly with enjoyable-yet-meaningless opportunities for enjoyable-yet-meaningless encounters. Today's menu for this weekend's agenda:

Date: Wed, 17 Jan 2001 09:25:57
From: (Like I'd reveal my sources!)
To: ArgyleDuck@aol.com (Drew, Monica L)
Subject: FINAL SEMESTER

For many years, it was commonly thought that neither Brett nor Ben would
amount to much. Both seemed content to spend their college years drinking
beer, going to fraternity parties, sleeping through class, scheming on
young women, and the like. But what is this? Now they both have productive
things to do next year? How?

Come celebrate with them, and the largest quantity of alcohol ever seen in
a single location outside of a brewery,

Friday night, January 19 , 10 pm...
(Location also under wraps... wouldn't want any party-poopers showing up!)

Featuring the music of DJ Stealth, underage drinking, illegal gambling,
and other wonders of the western world. Costumes suggested, not required.

Date: Wed, 17 Jan 2001 12:19:04
From: (She's cute but young...)
To: ArgyleDuck@aol.com (ArgyleDuck@aol.com)
Subject: ***Come and CREAM***

Whether you have or have not partied much this week,
I would love for you to join me as I celebrate my 21st Birthday...
I will be at CREAM
Tomorrow, Thursday, January 18, 2001 at 10:30
What better way to start off the semester than drinking a lot at a fun bar...
I hope that the week of classes has been going well!
I will see you tomorrow.
Much love!
posted by Monica Drew at 1:56 AM

More painful than fluroscent-dressing-room-light. Got a wedding invite from someone I used to bed, back in the early 90's, when AOL was brand-spankin'-new and I still believed love was an option. Thought my day had bottomoed out, post-$276-bill at the campus bookstore for books I'll never use for more than a doorstop. Remembered writing quite the "Herotica" tidbit a la Barry when I returned from our very last rendezvous, six weeks before his engagement (talk about slimeball), a steamy weekend in the Hamptons, glistening with sweat and naughtiness:

...my friend implores me for one time only make an exception...
wet hair smooth skin pantene pro-v white musk lotion no goosebumps no fear only skin and cold sheets and hot wet air hot wet thoughts me you your bed me waiting anticipating anxious white satin virgin vixen you mentor wanting waiting i've hungered for your touch you enter robe plush hair wet lay down next to me look eyes swallow my soul you touch my face you pull me into you i surrounded by your arms robe off floor arms strong protecting all i ever wanted all i ever needed is here in my arms closeness two one passion gaze unbroken fingers playing with my hair stare remains hand running up my back kisses neck slow painful teasing earlobe nibble suck bite i put my hands around your neck you wrap your arms around me legs knotted together grasping together hot fervent my nails your back mouths touch sweet shiny sticky lip gloss you lick my lips i gasp you suck me closer to you when i inhale sharply arms tight faces together lips yours mine ours together heat anticipation i close my eyes love is blindness i don't wanna see won't you wrap the night around me your lips touch mine your tongue opens my mouth it enters me i am consumed in your mouth as you make me quiver i am enveloped in your arms as you make me tremble you devour me furiously and i will be the one to hold you down kiss you so hard i'll take your breath away my heart pounds beneath you white satin off you pull me onto you curves match we fit well nipples pressed against your chest you hips rise me arch back i kiss you sweat sheen feel me down lick nipples yours your hands my hair my eyes you cradle me i thirst for you i won't spill a drop no i promise you hard touch touch want me craving tease kisses me hands gently lightly nails you shivering want more need me wet mouth velvet touch you begging me laughing me kisses kisses suck you stop me you you first me shaking you down open me fingers cooing spot me hands in your hair play with your earlobes touch me inside i shake your eyes meet mine you harder deeper i shudder and slip into my lovers hands escape i burn up in your presence gotta help my body heal my soul prrrrrrrrrr... shudder me you more i want again down you resist want it to be more powerful i play along i want more you inside my mouth now me you suck sensitive lick nibble in out all-at-once i'll rock you til the daylight comes love is drowning in a deep well all the secrets and no one to tell you gasp tell me now come pleasure me secret tricks you melting me swallow down down down mmmmmmmmmmmm..... salty sweet sticky together holding arms around me breathing heavy touching still eyes meet you me gaze hold arms around shoulders side by side not close enough you surround me you spoon me you hold hold hold me within you reaches your powers yourself hold want reach kiss keep stay me you me you me gaze kisses soft passion delirium lust quiet soft sweet dreams beyond...

Now the fucker is picking out salad bowls at Crate and Barrel. Grrrrr...
posted by Monica Drew at 9:41 PM

He was angry. He was decked out in a grey cashmere sweater and pseudo-smart glasses. First day of Spring semester classes, hormones in overdrive, and already I'm penning down more information about male classmates than regarding anything with even moderate academic merit. "Masterpieces of Western Music" promises to be boring, with a teacher who doesn't make eye contact and a room that doesn't allow air circulation. Fucking lovely. Ready to leave I had my Marlboro Lights in hand, but then realized, maybe there's fuck potential. So... this cute transfer named Josh. Apparently he got kicked out of some artsy school, aka his most recent attempt at college, for some wise-ass stunts that he cleverly alluded to when I waltzed over to peer out the window, aka double-check to be sure his left hand was ring-less. Impressive. Was planning on switching to the later section so I could meet the older crowd, the "coming back to school after traveling-the-world / realizing I despise being an investment banker and I already made my first million / failing as a punk rock star" set. Maybe I'll stay here.
posted by Monica Drew at 3:26 PM

Jonah left a voice mail at 3am and expected me to run downtown to smoke him out. Well obviously I had to... made me drip just thinking about how well trained he was, in and out of bed. My favorite journal entry was a verbatim recount of one of our fabulous non-fights:

"Ahhh… a roof top view of… well, of fucking nothing." Jonah declared, giving his half-assed stupid laugh. (Okay, it was his usual laugh, which I used to find phenomenally seductive but now I just find it uniquely Jonah or ridiculously comforting, depending on my wholly unpredictable mood.)
"Did you come up here for scenery?"
"No, Monica, of course not. I only came up here to be with you. Tell me, Monica, please tell me about your day. I really, really, REALLY cannot go on without knowing exactly how you feel at this very moment."
Training men how to do the right thing and more importantly to say the right thing is more of a challenge than I'd realized. I recall now quite brightly the point at which Jonah had been trained to the point of emotional perfection:
I make a face, indicating my dissatisfaction.
"What?" Jonah asks me, innocently.
"Nothing, Jonah, whatever." I answer vaguely and rudely.
"Okay, okay..." Jonah stares at me intently. "Okay, Moni, I know that I am supposed to know why you're angry or depressed or whatever, but I just can't figure this one out. I am really sorry. Just, please... just give me a hint."
Hugs ensue.
posted by Monica Drew at 10:27 PM

A game of Word Association with an ex. Always exciting. Would have been better if I didn't know he was gay.

"Flaming pleather." I laughed loudly, chugging down a huge last gulp of diet Coke.
"What?" he asked incredulously, leaning in as if I were sick or sexy or something that I wasn't and I'm still not. "'Flaming pleather'? What the hell kind of answer is that? This is Word Association, not Absurdity 101."
"Fine, fine, I'll get the right answer this time." I urged, sarcastically noting to myself that, although I always claim differently, especially when playing with the important men in my life, in Word Association, a game of what-does-this-make-you-think-of, there aren't any 'right' or 'wrong' answers.
"Okay." he looked at me sternly, as if I was going to need some time in the corner with a dunce cap. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, I am ready."
"Don't take that tone with me."
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Okay. So you're ready?" he stared me down. I raised my (incredibly well-plucked and shaped, thanks Anna) eyebrows as if waiting. "Fine then. First impression."
"Dandruff."
"I do NOT have dandruff!" he said, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Who said this was my first impression of you?" I said laughing, lighting up a Parliament 100 and exhaling far away from my smoke-fearing friend. "I was thinking Head and Shoulders. You know, dandruff shampoo."
"Oh, and what made you think of flaming pleather than, huh?" he urged.
"Simple. Your sleeve is on fire."
posted by Monica Drew at 10:25 PM

Went out for dinner with another exciting experiment -- a post-frat boy law school monster. How completely debonair. Okay, okay, so I'm being harsh. He dressed well, held open the appropriate doors, and didn't get me too drunk... but then again, he didn't exactly get me hot-and-bothered either. After avoiding his phone call the next morning (we had both slept at our respective digs, although his are Upper East Side, tres-chic) I found this in my in-box:

Date: Tues, 16 Jan 2001 23:44:45
From: That's for me to know, and you to be jealous about -- ha!
To: ArgyleDuck@aol.com (Monica Drew)
Subject: bubbly

"every liquid smile melts a pool of fire,
those champagne kisses bathe me -- do not ask why."
(ronnee lipman)

poetry is cute, but i'm more musical. opera and moet -- and who knows what else?
i've got two tickets for saturday night. rsvp mademoiselle.
chris

Reconsidering my distaste for Wagner. Even if he tried to be ee cummings without proper capitalization. Details to follow. If he calls again I'll think about it.
posted by Monica Drew at 10:23 PM

Being sappy and missing my second (of three, and I'm still on three) know-he's-THE-ONE... my favorite poem from when we had just moved in together.

perfume before bedtime
and i slip into sweats
as you wait
unassuming
as i turn off the lights
and i smell like
woman
and you treat me as
girl
and i long for more
beneath a silent evening sheath
our legs
lay parallel
and i anticipate your toes
with such heated anxiety that i become aware of my
breath
adjusted to the darkness my eyes still can't see a thing
a situation so wrong
so right
so evil and awful so angelic
a farce
burned out tapers
make our room smell like a lovers'
but clearly its not
as i turn on my side
to dream
on
posted by Monica Drew at 10:20 PM

Was sitting, quite unsuspecting, at your typical dying-to-have-ambiance pretentious coffee shop when an old classmate ran up to me for the kiss-kiss, dish-dish scenario. Her newly highlighted hair shone surprsingly brightly in the mediocre lighting, and as she sipped her mocha-double-latte-grande-achino (I'm a tea whore so I haven't the faintest idea how to speak Starbucksese) and I nibbled on my coffee cake, she realized that blogging was THE perfect writing exercise for me.

An instant replay of our extremely uncomfortable conversation, punctuated only by the annoying Fur Elise ring of a nearby cell phone abuser:

"You're such a bitch, Moni," Bergin quipped, "and you can't keep in touch to save your life. When was the last time you called without an ulterior motive? You're all business. Magazine clippings are, like, the life and death of your... um, life."
"Real eloquent, killer," I said as I glared at her. "You know, Ms. 34th-Street-Prada, some of us have careers."
"You're not seriously including yourself in the career-having community."
"Fuck you. I'm working on it."
As though the heavens had opened, after that painful interlude she looked up and almost gasped.
"MONI."
"BERGIN."
"No, you're not going to believe this."
"Oh try me. I'm Ivy League. I'll believe it."
"You've never blogged, have you?" Bergin whispered, almost too passionately.
"Haven't what? Does that involved skis?"
"Monica, you can just have a diary on-line. Write real spiffy, and we'll all read it, and it can be a means of keeping in touch, as well as a creative exercise."
"Like when you kept fucking your dance teacher to understand balance?"
"Not quite."
posted by Monica Drew at 10:02 PM