If I have someone who believes in me, I can move mountains. -Diana Ross
1. That Quote Means Oodles To Me. Every now and then a quote comes along that makes me think about life in a new and more beautiful way. I heard that Diana Ross quote and today and instantly starting thumbing through my mental filing cabinet to see exactly who believes in me. Then I realized I really only care if my son believes in me. It’s reassuring, sweet, and warm that my friends believe in me, but at the end of the day the only little heart that matters is my son’s.
2. It Was Another Wild Weekend. Every now and then Ben spends the weekend at his dad’s house. This was one of those weekends, which probably explains why I’m feeling all gushy about moving mountains and Diana Ross. Whenever Ben is away I try to fill up all my free time with brunches with friends, the millions of errands I never have a chance to accomplish, and some nighttime debauchery. Kind of. Take last night for example. By 7:30 I was dressed in 6 inch heels and patches of python leather in anticipation of a wild night with some friends. My friend Renee swung by my apartment in her shiny red car to zip up to one of our fave bakeries to pick up baked goods for a party that was happening at our friend Josh’s. Josh has an insanely perfect apartment downtown that makes me ooze jealousy everytime I step inside it. I just sort of assumed that his party would be the kind that had tons of glamorous bodies drinking obscure wine labels while talking about the newest modern art exhibit uptown. In reality, it was a bunch of down-to-Earth people hanging on Josh’s couch watching a UFC fight over Corona Lights, some white wine, and several bags of chips. It was great. I loved it. But I was still wearing 6 inch heels and I had every intention of making the most of them.
3. Then Gary Showed Up. Gay Gary (is there any other kind?) showed up at Josh’s around 11:30 to whisk Renee and me off to some other wild party about 70 blocks north of Josh’s apartment. By this point, all I wanted to do was dance like a maniac until my feet were so sore and swollen that someone had to carry me back home. We ended up at a cute apartment in midtown with a gaggle of some of the hottest gay men in NYC… and all were ready for the one thing I wanted most: grinding.
4. I Love Grinding. I do. I really do. Grinding with gay men is probably one of the best experiences out there. Gays can dance- they’ve got rhythm. They appreciate when you wear 6 inch heels and make wild booty-shaking moves directed towards their pelvises. They’ll grind with you for hours to the new Britney album remixes till everyone’s sweaty, exhausted, and near fainting… and they never try to stick their schlongs in any of your holes. It’s simply the best arrangement ever.
PIT SWEAT