A Simple Change of Plans...

“I’m tired of men.” Direct statement, from one very big-eyed, no-nonsense Russian girl living in NYC. “Can you all please for just one second support my endeavor into the realm of the beaver?”

A perfectly normal request, given the city, to a room of perfectly normal New Yorkers. You had the prerequisite meet-cute couple, who met at a real awful party one year prior when one close friend (currently in Russia) was about to room with the male half (Doug) of the relationship. At the time (currently in Russia) was worried that Doug might be a serial killer (given Doug's unexplained accumulation of flat screen tvs and couture furniture in his for-rent loft) so he chose a party of a friend (that has since gone gay for pay) of mine at the time was throwing to question the rest of us about Doug's potential psychotic nature.

***Flashback to last summer interior (and backyard) of spacious gay for pay's Park Slope Apartment

Me: "Holy shit I think some rich kids are snorting lines of Ritalin on the coffee table in there! And there's these two frat guys from work totally going at it"

(Currently in Russia): See, being gay is so trendy, everyone's shaking on it. Soon Americans will only date in virtual realities and reproduce in tubes. So what do you think about Doug?

Me: That guy from Philly? Why, does he like me?

(Currently in Russia): No, i mean -- you think he's cool right?

Me: Yeah, why not -- he's your friend, isn't he?

(Currently in Russia): No, that's my potential roommate, the one I told you guys might be a serial killer.

Me: Really -- that's him? Damn, I mean -- thought we were going to meet him like for coffee or something -- isn't kind of dangerous to bring a potential serial killer to dark crowded party?

(Currently in Russia): Is it?

Me: I'm sure he's fine -- look he's talking to Annabelle.

For three days after Doug (suspected serial killer roommate) escorted Annabelle (the female half of prerequisite meet-cute couple) home we all worried that maybe, in fact, the serial killer suspicion might be true – as she did not return phone calls during their very intense, very sexual, first three days together.

*****

There was also Ira, recently relocated from St. Petersburg, barely making ends meet, teaching Russians English on Coney Island.

“Whatever you want, Sabrina.” Tired words from, Ira, an old friend who seemed all too familiar with her friend's mis-man-ogist statement. “Just please tell me you have some cute shoes for me to wear.”

*********

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!” My roommate’s response, -- let’s not forget he’s from Leesburg, Florida. “That just doesn’t even make any sense. How are you getting there?” He was recently crippled during a soccer accident.

“I think Doug (the once suspected serial killer)’s driving.”

“Okay – well, what the fuck am I supposed to wear? Like can I wear shorts, jeans, button-downs?”

“You do realize we are going to a lesbian bar in Brooklyn?”

“So…”

“Whatever you want – no one will care.”

**********

We arrive in front of the bar (seven dollar cover) after pre-gaming at Sabrina's and of course no one has cash and the three surrounding atms in the area are out of service. So just when we were about to turn around…..

“I can loan you twenty bucks.” My roommate to me.

“I have fifty on me.” Annabelle to Regina.

Turns out, once you are inside, they take credit cards – twenty dollar minimum – and all is fine, actually I run into a lesbian I know from New Years.

“Oh hey, what’s up? What you guys doing here?” She says to me.

“Well, actually, my friend over there in the corner with the big eyes, short skirt, and sexy, but uncomfortable, underwear has decided to give girls a try, again.”

“Really – cause I was wondering – I totally didn’t get gay vibes off of you y’all during New Years.”

That’s right – she threw out a few more ‘y’alls’ and quickly garnered my roommate’s attention. Turns out they grew up less than 20 miles away from each other in Florida. Great small talk had by all!

In the meantime, I admittedly, had been considering my own change of plans and had been all too frequently checking my text message inbox.

Time passed – tequila was poured – next thing I realize I’m getting down with my bad self alongside Sabrina on the dance floor, surrounded of course, by some pretty intense Park Slope Dykes.

For one brief moment, Sabrina easily was attracting the attention of the licky-chicky locals, and for an even briefer moment, I tried to leave her to her own devices on the dance floor – but she quickly darted after me.

“What are you doing?! Don’t leave me here!”

So while everyone else we arrived with was still on the balcony, smoking cigarettes and discussing the day’s affairs, I indulged in one more dance floor song (Beonyce Knowles & Jay-Z), and one more complimentary shot of tequila and for some reason felt more emboldened to begin flinging out text messages to recently created contact list.

Two or three tequila shots later, next thing I know Sabrina was arguing with the only girl that showed the slightest interest in her during the course of the night, and before I can figure out exactly what caused this heated homo debate, Sabrina is pulling me and Ira away from the crowd and we wind up in a taxi headed for Manhattan. During the whole ride, Sabrina is completely beside herself for what she has dragged upon us, but I in the meantime am clueless to her regrets because I am lost in some one-sided texting tomfoolery.

When all was said in done, we winded up in some LES bar where Sabrina ended up denouncing her muff-mounting mania during a two-fold puking extravaganza inside the bathroom of Mehenata – immediately exiting said recently spaculed bathroom, she met a lovely man by the name of Ivan (fake name, Ira and I actually checked his ID after Regina insisted on going home with him) and once again she had decided that in fact, cock was pretty cool.

With Sabrina gone and hopefully accounted for, I sat on the stoop of a nearby apartment and smoked a few cigarettes with Ira. Although Ira was voicing her concerns of Sabrina's all-too-quick-for-comfort-dick hookup, I was somewhat lost to her objections…

Because as it turns out, I was distractedly considering -- Sabrina's ‘simple change of plans’ -- they were not at all what she thought they’d cracked up to be, and in the end, she found herself exactly where she started – on the receiving end of an uncut European dick.

In the meantime the whole evening I myself thought I would consider a simple change myself (evidenced by drunkenly self-assured sent text messages) that I began to wonder that maybe that my sudden reconsideration of things was slightly ill-warranted.

After all, we were all in NYC, a town that is just begging for people to arrive with preconceived notions of how their current life’s misconceptions might be rearranged. But during the course of the past week, when I briefly thought to myself that my current desires needed to be rearranged, Sabrina's blunt conclusion to her week-long pondering brought my own uncertainties into crisp focus.

As I sat alone on the car ride home back to Brooklyn, I reluctantly closed my phone after deleting a few numbers from it. Although I wasn’t ready to admit it, I too, had fallen prey to some sort of ideal ‘about-face’ that seduced me with its mercurial possibilities –

Why exactly was I texting in the first place? Was I just looking for a good time, or was I looking for the start of something more? Was I worried of falling out of a hip social circle, or was I hoping to drag a partner in crime out with me? Was I really ready to move on, or did I simply just like all the attention? Did I really care about who I was texting as much as I cared about just getting texted back? Was I really hoping that a simple realignment of my social sphere to that of something slightly more Lohan and slightly less cerebral would drag me out of the current funk I felt I had been in for the past few weeks?

I guess in the end there are no simple answers to my questions. Just like there are no simple changes to plans.