Ugh. I just woke up after being asleep for twelve hours (or maybe it was a light coma) after getting back from a “girls only” weekend in New York City. We stayed in an apartment right on Central Park (with a cool doorman named Fernando), directly across the street from the Tavern on the Green…it was VERY New York.

My girlfriends and I drank way too many mochatinis, ate GREAT sushi, bought sweet Louis Vuitton knock-offs on Canal Street, saw Phantom of the Opera, jogged through Central Park, and actually managed to get whisked up to the rooftop bar at the Hotel Gansevoort (circumventing the long line outside). So by all accounts, it was a full and successful weekend.

I did, however, make a couple of interesting observations this weekend.

The first: it doesn’t seem to matter to guys in bars whether you’re married with kids or not. Guys in NYC must see a lot of our “type” - married broads in the city without the husband, looking for a good time. Maybe that’s even appealing to them because there are no strings attached?

And even though I wasn’t completely forthright about WHO I was married to (it alternated between Toby Keith and an undercover CIA agent whom I was forbidden to name), I was always married and was ALWAYS wearing my wedding band. But it didn’t seem to be a huge deterrent.

My second observation: European guys are very weird dancers (no offense to my European Cool Broads). I’ll admit that I’ve been out of the “scene” for a while now and I don’t get a chance to go dancing very much anymore. So when we hooked up with a few guys from Switzerland and they wanted to go dancing…it sounded like fun.

But just as Kanye belted out his desire for a “black Kate Moss”, the guys grabbed our waists, drew us in close, and began gyrating back and forth…it was basically dirty dancing, just not in the Poconos and unfortunately NOT with Patrick Swayze.

One of my girlfriends, who’s lived in France, said, “That’s just how European guys dance”. My other girlfriend added her two cents by saying, “It’s a vertical simulation of a horizontal aspiration.” Ew.

Well, as we all know, Cool Broads don’t knock something ’till they’ve tried it, so I attempted to be adventurous (and I tried to be cool).

But when the Swiss fellow that I was dancing with leaned in for a kiss (and it was NOT the European on-the-cheek kind), I quickly feigned a lower GI attack, excused myself to the ladies room, and then basically crawled between people and under tables to tell my girlfriend (who’d escaped to the balcony) that I was “outta here”. To make a long story short, I was able to extract myself from the meatpacking district unscathed (and unmolested). It was a BAD Sex and the City episode.

And I’ve never been so glad to see my little, suburban utopia, my adorable husband (who is neither Toby Keith nor an undercover CIA agent) and my two rugrats, than when I got home on Sunday. New York City is beautiful and exciting, but there’s no place like home.

~tcb

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