19. I’m thankful for my hoe-behavior phase
Note: I said “hoe-behavior” and not “hoe” directly. There is a difference.
I was in Vegas a couple of weekends ago. The boys went on a late breakfast run and witnessed a woman returning to our hotel on a walk of shame. “She was hurrrrtin,” they said. So we went in with our individual commentary and shared our favorite personal experiences.
Me: Damn. It’s late, even for a walk of shame. It’s 11. My ass would’ve been up at 6 trying to avoid the maximum amount of witnesses possible.
Boys: You don’t know what went down last night. You don’t know how hard or how late they partied.
Me: Gah. You’re riiiiiight. Ok true.
AND THEN I GOT HIT WITH A WAVE OF HOE-BEHAVIOR NOSTALGIA…
My least-detected walk-of-shame involved a full day at work. I slept over at the dude’s place because he was an investment banker and our dates were always at 1 in the fucking morning. By the time we were done being consenting adults it was 3am. He didn’t care about sleep overs and he lived 5 blocks away from my job. I wasn’t about to go back to Brooklyn, plus no one saw me in that outfit because I actually changed for the date. SO I WENT TO WORK, but I hit up Duane Reed for toiletries and freshened up before anyone arrived at the office. I was asked multiple times that day if I had a date after work because of my dress. Nah, but I had one last night. *side-smirk emoji here*
Then I thought about the time my roomie caught me in heels clacking down the hallway on a Saturday morning in a full holiday-party outfit and overcoat. She caught eyes with me as I was passing the kitchen, erupted with laughter and asked: “Did you have a good night?”
Ugh. I didn’t even get D that time. But I got a good story…
I have plenty of great stories. Trust me.
After I shared with the group in Vegas I kinda sighed to myself, wondering if that part of my life was over. My SF conquests have been extremely tame in comparison. If 2 years in New York scores as an 8.5, I would give SF a 3. It’s weaaaaaak.
I receive a ton of encouragement across the board—to do my thing, to fuck around (safely), to take advantage of being single and having my own place, all of it… I think about whatever kind of silly shit I still have on my single bucket list (cause I have a bucket list for all different avenues of life) and I consider “hoe-behavior mode.”
Sleep with a hot bartender is #1 on that list.
I end up contemplating the idea for a millisecond, but it never sticks. It no longer sounds fun.
You know what sounds fun?
A fucking Farmer’s Market on a Sunday.
I don’t want a bartender. I want a boyfriend.
But damn… *smiling to myself* if I could tell you about those 2 years in New York.