Once a week, Daily Intel peeks behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Ex-Banker Living on Alcohol, Hookups, and Unemployment: 24, female, Murray Hill, single, currently unemployed.
Noon: Finally wake up and realize that it’s only noon. Automatically type into SeamlessWeb to order the usual brunch. It’s just too rainy to leave the apartment. Since getting laid off (okay it’s been six months now), life has been a cycle of drinking, boys, hangover, and Seamless.
4 p.m.: Attempts to go the gym prove futile as hangover from last night manifests itself in every way. Make plans for the night and convince another ex-banker to hit the bottle with me. Everyone used to work hard, play hard, but the ones still employed are too afraid of getting sacked to have late nights.
8 p.m.: Friend comes over to pregame with my bottles from Trader Joe’s (hey, I’m laid off), and we thank God for unemployment insurance because it pays us to live in our expensive luxury apartments with no income.
Midnight: We head to Greenhouse and there is a line down the block, but I know the door guy; coincidentally, he is also the manager of the café next to the investment bank I used to work for. Only in NYC. He promptly lets us in and gets us the first round.
4 a.m.: The night becomes fuzzy and I black out once again. You would think by 24 I would know the fine line between sober and blackout, but I haven’t figured that out yet.
1 p.m.: Wake up and remember nothing about the night. I think I brought someone home though not really sure because he’s not there in the morning. I almost want to ask my doorman if I came home alone last night, but I make the executive decision not to.
4 p.m.: Realize tonight is French Tuesdays and that the party is on a yacht. Convince a friend in grad school to have an epic night with me because she has no class tomorrow. Score.
8 p.m.: Dinner with one of my old men. I am currently dating a few to finance my Manhattan meal plan. I promised myself the liquid diet, but not when you are having a free fabulous dinner at Del Posto. Mumble an excuse after dinner about not feeling well and having to call it an early night.
11 p.m.: Head to French Tuesdays and see the same old beautiful crowd — a mix of stylish Europeans and douchebag investment bankers, and ask myself again why I absolutely love this scene.
1 a.m.: We all head to Marquee, where I catch the eye of a handsome boy in an Hermès tie and immediately start eye-BJ-ing him. He is a 28-year-old M.D. who graduated from Yale. He buys me SoCo-lime shots and I tell him that 28 years old is too young to be an M.D. He responds that he’s just that good. His friends back him up.
4 a.m.: He asks me to come back to his place and I’m skeptical, but he says he lives on 65th and Park with his two older twin brothers. He has me at 65th and Park.
5:30 a.m.: Sitting in his penthouse apartment, he opens a bottle of Dom and we watch South Park — that should have been the first sign. We get drunker and pass out in his room. I think we hook up, but the night is fuzzy.
8 a.m.: He freaks out and asks me to leave. I angrily storm out and the doorman asks me if I was with the twins last night. I say their little brother and he laughs. When I get home, I look him up on Facebook and see that he graduated HIGH SCHOOL in 2009. He is 17 YEARS OLD and it was his parents’ penthouse in the city.
8 p.m.: Dinner at Alta with a guy I met online. He does not look like his picture. He is a vegetarian and doesn’t drink. I order the bacon and steak and down glasses of red wine to entertain myself.
10 p.m.: We go to the bar at the Jane Hotel where I stage a surprise meeting with my friend. We wanted to go out that night but I couldn’t think of a proper way to ditch him.
11:30 p.m.: We all go to Kiss and Fly where some necessary banquet dancing ensues. On my way out, I call an old friend that I like to smoke with sometimes. I stumble to his apartment and into his bed. Take my tights off and insist it’s not an invitation. He takes his clothes off and insists it’s not an invitation either. We smoke and fall asleep to the Beatles.
1 p.m.: He lets me sleep in. He, like most people, has a job and left the apartment at 8 a.m. I take my time and rummage through the fridge to find some breakfast. Only protein shakes and protein bars. That’s what you get for spending the night with an ex–rugby player.
3 p.m.: Do the walk of shame home back to my apartment, still drunk from the night before. I see a beautiful couple holding hands and it makes me want to vom. I used to be such a romantic, but NYC has left me bitter and jaded at the age of 24.
3:15 p.m.: My doorman asks how my night was. I think I’m not mature enough to have a doorman.
9 p.m.: So excited that it’s Thursday and everyone will be out tonight. Pregame at our apartment and as we leave, the doorman tells me to come home by 1 a.m. and to come home alone this time. I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or creeped out.
11 p.m.: Head to Dorrian’s, where I am immediately greeted by everyone from my New England boarding school fist-pumping to Glory Days. Bliss. I chat with a cute guy and we drunkenly make dinner plans for the next day. He’s in my phone as clubdshottall.
1 a.m.: Run into an ex-hookup who introduces me to his two best friends. I realize that I have hooked up with both of his friends at previous times and that I met them all at the same bar months ago. We awkwardly explain that we all know each other. How did NYC become like college??
3:30 a.m.: They are all buying me shots and I make the decision to re–hook-up with the nice one. I try to get all of my shots from him to show that I care. The last thing I remember is squealing when Hanson’s “Mmmbop” came on because it was my absolute favorite song.
9 a.m.: Wake up and not sure where I am but know that I recognize the apartment. With a sinking feeling, realize it’s the apartment of the douchebag friend that I DID NOT want to hook up with.
9:30 a.m.: Make my exit as he’s already late for work, and ask him to borrow a DVD before I leave. He says no, because he’s not sure if he’ll see me again. Ouch.
4 p.m.: I decide to order off Seamless because my hangover is killing me. Sweet-potato fries later, I feel worse. Feeling really low, but suddenly get a text from clubdshottall asking if we were still on for dinner tonight. I don’t remember what he looks like, but he must be hot and tall, so I agree.
9 p.m.: I head to Mercer Kitchen to meet him. I get off on Mercer and see a semi-cute guy waiting, looking around for the One to meet him. I apologize for being late and explain the rain and the traffic. He says it’s nice to see me and asks if he can help in any way. I realize he’s the host and I have the wrong restaurant.
9:20 p.m.: Finally find the restaurant and meet my date. I have about seven glasses of wine, spill the eighth on my lap, and he so graciously gives me his Brooks Brothers blazer to tie around my waist. I am loving him.
11:30 p.m.: We drunkenly talk about our Ivy League schools and how bad the recession is. He’s a physicist and I ask him to explain to me the theory of relativity. I think he finds me endearing.
1 a.m.: We finally leave and he mentions something about his apartment and how it forces him to keep in shape because it’s a sixth-floor walk-up. I don’t do walk-ups, and I say I have to go home.
3 a.m.: Drunk and horny, I send a mass text to all of my hookups asking what they are doing tonight. An old Morgan intern friend turned hookup responds and we plan to meet at his.
4:45 a.m.: Meet at his LES building and I attempt to talk but he says he doesn’t like to talk. He gives me a T-shirt to wear but I ask him if he has any polos and he gives me a baby-blue one and I’m happy. We almost have sex a few times, but I can’t do it with him right then and there and like that even though I want to, so I satisfy him the best I can.
1 p.m.: Make drunk brunch plans with girls at Merkato 55. My friend flirts with the bartender so we always get free Champagne.
8 p.m.: Go to dinner with my friend’s old-man boyfriend at Masa. She drags me along because she can’t bear the thought of being alone with him, and he doesn’t seem to mind. He gets two show ponies. We all head to 1Oak after.
3 a.m.: Exhausted, I head back to my apartment with a friend to order Domino’s and watch The Office, when my old Morgan intern friend turned hookup calls. He says he loves The Office and wants to come over and watch with us.
4 a.m.: He comes over and immediately pulls out his favorite bag of white. A few lines later, he starts to kiss me, and he’s just so damn cute that I do, but then he leans over and starts kissing my friend. And then me. And then he wants us to kiss each other. Because obviously watching The Office means coke and a threesome.
5 a.m.: He starts telling us kinky stories about his ex, but he says he knew she wasn’t a girl he could marry and that I was. He looks me in the eye and asks if he can masturbate and if I minded. Seriously? I acquiesce because I am too tired to argue but make him spread out towels so I don’t have to wash my sheets again.
2 p.m.: Go to Calle Ocho with friends for their all-you-can-drink-sangria brunch special. We triple-fist sangrias from the sangria bar and try to play Kings at the restaurant.
4 p.m.: Stumble to the Boat Basin for margaritas and a wine tasting on a boat.
5 p.m.: On the guy’s boat, we meet another guy who has connections to a more massive yacht. The biggest one I’ve ever seen up close. He invites us over for Champagne and a dance party. On the yacht, we are poured Champagne by a man who I assume owns it, so shameless flirtation ensues for further invites. Put him in my phone as Imonaboat because I keep forgetting his name.
7 a.m.: Definitely wake up in one of the seven bedrooms on the yacht, at the Boat Basin. Proceed to pleasure the owner. He explains after that he is just on the crew and calls himself a glorified bus driver. Ugh. When did I become like this?
8 a.m.: Do the walk of shame home from the Boat Basin and kind of over it all. Remember that I actually used to be smart and care about other things in my life. Make a mental note to read the newspaper today and perhaps even try to find a job.
APPROXIMATE TOTALS: Approximately zero acts of intercourse (hard to tell); two dates to cover dinner costs, one with old man and one with vegetarian; approximately six hookups with six men; one aborted threesome.