Monday, 3 November 2014

I think NYC is a girl


The other day, during one of the many conversation's I have with my home girl Bunny - usually about weird and wonderful things - she pointed out that she thought NYC was certifiably female. To be precise, 'She's [NYC] like that really hot girl that has her shit together', she concluded as we weighed out the pros and cons of a city that actually has a website with the entire menu's for every single restaurant. If that's not having your shit together then I don't know what is and surely it's more expected of a girl to be that organised right? Forgive me for my bias play of the gender card there. 

I wrote that two days ago and paused to go and personify Wednesday Addams for Halloween so I am not really sure what relevance it may or may not have now, I guess I just wanted y’all to know. I know those of you who know me well will be wondering what happened to my Batman costume, and my answer is simple: seeing as I AM Batman, I don’t need to dress up as me on Halloween – that would be pointless. Since my last post, shit got real and I had three pretty intense interviews one after the other – all for what you would call dream jobs. Having known already that my biggest skill to date was having the ability to talk to absolutely anyone, I’ve been feeling pretty confident about myself and the tactics I should use when seeking employment. Let me tell you however, nothing prepares you for an interview like a million interviews and I almost feel like my daily meetings with HR peoples and other such important figures has been some form of training which I would not have been subject to otherwise. If it helps to have an analogy, then I choose to compare it to the way B613 train their spies in Scandal. So here’s my advice, if you desperately want a job, keep interviewing and use it as a way to build up yours balls so you can really sell yourself.

Following my three amazingly exciting interviews, I decided to give myself a long weekend, which began with a cocktail on Friday afternoon. This carried on through to Saturday where brunch in my new favourite place, Barawine, confirmed to me that at some point I am meant to live in Harlem. It perfectly caters for my dream that involves a heavily pregnant future me in dark wash dungarees outside my brownstone blasting Tupac’s To Live and Die in LA. In no time at all it was Tuesday morning and I received the email that we’ve all been waiting for… ‘Dear Hardeep, We would like to offer you the position of…’ As I exhaled deeply in the way my yoga instructor had taught me to, all I could think was thank fuck I have a job. The time has finally come to purchase that son of a bitch Opening Ceremony varsity jacket that has recently occupied all of my thoughts.

It’s happening people, five weeks into my journey of non-anxious living I have managed to become employed. I will no longer spend my days seeking Wifi and filling your Instagram feeds with a million posts all at once in the way that Drake annoyingly does. I will be making a difference to everyone’s lives. I sit writing this on the morning of my first day and am full of nerves, not because the job scares me or anything but mainly because after a two-month career break, the 9am starts will once again commence. I just hope I don’t lose all of the personal progress I’ve made of becoming a socialite just because I have a J-O-B ya know? I guess I never really thought of what my life would have been like if my plan to marry a Wall Street banker didn’t come true…

Once again the past two weeks pretty much went as follows: Brunch, more brunch, a comedy show that left me wanting to marry Aziz Ansari, strolls through the city to admire Fall, rediscovering my favourite places on the Lower East Side, a massive burger and a Halloween party in a giant warehouse on the waterfront in Brooklyn hosted by Lady Fag. In any case, there have been a million more ‘fuck yea’ moments and more new friends who have had the pleasure of my company… I kid.

But there comes a time where the music gets turned off, and the lights come on. This is usually at the end of the evening when you find yourself making out with a guy you really don’t want to be seen with let alone sharing saliva with. You get the gist. Tomorrow I start a new journey as a PR assistant at a menswear agency and on Tuesday my doll from London arrives and we move to the Upper East Side for a month to pretend to replicate some kind of Gossip Girl inspired lifestyle. I like to call this a champagne lifestyle on a beer budget.

So before I call it a day and you wonder if I have anything bad to say about the concrete jungle at all, I wanted to throw in something I have found incredibly frustrating. It seems that I can’t get acrylic nails done anywhere because apparently everyone only does gels here. Does this make sense to anyone at all? Because if it does, please explain to me why I seem to be living in claws-times-past. Apart from that, I really do miss Nandos. I would give anything for a medium peri peri chicken pita with peri peri chips, and a perinaise if anyone fancies flying some over? It would be much appreciated.

Ps. Bill Cunningham, I haven’t seen you yet mate!


Love x

No comments:

Post a Comment