I Moved to NYC to Touch Gabriel's Penis

This isn't Gabriel, but it's a picture I found of one of the Urge boys.

A few weekends ago, I found myself on a Friday night with my hand on a stranger's penis. Let me explain.

I was at a gay bar, Urge, with some friends. The DJ was playing It's Raining Men and there were ADONISes in ass-less chaps, thongs, and garments I was previously unfamiliar with, (which I believe are called leather penis cozies), walking around on top of the bar. I had assumed that because we are chicks, my friends Hannah, Mel and I would fade into the background and be totally ignored in the Urge atmosphere. But as luck would have it, the hunkiest nearly-nudes were straight and paid an awful lot of attention to us. I'm not going to get into specifics, but some of them immediately got very comfortable with us. (I usually make guys buy me dinner before this stuff goes down, but at this point I was drinking, which made it okay.)

While my hand was on Gabriel's penis (he put it there, not me), I kind of had an epiphany: I was really proud of the girl I have become.

Let me explain. In High school, I was a really fun, silly person, and I loved myself a lot. In college, I was pretty unhappy and kind of lost myself. I took school really seriously and ran our school newspaper sort of like a dictatorship. (Once I frightened a large tour group of perspective students when they came by the office and overheard me screaming into the phone, "Must I do everything around here? Am I going to have to start wiping everyone's asses, too?")

But that's not who I really am, and I moved to New York City hoping to get back to the real LP. I think a few years ago it would have made me really uncomfortable to be touching someone's penis in a bar. And at first I was uncomfortable. I was shocked. But I didn't know why. It was really no big deal. Why was my brain programmed to be kind of offended by this? Touching Gabriel's penis was so overtly sexual that it should not be taken seriously at all. It was hilarious.

It would be hard to live in New York City and be uptight about everything. I think that's why I moved here -- I wanted to shake off that stress and seriousness I had accumulated at Gettysburg College. I moved to New York so I could get lectured for 20 minutes on the B train about the Myan prophecies by a man wearing an umbrella as a dress. So that I could walk to work on a Thursday morning so hung-over that I'm too out of it to notice that my skirt is tucked into my thong and I'm throwing a buttcheek parade for 30 blocks down Broadway. Essentially, I moved to New York City so I could touch Gabriel's penis. All this stuff really humbles me and makes me chill the fuck out.

The most important thing I learned at college was that working your ass off will reap rewards, but if it's not making you happy it isn't worth it. Now I just want to be happy. I'm sort of going through an immature period in my life right now. People assume I am 18 and my mother has stopped hoping that someday I will get married or be responsible enough to own a plant. But I need this time right now -- I didn't have it in college and I have some catching up to do.

I am kind of hoping my parents are not reading my blog right now, but Mom -- if you're there -- aren't you proud of me? Although it may seem the opposite is true, I think I'm finally growing up.