glamping sucks in Musings

alex and i went “glamping” with some of our friends and his bestie, Shane and his newest conquest. Shane really has a bad, bad rap sheet on dating—he always goes for the same type of guy, super, duper, drop dead gorgeous but very, very little brains. I think he’s fucked all the good looking twinks in New York City.

Personally, I don’t really know why Alex insists on me doing these outdoorsy activities with him. I mean I know why he brings me along because I’m the charming, welcoming host. But he knows that the only outdoor activities I do is brunch and I’m also very well versed in competitive marathon drinking.

I don’t even own comfortable clothing for “glamping”. I have an irrational fear of all sorts of bugs (including, but not limited to, butterflies, lady bugs and all those bugs everyone finds cute, freak me the fuck out.)

There was nothing “Glam” about our glam-cottage in the boondox of I don’t even know where, since my phone lost service after a mile into the forest. All I kept thinking is that I was going to be chewed on by mountain lions, bears, recluse spiders, and/or mosquitoes the size of my hand.

Shane’s hooker—er— boyfriend, kept tagging along with me everywhere. I made a little towel spread out by the lake and there he was, stripping down to his underwear. I mean, I’m pretty confident in my body…I’m not a body builder but I do have a mean flat tummy and a little definition on my chest and my arms are pretty toned…but this guy was like the epitome of flawless. At when he ripped off his shirt, I rolled my eyes and laid on my towel and threw on my big shades brandishing my spray on sunscreen and mosquito repellant..

Then this motherfucking asshole asked me to put lotion on his back…I literally looked at him like “excuse me?” and then i just literally slapped his back with lotion and barely massaged it in.

As I sat there and let the noise of the lake engulf me and the sun beaming on my face. He’s sitting up holding himself up by the elbows and he asks me “Andy, how did you make enough money to own an apartment and be an investor to the salon you work in?”

I looked at him like he was crazy, since it’s not something I talk about publicly to anyone. And I said “I’m 30. Anymore questions?”

and what he said next nearly made me choke him…

“You’re 30!?I thought you were younger than me. You look so young like 21!”

Excuse me? since when did 30 become old? and since when did i ask to have a conversation with you? You’re like the whore who happens to be my husband’s best friend’s newest gadget in his collection of tricks.

He kept talking to me. I found out he’s from a really, really wealthy pharmaceutical tycoon father. He grew up in the ritziest part of Westchester and just like Shane and Alex they are all trust fund babies…I felt a little scorned, thinking that I was stuck in a cottage in the boondox with 3 fucking rich kids with nothing to do…and it made me a little angry and jealous that he’s an aspiring model and he’s sitting there half naked and my body isn’t as perfect, because I can’t spend half of my day at the gym because I work and I have to crunch numbers, fire people, hire people and do actual real work.

I tanned for all of 30 minutes and said I needed to go back inside to the guys to cook dinner (which was bullshit). When he came back inside what made me the angriest, is that he started pulling out all these pills and drugs in front of me and finally a gigantic bag of cocaine. Next to my chicken! He starts cutting lines and Alex looks at me and then looks at him and say “yo! do this somewhere else, please?” and then Shane grabs him and speaks to him… and I felt like the defected party boy… this hooker comes back and says to me in quiet “I’m sorry, you don’t look like an addict”

ex-fucking-cuse me? what the fuck does an addict look like?

and thats when i just blew up on this poor kid. i’m sorry that i don’t look like a crackhead and my skin is still pretty and my teeth are still in tact. i’m also fucking sorry that i’m not emaciated and that you are a tacky pass-time that whips out all sorts of drugs like a true addict. misery needs company and i clearly understand why you’re an ASPIRING model and not an actual model.

i’ve hung out with d-listers and models and even rubbed elbows with celebrities and they keep there drug stash and habits hidden. it’s not something you just brandish about and are proud of. it’s something secret.

and the reason it’s so chic to snort lines of cocaine is because you do it alone in the bathroom and its you’re own intimate moment.

I don’t know why this white trash Scarsdale asshole thought that it’s so okay to share that he’s a coke-head along with adderall, klonopins and a pack of xanax from France. You’re drug addiction should be hidden so well and if you pull out all of those drugs from you’re little Givenchy clutch, doesn’t make them any less disgusting and harmful.

I told him off so much. And I pulled out my own little clutch out of my bag and showed him that I do the same drugs, it’s just that I don’t need to show them to everyone. he just started crying like a typical rich, trustfund baby bitch. honey while you were jerking off your drug dealer for a full bar of xanax, I already had my doctor boyfriend write me a prescription for ativan, ambien, klonopins and would chug them with a bottle of Kongsgaard 2007 Chardonnay. and i hate that in the world that i live in with Alex, I always feel like I have to school these bitches who think it’s so chic and fab.

I grew up in the fucking projects. I grew up in the ghetto. My 18th birthday gift was my mom telling me that she would fuck men to feed me. I grew up thinking, my mother will never, ever in her entire life, ever!! fuck anyone for food or shelter and while you were given your fucking privilege, I slaved, sucked dick and fucked my way to the top—because my mother or family will never again have to struggle the way that my mother sacrificed herself.

so fuck you with your little python Givenchy clutch… mom and dad didn’t give me $2K to buy my clutch, and I have the same one. My tears, sweat, blood and sucking dick skills bought me my clutch, I sucked Alex’s dick so well that ONE week later I had my Givenchy clutch. I actually know what the value of money is, money in the projects was not given to me… one of the best things I learned from one of my high-end escort girlfriends was “to get what you want you use what you got” and it resonates truth to me because my mom sold her pussy to buy me milk, bread and eggs so I could grow up to be the man I am today.

it might make me look like a gold digger with Alex…but in reality, I love Alex even if he made 15k a year as a janitor, I would love him infinitely. However, when I met him my mind thought he has money, he’s attractive, he’s obsessed with me and his money is important, but I don’t need it, but it’s nice to have it. Am I a gold digger? Maybe! This fucking engagement ring with blue diamonds and my actual wedding ring with rare blue diamonds might make me a gold digger, but I love him----rich or poor I worship the ground he walks on. I’m not a gold digger…I’m a fucking survivor.

after Shane’s trick stopped crying and I talked to him…he looked at me like I was crazy…and i looked at him like… honey, you’re trying to make money off of your looks and that shit fades. If you rely on you’re trustfund Alex’s trust is 1/4 depleted—it doesn’t grow.

Maybe I’m just mad at Sebastian (Shane’s trick) because he doesn’t get it. You’re gorgeous… but not high fashion, big money gorgeous—you’re like a JCPenny, Zara, H&M type of pretty… but once you deplete that resource… what’s going to happen when you’re 27? 50? 65? Male models die after 35 in the industry. And you’re not that smart… I tried talking to him about literature and existentialism and he’s vapid. he’s hollow.

stop fucking crying sebastian…you’re vapid. and just like smoke—you’re going to be non-existant. don’t follow me around like I’m the holder of a secret. don’t follow me around and cry to make me feel bad for you, because yes—you are stunning now at 24… but at 30…and then 40… you’re going to be a memory in a glossy magazine like all the models that have come before you.

shane spoke to me and said to be nicer. i’am nice. i am giving him a life experience. get book smart because what he’s selling is only for a limited time. we all can be gorgeous and stunning…but the lifespan of the mind in the work industry is eternal…you’re body will be an old bag, I’m being nice by telling him he’s gorgeous now…but when he hits my age…and he’s white—he will age vastly different and no one will take a second look at him.