I fucking love being a New Yorker. It’s an attribute that I take deep pride in — a Bronx-born brat who will always be kind until you get in her face. Ask every GF, BF, Lover, Partner, Friend in my life: I’m the last person (and probably the most unassuming person) anyone would want to fuck with on the street/subway/cab. While it’s just a geographical location, being a New Yorker means you have 24 hours in a day to get 48 hours of work done.
As a kid I always want to be one of those girls who floated around New York without a care, eating $1 pizza, owning a rack of oversized leopard coats, and didn’t answer to a single person. Y’all can have Emily In Paris. I wanted Samantha Jones (without the rest of Sex And The City) but going to the Cubby Hole in the West Village. I wanted to be Shelia Levine from my favorite book “Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York.”
I kinda had that, did that, spent my 20s freelancing and working at a sex shop and exploring queerness on my own terms. I keep thinking One day I’ll be a New York It Girl when in fact I was my own the whole time.
And for that, I love New York because it has made me impatient and petty and creative and weird and the owner of so many leather jackets and scars. I did it all and more while being a fat girl in loafers catching a train.
So, my favorite part about being a New Yorker: I can be myself and anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck off.
BUT.
Will tomorrow make New York not New York? I have no idea. I always saw New York as a place where everyone too uncool to go to prom in their hometowns could be prom king or queen everyday here. With so much uncertainty, it’s a wonder any of us have the time to care about body image or sex or even getting naked. 2020 has been so crazy, and I’m just deep within my New Yorker “don’t even look at me” self to worry about anything other than democracy (I legit can’t care about a stretch mark, ya know?)
Sending you all big New York energy for tomorrow. Don’t let anyone cut you in line at the polls.
New York Isn’t Dead — How To Be A New Yorker In The Pandemic
Be ready for anything and everything. If someone asks you for directions, be like “Where ya going? Oh yeah, you’re gonna go up this way . . .” No hesitation. You just know how to give directions 6ft away from everyone. And then, offer hand sanitizer.
Tell people to “cover their fucking face.”
Wake up every morning, pour a coffee for yourself, and write what you’re feeling in a newsletter that people may or may not read i.e. your own Carrie Bradshaw column.
Book an early morning museum walkthrough before work.
Miss the subway even though it’s trash but you love it but it’s honestly crazy but you miss the seats and the people and the sounds.
Found Found Found
Alexis Nikole — foraging and enviro-sci enthusiast. The videos and TikToks are 100%
What Pasta Has Taught Me by me via Dia & Co.
How to Embrace Your Most Out-There Sexual Fantasies by me via Dame.
Gut Health 101 by me via Coveteur.
Futura Free Design + this poster that is the absolute truth.
Biscotti recipes: here, here, here, here.
What New York Sex Has Taught Me:
Babe, I’m going to tell you something right now. No one cares about that roll or pimple or anything. No one. Honestly, the best thing about being a plus-size woman with a sex life in New York is that you can have an entire sex world kinky latex femme and still show up to your 9-5 like “Ah, there’s no coffee in the break room today.”
Remember offices?
If this year has taught us anything it is life is odd and very very short, and there is literally no reason no to think that you can’t be the hottest bitch at the sex party.
Remember sex parties?
Confidence is something is the key here! But also, I’m not going to lie to you — it’s really hard to have confidence when the world is one big walking ad for “get skinny or die trying.” And it sucks. I wish we all didn’t have to deal with it. In New York, confidence is a fake it until you make it game . . . everyone is faking no matter who they are.
Remember fake orgasms?
Best advice I have for you: masturbate, do things you like, try to lower your stress, masturbate some more, audit the people in your life who make you feel bad, invest in a sex toy(s), date yourself.
Just a New Yorker and all her magazines from Universal Newsstand.
Temporary Stay / 6
Marion felt the electricity glide from her the woman’s hand to hers. She shivered in her black dress and leopard shoes. She stared at the woman across the table and smiled. “You’re quite beautiful. Are you from here?”
“Thank you. I’m just a woman who lives around the corner. You’re my special guest. I should be asking you the questions.” Marion replied, “What is there to know about me?”
The woman in read leaned into Marion from across the table with a deeply fearless look in her eye: “I want to know the last time you’ve had an orgasm explode across your body so much that it felt like the sky had opened up all around you.” She stayed and watched Marion’s pupils widen. Both stayed for a beat—paused against the cold Paris air. “I . . . I’m not sure. The last time I even has sex was over a month ago.” Marion sipped from her wine and looked around at the moment she was currently in.
“What do you want? You’re here in Paris away from everyone else. This is the time to shake things up, flirt with people, write and drink and eat bread at breakfast.”
“I haven’t even had a croissant while I’ve been here. I don’t typically eat bread, but I really should change that,” Marion replied.
”You don’t eat bread? Why?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do. I don’t want to gain weight.”
The woman in red starred at her and said, “Stress and sadness lead to an unhappy life. Bread does not.” She got up. “We’re going to fix this. Drink your wine, you're coming with me.”
Marion stunned, “Wait, where are we going?”
“We’re going to get you the best bread in Paris.”
1-800-HEYLAURA is a weekly newsletter dedicated to body image, sexual wellness, life, butts, confidence, and so much weirdo stuff. Note, Laura doesn’t take responsibility for your life and actions. She’s just an odd person on the internet that deeply wants to write everything in her heart and genitalia and flesh. Some links:
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