Brester's Millions - Hamptons Style

Arriving in the Hamptons is a lot like arriving in OZ: it's a fantasy land filled with funny little people in colorful costumes who sing and dance a lot. I had a good time, but aside from my friends I detested most people I came in contact with.

If you're not familiar, the Hamptons is where New York's uber-rich go in the summer to show off. It really has nothing to do with the beach, these people generally hate sand because they are so germaphobic. This is about guys showing off their cars, houses, and Eastern European girlfriends, and where recently divorced Cougars go to prowl for their future ex-husband-benefactors. If you haven't guessed by now, I'm not a fan.

There is so much to talk about from the weekend because it's such a "scene". However, I'm going to focus on the party I went to Saturday afternoon.

The party in question was billed as a "BBQ" and was being hosted by a friend of a friend. The guy, Raji, was a 30 year old Wall Street millionaire. As we pulled into the driveway of his house (which was pretty huge) I began to understand what I was in for. Parked in front were a Maserati, two Porsches, many BMW's, a Bentley, two supercharged Audi's, a Land Rover or two, a McLaren F1 (in the garage - told it was leased) and a Jeep Wrangler - identical in both color and year to mine. I later learned that the Jeep belonged to the cook.

My buddies and I walked into the house and could hear loud techno music coming from the back yard. There were people in bathing suits walking around the gigantic marble entrance way of the house. In the kitchen was a chef chopping and skewering meat. As I took all this in some guy came up to me, handed me a glass and a full bottle of Champagne then walked away. I put the glass and bottle down on a coffee table and pulled a beer out of the fridge in the kitchen. My friend's girlfriend walked in from the backyard and said to me "Have you been outside yet?", I shook my head saying no, she said "It's like Entourage out there, check it out."

I walked out the back door which led to a deck. Ten steps led down to a huge patio with a pool and built-in jacuzzi and behind that a tennis court. On the patio were about thirty exceedingly drunk people in bathing suits bumping and grinding. There were two games of Beirut going. Two girls in tiny little bikinis were in the pool straddling inflatable "log" water toys playfully bashing the tops off each other with inflatable "clubs". Some dude in a straw cowboy hat had a microphone and kept saying "infinity...infinity...infinity" over the techno song while he flexed and puffed out his chest. On the far side of the pool a goofy little Indian guy was kneeling in front of a young girl and pouring Champagne from a bottle down her giant exposed breasts and catching it in his mouth. I turned to my friend Chavez and said "That must be our host...". He laughed, nodded his head and said "Yup".

When Raji finished his Champagne he came over to my friends and welcomed us to the party. Bottles of Champagne and glasses were brought out to us (what is it with the Champagne?) and introductions were made. Overall, I guess the guys were nice enough. They were just a little affected. It took me a bit but I eventually realized that these dudes were all dorks in high school in college who never learned how to interact with people. Now, they have all this money, and they act however they want (which is to say, like douche bags) and girls still hang out with them because they own Ferrari's and have giant homes in the Hamptons.

The BBQ turned out to be a catered event and the chef kept walking out onto the deck with platters of food and would make announcements like "Asian wasabi vegetable spring rolls with rice philo wraps and soy tahini dipping sauce, bon appetit", or "Braised soy chicken on baguette with sesame mango chutney". He kept bringing out food but he simply couldn't keep up with the endless river of Champagne, and eventually everyone was hammered except my group, who had arrived late.

The Human Louge walked over and introduced herself to Uncle Charlie and I. In a jumble of slurred words she asked who we were and how we fit in. We explained who we knew, but the reality was we didn't fit in at all. We asked her similar questions and she said she worked with Raji, to which I said, mostly to Uncle Charlie, "Hmmm, might be a little awkward in the office next week, no?", but the Human Louge didn't pick up on it. She then dropped the following bomb on us "But that's temporary. What I really want to do is make erotic female porn, all the porn out there sucks, it doesn't get me off at all." ... Not many responses to that, are there? Long story short, I asked why she needed porn to get off, why not just go to a bar and take home a guy? She said she never lets guys take her home from bars, which I said "Well, I doubt that very much, but go on." Uncle Charlie laughed and walked away, leaving me there with the Louge and no Champagne in sight. I turned tail and followed Uncle Charlie.

One little Indian girl, who was drunk as could be, but beautiful kept walking over and talking to me. Chavez told me she was the easiest of the group, but she was so drunk I actually felt a little guilty taking advantage of her.

As it got dark the many hours of drinking caught up with the main partiers. People playing coed semi-nude Beirut would hug for almost anything. Champagne glasses and bottles kept getting smashed. People were getting thrown in the pool. Things deteriorated just like a high school party would. Just as we started to leave it was announced that the beer was all gone and that the rest of the Beirut games would be played with strait gin.

Strong Island

Two weeks ago my buddy, Uncle Charlie, sent me an email that said only "what are you doing weekend of 28th" in the subject line. I said I didn't have anything going on. His reply was "Hamptons. Bernie coming out...". Done and done. I immediately booked a flight.

I'll give a full update next week if I'm not dead or incarcerated, but it is probably helpful to understand who I am hanging out with this weekend. Uncle Charlie is my very good friend from college and the guy I went away with two years ago to Argentina and Uruguay. Bernie is his friend and business partner from Buenos Aires. My guess is their combined net worth is some positive number followed by seven, eight or even nine zeros. If you saw them in a club you would either think they were the scariest stock brokers alive or very well dressed drug lords. These men do not embrace moderation and even a two-night excursion in a place as benign as Long Island may well lead to rehab (drug or physical), federal indictments, sex with (but never in) Ford Models, or all three.

Just packing for this type of weekend stresses me out. Do I need a black suit? A white suit. A sub-machine gun? Parachute? Bear repellent? - No, it won't be exactly like last time. Fuck it, I'll just bring a lot of cash and my passport.

Shoot the Moon.

I'm in a fog today and it has nothing to do with the wine last night. I took Tenant out last night and I think I may have been a little over confident in Standard Date No. 2. I have a sunken feeling in my chest. Pressure like I am waiting for bad news. There is also a tinge of regret, or remorse.

The evening started off well enough. We went out on the bike and cruised around the city. After an hour the weather turned and it started to sprinkle so we headed back to my place and cooked dinner. Tenant helped with the cooking, we drank some wine, conversation was good. Everything seemed to be going fine. It stopped raining so we ate outside and moved on to a second bottle of wine. After dinner we cleaned up and Tenant said she had her bathing suit, so we changed and went into the hot tub.

Tenant looked fantastic. Her body was even better than I had imagined. It helped that she had a great bikini. It was one of those skimpy little ones that has a very narrow "V" in the back and only covers about a third of each cheek. She's a solid 7 maybe even an 8.

We swirled around in the tub for about thirty minutes then started kissing. After a while I took her top off and flung it over my shoulder, but on its way over the side of the tub it caught a wine glass which fell to the ground and shattered into a million pieces.

This is pretty much the point at which the evening took a turn.

We were making out and Tenant kind of sat back and put both her hands underwater near her hips. I thought she was taking off her bikini bottom. After a second she scooted back over to me and we continued kissing. I reached down and put my hands on her hips and felt that her bottoms were still on. I was confused since I thought she had already taken them off. I didn't know if she had second thoughts, or trouble getting them off in the water, or what, so I hooked my index fingers around them and gave a little exploratory tug down. Tenant stopped kissing me and leaned back, a clear sign that she was not interested in taking those off, which was fine.

I thought it was best to relax for a bit and sat back in a seat. We were talking then Tenant bum-rushed me. She swam across the tub, mounted me, grabbed my head and bit my lip. We started going at it again and she was being much more aggressive. We tumbled around and eventually I propped her up on the side of the tub and kissed her chest. I slowly made my way down her stomach, then kissed her on the inside of her thighs. She spread her legs and I pulled her suit to the side and went down on her. A couple of minutes later she stopped me and slid back into the tub. She wanted to slow down again.

After we stopped Tenant said she had to go to the bathroom. We had been in the tub for around an hour and my fingers were pruning up nicely, so I said "Have you had enough of the tub, should we go in?" She said "Sure", so I got out and handed her a towel. Tenant went to the bathroom and I closed up the tub. The AC was on inside so it was kind of cold. When Tenant came out of the bathroom I said "Are you cold, want to jump in the shower?" She said no and toweled herself off. And just like that the night was over. She changed back into her jeans, I walked her out to her car, kissed her good night, then flopped onto the couch with a beer.

I can't shake the feeling that I came on a little strong last night and hope I didn't make Tenant feel uncomfortable. The whole night was too scripted and she picked up on that. I think I was also pretty cocky. If you asked me yesterday what I thought my chances were of getting lucky I would have said 99%. The other 1% was simply modesty.

It's now 11:20 and I haven't heard from Tenant since she left last night. I would feel much better if I got some sort of text, whether it be a "thank you" or "had a good time last night", anything would do at this point. I feel like I fucked up, like I tried to shoot the moon too early.

Determinism vs. Free Will

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How the Mighty Have Fallen

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Purge

Is it possible to live cleanly and with a minimum of material goods without withdrawing from society?

Two weeks ago I read an article on Yahoo.com News about a couple that, in an attempt to simplify their lives, had paired down their belongings to about 100 items each. At the time I didn't find the article particularly compelling and put it out of my head as soon as the NY Times was delivered in the morning mail. However, that evening as I took off my work clothes and put on a ratty t-shirt and a pair of old comfortable shorts, I noted that I probably have 100 shirts in my closet. I thought back to the article and realized what a feat it was to have just 100 items. It's truly a profound concept in the context of American society in 2010.

My current pregnancy scare has me looking at some of my choices in life and for whatever reason I keep thinking about the 100-items article. Everywhere I turn in my house I find "stuff" that I don't really need. It's all excess, inexplicable conspicuous consumption. Vices of the leisure class at work at consumerism. "Where the hell are the Joneses and how the fuck can I catch up with them?" I have two hundred ties. I have glasses for every type of wine you can imagine. I have glasses for red, white, champagne. I even have two different kind of red wine glasses and I couldn't tell you what type of red wine should go in which. When I was a kid my grandparents used to serve wine in little water glasses filled to the brim, and it was fine. T-shirts, cuff links, coffee mugs, shoes, silver wear, hats. What do I need all this shit for?

I started to wonder what percent of my salary went to pay for all this "stuff". But that got me thinking, what percent of my salary went to pay for my job? It costs money to work. The reason that I have so many ties is that I used to wear one to work everyday. On top of that I have a dozen suits, dress shirts, shoes, belts, a few fancy watches. I pay for gas to commute to my job, I get regular haircuts to fit in. I spend a lot of money just so that I can hold down a job. Sure, if I pumped gas for a living I would make a lot less, but I would spend a lot less too.

I am not perfect, though. I have many things that I have worked hard for and like, but don't need. I love motorcycles and have three. I don't NEED any, but riding is my hobby and will continue to do it as long as I am able to, physically and fiscally. But do I really need so much and do all these things improve my life?

Two years ago I went to a little village in Costa Rica called Dominical for a bachelor party. Dominical is a thin stretch of beach that is becoming known for its consistent beach break and abundance of local ganja. There are a few beach-side taco shacks, two or three spartan motels, and some shops to rent or buy surf equipment. Life is simple there and I spent the whole week in a bathing suit and flip flops. Getting "dressed up" meant putting on a shirt. There were no phones, no TV's, and unless you wanted to try surfing a different beach you had no reason to set foot in a car. It was the most relaxing week of my adult life, and not just because I was perpetually stoned, though I'm sure it helped (it's legal there, FYI). We just surfed, and swam, and ate, and slept. There was no clutter. No errands to run. No fancy food. No crowded happy hour. No...bullshit.

My goal this weekend is to unclutter my life. I am going to go through my closets, drawers, shelves, and cabinets, and make three piles: donation, eBay, and garbage. I am going to eliminate anything that is a duplicate or not necessary.

Will this exercise make the growing collection of cells in Tiny's belly go away? Well, I'm no doctor, but I doubt it. The point is that I need to reevaluate what is important to me.

Lottery Winner

Last evening I was walking the hound when I received a call from Tiny. I was mid poop-scoop when she called so I let it go to voicemail. When I listened to the message she sounded pretty distressed and asked me to call her right back. These are dreaded calls.

I called Tiny and she said "We need to talk, can you come over?" I said sure and asked if everything was OK? Tiny said "I'll explain, can you come over right now?" Her voice was shaky like she was really frightened, for whatever reason my first thought was that she had an intruder in her house (oh, the irony) but she hung up on me before I could clarify.

I dropped the dog off at home and got in the car. As I raced to Tiny's house I ran through the list of possible crisises. Of course, my first thought was that she was pregnant. However, I sensed some anger in her voice so I tried to think of what else it could be. [While I was driving a Pink Floyd song came on the radio. It was a typically spacey, trippy song, one that I probably got stoned to in high school. It lent a very eery but serene mood to the drive despite my speed.] The runners up to pregnancy on the list of possibilites were: someone saw me out with Tenant last week, she had an STD, she was seeing someone else, or she found out about the blog (reason enough to be angry, right?). When I pulled onto Tiny's block The Doors' Riders on the Storm came on. Some DJ was really fucking with me.

Between cutting people off and burning up my clutch I weighed the pros and cons of the possible situations. What is the worst case scenario? AIDS has to be the worst, right? A death sentence. A pregnancy seemed like a good alternative to AIDS, at least there is a cure for pregnancy. I suppose that's a death sentence of another kind for me, but I found myself silently rooting for a baby. You really need to review your life and your decision making matrix when you're rooting for an unplanned pregnancy with a girl you don't even like. Or, when best case scenario is getting caught out on a date, red handed, with another girl. That's the best outcome; caught with another girl.

I knocked on Tiny's door. When she opened it she said "Hi, do you want to take a walk?". I thought Uh, no, I don't want to take a walk. I just tied the land speed record in the tunnel under Logan Circle, now you want to go for a walk? What is this, the The Amazing Race? I think I just said "WHAT?" Tiny sensed my frustration and in a hushed tone, like our parents were in the next room, said "I'm pregnant, can we go for a walk?"

So, there I had it, my boys can swim. Tiny was frantic, nervously walking in circles, looking for her purse even though it was on her shoulder. We were in her front foyer, which is 3'x 3', turning in circles trying to get past each other. I opened the door and stepped aside. Tiny burst out.

This isn't the first time I've encountered this situation. When I was 25 I had a one night stand with a girl that lived in my apartment building. A few weeks later I got a call from her in the middle of the afternoon asking me to come see her when I got home, she had something important to talk about. She wouldn't tell me over the phone, so I left work and went directly to the apartment. When I got there she was smoking and drinking a glass of wine and told me, just as unceremoniously as Tiny did, that she was pregnant. I don't know why I expect the girl to soften the blow and deliver the news with some bedside manners, it's not like they receive the information in a delicate way, peeing on a stick in a bathroom.

As Tiny and I walked down her street she told me that her period had been very irregular for the past few months, so she went to see her OBGYN four weeks ago for a check up. They found a small cyst, but otherwise she was healthy. However, yesterday morning, while at the gym, she just didn't feel right so she bought two pregnancy tests at the pharmacy. Both tests immediately come up positive. She called her OBGYN who told her that she wasn't pregnant during her office visit (an ultra sound showed nothing) so she was probably just two or three weeks pregnant.

This is all great background information to me, but the big question on my mind was, what the fuck are we going to do about it? Tiny was chatting away and practically running down the sidewalk. I, however, felt like the concrete was swallowing me. Emotionally I felt almost nothing. I wasn't surprised, I wasn't nervous, and I can't even say I felt any fear. I was totally void of emotion aside from maybe some anticipation; How will this work itself out? As we rounded another corner I asked the big question (while leading the witness). I said "So, I really have no interest in being a daddy, what are we going to do about this...our...situation?" Tiny agreed that this wasn't the right situation to bring a baby into and that we should end the pregnancy.

A very small sense of relief came over me. It was slight, though.

Tiny is going to the doctor this week and I told her I would like to go with her. She thinks that she will probably have to wait a week or two before she can have the abortion. So in the meantime my girlfriend is pregnant, and she's not even really my girlfriend. What do I do now, move into a trailer and grow a mullet?

You may be wondering what fantastic method of birth control we were using. When we first started having sex we always used condoms. However, after a few months Tiny said she was on the pill and suggested we not use them any longer. Therefore, for the past few months we've relied on her birth control alone, which is 99.99% effective. Tiny claims that she was religious about taking her pill everyday, at teh same time, without exception. And I believe her 100%. I guess we're just lucky.

Tiny figured out that she probably got pregnant a two weeks ago, on a Saturday night after we had dinner at Bistro du Coin. I have no idea how she figured that out, I'll just accept it and move on, but I blame all this on the French. They've never been able to stop anything and I think their food and wine affected Tiny's birth control. Fucking surrender monkeys. My sperm stomped over her birth control like the German's over the Maginot Line. Ninety-nine percent effective my ass.

I have so many questions. What is my role in the upcoming abortion? Is that covered by medicare? Do I pay for it? What does an abortion cost these days? Do they take Master Card? I suddenly wish I paid more attention during the recent congressional votes. Can I go out with Tenant again? When? Can I have sex with Tenant? Did Tiny do this on purpose? Is the baby someone elses'? How long after an abortion do you have to wait before you can break up with the girl? Is it a boy or a girl?

I'm simply being honest. All these things crossed my mind in the past twelve hours.