Dear Diary,

L’Oreal Fashion Week is over – and so are my hopes for Blaire & Chuck to finally say those “three little words” to each other. How can all the build up have ended in tears? I’m referring to both this week’s episode of Gossip Girl…and my first night out during Fashion Week.

The day started well. I had a great seat for the Diesel Kid’s show (adorable), but then ran into that guy with the nice condo who never called again after he “did” me. Huh. Well, good thing was that I looked hot. Bad thing was that I stupidly texted him during the Jason Meyers show, asking if he wanted to hook up for a drink later that night. “Can’t. Busy with work. Have fun.” Once again – shot down. Thankfully I think I’ve finally realized that nothing is going to happen with this guy again. My friend CoCo said it was probably for the best because she thought he wore ugly shoes, and that made me feel better. The Aqua di Lara swimwear show also put me in a good mood, as I realized that even models have jiggly asses.

After seven hours of shows, CoCo and I went to meet up with two of her friends, one of which is in The Philosopher Kings, and was sneaking us into the Betsy Johnson show at Brant House. At this point I’d already had about three glasses of wine and seven Lychee Martinis. I could hardly see the models over the sea of people, but still had a great night… which I wasn’t ready to end when CoCo wanted to leave at 1am. So I got in a cab alone and headed to a west-end fashion afterparty. Unfortunately, by the time I got there, the bar was practically empty. I stupidly decided to stay and continue drinking – alone.

The bartender and barback both seemed cute and sweet, and they made me a Snake Bite (extra grenadine) which they continued to top up until way past last call. By 3am it was just me and the staff drinking. I offered to smoke them, and only the bartender and barback wished to join in. The three of us went back to the bartender’s apartment, and in the cab I was thinking that this ‘makings of yet another threesome’ was probably a bad call.

For about an hour the three of us sat in the living room talking and smoking. I was completely wrecked when the barback decided it was time to hit the hay and head on home, leaving me alone with Mr. Bartender. I don’t remember too much after this, but we made out for a bit before he took me to his room. It started to get hot and heavy, and he undid my pants and started to finger me. Somehow the pants came totally off, and I remember him reaching in his dresser, then taking out a condom. I definitely told him I didn’t want to have sex, and he put it on the pillow. That’s it. That’s the last thing I remember.

My phone rings. I open my eyes and for a split second have no idea where I am. I then see a used condom on the floor. Bartender is courteous and calls me a cab. We sit on his front steps waiting for it, and he massages my neck. I look up at him and say “We didn’t have sex, right?” He seems puzzled and replies “Ya, we did.” I tell him I don’t remember.

So yes, like Blaire, I shed some tears this past week. But only a couple. I made a very stupid and dangerous mistake. In fact, that was the THIRD time this month I’ve gone home from a bar with two guys I had just met. The other two times all we did was play some video games. You win some, you lose some. I don’t really know what else to say. I hate some men. Does that work?