Why Does A Pornstar Martini Always Make An Appearance?

“Rachel: Oh, Monica, you know I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.

Monica: Matt Wire, Mark Lynn, Ben Wise-

Rachel: Anymore!” -The One with All the Candy

Queen played in my Airpods on the late August evening sun beat down on my makeup-coated face as I confidently weaved in and out of the city dwellers who were going about their Saturday night plans. I hit the Glasgow, Scotland streets in my two-braided-strappy black heels that were perfect for a night out on the town. It was still light outside, and it was one of those nights I was dripping in confidence with my outfit of my tight black dress, thick jean jacket, a gold Scorpio necklace, and disco ball earrings hitting the side of my neck as I walked. My hair was tied up into space buns and my makeup wasn’t running so for one of those rare moments, I didn’t have one complaint about my appearance about my twenty-five year old self.

I pulled on the straps of my gold, small backpack that had my Birks in it for the end of the night walk home. I walked along the busy road to the Wetherspoons pub, The Society Room, my friends and I were starting the night at. I opened my Messenger app and responded to my friend Rachel’s message of her telling me she arrived at the pub. “Sounds good 3 min away!!” I typed out as I picked up my pace with my heels slapping the pavement. My phone vibrated with another Facebook message from Rachel of a picture of where she was sitting. I reached the pub and walked into the dark, crowded room. I found Rachel sitting at a high table scrolling through the Wetherspoons menu on her phone.

I dumped my bag on the floor and slid onto the stool across from her. We both ordered cocktail pitchers. I of course got my classic pornstar martini pitcher. We drank and talked until another one of our friends joined us, and we danced on the Society Room dance floor before walking to the Buff Club. Another one of our friends met us outside the Society Room to go with us to the Buff Club. We had to get cash at an ATM because of the Buff Club’s cash only cover charge. The night turned into us dancing under the large disco balls the club had and swaying to the disco music they were playing until it was time to leave.

We walked out of the Buff Club, and walked along Bath Street before my three friends turned towards their direction of their apartment buildings.

“Have a good night, guys!” I called after them as they turned off Bath fading into the night. I walked a few more steps in my heels before dropping my bag onto the front steps of an apartment building. I pulled out my Birks and slid off my heels gliding my feet satisfyingly into my black, strappy Birks. I shoved my heels into my bag as people walked past me with their Saturday nights on their final chapters too. I walked back towards Merchant City until I reached the Blue Lagoon on Queen Street. I got in line with the rest of the buzzed, Saturday night dwellers. I tapped my card as the guy handed me my Styrofoam container of cheesy chips before walking the rest of the way home back adventuring deeper into Merchant City until I reached my apartment building. The whole time I was feeling very young, wild, and free.

In the moment, I had felt like I had effortlessly molded into the wild and free girl I was that night slipping off her heels and walking her drunk self home on the busy, city sidewalks. Even though it wasn’t effortless at all, but I was twenty-five. I had been the way I was for a long time now.

Seven months later, I am now twenty-six and I was twisting my mascara shut in my New York City apartment. My Glasgow chapter had been closed for seven months now even though the stories still felt so fresh and crossed my mind daily. That time of my life had stretched to its final and full potential. Now, here I was in my dream city and breathing everything in ever so deeply. At times, I feel as if I am living off bodega sandwiches and bodega coffee. I take solace in flicking the plastic tab open of the lid with the steam of the hot coffee dancing out of it. I never thought Central Park would fill my soul exactly the way I needed it too. I’ll never not be grateful for living so close. Social outings consisted of meeting new person after new person. Sweat rings form around the vodka sodas at a bar. I would walk by groups of friends all dressed up and drinking mimosas out of flutes outside a restaurant wishing that was me. I would listen to Match Made In Manhattan and hear the hosts talk about their friend group and wishing I had something like that in the city. It makes me think of the community I gratefully had back in Glasgow, but excited for the one I was forming here. As an impatient person, I think I’m finally learning patience and remembering that community takes time. I’ve had to make new communities in various different places, and it always happens, but it definitely never happens overnight.

I pulled my chunky, dark green sweater over my head as I thought about my predicament. I was getting ready for a Hinge date, and I wanted to wear heels, but I also wanted to take the subway. I was feeling too lazy to take the subway in heels. And I didn’t have a fancy bag to shove my Adidias in to swap my heals with at the end of the night. And it wasn’t warm enough for Birks so I opened my Uber app. I justified it by remembering I hadn’t taken an Uber in a while so it was okay. I called the Uber that was only a minute away so I rushed to the downstairs of my building in my black, heeled boots and outside to where the car was pulling up.

I climbed in the car and sent the text on-my-way-text that Boomers and GenXers don’t understand, but I can’t function without sending, “Leaving!” or “On my way!” or “Omw!” then following it up with a “Here!” text when I arrive. Eventually, I got to the bar in the middle of the Upper East Side where the guy and I slid into a corner booth in dark, noisy bar, and we both ordered pornstar martinis. The waitress brought our drinks, and I gripped the stem with my ringed-fingers looking down at the passionfruit floating across the orange liquid like a person floating on a tube through a clear pool on a summery day. Our conversation flowed at times, but felt jilted at others. I tried to ignore it as I sipped the very vanilla vodka-infused pornstar martini in front of me. We talked as we drank. Both of us drank two martinis before we went to a nearby bar where he ordered a beer, and I ordered a cider.

I watched him sip his beer as I said, “I’m not a beer person. Sometimes I drink a Blue Moon once in a blue moon.”

“Haha, very funny,” he said dryly as I playfully grinned before taking a sip of my cider.

Might as well let my cheesy jokes out in the beginning, I thought as he told me he thought cider tastes too sweet. We finished our drinks and slipped back out onto the street. The sidewalk was calm on the cold Wednesday night and only a few people weaved past us. He kissed me on the sidewalk. We broke apart and went our separate ways. Both of us disappearing into the night. That wasn’t my first kiss on the sidewalk in New York City, but I still could only think that I, Ella Gibbons, was kissing a guy on a sidewalk in New York City. Teenage me wouldn’t be able to believe it because back then I never imagined myself going on random dating app dates or kissing them on the first date.

When I was a wee, innocent, naive, straight-laced teenager who was the oldest kid, I had no idea what I was doing or how the world actually worked. In my personal opinion, the oldest kid gets a bad rap as bossy, prude, or controlling, but in reality, we don’t know WHAT THE HELL we are doing. Then our younger siblings can enjoy the show of you trying to figure it out, tripping and stumbling as you go with your parents critiquing you along the way. Your siblings can observe and decide how they want to do things, maybe based a little bit on your wins and loses. Or maybe not, but at the end of the day, the younger siblings know a whole lot more how the world works than the oldest siblings because they’ve witnessed the older sibling doing it all before them. Observing my younger siblings or my friends who are the younger siblings, they just knew what to do more because they had seen their siblings do it while I went into high school, college, postgrad, being in my twenties, and so forth not knowing what I was doing.

Since I was the oldest, naïve, and innocent, I had no idea what it was like to be in your twenties. I didn’t know anyone on a personal level who were in their twenties when I was a teenager so my exposure to twentysomethings was Friends. But I do remember viewing twentysomethings as a different breed. They were more unhinge, feral, wild, seem not to care as much, but overall seemed so much older. All things I am now, but this quote from the Friends episode, “The One with All the Candy” of Rachel telling Monica she doesn’t sleep with guys on the first date with Monica naming the guys she has slept with on the first date shook me when I was seventeen. My sister and I talked about how that both shook our teenage minds. Thoughts ran through my head of people who slept with people on the first date? People slept with lots of people? People casually had sex? When I was seventeen, I couldn’t comprehend it. Not because I thought it was wrong, but because it was so new to me. I had been taught that you should wait until marriage or wait until you’re in an adult serious relationship.

Sometimes I forget about my eighteen year old self who moved into her college dorm who had never been kissed, never been in a relationship, had never drank, or been exposed to any sort of partying. I had witnessed partying on Friends which is obviously hardly anything. Those six hardly ever go to a bar, and I can count on both hands collectively they all get drunk, but regardless, I love THE Friends so much, and they were the first ones to expose twentysomething life to me. Friends is unrealistic at times, but they did teach me a lot that I appreciate as I now have gone throughout my twenties. I know people can party a lot in their twenties. People can date and sleep around in their twenties. People can struggle with relationships of all kinds in their twenties. People can hangout with their friends a lot in their twenties. People can be at the bottom of the ladder regarding their job for a long time in their twenties. People can be broke and struggling to make ends meet in their twenties.

When I think back to these two stories, teenage me would be surprised by myself, but adult me isn’t. I have evolved, grown, and stretched into myself. The girl who pulls on a black dress and slips on heels as she power-walks to a bar to meet her friends in a downtown of a city. I love that version of myself and all the parts of it. I love that confident version of myself.

So just let me wink at my seventeen year old self before I lower my sunglasses and say, “Girl, you don’t know anything.”

But that’s the beauty of it.❤️‍🔥