"Carmela, what does "Beshert" mean? Does it mean, like, Sugar Daddy?" Lisa asked me on the phone as I drove uptown to pick up Isabelle.
"What? Where did you hear that?"
"These older women at work... I think it's a Jewish word. They keep saying how they don't miss dating at all and how happy they are to have found a 'beshert'. Is that a Jew thing?"
"Yeah, um, it's Jewish for sugar daddy. You figured it out. nice work."
I could already see what kind of weekend this was going to be.
Isabelle and I spent the first 4 hours of the weekend sitting in traffic on the L.I.E. That was pretty much fine with me since I had heard tell that the previous weekend in the Hamptons, which I had missed to pick up trash, had consisted largely of playing Edward Fortyhands.
When traffic finally cleared and we made it to the timeshare in Southampton, however, things were looking up. The house was beautiful, had a pool and was stocked with grain alcohol; basically all I could ever ask for in a house.
Yes, I was scared at first... the thought of spending 48 hours with my peers engaging in age appropriate activities did make my skin crawl a teeny tiny bit, I won't lie. But the people were actually pretty decent. They were friendly and didn't tie me down and force me into Seven jeans while bleaching my hair and chanting "One of us! One of us!" Like I imagined they would.
Once I realized that the guy I went to high school with didn't recognize me, and after Isabelle explained what the creepy specks of light covering the sky were (she called them "stars"), I began to calm down and acclimate to my surroundings. We went out searching for food, however, through some horrific turn of events, there were no bodegas within two minutes of our house in either direction, and I was pretty positive the woods around us were filled with flesh eating children, so we quickly headed back and dined on Colombos and cheap vodka.
Eventually, everyone in the house was herded cattle style onto the waiting mini vans and were deposited at Cain. I have to admit, the clubs in the Hamptons are far better than the clubs in the city. My guess would be that this is due to the fact that there is no easy way to access them from Trenton may have something to do with it.
Saturday was spent on the beach at Sag Harbor, where there are no shvas, no babies and lots of hot men. One group of said men sat next to Isabelle and I. One of them being an adorable Jew who fell instantly in love with Isabelle, and the other being a ridiculously Greek guy with a ridiculously Greek name... something like Prometheus.... wearing a celtic cross, whom I quickly realized I had dated when he was posing as a Jew named Jason.
Poor Jason/Prometheus. It just wasn't his day. After our uncomfortable moment, his ex-girlfriends best friend showed up and struck up a conversation with him... which ended early because she had to return to studying for her SATs.
After lightly frying ourselves on the beach, we returned to the house where I was introduced to a bizarre game called "flip cup". Apparently, everyone who went to a real college and not NYU knows about this game, and it's close relative "beer pong". I apparently suck at both games, and ultimately settled for a seemingly innocuous game called "kings".
When I watched a round being played, everyone was innocently naming candy bars, but mysteriously when I started playing, it turned into a game of "never have I ever", which simultaneously got me drunk and labeled me "That girl who licks old man ass".
All in all, a good day.
Ultimately, not as terrifying a weekend as I had imagined, although returning to the city where there are no stars or flesh eating children was as always a huge relief.
