(pack your lunch box, we're about to go on a bumpy ride....)

This was a three day weekend for most, so all the more excuse to go out and explore new places. My friend Felicia and I decided we wanted a rather uncomplicated night. We would just head over to the Meatpacking District for some dancing, drinking, and a little socializing. Her friend was promoting at Tenjune and mine at Cielo (which equal complimentary booze and no waiting in line).

However when we arrived at Tenjune- the line was a block line, to an almost empty nightclub (the ‘creating a buzz’ with a line is when you’re not at capacity is so 1999- cut it out nightclubs!). Me and Felicia’s favorite door guy from 205 was working security. We gave him a kiss and looked over the crowd.

“How is it inside?” I ask him.

He shook his head. “Maya, this is so definitely not your scene, you’re just going to get as irate as I am going in there.”

I looked over the crowd. It was a sea of peroxide hair, fake boobs, John Gotti Jr. hair do’s and lots and lots of stripped shirts.

“Yah, this is defiantly not my scene, not cute at all!” I said laughing with Felicia. Just then the main door guy walks over to me like an angry bulldog.

“What did you just say?” He said holding his power clip board looking at me angrily.

“I said, not cute at all…” I said. “Why?”

He let my security friend know that I would not be permitted to come into the club. The security guard informed him that I was already leaving.

“Do you own the club?” I asked the doorman.

“No.” He said still fuming.

“Then why do you care what I think?” I said walking away. Me thinks the man with the clip board takes his job a little too seriously.

Felicia and I walked over to Cielo, deciding that maybe we would just say a quick hello to our friend Shu who was working the door. Just as we give him a quick kiss, ‘Jetset’ aka one of the main guys I had been dating walked up hand and hand with a woman.  He was looking very un ‘Jetset’ however. When we go out he is usually in something like an YSL suit, with Burberry cufflinks, hand crafted Italian shoes, etc. “Well hello sir.” I said with a smile, more than a little surprised to see him. I knew we were not exclusive, but I also knew we had a schedule date the very next night, I didn’t know he had booked out this night too. The girl he was with shot me the evil eye.

‘Mighty possessive for a first date.’ I thought to myself.  With great anxiety he pardoned himself from his date went to talk to me on th back patio of Cielo.  He told me it was a first date, it was last minute, that he wasn’t really interested in her, and the date was already going very badly. I let him know that we weren’t exclusive so he shouldn’t sweat it, that I would see him tomorrow.

To make a long story short. She was not a date, she was his long term (almost three years) live in girlfriend! How do I know this? Well, she called me, from his phone…in tears. OH THE DRAMA! I apologized to her and said I had no idea (of course I didn’t know! My god what a cad he is!) He had lied to the both of us, and I was lucky that I had only invested a month into it, not three years. It was clear that he was enjoying the double life he was trying to cultivate: regular joe with her, and ‘jetset’ with me.

He called me later the next night to see if he could still see me, to apologize and explain. I just sighed, and with my best Eartha Kitt impression I purred, “Dahhhhling…I believe this affair is very, very over.”

So beware out there ladies. I was lucky that I took it slow, because you never know, if they have a ‘ho, in every area code.  

The problem with dating a multifaceted, multilingual, jet setting entrepreneur is that they work…a lot.

So it was no surprise when my newest paramour called me Valentines eve and told me, ‘darling j’ai tellement de boulot’ (I have so much work to do) with a very sweet promise to make it up to me (he always does). Before disappointment could even set in I get a text only a moment later from another French man, my friend Manu, who I haven’t seen in many months, but somehow his timing is always perfect.

“Sweet Maya, come have a drink with me at Amalia, and let’s see where the night takes us.” He texts me.

I meet him at Amalia, a beautiful restaurant located by the Dream hotel on 55^th by 7^th Ave. It’s a beautiful spot, almost Louvre looking in the basement. Manu hands me a glass champagne when I arrive and we listen to our friend DJ Life spin. Life is a very chill person, with some sweet DJ gigs around town. He spins Thursdays at Amalia, Fridays at Aspen, and Saturdays at Soho House. He greets me with a warm hug “Where have you been stranger?” He says.

“In, and in-between love affairs.” I answer.

Life laughs “What’s new.” He says teasingly with a smile.

Manu and I leave to head down to La Esquina. If you haven’t been there, go immediately! It is a night club/restaurant located on the boarder of Soho and Nolita in the basement of what appears to be a coffee take out shop. You walk through the kitchen (very ‘Goodfellas’) to get into the nightclub. The walls are stacked with the best tequila, one of the best margaritas I've had in this town, and the crowd is utterly cute.

The beautiful Ebony was Djing (she also works the door at 205). An old friend Walter (booking agent for Joe’s Pub) was hanging out both greeting me with the obligatory double kiss and a nice squeeze. My favorite promoter Christian was there and greeted me with a shot of Patron, and invited me to The Box’s One Year Anniversary party, “I’ll get you a table in VIP” he tells me. “It will be a good time. Bring your friend.”

After snapping few Polaroid’s (I can’t believe they are discontinuing The Polaroid camera!!!!) Manu and I cab it over to The Box. As per usually the line is LARGE and growing by the second; Luckily Christian was there to greet us at the door. We walked upstairs to VIP with a table all set with a dozen bottles of beer and a bottle of Greygoose and all the fixings.

The stage show (which The Box is famous for) was LEDGENDARY this night! From Reggie Watt’s performing tripped out BEATBOX, to a sexy choreographed (yet lip-synced) version of ‘Totally Eclipse of the Heart’ with flashlights, a naked women and a life-sized Teddy Bear (don’t ask, ok, go ahead and ask but it will take me a moment to explain) to smoking midgets, a lingerie cabaret number, and a very classy ode to the Harlem Renaissance by “The James Gang.”

Many, many scandulust things were a foot this night…but if you want to know…you will have to ask…xox- Maya Contreras

It is no secret that I (and probably ever women that I know) have a weakness for a man with an accent. It seems to make even the dullest conversations interesting just listening to them wrap their accent around the King’s English.

I don’t know if I want to divulge the number of men that I have dated from other countries, but let’s just say, Germany, France, Australia, Hungary, Russia, Sweden, Turkey, and most Spanish speaking countries have been covered.

So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when a Marcello Mastroianni type invited me to dinner after meeting him at Cielo a few weeks back (see ‘Matchmaker, Matchmaker’ blog for further reference). This one is much more complex then I initially thought. He is a combination of French, Italian, and German. He speaks five languages, owns a few houses, and runs his own PR firm. Is this my Mecca? Well, maybe and so I have called in reinforcements, e.g. my hot French girls friends to advise me.

When you date someone from a different Country there are many cultural differences that surface rather quickly at the beginning of the relationship. While you and I as American folks, might think cultural differences will be enduring and a whole lot of fun to figure out (“oh, you like to eat a cheese tray after a meal!”) , it can actually be a small nightmare and ruin very quickly what could have been a very fun (steamy) relationship due to the myriad of small misunderstandings. For example: I was once dating a French investment broker. He always paid for dinners and this was very generous, but one night I insisted on paying, and he glared at me as if I slapped his grandmother. I didn’t know it was an insult for me to pay and that he felt it was emasculating. So in order to avoid any potential misunderstanding with my newest paramour I turn to some of my girlfriends.

I have a half a dozen girlfriends from France, all of which like to throw around the sentence “This is not in my culture! I do not understand this!” whenever they are frustrated by a very American tradition, and so I ask them a little about French traditions.

As they sit on my couch, drinking wine (of course) I show them a few the texts he has written me in French (yes guys, we show our girlfriends what you write, this should not be a secret, we ALL do it). They nod their heads approvingly. “This is very high class” one of my girlfriends says.

“C’est Vrai.” (Very True) another one girlfriends says, “They way he writes this, it show he has a very good upbringing. It’s very poetic, the way he writes.”

They tell me that most French men think American women are a little to vulgar (I have heard this before from Frenchmen myself).That they talk too much about sex and are aggressive in a way that a French women would never be.

“French men chase women, and not the other way around.” My girlfriends say smuggle. These are women that have never chased a man in their life, they have never asked a man out, and would never THINK to initiate a phone call.

I take all of this into account when I met with my suitor next. I am an American woman to my core, but I don’t mind the idea of being a little old fashion, in this day in age it seems almost more progressive to take things slow.

My roommate and I were invited to the Catherine Malandrino after party at 1 Oak last night. I knew I needed to get home early to go through several costume changes before attending the soirée.

For some reason yesterday, I took all of the wrong turns.

I got on the Q train instead of the D train. Of course I didn’t realize this until the “Ding Dong” of the subway doors. “Oh damn.” I said as I was expressed to 34^th street.

Once I exited at 14^th street I reluctantly walked my way over to Sixth Ave to get on the F train where I got out on the 2^nd Avenue exit instead of the 1^st Avenue exit.

I had been distracted all day at work. “Get it together” I grumbled to myself finally getting home.

I walked into my apartment to see my roommate looking like she had been hit by a truck.

“What happened to you?” I said

She said she was exaughted; she had been working back stage all day getting models ready for the runway shows.

“I don’t think I want to go to the party.” She said curling up on the couch.

“Oh, we’re going. Take a disco nap and get it together.” I said actually putting on Disco music.

Upside down
Boy, you turn me
Inside out
And round and round

“OK I go get ready!” Virginie said jumping off of the couch, singing Diana Ross lyrics.

She is so easy to persuaded.

We cabbed it over to 1 Oak in the Meatpacking District picking up Chris on the way. We all chatted nonstop until we got to 14^th Street and 9^th Ave where we spotted the Armani billboard of David Beckham. “Oh MY GOD! That’s going to make someone get in an accident!” I said clutching my chest. I seconded by Virginie’s “Oh la la’s” and Chris’ “God bless him.”

When we arrived at 1 Oak, I was impressed by the interior of the venue. It’s a beautiful club with a sweet fireplace, wooden walls, and the staff was utterly friendly.

We walked in and were greeted by a line of model like cocktail waitresses poised, and holding trays full of Pomegranate Martinis.

The place filled to capacity within the hour. Catherine Malandrino breezed in with her husband and business partne in tow, alongside celebrity (gorgeous) chef Todd English. Mr. English was accompanied by model Veronica Webb sporting a short Rihanna's like bob haircut.

Chris ducked out early having his fill of champagne cocktails and Pomegranate Martinis. Virginie and I danced and flirted with the copious amounts of good looking men that filled the room. It almost felt Spring like last night- everyone so giddy, flirtatious, or maybe it was just the open bar. New Yorkers love their fashion parties and their (free) cocktails.

I have many hobbies, drumming, writing, my day job…but one of my favorite hobbies is Matchmaking.

I love love, and I love to see people fall in love; If not love, then some serious lust for a few good weeks. I have introduced some of my friends to men that they now live with, I have introduced one of my friends to her husband, and I have helped countless relationships to start (and I have helped keep a few of them together. “Don’t throw him/her away over a silly argument…it’s hard to find someone that loves you like that” I’ve said to friends in the past.

This past Saturday, I had my matchmaker skills in full force. I was with four gorgeous single French women, who inexplicable get a little shy around the men folk.

I am not shy around the men folk.

As Sabrina, Carolina, Virginie, Sophie, and I finished our dinner at Pere Pinard, we made our way over to Max Fish for a pre-club cocktail (or post dinner cocktail) and a little flirting. I walked in oblivious to most of the people in the room, trying to line up a bunch of shots for my girls before we head over to Cielo.

That’s when one of my girlfriends say, “Oh, he is beautiful…Introduce him to me!” Sabrina says as I hand her a three wise man shot (Jack, Jim, and Jose…that’s a serious shot folks, it will grow hair on your chest;) I turn around to look at the man she is talking about.

“Oh..no….” I say.

It’s an ex-boyfriend of mine. He walks over to me. “You look very pretty…” He says with his thick German accent. “Ohhh…thanks.” I’ve known him for years and it never stops being acquired.

Sabrina asks me why that didn’t work out. “He is so handsome!” She says with a squeal.

“Well, a hot man does not a relationship make…besides, It’s complicated.” I say knocking back my shot. Just because I can matchmake well for others doesn’t mean I am fab at it for myself.

We go to Cielo, we are loaded down with Champagne and I begin the introductions. I don’t have to work to hard to introduce these beautiful girls to the guys, we don’t even get past the bar before a half a dozen men come over to greet us.

“This is _________ and she is from France.” I say all night.

“Why, France, huh? Wow, that’s great! I love all things French!” All the men say with exuberance. None of them are Einstein, but the girls are having a great time, and don’t pay for a drink all night long.

I’m so busy introducing the girls all night long that I am caught off guard when a handsome stranger comes up to me. “Allo, how are you?” He says with a French accent. “Great! Let me introduce you to my girls.”

Let me tell you a little secret about the French (I know, I am about to talk in generalities here, but as someone that hangs out with more people from France then a resident of Paris…I think I’m allowed one generality) . French people don’t usually want to go out and meet MORE French people. So as I go to introduce the handsome stranger to my ladies he says, “I was actually hoping to talk to you.”

Oh…blush. But, I can smell his cologne. I believe the brand is ‘playa playa.’

I look around, and all of my girls are talking to a man that I have introduced them to. There is lots of hair flipping and giggling going on. I not one of those people that thinks your going to find true love at a nightclub, but you never know, and it’s fun for me to try and play cupid and help love along.