Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego

So it has been way too long since I updated the blog and with good reason, the BF has landed and I have not been able to come up for air. School has been kicking my a*S and I am not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. All I can hope is that the final grade will show for all the hard work I have been through. The return of the BF was anything but easy. I spent three days on the phone with a ghetto South American airline threating to call the US embassy for losing a plane of 150 passengers. It looks like in order to avoid some showers in Costa Rica, some honor student at this airline decided to land the plane in a disaster zone where 250 just died from a hurricane. I spent hours on the phone trying to figure out when the plane was being removed from hurricane alley and onto safe ground in NYC. No one was able to tell me anything, every hour, they told me they landed in another country - from Honduras to Nicaragua, but never did they mention where the passengers really were which was El Salvador. So after four days of traveling from Buenos Aires to NYC, I am sure my BF was glad to be home. He told me stories of earthquakes and queens from Japan, but for the most part his adventure to El Salvador was unproductive. And I was glad that I did not have drive to JFK again just to be turned back to Jersey at 2 am in the morning. Damn the things we do for sex. A lot has changed since the return of my don quixote. The living arrangement is now a permanent one. I know there was a period of time when we both thought that it was temporary, but as my previous blogs have explained about the economics of the tri state area...People move in with each other faster here than out west because of the exuberant amount of money you pay in rent. Not to mention the six rounds of sex on a Sunday afternoon. The past month has been seamless, and I can not lie and say that the new roomate is putting a cramp in my style. Because the truth of the matter is, there is nothing but good things to say about the way things are going. You hear all the horror stories of snoring, toilet seats that stay up, fights, and toothpaste on the sink. I was scared too, because the last time someone tried to live with me, I ended up almost pulling my hair out. This time I have someone else to pull my hair. Ahh the joys of moving in together.

Daylight come and me want go home.....

I was going to write a blog entry about the crazy person who was screaming on the subway platform of the 2 train about the different body parts that she wanted to chop up and throw in the river and how not one person on the train flinched an inch, but instead I decided to update everyone on last night's event (trust me it is worth the update). Yesterday was spent visiting the parents and checking out their new apt. They are in the process of moving into a bigger place, backyard, fireplace, etc. But I do not envy them moving. I forgot how much I hated it, until I went to visit and saw 10 million paige boxes all over what is supposed to be the living room, I then spent a couple of hours buying the BF a gift, and then realized that I can not mail it to Buenos Aires because a) it might not make it in time and b) it might be stolen. So I guess I will hold onto it for the next couple of weeks or if times get tough sell it on eBay. My aunt had called and canceled on me around 7, and so I was going to my friend bday party around 10pm. Instead the evening went as follows: In the middle of reading a case about a 77 year old man who fell down the stairs when there was a blackout failure from Con Edison...Does Con Edison owe him a duty? And if answered affirmatively then Con Edison is negligent. Anyway, I get a phone call from my aunt telling me "Is it too late to get you to meet me and your uncle? It was 8:15 at this point. "No, not too late give me about 30 minutes." I knew that was impossible, but I got dressed to impress (best jewelry and shoes) and went on my way. I got to 61st between Madison and park around 9:20pm (gotta love any area near Barneys) to a place called Geisha (right next to Serafina) and am escorted into a private elevator to a second floor (closed off) area. How come I am not surprised? I get there and my uncle gets up and greats me, and there are about 20 people in the room. I greet my aunt, my uncle's fiancee and my baby cousin. So, now my mind is wondering. Okay was this a surprise dinner that my uncle did not know about? And that is why I am just walking in when everyone is eating. Apparently my lovely uncle and his fiancee share a birthday a day apart and they planned this dinner party for themselves. So they knew where, when and how for quite sometime. They booked this place for a private four course dinner, open bar for the evening. Somehow I manage to slip off the radar on the invitation list and my aunt told me my uncle felt so bad because he overbooked, but once he saw that there was room he called me asap. First off my uncle did not call..My aunt did (she is the one who tries to keep the peace) and second off how can you overbook without your niece on the invitation list. But your two other nieces are on the list?...HMM., well it looks like my other niece (college girl) couldn't come which makes me believe I got her seat. So I decide, I am going to be the better person. Do it for your aunt and your baby cousin. Smile and just deal with it. You already know your uncle is a selfish materialistic jerk. So I order lobster, shrimp for appetizer, and as many wines, and martinis I can. Hey, big shot hosts can afford it! So, the night continued with my uncle introducing me to all his friends as his oldest niece who he is soo proud of because I am in law school and studying international relations/law, blah blah. You'd would think he was my agent. Then he brings me over to meet one of his best friends, who is none other than Kathleen Turner. Yep, you heard me. He's been best friends with her for 7 years. She takes a liking to me and tells me if I ever need international connections, just say the word. Then off to meet his other friend, Harry Belafonte's son and his girlfriend. I do the rounds, and smile and be the good networker that I am. By the end, I had bonded with a real estate mogul connection, a Hollywood actress, and the son of a legendary performer/actor/activist..."Day-O!". We then left Geisha around midnight (which I will say I loved and will def go back) One thing about my uncle that I do give him credit for is we always like the same type of places. Then we went back to his fiancee's restaurant which is the famous DB&D. Oh and she thought to show me her 4 karat engagement ring numerous times - I will say it is gorgeous and the green in me did come out a little. Then my uncle turned to me and said "oh you've never been here right?", because the place is hard to get into. I turned to him and said "yes I have I just didn't need to call you to get a reservation." HA! How was that? The truth is I had been there. You know me and restaurants, I like to check out what is the best and the one that is usually the talk of the town I will go to at least once. Well I had been there with a friend of mine over a year ago, and I didn't need to call my uncle to get "in" like he thought. So the night then ended with a grey goose martini and a walk back to my car parked on central park. He thanked me for coming, and I thanked him for "inviting" me. I know the next time I see my uncle will be at his famous shin dig wedding in CT, when I will make sure to go and make my honorable presence. I will def be the belle of the ball that night. Ahh yes the niece no one ever sees :)) Isn't she darling? Is that couture she is wearing? Afterwards, I called punk rock and met her at Manitoba's on avenue B. What a change of atmosphere. Tell me why is it, I actually know where 7th and A is now? We ended up seeing this rock band perform (yeah you could just imagine how I was dressed with jewelry that cost more than the entire wadrobe of the band) and I just wished I could have went in the bathroom and changed into jeans, tank top and flip flops. The rock band was not bad, they reminded me a little bit of poison,. Big hair, 80's rock band. Here is their website: http://www.thetowersoflondon.com/
When you go to the website - go to the music link and listen to a clip of their music so you get an idea of what I was listening to for an hour. My favorite song is "on a noose" and "f*ck it up" (ha!) I got nervous when he threw liquor in the crowd and then jumped off stage and rushed through the crowd to climb on the bar and grab the soda sprayer. I turned to punk rock and said "oh Jesus", she said "You are wearing silk I suggest you duck." So I did, and avoided getting drenched or spit on. After stepping over broken beer bottles and cigarette butts, we left. I love this girl and her boyfriend is awesome, but times like last night I wonder why I don't just carry around some wifebeaters in my car. I also wish nights like last night the BF was around so at least I would have someone to shake my head with. I got the big hair to do it, I am just missing the tight white jeans. Oh god! Okay well I was home by 4am, and now I am studying and reading about a guy who left his friend for dead in the backseat of his car. Is he negligent? I was thinking more like an idiot, but that's just my guess. Back to the books.! Until next celebrity sightings.

So I Married an Axe Murderer

Someone once told me "You think a lot about marriage don't you? The matter at hand is not that I think a lot about marriage, but instead I am skeptical about whether there can be fidelity in the union of marriage. I am constantly presented with situations that make me wonder if everyone in this world has slowly forgotten what the words "I take you to be my faithful partner from this day forward" mean. Guys, there is no expiration date or clause that allows you to change your mind because it happens to be Wednesday. I will explain. I was waiting on line to pay for my sushi the other day when this man came up to me and told me that I was beautiful. He asked me to join him for dinner or a movie. I politely replied "I am sorry, I am seeing someone." He turned to me and answered "That's okay, I am married, the question is "are you happy?" If you all know me, even though I wanted to say other words that probably would have gotten my mouth washed out with soap. Instead, I opted for a simple response "Yes, I am". Why is it that men feel that there are always excuses or reasons why it is okay to engage in adulterous affairs? As we all have, I have also been through my share of my heartbreak. However, I have had more than just the average "It's not you, it's me" break ups. In my case, I am usually confronted with the not so traditional "Oops, didn't I mention the wife?" Yes, of course you did. Because those are facts that I can so easily forget. Hmm, brown hair, blue eyes, wife, ahh yes how could I be so silly? Men love to come up with the reasons why it excuses their behavior (a) My wife and I do not sleep together (b) We have an understanding (c) I don't love her anymore. No sex, lets you sleep with other women, and no emotional attachment..Sounds like a gay room mate to me. So based on my series of bad experiences and choices in men. I have made a list of top ten warning signs that the man of your dreams is really not the man he claims to be. Don't always trust the tan line on the ring finger ladies, take notes: (1) The only telephone numbers you have are his work and his cell phone (trust me his secretary knows who you are - you might even be cafeteria conversation) (2) He is always going away on weekend trips which you are not invited to (This is called going home) 3) He is working on all major holidays (It is 10 pm on valentines day, do you know where your boyfriend is?) 4) He has been with you for four years and he is just not ready to move in yet (not commitment phobic, already committed) 5) His cell phone always manages to be turned off at night (wouldn't want to wake her) 6) He constantly buys things for his nieces, nephews or his sister (guess whose kids those are?) 7) He confuses stories (i.e., He calls your cousin Rob, and you don't have a cousin Rob) 8) You always manage to end up back at your place (Yes, he does have a room mate her name is Mrs....) 9) He tells you his parents live in another country or are dead (unless there are no airports in this country, or you do not see a tombstone - dump him) And last but not least 10) If he seems to good to be true - HE IS! So no, I am not always thinking of marriage, but instead I am always thinking of when my time comes to walk down that aisle to make sure I have a strong prenup and a chainsaw in the garage. You can never be too careful.

East Meets West

"Which way is west?" Those were the words that came out of my mouth on Friday night at 2:45 am while standing on Avenue B and 3rd street. The man with the long bangs and tattoos pointed straight ahead, and I began my journey. I walked past a bunch of grungy bars, and past a desolate park and began wondering how far until I see something familiar. I wanted to take a cab but there were none to be found. Instead a couple of hippies sleeping on the stoop of the stairs of an apartment building, and a bunch of bikers across the street was the only thing visible. After many blocks of painful walking, damn these 5 inch heels! I see the light...Like a mirage , the sign appears: "Soho Billiards". I am home! I managed to walk to Soho and I felt all of a sudden a sense of relief. I got my bearings and I was no longer walking while checking over my shoulder every five minutes. So many may be asking..How did I arrive in this land? What made me pass over into the east? The story is as such. The night began with a rendition of a sixty minute "Romeo and Juliet" by my very talented Asian BF. After 13 weeks of training, the show exemplified the hard work. The night then progressed into tapas and Sangria over to the east, where I drank and talked till late with great friends. The dinner party consisted of prn from school, my gun fighting Virginian, and of course my good looking writer friend from L.I. I suppose the night could have ended in disaster since no one knew each other but they all had a connection either through me or the actor. However, we all found ourselves getting along great discussing bad slap stick comedies, 80's classics, and the waiter who stole a 30% tip. The night almost ended after a tearful walk through Tompkins square park where my LI writer tried ever so valiantly to shower me with eye drops only so that we can be stared out by a couple walking down the street. We were not sure if they were going to run to my rescue because they thought that the writer was an abusive boyfriend who just stuck a bottle in my eye and was yelling at me to stay still while he made me cry even more. I managed to clean out the make up from my eye and regained my composure to walk across the alphabet again. I met up with Punk's friends and we ended up at this dive bar with graffiti on the bathroom walls and drunk bartenders. Nevertheless, as always I had a great time in a place that was not one I would call my own. I know the offer to stay in the west village was there by the writer, and maybe if it was two years ago I might have thought it as an easy way of getting a quickie and then getting out of it by blaming it on the alcohol. However, those days are over and the only thing I could think of that night was how I need to finish law school so I can get my own place in NYC or move in with a guy so that I can split the rent, whichever comes first. Either way, I was stuck again walking past crack heads at 3:30 am in the morning, and sitting next to a drunk worrying that I will fall asleep and miss my stop (or drool on the drunk next to me). Good thing that at this time next Friday, the only worries I will have will be whether the BF and I will be arrested and thrown into an Ecuadorian jail for disturbing the peace, and how to explain that to Dad when he bails us out. The saga continues.

Rain Man

"You have a lot of hair." I slowly lift my head to see a strange looking man sitting next to me on the 2 train. "It is nice and soft." I make a fake smile and pretend to read the advertisements in the car. Am I shedding? How does he know I have soft hair? Perhaps he touched it while I dozed off in between stops. Note to self: wash hair when I get home. "How did you get so much hair?" I look up to see if he is touching my head and when I realize he is not. I notice that he is staring at me kind of like a dog at the kitchen table. "You look happy?" I give him a blank stare and nod like a doll. Maybe he will think I don't speak English. "How did you get to be so happy? Are you always this happy?" I am thinking "Happy??!! Buddy, I am freaked out and praying that you and I do not get off on the same stop. Are we there yet?" And then I hear it like a sign from God "42nd street". The train conductor to the rescue. I get up and what do you know, so does Paul Mitchell. I slowly begin to see if I can get lost in the crowd, and I manage to escape. I have lived in NY long enough to know there are strange people out there, but I have a feeling that my radar is picking up more than usual this past week. Trust me I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Almost Famous

Here is my first official celebrity photo. Don't worry I will not forget about the little people.
http://www.paulfrank.com/photomat/gallery.cfm?event_id=2
(now the trick is to find me :)

Every Breath You Take, Every Move You Make..

I remember sitting in my legal research & writing class last semester trying to write a persuasive memo on stalking and harassment. It is one year later, and I am sitting here still looking up the same cases. However this time not for class..for me. You see somehow throughout my life, I have managed to attract many psychopaths without realizing it. The last BF (Hitler) was always a little odd, but I never would have put the label "crazy" on him. Until now. If you ask me the same question today, the first words that would come to mind would be: order of protection. Recently, as you all know I have had some run-ins with the communist party, which have been anything but pretty. Nevertheless, nothing has happened yet that would move me to start shopping for a stun gun. Not so true anymore. After three phone calls, and five emails asking for money ($200), I am now filing a police report (and the stun gun is on back order). I should have done this when I got the second 5 page email. I may not have graduated law school, but I've watched enough Judge Judy to know it is harassment, stalking, and extortion all in one (okay maybe extortion is a little exaggerated). I am not sure how I got myself into this mess, but it must have been that damn magnet again (here psycho, psycho, psycho..) So off I go to file my first police report, in hopes that I can begin to celebrate the collapse of the Soviet Union. I think Pat Robertson may have a solution for this one.

Faster than the speed of light.

School has started and I realize that whenever that occurs everything in my life slowly starts to resemble a final exam question. As I was speeding down McCarter Highway this morning trying to make the early bird special at the parking lot near the train I take to work..I thought. What happens if I run over someone or get in an accident? The hypothetical would go as such: Plaintiff would sue for damages for personal injury and negligence. Myself, the defendant, would argue that my employer should be held liable because I was within the scope of my employment. In order to make it on time to work, I was forced to speed which caused the accident. And the parking lot would be held contributory liable for the accident, because but for the early bird special, I would not have been speeding to make it there by 8 am, and would not have caused the accident. In the end, I made it to work and I got my $5 discount on parking, all at the same time while studying for torts. Amazing. The morning only got more exciting as I was trying to get through the turnstiles that were made for people who have eating disorders. Then to my surprise I was sexually assaulted by none other than the turnstile himself. As my skirt lifted up to reveal much more than I wanted to show the man behind me. I pulled it down, and ran off into the train, knowing that the man was thinking "good thing it is not granny panty day".

Link to Hamptons and other crazy events

Here is the link of photos of my crazy new friends and our adventures in the Hamptons amongst other places.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/46297459@N00/

I just called to say I hate you

The little yellow envelope on the cell phone is showing one unread message. Strange? I didn't hear the phone ring. And good thing, because low and behold the Czar is back in town. The message went something like this "I have been thinking over the past couple of weeks." Funny, because the only thing I was doing these past couple of weeks was planning an escape route and changing my locks. Where is that sledgehammer? The message continues "I realize I have a little more to tell you in addition to the last email" A little more to tell me!? Is a twenty page email insulting me and calling me a whore (in sophisticated terms) as well as a cheat and a liar not enough. Did I mention selfish and cruel? Yeah, because I thought the same thing when he asked for money back from one of our outings. That's like asking for a refund on a flight you already took because you didn't like where it landed. Personally, I like to think of it as an investment in a company that just went public, and all of a sudden the market takes a nose dive, you just got to write it off. Besides, they always say never to play the foreign market, too risky. So, perhaps there is something he forgot. What was I thinking? I must call and get the remainder of my insults because I would not be complete without them. WTF! This man has balls the size of his ego. Lesson learned, never be friends with a man who is mean to wait staff. Never be friends with someone who thinks money is an adjective used to describe their personality, and most importantly never be friends with someone who offers to be your knight in shining armor and steals your license (just a theory) Because in the end they are all just cursed frogs!

Coming to America

What is the true definition of a one night stand? You see many, many years ago before a quarter of my life was over, I decided to splurge in the realm of such (in a strange and foreign land). The rendezvous became a wonderful memory in my scrapbook and my belt, and also became a string of emails and short visits for years to come. The one night was never repeated but the communication was always there. My Brit and I shared stories of our long term relationships for a good part of the last five years. Last year when Hitler and I broke up, he also broke up with his busty beauty of three, and we both offered each other a consoling shoulder to sweat on, but it never happened. So why am I surprised that he has decided to put NYC as part of his frequent flyer destinations. I notified him of the new beau (not so new anymore), and even though disappointed, he still insisted on a trip down memory lane. I believe the trip to S.A. will be a great way to remind myself why I should not play with fire. As if I have not learned from the Czar that when men do not get to ride the tan horse they become extremely angry. Considering that I do not have time to take out another restraining order, I have opted to turn down the BBC. I am going to stick with my good ole American hippy, and just hope that this is the last time that an ocean separates me and my fix. The next time I see the Midwestern it better be in the US of A, or I am blocking this border baby.

Leaving Las Vegas

It has been two weeks since I have been back from Costa Rica and I am already planning my next trip. It looks like Labor Day will be spent flying out to see the BF in South America. It better be more than just sex that provokes me to take a 6 hour flight to another continent for the weekend, otherwise I lost a brain cell somewhere in the Hamptons. In general, that weekend in LI is still vague to me, however I remember there was some nakedness in a pool and I managed to test out the abilities of my tonsils. The exercise involved tequila and a hot tub, which has now been posted on another blog (which belongs to one of the hipsters that joined us) http://gregtheboyfriend.blogspot.com. I always thought that if a picture of me ended up on the net, somehow I would be receiving royalties for it, but instead it is free for all to see. Good thing I managed to keep the top on for this one. Actually, the partying has tired me out somewhat. Maybe I am getting old? When is being hung over for three days straight not fun anymore?? I think the recurring nightmares of my liver holding me in a headlock threatening to kill me might be what did it for me. So this weekend I practiced being a home body. I cleaned things other than empty liquor bottles, I ate meals that were not cold and in a box, and I actually changed clothes and showered..alone. Friday is almost here and I can not say that it will not consist of another stage dance at "punks" favorite bar on Avenue A. If I have anything to do with it, I will be home before my carriage turns into a pumpkin, or at least before my face turns the color of pumpkin whichever comes first.

Out with the old and in with the new

I have spent the morning thinking of all these little topics I wanted to tackle in my blog. For example, do you know that turtles have sex for four hours a day for five months straight during mating season? I think I want to be reincarnated as a turtle. Also, are tattoos at 27 a bad thing? Will my skin get all saggy and wrinkled? And will the butterfly look more like Elmer Fudd? I also think I am becoming a hypocrite, which is not a good trait to have. The new room mate was never fully explained in my last blog entry so here it goes... I no longer have the option of running around naked in my apartment due to a kind gesture of letting a friend stay at my place for two weeks. Then two weeks became four, because she did not find an apartment and I needed a dog sitter. It managed to work out I suppose, until I come back and now she is staying another two weeks. My math was never good but I know that two and four make way too many weeks in my house for free. And if you all know me, I can not live with anyone. I am a loner, and I like my space. I did not spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to share my toothpaste. The living situation has been amicable because she is my friend, and I am never home. I managed to get some cash from her, but don't fall off your chair I am actually not interested in the money. (Trust me guys that might be the only time you hear that line come out of my mouth). So instead of becoming a hypocrite, and acting like I am enjoying not being able to do cardio strip tease with the music blaring. I am putting my foot down. So that is the room mate story. This weekend I will be taking off to the Hamptons again for a house party with my punk rock friend (office mate from work) and all her punk rock crew. I am so excited, considering that I am so out of my element. Hanging out with her has given me a truer appreciation for my liver, and the east village. Not to mention that I have spent the past few days researching a woman's level of tolerance for pain (so that I may join in the rankings of tattooed law students). If I was in high school now, I can just hear the voice of my parents "she is a bad influence". But being 12 years older and wiser, being a "bad influence" is my new requirements for friends. As we get older we slowly start to retract to our younger years in a good way. It has come to the point where drinking until my face green, enjoying topless moments on a bar stool or blacking out and waking up with pizza on my chest laying in an overflowed bath tub is almost appealing. Punk rock has told me these are just a few of the little moments to look forward to. I am thinking the rest probably can not be published.

The Cold War

I'm baaaaack!!!!! It has been a long month, and I have lots to say. I apologize to my friends that rely on this blog as an update to my zanny and crazy life. After the last entry, lots has occurred. Let's start with the basics...Previous entries in this blog have touched on the topic of men and women being friends. And the consensus was that the possibility of that is almost as good as the possibility of peace in the middle east. However, the last few weeks have brought on another challenge in my life. My BF was still traveling through the unbearable heat of Mexico, when the Czar made clear his not so innocent intentions. He tried to offer the noble attempt of "waiting for me" in case things between me and the BF don't work out. (please refer back to previous blog entries for further detail) What a terrible offer! Oh, I hope your relationship fails so that I can pick up the pieces of your broken heart. Nevertheless, I remained faithful and never promised any hope of a relationship. After many weekdays and weekends together (i.e., Hamptons, Cape Cod), he still pursued like a hunter during deer season. As difficult as temptation was, especially when the courting and the compliments were so over the top. At one point, I thought I would drown in the stuff. I kept repeating the fact that there is a BF in the picture, so no way he is getting anything but a friendly smile and a handshake. I am an avid believer of the golden rule and the last thing I need is bad karma. Not to mention I would not like the BF hooking up with anyone from the Eastern bloc either (or any block), so no dice buddy. On one last final offer, he says "Go to Costa Rica, my child and come back with a decision." So like a prophet from the bible , I was sent on my journey to become wiser, and hopefully come back changed (or at least in my mind). Since when did my life turn into Days of our lives? So off we go to Costa Rica, and into the arms of my wonderful BF. Just a small note on the country of monkeys, volcanoes, and green pastures. Costa Rica is amazing (and I am not just saying that because I was there romancing the stone). I highly recommended it as a vacation hot spot for everyone. After 500 pictures, 17 days of off road driving, beautiful green lush landscapes, wonderful food (seafood, yum), friendly people, monkeys, dolphins, turtles having sex, dark tans, surfers, close calls with the police, and long sessions of uninterrupted intimacy (and sex)..Well, I am back. Wiser? Yes. The last few days back have been spent dealing with housekeeping issues such as: new room mate, school registration, loans, and a pissed off Volvo. After much mental exhaustion, I had to tackle one last task. Getting rid of the non-adulterous relationship with my friend the Czar. After a long, difficult and angry conversation behind the iron curtain, I have lost one more friend. (bitterness showed his ugly face). So there you have it. The past few weeks resulted in being reunited with the long lost BF (just tanner), a romantic vacation, a wiser me, days of hiking in the jungle, close encounters with jaguars and cops, a new room mate, a lost license (there is a conspiracy theory behind that one), a semi broken volvo, and last but not least - one less friend in my life.

Bam Bam

Well the last few days has been everything but unproductive. I spent Tuesday night at Benihana with a friend from high school and somehow after "shrimp in hat tricks" ended up at the peninsula Hotel rooftop bar. This place is not only beautiful and overlooking fifth avenue, but it is also filled with people who don't leave home without their gold amex and it doesn't matter that the drinks start at $20 a pop. I think this is the only place in NY where the well vodka is Grey Goose. So after a couple of hours of schmoozing with attorneys, I decide to invite my Czar friend to meet me for a drink. Never did I think it would turn into a night of screaming on 5th at 2am. The Czar became a sloppy drunk and yelled at the bartender for bringing him Johnny Walker Black instead of Blue. I thought people usually get into arguments about paying less for a drink not more ? ? ? Regardless, I was so embarrassed and the attorneys and my Investment Banker almost had a brawl in their Italian made suits. What a night! The week only got better. Thursday night I got invited to a private party at BED. The concept of 10-12 drunk people on a bed partying it up is brilliant. The man who conjured it up is a genius. After way to many free vodka martinis (open bar is sooo dangerous) I somehow ended up on a bed with Don Vito and some of the other crew from Viva la Bam. http://www.mtv.com/onair/dyn/viva_la_bam/series.jhtml) By the way for any one who has seen the show, yes Don Vito is as disgusting as he is on tv (and fat). So after many tit grabbing attempts (some successful) to evey woman on the bed, we went to the bathroom. When we return to bed, a large man with platinum blonde hair, a goatee, bandana, and a tank top is standing next to me. Who is this man in blue? Except the one and only Hulk Hogan. Talk about lame celebrity sighting another sudo famous celebrity has joined the group..Hulk Hogan, Brooke Hogan, and I think Linda too (after the second trashy platinum blonde, you loose track) http://www.vh1.com/shows/dyn/Hogan_knows_best/91209/episode_characters.jhtml
The night ended with me in the East Village. WTF! Luckily, a bunch of drunk dials to the Czar resulted in a car service rescue before I ended going home with some movie producer from Cannes. When I wake up from this really bad reality show, someone let me know.

In a nutshell...

I am so behind on updating everyone on the events of my life, so I am going to try to sum it up in one blog entry. Pull up some popcorn and a chair please. The Greek has left the island of Manhattan on July 5th. I spend the night before at the Cafeteria in Chelsea eating Mac and cheese and saying my good-byes. This is the second time I have said farewell over Mac and cheese at this place, the first was with the BF. My favorite dish has become a staple of bitterness and sad moments. The airport drop off was more stressful then it was sad. Of course my best friend has a habit of always being late. Mark my words there is going to be a gorgeous Greek running down the aisle in Hong Kong screaming "Wait don't hold the wedding without me!" Anyway, so as you probably already guessed she took her time getting to the airport for her flight that morning. Most airlines ask for a two-three hour in advance for check in to international flights..NO! Try one hour before flying. How does she do it? So after speeding down NJ Turnpike (which if anyone knows me, was more like 60MPH). We made it and she jumped out and was off. I miss her so much, but I am already planning my New Years in Hong Kong. In the past three weeks, I have been keeping busy at the gym, Bruce Lee here I come. The remainder of my time has been spent doing dinner, movies, drinks with friends old and new. The new friend is the Star Wars bartendar from my favorite locale in the Greenwich Village on my last blog entry. As per some previous blogs, I have questioned in the past whether men and women can be friends. The problem is I think they can but the guys always seem to screw it up by wanting to screw me. However, I have proven with my new established friendship that it is indeed possible. I have made it very clear that I have a BF yet we have exchanged many late nights together, movies and even a crashing at my place...And all VERY platonic (seperate bedrooms of course) So I am proud of myself. Then just when I thought the experiment was over. I come across a friend of the Greek last week, and we spent the night sharing French cuisine and enjoying our platonic conversation. Just when I am ready to add this man to the rest of my safe male friends. (But no worries, because no one is better then my Asian BF or my Virginian gun fighter-you know who you are :) All of a sudden, my bubble was busted. I was on my best behavior (no comments from the peanut gallery please), when the Russian banker decided to profess his undying love to me (okay I am exaggerating). But he did make it quite clear that if the BF decides to run off with some hot Mexican or just decides to screw up - He would be there waiting. ARGH! Why is it when you don't want them they all show up from the woodwork? Yet, when you need them it is drier then the Sahara? Nevertheless, I will continue the goody two shoes path and hope that I will not have to make that decision. Aside from the very uncomfortable conversation with the Czar, Friday night was also filled with a great couple of hours of drinking French wine at Paradou in the meat packing with my friend from law school. The dinner consisted of good looking metrosexual French waiters, but very slow service. It was nice to finally see each other outside of the large auditorium room, full of laptops with our contracts teacher showing chest hair. That's for you Prn! Last but not least, I have tried two things in the last couple of weeks that is not normal for me. Reading a piece of fiction, and seeing a science fiction film. If you have not already guessed which movie - Star Wars. And guess what guys?? I hated them both, especially the book. (I will not mention the title to avoid persecution). I guess some things will never change. Until next time.

Do you come here often?

Are you from Guinea? Those were the words out of the mouth of some random person walking down Liberty Street. I never thought I could hear a more ridiculous pick up line, except for "Are you going to eat that?" That was the one used by the Russian who I dated a few years ago. I will say the originality led to a few months of casual dating before I ditched him for the lesser educated, richer, older, less attractive man that was my BF for years to come. You know sometimes I wonder what if? Then I remember...Oh yeah! Bedroom issues. You see, the Russian was a bodybuilder and I am a firm believer that all those muscle pills he used to pop disabled his ability to perform. Don't get me wrong ladies, he was okay for lift off. The problem was he never really "landed". I thought lesson learned, but I ended going back for more disappointment and made him my rebound guy after Hitler. Four years later, it is amazing how a booty call can reunite two people. So four days later it was over. No tears, but definitely lesson learned. Phony pick up lines are usually a sign of something wrong. A red flag. So when I was being picked up by some guy in the street by asking me if I was from some foreign country in Africa. I told myself "stay away, stay far away." The day progressed by me falling on a stranger in the train. Quite embarrassing. Especially, considering that I fell back onto areas of him I would prefer not to know until after at least three dates. I apologized and thought that would be the end of my liaison with this man. Until the doors of the train opened, and he said "Hey, your cute, what's your name?" So I guess he figured the fact that he already went to second base with me was irrelevant. He thought my looks were acceptable, and he might as well find out the name of the woman who just gave him the cheapest lap dance ever. Where is that hole to bury my head when I need it? The night ended with one more lame pick up attempt. Will this day ever end? The bartender at my new favorite drinking hole in the Village asked to see the entire Star Wars series with me. Now anyone who knows me is aware that a night full of science fiction is not my idea of a hot date. Not to mention, sitting in front of a TV for 18 hours is a little too much time with myself let along with another person I barely know. The problem is we can't piss off the man who controls the flow of alcohol at my favorite locale. So, now we think of a creative way to turn down a bad pick up line. Hey, Are you from Zimbabwe?

I bet you think this song is about you...

I am about to celebrate my 5 month anniversary with yep you guessed it Mr. blogspot himself. The way this blog started was by a really close friend who showed me the power of a blog. It originally started as a way to vent out our frustration with law school, but then became a ventilation for life. (Thanks pr0n) It allows you to reach others in a way that is fun and humorous but kind of voyeuristic (kind of how I like my sex life). I have used this blog to poke fun at my forsaken life, which has seen as many cracks in the road as a NYC potholes. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying my life is that bad. I would be ungrateful to claim such a title. However, the trial and tribulations that I go through always sound so much better once I am done making fun of it on-line. Especially knowing if I can laugh at it, then it ain't that bad. Writing is a great way to be creative, and use our lives to tell a story. You know what they say "truth is better then fiction". I have been very hesitant to allow many to read these entries, especially the BF (viceronrox you know all too well). Simply for the fear of being too exposed. But I realized if you consider them friends, then it is okay to share stories of private parts, sex, and insecurities. Which is what this is all about - insecurities. A little bit of Carrie Bradshaw, and a little bit of Charles Schulz wrapped into one. Since the people who I care about are sometimes the characters of my comic book life. I would think they would enjoy pages and pages of "pie in my face". Nonetheless, if at any point the joke is lost or the mockery of myself falls short, I write this to all my friends - sorry. I am not here to ridicule anyone but me, myself and I. Just the way, I also like to praise me, myself and I. (Carly Simon was a very smart woman). Because in the end let's face it - We are our best judges. So enjoy and laugh or criticize and sneer.

Adieu!

I've spent the past few days full of good-byes and have not had time to write. On Thursday, the going away party for the Greek took place at the Living Room. Not mine, the bar on 47th street. The night started with dinner with friends (like the movie) that was full of lots of juicy gossip. Looks like the girl that my BF dated twice (or three it is still sketchy whether there was a third) hooked up with my friend. Well traveled I will say! She must be trying really hard to find Mr. Right. Nevertheless, aside from the uncanny coincidence. I am just hoping that she doesn't jerk around my friend, because to be honest I think he can get better. That was a compliment for him, not an insult for her - or maybe it was :) As you can see a little bitterness left over from the whole dating fiasco with my BF. Nothing wrong with a little cattiness - it's healthy. Anyway, the night progressed with lots of martinis, dancing, pictures, and memories of probably the last time I will be dancing with the Greek. And so it continues...The next three days were spent with the BF. I knew it was my last few days with him, so we tried to squeeze in as many things as possible in such a short period of time. And still leave time for squeezing other things as well. After probably the best and worst weekend I have had in a really long time, it was time to say good-bye. I promised no tears but those damn things managed to fight their way through. Bastards! He never got to see them, because my pride managed to beat them to the chase. But we both knew that as soon as he boarded the plane they probably fell on both ends. I don't know how I got so sappy all of a sudden. Must have been after seeing that damn movie "The notebook"...never again. So there it is, I've become the Greek. Two months and counting until Costa Rica, and all I can think about is how quiet the house is and how empty my bed is. I could sit here and make jokes about how there will be a string of wealthy young businessmen which will now be filling my time and my blogs. But not this time, sorry guys.

Trains, Planes and Automobiles

My third day at work and I am late. Don't roll your eyes just yet. I get a phone call from mom at 7:45 am telling me to leave the house early because there's an accident in the Lincoln. I catch the bus at 8:10, almost 30 minutes earlier to avoid being late. Instead, I end up sitting on the bus an hour and a half. Damn I need an IPOD! 30 minutes late. Back in the old days , it wouldn't even phase me since I knew I had a 18 hour shift to look forward to. However in a 7 hour work day every minute counts, and I am slowly learning that. So I spend the rest of the day working on x-rays. No, I have not been promoted to doctor just yet. Products liability = lots of medical records. Listen, so long as I am not sitting on the floor putting labels on 10,000 green file folders at 4 am, waiting for Rays pizza to deliver...I will gladly look at broken ankles anytime. Thanks to the new job, I have gone back to my roots of riding the the subway. God, I miss the good ole days when a token was a $1. Anyway, I see this very attractive guy standing next to me with a briefcase (of course he is) and he is reading a book. I lean over to see the title of the book. The first reason is because I think maybe I can strike up a conversation with him, mmm. Hey, a little mass transit chat never hurt anyone. Second reason was to make sure he wasn't reading a book called "The joy of embalming" (you got to be careful in NYC). So my handsome stranger turned out to be reading a book called "Emotional Intelligence: Why it can matter more than your IQ". I tried not to laugh (aloud at least)! I was not sure if he was reading this book so he can seem like the sensitive type in order to pick up the ladies (so I am not the only one checking out the goods on NYC metro), or because he is some weirdo who enjoys self help books. What is emotional intelligence anyway? Last time I checked, people tend to loose brain cells when emotions get involved. Besides, after my ex I stopped trying to find a man with any intelligence for that matter. But, I guess the trick is when you stop looking you find.

Captain, we are coming in for a landing.

I am laying down on the bed naked with my legs wide open, spread eagle, and the attractive blonde has her head in between my thighs. I know this must sound like either a scene from a porno or one of my BF's fantasies. But it actually isn't either. Instead it is a wonderful, yet very painful experience that I endured on Wednesday. And women all over the world put themselves through this suffering all the time. That's right, I went in for the infamous Brazilian Wax. Men, if you are reading this you might not understand exactly what that means. Imagine taking any possible hair growth that exists on you private parts (and other parts in between and surrounding areas) ripping it out of the skin in one fast "swoop" with hot wax. Sounds pleasant doesn't it??!! Well, it is as painful as it sounds if not more (I hear childbirth is a walk in the park compared to this), but the results are amazing. They say 1) It makes sex better (is that possible?) 2) Great for those skimpy bikinis 3) No more freaking razors! 4) And your significant other will thank you when he is down there as well (and you will too). So there you have it, the pain of beauty. The strangest thing is after all this humiliation the lady asks you if you want what they call a "landing strip". WTF! Who is landing? Last I checked there were no airplanes or little men standing on my v#g*na directing traffic. Jesus, I wish I got that much action. So, I opted for no "landing strip", just the plain old Hitler design. I won't even attempt to describe that. Anyone can just put two and two together and figure it out. Just please don't stare at my crotch next time we meet. So, would I do it again? Absolutely. But ladies you are warned, be strong, and be prepared to be in stranger positions that even your boyfriend has seen...Not to mention places he didn't even know existed (nor did I). Oh, and one final thought, tweezers are involved. AAHH!!

Roller Coaster Ride

After 8 interviews, about 40+ jobs applied to, 7 telephone interviews, and 3 offers, I am finally employed. It took a lot of persistence, patience, and hours of sitting at the computer searching, and I had to meet about 10 head hunters. Do they really bring back heads? No, so why the stupid name? Now I have the dream job: 9-5 (I didn't think those hours still existed), a month of vacation, unlimited sick, all benefits paid for, and actual responsibility besides punching holes in paper. Did I mention they like law students, and even told me to take off for finals? Where were they last semester, I would have been $10,000 richer??? For the first time in three years, I realize there are people who care about your well being and not just the bottom line. Thank God, I finally overcame another hiccup in 2005 (the longest 8 days of my life). After 2004, I could have sworn it could not get any worse. Instead I was greeted in the new year with a leave of absence from school, being pushed out the door of my job after I sacrificed family, friends and school for them, being unemployed and broke, two deaths of grandmothers of my two best friends, and the occasional reminder that my ex is still up to no good (that makes girl#4). Jesus, good thing I have tough skin. Right when I begin to think in the month of May things are going to get easier. I will have to deal with a new job, the BF leaving in a week for his 6 month excursion, and the best friend leaving to Hong Kong permanently at the end of the month. Just when I started to get used to having the BF around, he is packing his stuff and leaving on his trip around Latin America to write (is that what they call it nowadays?). I will also have to deal with "the talk" at some point in the next week. You know, the dreaded "are you going to bang anyone else while your away, and am I allowed too?" The truth is, as much as I try to act like this modern liberal woman that is okay with no boundaries. I actually don't like the idea of him sleeping with another hot Latina, nor the idea of me having to deal with another skinny white guy. I am quite content with the one I have, and do not have the patience to start molding another one either. With girlfriends it is so much easier. She will move across the world, I will cry, we will write, call, and I will fly there as much as I can, and rack up frequent flyer miles like you couldn't imagine. There are no rules, talks, and nights of wondering if she is sleeping with another women. And if she was, that would merely be another exciting topic to discuss over coffee.

He's Just Not That Into You

I never thought I would say this...As I was watching Oprah today, they had the author of the best selling book "He's just not that into you" The guy spoke for about 30 minutes, discussing all the obvious signs that the guy you are dating is just not that into you. For example, never introduces to any one, which in my book usually means "his wife is just not that into you". Also if he sees you only once a week and you live less than a mile apart. What is the excuse, traffic? Or you have been dating for 6 years and he still wont give you an engagement ring because means he is waiting for something (or someone as they pointed out). It is amazing how this guy is making millions on this book, writing about things that a blind person would see. Why do we put ourselves in these relationships that are going nowhere fast? Even though, I should not be one to throw the first stone so quickly. It took 4 years for me to realize that no ring, and only half of his clothes in my apartment really meant: someone else has the ring and the other half of his clothes. Lesson learned! But get this, the next guest on Oprah was a 63 year old single wealthy man who was offering an all expense paid vacation around the world to find the women of his dreams. Requirements: non smoker, over 40 (shit, there goes my chance), fun, free, and fantastic. What a great idea! It has been decided, if I am still single by the time I am 31, I am going to advertise an all expense trip around my world. Requirements: handsome, smart, funny, must have a big heart (substitutions allowed ;), agile, and performance test required. I think that since I have all this free time on my hands, I am going to start writing a book. It will be called "It is not your personality she's into".

Here comes the bride...

In a city of 4 million men, why is it so hard to find Mr. Right? Being unemployed has forced me to watch shows like the Gastineau girls. God, I wish I was in school! For those of you who have not seen the show, it deals with a wealthy mother and daughter team and both are single. Both of these women are filthy rich and have bodies and faces like runway models. Did I mention they are single.? This does not give much hope to the 5'2" (Thank God for 4 inch stilettos) 115 lb, curly headed brunette from Queens. How am I supposed to find the perfect man, when women like that are hiring matchmakers? Could Manhattan have a shortage of good men? I guess I begin to wonder these things when I get a phone call from my childhood friend telling me that she is in love and has met her future husband. They spoke for the first time two months ago, and share phone calls and emails, but the twist is..They never physically met. May I ask, how is it that after two months of cyber dating and she is ready to meet the in-laws next week, when it took me 4 months before I even met the best friend? Am I doing something wrong? I mean it's not like I am looking for wedding bells. Not yet at least, I think I still have 8 years of the clock left, and at least 3 years until I reach my sexual peak. I am sure the boys will be lined up at the front door for that one. But it is frustrating when I am spending all this time and effort on buying the perfect outfit for the perfect guy, and playing all the cards right, and here is my closest friend about to walk down the aisle and all it took was a JPEG. I guess the lesson of the story is that you never know who or when your knight and shining armor will walk through your door (or computer). Mr. Right can be right in front of us this whole time, and we might never notice it until it slaps us in the face, or he slaps us in the ass. Sorry, my fantasies are always get the best of me. I better get back to my soon to be single, unemployed life, because in a couple of weeks, the only men in my bedroom will be Maury, Jerry, and Montel.

Broke and Beautiful

I have recently become part of a selected class, the unemployed. This is definitely not a group that I was anxious to be a member of, but due to circumstances beyond my control I am looking for a new job. It has been hard getting readjusted to the lifestyle of the unemployed. You look for anything on sale, you begin to limit your entertainment expenses, and I am no longer making trips to Stuart Weitzman anymore. I do have to admit that the week after I resigned, I had to get my fix and make one final purchase of European luxury. The expensive Italian made sunglasses were not on the list of things I can't live without, but it made me feel so much better after eating cup a noodle soups, and PBJ sandwiches for two days straight. I have been lucky enough to have wonderful friends, and a wonderful BF. He really stepped up to the plate when the chips were down, which proved to me that he is something more than just a good source of orgasms. I kind of always knew that, but only when times are tough do we find out who runs, and who stands by our empty pockets. I have a truer appreciation to the stay at home moms, but do not envy them at the least. I hope I do not offend anyone, but after seeing two hours of paternity tests, and you slept with my baby's daddy, I was ready to get back into the job market. I have been on a lot of interviews, and have worn out the sole on my walking shoes, but no complaints. Just hoping that I will get that phone call that will bring me back to my one true love...Time warner we'll be together again!

Ah, ah, ah, ah Staying alive....

Last night at dinner I met my friend's BF, and was quite surprised at what I saw. I mean I knew that there was something about him that sounded too good to be true. I was told tall, successful, wealthy and handsome (so she says- not my type). Hey! I figure after spending four years explaining to people it was Hitler's personality I fell in love with, I have every right to make criticisms on someone else's suga' daddy. And did I mention the Hummer? I am sure both hummers contributed to the "100 reasons why I love you" list. So my question was "What is wrong with him?" I guess I am pretty cynical and the reaction was only natural. Well, when he walked in, I was greeted by a 6'2", dark haired Mediterranean man, in a pair of nice black slacks and a button down designer shirt. No one warned me however that he had a cane, and could probably reminisce about the good years with my dad. The truth is she actually whispered to us before he arrived that there is a slight age difference, so not to be startled. I am thinking okay, maybe he graduated college when she was a freshman in high school. No one told me that when he was graduating college, she was nothing more than an unchecked item on the "five year plan" for her parents. So, yes. If it is too good to be true, it usually is. I used to be a fan of older (richer) men, as stated in past blogs. However, after the past few months with my Midwestern, I realized I've got the Benz right here. There is no need for the bling bling, if it is going to have problems blinging at night. Usually, I am never one to judge. (Unless of course, you are performing the worst fashion faux pas). But I have to say, I am not sure if I would wander down the valley of death again with the over the hill gang. Instead, my new found appreciation for the younger men has allowed me wild nights of countless rounds at the ring, and endless games in overtime. So I am off to the ball game girls, gotta run!

We're Back......

I know I have been M.I.A. for two weeks. After news of settlement, I took a week off and learned the meaning of "grafted". Things have been good, and even though I may have a truer appreciation for the unemployed, it is good to be back to work. The days have been filled with long lunches, manicure breaks, and Time Warner excursions. The paycheck will not be as nice as the leisure walks through Central Park at 3 pm, but we can't have it all can we? I also can't complain about the BF, all is well on the western front. I've come to terms with the fact that it took most of January to get rid of the ex. It is kind of like moving from apartments. There is a time when you are still packing up crap from the old place, but you've already put your security deposit down on the new one. On a different note, being out of school has been hard. Even though it has allowed me time to be a normal human being, I am still not used to the low stress levels in my life. The adjustment to being "laid-back" has not been easy. Now, being laid on my back all the time..I have adjusted to that quite well. To replace the stress of reading pages of boring and dry material, I have filled up my library with study, and self-help books. I have also signed up for workshops and seminars (preferably ones that are being held in sunny locations). Well, I guess I should get back to the post-trial clean up. Shh, let's see how long that one lasts.

If what?

Girls, think back to all the guys you dated, and I am sure we can all come up with that one guy who we did not end up with but would of, could of, should of. That is the "what if" guy. The guy that we wonder "what if...?" Then we hope one day we bump into this guy and he is big, bald and broke (dealbreaker, the 3 B's). Instead, we always seem to run into the "what if" guy when he is looking dashing, distinguished, and delicious (Don't you just love the "d" guy or the "d" on the guy) Sorry, back to our regularly scheduled program. So, why can't all the "what if" guys be shipped off to some deserted island? That way, there is never a chance of a run-in's when we are looking our worst. Either in sweaty sweats and a ponytail, or that recently hung over look as we are running out to buy some Pepto. But, I guess it would not be that fun if they all disappeared. Because, then we would have no one to call in case the current BF does not work out. Unfortunately, I screwed up my chances with my "what if" guy. I used up all my get out of jail free cards. Every time, I had a bad break up, boom speed dial baby! He must have figured me out or just got tired of being the back up man who never quite backs up into anything. You see, you can't really make the "what if" guy the "right now" guy. Everyone has their time and place. Kind of like the caste system, and there is no moving up or around (around and up well thats another thing). Ultimately, I might have to find a new back up plan. What if there is no what if?

Sing Fat Lady, Sing!

The phone rang at 1:30 am. This can't be a booty call, because all my men know anytime after midnight is sacred time. If your not in by the strike of dawn, your out. But this phone call was even better. "We settled!" said the screaming Greek. I have been waiting for this day for almost three years. The case we have been working on at the firm, has been the bane of my existence since I got hired. It taught me the meaning of 24 hour shifts, and made me realize that sleep is an unnecessary evil. The last 6 weeks (or even 6 months for that matter) have been even more difficult. I have sacrificed my soul to the devil. My health, my love life, my social life, and my studies have all suffered for this. However, I am a true believer of "no regrets". I will just look back at this as a great experience that has brought me a new appreciation of life, love, and school. I also know now that the corporate world of law is a cult, and if you are not ready to make a pact with Lucifer, then think twice. These next couple of weeks will be interesting, I will have the two BF's back (best and boy), and I will also be loosing them at the same time. Another hiccup in my life that I will just have to hold my breath through. Hopefully, after the last one, I am well prepared for anything thrown my way. Even if it is a two ton brick.

NY State of Mind

While sitting on the runway for about 30 minutes returning from my trip, I was still recuperating. Besides the dancing, drinking, and FAQ by border patrol in Windsor, I was still aching. Is there a muscle between the small of your back and your ass? Don't ask. Nevertheless, I am an avid believer of the saying "no pain, no gain." The funny thing is that this weekend the Detroit Marriott was the home to not only me, but also a "hair" convention. So my run-ins included a lot of tie-dyed bobs, and crew cut billys. But I still think that the worst was the infant on the floor of the hotel bar. You heard right. Apparently, in other parts of the United States, it is okay for you to bring your 6 month old to a loud, smoky bar and put him/her on the floor. I am guessing the parents were aiming for a real world experience, not relizing that by morning DYFS might be knocking on their door. This trip was anything but boring. Aside from the hours of "do not disturb" in the BF's hotel room, I did learn that I can def get used to hotel living. Turn down service, room service, bell boy service, bed boy service. All the luxuries of the rich life. Who can ask for anything more? However, Detroit Michigan is not the place I would want to have my hotel life. Besides, baby carpets and Anita Baker, I can't imagine Detroit offering me much else. Let us not forget the two restaurants within a mile radius (one which includes IHOP - is that a restaurant?), and the fact that the taxi drivers do speak English, but don't use meters. "Give me whatever you want." Great way to earn a living buddy! No wonder this city is dying of poverty. Well, I am back home now, with my non-English speaking taxi drivers that instead jack up the meter, and give me advice on bearing children. "Those hips, good for babies, yah"
I love NY.

Top 10 countdown

At this time on Thursday, I will be sitting on the plane waiting to take off to my exotic island in the west. Okay, I am really flying off to the state of Michigan, but it can't hurt to dream a little. Besides, I probably will not be leaving the confines of the Detroit Marriott for at least 48 hours. So, that will be my private island "room 6969." When I am ready to come up for air (literally), I will probably be hitting the town of Detwa. For all of you who are not familiar with the motor city. A little Detroit trivia. I am told that besides being named the "most dangerous city in the US", it is also known to be the home of William J. Putte. Who? He is one of the top 10 richest and wealthiest Michiganers, according to Forbes magazine. Mr. Putte is not only worth 1.5 billion, but also has 14 children who will be fighting for a piece of that when he kicks the bucket. At the young age of 72, he might not be around much longer to enjoy his riches or enjoy making anymore kids for that matter. But for the past few years, he has done well for himself, moving up in the ranks of the most wealthiest men in the U.S. and in Michigan (#6 in MI, and #437 in U.S. - not bad grandpa!) However, they are not revealing the ages or names of his children, so it will be almost impossible for me to set up a chance meeting with his oldest son. Oh yeah!Almost forgot, money can't buy love. Sorry, just a slight case of withdrawal symptons. The fact of the matter is, I will be too busy enjoying my midwestern in the midwest to even think of anyone else. Not to mention, he is well on his way of making the top 10 in my book.

I will always love youuuuu!

The other night, I spent hours listening to cheezy love songs. No, I am not in love or depressed. However, by the end of my cheese session, I was. Depressed, that is. Depressed, that people listen to this stuff. I want to believe someone has got to like these songs. Such as Bryan Adams "everything I do for you", or Richard Marx "right here waiting. Let's not forget Meatloaf with "I will do anything, but I won't do that." Which has now become a soda commercial. Is that what happens to these bad love songs? They either make their way into a wedding or two over the years, or magically pop up on a car commercial between bad sitcoms on WB. It is sad that the people who write the lyrics are pouring their heart and soul into these songs, and years later they end up on VH1's best worst songs. Well, there is always that 15 year old who will dedicate it to her boyfriend of the moment, or who listens to it over and over again eating a box of bom-boms while crying over a recent break up. Was that me 6 months ago...? Well I am definitely not 15 yrs old, but I also must have a heart of stone. Because the only songs I listened to were Judas Priest's "cheater", and my personal favorite by Three Days Grace "I hate everything about you." I think it was good therapy. The last thing I needed was to end up on America's Most Wanted. It would have been hard to explain that one to the ABA. Even though, we were told at school, that the ABA is usually lenient toward public urination. So maybe they would have overlooked a minor public castration. Hey, you never know! The good news, I moved on. For a couple of months now, it seems the only thing on my playlist is the background music on (S)Cinemax. I think that is much healthier. I am sure so does the new beau ;)

Can't buy me love

"Hello stranger." That's what the man in the black leather jacket said as I was entering my garage. Who would have thought that in the middle of Hell's Kitchen at 10:00 p.m. at night, I would run into an ex-boyfriend. In a city of over 8 million residents, it would be my luck to bump into another ex that bit the dust. It has been about 9 years since I remember sitting in Union Square telling this guy "it's not you, it's me." Here he was, looking exactly the same, and I was wondering if he thought the same about me. This ex was the last of the Mohicans. Not only was he the last unemployed guy I dated. He also happened to be the last Hispanic guy I dated. Hispanic, unemployed, I can see the hate mail piling up on this one! The truth of the matter is, like a drug, I got a taste of the little luxuries in life. And before I knew it, I was addicted. Before I could stop myself, I was making dinner plans at a 5 star restaurant on Park Ave with the director of my company, and breaking the heart of my handy man on 14th street. What had happened to me? I was hooked. It took years of fancy dinners, diamond rings, lavish vacations, and many broken hearts later for me to realize that it was not worth it. This break up 9 years ago took me down a road of endless lies, and countless accounts of infidelity. You see, all these high powered men had no choice but to shower me with gifts, because their conscience was eating them alive. Since handyman, they all had cheated. Not because I was not good enough, but because they could. They could get away with it, because there were so many other women out there like me. Who would overlook the flaw of being unfaithful, so long as it came with an "I'm sorry" and a Cartier bracelet. What I learned is, all I have to show for it is a jewelry box full of things I will never wear, and an expensive pallet for good food and clothes. Things I learned now, I can easily buy for myself. What I could not buy was the look on handyman's face as he told me about the new construction job he got on Liberty street, and how he wanted me to meet his girlfriend of four years. Handyman had it all. So I stand here wondering...Is the new BF exactly what I needed all along? And even if he isn't, at least I will be able to walk away having learned that the most expensive gift in the world can't be bought on Fifth Ave. It can be found right here in Hell's Kitchen.

It's not you, It's me...

The past two weeks, I have been living a double life. I have spent everyday telling one guy I am doing something else, when in reality I am seeing the other guy. I hate this web of lies, and I know one of them is on to me. I can't help it, but the lies are eating me alive. Each one of them has so much to offer. Why should I have to be monogamous? I might have to do the sit down this weekend, and tell Henry it's over. I am a disgrace. I'm broker cheating.
Yep, you heard right. I have two brokers at the same time. I did not know that this business was like a relationship. Once you make a commitment to one broker, you should not be with another one. I find it double standard, because brokers have so many different clients. They are players! They are allowed to have many partners, but we can only have one. Why is that? I never knew looking for an apartment in NYC would stress me out as much as dating in NYC. Is it not bad enough that we have commitment issues with men, now I have to have it with my brokers. What if I can't decide? What if I want to play the real estate field? I wonder who made these rules. Perhaps it is the same women who made the rules on when it is okay to sleep with a guy, and how long it should take to get over an ex (please see second blog entry for further explanation). In the end, I have decided to stay with the one who gives me the most attention, cares about my needs, listens to what I want, believes in honesty and communication. Yes, we are still talking brokers. But I guess it is like choosing a BF, you should never settle for less. That is why this time the nice guy doesn't finish last. Bye Henry!

Will you marry me?

The past two weeks, I have spent most of my free time looking at apts in NYC. As a (sudo) single girl, who wouldn't want to live in the big apple. Especially, with all the ripe ones ready to be picked! In my search for a decent living space, I have been introduced to 12th floor walk ups, pre-war buildings that should have went down with the war, and no pet apartments (who wouldn't love Spikey?) I say, they should have a no child policy in some of these buildings. I much rather have to deal with dogs in the elevator then having to deal with a 2 yr old kicking and screaming because they want to press the button. I have been quite disappointed with the selection of 700 sq foot apts. God forbid, I would like to open my door without it hitting the toilet, or knocking over the dishes in the kitchen sink. Recently, I did find a great two bedroom by Central park, but to my dismay I would probably have to sell my first born to afford the monthly payments. Not that I am opposed to giving up my child, but I would hate having to deal with the talk around the table at Thanksgiving. So, I have decided that the only smart thing to do in order to be able to move into NYC is to get married. No, no, not for love. Come on, let's not be hasty! I just figured, there are so many financial reasons why you should get married. Not only do you get tax benefits if your married, but you also get to split the mortgage and the down payment 50%. Then when you get divorced, you get your 50% back as well as his too. Sounds like a great return on your investment if you ask me! I mean of course you have the dilemma of always having to sleep with the same guy everyday. Imagine someone told you, for the rest of your life you had to eat the same bowl of cheerios everyday. I mean you got to admit, sometimes you just want to go honey nut one day. Nevertheless, I am sure the positives outweigh the negatives, and if they don't. Just remember, life insurance, a good balcony, and your all set.

This is a test of the emergency broadcast system; this is only a test

Do we all have panic buttons? You know that little part in the back of your mind where you store all the things that scare you about the person you are dating. Gotta keep that button handy, just in case. For example "I just wrote a love song that won a VH1 award about my ex-fiance." (sorry dru) Warning! The girl not only had a fiancee, but she also wrote a love song about him. (love song worthy guy is tough competition) And I bet you it wasn't one of those hate songs like Alanis Morissette "You oughta know." For women, our panic buttons can be a range of comments like "I will never get married", or "I slept with my ex's sister (or ex's best friend)". I even remember I dated a Jewish guy once, and he told me "I need a nice Jewish girl". Bling! Bling! Did anyone else not see that panic button? Well I finally got it, and pressed it for a quick evacuation. The ejector seat almost didn't work, but I managed to get out without a scratch. You see, we all have reasons to bail. We may not see it at first, due to the lust, I mean dust, in our eyes. Girls, please do not discuss past lovers, and especially how good the past lovers were in bed (and definitely do not discuss size or girth). Men, should not discuss the fact that they want to be bachelors forever (even if true), and they definitely should not mention the great rack on your cousin (bad move). You see, some things are better left unsaid. Women will never reveal the fact that when they are dating a guy, they go home, and secretly think about which drawer he would get if he ever moved in. Panic! Panic! Men, run as fast as you can and please don't look back. The funny thing is while men probably never admit it, they are actually secretly thinking of which clothes they would bring for that drawer :) So lets all continue this game of charades, and keep our panic buttons handy for the quick exit if necessary.

Gym hours: 9-5 p.m.

So I am planning a trip to go see my best friend and the non-Asian BF in lovely motor city. I have never been so excited. My best friend, the Greek, is loosing her mind and needs a little TLC. (And so does the BF-he just doesn't realize it). In about 3-4 months, the Greek will be taking off to Asia. I know, the past few blogs have had a little too much Asian fetish. Well, her fiancee is from Hong Kong, so she will be moving soon. It is so romantic, moving to the other side of the world for the man she loves. Someone needs a fairytale ending. It might as well be her, she deserves it. As for me, well I am going to miss her terribly. But I figure I can purchase lots of Asian miles (yes, there is a thing called Asian miles. But I don't know if those miles look Asian or come in yellow form. That's for you K(azn) my biased Chinese friend) and fly whenever I want. Not to mention, she told me about this place in China where you can get a $10 massage for 3 hours. I pray that it has a "happy ending." The way I'm going lately. If this dry spell continues any longer, I might need to start a brothel in my apt. At this point, I will take whatever I can get my hands or legs around. I have been trying to stay away from my battery operated friend in order to save myself (and my energy) for that weekend. So, I have decided to start Kegel exercises. I am told not only does it make your BF's parts seem larger, but it allows you to orgasm quicker, and increases pleasure for him too. Who would have known, such a small muscle can do so much! That's what I used to tell myself years ago when I was dating shorty (another blog). I wonder if men can do exercises? I once saw a tv show where a bunch of Asian men (there's the fetish again) tied their private parts to a car and pulled it up a hill. Ouch, that's gotta hurt! I am told it has to be hard to get ripped off. Which means all of these men had to think pure thoughts. But then again, with 20 other hot, smelly, sweaty men, who could get aroused. Anyway, gotta run. I got some workouts to do. And a one, a two, a three....

According to the surgeon general, consumption of alcohol impairs your ability to control your fingers.

All dressed up, and single. What a Bice! This Italian restaurant is another on the preferred list of mine, and described by Zagats as the place to go "when looking for a rich businessman". You can tell they are accurate as the dress code that evening seemed to be navy blue suit, white shirt and tie. Nevertheless, after two bottles of Chianti, instead of focusing on the ineligible rich businessman that I was sharing dinner with, I was drunk dialing (or drunk texting) the Midwestern. After I specifically swore not to let my guard down again. This was after Monday's talk of "rhythms" and "space". The games we play! But as you can see, the brick laying job is not doing so well after a few drinks. No wonder they say not to operate heavy machinery while intoxicated. They know how dangerous a cell phone can be on a Friday night. After dinner, I played it safe took a car home, alone, and called it a night. The next day, the Asian boyfriend was the one drunk dialing me. Isn't he great? I keep him around, because if I ever think I am going to get any of that from the Midwestern. You'd have a better chance of catching me on St. Mark's place, Sat night, drinking a beer, without a glass. Regardless, I have gotten accustomed to splitting the boyfriends. (Oops, sorry I dropped the BF. Was that dust I just saw?). The Asian is good for BF things like apt hunting, and watching chick flicks together. While the other one, let's just say it would be a crime to turn your back on such amazing....Conversations of course ;) Unfortunately, we all know the truth. As much as I like to act like I don't care. I do have more than just a g-spot for the non-Asian BF. Shhh, don't tell him, it would ruin my reputation.

K's rolf por detrás

My temp Asian boyfriend (because I don't have a perm American boyfriend-any volunteers?) was rolfed last week. I know that sounds like some dirty homoerotic episode, but it really is a massage. This therapy is said to restructure both physical and psychological problems. They awaken past trauma by massage. I can't imagine wanting to pay someone to stir up past emotional trauma for me. How is that a pleasant experience? When I think of a massage, I think of some hot young muscular man with his strong large hands massaging my breasts. Oops! Wrong massage. What I really meant is I usually think of laying down in a spa bed, relaxed, getting all the stress out of of my body, not back into it! The last thing I want is for a massage to alter my mood back to a worse mood then when I walked in the door. Not to mention, that now I also have to pay $100 to have done that. If I wanted to get some psychological stress awoken in my body, I could just drink myself into a frenzy or have a session at my shrink and call it a day. I already have enough problems with the idea of paying someone to listen to me whine and complain about my life just for them to tell me I have issues. No kidding! I knew that before I laid down on that sofa. For me, my best form of therapy is dropping $300 at Stuart Weitzman not $300 at Dr. Weitzman. So I guess I wont be getting rolfed anytime soon. But I will be getting wolfed soon, but that's another blog for another day.

Wanted Skilled Stonemasons for Long Term Project

All my life, I have always thought of myself as in control. In control of my job, my school, friends, boyfriends.. Which is probably why most people in my life don't have control over anything in theirs (except you Jet Lee). Hear me out, before all my friends start bailing on me. What I am trying to say is, I have always liked being the one who tries to "help" people, when in the end the only person that really needed help is me. Okay, are you all back now? Whew! Yep, so you heard me right folks. This whole time I was in faux control. Because if I really did have things under control, then why do people keep telling me what I really need is someone else "just" like me? Obviously, I'm not very good at controlling my subliminal messages. Who the hell wants two of "me?" It's kind of like putting the batteries into the remote with the two plus signs facing together. It ain't going to work! Maybe if people weren't so busy offering up the spot to someone else, they would notice there is no 'pass on go'. It is more like loose your turn, and you give your die to the person on your right. Nobody realizes this, because like Mary Poppins I always seem to be sugar coating everything. When in reality I just wanted to be all I can be (no army jokes please) so that no one would have a reason not to be with me. Makes sense? Well, I'm sure most of you psych majors are nodding your heads. However, based on the high turnover rate in my life, I have decided to change career paths. Ladies, and gentlemen, I have chosen to take up brick laying in my older years, and I seem to be damn well good at it. Who would have known? Well, I guess after all these years of hanging out on the construction site, I seemed to pick up the skill pretty darn well. So there is a happy ending, because I am back to being in control of the most important item in my life. For those of you still up for the challenge, you better start learning how to work a jack hammer.

Passengers, please buckle your seat belts

Why is it when you give a guy what he wants he always changes what he ordered? You would think that most men would jump at the chance to have a relationship without the mess, yet they still seem to create strings even when they are not attached. It is a no win situation. Kind of like the last 20 seconds of the 4th quarter with two of your best players on the bench. I am out of ideas! You give too little, you're selfish, you give too much you're smothering. The only smothering that I would like to do right now involves my pillow and someone gasping for air. Guys, little do you realize, careful what you ask for. You see women can turn their emotions on and off. However, once they are off, lets just say...You usually need to rewire the entire thing before you even think you are getting that light to turn on again. It's like the fear of flying. You can't see where you are going, the bottom feels like an abyss, but after you swallow the pit in your stomach and you reach 30,000 feet above sea level, it's smooth sailing. Even though I live by the rule "don't expect too much and you will get what's expected." I am trying not to be so cynical in 2005, because I would hate to turn into a 30 year who is still scared of getting on a plane. Let's be honest, the "high mile club" is just one of the many perks of flying the friendly skies. So I suppose I will just wait for my miles to run out, and until there are no more upgrades to first class left. Then I will just have to accept that the fact I will be sitting in coach for the remainder of the ride. That is so long as I am near the emergency exit of course! (wink)

Arrrrr! Avast me hearties!

I've come to came to the scary realization that if I ever choked on a piece of soy cheese there would be no one to give me the heimlich. As I was disinfecting my contact lenses this morning, I did not notice the warning on the package "do not insert in eye." Okay, this makes no sense. Obviously, the contact lens has to be inserted in eye - where else would I insert it? So, I place the lens in my eye, and that's when I think my life or at least my eye sight flashed before me. All I kept thinking is I will be the girl who blinded herself all alone in her apt. I can see it in the news "Single White Female, found alone in apt blinded by her loneliness." Now it makes sense why this weekend (while house hunting) the real estate lady told me "I think this house is too big for you." Why is it that just because I am not married and I don't have kids, I can not occupy more than 500 square ft. Perhaps I like to walk around naked in a 2000 square foot house. Who doesn't? Is it so wrong of me to live alone? I guess my question was answered, as I am preparing to purchase a patch for my right eye. Moral of the story, girls, keep 911 on speed dial.

"Memories, Like the Corners of My City"

On Friday night, I went to dinner in Greenwich village, two blocks from where I had spent the last 4 years of my life. Since Hitler left last year, I have not been back. Being back was kind of like eating a piece of steak, memories of things I used to love but now they make me sick. I will say that regardless of the nauseous feeling in my stomach, I did miss it. The neighborhood that is, not the ex. Greenwich village was always the part of Manhattan where I would live when I have enough cash, or when I marry rich - whichever comes first. This area is similar to how I like my men, desirable, charming, yet trendy, and best of all wealthy. Unfortunately the real estate, also like my men, never goes down. Going back to the topic of dinner, after a one hour wait to be seated and a waiter that reminded me of Gonzo from the Muppets, we ate through a bag of Fritos (you had to be there). Always a good way to start your night. The night ended with a game of trivial pursuit, which I have decided is a game designed to create an inferiority complex in the players. I think the creators are bitter child prodigies that are determined to make everyone else in this world, regardless of their stellar high priced college education, still feel like they fall short from being "smart". Nevertheless, the night was a raging success. I would say I could not have thought of a better way of spending my evening. Good friends, good laughs, and best of all good "new" memories.

I would like you to meet Mr. Big

Is it possible to have mind blowing sex with a guy you can bring home to mom and dad? In the past, the only orgasmic sex I've met has been on the dance floor of a club in Singapore. I always thought that if I got a handful of "close calls" during sex in a handful of years, well that's good enough. Because, I couldn't actually expect to get the whole package, or even half a package in some cases. I always assumed the type that you have a long term relationship with did not equal wild and crazy, hair grabbing sex. It just doesn't match. How can I bring a guy home to mom and dad who I respect and see as "potential" (or at least potential for key exchange), but at the same time I am thinking of the body shivering, toe curling...You get the point. Then I started thinking, why not? I consider myself "bring home to mom and dad" material, yet I know that I can keep up with Bella and Jameson. Nothing wrong with that. Don't get me wrong, I am far from the "whole package" too. I have my quirks. I am hot-tempered, a perfectionist, high-maintenance, pretentious, and a power-whore bitch (wait! there's good stuff too). But at the same time, I am also a closet romantic, faithful, loving, generous, a real "bend over backwards" type of gal (in more ways than one). So, I guess my point is you can have the best of both worlds. You can have both the great guy and the great sex, and if that doesn't work out, you can always just have the great guy and the great "rabbit."

In the market for meat

Since I have given up shopping for Lent, I was forced the other night to pull out the "date outfit" which I was saving for my next outing. Okay things are a little slow lately, but no worries, I still have the tickets on the "guaranteed to get some" little black dress. I cant wait to see when that dress will come out and play. So I headed out to one of my favorite restaurants Markt. Yes, I know there is no "e" between the k and t - it is spelled that way. You know these trendy restaurants are always trying to be uniqe. I became familiar with this restaurant on my last rendezvous with the V.P. (names have been changed to protect the privacy of those mentioned). He wined and dined me only to be tossed to the side for the younger more eligible bachelor (hmm, that would explain why he is not returning my calls). That evening, after two martinis (the only thing I don't like dirty) I was well on my way to realizing - I need to get out more often. The neighborhood of choice, the meat packing district, is just filled with good looking people who probably have a bunch of acronyms at the end of their name. The once butcher shop of NYC is not only a hang out for swine during the day, but also for fresh meat at night. I expect to be pulling out the little black dress soon. However, not the one listed above. I am saving that dress for a particular "going away." I want to make sure I send someone off with a bang, or if I'm lucky it will be me.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

Can a man and a woman be friends without having sex? Okay, I am not the best person to be asking this right now. Nevertheless, this highly debatable question made the movie "When Harry Met Sally" the #1 chick flick of all time (don't lie you own it too). Like, Meg Ryan most women are high maintenance women who believe they are low maintenance. We over analyze everything, especially relationships, and we always want everything a certain way so long as it is our way (grande sugar free vanilla skim fat free latte no whip, please). All my life I have had mostly male friends, and I always blamed it on the fact that I hated women. Too catty, too bitchy, too much like me. What I did not know was that I really loved men. Too cocky, too stubborn, too scared of commitment. Okay folks, I'm a man with boobs. What I ended up realizing is that guys could never manage to stay "just" friends, let along manage to stay "just" anything. Most of them ended up history, or became an "ex." Sorry guys, only two positions available! In the past 3 years, I've lost four friends, but that was thanks to Hitler boyfriend (that's another blog all together). Now that Hitler has left the building, I have started to bring back these "friends." However, being single (somewhat) and available they all think it's off-peak hours, and everything is free on nights and weekends. So now I am left with another monumental question to add right next to "What is the meaning of life?." F*ck or foe?

The Numbers Game

We all know that infamous question that we avoid like the plaque. The question that should never be asked or answered (honestly at least). How many people have you slept with? I can't think of a worse question. Except maybe, "What's your name"? Anyway, guys usually add a few names to their hit list, because they think it is proof of how "good" they are. What we really should be asking them is "How many girls have you made climax?" You see, what some men don't realize is that humping like a rabbit (or an 18yr old after a six pack of beer) is not a notch on your belt. I say at least till the end of Leno, or it doesn't even count. So, if a guy can say that..Well then standing "o"vation to you!. Just remember, you have to minus at least 3% for the fakers. As far as woman go, we always take our number and divide it by half (and subtract by 5 and then divide by a prime number) In the end, we always end up with that magic number 3. You see, one is not enough (means we are practically virgins). Four is too many (means we are practically hoars). With "3", it's an easy timeline. It means Guy #1 was "the first", Guy #2 was "the bad ex", and Guy #3 is "You". How sweet. Come on, the only thing we have done in 3's is maybe the threesome at the frat house our sophmore year. The moral of this story is don't ask.

Taxi!

Why is it that so many of us get into a relationship, and the minute things start getting serious, we run? Where are we going? Everyone seems like they are in such a rush lately. Going somewhere new, trying something different. What's wrong with here, and now? Since most of us were too busy running, we didn't realize there is someone pretty damn great right here and now. What are we really scared of? That we actually might fall in love. God forbid! Last time I checked, no one ever died from falling in love. You might trip and fall in the process, but you pick yourself right back up and keep on walking (or get shoes with better traction). I've decided I am taking myself out of the game, no more races. Now, I prefer to think of relationships like porridge (like in the story of Goldilocks and the three bears). Some are too hot, others too cold, a couple are lukewarm, and then there is one that is "just right." I think I will take my chances, because you never know....I might just find the one that is "just right."

References upon request

I have been dating for 14 years, no I am not as old as it sounds. I am just what you call an early bloomer. Nevertheless, with all these years under my belt you would think I would know all the answers to dating. Except that men do not come with manuals (as they should). I mean I have tried it all. Playing hard to get, playing easy to get, being romantic, not being romantic, cheating, being faithful. Yet in the end, men are never satisfied. You see, if we cheat, we get the only guy in the world that believes in monogamy. If we don't cheat, we end up getting the guys with the "cant keep it in" problem. However, some people have figured out a way to make cheating respectable. They call themselves "sex addicts." Amazing! I wish I could come up with some medical term every time I want to sleep around. Like the "quicker picker upper". At some point or another, I am sure we have all suffered from the boring bedroom syndrome. But we should not let this bring us into temptation. Luckily for me, as of 2005, I am no longer settling for less of anything. The new beau is proof of that resolution. Let's just hope this one doesn't screw things up (or screw anything for that matter). Because, let's be honest gals, we can't keep renewing the warranty. Sometimes, you just gotta buy a new one.

Blog Title

Yes the title of my blog is from "sideways".
"The day after yesterday"
"You mean today?"
"Uh, no the day after yesterday, ok well I guess yeah today."

When is old too old?

Sean Connery was once rated one of the most sexiest men alive by People magazine. No one thought twice about the fact that he is way past the age of getting a discount on the subway. So why is it okay to drool over him, but if someone saw me flirting with the guy in the nursing home I would get the look of death? Could it be that when money is thrown into the picture all of a sudden the wrinkles disappear? Is it bags to riches? I will admit, I am guilty of just that. For a long time, I was always attracted to the older more distinguished men. But, my last fling I think met the limit, 20 years my senior was pushing it. Especially, when his son and I had more in common than we did. It is too bad, as the fancy dinners, trendy bars, and expensive gifts were nice while they lasted. However, let's be honest a few crows feet is okay when you are staring at each others eyes under candlelight. But take that into the bedroom, and well..No one wants to see any crows feet anywhere else but there. Not to mention, who wants to have all the lights off? No fun in that! I mean I want to see what I am about to venture, and if the road less traveled has been traveled too much. Let's just say, I am starting to think 30 year olds (or one 30 yr old in particular) fit me just fine. Besides, there is always a round two or three with them, and no need from the help of the little blue pill.

D-day or V-day?

Every year, thousands of flowers, chocolates, candy, and gifts are exchanged between couples. Whether you are in a new relationship or a 25 year marriage, we are all victims of this holiday. The stores are making a fortune, guilting us into believing if we do not buy these items we don't love you. Isn't it bad enough that Christmas has become a money making scam? Must we subject ourselves to spending lots of money only two months after we maxed out our credit cards? We are still recooperating! I do not want to sound like a bitter, single woman that hates v-day. I am not single, bitter..maybe. Does anyone know how this holiday even started? Legend says that Saint Valentine was in jail when he fell in love with the jailor's daughter and wrote a letter, signed "from your valentine". Other legends say that Valentine was a priest that performed marriages in secret during the time of Emperor Claudius II and was persecuted. How is this a happy day? Jail, persecution, death. This does not sound like a very romantic holiday. Nevertheless, magazines like Cosmo use up all 250 pages writing about "what men want", "how to make someone fall in love with you", "100 ways to say I love you", and of course the infamous "How to have the best sex ever". If anyone thinks that a magazine article will give them the answer to true love, or a few kama sutra moves, you are mistaken. Instead, you should always do something sweet for your loved one every day of the year, not just o n Feb.14th.

Sex, friends, and videotape

One can say sleeping with someone upgrades you to a "relationship". Except for "one night stands" which hold a special place of things NOT to tell the kids. Others may argue that you can only reach relationship land once you pass the statute of limitations. For me, I have spent most of my life trying to play the game of waiting for the "girlfriend" word to drop from their mouth before I drop anything. After a couple of failed long-term relationships, I decided to stop putting off and start putting out. Hear me out before we all jump to conclusions that I have begun a career on 42nd street. In my search for love, I have decided to turn to our friend Janis. "Don’t you know when you’re loving anybody, you're taking a gamble on a little sorrow, But then who cares, baby,’cause we may not be here tomorrow, no. And if anybody should come along, He gonna give you any love and affection, I’d say get it while you can!" Who would have thought that even in the haziness of drugs, alcohol and rock and roll that she was able to write words to live by. So with my new founded knowledge, I did not turn my back on love with the hopes of finding it. I can not say for sure if the whole sex before the chicken strategy will work, but I know I am having a good time testing out the theory. Also, I look forward to the day when I can update this blog with stories of a new found love that was created on the basis of sex, a friend and the sixties.