Dear faithful reader,
Two things:
I have a new laptop and broke up with my boyfriend ("S")-
This means no more excuses about why I haven't had time to write. Keep in mind I really was busy this past year having nearly non-stop and possibly the best sex of my life with "S." Whenever we got close to realizing we had zero or less in common we'd skip to the bedroom scene where not having stuff in common doesn't exist and definitely doesn't matter. On the bedroom side of my studio apartment, the lights are always dim, incense and candles burn endlessly, kisses are conversation, so if parts fit and fires burn, no one need worry where the non-relationship is going. Numbing yourself with sex takes time and energy, and that, combined with my constant computer issues just made it not possible to blog. You should also know that I was attempting to blog on my 7 year old dinosaur-mac, which is no easy task. At least 5 or so times, I wrote stuff that exposed the creepiest, scariest, most vulnerable pieces of me in a paragraph or two, only to have my desktop freeze up and freak out, which spared me the humiliation of having others know a bunch of fucked up stuff about me.
In the end, it worked out. I resolved to start a blog last December and did just that, even if it was sporadic, thin at at times, and perhaps read only by a handful. I'll claim any victory I can.
Resolve, rinse, repeat.
VES
PS. If I made my time with S sound sad or bad --- that wasn't my intention at all, I thoroughly enjoyed our year together, and if I had a chance to go back in time, knowing then what I know now, I would choose to know him again. How could I resist Stephen, his kisses, his beautiful white straight teeth framed by his perfectly red lips, his piercing laugh, his guitar riffs --- so much passion buried inside that simple man. I will miss aspects of him for a long time, if not forever.
December 29, 2006
December 19, 2006
Michael says my handwriting hasn't changed since I was 16
After a surprisingly rational discussion, S and I have agreed it is time to move on. Apparently he wasn’t getting what he needed from the relationship either.
Feel a light pressure was lifted and then immediately replaced by a new weight.
More than my handwriting hasn’t changed – Never satisfied, still fickle and kind of a gypsy, after all these years.
Feel a light pressure was lifted and then immediately replaced by a new weight.
More than my handwriting hasn’t changed – Never satisfied, still fickle and kind of a gypsy, after all these years.
November 21, 2006
November 03, 2006
October 04, 2006
This day is dragging, am craving some recognition for my morning success AND I haven’t had a sighting of the office Italian in days
I should have mentioned him sooner, the office international playboy. You know the type… tall, dark, green eyes, untamed curls, sexy accent, always on a cell saying something probably so ordinary but in Italian plays out like porn star opera and makes each and every woman in my (new) office re-apply her lipstick at least 5 or so times a day, just in case they have a chance meeting with him by the copy machine.
I guess I should have mentioned him sooner, before he becomes, guy from my office, who I shared a cab with, who told me he hangs out in my neighborhood, usually on Sunday in a restaurant across the street and only 2 blocks from my apartment, that I am considering stalking, and definitely hoping to bump into by chance, when we are both drunk and somehow end up in my apartment making out. But for now he is office Italian, and the reason I have been trying to look my best for work.
Did I mention I joined the gym downstairs and am considering starting a bonfire of my entire existing wardrobe? You know how these Italian playboys are, they simply cannot desire a woman in last year’s fashions. I am not entirely sure, but suspect that he is the reason why the women here dress so well. I'm not totally sold on the flawless outfit as seduction so I am going to start with the lipstick approach first. If ruby red lips screaming to be kissed, matched with my thrilling personality don't lure him, I'm not sure high fashion outfits will help much.
I guess I should have mentioned him sooner, before he becomes, guy from my office, who I shared a cab with, who told me he hangs out in my neighborhood, usually on Sunday in a restaurant across the street and only 2 blocks from my apartment, that I am considering stalking, and definitely hoping to bump into by chance, when we are both drunk and somehow end up in my apartment making out. But for now he is office Italian, and the reason I have been trying to look my best for work.
Did I mention I joined the gym downstairs and am considering starting a bonfire of my entire existing wardrobe? You know how these Italian playboys are, they simply cannot desire a woman in last year’s fashions. I am not entirely sure, but suspect that he is the reason why the women here dress so well. I'm not totally sold on the flawless outfit as seduction so I am going to start with the lipstick approach first. If ruby red lips screaming to be kissed, matched with my thrilling personality don't lure him, I'm not sure high fashion outfits will help much.
September 14, 2006
At my new job
It's been an amazingly busy first few days at my new job. I've been saying a lot of stuff like, look!! my first email at my new job, look!! my first fax at my new job, wow!! I had my first meeting in the office (at my new job), wow!! I had my first meeting outside of the office (at my new job), gee!! my first voicemail (at my new job). There are so many milestones to note. I made an excel spread sheet, wrote a letter, made small talk with my colleagues on a cab ride to a work related social affair... Did I mention, I spilled coffee on my skirt and then dabbed water on the stain in the ladies room so it wouldn't set (at my new job)? Before you know it I'll be jamming the copier --- so much to look forward to.
It's like a virgin pure white page. Every experience is so special, kind of like when you meet a boy, and all the ordinary things you do seem to have a dewy film of honeysugarrosesperfumeandbubblegum about it. Ahhhh, the first kiss, first walk in the rain, first movie, first weekend you draw the blinds and stay in bed for both days only getting up to order take out chinese which you even eat in bed, and the whole thing seems unbelievably romantic rather than slovenly, which it really kind of is.
*Sigh* Then there's the first time you're photographed together, spend a holiday together, meet each others friends, families... What about the first time he introduces you as his girlfriend? Each and every one is a relationship landmark moment.
Sadly, the magic of the first time fades away and soon you find your perfect boyfriend and job are not so perfect at all. The promise they once held is unrecognizable. For now, I will take each delightful first and marvel in it's newness and novelty and hope that it lasts at least 10 weeks or more.
It's like a virgin pure white page. Every experience is so special, kind of like when you meet a boy, and all the ordinary things you do seem to have a dewy film of honeysugarrosesperfumeandbubblegum about it. Ahhhh, the first kiss, first walk in the rain, first movie, first weekend you draw the blinds and stay in bed for both days only getting up to order take out chinese which you even eat in bed, and the whole thing seems unbelievably romantic rather than slovenly, which it really kind of is.
*Sigh* Then there's the first time you're photographed together, spend a holiday together, meet each others friends, families... What about the first time he introduces you as his girlfriend? Each and every one is a relationship landmark moment.
Sadly, the magic of the first time fades away and soon you find your perfect boyfriend and job are not so perfect at all. The promise they once held is unrecognizable. For now, I will take each delightful first and marvel in it's newness and novelty and hope that it lasts at least 10 weeks or more.
September 08, 2006
Pah-leeze, As if
Can you believe that guy from my old office who I had sex with twice, actually had the nerve to booty call me with the old: "I'm at a bar in your hood. Call me back."
Did he really think I'd be available on a Thursday evening to meet him for a drink? Maybe on a Tuesday, and then only if someone else I already had plans with cancelled at the very last minute when I was already at the bar waiting. In a scenario like that, I might be alright with having my thirst quenched at his expense.
The part that I find so unbelievable is that he doesn't realize that I'd have to be good and drunk and feeling awfully charitable to meet him out in a bar. Based on his time of call, 8:30pm, chances of me being bottle of tequila drunk is highlyultrasuper unlikely. Not only am I seeing someone, but, I also recently bought luxury bedlinens. For those 2 reasons alone, I could not possibly have office guy, with his entry level fuck skills and low to no endowment, grace the budoir area of my studio apartment. Did I mention the 600 threadcount? Just the thought of office guy getting sweaty on, or near my new browny gold with red lotus flowers duvet cover gives me a panicky feeling.
This should go without saying --- no, I did not call back.
Did he really think I'd be available on a Thursday evening to meet him for a drink? Maybe on a Tuesday, and then only if someone else I already had plans with cancelled at the very last minute when I was already at the bar waiting. In a scenario like that, I might be alright with having my thirst quenched at his expense.
The part that I find so unbelievable is that he doesn't realize that I'd have to be good and drunk and feeling awfully charitable to meet him out in a bar. Based on his time of call, 8:30pm, chances of me being bottle of tequila drunk is highlyultrasuper unlikely. Not only am I seeing someone, but, I also recently bought luxury bedlinens. For those 2 reasons alone, I could not possibly have office guy, with his entry level fuck skills and low to no endowment, grace the budoir area of my studio apartment. Did I mention the 600 threadcount? Just the thought of office guy getting sweaty on, or near my new browny gold with red lotus flowers duvet cover gives me a panicky feeling.
This should go without saying --- no, I did not call back.
August 31, 2006
Fried egg on 7 grain toast can make you smile all day OR Poem #1
I tried to paint but the colors ran in a way that made a flower look like a hill with a climber who had far to go.
I painted fast and hard, but not pretty, not profound, so I wrote instead and my thoughts so deep and bright, on paper seemed harsh and trite, so I focused my energies and placed my hope in a fried egg sandwich.
In that first bite I was redeemed.
Washing the dish and pan also gave me great pleasure.
ves.
I painted fast and hard, but not pretty, not profound, so I wrote instead and my thoughts so deep and bright, on paper seemed harsh and trite, so I focused my energies and placed my hope in a fried egg sandwich.
In that first bite I was redeemed.
Washing the dish and pan also gave me great pleasure.
ves.
August 29, 2006
One weekend with my nephew and suddenly men find me irresistible
My 12 year old nephew came to stay with me in NY for a long weekend. I'd been promising him a visit all summer and with school just one week away, it was time to give in and hang out with the kid. We had a really nice time, seriously. He came on Thursday and left Monday, and during that time he was the best roommate I'd ever had. He washed the few glasses in the sink and even took out the recyclables. We ran errands, shopped (scoop warehouse sale and the boy never complained), caught a movie, visited with friends (mine), saw a show and ate in endless diners. He's a cool kid. I really like him a lot.
Hanging around the city together I suppose we looked like a mom and son. I am technically old enough to be his mother and men in the street seemed really into that. My street approval ratings were freakishly high for all 5 days we scoured the city together. Men saw me holding his hand and in a moment they got that creepy animal seduction stare. It was pretty unexpected. All that 3 summers ago MILF stuff just didn't seem like street truth to me. I never gave moms a second thought, especially as competition, cause I'm in NY and hot mommies are in L.A. Isn't that where magazine perfect moms like Rachel Hunter and Kate Hudson live? Regardless of my no make-up, jeans, sneakers and tee look, I got the hungry twiceover from guys of every race, black, white, hispanic and asian (just kidding, everyone knows asian guys never give the wolflike, I will devour you if given the chance look). Men's response to me when accessorized with a 12 year old boy, leads me to believe that a woman who is capable of mothering is a total turn on for men. Me, a short, average looking brunette armed with a healthy 12 year old boy was instantly transformed into a universally desired woman. At a glance, I was capable of handling men's needs/neediness (cooking, cleaning, caring, nurturing, bandaging).
For many reasons, when Monday arrived I was sad to see the kid go. I kind of liked that the super hot dad in Banana Republic buying jeans for his 15 year old son ( I know that because he chatted me up while we waited for our individual boys outside the dressing room) was clearly smitten with me, an aunt that seemed like a mom. I noticed him, noticing that I, had no wedding ring on (neither did he) and I know he was about to take it a step further with questions like where do you work, etc. in an effort to give/take my number, but I do have a boyfriend, and I was pretty sure that being outed as the aunt would have plummeted my attractiveness level from woman with a kid whose biological clock no longer ticks cause she's satiated in the kids department to lonely aunt who loves playing mommy and desperately wants a kid of her own, neither of which is true, but men love to assess these situations and size us up as quickly as we do them... So at first chance I grabbed my nephew, paid for his new jeans and ran out of the store into the crowded soho streets where sexy dad would never be able to find us.
Interestingly enough, other women who saw me and my nephew and interacted with us, didn't take us for mother and son at all. The tailor who measured my sleeves for shortening asked if he was my brother because she could tell I was "way too young" to have a son his age. Not true at all, she was buttering me up right before she quoted $25 for shortening the sleeves on a jacket that only cost me $50. I am not too young to have a sixth grader, I just don't have the look or wear and tear of a woman with kids, and other women sense that. I'm exhausted, but not in the way that moms are. My tired look is from too many glasses of wine and waiting up for my musician boyfriend to come over after gigs so we can have sex late late late night. Big difference.
Hanging around the city together I suppose we looked like a mom and son. I am technically old enough to be his mother and men in the street seemed really into that. My street approval ratings were freakishly high for all 5 days we scoured the city together. Men saw me holding his hand and in a moment they got that creepy animal seduction stare. It was pretty unexpected. All that 3 summers ago MILF stuff just didn't seem like street truth to me. I never gave moms a second thought, especially as competition, cause I'm in NY and hot mommies are in L.A. Isn't that where magazine perfect moms like Rachel Hunter and Kate Hudson live? Regardless of my no make-up, jeans, sneakers and tee look, I got the hungry twiceover from guys of every race, black, white, hispanic and asian (just kidding, everyone knows asian guys never give the wolflike, I will devour you if given the chance look). Men's response to me when accessorized with a 12 year old boy, leads me to believe that a woman who is capable of mothering is a total turn on for men. Me, a short, average looking brunette armed with a healthy 12 year old boy was instantly transformed into a universally desired woman. At a glance, I was capable of handling men's needs/neediness (cooking, cleaning, caring, nurturing, bandaging).
For many reasons, when Monday arrived I was sad to see the kid go. I kind of liked that the super hot dad in Banana Republic buying jeans for his 15 year old son ( I know that because he chatted me up while we waited for our individual boys outside the dressing room) was clearly smitten with me, an aunt that seemed like a mom. I noticed him, noticing that I, had no wedding ring on (neither did he) and I know he was about to take it a step further with questions like where do you work, etc. in an effort to give/take my number, but I do have a boyfriend, and I was pretty sure that being outed as the aunt would have plummeted my attractiveness level from woman with a kid whose biological clock no longer ticks cause she's satiated in the kids department to lonely aunt who loves playing mommy and desperately wants a kid of her own, neither of which is true, but men love to assess these situations and size us up as quickly as we do them... So at first chance I grabbed my nephew, paid for his new jeans and ran out of the store into the crowded soho streets where sexy dad would never be able to find us.
Interestingly enough, other women who saw me and my nephew and interacted with us, didn't take us for mother and son at all. The tailor who measured my sleeves for shortening asked if he was my brother because she could tell I was "way too young" to have a son his age. Not true at all, she was buttering me up right before she quoted $25 for shortening the sleeves on a jacket that only cost me $50. I am not too young to have a sixth grader, I just don't have the look or wear and tear of a woman with kids, and other women sense that. I'm exhausted, but not in the way that moms are. My tired look is from too many glasses of wine and waiting up for my musician boyfriend to come over after gigs so we can have sex late late late night. Big difference.
August 23, 2006
I asked nicely
This makes 2 times in recent weeks that I asked nicely for something and voila it was mine. The nice folks (folk?) at blog of the day were kind enough to grant me BOTD status for "SMF" my August 22 entry. All this blogging is fun and i enjoy the blah di dah, but I kind of like the thought of someone out there actually reading it vs. me just tap tap tapping away for nada.
Stuff is good. No complaints. I am tan and happy, well rested and relaxed. Things are aligned in a way that I should be ok to start a diet tomorrow so I can be my slim super cutest for my new job. Two tiny acts of kindness directed towards me and I am ready to pay the universe back by being cuter and slimmer and wearing my heels to the office (not my less sexy flats) for at least the first few weeks of my new gig.
Not impressed? No icecream, no pizza, more fruit, no beer... situps and skipping cocktails is plenty of proof that I am a worthy recipient of recent kindnesses directed towards me. I can take a few weeks of healthy living, but any more than that and I am bound to unravel. Any good I may have done will be erased when I turn into a professional grade cranky asshole, deprived of my snacks and naps for
too long.
Stuff is good. No complaints. I am tan and happy, well rested and relaxed. Things are aligned in a way that I should be ok to start a diet tomorrow so I can be my slim super cutest for my new job. Two tiny acts of kindness directed towards me and I am ready to pay the universe back by being cuter and slimmer and wearing my heels to the office (not my less sexy flats) for at least the first few weeks of my new gig.
Not impressed? No icecream, no pizza, more fruit, no beer... situps and skipping cocktails is plenty of proof that I am a worthy recipient of recent kindnesses directed towards me. I can take a few weeks of healthy living, but any more than that and I am bound to unravel. Any good I may have done will be erased when I turn into a professional grade cranky asshole, deprived of my snacks and naps for
too long.
August 22, 2006
SMF
2 weeks notice, 3 of the sweetest words, when used in that order, post fetching a cup of ice for a fat fuck with a comb over. Yeah, I'll admit that mostly I loved my job, the one I had these past two years only because the job I had the year before that sucked so hard. I went from the worst job in Manhattan to a pretty ok job, with a generous salary for my individual contribution --- by comparison, my last job was great, amazing, a joy each day, but after 2 years and a much better offer, I had to say sayonara mother fuckers. And I mean that in the sweetest way. That's who I am. I'll give my best, work late and hard, but it won't last forever.
I knew my days were numbered and that it wouldn't be much longer after I had sex with a guy from the office. I was bored, needed a diversion, and if sex with a co-worker doesn't add some daytime drama, nothing will. Isn't that horrible... I claim to cheat on my dear sweet boyfriend because I'm bored at work. My boyfriend is a musician, not the type of job where money rolls in consistently, so I am relied upon at times to pick up my fair share of bar tabs and such. We can't both be broke, can we? That wouldn't help the relationship much either, so if I have to sleep with a guy from the office just to keep up my morale, I'm willing to do just that.
Incidentally, office guy was a joke to sleep with --- his skills were completely non existent, so was his cock and broke musician boyfriend has inches to spare and kisses so sweet and skilled I have absolutely no excuse for ever needing to seek kisses and such elsewhere. Cheating can't be about sex, cause if it was, I'd clearly be faithful, at least this time. God knows I have been faithful to far less accomplished lovers than "S".
I'm hoping my summertime hook ups, sneaking around and being a slut doesn't end up a habit. Twice in the past two weeks I have been able to control myself when a extra-relationship hookup was looming. In the moment when things were about to go a step too far, I closed my eyes and imagined a bucket of ice water falling over me - within seconds I was soggy and ashamed and able to pull myself together. It's not easy behaving in a manner suitable to a girl with some dignity and a boyfriend. The clock ticks and I get older each second. I wonder how much longer guys will be perving on me? Will I regret not taking advantage of these days of ample suitors and boys still eager to bed me?
I knew my days were numbered and that it wouldn't be much longer after I had sex with a guy from the office. I was bored, needed a diversion, and if sex with a co-worker doesn't add some daytime drama, nothing will. Isn't that horrible... I claim to cheat on my dear sweet boyfriend because I'm bored at work. My boyfriend is a musician, not the type of job where money rolls in consistently, so I am relied upon at times to pick up my fair share of bar tabs and such. We can't both be broke, can we? That wouldn't help the relationship much either, so if I have to sleep with a guy from the office just to keep up my morale, I'm willing to do just that.
Incidentally, office guy was a joke to sleep with --- his skills were completely non existent, so was his cock and broke musician boyfriend has inches to spare and kisses so sweet and skilled I have absolutely no excuse for ever needing to seek kisses and such elsewhere. Cheating can't be about sex, cause if it was, I'd clearly be faithful, at least this time. God knows I have been faithful to far less accomplished lovers than "S".
I'm hoping my summertime hook ups, sneaking around and being a slut doesn't end up a habit. Twice in the past two weeks I have been able to control myself when a extra-relationship hookup was looming. In the moment when things were about to go a step too far, I closed my eyes and imagined a bucket of ice water falling over me - within seconds I was soggy and ashamed and able to pull myself together. It's not easy behaving in a manner suitable to a girl with some dignity and a boyfriend. The clock ticks and I get older each second. I wonder how much longer guys will be perving on me? Will I regret not taking advantage of these days of ample suitors and boys still eager to bed me?
August 02, 2006
I love Michael Knight
Reality TV confession time. After last season I vowed not to watch another lame ass episode of American Idol, except for initial tryouts when whack jobs take off their straight jackets and show up to sing their hearts out. I watched, I watched, I whined, I bitched, I complained and in the end I found happiness when Katherine did not win. Later, when rumor TV outed her as a bulimic, I cheered on the inside, cause I knew, I just sensed - that she was a girl on the verge of eating a dozen cupcakes and that although she proudly sported her D-cups, I could plainly see that once she turned the corner on 21 and reached the more humbling age of 31 she'd be a fat ass. Super shiny hair and teeth of a superior grade white won't console her when she, already a size 12 I presume, ends up a size 16. And as I understand it, binging and purging isn't easy on the teeth... Unless ofcourse she's a laxative junkie variety bulimic --- Nothing I care to discourse on further.
I am not watching the current reality music competition, the one with the rockers... Not a single episode. I know it exists and I'm staying away. My TV watching energies are all being focused on fashion for now - Project Runway.
And, I love Michael Knight.
I am not watching the current reality music competition, the one with the rockers... Not a single episode. I know it exists and I'm staying away. My TV watching energies are all being focused on fashion for now - Project Runway.
And, I love Michael Knight.
July 28, 2006
(Hey Diana, I took your advice)
Lame and bizarre email from my previous boyfriend/fiancee, current stalker and serious loser.
Synopsis: I went to a foreign country, met a boy, fell in love, fell out of love. What I thought was a semi-mutual breakup has turned into a one sided unrequited email stalking. Seriously. He continues to email me weekly although I have not responded to him since March.
received 7/27/06. (the note is completely unedited,I even left in the boring parts and typos)
To: Me, From: Him
subject: vacation people and on arguments
i was planning to have my annual vacation in early sep.
but like last year i suddenly feel tired again.
last year I met you, for almost half a year I lived with the thought of you in my mind.
recently i was on a business trip to Kayseri, somewhere in middle anatolia (the name comes from Kaiserium which is a derivation of the word Caeserium-- and you're smart enough to know what it means...) anyway that's not the point.
the point there is our dealer's nephew there is going to get married on this friday...he was complaining about his prolonged engagement...he said that there were so many arguments that they were having at the moment...
in the end he said it was a better idea to get merried asap and let the issues be solved as these two people get to know each other better undera tighter bind.
anyway, I just sat down like a good boy and listened silently.
i heard this from so many people.
and in the end this happened to me.
if I stayed there, I know that I could have sorted out our issues. very stupid ones indeed. but anyway that was not meant to happen that way. one cannot beat his destiny. i'm still shocked in some way though...
well...one thing's for sure...one day these disturbing self confession type of mails will end,too, but that will not mean that I was able to forget you. That I cannot do. My grey file, with our pics inside, lies3 out there on my desk untouched. I can't find the power to hide it away. It just is there.
one day...perhaps after a long while...one day perhaps your disappointment towards me ceases, perhaps one day we can sit down, only for an honest coffee, and talk.
a.
Synopsis: I went to a foreign country, met a boy, fell in love, fell out of love. What I thought was a semi-mutual breakup has turned into a one sided unrequited email stalking. Seriously. He continues to email me weekly although I have not responded to him since March.
received 7/27/06. (the note is completely unedited,I even left in the boring parts and typos)
To: Me, From: Him
subject: vacation people and on arguments
i was planning to have my annual vacation in early sep.
but like last year i suddenly feel tired again.
last year I met you, for almost half a year I lived with the thought of you in my mind.
recently i was on a business trip to Kayseri, somewhere in middle anatolia (the name comes from Kaiserium which is a derivation of the word Caeserium-- and you're smart enough to know what it means...) anyway that's not the point.
the point there is our dealer's nephew there is going to get married on this friday...he was complaining about his prolonged engagement...he said that there were so many arguments that they were having at the moment...
in the end he said it was a better idea to get merried asap and let the issues be solved as these two people get to know each other better undera tighter bind.
anyway, I just sat down like a good boy and listened silently.
i heard this from so many people.
and in the end this happened to me.
if I stayed there, I know that I could have sorted out our issues. very stupid ones indeed. but anyway that was not meant to happen that way. one cannot beat his destiny. i'm still shocked in some way though...
well...one thing's for sure...one day these disturbing self confession type of mails will end,too, but that will not mean that I was able to forget you. That I cannot do. My grey file, with our pics inside, lies3 out there on my desk untouched. I can't find the power to hide it away. It just is there.
one day...perhaps after a long while...one day perhaps your disappointment towards me ceases, perhaps one day we can sit down, only for an honest coffee, and talk.
a.
July 07, 2006
Kind of like gawker, but not
Chelsea Clinton is not a dog. It has been confirmed to me that she is pretty, or to quote my ex-boyfriend who spotted her this past fourth of July in Manhattan attending a bbq with her man, she was "way prettier than I'd ever imagined." Isn't that great news?
Chelsea is not a dog, she is not hard to glance at, difficult to remain focused upon, a sight that makes eyes sore and those with vision prefer blindness. This part is unconfirmed, but I would wager she's not only surprisingly cute, but also funny and cool and has her dad's overall sheen and charm-i-ness. I am relieved. I am satisfied. I am pleased.
I can now rest easy, never having to worry again, that my favorite ex president and alleged sex machine has to shoulder the burden of loving an ugly child. A burden I will probably have to bear myself one day, if I ever settle down, quit being a junior spinster and marry one of my boyfriends. I know that if a future parent of a hard to look at baby list exists, my name is at the top. I am kind of mean that way. I've said, "Damn, did you see that ugly baby?" and "My god, that kid looked fucked up" too many times for there not to be repercussions.
I'm sorry, but all babies are not cute. There are ugly babies, plenty of them, and one day I will have one of my very own. Bill Clinton, however does not, because his baby turned out pretty.
exhale.
Chelsea is not a dog, she is not hard to glance at, difficult to remain focused upon, a sight that makes eyes sore and those with vision prefer blindness. This part is unconfirmed, but I would wager she's not only surprisingly cute, but also funny and cool and has her dad's overall sheen and charm-i-ness. I am relieved. I am satisfied. I am pleased.
I can now rest easy, never having to worry again, that my favorite ex president and alleged sex machine has to shoulder the burden of loving an ugly child. A burden I will probably have to bear myself one day, if I ever settle down, quit being a junior spinster and marry one of my boyfriends. I know that if a future parent of a hard to look at baby list exists, my name is at the top. I am kind of mean that way. I've said, "Damn, did you see that ugly baby?" and "My god, that kid looked fucked up" too many times for there not to be repercussions.
I'm sorry, but all babies are not cute. There are ugly babies, plenty of them, and one day I will have one of my very own. Bill Clinton, however does not, because his baby turned out pretty.
exhale.
June 23, 2006
Friday's Addendum to Thursday's Oath
An insightful (i.e. know-it-all) friend, who read yesterday's vow, called to advise me that it was in need of some amendment. It was pointed out to me that I rarely, if ever cry, and am probably having more sex than just about every person I know, definitely anyone who lives in my apartment building. As such, I should like to remove, cry less and fuck more from my previous vow, and will focus my energies on loving more and fighting less.
nit-pickers.
nit-pickers.
June 22, 2006
~ Thursday's Oath ~
I woke up today, a day not unlike any other day, with the desire to make a difference, be a better person. I planned to do this by crying less, loving more, fighting less, fucking more. Why not? This could be the vow I actually keep.
Not like my vow to eat more fruit, less ice cream or my vow to go inside the gym and not walk briskly past it in an aerobic burst of energy, which is kind of like working out but lasts all of 6 seconds and makes me feel sporty and fit just long enough to get me past the gym doors without guilting me into walking in. Not that walking in works either. I’ve gone up the steps, in the door, into the locker room and just changed my mind, walked right back out into the street, with the sweet taste of defiance on my lips. I can’t be one of those people who’s a slave to a treadmill, who finds solace in tight abs, not me, not who I am at all.
I’m more the hear about a sample sale, try to find the location, walk 15 blocks out of my way, finally find the building, scale 8 flights of stairs because the elevator is broken, then furiously rummage the racks and boxes and bins, find something cute and boldly try it on in front of other women, and sometimes men, me on display, flaws exposed under harsh sample sale room fluorescents, no shame, no apologies type. That’s who I am. The sweaty, frazzled, maniac shopper who you see stripped down to her drawers trying on a too tight but deeply discounted dress in the middle of the sale room floor at the Diane von Furstenberg sample sale.
Next time you see me, cut me some slack. I'm trying to be a better person and it's not my fault they don't have a dressing room.
Not like my vow to eat more fruit, less ice cream or my vow to go inside the gym and not walk briskly past it in an aerobic burst of energy, which is kind of like working out but lasts all of 6 seconds and makes me feel sporty and fit just long enough to get me past the gym doors without guilting me into walking in. Not that walking in works either. I’ve gone up the steps, in the door, into the locker room and just changed my mind, walked right back out into the street, with the sweet taste of defiance on my lips. I can’t be one of those people who’s a slave to a treadmill, who finds solace in tight abs, not me, not who I am at all.
I’m more the hear about a sample sale, try to find the location, walk 15 blocks out of my way, finally find the building, scale 8 flights of stairs because the elevator is broken, then furiously rummage the racks and boxes and bins, find something cute and boldly try it on in front of other women, and sometimes men, me on display, flaws exposed under harsh sample sale room fluorescents, no shame, no apologies type. That’s who I am. The sweaty, frazzled, maniac shopper who you see stripped down to her drawers trying on a too tight but deeply discounted dress in the middle of the sale room floor at the Diane von Furstenberg sample sale.
Next time you see me, cut me some slack. I'm trying to be a better person and it's not my fault they don't have a dressing room.
May 16, 2006
Three Shades Darker Than Completely Pale
Sun on all four sides is a bit intimidating and I might have gone a little crazy with the spf. I used 45 all week, the white coppertone kind, with the tiny round mirror embedded on the front of the bottle. The mirror would have come in handy if I had not had a friend around to advise me on whether or not all the lotion had been absorbed and also if the mirror hadn't gotten all gunked up from my greasy hands and fingers handling the bottle after applying the lotion myself. I ended up back in New York without a golden tan to remind me of my sunnier days during the previous week. I was just three shades darker than completely pale. Which kind of made me feel like a fraud. Here I was filled with sunny serenity, and yet didn't have the sun kissed cheeks to prove it.
I panicked, momentarily, fearing that my boss seeing my pale face post vacation wouldn't even believe that I was away, which wouldn't have been a big deal, except that by pure chance I chose one of the busiest/craziest weeks of the year, second only to the annual budget crunch and fiscal year end, to be out of the office. You can't just take off a week to clean out your garage. Time off during the second busiest work week of the year can only be accepted by higher ups if you purchased a non-refundable ticket to a temporary paradise that will refresh, renew and enable you upon return to work even harder than you did before, which is way harder than you ever thought you'd have to when you accepted the job.
Aside from my non-existent tan, I also brought back a few souvenirs and a new appreciation, or more accurately, a renewed appreciation of tequila. One of the waiters from "S" and my favorite beachfront restaurant greeted us each time we returned as Mr. and Mrs. tequila, and I liked it. We did order a tequila or 2 but I think the warm greeting and pleasure to see us return had more to do with our enormous generosity post tequila dinners, when we were all happy to be alive and tipping Mexican waiters 50% because we felt guilty paying less than 100 bucks for lobster for 2 with countless cocktails. He couldn't exactly call us Mr. and Mrs. Big Tipper, now could he?
We stumbled back from our dinners to our perfectly dreamy villa, where our bottle of Corralejo, shared by me, "S" and we realized later, the cleaning staff, awaited us. We sipped a few more under the most brilliantly starry nights, nothing but beach and possibility ahead of us and the rest of the world behind.
I panicked, momentarily, fearing that my boss seeing my pale face post vacation wouldn't even believe that I was away, which wouldn't have been a big deal, except that by pure chance I chose one of the busiest/craziest weeks of the year, second only to the annual budget crunch and fiscal year end, to be out of the office. You can't just take off a week to clean out your garage. Time off during the second busiest work week of the year can only be accepted by higher ups if you purchased a non-refundable ticket to a temporary paradise that will refresh, renew and enable you upon return to work even harder than you did before, which is way harder than you ever thought you'd have to when you accepted the job.
Aside from my non-existent tan, I also brought back a few souvenirs and a new appreciation, or more accurately, a renewed appreciation of tequila. One of the waiters from "S" and my favorite beachfront restaurant greeted us each time we returned as Mr. and Mrs. tequila, and I liked it. We did order a tequila or 2 but I think the warm greeting and pleasure to see us return had more to do with our enormous generosity post tequila dinners, when we were all happy to be alive and tipping Mexican waiters 50% because we felt guilty paying less than 100 bucks for lobster for 2 with countless cocktails. He couldn't exactly call us Mr. and Mrs. Big Tipper, now could he?
We stumbled back from our dinners to our perfectly dreamy villa, where our bottle of Corralejo, shared by me, "S" and we realized later, the cleaning staff, awaited us. We sipped a few more under the most brilliantly starry nights, nothing but beach and possibility ahead of us and the rest of the world behind.
April 27, 2006
Meeting With My Now Married Ex-boyfriend is Never a Good Idea
Not for the reasons you imagine, it's not the innocent mouth kiss hello and good bye, or the fact that he's married. It's because he is still in college football player shape, dresses impeccably, has great conversation skills, English tea caliber table manners, picks the best restaurants and always pays the bill without hesitation. I did notice this meeting that his teeth had dulled slightly from 19 year old super star white to a mere really really white. They were still perfectly straight. He has always had the freshest breath, nicest smile, the type of things you take for granted. You don't realize that one day you'll go out on a date with Mr. breath not so fresh, teeth kind of gray. Life lets you down that way.
For days "S" will not be enough for me. His teeth are extremely straight and white, but his table manners and conversations skills just don't match up with married ex. Last night, only 6 hours after having been seated at a cozy table in the garden of an upscale Italian restaurant, I was now seated in a window at a midtown dive. The rapt attention I held at lunch, the conversation so easy, the excitement, none of it was there. Earlier, I had felt adored, now I wondered if "S" wouldn't rather be at the next table sitting with these 2 low grade bimbos he seemed to have glanced at one too many times for my comfort. I suggested "S" spend the night at his own apartment. He did end up coming to mine, and everything was nice, but still changed.
Meeting with my ex-boyfriend who is far more successful than I ever imagined he could be, is just not good for me. It's life at it's cruelest. I never thought that highly of him in the years we dated. I never thought that history would hold him as the best looking guy I ever called boyfriend. I was sure when I passed on him, that there were plenty better guys out there for me. I was confident I would end up with someone far better than him, no question.
I was wrong.
For days "S" will not be enough for me. His teeth are extremely straight and white, but his table manners and conversations skills just don't match up with married ex. Last night, only 6 hours after having been seated at a cozy table in the garden of an upscale Italian restaurant, I was now seated in a window at a midtown dive. The rapt attention I held at lunch, the conversation so easy, the excitement, none of it was there. Earlier, I had felt adored, now I wondered if "S" wouldn't rather be at the next table sitting with these 2 low grade bimbos he seemed to have glanced at one too many times for my comfort. I suggested "S" spend the night at his own apartment. He did end up coming to mine, and everything was nice, but still changed.
Meeting with my ex-boyfriend who is far more successful than I ever imagined he could be, is just not good for me. It's life at it's cruelest. I never thought that highly of him in the years we dated. I never thought that history would hold him as the best looking guy I ever called boyfriend. I was sure when I passed on him, that there were plenty better guys out there for me. I was confident I would end up with someone far better than him, no question.
I was wrong.
April 25, 2006
This Time Last Year or The Story of How I Flashed Al Gore, Who Probably Thought I Was a Hooker
I can hear it now, “Tipper, we have to move back to Tennessee, NY is full of sinners. I saw a hooker in Starbucks today.” “Al, you’re over reacting.” “I am not! She lifted up her dress in the middle of the day, in a public place in a move that was clearly meant to advertise her wares, Tipper, trust me, I know Evil when I see it.”More like: I was meeting someone a block away at Balthazar and arrived early. I thought a quick cup of coffee would be a safe idea, way safer than starting out at the bar and ending up drunk even before my lunch appointment started. That just isn’t a good idea when you have to head back to the office before too long. The coffee was just a time killer. I barely took a sip. I mostly stared into my compact, touched up my lipstick and made sure my garter/hose were secure. Maybe I’m a little shameless, but I didn’t think examining my hose in a crowded Starbucks in Soho qualified me as a blatant exhibitionist. It was a pretty automatic move and I didn’t think much of the eye contact I made with a table of three obviously southern business men who’s glance I caught when I looked up from my hemline. I continued my wait, repeatedly looked at my watch and sipped my coffee, wishing someone would get up and I could have their oversized, overstuffed seat.
It wasn’t until 15 or so minutes later, when a very young, very gay and very excited Starbucks employee approached me that I’d realized the men I pulled my dress up in front of included former VP and bible verse lover, Al Gore. The Starbucks guy just wanted me to know he thought it was great how I showed off my stuff, and he was waiting for the secret service guys to cuff me. A woman, who I hadn’t noticed before, with a thick French accent, was giddy with excitement at having spotted a celeb. I was thinking, since when is Al Gore a celebrity? I assured French woman and Starbucks guy it was unintentional. I promptly left the suddenly and eerily empty coffee shop.
My point: it’s stocking season world, beware. I have thighs and I’m not scared to expose them.
April 17, 2006
Sand in my shorts
14 more city days, then sunny Mexico.
I'm going to spend 7 whole days with the guy I've been seeing ("S"). Four plane rides (stopover in Atlanta both ways) and a week in paradise can put a lot of pressure on a situation. No option of: you go to your apartment and I'll go to mine, no friends to join us, no diversions, no pressing errands, no excuses and no where to run(/hide).
So far S and I have spent one weekend together, Friday evening to Monday morning. We called it vacation training. I had pms and that means plenty of mood/personality changes. We still managed to have fun, at least that's what we said and agreed upon. By Sunday I was used to his face and him being around all the time.
I did notice that we spent a full week apart immediately following our together weekend and haven't made another attempt at being together at length, without interruption since.
April 06, 2006
When he said A, he meant B
I should have known when he said his penis was medium sized and that he only went down on "girls he was in love with" it really meant he had a small penis and wasn't especially skilled in the plan B ways of providing girls pleasure. Lesson one: Medium means small and small means tiny.
Lesson two: If it falls from the lips of a guy with a beer in his hand, chances are it's not really a conversation you're in but the target in a plot for getting panties around ankles. If there's a chance he can take you home that night instead of having to call you to meet again a week later, he'll choose the same night option every time. When a guy is sending a clear channel signal that he is single, looking, successful and monied, he is counting on you to seize the moment because a catch so good won't be available for long... He actually expects you to believe that if you let him out of your sight for even a moment some mythical Manhattan man catcher will snag him during the short walk from the bar to the cab on the corner, so don't let him out of your sight. The catch me tonight approach, is a bar standard and generally works on my younger, more naive sisters. It's not for use on a slightly older, way wiser, been in plenty of bars type like me. I find that approach highly transparent and any glimpse of it makes me want to lead a guy on all night, use my best seduction techniques, imply plenty, conveniently forget to mention I have a boyfriend so that after investing several predator hours in trying to bed me, he ends up feeling used, having been taken for a ride.
In my 10 plus years of meeting boys in bars, I can comfortably say I've heard it all and am pretty spot-on with the he said this and means that part of knowing boys. A more disturbing trend I've noticed lately is in the behavior of my current's dear friends. I have repeatedly been flirted with and hit-on by guys that are supposed to be good friends of the guy I've been seeing these past months. It's pretty weird and at first I thought perhaps I'd become somewhat arrogant over time, thinking no man could resist me, but a come-on is a come-on and I'm old enough to read the signs. Perhaps when "Sleazy Guy 1" touched my bottom, I overreacted. My response of "Don't touch me, are you fucking crazy?" was met with "Oh, I was admiring your pants." I guess its possible (but highly unlikely) that my well styled look/adorable pants were just so irresistible, he had to touch the fabric to confirm such a dreamy outfit was in fact real. Another so called friend, I'll call him "Sleazy Guy 2" openly insulted my beau whenever we were left alone in what appeared to be a don't leave the party with him, but instead with me maneuver. A disturbing trend indeed, as if a girl comes to a party with her boyfriend and could be persuaded to leave with her boyfriend's buddy instead.
Lesson two: If it falls from the lips of a guy with a beer in his hand, chances are it's not really a conversation you're in but the target in a plot for getting panties around ankles. If there's a chance he can take you home that night instead of having to call you to meet again a week later, he'll choose the same night option every time. When a guy is sending a clear channel signal that he is single, looking, successful and monied, he is counting on you to seize the moment because a catch so good won't be available for long... He actually expects you to believe that if you let him out of your sight for even a moment some mythical Manhattan man catcher will snag him during the short walk from the bar to the cab on the corner, so don't let him out of your sight. The catch me tonight approach, is a bar standard and generally works on my younger, more naive sisters. It's not for use on a slightly older, way wiser, been in plenty of bars type like me. I find that approach highly transparent and any glimpse of it makes me want to lead a guy on all night, use my best seduction techniques, imply plenty, conveniently forget to mention I have a boyfriend so that after investing several predator hours in trying to bed me, he ends up feeling used, having been taken for a ride.
In my 10 plus years of meeting boys in bars, I can comfortably say I've heard it all and am pretty spot-on with the he said this and means that part of knowing boys. A more disturbing trend I've noticed lately is in the behavior of my current's dear friends. I have repeatedly been flirted with and hit-on by guys that are supposed to be good friends of the guy I've been seeing these past months. It's pretty weird and at first I thought perhaps I'd become somewhat arrogant over time, thinking no man could resist me, but a come-on is a come-on and I'm old enough to read the signs. Perhaps when "Sleazy Guy 1" touched my bottom, I overreacted. My response of "Don't touch me, are you fucking crazy?" was met with "Oh, I was admiring your pants." I guess its possible (but highly unlikely) that my well styled look/adorable pants were just so irresistible, he had to touch the fabric to confirm such a dreamy outfit was in fact real. Another so called friend, I'll call him "Sleazy Guy 2" openly insulted my beau whenever we were left alone in what appeared to be a don't leave the party with him, but instead with me maneuver. A disturbing trend indeed, as if a girl comes to a party with her boyfriend and could be persuaded to leave with her boyfriend's buddy instead.
March 27, 2006
Pan Three Years Later
March 29, 2006
Inaugural Post -- such pressure.
I will be brief.
Female, 30's, possible mid life crisis, living in NY and loving it most of the time. I have a non-creative admin. job that enables me to have a pretty freakin decent life, no bling, no limos, plenty of pairs of shoes and an occasional 5 star hotel. The rent is promptly paid and I can always afford a cocktail.
My street approval rating (number of guys that glance, stare, smile, stutter) is up. Superficial shit like looks and cash flow are not the issue.
But, there are always issues.
I came to NY to write, partied a ton instead, managed to have 5 or so useless boyfriends and ended up in Corporate, New York/USA. I type a lot and sort through email and paper. (Please read in a robot voice: I am proficient in excel and always report to work on time)... Enter crisis.
Just need more, will keep you posted on how I'm finding it.
Inaugural Post -- such pressure.
I will be brief.
Female, 30's, possible mid life crisis, living in NY and loving it most of the time. I have a non-creative admin. job that enables me to have a pretty freakin decent life, no bling, no limos, plenty of pairs of shoes and an occasional 5 star hotel. The rent is promptly paid and I can always afford a cocktail.
My street approval rating (number of guys that glance, stare, smile, stutter) is up. Superficial shit like looks and cash flow are not the issue.
But, there are always issues.
I came to NY to write, partied a ton instead, managed to have 5 or so useless boyfriends and ended up in Corporate, New York/USA. I type a lot and sort through email and paper. (Please read in a robot voice: I am proficient in excel and always report to work on time)... Enter crisis.
Just need more, will keep you posted on how I'm finding it.
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