Ridin' Solo

Despite (apparently) popular belief, the New York City subway system is not a private mode of transportation.

There are many wealthy people in Manhattan: those that have their own cars and drivers, the ones that take a car service everywhere, the others who only "cab it".  The people on my commute are not these people.  I am not these people.  I'm a Metrocard girl from 9-5, Monday to Friday.  However, there are people on my commute who think that even though they are not pulling in enough money to have a personal mode of transportation to and from their destination, they deserve it anyway.

These are the people who have zero subway etiquette.  They think a subway car is their own independent chauffeur service and act annoyed that they must deign to share the ride with the rest of us; a true privilege for anyone else surrounding them.   So to these proud and few, I'm issuing a wake-up call, a warning, a list of rules if you will.

1) Back. The fuck. Up. - This isn't your own car.  You are not as small as you think you are; you are not as big as you think you are.  Move into the middle of the car and make room for everyone else squished by the door.
2) GET OUT OF THE DOORWAY! - If you're not getting off there, it's OK to step outside of the car.  Common sense and courtesy (two things that yes, New Yorkers are often lacking) require that everyone waiting on the platform WILL let you back on the car first as you are kindly getting out of the way of the disembarking passengers.  Jappy Long Island girls and large black men, I'm mostly talking to you.
3) And speaking of getting on the subway, Stop Rushing. - Trust me, I've been in this fair city for six years and never once have I ever seen a train let everyone get off that needs that particular stop and then quickly slam its doors closed and pull away before anyone else can get on.  Old ladies, take note.  Most mornings I feel like Simba in the stampede scene of The Lion King.
4) If You Can't Fit On, You Can't Fit On. - Middle-aged white guys: you're job is not more important than everyone else's.  When the driver says that there's another train directly behind this one, he's not lying to keep you off his train.  If the doors can't close because you're in the way even when your dick is pressed into some woman's back and your umbrella is on another person's foot, GET OUT.  The next train is guaranteed to be empty enough that you can even have a seat!  Nobody wants to have to have their commute delayed because the train can't leave the station with your briefcase and butt half out the door while the driver screams over the speakers to stand clear of the doors.
5) Give Up Your Seat. - "You'll be standing up for what's right."  If a blind person, an elderly person, a pregnant woman is standing and a fat white guy who looks like he works in the Tech Department of your office is sitting down, there's a fucking problem.  These three categories of people get precedent over ANYONE for a seat.  After that, if there is a woman standing, be a REAL man and offer her your seat.  This is New York, so the odds are she'll look at you like "fuck off" and say "no, I'm fine", but always double-check.  If you've got a Y chromosome, two working legs, and are under 65, let someone else sit.
5B) If You Can't Fit Into One Seat, You Shouldn't Be Sitting. - This is two-fold: firstly, standing burns more calories than sitting and if you can't fit into one seat, you needs to be burnin' some more calories.  Secondly, I'm not paying over $100 a month to stand for 114 blocks on my ride to work while your fat ass either takes up 1 1/2 spaces or acts annoyed when I decide, to hell with you, and squeeze into the half seat leftover.
6) Shut Up. - Teenagers: you may not have yet learned how to control the volume of your voice, but any enclosed public space is a really good place to start practicing.  Hispanic/Eastern European/Asian women: despite your seemingly popular belief that speaking a foreign language thrusts you into a cone of silence wherein everything you say is shielded from the ears of the rest of the passengers, it is not.  In fact, being unable to understand you actually makes you MORE annoying.  By all means, feel free to chat with someone. However, do so at a volume that only the object of your attention can hear you.  If they are sitting across from you, by no means should you carry on a conversation.  Trust me, everyone else on the train wants to strangle you.

I'm contemplating printing up a simple brochure, in black and white and translated into various languages, that I can hand out to these above-mentioned offenders in real-time.  BB also would like to start a website where people can upload photos of said rule-breakers with captions describing their inability to function in the most basic social sphere of society.  (I'm hereby trademarking both of our ideas.  Get your own.)

Are we both crazy? Is it true love?

Ah, possibly both.

My Eugoogly

Today, I buried my third "grandmother".

My cousin's grandmother on the other side, Marthe (lovingly and jokingly pronounced Marth-eee) was like another grandmom.  She and my paternal grandmother (the infamous Bubbie) have been friends for almost 50 years, growing ever closer as they got older.  Marthe has been at every family occasion and holiday throughout my life and I'm saddened for all of our loss in her passing.

At Marthe's funeral today, I began thinking about my own funeral.  Now don't get me wrong here or take me out of context; people said beautiful things about her because she was a beautiful and lovely person.  This always happens at funerals, as it should.  They are a time to celebrate a life well-lived and a person well-loved.  However when I pass, I want people to be totally honest about how they felt about me.

Don't go on about how nice I was. Don't sugar-coat my life.  Don't pretend I was a great person, don't make my death into something more than it was, don't only mention the positive.  If you hated how I'm OCD about loading the dishwasher in a specific format, don't forget it.  If at one time we were living together and I blacked out and threw up in the shower and insisted the next day that someone else must have done it because I wasn't THAT drunk, still be annoyed with me.  That was gross.  If I over-use "haha" in text messages then I over-use "haha" in text messages.  It was part of my character.  If it drives BB completely nuts that my bedroom never gets more than 98% clean, he should be like "she was lazy and wasn't a great cleaner."  Be true to me, that's all I ask.  By all means, if you think I'm an asshole then say it.  On second-thought, scratch that.  If you think I'm an asshole then why are you coming to my funeral in the first place?  But don't be afraid to say "Yes, we loved her.  She was a good wife/mother/friend/sister.  Did she have her faults? Absolutely.  Did she drive me nuts from time to time?  Without a doubt.  But did she try, overall, to be a good and kind person? Yes.  And so we will remember her truly and honestly."  And that's it.  That's all you need to say.  (Wait-- that's all you need to say, but you have saaaay it in that sing-songy Jewish questioning everything tone.)  Then I want everyone to start drinking and feel free to share funny stories about me...or not.  The rest is up to you.  

I also don't need a headstone or a mausoleum or a bench or anything commemorating me.  I want to be cremated and scattered into the wind at all the different places in the world that I've visited and lived in and loved.  Then, every time the wind blows, I'll be all around you no matter where you are.  

Done.

I'm a simple girl, why wouldn't I want a simple ending?

(Irony people, it's called irony.)

This Just In!

I just heard through the grapevine that there's a Facebook campaign a-brewin' to make my old roommate, Ashley S., the next Bachelorette!  Search "Ashley S. for Bachelorette" and "like" the page!!

The Post Office

I attempted to use an automated teller at the Post Office today on 3rd avenue in Midtown.  I've got an Ivy League masters degree and couldn't figure out how to purchase a 44-cent postage stamp.

I can't help but wonder what hope there is for the rest of America.

New Year, New Me

2011 is going to be all about Me.

I mean, every other year has been; why stop now?

(In related news: I will be sporting this t-shirt under everything 

I wear this year, like Clark Kent and his Superman suit)

In this vein, I have decided to take better care of myself.  For the month of January I am experimenting with being a vegetarian.  I miss meat terribly (don't worry, I didn't give up allllllll meat winkwink), but I'm proud of the sacrifice and my willingness to step outside of my comfort zone.  I'm not proud of the carbo-loading I've been doing, and February will probably be the time of lean protein and steamed veggies so March can be "ThankGodIFitIntoTheseJeansAgain" month.

I've taken up yoga again, even buying my own mat...at WholeFoods no less!  Boy, am I Earth-friendly.

I'm trying to wake up when my alarm goes off and am picking out my clothes the night before.  I am truly embarrassed to confess how much time this is saving me in the mornings, so I will omit a factual figure here.  Let's just say "a lot".

I have also made the decision to finally get LASIK surgery in 2011.  My eye doctor has been telling me to do it for years (which baffles me, because if I don't need glasses anymore I probably won't be swinging by his office...ever), my parents keep saying I'm crazy not to, and my friends are probably sick of me being too vain to wear my glasses out, but for medical reasons incapable of wearing my contacts, and thus always begging "please don't lose me!" when we go to a bar.  I left work a little early today and decided to kill some evening time researching places at which I might want to arrange consultations.  So far I have only found one establishment, which I must rule out for purely grammatical reasons.

Exhibit A: The Sentence
"However, in interest of full disclosure, in extremely rare cases, there have been complications on record, which required additional surgery to correct the problems."

I mean let's start off with the very first part, "in interest of full disclosure."  It is "in THE interest of full disclosure," but OK, fine.   I read that phrase twice and figured it didn't sound too awful without the "the".  Then I finished the sentence.  Jesus Christ, how many commas can you put in there?  Four apparently.  But OK, fine.  I can overlook that too.  Maybe this person was out of breath when they wrote this, panting the whole time they were banging away on their keyboard.  Alright.  Then, though, I came across

Exhibit B: The Phrase
"such has"

Alright, a typo...maybe.  I mean hell, it could be like getting confused about the Elton John lyrics "hold me closer tiny dancer" and "hold me closer Tony Danza" (only confusing to children of the Who's The Boss era, really).  But maybe, maybe, if you've only ever said and/or heard the phrase "such as" spoken relatively quickly, it could...coooouuuuuld sound like "such has".  Or maybe if you've only ever heard this phrase spoken in the following video:

(Oh, there's so many things I could say here...where to start?  OK, OK, I'll stick with 

my favorite-- watch Mario Lopez's face during this interview.  I'm willing to bet he's 

never had to try that hard not to laugh before, including being on set for the infamous 

"Jessie Gets Addicted to Caffeine Pills" episode of SBTB.)

Though, if you are taking your grammatical cues from a Miss America Pageant, I should be worried.  But not as worried as I was when I read on to see

Exhibit C: The Word

"asses"

Yes.  That is "asses", as in "more than one ass."  NOT "assess", as in "review something and make an educated decision based on your findings."  Now I'm certainly not a doctor, but I can't imagine that inviting any amount of asses, no matter how many or few, is going to be good for my vision.  I don't even like to look at my own ass, singular.

If I google "lasik manhattan" I get about 215,000 results.  One down, 214,999 more to asses.

(And in case you don't believe me, this is where I won't be going).

In The Midnight Hour, She Cried "More More More"

I've got gadgets and gizmos a-plenty.  I've got whosits and whatsits galore.  Thingamabobs?  I've got 20.  But who cares?  No big deal.

I want more.

(This very, very first sentence speaks to my heart.)

This has become my theme song.  I'm so restless right now!  It's scorching all summer and I'm dying for relief on my commute; now it's so cold I can barely walk from my apartment to the subway entrance.  I'm not busy at work and just sitting in my office hanging out, bored, watching the minutes tick by.  I'm so busy at work I have no time to just hang out in my office.  I hate my job, but haven't looked for another one for weeks.  I want to cut back on my coffee consumption so instead I'm a grumpy bum all morning.  I want BB to move a little closer to me but I don't want him to sign a lease that might prohibit us from moving forward.  I'm hungry for lunch but I wait an hour and half to eat, deciding what I want.  I'm not hungry for dinner but I cook a huge meal and eat it all.  I'm tired but I go to the gym.  After I eat some Smartfood Popcorn (nectar of the Gods).  BB keeps asking me what I want for Christmas and I have no answer, then wonder why didn't he get me something for Hanukkah.  I don't feel like talking to anyone, but why is there nobody online?  I straightened my hair and it's too long.  I open a bottle of wine but it's not a variety I like.  I want to send back my Netflix but am not watching the DVD that came.  I drag a hungover BB out in the freezing cold for a walk then complain my feet hurt from my shoes and my ears are so cold I'm getting a headache.  Saturday I'm going on a Santa-themed bar crawl, but can't decide on if I want to be an elf or a Ms. Claus-type, finally determining that I'll be whichever one I can throw together a costume for out of things I already own.  Then I go online to buy one.  I'm so tired of all of my work clothes I can barely get dressed in the mornings, then I purchase a new party dress.  I'm tired of staring at my computer screen all day at work and then I come home and pop open my laptop.  My mom wants to have people over for the holidays and I'm annoyed she's doing it on Christmas Eve.  BB and I get it on and then I'm mad we don't get it on twice.  I want everything and nothing and to close my bedroom door and crawl into bed alone to read and I want to curl up with BB and watch a movie.

There's just been no pleasing me lately.  I even legitimately want to write this entry right now but keep getting distracted by something else.  (Seriously...I started this last week.  Oh my God, then even in the middle of that sentence I just thought to myself, "I wonder if there's a new episode of 'Always Sunny' on Hulu I could watch," and then clicked open a new tab to check.)  I think I have serious PMS and am just desperately waiting for some relief so I can move on with my life.  Either that or I'm having a mid-20s meltdown.

And when I say mid-20s, I actually mean late-20s.  Fuck.  

Thought Bubbles

It's about that time of year again!

Ya know, when I share some things that I've been turning over in my brain for a few weeks...did you think I meant the holidays?

1) I wonder if when I write an email to BB and sign it fakely upbeat and use lots of "!!!!" if he reads the "fuck you" in it that I've passive aggressively intended to convey.

2) Standing burns more calories than sitting.  If you are fat enough that you take up more than one seat on the subway and it's rush hour, you should be standing for a multitude of reasons.  

3) I'm seeing my first opera tonight: Carmen.  I signed up for this before I knew it was 3 1/2 hours long, started at 8PM, and was in French.  (I know all of this should have been obvious but I just saaaaaid it was my first opera!)  I keep having panic attacks that I'll be like Elaine watching The English Patient.

4) My dentist canceled my appointment today stating a "family emergency".  I found this interesting as WE are family and I've yet to hear about anything urgent...Do you think he's using my "I'm really just hungover" excuse?

5) This time of year, food is out of control at my office.  And I hate-- HATE-- when I pass up a cupcake or cookie or brownie because I just plain don't want it or am not hungry and then everyone has to chime in with "Oh come on!" or "Oh sure, that's how you stay so thin..."  Um, yes.  Yes it is how I stay thin.  It might not kill any of you to skip a snack either, but somehow it's only OK for you to make inappropriate comments about MY weight because it's less than yours.  

Can't Live With 'Em, Can't Live Without 'Em

There are so many things wrong with men that I could probably have a separate blog entirely devoted to exploring them.

However, for the sake of maintaining just the one I'll focus on things wrong with men in my life...currently, BB.  Now, I think the world of him.  He makes me laugh, he supports me, he treats me like an equal partner-- there are many fine, fine aspects of BB.  He also, though, is a fucking idiot sometimes.

(note the ironic [I hope] use of "your" instead of "you're")

Case. In. Point.  Today is a holiday; Thanksgiving to be exact.  A day to take stock of your life and think about all of the gifts you have been given and how fortunate you are and all of the wonderful people you have been blessed with.  This morning I texted BB and said "Happy Thanksgiving!! (I'm thankful for you...and facebook)".  I thought this was sweet and funny (as facebook was where he stalked me down and ultimately asked me out).  He responded with a lot of "hahas" and a picture of his dog wearing a fraternity t-shirt.

Yes, this actually happened.

Now I'm not asking him to call me back immediately and profess his love for me, but goddamn, a half-hearted and copycat "I'm thankful for you too" would've been nice to hear (read?).  But then, THEN, to not call me ALL DAY LONG?  That is not OK.  It's a holiday.  The least you can do is give me a ring at 9PM and ask how the day went.

And this isn't me asking a lot.  This isn't me wanting something that he didn't know he should give.  This isn't rocket science.  This isn't Mars/Venus bullshit.  It's a phone call.  I get calls from him when he's getting lunch.  I get calls from him when he's walking to the gym.  I get calls from him when he's getting his watch sized.  But I have to ASK for a phone call on a fucking holiday?  Really?  Really.

When I said this to my mom she responded with "well, maybe he didn't want to bother you today because he knew you were doing family stuff."  I was like uh yeah, that's why I have voice mail.  If I'm busy, you can leave a message and I'll get back to you.  During my dad's 60th bday party a couple of weeks ago he called AND texted.  I didn't get the messages until after midnight (it was a rager), but I sure as hell got back to him when I did get a chance to check my phone.  He's familiar with the protocol.  And my mom agreed; if he wanted to talk to me, he would've called.

Now I know tomorrow he'll say he didn't want to bother me when I was doing family stuff and then cite my dad's birthday as a perfect example of not knowing how late my family parties go until, but no.  Not acceptable.  Not even a text asking how my day went?  Not cool dude, not cool.  But maybe what I'm most resentful for is the fact that he does and says a lot of stupid shit without thinking all the time and I let it go because I know he doesn't mean it and doesn't think.  Then, I'm stuck harboring all these feelings and swallowing them and not saying anything because I know there's a bigger picture and I can't be nitpicky.  But a phone call on Thanksgiving?  I'm sorry, I just don't think that's an outrageous request.  Now tomorrow I'll have to feel like "bitchy girlfriend", which I am not, when I bring this up.  And that's what upsets me most of all.  His lack of consideration casting me into a role which I don't play.  It's unfair.

Also, in the interest of full disclosure, EB would always disappear on holidays.  The man would be up my ass every other day and then on a holiday he would vanish.  I think they did an episode on him in that show Without A Trace.  This was just such a painfully obvious way of letting me know how he felt about me and where I stood in his life.  If BB is trying to send me that same message, it's received.  If he's not, then sorry I'm just a tad bit sensitive to this issue.  This is me taking 5% of the blame right now for how I'm feeling.  He is still wholly responsible for the other 95%.  I give credit where credit is due.

Oh, and BB?  I hate your baseball hat.  It makes you look like a hillbilly doofus.

Ungrateful

It's not that I don't have anything to be thankful for.  On the contrary, I have many, many things to count among my blessings.  It's just that...how do I put it lightly?  I hate Thanksgiving.

I know, I know.  I am an abomination to everything that is American and everyone who is a foodie...but I just can't help it. To me, Thanksgiving is a meal made up of all of my least favorite food items.  Turkey?  It's roast chicken's larger, drier cousin (and I only eat roast chicken for the skin anyway.  Have you ever tried turkey skin? Yuck.).  Stuffing in the bird?  Even the thought of moist bread turns my stomach.  Despite my mother's infamous challah stuffing with a total prep period of three days (I kid you not-- recipe not included to save your sanity), I like my stuffing Stovetop in both brand and preparation style.  Mashed potatoes?  Eh.  I don't dislike it as much as the other main players, but I would say it's the last way I ever prefer to make a potato.  And pumpkin pie?  When it comes to after-dinner indulgence, I subscribe to the motto of "If It's Not Chocolate, It's Not Dessert".

But, *sigh*, while I dislike Thanksgiving I do love the days leading up to it.  Some of my fondest memories of home are all of the little details that go into bringing us together around the table from cities near and far.  When I was little my mom would let me experiment with cookie cutters and bake sugar cookies out of the leftover pie crust she had made.  Now my cousins come over the day before to help with the cooking.  When I was younger, my grandmother taught me the correct way to peel a potato.  Now this simple chore is a way for me to connect with her even though she no long graces our table.  Watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade while eating breakfast is something I'll never tire of, the smell of my mother's cauliflower soup is synonymous with autumn, and the weeks she spends collecting perfectly colored leaves to decorate her dining room for this one evening is a tradition.  So while the Thanksgiving feast itself doesn't do much for me, the silver lining to that parade float-shaped cloud is all the love that goes into making it.  And hey, eating leftover pizza after everyone leaves is kind of my own Thanksgiving tradition. 


*this is taken from a piece I wrote for eatingeverywhere.com :)

Mother Knows Best

My mother drives me insane.

I'm sure I'm not in the minority when I say this and I'm sure this proclamation isn't exactly a shocking revelation to anyone, but that doesn't make it any less true (or trite).  What I just don't understand is how coming from such a good place, of love and kindness and motherly worrying, her messages can tend to get so garbled and go so horribly wrong half the time.  I guess it's true what they say: the heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.

(That sounds about right)

I also know that this tradition of parents driving their children insane is as old as humankind.  My father's mother will be the first to tell you how bad your hair looks or everyone else if she doesn't like the remodeling you're having done in your home.  My mother's mother suffered from the most interesting case of "selective deafness" such that 13+ years after her passing experts the world over are still dumbfounded.  And it doesn't sound like their mothers were a treat either; my mother's parents being raised by super-strict Irish Catholics (is there any better kind?) and my father's mother by the storybook-perfect Evil Stepmother.  Ah yes, TRADITION!

My own mother's personal brand of torture is the "I Know It Alls".  She suffers from a chronic case.  Now in her defense, this is only partly her fault.  People have been paying for her advice for over 30 years, as she runs a successful private practice working as a shrink.  Unfortunately for her (me??), the line between giving her opinion to those who seek it and constantly shoving it down the throats of her children completely unsolicited has been terribly blurred.  She believes that every "pearl of wisdom" she bestows is a treat.  And maybe that is so, but it's definitely a treat that should be washed down with a stiff drink.  For example, I just called to tell her that I didn't get a promotion at work (which I wasn't expecting to receive) and told her not to worry about it and that I wasn't even upset.  Her response was to tell me that this is because I have the wrong job, am looking for other opportunities in the wrong field, and above all else, I live in the wrong city.  Now the "wrong city" shtick has been an Off-Broadway hit for some time, but as the audience appears to be tiring of the same old song and dance numbers, she's brought in "looking for other opportunities in the wrong field" to spice things up.  I've tried scalping my tickets long ago but my brothers moved to cities outside of a day-trip and call home with much less frequency so I've had trouble getting any takers.  Here's a list of some songs off the soundtrack and if you're interested, I'll give you my ticket at face value:

1) You Got Your Eyebrows Waxed Too Thin
2) That Shirt Is Cut A Little Low
3) You Drink Too Much
4) Why Did You Straighten Your Hair? (You Have Such Beautiful Hair)
5) Oh, Look Who's Finally Awake --Dad's solo
6) You Need To Leave New York
7) You're Terrible With Money (I Worry About You All The Time)
8) Why Do You Want To Work In HR? (Your Father And I Don't Understand)
9) How Much Did THAT Cost? --duet with Dad
10) Is That New?
11) You Sleep With People Too Soon
12) You Drink Too Much (Reprise)

I know, I know.  She says all of this because she loves me.  Or at least this is how she justifies it...I mean maybe that in and of itself is crazy; constantly criticizing someone and then passing it off as love.  Who knows?  Shrug.  I'm sure I'll do it to my children too and this is what worries me.  When I try and explain this to BB-- how you have children and then all they do is grow up and become ungrateful and say you drive them nuts so what's the point in even having them-- he doesn't understand.  And so, if you fall into that category of Not Following What I'm Saying, then I feel even worse for your children than I do my own.  You'll drive them crazy without even realizing you're doing it because nobody's done it to you to at least make you cognizant of perpetuating the human cycle of driving your children insane.

Now as I write all of this, I realize that I'm going to a friend's mother's wake tonight and that he'll never get to have her make him nuts again.  I understand the irony of how lucky I truly am today.

And my own mother's response?  "Don't worry, your father and I aren't going anywhere for a long time.  We'll be making you crazy for years and years to come."

A Royal Engagement

Quick show of hands:  How many people are surprised that Prince William is engaged...not to me?

Oh, to hell with you then.  Frankly, I'M shocked.

(Insert my face here)

I didn't see this coming at all.  And you know what?  I'm outraged.  How DARE he take away any chance I have of becoming Queen of England.  Now, to achieve this (easily attainable) goal, I'll have to re-focus my years of wasted efforts on Harry (which is actually not a bad deal as he deeeeefinitely emerged the better-looking prince), knock off the Queen, Charles, AND William all before William is able to procreate.  The last thing I need is to have to Mrs. Robinson his kids and I reallllly hate having to wait around for someone (to reach legal age).

I can just imagine my very own People cover now...How she won her prince's heart? Well, silently pining over  his picture in tabloids from across the ocean is pretty damn romantic if you ask me!  How they keep their love alive?  They actually haven't met yet per saaaaaaay...men love a little mystery!  When he'll pop the question? Upon their first rendezvous-- he won't be able to resist!  SIGH.

However, I am glad to have avoided Princess Diana's ring.  Now I don't want to say I'm superstitious, but I might be a little less than enthused to accept an engagement ring that started a marriage that was filled with unhappiness, infidelity, public humiliation, a widely-recognized bitter divorce, and ultimately an untimely and tragic death under suspicious circumstances.   Yes, I would say I've dodged a bullet there.

I hope Harry picks out something tasteful for me.

A Case of the Mondays

Sometimes you just have a bad day.

Your hair looks awful.
Your coffee tastes like burnt cigarettes.
You overanalyze just how much of "you" the Chinese food delivery guy saw the night before when you attempted to surprise your boyfriend by opening the door in something skimpy only to find out your roommate had ordered dinner.
Your face is breaking out despite the drastic (and medically prescribed) measure you are taking to prevent this.
You have a terrible meeting where people sandbag you.
You come back from said meeting with a run in your stockings.
You realize the previous sentence makes you sound like you've borrowed Melanie Griffith's "Working Girl" wardrobe.
You are surprised when the salad you purchased for just $2.99 at the new lunch place makes you feel sick.
Your period is lasting about three days too long.
You might bleed to death.
Your crazy thoughts --perhaps-- are spiraling out of control.
Your street corner near your office smells like mayonnaise.
You happen to hate mayonnaise.
You can't get the taste of the $2.99 salad's dressing out of your mouth.
You're about three days overdue for a manicure and two weeks overdue for a pedicure (hence the run).
Your subway ride took 20 minutes longer than usual and you hoped you were breathing $2.99 salad dressing breath on the person next to you who unnecessarily pressed themselves against you and looked like they might try and steal your purse.
You slip on the lunch menu stuck under your door by the Japanese restaurant downstairs as you finally enter your apartment.
You realize that there is mail on the coffee table that might never be opened, your living room might never be truly clean, your bank account is empty, there are no more jobs in this goddamn economy, it's dark out at 4:30PM, and overall, there is gloom and doom around you.

And then you open your bedroom door and see that your boyfriend made the bed after you left for work.  And for some strange reason, this small act of kindness puts everything in perspective and you realize that life, just as it always does, will go on.

Politically Incorrect with Bull Maher

I believe in a woman's right to choose.

I mean my liberal stance shouldn't surprise anyone in light of what I've written here.  Being pro-choice is really the only option when you're a healthy, single, 20-something woman in a major metropolitan area.  However, as I get older (and not necessarily wiser or more financially stable) I'm afraid it would be harder and harder to know that 100% I would, without a doubt, terminate should things go terribly, horribly awry.  It is for this reason that I do "touch-ups" if you will.

Let me break it down for you right quick:  When you color your hair you don't get a full head of highlights every single time you go to the salon.  Most of the time you just get your roots done.  You get a touch-up.  (Or so I hear; I am au naturale.)  In order to make sure I don't have to uh, get a full head should that time come, I like to um, do my roots from time to time to make sure things are in working order.  AKA, I make my body as inhospitable a place it could possibly be without seriously harming myself.

-I just ate half a bag of Baked Doritos for dinner, by accident.  I didn't set out to have a meal of processed cheese and cardboard chips eaten by the handful over my kitchen counter, but it just so happened that once I started I was unable to stop myself.  (Boy, in retrospect that rings true for quite a bit in my life.)  Try gleaning any serious nutritional value from that, potential fetuses.  (Feti?)

-I've recently been going to the dentist quite often for a toothache that just won't quit.  Since the dentist is having trouble figuring out exactly what's wrong, he takes x-rays almost every time I'm there.  I've asked them to stop putting that giant led apron over top of me and started rolling the dice.
     (-Also, they're x-raying my face.  Does it concern anyone else that they     don't bother to give you a helmet?)

- If that fails, at least I always stand in front of the microwave while I heat up my lunch.

-I hate being hungover.  It means I am getting old and can't hang as well as I used to.  It means that almost my entire next day is wasted in recovery, and sometimes into the next night.  I love being hungover.  It means that I've drank so much my liver has attempted to completely shut down and just destroy me once and for all.  I've said it before, but it bears repeating: If I can barely survive the alcohol flood, I'm fairly confident nothing else can either.

-Every six weeks or so I throw myself down the stairs for the hell of it.

-I take a veritable cocktail of drugs every day that are not safe for pregnant women.  Antibiotics? Don't mind if I do!  Aspirin?  Two please!  Retin-A?  Slather me!

-I'm thinking about posting an "I'll clean your kitty litter box!" ad on Craigslist.

So, those are a few of my tips.  Take them, leave them, tell all your friends I'm a monster.  Whatever floats your boat.  It never hurts (you) to touch-up!

Oooh, speaking of which, you can't color your hair when you're preggo...looks like someone's about to turn blonde!

The Men of G&B

It has recently come to my attention that some gentlemen that have been featured on my site have been less than thrilled with their appearance.

To this, I say "poo poo on you."  To be a Man of Goose & Bull is a coveted honor.  Far be it from me to toot my own horn, but dare I say that "meny" of the Men have gone on to do wonderful things after making even so much as a cameo?  Now I'm not claiming any of their successes are directly related to them being knighted with a nickname and having something personal about them splashed onto the internet...but I'm not claiming they aren't.

EB.  When EB and I broke up he was an over-30, balding, unemployed attorney with a roommate whose hygiene left something to be desired.  I started writing this blog and now he's moved out of New York and into his own place, taken a fancy government job, and...well to hell if I know if he's still losing his hair or if he ever bit the bullet on that follicular transplant surgery he was boring me to death with the details of, but the point is he's successful and happy.  There are (probably) dozens of men who have overcome male-pattern baldness to lead fulfilling lives, and I'm glad to note that EB is among those ranks.  Goose & Bull says, you're welcome.

LE.  Wow, it's been exactly a year since we've broken up.  I think we've only had communication once this entire post-breakup period.  Anyway, I started writing about him in this blog and now LB has gone from slaving away for a moderately recognized reality television show to working for Oprah.  OPRAH.  I imagine his everyday life to be something akin to this:

Goose & Bull says, no need to thank me.

BB.  This Friday will be our five month anniversary (yikes!).  Since I have first mentioned him in my blog he has found a new job, officially become a New York resident (yes, they count Brooklyn), totally revamped his wardrobe (to which I get full credit), and is about to partake in a 12-mile Tough Mudder race.  I'd pretty much be hard-pressed to say that Goose & Bull (and me) is the best thing that ever happened to him.  Goose & Bull says, I'm proud of you, BB.

Eastern Block Beau.  Ah yes, I'm including you on this list.  You made a solid case to your girlfriend and I about how you are sensitive and English is your second language.  It was almost perfect timing after this aired on Wednesday night:

And it would have been REALLY perfect timing for tugging at our heartstrings, as we approach the holiday season, had you not made this case to us and then immediately announced to an entire party that they should prepare themselves to watch your "erotic jump" out of an airplane in the video they were about to view...when you meant "erratic jump".  Goose & Bull can only say this, Eastern Block Beau: You have now had two mentions in one week.  Prepare for greatness to come rushing in.  Oh, and neni zac.

So, as the saying goes "some men are born into greatness while others have greatness thrust upon them."  Please, allow me to thrust away...

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The...

Ohhhhhhh, men.

They are the source of so much joy, so much pain, so much...laughter?  Ah yes, laughter.  The only thing sillier than a dog in costume

is a man in plainclothes, speaking honestly and genuinely.

Allow me to illustrate:

A couple of weeks ago BB and I were in a cab when a commercial with Kanye West came on.  This led to us having a discussion about his new diamond teeth and me pulling out my soapbox and proclaiming that it was ridiculous and embarrassing that he has that much money to spend on anything...and if he IS going to spend it, it should be to help out those less fortunate.  BB countered my argument saying that Kanye is a great guy and he's SURE that he donates lots of money.  He probably just does it unanimously.  I sat for a second in quiet and then repeated what he said.  "Unanimously," I asked?  "As in...he takes a vote and everyone has to agree on which charity he donates to?  Or ANONYMOUSLY...as in he does it without getting any recognition?"  BB did not laugh as hard at my joke as I did.

(It's unanimous...he looks like an idiot)

Last night I was on the phone with a friend whose boyfriend speaks English as his second language.  Unlike BB, he has a legitimate excuse to mix up words.  This, however, has never stopped us from mercilessly cracking up at him both to his face and behind his back.  So the other night she and her Eastern Block Beau were in a cab that was stuck in traffic.  As she groaned, he explained that the delay was probably from a juggernaut.  "What???" she said.  "The juggernaut, up ahead," he answered.  "If by 'juggernaut' you're referring to the villainous cartoon character from the Xmen franchise, then yes...I would imagine him showing up in midtown Manhattan would create QUITE the stir," she retorted.  What Eastern Block Beau meeeeaaaant to say was the word "bottleneck".  However, he argued the whole ride that she was wrong and made her provide him with official definitions of both words.  Much to his chagrin...

(This guy can't catch a break anywhere he goes)

And finally, while I was laughing on the phone last night another friend was laughing on her floor.  After spending the afternoon with her British mother-in-law seeing The Lion King on Broadway, she came home and told her husband about it.  Being British and growing up in other European countries, he is wholly unfamiliar with the magic of Disney movies.  This is an excerpt of their actual conversation:

Twin 2: At the end of the show the cast told the audience about this charity that they're raising money for to fight AIDS in Africa and encouraged people to donate on the way out.  I donated $20 and they said that was enough to get my picture taken with Rafiki!

Hubby: What's a Rafiki?

Twin 2: It's the monkey.

Hubby: The monkey that started AIDS??

And yes, he was quite serious.  

(Is there something you'd like to share, Rafiki?)

Crazy, Crazy For Feelin' So...Crazy?

It's not that all women are crazy, it's that we're so caught up in the chase that we can't tell when we've been caught.

(Well, I mean OK, we aaaare crazy, but that's not the point of this post)

Last night I was lying in bed with BB and feeling sweet and lovey.  In my head, I wanted to tell him, in a cutesy/funny voice, to tell me nice things (about myself obviously).  Then, I realized that most likely it'd seem completely nuts to him.  You see, while my main goal would be for him to think, "oh, my girlfriend is so cute and funny," what would really have happened would be that he'd bestow some insincere and stiff general compliments that leave me feeling confused and vulnerable and hating myself for bringing up the topic in the first place...not exactly the end result I'd be going for.  

As women though, we set each other up for this imminent failure; we all, somewhere down the line, decided that this which men would later recognize to be a massive character flaw (insecurity) is a nice way to get a self-esteem boost from one another.  You see, if I'm feeling down I could still lie my head on my mother's lap and say "Mommy, tell me good things about myself."  And yes she might laugh a little, but most likely she wouldn't bat an eye before rattling off a laundry list of my finer qualities.  Our friends do this naturally as well.  If we see one another in distress, we're always ready with an arsenal of compliments: you're too good for him, she doesn't like you because you're so pretty, etc.  To us, this is all second nature.  To men however, this is extremely bizarre.

If you're feeling unloved in your relationship with a man, to ask him to compliment you is like taking the hammer out of his hand and banging the final nail into your own coffin.  If you're feeling down, the worst thing you could do is ASK for a confidence boost.  What we should do with men is act like every day is Opposite Day.  (This illustrates my point perfectly.)  Currently sitting in silence?  Great!  I had a headache anyway.  Not loving you enough?  Excellent!  I was feeling smothered.  I really think that the less we care, the more they do.  It's like all of the sudden they realize "wait a second, she hasn't asked how my day was all night...I hope she's not mad at me.  I better step up my game!"  

Now don't get me wrong, if he's any man even remotely deserving of our time he should be going out of his way to do these things for us all the time, totally unprompted.  However, if it is that occasion where he's not chomping at the bit to tell us how absolutely amazing we are, we should just.  let it.  lie.  You see most of the time when we hear these niceties from women it's because we need to hear them, when we hear them from men it's because we waaaant to hear them.  Very different.  

I've really restrained myself in my relationship with BB; really tried to learn from past mistakes and even, gasp, take in a few of the lessons from The Rules.  So instead of asking that question last night, I just laid there.  

And you know what he did?  Completely on his own, a few seconds later, he picked up my hand, just because, and kissed it.  

Penny For My Thoughts

Here are some things that have been going on this week:


1) I decided I want to take dance classes.  Then I realized I'm 27 and that's kind of old to undertake a new physical activity and really master it...because OK, you caught me, I don't just want to take dance classes, I envision myself honing my skill-level to that of a professional.  I want people to look at me and think I invented Irish Step Dancing.  

     1a) Why Irish Step Dancing?  Because someone did it at a wedding I attended this weekend and in my drunken, self-important stupor I thought "I could totally do that."  Now that I've sobered up though, I'm thinking "I probably couldn't do that.  At all."

2) I usually feel better BEFORE I go to the doctor.  For example, I've got two pimples (which I only admit "out loud" because BB doesn't read this) so the other day I swung by my dermatologist.  By the time I'd left his office I felt like the Elephant Man.  Dr. told me to start using Retin-A again (I'd stopped for the summer) to prevent wrinkles from all of the sun damage I've done and to consider going on Accutane for my skin.  I spent the next two days at work hiding in my office and gesturing wildly in front of my face any time I had to talk to someone.  Finally, yesterday I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror.  I realized that I look like a girl with sunkissed skin from the beach the previous weekend and who also happens to have a pimple on her chin that you can't even see when there's coverup on it.  I really need to stop being such a hypochondriac and going to the doctor every time there's a minor problem.  If I want to feel bad about myself I can do it alone at home and save the copay.   

3) BB has begun to use my bedroom as a storage closet.  After taking inventory the other day, I saw that he was keeping his old cellphone and charger, a blanket, his fall jacket, and a skateboard in my 10x10 hovel...the last of which he was nicely trying to keep from scratching my hardwood floors by placing it ON TOP OF my Carolina Herrerra bag.  I almost had a stroke when I noticed this.  (In all fairness though, I am storing my formal dresses in his bedroom closet.  Though perhaps if some of his stuff was gone from my place, I'd have more room for my own...)

     3a) To remedy this, I offered to come to Brooklyn this weekend to return some of his items.  We'd been talking about doing an Exploring Brooklyn weekend for some time and since the weather is supposed to be nice, we figured this would be perfect.  I suggested we walk over the Brooklyn Bridge, eat Grimaldi's pizza, mosey around Williamsburg, get dinner at this place he's wanted to take me to that has amazing views of Manhattan, maybe grab some drinks at a bar near him that he likes.  He told me to calm down with the planning and that since the BK was his turf, he'd take care of everything...stay tuned for an itinerary and be prepared to be wowed.  Eighteen hours after the proposed arrival time of said itinerary, I found myself being CCed on an email to all of his friends suggesting a day of drinking at the park after getting some 40 oz margaritas in to-go cups.  Well, to his credit he was right-- I was "wowed".  

4) Tonight I'm covering my first event for EatingEverywhere.  Stay tuned for a link to the article!

Goose & Bull For President

In my last post, I made a joking reference to NY's slogan.  This made me curious as to what it actually is (and disappointed that I didn't figure it out on my own), and so I sought out a list.  As I was skimming through it, I couldn't help but to make sarcastic commentary about every single thing I read (as I often tend to do).  So here-- find my thoughts after the ellipses.

Alabama: Where America Finds Its Voice...when it's drunk and feeling sort of racist.
Alaska: Beyond Your Dreams, Within Your Reach...and keeping Sarah Palin far, far away.
Arizona: The Grand Canyon State...yup, we're still hawking that thing.
Arkansas: The Natural State...it's real and it's spectacular!
California: Find Yourself Here...we've been out-ing gays for over 100 years!
Colorado: Enter a Higher State...because possession of marijuana has been legal in Denver since 2005.
Connecticut: Full of Surprises...like did you know we have some Jews here now?
Delaware: It's Good Being First...especially when you can't be known for anything else.
District of Columbia: Taxation Without Representation...oh, there's supposed to be a "no" in front there?
Florida: Sunshine State...go towards the light!
Georgia: Georgia On My Mind...the confederacy in my heart
Hawaii: The Islands Of Aloha...which also means "goodbye", so please get the hell out of here and leave our native peoples alone.
Idaho: Great Potatoes. Tasty Destinations...great potahtoes. tasty destinations.
Illinois: Right Here Right Now...that's right.  Illinois is challenging you to a fight.
Indiana: Restart Your Engines...because there's no way you meant to stop in Indiana.
Iowa: Fields Of Opportunities...I mean, did you know how many things you can do with corn?
Kansas: As Big As You Think...all thanks to those Canadian drugs we were emailed about.
Kentucky: Unbridled Spirit...unwed mothers
Louisiana: Fall In Love With Louisiana All Over Again...and ya know, if you wouldn't mind lending a hand when you're finished with that...
Maine: It Must Be Maine...Hi, we're in Deleware...
Maryland: Seize The Day Off...by slipping into DC
Massachusetts: Make It Yours...seriously, if you can buy out the Kennedy's, you can have the damn place.
Michigan: Getting The Upper Hand...because you know you're all jealous we got Detroit
Minnesota: Explore Minnesota...because it's still the fucking wilderness out here.
Mississippi: The South's Warmest Welcome...hell's known for being hot!
Missouri: The Cave State...as in "we're living in one here"
Montana: The Last Best Place...I think they meant they're the "last, best place", not the worst place.
Nebraska: The Good Life...we're what Kanye was rapping about.
Nevada: Wide Open...just like our hookers' legs.  (Ah, cheap shot.)
New Hampshire: You're Going To Love It Here...says Kathy Bates in "Misery"
New Jersey: Come See For Yourself...come.  Come.  Really, come.  Come or we'll break your fucking legs.
New Mexico: Land Of Enchantment...and reservations.
New York: I Love New York...I'm sorry, but how "New York" is it to have a slogan saying "I love myself"?? Unbelievable.
North Carolina: A Better Place To Be...than South Carolina.
North Dakota: Legendary...thanks to that movie "Fargo"
Ohio: So Much To Discover...I mean we don't have anything to sell you on right NOW, but we bet there's some good stuff hidden here.
Oklahoma: Oklahoma Is OK...we've seen better, but this is alright for what it is.
Oregon: We Love Dreamers...and gamers. Oregon Trail made us a fortune!
Pennsylvania: You've Got A Friend In Pennsylvania...more specifically, Philly or Pburgh-- the rest of the place is crawling with klansmen who probably hate you
Puerto Rico: Island of Enchantment...and militaristic arms testing.
Rhode Island: We Aren't Really An Island...and nobody rode us anywhere...
South Carolina: Smiling Faces Beautiful Places...corrupt government
South Dakota: Great Faces Great Places...we ripped off our name from North Dakota and our slogan from South Carolina
Tennessee: America At Its Best...if  you consider "country music" the best of what America has to offer
Texas: It's Like A Whole Other Country...and that's the problem.
Utah: This Is Still The Right Place...?
Vermont: Vermont, Naturally...we stopped being blonde years ago
Virginia: Virginia Is For Lovers...which is ironic because we're named after NOT being lovers
Washington: Say WA!...-Snookie
West Virginia: Wild and Wonderful...and barefoot and pregnant.
Wisconsin: Live Like You Mean It...or whatever the words to that Tim McGraw song are...
Wyoming: Like No Place On Earth...so this must be hell

My Boyfriend's Back And I'm Gonna Be In Trouble

Hi, Boyfriend! 

Wow, that might be two more times I've used the "B" word in reference to my nouveau beau than ever before.  It feels strange on my fingertips.  

Anyway, I've finally done it-- told someone I'm dating about my b-l-o-g.  It was just like pulling off a band-aid!  If you immediately follow the "pulling off" by grinding some salt into the raw wound underneath it and then pour rubbing alcohol over top.  But once the sucker stopped stinging, boy did it feel good to air it out.

You see, they say that in life, "timing is everything."  While I lean towards the Control Freak end of the personality continuum, I do occasionally toss my hands up in the air and let Father Time take the wheel.  (Yes, Carrie Underwood.  Sometimes even Jesus wants to ride shotgun.)  I know that I could never date someone who has a problem with me writing here, but I also don't know if IIII could date someone who had a similar blog.  And so, I spent the last three months in a dilemma: do I give up the blog so I never have to tell him about it --as much as I'd miss writing--, oooooor do I continue to compose and reveal this site to him when the timing feels just so?  As I decided on the latter option last week, an opportunity presented itself to me that I had to take advantage of.  I have been offered the chance to write with a great foodie site called Eating Everywhere based upon my work here.  There was really no way to explain to Brooklyn Boyfriend how I got into that without divulging Goose & Bull.  So, in natural female form, I waited until I had him completely trapped on a 45 minute subway ride to Citifield in Queens on Saturday before spilling the beans.

And let me tell you something: men don't exactly do well when receiving somewhat surprising information in an enclosed space that has no cellphone service and where any sort of confrontational behavior can be deemed "terrorism".  (New York's new state slogan is If You See Something, Say Something.)  To describe him as shocked would be an understatement, and I spent a solid 20 minutes alternating between swigging the vodka soda we brought along for the ride and babbling on lightheartedly,  trying to explain how silly and innocuous the site is, while he was mostly silent.  Finally, he took pity on how hard I was trying.

"Look, I'm not stupid," he said.  "I don't imagine that you only dated like one other person and then me.  I just also never imagined that it was so many people you needed to write a blog about it."

Hm.  I never thought about it like that.  Touche, BB.  ...but I'd never admit that.

We talked some more and I explained that this isn't just about dating, it's about my life.  Moving, work, drinking, friends, friends' dating lives, etc.  It's an online diary of sorts.  BB said that was great, to keep doing it, to write about him if I wanted, and that he never wants to read it.

Win-Win

Selling Out

Hi All,

I've done it.  I've sold out.  You can now find me on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/gooseybull.  Gooseybull, you ask?  Why yes.  In case you are unfamiliar with the espanol, Goose y Bull is spanish for Goose & Bull.  It's just a small effort on my part to add a little more culture to your lives.

Also, all the normal Goose & Bull-type account names were taken.

Follow me!

xoxo,
G&B

Goose & Bull's Diary: The Edge of Reason

Halloween is still months away but I'm already exhausted from staying in character.

First, let me back up.  It's hard to write during summer.  Honestly, there are just so many better things to do than come home and lie on my bed with my hot laptop and indulge in my thoughts and little insanities.  However, this doesn't mean that I stop thinking or making myself nuts when I'm not blogging...if anything, it's the opposite.  Without an outlet at the end of the day, I drive myself positively crazy.  In other news though, it's also hard to write when you have a boyfriend.  Yes, I'm seeing someone.

("Have you got a boyfriend? A real one?"..."I have, father.  I have.  And he's perfect.")

To start, the silence is because I've been spending a good amount of time with him.  Then, the nights that I'm not with him I'm either out catching up with friends or home screening calls and enjoying doing nothing.  (Funny thing about silence: it's never awkward if it's just you.)  Secondly, it's because after we started dating I began to wonder if I'd ever be comfortable with him reading this site.  The answer was "no" and still is; however if I'm going to be with someone, I want it to be someone that accepts me for who I am-- self-indulgent, over-revealing website and all.  And while I have no plans to share this site with him, it is time that I return home with my tail between my legs, the prodigal blogger.  Let the chips fall where they may in the future, I'm completely wiped from playing the part of "sweet, laid-back girlfriend" and need to get back to me.

And as you all know, thinking about anyone but myself is an incredibly arduous task.

It took me a while to warm up to the idea frankly.  I mean a goodlooking guy who was sweet and nice and caring and funny and pushing ME for a relationship?  I couldn't figure out what his angle was.  Turns out he hasn't got one.  No angles.  Just all soft.  Sugar and spice and amazing in bed and everything nice.  He's a keeper.  And therein lies my problem.  Because HE'S so indulgent and amiable and laissez faire, he makes me want to return the favor.  (Shit!  Have I finally found someone that makes me want to be a better person?)  This is inherently against my nature.  Thus, engaging in any type of behaviour that mirrors his just sucks the life out of me.

Case in point:  Current Boyfriend spends 99.9% of the nights we're together at my apartment.  Even more than that actually.  In my defense though, my apartment is much closer to both of our offices and in a better location in the city.  (Actually, he's not even in the city...he's in...gulp...Brooklyn.  Now you know I must really like him.)  I've never dated anyone and had my apartment be relationship headquarters before.  Anyway, he worked late last Wednesday and then spent Thursday night through Monday morning with me, only to work late again Monday night.  While we usually spend Tuesday nights together, he didn't ask me to this week and I figured it was because he probably just needed to be at his apartment and decompress.  I was right, and he even spent most of the night calling or texting me.  However, because he never really pushes for time alone or guys' nights out, I also offered for him to have Thursday to himself if our plans with his friends fell through.  And you know what the bastard did?  He took me up on it!  But goddammit, even calling him a bastard feels forced.  He makes me feel so secure and cared-for that I don't have that desperate sinking feeling in my stomach about not seeing him until Friday.  Instead I sit here alone in my bed, writing to no one in particular, wondering what has become of me.

Did I mature over the summer?  I mean of course I'm slightly disappointed that he's choosing to go home and hang out by himself after work on Thursday, but I also know that if I wanted to see him I could say so and I'm sure he would see me, smiles and all.  I'm baffled.  I kind of gave him a test and he kind of failed, but I also kind of meant it and honestly kind of didn't care that he felt like lying low and alone.  Is this what it feels like when you date someone who makes you feel respected and like an equal?  Or am I a total schmuck and giving him too much space?  I have a sinking suspicion it's the former.

And so, here I sit: legs dangling over the edge of reason.  Except, I'm completely calm.

And it feels good.  

I'm Baaa-aaack

Well hello there!

I know, I know.  It's been a while.  First I was sick, then I was away, then I was swamped at work.  But who needs excuses?  I'm here now and that's all that matters.  I wasn't not writing because interesting things weren't happening-- oh no.  On the contrary actually, too much has been happening; so when I get home at the end of a long day and have an amazing story that I really want to tell well, I know I just don't have the time to do it justice before I completely pass out.  So now, as I've neglected to share so much in an effort not to do it half-assed, I'm going to have to half-assed gloss over the past month to get everyone caught up, as things keep moving forward and I constantly have something new to say.

(It's time to get you up to speed...or back to the future if you will)

Well, let's start at the beginning.  Miami was amazing-- a total shitshow and we wouldn't have settled for anything less.  I think the theme song for the weekend was "Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!"...so much so that by the time we all got home people found themselves running late for work singing "Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" or getting ready to grab food thinking "Lunch! Lunch! Lunch! Lunch! Lunch!".  We got thrown out of clubs, danced on tables, made out with South American men, and the bride-to-be even attempted a running dive into the pool at the Delano around 1AM.  When the weekend ended nobody wanted to leave, however we all understood the reality that spending any more time there was going to either bankrupt us or kill someone.  A good time was definitely had by all; I've untagged the Facebook pictures that prove it.

Later on in the week following that trip I had the best dating karma run-in of my life. I was heading to meet a friend for the SATC2 premier a couple of blocks from #2's apartment.  I purposefully walked way the hell out of my way to avoid his block even though it was hours before he normally gets out of work.  As I was heading down the sidewalk, I saw a crowd of people and two police cars with their officers out in the circle.  Annoyed at the obstruction, I ducked into the street to bypass the madness.  As I did so, I noticed a body on the ground.  I made a face-- yuck, dead body-- and kept walking.  I would love to classify this as me being a jaded New Yorker, but it's not like this city's sidewalks are routinely filled with bodies to the point where it shouldn't affect me.  I think I'm just a bad person.  Anyway.  As I hurried past the group I heard my name shouted out.  My initial reaction was to be embarrassed that someone saw me being so callous about another human's life.  I turned around and headed back towards the source of the yell, unable to distinguish anyone in the crowd without my glasses on. All of the sudden, there he was...#2.  The last time I saw him was when we ran into each other at a bar two weeks earlier, he insisted on tagging along with my friend and I for the rest of the night, we hooked up, and he threw me out the next morning mid-makeout.  Needless to say, I wasn't anxious to see him again.  I stumbled all over myself and asked what was going on.  "This guy just robbed me at the ATM there," he said and pointed to a freestanding, enclosed Bank of America ATM, "and then robbed this guy," pointing to the man next to him, "and he beat the shit out of him."  So the man on the ground wasn't dead afterall, but simply beaten unconscious by someone much braver and more masculine than #2 appears to be.  Then, #2 promptly turned around and began giving his report to the cop in front of him.  I stood awkwardly for a second, unsure of what to do, and then, thinking of The Rules (this terrible book I read that all of the women at work raved about), I spun on my heels and headed off to meet my friend, not looking back.  He texted me a short while later, joking that I didn't stick around to see him participate in some much-needed justice, but by that point I was so over the whole ordeal that I just responded (an hour later) that I was busy but hope it all went well.  We haven't spoken since, and every time I need a good laugh I think about him being held up, watching someone else get held up, and then watching said "someone else" stick up for both of them.  Oh how I giggle at this.  

To digress for a moment to The Rules though...In case you are unfamiliar with this book, it is a set of rules for making a man fall madly in love with you and propose.  Some of them I can get behind, like you should only see someone once a week for the first month, you should always end the date and conversation first to maintain the upper hand, it's OK to be "busy" sometimes-- don't change your plans around for him, etc.  I think the general idea is that the less attainable you are, the more he'll want you.  I'm sure this is probably true.  However, I've never had a worse time than when I was following these goddamn rules the past month.  I never got drunk; I never had sex.  Granted men were crawling out of the woodwork to call me, but it wasn't even fun to go out with them.  They were calling me before and hell, maybe it was for different reasons (like wanting to get drunk and have sex), but at least I knew where everyone stood.  The root of the problem is that this book is all about getting to know someone and gradually and mysteriously revealing yourself.  Unfortunately, I really don't like anyone so the more I get to know them, the less I care for them.  The last thing I want is them liking me.

Let's see, what else...There was also a great Memorial Day Weekend that involved a party in the Hamptons at the mansion of a famous steak restaurateur, a run-in with some racist lunatic on the reality show High Society, and an evening with the craziest video blogger I've ever met (http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/86b7a13dc0/mr-hedgehog-cleans-the-shores-of-the-gulf-and-spills-the-truth-about-who-is-to-blame).  I also had the best pizza I've had the pleasure of enjoying (and I'm a pizza connoisseur) and witnessed my friend inadvertently and repeatedly gay bashing all of the attendees at said event until she finally decided to sit alone and drink heavily.  All-in-all a successful weekend.  And of course we can't forget my birthday -- I promise to finish my lessons soon!-- and the British Garden Party in Deleware where I ate salmon for three meals in a row (don't ask).  Oh, and I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the gorgeous professional rugby player that I hooked up with in May who swung back through town this past weekend.  

Yes, that about brings us up to the present.  

I'll fill you in on the people I'm actually dating soon.

Everybody Gather Round Now, Let Your Body Feel The Heat

In 10 days, I leave for Miami for a bachelorette party.

This has prompted me to begin my Summertime Beach Diet.  (Yikes!  It's already May!!)  It consists of me bringing home tons of food and dessert from my parents' house yesterday, portioning out the meals, cutting up the desserts, and then freezing everything appropriately to enjoy when I get back, hungover and sleep-deprived, from my trip next Sunday night.  Then, I eat healthfully all day, workout, have a well-balanced and early dinner-- so as not to go to bed on a full stomach--, wait two hours, and ravenously stand over the sink eating frozen desserts directly out of the food storage bag.  So far, it's working magically and I'm 1-0.

(I'm hoping to keep up the good work and look like this next week!)

Miami is bound to be a gigantic shitshow for many, many reasons.  Firstly, the bachelorette is an awesomely good time.  Many of my finer (?) moments the past eight years have been with her at my side.  When we first moved to the city and hadn't started working yet, we would lie out in Central Park all day, go home and shower and get ready like we'd been at work, and then go to happy hour.  After a time or two at happy hour telling people we just graduated from college, we decided the better way to play it was to make up professions.  She became the Assistant Producer on the Tony Danza show and I became a microbiologist or something like that (molecular biologist? biochemist? Help me out here, Twin 2).  Everyone responded to us in precisely the same manner: Men hated that I did something so intimidatingly smart and would almost immediately cease talking to me about anything of substance at the risk of looking stupid in front of me.  This didn't bother me because A) if I felt like it, I didn't have trouble meeting men (see: lessons) and B) I --even then-- only wanted to date someone who was comfortable and secure enough with themselves to want to date an intelligent woman because hell, I'm not medical researcher smart (my baby bro is!), but I am fairly intelligent in real life.  Men would then always say to Twin 2, "Tony Danza? Really?  I like the Ellen Show better."  Firstly, Twin 2 loves Tony Danza so anyone who knocks him doesn't stand much of a chance, and secondly, are you kidding me?  She tells you where she works and then you say you like her biggest competition better? "Oh, you used to work for Merrill Lynch?  Yeah I've ALWAYS loved Bank of America" or "Oh, you're Mexican?  You know who I LOVE?  Puerto Ricans."  Come on guys.  Get your game together!  Anyway, this was almost always the recipe for blacking out on hotel rooftops on random Tuesday and Wednesday nights all summer. At Twin 2's bridal shower a few weeks ago, she introduced the whole bridal party to the shower guests, using phrases like "oldest friend" or "best friend"; I got "partner in crime".  'Nuff said.  

Another reason why this trip will be incredible is that many of us are single as of this year-- or more precisely, the past six months.  LE and I are no more.  Twin 1 and her beau ended things just after we did.  Another friend and her boyfriend broke up just befooore I did, two months after buying a house together.  A third friend and her man of over three years also just ended things after living together for a year and a half.  Third friend is an incredible partier.  She became much more tame when she was in her last relationship and I'm pretty sure that now she's looking to make up for lost time.  Especially after she stopped by her old apartment the other night to grab the last of her things and saw two wine glasses out and a used condom in the trash.  Doing what every woman WISHES she had the courage to do, Third Friend took a picture of the condom with her phone and texted it to her ex with the note "fuck you".  And wait-- it gets better!  THEN she left a note calling him out on everything, saying "You're a piece of shit. I support you for 16 months and then two months after you get a job at MY company (true story), you fuck someone in MY apartment!"  I couldn't be prouder of her for taking the stand that we all wish we could and seizing the opportunity that most of us would've just slunk away from, feeling nauseous and crying for ourselves for being so stupid.  Third friend's celebration will be two-fold: embracing her newfound singledom in a tropical location with many of her best friends, aaaand toasting to being a ballsy babe and taking a stand.  I'm already sick from the shots we will be taking.

Lastly, every time we have a bachelorette party, we're one time closer to never having an all-girls weekend away again.  Sad but true, the more we buckle down, one by one, with men and marriage and children, the more our days of being ridiculous and answering to no one but ourselves are numbered.  While the Fountainebleau is a far cry from the sorority floor we all shared six or seven years ago, I have a feeling the collective spirit of alcoholism, depravity, and self-indulgence will be alive and well.  

You can take our lives, but you can never take our freedom.

Happy Mother's Day!

Wishing a Happy Holiday to all the fantastic, strong women I know!

In keeping with today's overarching theme, here's a list of a few women I don't know, but still admire:

 Eliabeth Taylor-- Married eight times to seven men, mother of four AND an Oscar winner, her bio includes over 50 films (though some of her greatest work may have been done in her White Diamonds commercials: "These have always brought me luck"), she attempted suicide in the name of love, is best friends (was best friends?) with Michael Jackson, owns an almost 70 carat diamond, brings in $200 million per year with her perfumes... and Rachel Dratch playing her on 30 Rock was one of my favorite television moments.

 M'Obama-- Princeton undergrad, Harvard Law, first African American First Lady, travels the world at her husband's side AND is raising two daughters all while wearing $400 Lanvin sneakers.  Go girl.

 Christiane Amanpour-- Recognized or given awards over 25 times for her work in journalism, she was at CNN for 27 years, working her way up to International Correspondent where she reported from, quite literally, the ends of the Earth for 18 years, she's married to the US State Department's Spokesman, was college roommates with JFK Jr, is taking over as lead anchor on This Week at the end of the summer AND raising a son in NYC.  Daaamn.

 Diana, Princess of Wales-- A princess ('nuff said), the inspiration for an Elton John Song, mother of two AND one of them will be the future King of England, deeply committed to charity work, outspoken and protective mother, all while rocking a $60,000 engagement ring, cleaned out Prince Charles's bank account in their divorce plus managed to keep her home in the palace while dating around post-divorce, perished in a car crash tragically young but has a legacy that still stands strong.  And my brother partied with Prince Harry on his last trip to London.  

This is just a smattering of powerful mothers...add your own and thank your mom :)