Olive Wars

My love for olives exceeds almost any love I have for pretty much anything in life.

I snack on olives like they're candy. I put them in salads, on sandwiches, and in every dish I cook myself. If you look in my refrigerator, I have about six jars of various types of olives {most almost empty, but I never eat or drink the bottom of anything, so I have a lot of near empty containers sitting around. I know I know, I should just throw them away...}

Last night, I had a jar of kalamata olives sitting on my kitchen cart, partly opened. My intention was to throw some in my salad,but of course,I had already stuck my stubby little fingers into the jar and yoinked several as a pre dinner snack.

Igby, pain in the ass that he is, jumped up on the cart several times, to the response of me shoving him off and yelling "NO".

Very effective, as you can imagine. He just jumped right back up all over again.

The third or fourth time that he did this, I tried with all my might to push him off, to no avail. The beast was holding fast to the cart, and he seemed to be gripping something with his paw. Upon closer inspection, I realized that he had his grubby little paw tightly wrapped around the olive jar, and he wasn't letting go.

That fucking bastard cat was trying to steal my olives. Nobody, but NOBODY comes between me and my olives! This was war!!!

I pushed. I tried to pry his little hand off. He held fast and tight, licking the jar lid and anything he could reach with his raspy tongue. I pushed again. He growled. Unbelievable. He's fucking growling at me, he won't let me get near my olives.

I didn't know what else to do, so I screamed. It seemed appropriate at that moment.

He let his guard down for a split second, and I grabbed the jar, and shoved it in the freezer--because who the hell knew what this cat was capable of at this point!

He looked at me with disdain, and then proceeded to do roly-polys on the cart, where the jar had been, like a lovesick olive freak.

And then he calmly jumped off the cart, strutted over to his favorite blankie, and the humping began.




So easily appeased, my cat.

I'm Such a Sheep

As much as I made fun of all the chickies who were all aflutter and excited about Fleet Week, I had to get in on all the action.
God forbid I should feel left out of ANYTHING.

You Guys Got it So Good

As the warm weather finally approaches, I realize how much better the guys have it than we do.

They get to walk around and see free tits and ass crack all over town. The minute the weather gets warm, BAM, women of all shapes and sizes strip down to the bare minimum, donning camisoles, sundresses, and short shorts and skirts. And let's face it, no matter what we look like, we always look 1Ox better with exposed cleavage. Men don't care. Boobs are boobs.

I myself joined the hordes of semi-clad women in the 9O degree weather, gallivanting in a t-back sundress that did not allow for a bra. I got many an approving nod and a few catcalls as I bounced around town in my travels. Ah, the joys and boys of summer!

However, we girls ain't got it so good. I mean, what do we get to ogle? A bunch of pasty guys in man-pris and board shorts and white socks with sneakers, or worse, flip flops with bad, unmanicured man-feet. Where's the sexy in that???

I am a stickler about feet. I seriously almost couldn't date my last long-term boyfriend due to the state of his tootsies. My current boy has good feet, thank God. The first time I saw him bare foot I knew I might actually have to marry him due to the fact that I actually liked his feet.

But yea, these man-feet that we are forced to endure during the warm summer months, I have a big beef with. So I'm going to ogle the myriad of titties that have sprung out of the woodwork, just like the rest of ya. Why should you guys have all the fun?

My Body's 21 But My Mind is Ageless

I pride myself on being quite with it and current. You would never guess what my real age is, and I'd like to keep it that way. I almost never say things like "When I was your age" or "Back in the day", because as far as I'm concerned, I'm still 18, yo!
 
A lot of my friends are younger than me, as is my boyfriend, and usually I never even notice the difference. 

Til today.
 
Beehive and I were on the subway going to work, and someone got on REEKING of what I thought to be Loves Baby Soft. Does ANYONE remember this scent?  It was really big in the 80's, and I'm not even sure if they still sell it, but I recall that I wore it, as did all my friends.  It smelled faintly of baby powder mixed with musk, and it had a very innocent air about it, although the packaging looked like a nice sized dildoe. 
 
At any rate, I smelt Loves Baby Soft on the train. And I said it, out loud. And I got a look of total confusion. "Loves Baby Soft? You mean, like Baby Wipes?"
 


No! Loves Baby Soft! The sweet smell of 14 yr old girl getting fingered by her high school crush in her parents basement.  You know!
 
But no. He didn't know.
 
Later, same train ride. We ran into Jimmy, who is Beehive's cohort in people-watching. They were discussing one of our favorite subway riders, Seigfreid.  Seigfried has a blonde ponytail, wears ladies jeans, and carries a Louis Vuitton man purse.  Seigfried is awesome.  For some reason we were talking about what Seigfried would wear to the beach, and I brought up Jams.


 
Does anyone remember Jams? Those hideous, brightly patterned long shorts--I don't know if I knew anyone who actually wore them, but for some reason, the word came to my lips and I uttered it aloud. Jams.
 
They both looked at me and went, "Jams?"  "Oh, you mean capris?"
 
Yea, sure. Whatever.  Capris.
 
I hate being old!!!

R-E-S-p-E-C-T ???? Nah!

Beehive and I very rarely ever fight. It always amazes how well we get along. He's pretty easygoing and calm, and as I've been told by many a friend, he seems to have a soothing quality that overtakes me when we're together.

That is, except for pms week.

pms week. anything goes during that week. I can find fault with a nun collecting charity for homeless orphans when my hormones are all whack. It sucks, and I know to expect it, but it doesn't make me any less of a psycho, sadly.

Last night, I was a little early to arrive at Beehive's place. I had left him a few messages to alert him to this fact, but never actually got him on the phone. It was pouring rain, and i don't have keys to his place, so i started to worry a little that maybe he wasn't home yet, since he was expecting me later...and i was going to have to sit on his stoop in the fucking downpour and pout.

Or, maybe he hit his head on his chin up bar, passed out and was in a coma...clearly unable to answer the phone.

At any rate, I got to his house and, of course, he was there, and answered the door.

"You don't answer your phone?" I growled, brushing past him to get into the house, no kiss.

"i didn't hear it. i had it on silent" he said sheepishly.

This, for some reason, set me off. We then had our monthly discussion
about how he has no respect for me or my time. no respect at all.

I just wanted a little respect, man!

After my tirade, i looked up. Beehive had a look on his face that was a cross between needing to poop and having a big wedgie. I knew this look. I'd seen it before.

"Are you trying not to LAUGH at me?" i shouted.

"no...uh...no..." he chortled, clearly amused at my outburt and unable to hide it one second more.

The laugh was loud, long, and admittedly, much deserved.

SO much for respect!!!

Forget Me Not

A guy I know owns a new, popular bar on the LES. This guy and I, we've hung out maybe 3 or 4 times, ever, but he's friends with a very good friend of mine.

I've been to this bar a couple of times, never really knowing what to do if I see this guy. I haven't seen him in, a while. I know the obvious thing would be to say hello, but I'm always worried that people aren't going to remember me and I don't want to be the big asshole thinking that I matter more than I do.

I like this bar a lot, no matter who the owner is, so I invited some friends to meet me there this evening for a catchup.

No sign of the owner. No opportunity for awkward chit chat.

We decided it was time to leave, and as we are walking up Norffolk, I see Bar Owner walking towards me. I have to suck it up and say hello, even if he doesn't remember me.

"Hey, Bar Owner," I called out.

"Hey, what's up?" he greets me with a hug.

"You remember me? Cheese?" I ask.

"Yea. hey, i hear you have a boyfriend now."

{boyfriend has been a round for like, a year and a half}

"let me introduce you to my friends," I introduce him to my cohorts. He greets them warmly

They ask how we know each other, and he replies "we got really drunk one night, and made out."

we what?

oh yea.

and i was afraid he wouldn't remember who i was...

I'll Tumble For Ya

 
On any given Thursday around 12:45, you will find me rushing off, backpack in tow, to catch a really good Yoga class at NYSC. 
 
I'm usually with my friend Jen, and we usually exit out the 50th Street exit and take Park Avenue to the Grand Central location. Last Thursday, I was sans Jen, and for some inexplicable reason, exited on Madison Avenue and found myself submerged in a sea of midtown lunch-seekers who were trying to get a smidgen of sunlight before having to head back to their rat-sized cubicles.
 
One of those non-multi-tasking type people was walking in front of me--you know who I mean...they're texting or dialing a number or reading the paper but forgetting to walk..if you can't do both at the same time, step aside, asshole!!!  I tried to get around her as I was bordering on being late for yoga, and somehow, my stupid, stupid heel caught on the sidewalk and I went down like a stack of dominos.  It was not a pretty sight.  My one concern was that I didn't see anyone from my office.  My other concern, that my skirt wasn't exposing my ill-fitting boy shorts for the world to see.
 
In a daze, I sort of just sat there, and the only person nice enough to stop and help was a little old lady.  She kept asking if I was ok, and I kind of wanted to tell her to fuck off, but that wouldn't have been cool, so I would smile and hope she would know that meant I was ok.  But she kept asking, and I kept smiling, and finally I managed to eke out a "Yes, yes, I'm fine.  Thank you."  She finally fucked off, and I managed to get myself up.  In the fall, my shoe must have twisted off, so now I had to inconspicuously put my shoe back on without looking like a homeless drug addict that walked around with only one shoe on.
 
 
I'm happy to report that I came out of the mishap with a skinned knee, really bad sidewalk burn, and a little bit of a limp. Not nearly enough damage to warrant a huge amount of sympathy. But a girl can try, dammit!

A Day In Jersey

In the backseat of Mama Beehive's car, driving down to Jersey for Mother's Day to see Sister Beehive's new baby.

I'm sunburnt as fuck from riding my bike to Coney Island the day before--stupid me forgot to wear sunscreen. I'm also a lil hungover, having had dinner with my family the night prior. Dinner with my family always precipitates the imbibing of too much alcohol on my part, to counteract the intenseness of them all. At any rate, suffice it to say, I'm a tad uncomfortable, between the sunburn, the hangover, and additionally the fact that I'm about to meet about 1OO new people for the first time {Beehive in-laws}.

In my post-coital blissful sleepyness, I grabbed an iced mocha and a slice of pound cake earlier that morning, figuring there'd be some sort of meal in the afternoon.

Cut to hours later. I'm sitting in the living room, babies crying all around me,my head is pounding. Beehive Brother-In-Law made us take our shoes off upon entering the house, so now I'm concious of the fact that a whole bunch of people I've never met before are subjected to my feet. Beehive's mother won't stop playing the ABC's song, and it's being sung by one of those creepy adult voices that is meant to sound like a child's. Ich. I don't see any food anywhere in sight, other than a plate of fruit that is meant to quell my growling stomach. Not so much.

There seems to be some activity swirling around me {and far be it from me to get up and actually ask if I could help with anything..don't be ridiculous!} and I become hopeful. Food? Maybe? All I've had today is a lemon slice and a coffee...food would indeed be nice right about now...

Oh there was food alright.

We sat at the table and I saw a Key Lime pie. A chocolate cake. Chocolate covered strawberries, cookies, a Boston Creme pie, a giant pound cake, and a bundt cake. Dessert. Only dessert.

The sad, sad irony is that normally, this would be my idea of HEAVEN. I fucking love dessert. In fact, I just scarfed two cupcakes as I write this {it's 73O am. Yea, I'm disgusting. But that's another blog}. I have the biggest sweet tooth and am always super excited when there's too much dessert.

That is, when I'm not dying of hunger. And I felt like I was dying. My headache had ballooned, and I was starting to get dizzy. The idea of all that sugar made me feel nauseous. God, I never thought I'd see the day!

My next thought, in my migraine-distraught mind, was "Jesus, I think I'm going to kill Beehive."

Thankfully, he was sweet enough to scare up some painkillers for me--a beautiful little Motrin that did the trick almost instantly. That, a glass of milk, and a couple pieces of cake, and I almost felt normal. At the very least, I'd lost my murderous desires and was able to relax, and stop thinking I was going to have to run from the table, retching and heaving all the way to the bathroom.


Not a good way to endear myself to the Beehive family, I would imagine.

Dear Neighbors across the way

Hey Guys,

We've definitely been down this road before. You can see into my apartment, which means that I can see into yours,. Big fucking deal. The only difference is, while you are usually entertaining several stinky frat guys, I am generally strutting around half naked, without a care in the world.

Yea, I'm wearing a lime green tank top and red shorts. Do you think I give a shit that you can see that? Not so much.

And Yea, I came home alone tonight. I know it's Friday night, but it's allowed. Geez.

Your eyes are not deceiving you. I did indeed scarf down a slice of pizza, chased with a twinkie. You got a problem with that?

If it looks like I'm making out with my cat, it's probably because I am. Watch me. I just used my tongue. Nyah.

I'm not backing down and buying blinds, because I was here first. So if you're ok with that, I'm ok with that.

Good night, dear neighbors. I only hope that at some point this weekend, I have more interesting fodder for your viewing pleasure.

I passed the past the other day

Five years or so ago, I broke up with a friend of mine.
 
It had been a long time coming, this break up.  We had been friends since 1991 or so, and it had always sort of been a thorn in my side.  She just wasn't doing it for me, and probably vice versa, and I didn't really see the need to continue the relationship.
 
it was a hard decision to make, and even more difficult to execute. I had her meet me at a bar, and tried to let her down gently.  She looked up at me with sad, puppy eyes and said, "are you breaking up with me?" 
 
It's not you, it's me, I'm sure I said.
 
Fast forward to a couple days ago.  I saw said friend in Grand Central Station. It looked like she was trying to catch a train, probably to her fabulous home in Westchester, or Greenwich, CT.  She looked like the quintessential working suburban wife/mom, put-together, good hair, and poised.
 
Me, on the other hand, had definitely seen better days.  Of course, my hair was a wreck--it has a mind of its own.  I was probably wearing one of my outfits of late--ripped jeans and some sort of baggy, ill-fitting top.  I had no makeup on, and was carrying a bag from Zaros that housed a giant black and white cookie--my healthy afternoon snack.
 
Our eyes met and then we both turned away.
 
It was seriously worse than running into an old flame.  Those same familiar questions popped into my head.  Why didn't I fix my hair that day? Would it kill me to put on a little lipstick once in a while? Isn't it about fucking time to stop eating those damned cookies? Did she notice my lack of wedding ring?

I did what any red-blooded woman would do after seeing an ex on the street. I started to obsess. I googled. I thought about the old times. I wondered why, indeed, did we break up? Were things really that bad?

And then I sat myself back down in reality, and decided that, my life without her in it is a much better place. Bad hair, no lipstick, and all.


 

Smelliest Places I've Ever Been

I'm having a rough day over here, hating on my job big time and just wishing someone would swoop down and take me away from it all.   The writer's block has kicked in with no mercy, so I headed over to "Dirty Jobs" on discovery.com, to see if I could get some ideas of jobs that are worse than mine.

 
In my foraging around, I discovered "Mikes Top 10 Smelliest Places I've Been", and because I only have half a brain right now, I thought I'd steal this concept and make it my own.   But you're only getting five. Because I'm lazy.

 
5. My current bedroom

Not sure what is going on in there—I discovered the smell on Friday night after not really being there most of the week.   It's a cross between a dead mouse and a skunk that fell in a vat of 3-week old horse shit.  I've searched high and low for where it can be coming from but my schnoz is failing me and I can't seem to locate the source of the stench. There's a very strong possibility that it is coming from dead body that may or may not be hidden inside of a bench that I found in the garbage and drunkenly lugged home at 1am after a night of too many dirty martinis at Flatbush Farm. Far be it from me to throw the thing back out onto the street, stank or no.


4. Artisanal Restaurant

As much as I do like cheese, and I do love Artisanal and eat there whenever I get the chance, the whiff that you are accosted with when first entering the room is quite a shocker.  I don't know how to explain it really. If you had a blindfold on, and someone took you there, you might guess that you entered a locker room filled floor to ceiling with feet that had been walking around in fifty year old sneakers with no socks. Why cheese tastes so great, but smells like ass, I'll never know.

 

 

3.   The Ladies toilets on the beach in Long Beach, Long Island

There's nothing more pungent than a public bathroom that hasn't seen an attendant since 1987.  On any given day, a line can be found out the door, with hundreds of women just WAITING for the chance to drop a turd, pee on the seat, or clog up the toilets with their dirty tampons.  Sometimes they bring their children in there, and leave their diarrhea poop diapers for the rest of us. Special bonus: there's never any toilet tissue in the stalls, and the doors usually don't work.   Get to see the stink unfold with your own eyes, if you dare.

 

2. Powerhouse Gym, Bayside, Queens

This is the place for all you ladies who are just hankering for a big, sweaty manly man.  The joint is lousy with them, but of course, with big, sweaty manly men, you also need to wear a gas mask upon entering the room.   The weight machines take up about 2/3 of this place, and Guidos of all shapes and sizes can be found pumping iron 24/7.  Sans deodorant. If you could take the stench of machismo and bottle it, this would be where you would get it.

 

1.       And the #1 smelliest place of all time, as per the Cheese, would be….drumroll…. under the covers of my boyfriend's bed after he's had the buffalo chicken sandwich for lunch.

Nuff said.

So there you have it. The five smelliest places I've ever been.  I'm so glad that I got that off my chest.

Staying Abreast of the Situation

Although I am not a conservative dresser by any means (well, if you don't count the fact that I only wear black, but that's not conservative, it's rock and roll, man) I do try to keep my breastage covered in the office.

As sometimes happens, the wrong shirt is thrown on during a quick assemblage in the dark, sleepy as all get out.
 

Last night, I spent the night at Beehive's, and wasn't really planning on it.  I didn't have any clothes with me but now that I have my drawer I do keep stuff there.  I knew I had a fresh skirt, but wasn't sure what the top situation was looking like.
 
I quickly stopped off at express to get something that would work with the skirt, although, the beauty of wearing black is that I could really wear the same clothes three days in a row, and other than the stink that would fly off of me, no one would be the wiser.  But I won't allow such decadence, and therefore, purchased a cute, v necked top.
 
I chose a medium, thinking that would be more than ample, as I am not the smallest of girls. 

I threw it on this morning, and never looked back.  I've been wearing it all day.  I just now, at 6pm headed into the rest room and caught a glimpse of myself.
 

 
Yes, dear friends, I have yet again bared my cleavage in the office. 
 
*curtsies*

The Truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and then some

I ran into a friend of mine this morning who is in the process of looking for a man. On the internet. Nerve.com, to be exact.


I know this because, it's pretty much all she talks about, when we're together, and even when were not.


I remember a time when I myself was surfing the net for dudes, looking for my perfect match, hell not even, I was just looking to distract myself and see who was out there.   And then yea, I met my perfect match, at least as far as I'M concerned, and maybe I don't have a right to judge.  But here I go…

 
I do not understand the need for my friends to get themselves so wrapped up in men they meet online, who are already treating them like utter shit before they even MEET.   And this is ACCEPTABLE behavior, apparently.

 
The men that my friend is meeting (and I use the term loosely because only a few did she actually go on dates with) are abusive, jaded assholes.   They tell her she has no sense of humour. They feel free to ask her if she is having her "time of the month".  One asked her if she was in therapy.

 
The last winner that she was conversing with kept saying that he wanted to meet up with her and make out, because he felt that kissing and talking were on the same level of importance.   Everytime he brought up this idea, she would cancel it out with another idea—you know, crazy stuff like getting a bite to eat, or coffee, and he would say things like "thanks anyway."   Because God forbid you should try to get to know someone over dinner. What a novel idea.
 

I guess she finally caved and decided she was going to be adventurous and just let the guy come to her apartment and see what happened.   I was a bit appalled. Not that I had never done anything like that before…but the thing is, she is looking for her OTL, not just some fuck buddy, and this really wasn't the way to go about it.

 
"What ever happened to dinner and a movie?" I asked, sounding like my mother.


Then I got an earful about how I don't know anything about it, and I'm always so lucky with men, and she is getting desperate and she's not getting any younger, and she was just trying to go with the flow and I was making her feel so bad about it…so I shut the hell up and pretended like it was the best idea ever.

Well, as it turns out, the guy, the charmer that he is, finally committed to a date with her. And then just didn't show up.
 
And she is devastated by this.

  It just twists my panties into a wad with every story I hear like this.  A) because she gives two craps about a guy she's NEVER EVEN MET, B) because she's way better than allowing a guy to bully her into doing something she maybe didn't really want to do, and C) why couldn't he just call her and say he changed his mind or met someone in the interim?

  I was farting around on myspace this morning, which I don't really do all that  much, and randomly I started looking at my friends…there's a guy on there who I used to date, who I have not seen or talked to in at LEAST a year and a half…he had emailed me one day to tell me that he had met someone so spectacular, that he thought she might be the one..I thought he was bullshitting me because he just didn't want to date me anymore…until today, when I saw his myspace and he is getting MARRIED. Clearly to the girl he dumped me for. He was telling me the truth.   I would never have guessed (oh and by the way, I'm really happy for him.  No hard feelings at ALL!)
 
Another time I went on a date with a guy, who definitely had potential.  We had a really good time, but a couple days later he called to tell me that he was in the process of working out some stuff with his ex-girlfriend, and would probably get back together with her.
 
At the time, again, I thought he was just trying to let me down easy (at least he called, other than never contacting me again...leaving me to wonder what the hell had happened?) but, handy dandy myspace led me to his page and lo and behold, not long after we went out, he was "in a relationship" again.
 
See? Isn't it better to just let a girl know the deal? Even if it sucks?
 
So you might get punched in the face, spit on, threatened, or cyberstalked.  In the end, isn't your integrity worth it? ;)
 
 

Oh Boy, It's Tuesday

Igby, true to form, banged and cried on my door this morning relentlessly until I finally caved and got up to feed him. This usually does the trick, and allows me a couple more hours of snooze time before dragging my fat ass out of bed and scrambling to get to work.

This particular morning, however, it didn't do the trick. He's having a particularly needy morning, and has attached himself to my side, for better or worse.

So, this is how I found myself awake and up at the Godawful hour of 637am. Sheesh.

I'm sitting here thinking of all the things that I should be doing--riding my bike in the park for an early day workout. Washing my putrid dishes. Um...or how about getting ready for work?

But nah, I just wanna sit here and have mild anxiety over things I have no control over, because it livens things up a bit...gets the ole heart pumping.

So I leave you with this picture of the sunflowers that my boyfriend brought me over the weekend, because he rocks, and I am awesome.