Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Ring out the Old Before I Wring My Neck

So, I guess it's that time where I'm supposed to put together all of my collective thoughts about the year and sum it all up in a neat little synopsis, tied up tight with a little red bow.

Fuck that. 2008 was a messy year, it was all over the place, and so shall this blog post be.

As I think about the events of the last 12 months, I am shocked at how LONG this year seemed. I have always felt that my life has been rushing by me with every passing birthday, but this year seemed to drag on and on, torturing me with its longevity.

Many of the milestones that hit were heavy duty and seemed, at the time, drastic and traumatic: serious breakup, turning 40, and losing my job.

Looking back on those events, however, I am able to realize that a lot more good has come out of each of those things than not. The guy wasn't right for me...40 is the new 30....and I hated my job with a passion that shone as bright as a thousand suns. So only good can come out of any of it.

Another thing that I seem to have figured out this year that I am friggin RESILIENT. I keep getting punched in the face and somehow emerge with only minor bruising. The glass has been half full more often than not, although once in a while when it is half empty I do so want to fucking give up and throw in the towel on life. But not that often.

I've had break up sex. I've had make up sex. I've had booty call sex. I've dated guys that epitomize every male in NYC, from musicians to computer geeks to writers to former Olympians...guys with blue hair, stoner dudes, artists, frat boys, playrights. ALL of them had baggage. I got myself a stalker. I now know how it feels to be a complete victim and I will never take such things lightly AGAIN (he's still calling). I've made friends with guys who have had their dick in me, and made friends with guys who WANTED to have their dick in me. I've also lost friends, also because they've had their dick in me, and have learned the hard way that fucking is not always the answer to everything.

Mysterious Guy just called. He asked me this question: "If you weren't you, who would you be?" I couldn't even wrap my brain around that. If I wasn't me, I wouldn't be anyone. Period, the end. I'm taking this life, the good the bad and all of it, and making it whatever it needs to be. The pieces of my personal puzzle will fall into place, little by little they've already begun.

So. Happy New Year and all that crap. See you in the '09.

Friday, December 26, 2008

All I Want for Christmas is a Restraining Order

As I mentioned in my last post, I had a date lined up with a guy called Psych Ward.

Susan commented that she was a little concerned about his name....which made me chuckle a little to myself. You see, the reason I named him Psych Ward is because of his profession. However, Susan is a smart cookie, and had reason to be worried, as I will illustrate for you now.

Psych Ward and I had plans to meet up at my favorite bar (note to everyone, do NOT take a first-time date to your favorite bar-a) you don't want your beloved bartenders to think you're actually WITH this person and b) your favorite bar will never, ever be safe again, since said person now knows where you hang out and can stalk you). Psych Ward is very attractive, which I think he spends most of his life using to his advantage. He seemed disheveled, but I cut him some slack as it was snowing out and he had commuted in from LI. Fair enough.

He did, however, reek heavily of Marlboro Reds, and everytime he went to the bathroom he would come back smelling like he had rolled around in an ashtray. I finally asked him if he was smoking in the bathroom, to which he gave me a boyish grin and admitted that indeed, he was.

He then proceeded to down several beers chased with shots of JD. One, two, three went down his gullet. The date was only an hour in and he was wasted and I was bored.

He suddenly became an octopus of gigantic proportions...all eight of his hands were groping at me while we sat at the bar. I kept shoving him off of me and actually told him right out that i didn't feel a love connection so I did not want him touching me. He retreated like a naughty puppy being punished for pooping in the house, but then five minutes later it was as if he'd completely forgotten about our previous conversation and started groping me all over again.

Marlboro tinged kisses kept coming my way. I kept telling him I did not want to kiss him. Why I stayed I have no idea. I don't know if it was because it was Saturday night and I didn't want to slink home at 9pm with my tail between my legs...or because I felt bad that he had taken the LIRR in just to meet me in the snow, or if he was just that pathetic that I didn't have the heart to just stupidly, I joined him in his intoxication and somehow the night was weirdly salvaged.

That is NOT to say that I was going to ever go out with him again.

I knew he was going to call...and I figured when he did I would let him know that I had a nice time but I didn't think we were a of luck...blah blah blah. Like any normal person would do, I have manners, I'm not a bitch.

He didn't call for several days, and I thought I might be off the hook...and then, there it was, the voicemail I'd been dreading.

"I want to take you out again. This weekend."

No, no no no all sorts of HELL NO.

I fully admit that I avoided calling him back, but in all fairness, it's Christmas week, and it's busy.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, he sent me several emails, and called me SEVEN times. The messages he left were so long that my voicemail was cutting him off. I have to wonder how long he still rambled before realizing he was talking to thin air. He accused me of screening my calls. He diagnosed himself on my voice mail. He diagnosed ME on my voicemail (apparently I have self-esteem issues). He gave me all the reasons why we should be together. He tried to get me jealous by telling me he was being pursued by another woman. He told me I was a bullshitter. He cursed, cajoled, pleaded, analyzed. It was horrifying and entertaining all at once. I didn't know whether to laugh or call the cops.

It never even occurred to him that it was Christmas, and the reason that I hadn't picked up my phone was because I was spending the day with my family. It was like that episode of Seinfeld, where George leaves 500 messages on his date's machine, getting more and more angry that she's not calling him back, and it turns out that she had been away for the weekend and never checked her messages.

Except that was a really funny episode.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Those Damn Rules

I'm sure none of you could tell, but I am not one to subscribe to the general rules of conformist society. Which I think is a very, very good thing. Except, my guy friends are trying to reign me in when it comes to dating.

I never really thought about such things as "the 3 date rule"...letting the guy call me first...not making the first move..playing hard to get. I mean, if you like someone, what's the big fucking deal? I've never been good at playing games, my poker face might as well be an "O" face and I get bored during Monopoly.

But, from what I understand, in these modern times of ours, men are still horribly antiquated in their dating rituals and beliefs, and I've been doing it ALL WRONG all this time. Can you fucking believe it??

Which means that, I'm not supposed to act on any impulsive instantaneous attraction to any of the guys that I date. I am supposed to act like a perfect little lady, let them give me a peck at the end of the night, and then I demurely slink off into the darkness, letting them wonder what mysteries lay underneath my mini skirt.

I am not to email them the next day, but instead wait the dreaded three or so days for them to contact me. When they ask me for plans, I am not to answer immediately, but instead make them wait, to give the impression that I am slightly unavailable.

Believe me, I have not gone insane. And I have not read that horrible book "The Rules" that makes me want to just vomit all over my Frye boots. This is advice that I am getting from trusted buddies of mine who allow women to act in such freakish ways.

I don't get it, but hey, I'll give it a try.

Enter Mysterious Guy. Mysterious Guy and I have been out twice now. I have a certain, inexplicable attraction to Mysterious Guy, but personality-wise I don't think we have a lot in common. However, he is the perfect candidate for this crazy experiment I am conducting..let's see how long I can keep him interested in me.

First date, he complimented me. A lot. He commented on my cleavage. How badly did I want to shove his face right in there, get a little motor boat action going right in the middle of the bar. But no...I had to sit there, clench my teeth, thank him, and start talking about clowns, or something. Anything to divert the conversation away from my twin peaks.

At the end of the night, he tried to walk me home, but I insisted that he go on his merry way. In truth, I was really craving a slice of pizza more than I was craving him, it wasn't that much of a sacrifice. But I did let him kiss me, a lot. Kept my tongue where it belonged and told him I'd talk to him soon.

Well I'll be. I got a text from him later that evening making sure I got home ok. And an email the next day. And by Monday, he had asked me out again.

Date #2. An improv show and dinner. Again, conversation steered down a forbidden road. He asked me what my favorite sexual position is. I told him I didn't think that was appropriate dinner conversation *coughreversecowgirlcough*. I was amazed at how difficult it was for me to not lapse right into a full on discussion about the merits of doggie style and which of my four vibrators works best in that position..but I was good, and kept it clean.

I let him walk me to the train, and we made out on the steps, til some horrible teenagers walked by and screamed out "Oh look, they're in love." At least I hope they were teenagers, and not, like, people I work with or something. We broke away, he said he'd talk to me later and I scurried down the stairs like one of those subway rats I keep seeing on the tracks.

So now, I need to see if I've made it to Date #3.

I asked Ha Ha Sound what I should do now, the conversation went like this:

ME so. guy from sat night and i have emailed a few times since our last date...
he's asked me out the last two times
should i ask him for plans?
or wait and see if he asks me out a third time?
do you think it's wrong if i say "i'll make it worth your while"

Ha Ha Sound: yes
just wait
let him call
he'll call

Soooo....I wait.

But if I make it to Date #3, I hear there is a prize for being patient. And we all know what that is.

Fuck, yea!

Monday, November 03, 2008

Break Time

I woke up this morning with a complete feeling of dread. I couldn't put my finger on it, save for the fact that I've been feeling pretty down the last few days-and then I remembered that I have this entire week off.

Now, any normal and sane person would be ecstatic to realize that they will be spending the next seven days doing whatever they want, not having to report in to their job, being able to travel, or go to the gym for 10,000 hours, or sleep in and watch the telly if that's what they're so inclined to do.

Me, not so much. Me, I need to get all freaked out at the idea of having way too much TIME on my hands to obsess about stuff. Spending quality me time with Me is never a good way to utilize days off. Especially when in this sort of droopy, dreary, oh woe is me mood that seems to have overtaken me of late.

Looking for love in all the
wrong places has become my main focus in life, which I fully admit and take ownership of. But all of my efforts are absolutely getting me nowhere, obviously, so something clearly needs to change. Every couple of weeks I say to myself that I am going to quit dating cold turkey, and just coast for a my friendships and work on me..but then some testosterone-emitting penis-wielding jerk always gets in the way! It doesn't help that I have absolutely no patience whatsoever and I refuse to allow myself time to get to know someone in a "proper" manner. But I'm learning, I's so hard to be good when one is in the prime of one's life and horny as fuck.

It's also really bullshit to realize that my last two boyfriends have completely moved on and are in relationships...I hate doing the comparison thing but hell if I'm not going to give into that little indulgence. It makes me feel even more pressure to be coupled up, which I know is ridiculous and childish but dammit, I wanted to win that game!!!

In all honesty, competition and horniness aside, I really am ready to find myself back in a twosome. I have a lot of love to give, I just need the right fucking person to want to accept it.

But this week off isn't about all that. This week off is supposed to be the gateway to finding myself in a better place. Thinking about my career, reaching out to people and networking, thinking about ways to make extra money other than this, cleaning up my act a little, and learning how to be more zen about things. I realize all of this is not going to happen in a week, but at least I can get the thought process going.

Except, I'm totally fucking depressed and all I want to do is go back to bed.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Tall Tales

Tall Guy and I went out again on Saturday night.

I wasn't all that surprised that he wanted to go out with me again, I mean, I'm pretty amazing. And our makeout sesh was pretty intense. But ultimately, I knew that there were still issues at hand and that I didn't have much of an argument..I mean, unless I go out and buy some stilts, there's still a foot and a half difference in our heights.

Which, godammit, is so not a big deal to me!

I made him come to Brooklyn because I had been out pumpkin picking all day upstate and I was fact, I could have just as easily stayed home, but he seemed adamant that he really wanted to hang out again and who am I to say no?

So, I watched him down a shitload of beer. Cuz the guy can drink. I mean, he's really tall. 5 beers in and I'm still sipping my second vodka tonic, and I'm feeling myself getting wasted by the second, while he's staying relatively sober. And the subject of the height thing comes up AGAIN. I wouldn't let him get away with it as an excuse. I was like, "Tell me you don't like me (which you can't) tell me you're not attracted to me (which you are) but for the love of God do NOT tell me I am too short." It doesn't make any sense. To me. Then again, I'm not the one walking around with a 79 inch frame.

I finally decided that he just has issues, period, and told him as much. He didn't disagree with me. So I think we decided to just be friends. Except that he came home with me. And stayed the night. And stayed the morning. And we didn't act like friends, at least not the friends that I generally keep around (ok there's a few of you out there. shut up).

Especially since he spent a lot of time telling me how "different" I he has never met anyone like give the midget a chance, dude!

So I dunno. I hadn't heard from him all week, so I sent him a little email today...I don't even know what the purpose was...I guess to remind him I'm alive? I'm kind of at the point where I don't want to remind someone I'm alive anymore. I want to be chased. Just a little. No more chasing for me.

I've got two different thoughts going through my head. One is that I need to just walk away from this, if he is able to get past his shit, he'll let me know. But then my other thought is the one that is going to end up being the death of goes something like this: "he needs to know how great you are. you need to remind him of how great you are, often, so that he will know that he will be missing out on something if he lets you go."

Yea, forcing someone to like you is one of my strong points, but in the end, never fruitful, and always painful.

He did call. And said something about having to go away over the weekend. So I said "Have fun" and he said "but. I'll talk to you before that."


it's already Weds.

Whatever. I'm not holding my breath. I'm trying NOT to hold my breath.

Meanwhile...there's a perfectly nice guy who keeps calling. And I'm just not calling back. I can't call back...I don't have it in me. He might be the love of my life for all I know and I just don't care right now.

And Remax2 and I are supposed to go biking this weekend. He just called to confirm. Fucking Remax2. I would have killed to have that fuckwad pick up the phone and call me a month ago.

Life. Weird, shitty, freaky life.

Monday, October 13, 2008

You've Got Mail

As you may recall, a few months back my douchebag ex dumped one of our cats back in my lap. I couldn't have been happier to have Bong back, but having to have Douchebag back in my life, even for a mere 10 minutes, was traumatizing at best.

Douchebag texted me a couple weeks ago saying that he could come by one Saturday and bring over a box of record albums that he still had of mine, and pick up a box of stuff that snuck its way into my storage unit all those years ago.

I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of seeing him, yet again, but the thought of having all of my childhood records back - The Monkees, Captain and Tanille, The Osmonds and Shaun Cassidy, to name a few-was thrilling enough that I figured I could endure another 10 minutes with him.

I'm going to spare you all the agony of hearing about our second reunion, because really, how much hatred can one girl spew on her blog? I'm a lover, not a fighter...however, what I'm here to tell you is about what I found in that box of record albums.

It sat on the floor of my bedroom for a week, because I'm lazy like that...and I don't have anywhere to put a stack of records at the moment, so in the box they remained. Until I decided to have a cleaning frenzy and opened up the Pandora's box that lay at the foot of my bed.

Inside, I was greeted with 2 years worth of my mail.

Magazines, Christmas cards from people who didn't know I had moved, a box of cookies that a friend had baked and sent to the wrong address by mistake, junk mail, lots of junk mail....the icing on the cake was a bill from a hospital that did not know I had relocated, and sent me REPEATED requests for payment, which of course went unheeded, so I then received a stack of correspondence from a collection agency..again, unheeded. Another lovely gem that I found was a repeated request from the county clerk's office to fill out a form for jury duty, which of course I did not do. So the last correspondence from THEM is that if I do not show up in court by April 11, 2006, I am subject to a $1000 fine.

Two years worth of mail shoved into a box and handed to me as if this were a perfectly sane and natural thing to do.

I mean what the hell am I supposed to do with 2 year old cookies and 10 Shape Magazines from 2006?

I know it wasn't his duty to monitor my mail, but I honestly didn't realize that I was even still getting mail there. I had since moved, changed the address on all my important stuff...changed my address on my drivers license...I would like to think that if he noticed something important (ie a bill from a collection agency, or a last notice from the county clerk's office) that perhaps he could have let me know, but apparently shoving it in a box and moving it around multiple times was clearly easier to him.

All I want to do is write him a scathing email but honestly, what would be the point.

What is the MATTER with people?

Fuck You Friend Zone

On my quest for finding a Someone, I found myself conversing with Tall Guy. Tall Guy and I have been talking for about a month now, with the caveat that he has height issues and only dates other Tall People. But thought it would be fun to get together for a beer with a Short Person like myself, because who can resist the likes of me? ;)

We talked on the phone a lot until we could find a free night for the both of us. Our conversations were lengthy, and always netted out with me laughing my ass off at pretty much everything he said. Which we all know is a huge turn-on to me. Another huge turn-on to me? When someone tells me I can't have something...his conversations always sort of ended with "you know, there is a HUGE height difference between us." (he is on the taller side of 6'4", and I am just under 5'4"). ie, we can probably never date...I reminded him that we were just meeting up for a beer and that he should stop worrying so much.

So we met last night at a bar in TriBeCa before I was to go a show for a friend's birthday. And dude is tall. I made sure to wear 4-inch heels so he wouldn't feel like he towered over me, but I still felt like one of the Lollipop Kids next to him. The thing is, I usually only date Tall People, it's not on purpose, but I do prefer long and lean to being with another Lollipop Kid such as myself.

After a few drinks it was painfully obvious that there was a definite attraction going on...we slid easily into a familiar place, since we'd spent so much time on the phone...but I kept hearing that dreaded "Friend Zone...Friend Zone" resonating in my brain. Fucking Friend Zone. I did NOT want to end up there YET AGAIN! But inevitably, the conversation turned back to the dreaded height bias. To the point where he even felt the need to tell me that if we were to ever have sex, the missionary position would be a joke.

To which I replied, "I only like to be on top."

Well, that seemed to have done the trick, because, at least for the next half hour or so, I'm pretty sure we exited the Friend Zone. Next thing I knew, we were making out like crazy, and then we were leaving the bar, and making out more (I had to stand on the stoop of a neighboring apartment building in order to reach) and then he walked me to my next destination , where I found myself pinned to a wall (standing on yet another stoop). Yea, I don't kiss my friends like that.

Me via text, several hours later: Let's do that again sometime.
Him: Yes, please!

Friday, October 10, 2008

A Little White Whine Over Lunch

So, for weeks I've been chasing after this ridiculous petty cash that my office owes me in the measly amount of $50 bucks. When I submitted the request 3 weeks ago I was not in dire need of this money. I mean, seriously now, $50 bucks? Except now I'm completely cash poor and I kinda need that measly shitty $50 bucks. I've just now found out that the stupid form was sitting on someone's desk for the last 3 weeks, and it wasn't even with the right person! So now it will take me ANOTHER 3 weeks to get my $$$ back. My poor doesn't know what's hit it.

In other news, my office has been having the bathrooms renovated for the last 2 months. They were supposed to be done at the end of September. Except, they're not. Not even close. My cubicle sits right outside the men's room (yea, nice, right?) and one of my coworkers and I peered in there yesterday to see these new and exciting bathrooms with the jacuzzi tubs and saunas (I mean, if we have to wait this long for renovated bathrooms, wouldn't it make sense that they would be luxury bathrooms? Because they care about us that much?), instead we were greeted with a completely gutted cubbyhole with old tile still in place. So I'm not so sure those bathrooms are gonna be ready anytime soon. Today, there seems to be some movement towards getting them done. The drilling and the yelling hasn't stopped since I got in this morning. Even my headphones can't drown them out. Ah, cubicle life.

To make things even more annoying, I've now gotten even Remax2 into the Friend Zone.
This appears to be how I roll now. Good fucking lord.

Weekend. Blessed weekend. Please be kind.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

Get Into the Groove

Saturday night I had yet another frustrating, dead-end date with yet another elusive, hard-to-read dude.

He seemed attractive and intelligent-a musician who plays with a few different bands as well as works during the day making high-end instruments. He lives in Brooklyn, works in Brooklyn (yet doesn't know how to get anywhere in Brooklyn, via subway or otherwise, which I found highly suspect)and spent a lot of time discussing his last relationship. Which ended, oh, 5 years ago or so?

The date ended after a few hours, which was kind of fine with me, because after hearing "my ex, who was crazy and had a lot of problems" for about the 17th time in one night..I was ready to bail myself out. I walked him to the train and gave him a hug, to which he was genuinely taken aback. "Nobody likes to hug anymore," he said. "Can I have another one?"

I was happy to oblige. Why the hell not.

So what does a girl do when her lame-ass night ends with a sad guy wanting a little extra time against my breasts? She takes herself to a lesbian bar and dances all night with a bunch of hottie women.

Lesty was on her way when I texted her at 10:30 or so, with another friend in tow. We waited on line for a couple minutes outside the joint, a very inconspicuous place on a quiet corner in "Gowanus" or whatever the hell that neighborhood it even considered Park Slope? Either way, I checked out my competition. There were girls of all shapes and sizes waiting to get in as well. A few men accompanying them, but for the most part, a Sapphic smorgasbord stood in front of me.

The bar was surprisingly large, and in the back, a pole was set up, with an extremely fit, dexterous, and scantily clad woman wrapped around it, sliding up and down it, having sexy time with it. I'm 99.9% hetero, but we were all in agreement that we would consider crossing over to the other team for Pole Lady.

We found ourselves mushed into the very crowded dance floor, and just went with the flow, gyrating to the mix of Justin Timberlake, 90's hip hop, "I'm Britney, Bitch", and 70's disco that pulsated through the room. Beautiful women sandwiched us from all sides, gave us the eye, flirted, and laughed at our ineptness at flirting back. I'm shy enough when a guy throws a little attention my way, place a girl in the mix and I'm all sorts of retarded. But no matter, we spent hours getting our groove on.

My guy friends are all chagrined to hear that I did NOT put my .01% gayness into action and hook up with another woman that night...I did indeed go home alone, which is becoming pretty much the story of my life these days...but you never know. There's always next Saturday ;)

Friday, October 03, 2008

The Friend Zone

Several months back I met a guy through some friends that I was extremely attracted to, and we hit it off like two kids in a sandbox. We've stayed in touch, invited each other to things, hoped to bump into each other at other things, but schedules did not allow us to cross paths again. Until last week.

He invited me out for drinks Sat night, just sort of out of the blue...truth be told I wasn't all that excited about much time had gone by since we first met, I could barely remember what he looked like.

Which became apparent when I walked into the bar and looked right at him, not realizing who he was! Ha!

Now, I was not under any illusion that this meetup was actually a date...I mean, it took this long to get it together, how interested could he possibly be?

After several hours of nonstop laughing, at ourselves and others...playing tunes on the jukebox, and light touching, a shoulder here, a thigh was late, and time to go home. Separately. There was definite talk of additional meetups, and I'm not 100% sure that he WASNT into me to a small degree...and I am definitely, definitely interested in him...but I've thrown myself under that bus called "the friend zone", yet again, I'm afraid.

Once upon a time, there was a girl in me who would never have hesitated to seize the moment, take what I thought I deserved and not worry about the last breakup I can't even count the amount of lovers that I accumulated in a one year period, literally...recklessly stomping through life without a care in the world.

This time around, I have had my share of encounters, yes...but somewhere along the way I have become a big pussy, wishing and wanting and hoping but not DOING. Worrying about consequences or being rejected. Liquid courage isn't even helping these days.

I have now accumulated a nice collection of man friends...not that this is such a horrible thing, but really, do I NEED more man friends? How do I cross the line from friend zone to fuck zone?

Friday, September 26, 2008

And They Say New Yorkers are Rude

This morning in the midst of the torrential downpour we've been experiencing, a man was wandering outside of Grand Central Station, clearly lost. He asked another man, also lost, where 3rd Avenue was. The 2nd man barely spoke English, and basically said so. So the first man kept on walking. I walked up to him and told him how to get to 3rd Avenue and right as I finished giving him directions, I slipped on a wet spot and went flying face first down to the ground.

Now, I would like to say that the man did not see me do a face plant into the sidewalk. I mean, it's possible. Except that, we were walking side by side. And my umbrella flew out of my hand, nearly poking out the eye of the second, non-English speaking man. The non-English speaking man, bless him, at least grabbed my umbrella for me. The first guy, not so much. He actually just kept on walking. Hurriedly, might I add, still in search of 3rd Avenue.

I hope that dude gets hit by a yellow cab. Not enough to kill him. But just enough to ensure that he needs to be airlifted back to the flyover which is undoubtedly where he came from.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

A Part Time Gig

So, instead of continuing to complain about my money or lack thereof, I've been thinking a lot about getting a second job.

It wouldn't have to be forever...mainly it would be to pay off some outstanding debts that are looming over my head, in the hopes that once said debts have been paid, I can resume stashing money away for the future and not have to keep stealing from myself all the time.

I used to have quite the savings account...and was relatively debt-free. And then all hell broke loose...I became single, I started paying my own way, I stopped relying on a second income from my live-in got ugly, real fast.

So here I am...still struggling...making more than I ever did. It's nuts.

I was perusing Craigs List last night, thinking I'd find some weird odd job type of things that I could do...maybe some personal assisting for an old eccentric, and the like. I did find this, which I was seriously considering:

a"Beautiful Friendly Girls Make 100+ An Hour Doing Fantasy Role Play"

I was so THERE. Until I read "Must be bikini skinny. NO PLUS SIZE."

So much for that idea.

But then I started thinking...what about nude modeling?
I mean, they need all shapes and sizes for art classes, as well as photographers' don't necessarily have to be a twig to do it...of course, I would wish that all of the students were, in fact, BLIND...and maybe mute as well so I wouldn't hear their gasps of horror as I disrobed. But hey, nude models make good money...and it's for the sake of art.

There is the small fact that, I've never REALLY nude modeled, at least, not outside of the comforts of my own home, for more than two people at a time. I guess that could be a problem...having stage fright right as an entire class is staring at you, waiting for the moment of truth, could be kind of embarrassing.

Seriously though, any of my 3 readers that has experience and wishes to share, feel free!!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Crazy Cat Lady

The other day my friend Akat was over and she remarked that Igbot was looking a little skinny.

Now, for those of you who have never met Igbot, trust me when I say that skinny is not a word you would use to describe him. "Big-boned" if you're being diplomatic...."fat as fuck" if you're just being honest.

But Akat insisted that he had lost some weight. She pointed to his hip area and said, "look, right there, he's smaller."

Now, Akat has recently lost two of her own kitties, within six months of each other, so she might be a little on high alert right now with regard to other people's I dismissed her. But every single day after that I couldn't help but notice that she might be right. And then someone else was over and asked about his fat sac. "That's always been there" I replied. "But it's more hangy now" he observed. Hmmmm.

Fast forward two weeks and I have decided that Igbot is emaciated. He seriously must have lost at least a pound a day... my cat was disappearing before my very eyes! To the vet he must go!

I piled him into a carrier as he cursed at me. We sat in the waiting room while strange dogs walked up and sniffed my poor cat...did they know something I don't know? Don't animals always know when another animal is sick?

The vet called us in. The first thing he commented on was what a big boy Igbot is. "Really? Because he's lost a lot of weight, and he's all skin and bones as far as I'm concerned" I explained very matter of factly, as if the vet couldn't see with his own eyes.

He threw Igbot on the scale, and started mumbling..."7.9..."

"7.9??? Last time we were here he weighed 16 pounds! OMG my cat is dying!"

The vet looked up and snickered. "We weigh in kilograms. Your cat is 17.5 pounds. He's gained 1.5 since the last time you were here."


"Are you sure?" I demanded he weigh my poor cat again. This couldn't be right.

(The last time I was at this vet I had brought Igbot in because he had thrown up the night before. When I said that Igbot was acting weird in the morning, the vet said "you would be too if you threw up." Touche).

The vet spent the next 15 minutes literally laughing at me. He basically said Igbot was one fat motherfucker...and that I needed to get a life and stop obsessing about my cat so much.

Stop judging me, Vet!

Even though he may be right ;)

Sunday, September 21, 2008

The Bitter Truth

After a bizarre week, and in my opinion, a slightly stressful Saturday night, I had a kickass day with UK. I came home and caught up on Entourage, checked in on the Emmys, read some blogs, listened to some of Remax2's music, and have found myself with the shittiest case of insomnia on record. Which leads to... oh crap, the reflecting and regurgitating of the failures of my lovelife over the last 7 months.

After a bevy of faux/non-relationships and false starts, I find myself pretty much back at square one. This is not to say that I haven't been having fun since becoming single. Believe me, much fun has been had. I'm not knocking the midnight rendezvous and back bar makeout sessions...the dirty emails and even just the new guy friends I've churned out from all of the above...but I'm starting to worry that I'm becoming way too accustomed to living in this sort of unstructured, unconventional "dating" parallel universe.

Not that I can even call it dating. Seriously, when was the last time I went out on an actual DATE? Do guys even do that anymore? ....I can't remember the last time someone fucking called me up and said "let's go to dinner". Or even called me up, for that matter.

I'm the girl that gets the texts at 2am. I'm the girl who is "the other woman". I'm the girl who responds quite favorably to dirty emails, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe he will like me again. I'm the girl who is sort of ok with not getting the fancy dinner or even dinner, at all. I one time suggested a dinner date with someone who I'd been out with BEFORE, and he thought dinner made the date too "important". I do believe the exact phrase he used was "not tenuous". Yet somehow, he thought I was going to end up in his bed. I do not need dinner to end up in someone's bed. But it would be nice.

I haven't had much luck meeting people in real life--that is to say, I meet tons of people in real life, but none of them seem to be overwhelmed by me, or vice versa. I'm starting to wonder if I might be getting reallllllly picky in my old age. Or else I've gotten reallllllly ugly in my old age. Or a combination of the two.

The online dating thing is just getting old, pure and simple. How many more times can I watch myself be rejected, over and over again, on the basis of merely a few pictures and some ridiculous blurb that I have written about myself. It's tiresome. Yet I continue on, in the hopes that maybe I will be one of those success stories that we see in the ads...the douchey couple giving each other moony cow eyes, talking about how brought them together. I hate those fuckers. But yet I still want to be them.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

My Wingman

Last night, my friend Sexy Pilot was in town.

Sexy Pilot and I have not seen each other in a looooong ass time. I'm not going to admit how long, because it will make me sound like a grandmother. It's been that long.

Sexy Pilot hadn't been to NYC in a while so I dragged him down to the LES and we did a little Ludlow Street bar crawling...and crawl we did, after the amount of alcohol that was consumed.

We found ourselves at 151 Bar, which incidentally is where I always seem to get lucky :) Not that I was thinking about that when I dragged him down Rivington after we had already had oh, 40 vodka tonics or least, not consciously ;)

We'd been sitting at a table for a while, had a few drinks, when Sexy Pilot found his way to the little boys' room. I looked up for a split second and made eye contact with a dude across the bar who seemed to be making crazy eyes at me..although I couldn't tell for sure.

Until he waltzed up to me and plopped himself down right across the table where Sexy Pilot had been sitting.

Now, I'm not sure why these things always happen to me, but clearly I have a sign on my forehead that says "Crazy, and Weird Names, Please" because he started going in for the kill immediately and told me his name was "Omigod".

No, seriously.

"That cannot be your name," I snorted. He looked at me with the crazy eyes and said "Yea, it's Egyptian."

I'm pretty sure that it's not....

He then proceeded to tell me his life story...he worked on Wall Street...he quit Wall Street...he was working on the great American novel....he was a coke addict and was in the bar for one reason only, to get his fix.

All the while, I've got one eye in the direction of the bathroom. Where the fuck was Sexy Pilot? Why was he taking so long? Did he fall in the toilet? Did he run away with a dirty hipster?

As Omigod continued droning on..."I swear all I do all day is smoke pot and bump"...I think his parents named him Omigod because he never fucking stops talking and you're just like "OH MY GOD"...I excused myself to run to the bathroom, and I saw Sexy Pilot chatting with the bartender.

"WTF are you doing?" I hissed.

He thought that I was enjoying the conversation with crazy eyed cokehead, so he had gone to sit at the bar and give me some space...I looked at him in disgust and was about to ream him a new one...and then I took a good look at my new friend across the bar with the intervention in his future, and realized that the wildly unkempt hair and "starving" artist persona IS, indeed, completely my type. ARGH. Note to self: get new type.

With a wingman like that, who needs enemies???

Bush Hour

Yesterday I found myself on the 4 train at the height of rush hour.

i don't take the 4 train for a number of reasons. Too crowded, TOO crowded, TOO FUCKING CROWDED. Especially before the 9am hour. Unfortunately for me, that is the hand that was dealt to me that day, so I sucked it up, put my ipod on full blast and jammed out to some Les Savy Fav to tune everyone out around me.

When I got off at my stop, 4 bajillion people got off with me. I tried to dart around all the assholes who were in absolutely NO hurry to get to work on a Monday morning, preferring to shuffle through the subway station like a bunch of zombies. I'm guessing nobody had had a chance to get their coffee yet or else everyone was feeling more than slightly shitty at the financial downturn and disaster we are about to experience. But I digress.

I found myself behind an older gentleman who was carrying a few plastic bags. I was hot on his trail as he moseyed through the turnstile. Right behind him, I pushed through, and then found myself stuck.

Somehow, the old dude's plastic bag handle had wrapped itself around the turnstile while I started to go through it, and after he extricated the bag...the turnstile wouldn't move. I was trapped inside of it, and realized that the only way I was getting out was to do a high kick over the offending piece of metal that had me in its grasp.

As I am known to do, I was wearing the miniest of minis, with the tiniest of thongs underneath, so my high kick was basically a free show to the old man, and basically the entirety of the subway station.

Throw in the fact that I have given up all but the bare minimum of grooming essentials, and well...I'll just let you use your imagination there.

And another case of the Mondays was born..

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Just Passing Through

Hey Buddies! It's me, Cheese, passing through for a quick post so that you don't think I forgot about you!

Not much is going on in these parts, at least nothing that I really want to talk about at the moment. I've had some confusing ass shit going on, which I've decided to just ignore in the hopes that it will either go away, or at the very least, I will cease to give a crap about it eventually. Probably the latter, cuz I'm cool like that.

I've had some good conversations with people that I was afraid to have...putting thoughts and emotions flat on the table and not being laughed at or looked at cross-eyed. That was cathartic, I must say.

Have a few new crushes. Nothing worth discussing, but fun to think about.

Working too late, trying to stay social, trying not to get fat by continuing to go the gym when I have time.

Some birthday parties this weekend. Three, to be exact. An art opening tomorrow night and hopefully, Half King. Yoga. Brunches. LAUNDRY. I need to do laundry.

I am really grasping at straws here to keep you people from giving up on me. Bear with me. It's been that kind of week.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Weird Pheromone Wednesday

Yesterday morning I was leaving the Starbucks in Rock Center with my usual order of a tall iced coffee in a grande cup (room for milk, baby!) and a spinach and feta wrap (how I love prepackaged food), ipod blasting Weezer's Red Album..when I faintly heard through "Troublemaker" someone yelling out "miss! excuse me! miss!" while running in my direction.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and freaked the fuck out, assuming the worst...did I drop something? Did I take someone's coffee by accident? Did i get my period all over myself? WTF?

I turned around to see a short, but attractive dude in a suit smiling at me and muttering, "This is so embarrassing."

"What? What is it?" I started to panic.

He laughed. "I was getting my coffee when I noticed you standing next to me, and you are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

I mean, the guy is pretty much right, but I can't really recall the last time someone chased me down to tell me so ;)

I giggled like a schoolgirl and thanked him for being so nice. I totally admitted that I thought he was going to tell me my underwear was showing.

He then asked if he could take me out for a drink. To which I had to say no. I kicked myself for a little while over it, but it was too early in the morning for me to think straight, and I hadn't had my coffee yet! Plus, I'm a New Yorker, I can't just say yes to a dude in the middle of Starbucks...he could be a psycho!!

In addition to this, Remax2 spent the entire day telling me all of the salaciously naked things he wanted to do to me.

I didn't want to push my luck, but I seriously wanted to call up every single guy I ever had a crush on and see if they were feeling some inexplicable pull towards me. My pheromones are clearly detectable over cyberspace, and quite possibly, cell phones!

Date later that night was so enamored with me that he asked me out for Saturday...before our date even ended.

And on my way home from date, yet another man felt the need to stop me on the street, tell me how gorgeous I am, and ask me to join him for a drink. Actually insisted, that second, that I join him for a drink. Of course, he was already drunk, and might have been missing some teeth. Or something.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

A Night With an Idol

When I was in high school, Billy Idol was probably one of my ultimate fantasy men. That sticky uppy hair. That sneer. That way he punched at the air in time to the music. The way he looked when crooning "Eyes Without A Face". I honestly hadn't given Billy Idol much thought since then, other than during my last relationship (my ex named himself after Mr Idol when performing stand up), but somehow ended up with two tickets to see him at Hammerstein Ballroom last night.

If you had told me that everyone and their mother was attending this show (literally...there were little kids there, with their parents) and that almost every single one of my friends was fighting me for the extra ticket, I wouldn't have believed you. But holy crap, Billy Idol is one popular motherfucker. People of all types were shoving their way into the venue, to get as close to his plastic face and overly gelled hair. It was insane.

There were tons of old bitches and assholes, such as myself, reliving their high school years...and some of them clearly still dressing the part. We saw lots of dudes with Steve Stevens hair,wearing their sunglasses at night, and chicks in leg warmers, paint splattered clothes, bad leggings, and ankle boots. On the flip side, there was one dude in a pink shirt and flipped up collar, who was playing air guitar with gusto. I'm horrified to say that I was finding myself strangely attracted to the pseudo heavy-metal looking dudes, it seems that I still have a thing for guys with crazy hair (ed note: um...who didn't know that?)as I found myself trying to stand close to them and smell their shampoo. Well, the ones that actually showered, of course.

The concert itself was pretty fun. Billy puts on a good show-he does like to change his outfits several times throughout (and at one point Steve Stevens did a really long guitar solo, probably to enable Billy to not only change his ensemble, but to touch up his plastic face which may have been melting under all the lights). He does also like to show off his incredibly pasty white, hairless chest, and flex his non-muscles.

He played some new songs, but mainly stuck to a familiar playlist, including a lot off of Rebel Yell, some Gen X stuff, and all the poppy crap that got played on the radio when I was in college. His final song was "Mony Mony" and I was absolutely MORTIFIED that he indeed added in the chorus "get laid, get fucked". I just looked at Kristen in horror. All we could do was laugh.

I'm not sure I would have paid for those tickets myself, but hey, there are worse ways to spend an evening than a night with an Idol!

Monday, August 18, 2008

Why Today Feels Like Torture

Funny how a benignly mediocre day can seem horribly awful when preceded by four or five truly awesome days.

Truth is I really did need a night to myself. My apartment was a pig sty, my laundry needed doing, my blog needed updating. And there's a Hills premiere to watch!

Weds night after a kind of stressful workday (ok, it was really stressful, and deserves its own post, someday when I feel like retelling it), I ended up meeting S&M at happy hour in his work hood. He and his buddy Jon were sucking down cocktails like they were going out of style, and I had a lot of catching up to do.
Several vodka tonics later, I sure as fuck was caught up, and proceeded to smoke all of S&M's cigarettes, and hit on the bartender, who it turned out was born in 1986. Fuck. Me. I had never felt like SUCH a dirty old lady as I did at that moment...well ok, that's sort of a lie, but either way, IT FELT SO WRONG! So for the rest of the night I called him Little Baby and left it at that. Hot or no, 22 is just, WRONG.

All the while, was receiving invitations via text from several others-a pool party in the East Village, relocated Media Meshing at Tom and Jerry, more drinks with Drunk Brunch and co at another East Village location...I was weighing my options when S&M and I realized that we were too drunk for life, and needed to go home. I was tempted to crash at S&M's for the night, but of course, I had another idea up my sleeve....which came into fruition later in the night, and well into the morning. ;)

Rainy lazy Thursday was my sister's birthday, and I found myself at the Boat Basin enjoying some Electric Lemonade. That shit is ridiculous, by the way, because it's like drinking slush puppies but with vodka, and 2 are pretty much lethal. So needless to say, when I finally found myself home, I crashed like a little baby on crack.

Friday I got drunk with my family at Turkish Kitchen, then met Lesty and her beau back at my place for a bottle of wine, Freaks and Geeks, and when the wine ran out, root beer and brandy cocktails. Don't knock it til you try it-they actually weren't that bad. At least, no one was complaining!

Another super late night with a repeat performance from super late night caller and super fun activities-my couch hasn't seen that much action since my cat stopped humping his blankie-and then it was Saturday.

Saturday was a girly day spent with Wins. Naam Yoga, brunch, Billys cupcakes, shopping, pedicures, and Vicky Christina Barcelona which was absolutely one of the best movies I've seen all year, no shit. Penelope Cruz was incredible, as was Javier Bardem and really every single person that appeared in it was flawless. I LOVED it. Although, I admit, due to the previous night's activities, I may or may not have fallen asleep in the last 10 minutes of the movie. And I may or may not have been snoring. Oops.

Thankful for the nap, I had to hightail it back to Brooklyn to meet up with a friend at Franklin Park for a few too many Original Sins and Chevellas takeout. Tried to keep it early as on Sunday I piled into Kristen's car with Ha Ha Sound and my sister for a day in the Catskills, tubing down the Esopus Creek. I have done this a good handful of times in my life, and it's always awesome to see a new person's reaction when going down that crazy creek in an inner tube for the first time.

There was a very dramatic saving of Kristen's tube by HHS. I watched in horror as she flipped, got caught in the current, and her tube started to drift away. I wanted to be the hero of the day so I jumped out of my tube and dragged it to the side of the creek in the hopes that I would be able to catch hers, but I sadly watched it continue down the river. HHS jumped out of his tube like he was saving a life, and somehow managed to snatch her tube up in one quick movement, and got himself and both tubes safely to shore. Craziness!!

I was feeling all sorts of cocky as by close to the end of the run I was the only one of the four of us that hadn't flipped...and just as I was about to gloat, I hit a gigantic rock and FLIP. Right over. Tube over my head. Knee bashed into a rock. Holy fucking ow.

HHS suggested that we head over to an amazing little pizza place called Winchells, which we did, gladly. A couple glasses of wine helped ease the pain of my bloated knee, but the true panacea was definitely the Gelato place we hit up a few miles down the road. A medium cup of Tiramisu and Pistachio gelato hit the spot, and for a split second I definitely remember thinking that I wanted to stay in the Catskills pretty much forever.

So as you can see, my very eventful last few days are making this very dull, nothing day seem like hell on earth. But the Hills are on now. So I'm out. ;)

Saturday, August 16, 2008

For the Record

So it's been brought to my attention that I haven't been blogging much lately. Yea I know I's a combination of too much going on and not much going on, if that makes any sense.

I've been getting used to having two cats running around, and oh God do they run around. Bong has acclimated himself quite nicely to the situation, and he and Igbot are having a ball. Just like their Mom.

I've been running around myself, doing this and that. Summer share in Montauk kicked in. National concert at Summerstage. French Kicks at Empire Fulton-Ferry State Park. Frozen hot chocolate at Jacques Torres. Sunrise bike rides with the Brooklyn Tri Club. Sweet and Vicious before it closed. Drinking too much. Spending lots of time with friends. One in particular who keeps me up late. Definitely good times, those late nights :)

Texts and gchats from the same guys over and over (Blue Hair and Boring Guy, for those keeping score) but never amounting to anything, which is amusing yet retarded. Clearly they are keeping me as their "just in case" girl. Clearly I'm doing it right back.

Tomorrow I'm going tubing upstate. I'm pretty fucking excited for that.

I guess I'm just dropping by to let you all know that I'm alive and pretty fucking ok.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Where the Wild Things Are

Under the bed.

That is where the latest wild thing has been for 2 days now. I can't get him to come out. It doesn't help that his little brother keeps stalking him.

The latest in the cat drama is as follows:

Douchebag never got back to me about when he was planning on bringing Bong over, so come Weds or so I shot him an email asking what was up. In it I also happened to mention that I had some of his stuff, and he still had some of mine, and perhaps we could trade stuff while he dropped off the cat.

He blatantly ignored my email, but texted me and said, "oh, sorry, I should have confirmed Saturday at 11am with you."

Yea, he should have, considering I already had plans...but I cancelled them and agreed to the time.

Wouldn't you know it, come 10:55am Sat am, I get a friggin Facebook message. The cat is hiding. He won't come out. Oh, and the Douchebag forgot his cell phone, so he can't call me.

I messaged back, "Borrow Victor's phone and call me with a status, please."

Facebook message back:"This is gonna take a while. Go about your day."

Arrogant prick. Now I'm being dismissed to go about my day. So that I did.

I had a perfectly amazing time with the other Cheese, biking, kayaking in the East River, drinking frozen hot chocolate from Jacques Torres and laying out in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Hours upon hours went by with no word from Douchebag. I got an invite to join Kristen and some friends from out of town to drink at Water Taxi Beach, so I got myself showered and was just about ready to leave my pad when I see an unfamiliar # come up on my phone.

"It's me, the Douchebag. I've got Bong, I'll be there in half an hour."

Um. Ok. Guess Water Taxi Beach will wait.

I hate the fact that I was nervous to see him. I hate that I still worry about his opinion and that I feel the need to impress upon him. I slightly hate the fact that I asked my friend S&M to be with me when Douchebag arrived and pretend to be my husband (he was all for it, but I changed my mind about that, not that S&M wouldn't make a great husband, but a girl can only sink to a certain level of insecurity!) I cracked open a beer and waited outside on my stoop.

Douchebag showed up an hour later, cat carrier in tow. We barely exchanged hellos. I don't know, for 2 split seconds I actually thought that maybe he had changed, gained some humanity or perhaps gotten over his animosity towards me. But no. His arrogance and disdain for me was quite apparent. I would like to point out that I had fully intended on inviting him upstairs for a beer and having some sort of catch up...because that's what sane people do. But his body language and sarcastic tone were very clearly saying "back off bitch." So I asked him to help me carry all the stuff and the cat upstairs.

"You might want to give him a bath." he pointed out. I asked why, and he replied, "Bong's been living in Victor's basement for the last 3 months." He couldn't look at me when he said it.

You fucking sonofabitch. You give up the cat and instead of calling me immediately because you don't want to deal with me, you let the poor creature live in a dank, dirty basement? For 3 months???

"Why didn't you call me?" I asked.
"I called you NOW, didn't I?" he scowled.

I wanted to scratch his eyes out.

Instead, I asked why he was separating Bong from his buddy. He wouldn't answer. "Douchebag," I said, "You owe me at least that."

"I moved in with someone who already had a cat, and she didn't want three. So I had to get rid of one."

a) He is such a fucking PUSSY that he let this stupid bitch talk him into getting rid of Bong? b) he moved out of the apartment that I was so sure he was going to die in, a tiny box of a place that he and I lived in together for 6 years...because he refused to move to a bigger space and pay more money? c) he takes the one cat that is afraid of his own shadow, sticks him in a basement, and then sends him off to me, to confuse him further? d) he fucking lives with someone?

Yea, I think "d" got to me the most. Fine, I admit it.

Either way, this news disturbed me to no end, and after I started banging around some shit, I literally began to start herding him out of my apartment, for fear that I would punch him in the face. I really wanted to punch him in the face, dammit.

As I led him to my door, he suddenly says "Oh yea, I have your stuff, but I didn't bring it with me, and I want my stuff back. So can I have it?"

You fucking asshole. You blatantly ignore my email..and now you expect that I just have your fucking stuff neatly piled up and ready to go? Blow me.

"Yea, I don't know where it is. I'll be in touch," I opened my front door and showed him the way out. "Take care."

He looked at me as if I had three heads. I'm not sure what more he wanted to say or wanted me to say, but I wasn't interested in finding out. So out the door I threw him.


Thursday, July 31, 2008


Silly me, I was starting to worry that things were starting to quiet down around here.

Thankfully, drama always has a way of finding me, and the drama of all dramas is about to unfold.

I got home from visiting a friend in the hospital tonight, and logged onto my gmail, as normal. In it, I saw a Facebook alert with my 8 yr ex's name attached.

I have not heard hide nor hair from this man in 2 yrs (we've been broken up for 3) and the last time we spoke, we were fighting over our cats.

We had been living together, with our two cats, but it was always assumed that if we ever broke up, the cats would go with me, since I was the one who had brought them in from the shelter where I had been volunteering. Well, we did in fact break up, and although it was a long time coming, I had been sort of blindsighted and had to leave lickety-split with not much warning. Which is how I ended up in Queens, living with a friend, sans cats.

I visited those cats in Brooklyn once a week, and again, it was always sort of assumed that once I got my own place, I was taking the cats back.

A few months turned into a year, but I still visited the kids every single week without fail, and fully expected that one day, they'd be living with me again.

When I finally got my own place back in Brooklyn, I excitedly emailed my ex and told him the news. "Now I can get my cats back!"

His reply was that I had a lot of nerve, coming back after a year, wanting my cats back. How dare I just walk in and expect to get them back. I was a loser for taking a YEAR to get back on my feet, I was a terrible cat owner, I was a piece of shit, an asshole, etc etc etc.

We emailed back and forth for a while and he was SUCH a dick and SUCH a miserable asshole to me, I said fuck it. Keep them. If you are going to fight this much about it you deserve them more than I.

I hated myself for giving in but to be honest I didn't want to deal with him anymore on any level and I know he loves them to death and is giving them a good home. So to me, getting rid of him forever, was more worth it to me.

Tonight, this is what was waiting in my inbox:

"I hope this email finds you well.

And I'm sorry for the shock of an email after all this time, but I want to do the right thing. Or at least try.

Not to bore you with all kinds of details, but I moved out of my apartment. As a result I can no longer keep both Cougar and Bong. You cannot imagine how much it breaks my heart to separate them, but I have no choice. And now I have to find a place for Bong. Victor has been taking care of him for the past couple of months but it's only a temporary arrangement. And since he's as much mine as yours, I think you should have him. Or at least have that choice.

I'd love to know he was safe with you. I understand if you say no, I'll figure something out. I just thought you had the right to take him if you wanted."

At first when I saw his name I was confused. It didn't register who he was or what he wanted. Then I reread the email 17 times. And got super fucking MAD. It is so typical of him. He pushes everyone away, and then when he needs something he comes crawling back with his tail between his legs, all humble. I mean, is he KIDDING? This is the guy who told me that I was unreliable because I might meet a guy and give up my cats for said guy. That I was a loser for taking a year to find an apartment! but I'm supposed to feel BAD for him now that he has been kicked out of HIS? And all of a sudden the cats are as much mine as they are HIS? Is he kidding????????????

Of course, I emailed him immediately. All it said was, "Of course I will take Bong. Call me and we'll make a plan."

I am going to take back my Bong with open arms, but the minute that cat is back in my house, that asshole is getting ripped a new asshole.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Cramming it all In

I just checked the date on my last blog post, and oddly enough it has only been a week since my last ramblings. This doesn't seem possible, but perhaps this is because so many things have happened in those seven days, I don't know how I crammed it all in.

Let's see, there was a milestone birthday, a few dates, a triathlon, a "breakup", and a booty call.

Yea, I'm pretty special.

The Birthday
For the last several months I have been anticipating the dreaded birthday; the day that I would be crossing over into a decade that seemed highly impossible. Not only that, I was entering it alone, no relationship to be had, none even percolating on the horizon.

Turns out that this birthday was just as good, if not better, than any other birthday. I threw myself a giant party. My bestest of friends came and bought me shitloads of booze and gifts and surrounded me with love and hope and yes I'm getting supremely sappy right now. But it wasn't nearly as traumatic as I imagined it would be (other than that fucking balloon) and to be honest I don't feel any different. So, until I break a hip or need to start buying Depends, I'm only as young as I feel, right?

On the actual day, I took off from work and spent the day prepping my bike for my race, and then met my family in the Evil for dinner at the most amazing Greek restaurant ever. 2 glasses of Greek wine later, I was buzzed, and insisted that my sis get a drink with me at this place, which has become filled with horrible frat boys in baseball caps. Yuck. One of them came over and slurred out some incomprehensible conversation before picking up my sister's drink and gulping the whole thing down.

We left after that.

Which was fine, because I had a

...well, it wasn't a date, exactly, but Rock Star had finished a gig and wanted to hang out afterwards. So I showed up at his place, all decked out from dinner, and we sat on his floor guzzling beer and listening to music. Four hours into it I realized it was 1am and I really needed to get home. A peck on the lips and I was in a cab...guessing we were just going to be friends, until I got a text five minutes later that read "next time, less talking, MORE KISSING". Heh.

The next day I had an afternoon date with Boring Guy. I don't think I've ever mentioned him here. I went out with him probably 3 weeks ago, I was definitely attracted to him physically, but wasn't sure about his personality...yet. We've IM'ed everyday since then and FINALLY made date #2. My boss actually dubbed him Boring Guy, and after our second date I congratulated her on being right on with her nickname.

Her: So how was Boring Guy?
Me: Well. I can't stand to listen to him talk for more than 10 minutes. But I made out with him and that was good.
Her: So couldn't you just do THAT next time?
Me: Eh. Probably not.

So that sums up Boring Guy.


Sunday was my second NYC Tri, and it was a doozy. Between the jellyfish, my bad ankle, the 95 degree weather, and my almost flat bike tire, it was quite the feat to get through it all. But I managed to not get stung, ignore the ankle, hydrate myself and kick ass even WITH the mushy tire, and take 10 minutes off of last year's time. Woohoo! I was met at the finish line by a group of friends who were brave enough to get up at the crack of dawn, stand outside in the scorching heat, and patiently wait for me, the slowest runner in the world, to finish. Beers at the Boat Basin never tasted better, and Kristen was nice enough to take me up to her place and shower so I wouldn't be gross! Yay!

The Breakup
Remax2 had been trying to call me for a while because he wanted to "talk". Which freaked me out. WTF did he want to talk about? He finally got at me at some point over the weekend, to tell me that he'd met someone else, but he really wanted to be friends.

I think that was the first time in my history of dating that I was dumped by someone I wasn't actually in a relationship with. It was..interesting.

Booty Call

I don't think you need me to spell it out for you. Let me just say, it was real, and it was spectacular. ;)

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Girl You Know It's True

I was sitting in what used to be my favorite bar (mainly due to the fact that I was unhealthily obsessed with the hot young man who tended said bar) with a couple of friends playing catch up. These friends are both in relationships-one of them has been married for quite some time-so, of course, I performed the "Cheese Dating Monologues" as I seem to be doing a lot of these days.

I had them in stitches over all the mayhem and mishaps of the last six months...and then I noticed that a guy at the next table seemed to be mesmerized by my every word.

I had noticed this guy when I was over at the bar getting drinks. Not because I was interested in him, but for some reason he and the woman he was with really stood out to me. Either way, I guess his date was in the bathroom and he was bored, so he held onto every word I said, which isn't hard to do, since I AM pretty fascinating.

Mid-sentence, I was suddenly aware that the guy was now at my side.

"You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen," he whispered in my ear. "Please take my phone #."

My first thought was to blurt out, "Aren't you on a date???"

Apparently, he was not on a date. Apparently, he was out with a "client", a stylist to the stars of some sort.

I was a little tipsy at this point, and didn't really know how to react to any of this, but somehow, the guy had me whipping my phone out of my bag and next thing I knew, he had entered his number into my phone, and then called his phone with my phone. Oy vey.

"My name is True, and I have been listening to your stories about dating. And you need to know that I would never treat you like any of those guys. I would treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

At this point, I can't decide which is more heinous, that he now has my phone #, or that his name is True. Either way, I think I might have been laughing in his face a little. I tried really hard not to, because any guy that can recognize my stunning good looks is a-ok in my book! But then the name dropping started. He brought over his "client" who proceeded to tell me how the first time she ever met True, he was in a limo with a very famous late night tv if this was supposed to impress me.
They then added that they were on their way to A-Rod's party. To which I quipped, "Oh is Madonna going to be there?"

"No, I doubt it" True answered, very seriously.

He then leaned over and reminded me yet again of my stunning beauty, and that he was going to call me soon.

"Say hi to Madonna for me!" I shouted after him.

True and his "client" then headed off for their shindig, and we watched as they stood outside the bar and began to make out.

Gosh. I really hope he calls.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Online Dating Can Make One a Bitter, Bitter Bitch

Sender: blueeyedchap
To: Cheese
Date: Jul 13, 2008 7:22 pm PST

"hi cheese,

thanks for writing...and don't worry about saying anything witty...just being you is good enough.

i certainly appreciate hearing from pretty women but i'd be lying if i didn't say i have a fetish for black-haired girls...i guess i want what i can't have (black hair).

i wish you the best on'm sure you've already got some boys lined up.

D "

Could he be more placating?

So this was my response:

"Well thanks for the reply but totally unnecessary. Perhaps in future maybe you should put something in your profile that says you are a brunette snob



Thank God for the "block" feature!

40 Going on 12

Last night I was surrounded by the most amazing of friends, helping me celebrate my upcoming milestone birthday.

People brought cupcakes and presents, and one of my friends attached a mylar balloon to her gift. And there it stood, all night, like a beacon, drawing attention to my impending middle age and closeness to death, for all the bar to see.

One by one friends were handing me blue cocktails (and one fiery shot with a roasted marshmallow) until I couldn't see straight. I literally seemed to lose all of my faculties little by little, as would be expected of an old person. First to go was my speech (I was told by my sister that I had a stuttering problem that she never noticed before. Apparently I spent a lot of the evening going Ka Ka Ka, trying to spit out her name and not getting very far. Nice). Then went the ability to walk straight. Then I started dropping things, such as glasses..I watched them slip out of my hand and onto the floor, or in one case, on S&M's shoes...lovely Blue Hawaiian all over his Cole Haans...

Throughout the evening, I stared at that balloon, just floating up there, taunting me. Nyah Nyah it said. You are OLD.

I grabbed Akat and Kiki and told them the balloon needed to go. I just couldn't look at it anymore.

Akat had an idea. She checked around to make sure no one was paying attention, grabbed the balloon, and shoved Kiki and I out onto the sidewalk. She then proceeded to poke a hole in the balloon...and one by one, we sucked the helium out of it. In our Mickey Mouse voices we shouted, "Fuck forty! Fuck this balloon! Fuck everything!" and giggled like a gaggle of schoolchildren.

It was my first time "doing" helium. And it was, most def, the highlight of my night.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

Most of you know that I have been training for many months for the NYC Tri, an event that I did last year and, stupidly, decided I NEED to do it again. For reasons unknown, I somehow enjoyed swimming in the Hudson, biking to the Bronx and back, and then forcing my legs to run 6.2 miles through the hilliest leg of Central Park. Maybe I'm just a born masochist. Maybe I'm just retarded.

Either way, Steve G and I decided to do a 30-ish mile bike ride to the Carnarsie Pier last Friday, for something new and different. I mean, you can only go around Prospect Park a few million times in your life before you start to want to put a pebble in your Canarsie Pier, via Ocean Parkway and Sheepshead Bay, here we come!

Steve has been training as well, and kicks my ass every single fucking time we go on a ride. And every single fucking time I say to myself "I am SO keeping up with Steve today." And every single fucking time he's about a mile ahead of me and I'm cursing and sweating and trying to decide if the tiny speck size person way up ahead might possibly be him, or did I miss a turn somewhere?

Off Ocean Parkway we turned onto Neptune Ave, which took us to the bike path alongside the Belt Parkway. This path rides parallel to a beach, and is a tad bit sandy. Just thought you fellow cyclists might want to know that, because I found out too late, was going too fast, and went SKIDDING through the sand, lost my balance, couldn't unclip my foot from my pedal, and went DOWN like a dead soldier. Bike completely on top of me.

Holy crap. I thought I had broken my leg. I just sort of sat there, stunned. My knee was dripping with blood. My ass hurt. My leg from shin to ankle was turning a fiery red and I was scared to look and see if there was broken bone protruding from it.

Old Russian man sees me go down...but instead of rushing to my aid, he just sort of ambles over slowly, surmises the situation, and says "You need to be more careful."

No shit Sherlock!

Then the crying began. Old Russin man had no sympathy for me. "You need me, you give me call," he yelled after me as he slowly started to walk away. Thanks, you're a huge help.

I texted Steve two words- "Wipeout" and hoped he would finally realize that I wasn't behind him anymore. A cyclist flew by, and kindly asked if I needed 911. I told him my friend was somewhere on the path and that he would find me eventually. I guess Nice Cyclist found Steve for me and sent him back to get me. Thank GOD.

Steve and I tried to clean me up as best we could with my bottle of water. To which a passerby told me I needed to have Steve piss on me. "Piss. It's the only way. Piss will clean out your wounds." I wasn't sure that I wanted to go down that road, I mean Steve I love you and all, but I'm not ready for watersports, Hon...

So we refrained from having him piss on me, and proceeded with the ride after cleaning me up. I'm glad to report that I am not broken, but I hurt ALL OVER.

I will say that in a sick way, I was a little proud of my injuries, showing them to anyone who was interested, using them for sympathy, using them to get laid, you know, all the usual stuff. Thank God I have a blog, because now, dear readers, I can inflict my disgusting injuries on you. Check 'em out and be jealous. You know you want some too.

Monday, July 07, 2008

My Maternal Instinct Stinks

Remax2 and I were sitting in the backyard of my most favoritest tiki bar ever.

Somewhere in between many games of Jenga and a long, drawn out makeout session, a couple sat near us with a baby. The baby was about 1, and seemed to be intrigued by us.

The little fellow waddled over, and fixated on Remax2 (not surprising as he is super tall, red headed, and has giant hair. The dude stands out in a crowd!) The couple seemed relieved that their kid had wandered off and was being paid attention to, so they could have a moment of peace while sharing a couple of beers.

I never know what the fuck to do around children, I usually just ignore them to be honest, but since the little rugrat showed no signs of going away, I pulled my plastic palm tree out of my tiki drink and handed it to him. "Here you go" I cooed. "You can play with this!"

Remax2 looked at me in shock. "You can't give a 1 yr old a pointy piece of plastic! He'll stick in his mouth and choke on it!"


"You don't know anything about kids, do you?"

I tried to protest, but clearly, he was onto me.

"No biggie," I scoffed. "I'll just take it from him."

Remax2 chuckled and rolled his eyes as I committed mistake #2.

I said to the little snotface, "Sorry honey, I gotta take this back. It's going to hurt you."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO," he shrieked, loud enough to make the entire bar sit up and take notice.

"No no honey, it's ok. I'm just going to take this back fr...."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO." The little shitty pants grabbed onto the fucking palm tree tighter and blew one of my eardrums at the same time. Remax2 just all out laughed and tried not to say I told you so. I looked over to see if the parents were running over, ready to snatch their child away from the evil that lurked nearby, ie me. No such luck. They sort of didn't seem to give a shit.

Fuck it. I let the kid keep the palm tree.

And perhaps, this is why I'm old as fuck and still don't have kids....

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

The World Stood Still

I've got a friend coming to visit that I haven't seen in probably 6 years or so...we reconnected on Facebook last year and she decided she was overdue for a visit. Which is really cool and I'm excited to see her.

However, being in the contemplative mood I've been in of late, of course her visit stirs up so many things within me, as well as she is going to make me see friends of ours that I sort of snuck away from long ago, for reasons that I can't really explain.

D, like me, is single and fabulous. Our mutual friends, who she is going to drag me to lunch with over the next few days, are married, with snotty little kids and homes in the suburbs. As I haven't seen or talked to these people in several years, not only am I going to have to sit down and go through my entire 8 yr break up and Beehive breakup, I'm going to have to regale them with my dating nightmares so they can all "live vicariously" through me, their crazy, single friend. Look at Cheese! She's like our own personal Carrie Bradshaw! How quaint!

Except that the minute they turn their backs, they are going to snicker at my singleness. It's going to seem sad, I'm going to seem sad. My eggs are shriveling up by the second. I live alone with my cat, in Brooklyn for God's sake. How oh, so very sad.

Sometimes I agree with them. It does seem sad. But if I wanted what they have, i would have settled for the wrong guy, 20 years ago. Just like they did. And THAT, to me, is sad.

Of course, I can just tell them that I've become a lesbian since they last saw me. See how they like that.

On a sort of related note...since my life has become sort of meaningless and empty...I've been looking into some volunteer abroad programs. Not the Peace Corps or anything like that, but something that would send me away for a couple of weeks, a month. Just to get me the fuck out of here, out of this rut, out of my boring job, out of my boring mind.

Anyone out there done anything like that? I'd love to hear about it.

Friday, June 27, 2008

Home Wrecker

Here's a word of warning to all you kids out there.

If you have two guys in your phone with the same name (such as Remax and Remax2) sure that they are labelled VERY CAREFULLY. Or you will have an accident. Like I just did.

Remax2 and I were texting a bit this evening, and I just sent him a doozy of a message...seriously, picture the dirtiest thing you could probably send to someone, and this was even dirtier.

Except, I didn't send it to him. I sent it to the original Remax. Married with 2 kids Remax.

I am so FUCKING embarrassed I could just die.

Additionally, I really, really hope his wife doesn't see it before he does. OH GOD.

Turning Tables

Every now and again, being that I am a somewhat attractive woman when I try really hard, I walk past a construction site and get the full treatment. Cat calls, whistles, ay mamis, and the like.

Today, I was on my way to the office, and as I walked past a group of workers, one of them caught my eye. A black wife-beater filled to the brim with muscles of all sorts of shapes and sizes, leading to a small waist,and nice tight jeans that hugged all the right places. I slowed down my pace to admire this urban Adonis. And it was pretty damn obvious that I was doing so.

He caught my eye, and I smiled, and kept staring. If I was a different kind of gal (or if I wasn't dressed like a 12 yr old boy, in a hoodie, jeans and Converse) maybe I would have stopped, or catcalled, or blown him a kiss. Alas, I kept walking, with my head whipped around (in my mind it is all slo-mo and my hair is sexily blowing around in a breeze, while I seductively saunter by. I might even have a daisy tucked behind my ear)until I couldn't see him anymore.

Ay Papi!

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Just another WTF in a day full of WTF's

There sure ain't nothing like coming home from a semi-shitty day wherein I chose to let my ego suffer from pretty much everything I could get my hands on....and finding an inbox full of email.

Email, all from POSTMASTER, kicking back oh, 8 or 9 messages or so that were all sent to my ex, going back to December...telling me that his inbox is unavailable.

I'm hoping that gmail is just playing some sick joke on me, because they want to see me cringe when his name pops up one, no two no three no NINE times in my inbox, saying "ha ha. here I am. but you can't have me."

yea, feelin' great right now.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Blue Hair Works on Some People, it Turns Out

Brunching with Ha Ha Sound in Brooklyn, I received a text from Date #3, who we shall refer to as Rock Star.

Rock Star and I had plans to go out last night, and we hadn't quite yet firmed them up yet. A long text session while I was riding my bike on Saturday concluded nothing, we had decided to meet at 7pm on Sunday, but still weren't sure where.

Sunday's text said this, "Meet me on the corner of Essex and Stanton,and we'll take it from there."

I read this to Ha Ha and he thought I should suggest bringing some 40's along, so we could chug them on the corner.

I mean seriously? The guy couldn't think of one place to meet up that didn't involve me standing on the street corner like a hooker? I was convinced that he wanted to do a drive-by, see if he liked what he saw, and if he didn't...keep on walking.

So I insisted that he meet me at a bar in the vicinity. To which he replied, "I'm not drinking right now."

Hmmm. So, let's see, our date is to take place on a street corner, and he is going through DT? Wonderful.

We finally ended up chatting on the phone, which was a good thing because I was starting to wonder if I should even bother going on this date after turned out he was on antibiotics after being sick, and didn't want to relapse, but decided I could drink all I want and he would have juice (my friend OBX was like "juice? who the fuck drinks juice? He couldn't just say seltzer?")So we settled on a location and just as I was feeling good about it all, he says, "Oh, and by the way, I've dyed my hair blue. Ok, see you later."

Upon telling OBX about the blue hair:
"Where you guys gonna meet up, the cube at Astor Place?"


Despite all of the above, the date ended up being pretty nice. We had a lot to talk about, and the blue hair really worked on him. I drank beer, he drank cran and seltzer, we blathered on and on about ourselves for hours, we scarfed down some Two Boots, made some balloon animals, and called it a night.

Tonight, I meet the healer....

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Just Another Monday Morning

Last week I started to get some weird thing on my seemed like I might have burned it or bit it, leaving a smallish cut right in the center of my bottom lip. No big deal, I figured I'd buy some Anbesol, apply it sparingly, and in a couple days, all gone, right?

Cut to yesterday morning, the fucker is STILL there. And it's morphed into something that I can't even describe. Now I'm starting to freak out. Of course, I go immediately to the internet, which is telling me that I might possibly have some sort of cancer. Or VD. I gave myself about 10 days to live, and called my dentist.

Thankfully (because I am dying, I was sure of it), they were able to squeeze me in at 10am.

Ok, first horrifying thing about all this--my dentist, who I've been going to for 18 yrs, is a hottie. We all had crushes on him back in his heydey when he was younger and of my friends recommended him to her roommate, who even had a naughty little affair with him. God were we jealous. Either way, I was hoping that one of his associates would be in the office that day, so i wouldn't have to show him the horrendousness that was my mouth.

I got to the office and the hygienist whisked me into a chair. I immediately started gushing out my fears. At which point Dr McHottie walked in.

"Honey? What is it that you think is wrong with you?" he asked, slightly laughing on the inside, I'm sure.

"I don't want to tell you."

"Honey. Tell me what you think it is." he looked closer at my fat, nasty lip.

I explained that I was sure it was cancer or herpes. And that I wanted it gone, as fast as possible.

Then he really was laughing at me. He told me it was most definitely neither of those things (good, because if it wasn't cancer, but it turned out to be herpes, I was already formulating who was getting blamed for it in my head, and I didn't know how I was going to make THAT phone call!) That I most likely cut my lip, and it just got infected.

And that there was nothing he could do about it.



I have like, 400 dates this week! And I'm planning on kissing at least one of them! And I said as much to Dr McHottie.

If he was laughing at me before, believe me, the man was rolling on the floor in agony at me now. "Let it run it's course. Get some blah blah blah at Duane Reade. You'll be fine, I promise."

I want a second opinion!

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Facing my Fears, One Ex at a Time

On my way to the subway to meet my family for Father's Day brunch, I looked up to see an arrogant swagger, longish hair, and a scruffy beard that seemed oddly familiar. And then I realized it was my 8 yr ex.

My 8 yr ex and his new girlfriend. His much younger, bright red haired, multi tattooed girlfriend. Or maybe even live in lover, or wife. Who knows, since we haven't spoken in two years.

They had just turned off of Flatbush Ave and rounded onto 7th Ave, so they missed me by a hair..not that it would have mattered...he would have looked me full in the face and probably just kept on walking with no sign of any kind of emotion or recognition.

I ducked into Duane Reade, my eyes blurred with tears which kept me from being able to find the pain reliever section. Because suddenly I had the biggest headache of my life, and I don't think it was a coincidence that it appeared right then and there.

I texted my friend Married, who was probably the closest to the two of us during our 8 year tenure. She called me immediately.

"Why are you so upset?" she asked. "You've seen him before. You've known he had this girlfriend."

I thought about it for a minute, because truthfully, he and I mutually broke up, we were not in love anymore at the end, and I haven't missed him in the 3 yrs that we've been apart.

I thought about it some more, and then I said, "It's because, as much of an asshole as he is, he found someone. And I have not."

The truth hurts, man.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

As Good As It Gets

If you're wondering where the hell I've been this last week (and I know you are!), just know that I have been keeping myself very busy (but not getting busy, sadly...well, ok, there was that one night...).

Last week I attended my very first Media Meshing event with
Ha Ha Sound and Fiesty Red. It was fun to sit outside at Sweet and Vicious and mingle with 12 yr olds who probably make WAY more money than I will ever see in a lifetime..

Friday was Kristen's bday, and what better way to spend it than at the Boat Basin. I'd never really hung out there before, but rest assured, with summer Fridays underway, I am planning on being there as many Fridays as I can, weather permitting! It has a being-on-vacation feel, sitting on the water looking at the boats, lots of fratty boys chugging bud lites...pitchers of green, toxic and delicious Electric Lemonade. Damn I love summer!

Saturday was tri class..followed by a viewing of Capt Abu Raed at BAM. I'd been hearing about this movie for a while from a former classmate of mine who was one of the producers on it. It was made in Jordan, where I grew up, by a Jordanian director and stars only Jordanian actors. It was odd to see my hometown, Amman, featured in a film..I know Jordan has been used in movies before, but I've never seen Amman as the main focus. It made me a tad homesick, surprisingly. At any rate, this movie is not being released in the US yet, but if you get a chance to catch it somehow, it's worth a look.

After the movie, UK and I headed into Fort Greene for food. As we sauntered down one of the gorgeous brownstoned streets, lined with stoop sales, I hear "CHEESY". Who the fuck knows me in Fort Greene? My friend Tahari, that's who! I'd forgotten that she and her bf just moved there last week...she gave us the guided tour of her new place and OH MY GOD i didn't think such an apartment could be had in Brooklyn...They had an entire floor of the brownstone, windows front and back, with a giant loft bedroom. I thought I had walked into a page of Metropolitan Home. And yes I had giant apartment envy when I left know when you think you've got it good til you see your friend's giant loft in Fort Greene? Yea...

Still reeling, UK and I found our way over to Chez Oskar for a late brunch, where the service was kinda sucky but my grilled veggie sandwich was pretty tasty. As well as the strawberry mimosa. MMM.

Moseyed back to Prospect Heights where I attempted to rest up for the next leg of my Saturday..The Gate with Kristen, Ha Ha Sound, my friend Bergen and my sister. I love the Gate, it's totally unassuming, has a great selection of beer and a spacious patio where people bring their dogs. We opted for indoors, however, being that the heat wave had already begun...and proceeded to drink, and drink (well, other than Ha Ha, who was power chugging water). The girls and I decided to move on to a house party deeper in the slope, where we were surrounded by extremely young people...I recall odd theological conversations and a contest as to who could find the cutest boy in the joint. I'm not exactly sure which one of us was the victor, but high school behavior was in place that night, for sure.

3am I was finally home, and 5 hours later I was awake, alert, and plotting my escape from the heat with a trip to Long Beach, LI with Kiki. Me, and everyone else in the five boroughs, thought this was a brilliant plan. It was like being in the middle of Times Square, on a beach. In addition to this maddening turnout, the ocean was filled to the brim with seaweed. I'm not talking little bits here and there...I emerged from the water at one point lookingi like a fucking TREE...I am not too keen on having to pull seaweed out of my naughty bits for days at a time, so I didn't go in the water all that much..which kind of defeated the purpose of being at the beach.

On the way back we discovered that the connecting train back to brooklyn didn't arrive in Jamaica for a good TWENTY-FIVE that point I had grown tired of the heat and just wanted to be home. But Kiki had a brilliant plan. The Air Train depot, which is also located at the Jamaica train station, was AIR CONDITIONED. So, like two homeless vagabonds, we threw down a beach towel and loitered there til our Brooklyn train showed up. I have a feeling I'm going to be doing that a lot this summer...

We finally made it back to my beloved PH and grabbed Akat for some tasty Chevella's. Sadly, our favorite restaurant is not air conditioned, so we opted for the "outdoor cafe", which is really one table, smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk, in front of a pile of garbage. Gotta love Brooklyn!!!! I wouldn't shut up about the garbage, so they made me sit facing away from it so I wouldn't have to look at it. Thankfully, in the midst of our meal, the sanitation guys came by and took it all away. It was like dinner theatre, right there on Classon Ave!

Nobody really wanted to go home, so we decided that, since Kiki had to get on the 2 train anyway, we should have one drink at Franklin Park, as it is on the way. It was great to see the look on Kiki's face (who lives on a beautiful block in the W Village and is not quite used to our Brooklyn ways) as we walked down a pretty decrepit block, to unveil the beauty that is Franklin Park, tucked away from the street. She was pretty impressed! Until, of course, we heard what "might" have been gunshots a couple blocks away...but quite possibly was a blown tire...and then there was the giant thunderstorm that hit as we were finishing up our beers out in the garden. Nothing funnier than seeing a mass exodus of Brooklyn hipsters and nerdsters trying to shield themselves from falling water. It was great.

Monday night I made an appearance at Triviotic for the first time in a while and am happy to report that I was on a winning team, for once, "Kind of Awesome". Along with Ha Ha Sound, Brooklyn Gal, and others! My favorite part was matching up songs with lyrics, and then getting to sing along with each song afterwards. Yea, I'm a dork. So what.

So, kids, that's what your girl Cheese has been up to this last week. She is tired, and a little cranky, and trying to rest up for her next 5 day stretch of fun. Thank God work is slow!!

Wednesday, June 04, 2008


So there're a couple things on my mind, and in true Cheese fashion, I need to get them off my chest.

A couple weeks ago, I was flying Continental to Norfolk, VA, to visit my friend GB in the Outer Banks. The nightmare of the flight both coming and going is a whole other blog post, but let's discuss the issue of liquids on flights.

I haven't flown in two years, which is kind of crazy...but I hate to fly, and I refuse to fly if I don't absolutely have to. This is a relatively new development in my life, and trust me, I'm not happy about it, cuz I love to travel. I've been flying since I was born, my uncle is a pilot, I lived overseas and flew 14 hr flights several times a year in addition to smaller flights for vacations, school trips, etc. Being an adult and so deathly afraid to fly is the most debilitating and excruciating phobia I can think of.

Anyway, since I haven't flown in so long, I had forgotten about the liquid rule, and the fact that everything needed to be placed in plastic baggies in your carry on. No biggie. My friend had an extra baggie...I threw away anything over 3 oz, and threw everything else into the baggie. Voila. No chance that I was going to blow up the plane.

When I got to GBs house in the Outer Banks, I started to unpack, and little by little I found the most bizarre bottles of liquidy goodness at the bottom of my bag. A bottle of perfume. A jar of HONEY (wtf? I have no idea what that was doing there). Some face cream. These items were over 3 ozs for sure, and most definitely were not in the little plastic baggie. And they GOT THROUGH the xray machine.

This, my friends, does not make me feel any safer about flying the friendly skies. Anyone else horribly disturbed by this???

My next issue to discuss took place last Saturday after Yoga. UK and I went to our usual brunch at Comfort Diner, and as always, pulled out our debit cards to pay..we always split everything down the middle and pay with our cards. Always.
This particular time, the guy switched our cards, and we never even bothered to she signed my slip, and I signed hers. In addition, she took my card, and I took hers...and continued on with our afternoon.

UK had a shit fit when Sephora told her that her PIN code wasn't working. "I've had this fucking PIN code for the last 20 years!" she shrieked. They suggested she select "credit" to pay, which she did. She signed for her stuff, using MY card...and went on to H&M, where she returned an item, and they placed the credit on MY card. Neither of us noticed the mix up until much later in the day...after we had separated, when she went to Pearl River Emporium and thankfully, the cashiers there actually looked at the signature on the card and stopped her from making the purchase...

Does it make any sense that not one person noticed that her signature did not match the one on the card? I mean, not only did it not was the absolute wrong NAME. They CREDITED my card at H&M without even blinking!!!

This makes me FURIOUS, and very, very scared. And UK owes me money for whatever the fuck she bought at Sephora, dude!