Tickled Pink

For the last week or so I've been on a photo shoot in Chelsea/Meatpacking District.

It's been really great to be out of the office, save for the fact that I cannot access my gmail/gchat for some silly reason. Which as you know, is driving me perfectly insane. And I most definitely was already a bit of a nutter to begin with, so the insanity is not a welcome thing ;)

However, one of my new favorite things to do when we break for lunch is to walk over to Pinkberry and get myself a big fat one. I realize that I posted a blog last year about the new wave of Fro Yos coming out, but Mama's changed her tune and let me tell you something, she's singing a ballad about her newfound love, Pinkberry Green Tea.

It's been so damn lovely outside, all this 70 degreeness and sunniness, and it's making me happy and long for summer; flip flops, the beach, bike riding to Coney Island, sitting outside sipping margaritas at El Ray Del Sol...it only seems fitting that I would fall prey to this crack-like substance that only could have been invented in the land of La La.

Seriously though, the whole experience is just magical.

The walk to the Pinkberry store is a good 15 minute jaunt through Chelsea, the land of hot gay men who don't seem to have jobs, and thus wander the streets, some of them topless due to the nice weather. So lots of ogling on the way to the Pinkberry store. Just lovely.

Then, you walk in, and it's all modern and cool, the type of place that you say "I'm so cool to be able to hang out at an establishment like this" to yourself, and truly believe it. Because it's all shmoove, and mod, and hot gay boys are milling around eating their Pinkberry and gossiping, and you just can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else, ever.

You order your medium Green Tea with 3 toppings, and the nice smiley person behind the counter (they must have imported all of their servers from Cali, what with all the smiling and niceness, although yesterday my server was named Taniqua. Hmm. Suspciously New York, no?) asks for your name. You then go to wait for your fro yo at another counter, where you can watch them swirl it out and add your toppings (I get Cocoa Puffs and strawberries. It is a mystical combo), and then another smiley employee calls out your name to let you know your crack is ready.

The Green Tea, I discovered, is less calories than the other flavors. And therefore, you can have a BIGGER one, without sacrificing your waistline. Quel heureuse! That's French for "Hot damn!".

Of course, the Times came out with this article yesterday, about how my beloved Pinkberry is not "all natural".

Natural, shmatural. Who gives a shit? Not I!

I mean, it's all about the experience, really :)

B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E

Tonight I was asked if I am a Dominatrix. Which makes me laugh. Not because it's such a ridiculous notion. On the contrary, I am quite the dominant gal, at least in most circumstances.

Give me an inch, and dude, I will take a mile (or at least, another 6 inches, or maybe 10, if you got it). But lately, for some reason, I've become quite the pussy. I am not taking matters into my own hands, which earlier this week felt to me like "making smart decisions", but here I am, 2 dirty martinis and 2 Bud Lites into the evening, and I am thinking that "smart decisions" actually equals "being a pussy".

I pride myself on normally holding the reins on my life. I make things happen, I am a go-getter, especially when it comes to men. ESPECIALLY. I see it, I want it, I have it. Or at least I try, super duper hard to have it.

I am a trouble maker. I like to make trouble, not enough to *get* me into trouble, but I definitely enjoy shaking things up for myself a tad. Instead, I find that lately I am waiting for things to happen, waiting for moves to be made, waiting for fate to make the decisions for me, and it's really fucking annoying.

I'll just keep telling myself that I'm making "smart decisions", and leave it at that.

It's Really Dark Outside at 2:45am

How the fuck is it possible that I was lying in my bed at 10:30pm, watching Laurel Canyon on my laptop, fought to keep my eyes open, awoke (for what I assumed was a brief moment) right as Frances McDormand and Kate Beckinsale were about to have a threesome with Alexandro Nivola (who could sleep through THAT?) and then BAM. I never went back to sleep.

Fucking hell.

I have surfed the internet 50 times over. I looked for new hairstyles on "trendylonghairstyles.com". I read every gossip website known to mankind. I read blogs that I had never read, and learned way too much about people I didn't want to know that much about to begin with *shudder*. I got up and ate a rice cake. And then another one. Then felt guilty for going over my stupid fucking Booze Watchers points. Lord. Eating disorder in the making.

I thought about all the things I could possibly think about. The whys and hows of all of my relationships and lack thereofs. The friendships that I thought were blooming, that feel like they're dying. I formulated an email in my head, then when I tried to write it it sounded retarded and I decided that it was too intense and I should leave well enough alone. Then I attempted to reply to two OTHER emails and realized I am not in any frame of mind to be making decisions about anything. NOBODY makes decisions at 2:45am!

I'm now obsessing about the fact that, I have 5 hours in which to get some shut eye. This would be acceptable if I was having a bangfest right now. But I am not. 5 hours of sleep after Bangfest, good. 5 hours of sleep after self-induced insomnia, bad.

Stupid stupid coffee that I had 12 hrs ago. Is that the culprit?

Or is it just my brain working in overtime? It's been awhile since it worked the night shift.

Can You Stand It?

I realize that I haven't posted a blog in exactly one week, and sadly, there is a reason for that.

My life, dear friends, has been filled with oodles of ennui. Self-induced, I will admit.

I've had this low-grade melancholy following me around for a few weeks, which really sucks-what with the weather getting nicer you'd think I'd perk up a little, but nooooo, leave it to me to get sadder when the birds start chirping and the flowers start budding!

I joined Booze Watchers (as Irish would call it) at the beginning of the week, since my company is offering the in-office plan with a discount. I figured, what the hell, I could stand to lose a few pounds. Ha-a few my FAT ass...I was chagrined to see that I had gained about 10 pounds since my breakup. Well, to be fair, I had lost about 10 pounds at the onset of the breakup, so really, I just gained it all back...but STILL! When I got on that scale and saw the number, i was pretty sure I was going to hurl it at the 80 year old woman doing the weigh-in (question-why the FUCK are those weigh-in women always a million years old? And this one was wearing leggings and high heeled boots with a tunic. Pinky swear).

So I am now one of THOSE people. Counting points and whatnot. Which always makes for a fun night out. Um, no.

But whatever, in 3 months I will be svelte, and amazing. And maybe then I will be ready to start having sex again.

Yea, I've become celibate, apparently. I am staying away from all things phallic. It just seems to get me into trouble. Which also means that I am not dating, either. Although Kristen and I are going out tonight for our official post-tax season ho-down. So we'll see what happens then. But probably nothing. Cuz i'm celibate, remember? Although, we seem to do quite well together, there's something about our chemistry that attracts guys to us like white on rice, or flies to shit, or pigs to mud. Or something.

I do recall one night of hanging out where I was soooo smitten with some hipster doofus at the bar, but was just feeling uber shy and couldn't do anything about it. Kristen marched on over there and befriended him and all of his dudes, of course I ended up going home with the one guy who I thought was actually gay at the beginning of the night (turned out hipster doofus was also way drunk and couldn't carry on much of a conversation, much less was he in any state to mack on, so yea...he was forgotten).

The other day this person was in town again, and I was too busy to see him. Which means that, apparently, I AM capable of saying no to him. Well I'll be!

Thurs my friend P and I hit the LES for some cocktails, starting at Local 138 and ending at 151. As I already mentioned, I was counting points and being a general lame-o, so honestly the most exciting part of the night was when, sitting in 151, we were suddenly assaulted with a very potent smell. Nay, this wasn't a smell, it was a STENCH the likes of which I've never experienced before--and we all know I used to date the biggest farter around. Seriously, people were leaving the bar in droves from the smell, it was a combo of sulfur, rotten eggs, old chow mein, and fresh colonic. Or something. So disgusting.

At any rate, that was our cue to leave, and it was pretty hilarious to witness the mass exodus of hipsters from 151 bar-as we were exiting, one chick pointed to her friend and was like "it was YOU". I did not stick around to hear him confess or deny.

Yea, life's pretty exciting around these here parts.

And Good Morning To You Too!

It's 8:30am, and I was up pretty friggin late last night.

I usually put my phone on silent but due to a friend in need, I left the ringer on..and wouldn't you know it, it binged and binged at the ungodly hour of 8am...I got up to see who the hell I was gonna kill, and saw SIX text messages in a row waiting for me.

I didn't recognize the number, but it was signed-Joe Pesci-my very first crotch.com date ever.

I sorta blogged about it, and then deleted it, but in a nutshell, I went out with Joe Pesci roughly a month ago...with no interest on my end whatsoever...but he got me rip roaring drunk and we ended up talking about, well, probably things I shouldnt have been talking about on a first date. When I realized I was going to possibly give in to my beer goggles, I ended the date, and ended up going home with a friend of mine, who, er, took care of me. And good.

This is the message, so long it came in six different texts, that I received this morning:

"How are you Cheese?

I can't stop thinking about you and what you said about your sex drive (*ed note: what the fuck did you say, you floozy?)

As you can see, I am not on crotch.com anymore. I stopped because women lie too much and are too expensive for a man who wants to get ahead in life (!)

That said, I must tell you that you missed out on great sex with me. I'm not one of those guys who thinks he's good-I will tell you facts. I can ejaculate several times and still maintain an erection. I am well endowed-long and very thick (this is about where I almost died. Almost. From fear). I learned how to suck pussy by two lesbian high priced prostitutes (now THAT is how to get a woman to sleep with you, buddy) and I enjoy pleasing a woman that way. Most of all, I think you are gorgeous (pshaw. lil ole me?) and if you spent one day or night with me, you would come back for more. I guarrantee (SIC) it. I will throw in a great dinner and a bottle of wine-how can you go wrong? "

I don't even know where to begin. I don't think I have ever in my life received such an offer. At 8am no less. How can I resist? (*ed note-she's kidding folks. Don't lock her away just yet)

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, never underestimate the power of a good Cheese!

American Beauty

Watching this clip of Lindsay Weir dancing her heart out to "Box of Rain" by the Grateful Dead is all I needed to turn my shit-ass day into something a little more palatable. It made me want to break out my copy of American Beauty (I know it's around here somewhere!) and jam out in my undies like a teenager..but I treated my neighbors to a show very similar the other night ;)

Enjoy!!!

Angst

One of the benefits
Of all my newfound
Mumbo Jumbo
Guru Ram Das
Insanity
Is that I am learning
Things such as. This weekend past, we were blessed with a New Moon.
Filled with promise and good things to come.

So why, oh fucking WHY

does it feel like my world has been in a permananent state of Eclipse?????

It Was Bound To Happen

My sister and I are pretty close, both in age and otherwise.

She is two years younger than me, lives nearby, and as much as we are completely opposite, we are most definitely 100% related, and it's pretty obvious when the two of us are together.

Earlier today we were hanging out like two giggly schoolgirls, farting around on Facebook and checking out each others would-be suitors on dating websites, getting a chuckle out it all, because let's face it, it's all a fucking joke.

Later in the evening, I'm hanging out with the gang at our local haunt, and during a visit to the loo I got a call.

"Cheese, we have a problem," she laughs into the phone.

I can't even imagine what it could be, but my curiosity is piqued. "What's up?"

"Cheese, Justin Bobby just emailed me on Crotch.com"

I stopped peeing mid-stream and just shrieked with laughter.

Justin Bobby is some dude who, when drunk earlier in the weekend, I received an email from...he was too old for me, and not someone who I normally would consider dating, for a million reasons, but he sent me the most hilarious message that I couldn't dismiss...so I emailed him back, which ensued in a continuous stream of mail that went on through the weekend, ending in him asking me for a date...

When Sis was over earlier today, I showed her said string of emails, because quite frankly they really were hysterical and needed to be shared.

In high school, she and I hooked up with a lot of the same guys...and in college she stole one of my boyfriends right from under my nose, but as adults, we have managed to avoid this sort of situation..until now.

Granted, I have not met the guy, and I wasn't actually going to accept his invitation to dinner, but for fucks sake, there are 50,000 other women in our age range on Crotch.com, and you have to go and pick my SISTER?

I suspect this is not going to be the last time this happens...Lord....

Afternoon Delight of Sorts

I got the phone call late one night. XX was going to be in town for the day and wanted to meet for lunch.

I had a really busy work day ahead of me, but, as I've said to him before, "When can I ever say no to you?"

Fucking never, apparently.

I met him on 23rd street, at a bar that I knew he'd like. His eyes lit up from the minute I walked into the room, following my curves and settling at my eyes. As always, the chemistry between us was palpable, and he scooped me up in a giant bear hug, kissing me once, twice, several times more.

It made for a very flustery hour and a half.

I know that food was ordered at some point, whether it was ingested or not I cannot recall.

Taking the afternoon off was not an option, so I had to settle for a makeout session on 23rd and 8th. Does that count as a nooner?

The rapist once asked me why this person was not a viable partner for me. Besides the 506 reasons, the main thing is, he is always my past, and always my future, but somehow, is never my present.

Just Call Me Nip

Email exchange with my bud S&M earlier today:

S&M:
Elaine,

FYI on your tattoo shot on facebook, there is SO nipple.
Hope your coworkers enjoy!

Cheese: Who's Elaine? (seriously miffed that he mixed me up with someone else...clearly!)

S&M: Elaine Bennis from Seinfeld.
The nipple x-mas card mailing episode.

Cheese: Oh God! Hahaha! That’s hilarious.
I was like “did you forget my name?”

S&M: I love the fact that you are upset I may have your name wrong, but totally no problem that everyone is seeing your nipple.

Good point!