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.