Marching to the Tune of a Different Drummer

In the last few months, I've had various friends get engaged, married, pregnant, buy homes, and do other grown up activities that I have yet, if ever, to do.

It's no secret that I have a weird phobia about marriage and having children and just being a grownup in general. I have been proposed to once, had two long-term live-in boyfriends, and I am all about being in relationships. I'm good in a relationship. Not always great, but I enjoy them. So why the fear of the ultimate commitment, I have no idea.

A few weeks back I had invited some friends over for dinner. They just happened to have recently bought an apartment and we were sort of celebrating that as well as I thought it was time I started having grownup dinners in my not so grownup apartment. I mean, I've lived there for SIX years and the only entertaining I do is a Super Bowl party once a year and, you know, bedroom entertaining. But I now have a table that seats more than 2 and I am also a pretty good cook, or so I think!

I didn't realize how stressed out I got about having people over-not because I don't enjoy it but one of the things that my ex-ex and I used to do was have dinner parties and we had some sick kitchen stuff. He was slightly gay, and enjoyed trips to Willams Sonoma more than the average, well, anyone, male or female. We had every kitchen gadget you could imagine, and somehow managed to stuff them all into our 2x2 foot "kitchen" where we prepared elaborate meals like cassoulets and roasted chickens and root vegetables and pies and cakes of all sorts. Sadly, when we broke up, he got all the kitchen stuff save for some herb graters I bought and maybe a few old pots. So as I started in on my cooking for that night's dinner, I realized that I didn't have the right pan, or even steak knives. I literally had to run out to the 99 cent store and purchase - you guessed it! - 99 cent steak knives (3 in a packet!) and hope that whoever was using them didn't end up with a broken knife dangling from their hand. Quel embarrassment.

Anyway, I was dealing with all of those shenanigans and then the Birthday Present showed up, and I just verbally puked all over him. In the course of the day's preparations, I decided that he was not ready for a relationship (after 3 years...mind you) nor did we want the same things in life.

To be fair, I am not even really sure what those things are. I mean, there are definitely things that I like that he certainly does not (getting up early, sun, daylight, vegetables) and vice versa. But as I was crying like a lunatic at him and telling him all the reasons why he was so NOT into this, it dawned on me that one of the things I was agonizing over was my lease. It was up, and I was being given the option of renewing for one year, or two. I KNOW the right thing to do is renew for two. My emotions were getting pissed that I couldn't bring myself to have a conversation with my boyfriend of 3 years like "so, where do you see this in a year?" I think because, mostly, I'm not ready to have that conversation. It's like I want HIM to want to have the conversation, but I don't even know what I would say if we had it.

I tend to get very caught up in what others are doing. The fact that my friends are getting married, buying houses, having babies, and doing grown up things does not mean that it is time for me to be doing those things. See how I did that there? Talked myself right out of it :)

Eye Eye Eye

Well, it's 3:30 am so what better time to start writing again than now? I tried with all my might to go back to sleep but it ain't happening so lucky for you all I've got some stuff to say.

I really thought I had posted more recently than Thanksgiving-how the fuck did 2 months go by I'll never understand but believe me I thought about it a lot-- I guess thinking and doing are two totally different things though, huh.

The last few months I've been on a bit of a downward spiral, to be honest. I honestly don't know how people age gracefully and deal with chronic illnesses and life-threatening situations without needing to be on heavy duty tranqs 24/7. I'm serious. I just booked an appointment with the rapist who I haven't been to in almost year because I thought I was "done' with therapy, but I'm now realizing that I can't handle all the curve balls that have been thrown at me lately.

The latest bullshit is a new and exciting development in my eye called Irisitis. It's really fun-I highly recommend getting it. I don't even know how to tell you to get it because no one really knows for sure. All I know is I woke up one morning and my eye was bright red, and swollen. It looked like I'd been punched in the face. And it hurt like fuck and balls. Like crazy hurt. I do not know from eye doctors as I have never had to go to one for vision reasons, so I made an appointment with my own doctor and saw the PA who promptly told me to RUN to the eye doctor NOW. Apparently this shit is caused by unknown autoimmune disorders and can make you blind. Yay. Double yay that I buy art for a living and need my eyes to be, well, functioning.

So, here I was, possibly going blind, and possibly dying from some underlying disease that hadn't been pinpointed yet. Besides being scared shitless of all that was to come, I also literally have been mostly blind in one eye for a month because I have to dilate my pupils twice a day in addition to 2 other drops that go in every two hours, literally. If I'm in a meeting, or at a party, or dinner, or having sex, I have to excuse myself to put these asshole drops into my eyes, or else I will miss my dose and my eye will blow up like a balloon. Also having one eye dilated makes me look like a psycho killer so I hate going anywhere because I get weird looks and my friends who don't know what's wrong with me do that little dance where they want to ask but they don't want to ask...so I haven't been going out much.

Thankfully, the eye doctor yesterday gave me a good report that I am healing and I can stop dilating during the day and I can ease up on the drops. So there's that. I still don't know why this happened. When I went to my own doctor again for the bloodwork to be done she made me feel a ton better, that I wasn't actually dying of anything and that this could have happened for NO reason or any number of reasons and the eye doctors were upsetting me for no reason. So I stopped thinking I was going to die.

Oh also this could be caused by having celiac disease, which I was diagnosed with. I don't know if I mentioned that lovely tidbit. Of course I didn't know about this possible correlation, and I was stress eating,  I do recall almost and entire pizza was ingested one night, among other things-so I'm sure that didn't help with the healing process, nope.

That being said, I am down 22 pounds which is pretty much unbelievable considering I don't even feel like I'm doing anything consciously to lose weight anymore. So what does that mean-I guess I've stopped "dieting" and made it my"lifestyle" like they're always telling us to do, right?

Anyway, the worst part about all of this health shit is that I'm proving more and more everyday that I am a total wuss and I have serious issues with all of it. I have several friends this year who had to deal with a lot more serious stuff than I, and they faced it with maturity, and were brave, and came out on the other side just fine or at least intact and sane. I dread the day I am faced with anything that is truly serious. And so does the Birthday Present I'm sure. Poor guy has been dealing with 50 mood swings a day from me. Hence the upcoming therapy appointment!!!

I'm trying to focus on other things that keep me from obsessing about myself, some of which are:
-finding a video production class that doesn't cost a million bucks
-guitar lessons - finally
-Kundalini Gong Yoga which I swear makes you feel like you've taken a hundred Xanax
-running, again -I want to start doing races after a 4 year hiatus

So. We'll see.

Giving Spanks

I'm not usually a big fan of the holidays. So much ado about nothing, I say. Scroogey McScrooger over here hates the fake sentimentality, the commercial superficiality, the giving of meaningless gifts because it's expected. I also have a new reason to hate the holidays-I'm scared to fucking shit that I'm going to become a whale after spending days upon days eating and drinking myself to oblivion. There, I said it.

In addition, it was exactly one year ago that my poor neighbor was murdered next door by her own son, and Thanksgiving day last year was the day my friend UK's cat decided to fall ill while we were ingesting post-Thanksgiving cocktails and just went ahead and died in the cab on the way to the emergency room. So I had a pretty shitty and foreboding feeling about this Thanksgiving.

I'm not one to do the recap of fun things I did this weekend like a grade schooler writing an essay about summer camp...but I owe it to myself to remember just exactly how amazing this past weekend was, because for the first time in probably EVER I feel completely happy and satisfied after a holiday.

Thanksgiving Day was a bit of a worry for me, as the Birthday Present was coming to Sardi's with my family for lunch (we never eat home cooked Thanksgiving anymore-too much to cook for too few people, so Sardi's is our go to). He's met them before but as I've mentioned in the past, they are funny little people, and I just never know what I'm going to get...it ended up being really pleasant, and daresay I think they might like him, so yay.

As in the last several years, my sister and I crash our lovely friends' celebration with a bottle of wine, complain that we're too full but eat the awesome spicy nuts that they make and the heiney hurting hot sauce cheese spread and then we have to move on to the next destination but we never ever want to.

This year, another good friend decided to open up his place to have "orphan Thanksgiving" and about 15 of us showed up with potluck-some really freakin amazing food which I definitely partook of, I also brought a pumpkin pie (low fat, but of course!) which I allowed myself to try-in between the stuffing of our pieholes I caught up with so many awesome friends that I haven't seen in a while including Bandaid Crush and his friend from LA who I adore and who is in this reality show.

Birthday Present and I thought we would meet up later in the eve but I rolled myself out the door and down the street to my sis' house as I couldn't even make it in a cab back to Brooklyn. So full, so drunk, so lazy...ugh.

Friday I went to the Birthday Present's house and we met his parents in his nabe for Thanksgiving #4 at an Italian/Mexican joint in the burg. Wasn't sure how that would work out but it's actually kind of great-if you're feeling like a burrito, they have that-but if you want pasta, they have that too. Sometimes you just don't know, right?

Saturday I was lucky enough to join this hotness and her friend who is now my friend, with their posse at this evil little piece of greatness where they have unlimited different flavored mimosas and this thing called a Perone which is basically a wine bong. There were a lot of different techniques witnessed with Ms Pants in the lead I think, what with her no gag reflex and all. Somehow, I was able to continue on and spend the rest of the day on the LES tagging along while DB and Ms Pants foraged for street art and introduced me to Lady Pink. After a few more drinks with them they moved on to greener pastures, I had my first pizza in 2 months (delicious, btdubs) and somehow found the energy to meet another gal pal back in BK on my whirlwind day of deliciousness before crashing at my pad, finally, with sleepy kitties in my sleepy bed.

Last but not least, I got in a much needed gym day, met Not Sister for pedis, then met Real Sister for Marilyn Monroe. one last glass of wine for the weekend, and a new Turkish place where we tortured the poor shy waiter with our loud ridiculousness. But in the end I think he was amused. Two Cheese sisters in once place is usually too much for most people.

I think I need to post all this mostly for myself, to remind myself that I have a fucking lot to be thankful for, that I am surrounded by people who rock and who make me feel like I rock, and that I can get away with an anxiety free stretch of time. Oh yea and also that the holidays don't have to suck. Finally.

Martini Musings

While I munch (yea, I said munch) on my kale salad and plain baked potato, I sit down to the very daunting task of catching you all up on my last few months. And by you all I very definitely mean all 3 of you, but I know there are at least 3 of you, so I'm sure you're a little curious to know how I'm faring with all the "I can't breathe" anxiety bullshit, and everything else.

Well, let's start off by saying that I had a beautiful panic attack in front of the Birthday Present last weekend that was just off the charts. Dare I say, he was scared shitless. I do believe he thought I was dying. As I was gasping for air, I had to reassure HIM that I was going to be ok. Lolz.

But after that, I actually have been panic free KNOCK WOOD. That was almost 2 weeks ago. So the biofeedback might be working.

Part of the biofeedback process is getting 3 very big notebooks and filling them up with the 3 things that cause me anxiety-one is the actual anxiety itself, one is my relationship, and lastly, my job. I put this off for several weeks, but once I sat down to write about the anxiety, it all came flowing out.  The relationship notebook is empty. I can't bring myself to write anything. That is NOT to say that there is nothing to write. Hmmm.

So basically, what I think you guys don't know is that I had gotten my blood test results from the doctor and they told me I was borderline diabetic. This was a shocking revelation, but not a surprising one. From the time I was old enough to eat, I can remember being obsessed with sugar, which is handed down from dear old dad. And guess what, dear old dad also was told several years back that he was borderline diabetic. So like father like daughter-I got this piece of news and became obsessed.

Since my first doctor's visit back in September, I have lost 13 pounds, with about 25 more to go. I can honestly say I'm the thinnest I've been in 10 years. Whoop! I had the balls to try on a pair of bell bottom cords that I haven't worn since like 2004 and they were big. So I kept them on and wore the shit out of them. Bell bottoms or no, they fucking fit for the first time in forever and I rocked that shit!

 I don't eat most foods...and that includes sugar..and this is utter bullshit because I am amazed by food and completely dependent on food as my emotional crutch and my happiness.  No fucking more! I'd rather starve than have diabetes, or feel like my throat is closing up. I don't miss desserts but I do miss being carefree about things. I also had to give up coffee. I drink iced coffee 365 days a year. I think I may have figured out how to get around that-I started cold brewing a half-caf blend at home and watering it down with a LOT of ice. Day 2 and I haven't had anxiety, reflux, or palpitations yet...so I may be home free. We'll see. And oh my GOD this is a boring conversation. I may have to start a new blog so I can talk about this diet crap for the people who actually care!

My contract at work got extended another 6 months. So instead of being unemployed right before Christmas, I can actually buy gifts like a rock star and maybe even go on a much needed VACATION. Maybe.

So I guess things are a lot better than they were the last time we talked.

My Body is a Temple of Doom

Every couple of years I go through the most annoying phase where I have strange, debilitating panic attacks. These are absolute bitches, causing me to question my health and my sanity, causing me embarrassing moments in public, and causing me to become a hermit because I never fucking know when it's going to hit or why.

These are of a different calibre than the others, as they start with me having difficulty swallowing. Being an old bitch, I've got a zillion health problems that mostly involve my digestive system, so I initially thought it was a reflux problem. But I have no idea really, and neither does the doctor. So far.

While waiting to undergo a battery of tests, the doctor has me going for Biofeedback (she also gave me a sexy little prescription for Xanax that I have yet to fill - I know, I know, what am I waiting for?) I had never really heard of Biofeedback or at least never really paid attention to it, so I didn't really know what to expect. I spent the day before the appointment in a total state of panic (what else?) imagining myself being strapped to all sorts of electrodes that were going to record my brainwaves and good god what if my brain waves were broken?

Thankfully, none of that actually happened, in fact, it was a very nice session where we chatted about anxiety in general and she taught me how to abdominal breathe when I felt an attack coming on. She even told me that difficulty swallowing was a big anxiety symptom and that I was not alone in feeling that way. So..yay for me.

Only towards the end of the session did the question of possible causes for said anxiety come up. I thought about it for a second and I honestly said I couldn't think of any. Until I started thinking of many:

My boyfriend's father was diagnosed with stage four cancer last year

My next door neighbor was murdered and I heard the whole thing

I watched my friend's cat die in her arms as we were on our way to the animal hospital

I walked into another good friend's apartment to feed her cat and find that cat dead on the floor

A good friend got (and fought) cancer

Then another friend got cancer

My close friend's parents died suddenly, one after the other, with no warning, leaving her an orphan

My cousin's husband died in a plane crash

I am going to be unemployed again in a month and a half

My future = uncertain

So, thanks to biofeedback, I was just able to give you the summary of my last year. 

He Said, She Said

The Birthday Present and I have been in a relationship for almost a year now. The first six months before that don't count, since we "sort of" broke up for a month in between, but I think we have determined since sometime in March of last year, we've been "back together".

Of course, while it was all happening, neither of us would dare to call it anything, or make a big deal about it, or even talk about what we were doing with each other. We just sort of did it. We had decided to be "just friends", and I truly thought that's how it was going down. But everytime we hung out as friends, I was just a leeetle too excited to see him, just a leeeetle to eager to touch him somehow, kiss him goodbye smack dab on the mouth, wear clothes that were a leeetle too low cut. You know how it is.

He went to New Orleans last year during Valentine's weekend. I sent him a picture of my boobs, you know, so it would seem like I was there for Mardi Gras right there with him.  What a good friend I am!

The shit hit the fan when we went to see Muse together, tickets we had bought before we broke up. And since we were all friendy and shit, of course we were going to go together! And since we had such a good time at the show, we were gonna hang out after and have drinks. And since he lives a block from the venue, it would only make sense to go back to his place and watch movies. And since we were lying in the dark in his bedroom, it would only make sense to get naked and have the best sex we'd ever had (and the one thing we always had was good sex) because I mean don't YOU all do that with all of your friends?

I just remember waking up the next morning and never wanting to leave. In all the time we had dated for the six months prior, I never remembered feeling that way. Something was different, I'll never know how or why, but hot damn I was going to have more of this sex with the Birthday Present and still be able to maintain our cool and easy friendship.

Or not.

Fast forward to this past Halloween. We are crazy about each other. We are calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend, openly, to each other and our friends. I couldn't be happier, except for one thing. I'm pretty sure I've fallen in love with bastard, in fact, I've known it for months. Probably since like May. I knew I couldn't say anything, wouldn't say anything, it was the biggest secret I have ever had to keep.

So I'm pretty sure this guy loves me too, I'm 99.9% sure that he does, but you can't exactly shake someone and smack them into confessing their love for you. Although it almost came to that.

He'd keep saying weird things like "good thing I like you so much" although one night we had a fight about something and I said something like "If I didn't give a shit I wouldn't be so mad. And I really, really give a shit". And he said "I really give a shit about you too, Cheese". And I thought to myself, "I think in a weird way that only two people as dysfunctional as we are could do, we might have just said 'I love you'"  But that doesn't really count.

So Halloween night, we went to this party at The Bell House, and it was awesome with writhing, dancing, sweaty costumed people, and disco lights, and loud thumping bassy music. You could barely hear anyone talk, but at one point, Birthday Present said that horrid little phrase again..."It's a good thing I like you so much." I just lost my shit. Like a lunatic. I started yelling over the bassy music that I knew just how much he liked me, he didn't need to keep reminding me. He looked genuinely shocked. "You know I say those things to be funny, right?" he asked me?

Uh, no. No, I didn't.

I told him I had no idea how he felt about me, and he looked at me in utter shock. Right there, under the disco ball, over the bassy music, my Birthday Present said "you know that I love you, Cheese." Very matter of factly, as if he were telling me he had a splinter.

Uh, no. No, I didn't.

I started to cry. I mean, the man is confessing his love for me, finally.  Even though he thought he already had. He swears up and down that he has said it before. I asked him "do you think I'd be crying like this if you'd said this to me before? You have never said this to me before." And then we proceeded to have an argument about whether he had or hadn't said "I love you" to me before, over the bassy music, under the disco ball.

He concluded, "Do you think I would deal with your craziness if I DIDN'T love you?"

Touche, I guess.

Be Still My Heart

Although I've had (shitty) insurance for the last year and a half, I truly hadn't set foot in a doctor or dentist's office in that entire time. My last gyno appointment was in December of 2008, where I left with a mammogam prescription in hand, that ended up hanging on my refrigerator with a souvenir magnet from London. I kept getting postcards from the dentist, asking, no BEGGING me to come in for an appointment, as with every passing day my gums were being reduced to rotting flesh. I chose to pretend that I was invincible and that the need for doctors was completely wasted on me, and that was where I was happy to stay, until the day of the Broken Toe.

I started a new job in a satellite office for a very large company in a very small department, and one of my new friends was a yoga fanatic like myself. I started taking classes with her at her cool, downtown yoga studio in a loft in Tribeca. Unfortunately for me, the cool, loft studio also gets really hot, and people get really sweaty, and the floors are made of wood, and bare feet on a sweaty wood floor when you are me = falling down and breaking a toe.

I collapsed onto my mat and showed my friend my swollen big toe. It was breaking before our eyes. "It's fine, it's not broken" she said, not very convincingly, as it turned purple and started curving in abnormally. I hobbled out of class and somehow made it home, spending the night with an ice pack on my foot, every five seconds looking to see if it had miraculously gone back to normal. It hadn't.

As luck would have it, I was able to find a podiatrist who could see me the next day, but the crappy insurance I had been avoiding using all year demanded that I get a referral from my "primary" physician in order to see the podiatrist. When I called the primary care physician, they told me I hadn't been to see them in a bajillion years, and I'd better get my ass down there before I dropped dead of something.

I didn't think anything of it, but my stupid toe created a complete fucking domino effect of doctor's appointments. Well I guess it's not really my toe's fault, but I want to blame it on something other than me just being old and feeble.

While at the doctor, she whipped out her stethoscope and took a listen-nothing abnormal about that. What I didn't like was when she let the assistant take a listen, and the assistant said, very confused, "Her heart doesn't sound like other hearts." What what what?  The doctor smiled and said very nonchalantly, "Oh, that's just a murmur."

Excuse me?

I was incredibly freaked out at this news, because at my age I had never been told before that I had a heart murmur. I didn't even really know what one was. I asked her why she wasn't going to tell me and she said it was really no big deal.

Easy for her to say!!

She referred me to a heart specialist, which of course I put off going to as long as possible, because why did I want to go there so he could tell me I had a bad heart and was probably going to die soon, right? I mean, if I was going to die, I'd rather just drop dead then KNOW it was coming. Wouldn't you?

I finally made the appointment and the night before was out having drinks with my friend Reno, who I confided in that I was going to this doctor and really afraid of what was to become of me. Well, Reno had a heart murmur, and regaled me with all sorts of stories of things that had happened to him because of it (mostly mixing drugs and alcohol and ending up with fucked up arythmia's and shit, putting him in the emergency room a bunch of times). Somehow his fucked up stories made me feel a little better, or maybe it was the 3 martinis we downed. But the next day, I went to the heart doctor, and he showed me my heart on a screen, and my aorta, and all my valves, and he pointed out my murmur, and told me it was absolutely 100% nothing to worry about. I left his office with a little sheetlet about my new condition and felt a little better that I didn't have heart cancer or anything else wrong with my that little muscle in my chest. Yay.

At least I know why I get palpitations and fluttery from time to time. I always thought it was my anxiety (always been bad) or too much coffee (it definitely gets worse with caffeine). And I have my toe to thank. 

Me, Myself and I

It has been a looooong time since I've been up in here. Too long maybe, I almost feel self-conscious trying to write. I made an attempt at starting up again a couple months back and ended up deleting what I wrote. I don't know when I became so overly aware or overly ashamed or overly censoring of my writing, I mean this is Vulgar Truths dammit! Some things are better left unsaid, but leave it to me to always say them! Why am I not saying them? Am I finally all growed up? Or am I more afraid of what people think than I thought?

I admit that my partial hiatus has actually been due to the very thing I generally don't shy away from talking about...a boy. The Birthday Present has been the #1 guest star in my life for quite some time now, and I wanted to respect his privacy since I do tend to get a little, um, graphic. But I cleared the idea of starting up my blog again with him a while ago. I'd been itching to get back at it, to overshare and dish with you all. So WHY HAVEN'T I?

I will admit that I stumbled across a friend's blog and it has inspired me to start writing again. With reckless abandon, no holds barred. Because otherwise, what's the point? So here I am. Please read me, so I will continue to write. I have so very much to say.

Victim? Or Victim of Circumstance?

It's really difficult to tell yourself that you're not a victim when, let's face it, all roads lead to that conclusion.

I've been on countless interviews in the last 3 months, all of which have proved bullshit and a waste of time. Same can be said for my dating life. Yadda yadda yadda, same shit, different day. Same shit, different YEAR.

Einstein said that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again, only to expect different results. Einstein was a smart motherfucker. I do believe I could very well be on the brink of insanity, based on that alone. So I stopped thinking of myself as a "victim" of this shitty economy and this shitty hand that I've been dealt, and decided to take a different path.

I've been toying with the idea of starting my own business for a while now, and one of my friends is extremely supportive of this plan, helping me with ideas for a website and marketing strategies. I've given in and spoken to my parents about financial support. I'm going back to school this summer. I've changed the way I eat and lost a couple pounds. Not enough, but it's a start.

I spent the morning researching financial aid plans and deciding on my first course, after a lengthy workout at the gym. It's a beautiful day outside, and as I headed home from the coffee shop I had been working at, I probably had a faggy little spring in my step, feeling all good about myself.

As I turned onto my block, I heard one of the losers who hangs out on his stoop all day yell out "Relacore."

I knew he was talking to me. I tried to ignore it. Why he thought this was an acceptable way to get my attention I have no idea. But guess what, it worked. "RELACORE". As I passed by him, he then shouted, "But that fat ass is niiiiice."

I couldn't help it. I turned around. "What's wrong with you?" I demanded to know.

"Nothing." he smiled. "What's wrong with you, Relacore?"

He kept taunting me, and my fatness, all the way down the block. I started screaming obscenities at him, he screamed some back, and he watched me walk into my building and slam the front gate shut, still screaming.

Do I give a shit if he thinks my body is less than perfect? Probably not so much, although I didn't really need him to remind me...but unfortunately all the feelings of inadequacy that I have been trying to fight off these last few months came rushing back, making me feel like a victim on my own street, in my own home, all over again.

Sexting Your Ex (and, other things not to do in a snowstorm)

So, I've been snowbound pretty much the entire day, as of much of NYC. For most people this is a welcome treat, but for me, being that I do not work right now, it has been hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. Think about the boredom to end all boredom, and then add infinity to it. That is my day today.

Well, when one is bored, what is one to do? I forced myself to go to yoga, and that was great, but that was at 830 this morning. So now I've got 8 million more hours to go before I can go to sleep, and wake up tomorrow and hopefully be able to leave the house without being pelted by snow/sleet/precipitation.

To be fair, I met a guy over the weekend who asked me to go skiing with him today. And we called each other at the crack of dawn and discussed the skiing, and I decided that I most definitely did NOT want to be stuck at some slope with this guy should the snow get worse and we not be able to drive home later today. So I put the kibosh on skiing.

Said guy asked me if I wanted to hang out later today, but my response? "Dude, it's 730am, I'm going back to bed. And you should do the same."

Yea, not so much into the skiing guy.

Birthday Present and I decided to call it quits last week. There were so many reasons, and yet not that many reasons. I still like him, and he still likes me. We still talk just as much as we did before, and we still want to hang out, as much as we did before. I think we still want to have sex with each other, judging from the fact that we spent most of the afternoon discussing the porn that I was watching and, probably, attempting to get him to come over and watch it with me.

Well, that didn't happen, and the afternoon just wore on, until a friend of mine came over and we started to drink, and then her boyfriend came over, and we drank some more, and seeing them together reminded me of yet again how everything is a-changing. How most everyone I know is pairing up, and I, again am not.

One of the things that I realize I do is attract people who are not, in any way shape or form, available. Somehow this might seem like a challenge to me, but I don't even do it on purpose.

After a conversation I had later on in the evening, again provoked by boredom and fueled by lots of vodka, I realized that I do come across as the girl who might provide a needed distraction to men who are not ready for commitment, or who want a piece of dandy candy on the side.

As much as it feels good for the short-term (oh, what? he likes me better? he likes me,
period?), I am not interested in being that girl, now, or anymore.

If it means that my life will be quiet, vanilla, and drama-free for a while, so be it. I want more, I know that life throws us curve balls and we don't know where they will land, but I do not want to be anyone's back-up plan anymore.

Men of 2009 Part II

Forgive me readers, for I have neglected you all and left you in suspense...the Men of 2009 has left you dangling and waiting for more. Never fear, because you knew that I wouldn't let you down...there is PLENTY more to discuss.

Truffle Man

Truffle Man was the very last guy from crotch.com that I went out with. I decided that no matter how it panned out, crotch.com, perv.com, and the rest of the douchebaggy dating sites were getting thrown out the window. I really enjoyed Truffle Man's company, we had a lot of things in common, but I didn't feel any attraction to him. I thought that a third date would perhaps be the deal-breaker for me, and we tried several times to make the third date happen, but he was having some family issues (very ill twin brother) that were keeping him from being able to make plans, so I took that as a sign.

I actually sometimes think about him and want to send him a friendly email to see how his brother is, but that would probably be weird and misconstrued. So..moving on.

LA Dude

Strewn throughout most of this time period was an ongoing correspondence with a very insane and nutty, but lovable fella.

One random nondescript day sometime in the Spring, I received a Facebook friend request from a guy in LA that I did not know. Moments later, an email landed in my inbox from a friend of mine, to me, with the LA guy copied on it...trying to "set us up". I'm guessing that he probably saw my picture, inquired about me, and next thing we knew, we were on some weird Facebook blind date! I didn't think anything of it, after checking out his profile and deciding he was cute and harmless (and lived 3000 miles away, so really, in the grand scheme of things, who gives a crap anyway?) Little did I know how all of those things were so incredibly WRONG.

So, we exchanged a few emails. At one point he told me he was coming to NY for a work thing, sometime over the summer. Again, didn't think much of it, sort of tossed out a "cool, let's have a drink when you do." And never gave it a second thought.

Somehow, we started following each other on Twitter...and that's kind of where the magic happened...how somebody manages to find love on Twitter I'll never know, but I, of course, managed to do it.

First, the DMs. That moved on to texts. Texts turned into phone calls. Late night phone calls that went on for hours. Phone calls turned into sending each other silly photo texts...and now I'm starting to learn he wasn't cute at all (he was gorgeous) and he was kind of not harmless (in fact, a bit of a heartbreaker and dirty, oh so DIRTY). Photo texts turned into webcam chats, and then he books his trip to NY and before I know what's happening he is on a plane and headed to Brooklyn, for a week.

I waited for his arrival in my local bar, nervous as all get out. I mean, for fuck's sake, we spent 3 months talking and texting and webcamming and we knew some pretty intimate things about each other, and I knew I found him attractive and vice versa, but in person, who knew? The risk of disappointment when I put myself in these insane situations is SO high. But I had a gut feeling, and I went with it.

He walked into the bar and we literally started making out right there on the table. I think the patrons and bartender barfed in their mouths a little. The chemistry was pretty instantaneous, and for a week or so, we pretended we were a couple and madly in love, and it was probably one of the funnest weeks I've had in my adult life.

(at the end of the week he magically transformed from Prince Charming back to a frog, but I choose to omit that from my memory because, you know, I enjoy living in a fantasy world, obvs).

Birthday Present

I met Birthday Present a few years ago right after my ex and I split. He was yet another too young guy and at the time I was going to eat the heads off of any guy who came anywhere near me. And forget about the young ones. I swore off those FOREVER....well it turned out that Birthday Present had an on-again off-again girlfriend so our mutual curiosity of each other morphed into a friendship. But throughout the friendship, I was still curious. And he was cute.

Friends of ours used to comment on our chemistry, and we would just brush it off or laugh and do the whole "oh we're just friends" dance. But sometimes friends know us better than we know ourselves, I think.

This past summer, I had a birthday party at a bar a few blocks from my apartment, and Birthday Present was one of the attendees. I was never 100% sure when he was on or off with the girlfriend, but I'm hoping that he was off that night because, well, I fucked him.

Oops.

Let's just say the mutual curiosity was definitely peaked after that, and I gave myself multiple birthday presents that night, and for several months afterwards. In fact, I am still receiving the Birthday Present :)

So, I guess you'll have to stay tuned for what happens next, cuz your guess is as good as mine!!

The Men of 2009/Part I

Aught-nine was fraught with naughtiness, much of which I have neglected to discuss for a variety of reasons.

This is definitely late in coming, but what better way to start a new year than to take a look back at the Men of 2009. Some of whom you don't even know about yet! Yes, I've been very, very bad, keeping secrets from you all...but honestly I've been more concerned with my job situation than anything else...but I think it's time to go back in time and see who made the cut, who didn't, who was the biggest asshole, and who broke my heart. Oh if only I could make a calendar of the Men of 2009!

Remax2
At the top of the list we have Remax2, who probably played the biggest role in my blog this year. Beginning with this very confusing and conflicting situation at the beginning of 2009. I spent many, many months misreading his signs, wishing, waiting, hoping...which erupted into a horrible late night drunken screamfest one night. It almost ended our relationship, but somehow, we talked it out, and since then, we have been purely platonic and Best Friends Forever. It blows my mind when I think about the feelings that I thought I had for him, but upon further investigation I truly believe I was avoiding the inevitable, ie, having to meet a real person and have a real relationship. Remax2 was my fantasy, but our friendship is a way better reality then the fantasy ever could have been.

Fake Remax2
One day I received an email on crotch.com from a Remax2 doppelganger and I, of course, thought it would be a GREAT fucking idea to go out with him and "replace" Remax2. We met at a bar in between our two neighborhoods and he was quite adorable. Our chemistry was obvious and before I knew it he was grabbing my face in his hands and kissing me passionately right there in the middle of Classon Avenue on a freezing January evening. I told him I wanted to take things slow, somehow he ended up coming home with me--we practically ran the 15 or so blocks to my apartment, partly from the cold, partly so we could make out some more. I remember there was a hand job involved, and he wore tighty whiteys.

Smug
I also met Smug on crotch.com and he wanted to make me his girlfriend from the minute we said hello. I was hesitant to jump into something so quickly but ultimately found myself putting aside my fears and letting things just happen. Shortly thereafter, Smug broke up with me in a text message, stating that he was just crazy. I decided to agree with him, drank half a bottle of bourbon, and moved on.

Shithead Ban (this is what he is listed as in my cell phone)
I met Shithead Ban at a bar one night while out with my friends for a Hen Party. We exchanged phone numbers and, surprisingly, he did call me one night in an attempt to get together. I had him meet me at a friend's bday party where I managed to seduce him and lure him back to my apartment although he claimed he was allergic to cats. Why HE is the shithead I will never understand, since I was the asshole that lied and deceived him in order for cheap sex. What you all DONT know is that I saw him one night a few months later while trolling on crotch.com (that damned site again...thankfully I have abandoned this venue for good) and he came across as SUCH a tool. I considered myself lucky that I had dodged a bullet, sent him a message wishing him luck with his dating endeavors, and then blocked him so I wouldn't have to see his smug, toolish face in my search results ever again!


Tall Guy
The first time I met Tall Guy he told me he could never date me because I was too short, and then we spent the rest of the date making out.
There were a few other dates after that, but he really wasn't kidding, he was super self-conscious about our height difference. (He is 15 inches taller than me).

The problem was, we really liked each other, and often after nights of drinking we would end up on the phone until 3am, talking and pretending we were going to hook up, but never actually doing anything about it.

One night, I was out with a friend, and I texted him to say hi, and as luck would have it, he was in Brooklyn, not far from me. Next thing I knew, friend was ditched, and I was waiting outside a divey bar for the Tall Guy, not really knowing what was going to happen next.

Thankfully, I found out soon enough, and I was certainly not disappointed. Let's just say that what they say about size, it's all true.

The next morning he didn't bolt like I thought he would, wanting to take me to breakfast and then lingering for hours, walking around the neighborhood and finding all sorts of excuses to not leave. Finally letting him get on the subway felt bittersweet to me, because I just knew that he was going to remember his height issues and that was going to be that...for almost a split second after receiving a really sweet email from him suggesting that we get together again, I was hopeful. But, as I figured...he moved on to search for a 6 foot amazon princess that wouldn't make him feel like such a giant.

So that's the first six months of 2009. Stay tuned for Part II, which will be posted shortly!

Unenjoyment 2010

As I write this I can't even believe that this has become my life. A year of hope for better things has pretty much turned into total despair with the arrival of the new year.

Today I spent 20 minutes waiting for a Dept of Labor person to get on the phone and explain to me why my benefits have expired, and why I'm not eligible for the new extension. I have so many questions that nobody seems capable of answering, and that the FAQs portion of the Unemployment website does not cover. My situation is complicated. I freelance, plus I was penalized for a stupid move I made over the spring. I have not actually received unemployment benefits since July. Basically forcing me to spend the last six months being a "slutty cowgirl" when there were absolutely no funds coming in. I have since paid my penalty, which would make me eligible for benefits again, no?

Which is why I called the Dept of Labor, and waited for 20 fucking minutes. I want someone to explain to me what my rights are, what I'm entitled to, what I have to look forward to. Because as much as $1600/week ain't much, it's better than nothing.

I finally got a dude on the line who I could barely understand. If there is an accent that sounds like marbles, then he had it. He could only speak to me at an elevated decibel, bordering on yelling, and spent a good ten minutes berating me. I'm not exactly sure why he was berating me, as his marble accent deterred me from understanding him completely, but I felt like I was talking to my dad circa 1986. It made me cry.

And, of course, when the call was over I still had no answers.

I'm stupidly putting off a visit to the Dept of Labor headquarters. The idea of standing on a line for an entire day in the hopes that I can speak to a person with half a brain is just too much for me to deal with. But I guess it must be done.

Full-time jobs are still few and far between. I was lucky enough to have a good 3 month streak of work at the end of last year, but I'm not confident that I will find more anytime soon. So my new obsession is thinking of things that I am passionate about that could translate into some sort of job. In no particular order, here is what I've come up with: sex worker, burlesque dancer, food taster, cocktail waitress, or mattress tester.

Of course, I could just give in and find a sugar daddy for once and for all.

Time Flies When You're Having Funemployment

If you can believe it, I was laid off from my job exactly one year ago.

It doesn't even seem possible that it has been 365 days since I sat in that office, my manager's manager looking everywhere but at me while an HR person that I never saw before handed me a packet and said words that made no sense to me. "Your job has been eliminated."

I just saw the movie "Up in the Air", and, as much as it was a really sweet movie (and George Clooney's love interest, a horsey, borderline attractive older woman, was totally unbelievable..but that's another story), there were many scenes where the main character had to lay people off that made me really uncomfortable...their reactions were not unlike my own. Crying, disbelieving, angry. I always wondered how others reacted while being told they were no longer needed...that they were no longer going to be bringing money in...if they, too, looked at their manager's manager with tears streaming down their face and said "I'm totally fucked."

I remember I walked back to my office in a fog after telling them I wanted the entire day to pack up my things. I got back to my desk, to the space that I shared with my boss and another co-worker. They were both crying. I literally slammed into my chair, looked at her and said "do not talk to me right now." She had only found out that morning that I was getting canned, and there was nothing she could do about it.

I was really freaked out. 4 years of work landed me about a month and one week of severance. I paid my rent and all my bills myself-no husband or live-in lover to share the burden. I had no savings to speak of other than a few thousand in the bank. I was a typical New Yorker who lived by the seat of my pants, enjoyed life a little too much, and never planned for the future.

Feels like forever ago, yet it feels like yesterday. Funny, that.

It Was Only a Matter of Time

Something that has been very hard for me to accept as a part-time unemployed person is the idea of losing one's sense of pride.

Between the begging for work (yes, it's gotten to the point of begging), and picking up freelance jobs that are so FAR beneath one's abilities and salary requirements, you can't really let your ego get in the way. This also goes for the part-time jobs that you might have to add to your resume to make ends meet-in my case, my twice-a-week gig as a hostess in a tex-mex/beach shack restaurant where they are big on dressing like a cross between someone out of "Oklahoma" and a mermaid. I call it Slutty Cowgirl Chic. My manager is obsessed with flair. Cowboy hats, anchors, sea creatures. Throw it all together and you've got...well...kind of a mess, actually.

At any rate, this is what it's come down to, and like it or not, it's the state of affairs (and truth be told, it's fun to dress up and look a little silly from time to time (it's definitely inspired some, uh, interesting bedroom role-playing ideas).

The other night a couple with a baby walked in and asked for a table for 3. The woman looked really familiar to me, but I couldn't place her, and she looked at me strangely as well. I pulled out some menus and as I was about to show them to a table she asked me "Is your name Cheese?"

Ah fuck. Busted.

I recognized her immediately as someone that I worked with a million years ago, at my "real" job. She got herself a husband and a baby. I got myself a cowboy hat and...not much else. Crap.

"What are you doing here?" she asked incredulously.

I then felt that I had to explain my entire situation. Oh, you know, I was laid off. Oh you know, I freelance, REALLY...but summer is slow. Oh you know, I have a cowgirl fetish and this satisfies my fantasy of being Ginger Rogers. Good lord...what was I doing here? It's a fucking job.

I showed them to their table and she explained to her hubby that we used to work together at (big bad ad agency). He raised his eyebrows and said "oh really". I then lingered at their table for a moment longer, catching up on life with my ex-coworker. Her husband cut in and asked "So are you our server or what?" I guess I was overstaying my welcome, since now I am no longer their "equals" but just a servant in a restaurant.

I told him their server would be with them momentarily, and to enjoy their meal. Like a dutiful hostess would do. I then hid in the kitchen for the remainder of their time there.

If I learned anything from that exchange, I would say it was that ultimately, I do not want to end up like those people. A big, fat, post-pregnant stay-at-home mom married to a big, fat, schlubby asshole who think people are "beneath" them if you are not sitting behind a big fat desk in a big fat office making a big fat salary. I'll keep my cowboy hat and my flair. And my dignity..somewhere in there...

Once a Firecracker...

I find that I tend to blog when things feel like they're going downhill in my life..thankfully, as my infrequent musings have shown, this is not all that often. However, when the downward spiral begins, it feels infinite and awful and I forget all the wonderfulness that has lead up to this very moment. By tomorrow, the spiral will most likely go in reverse, but at this moment, it is endless.

I am finding that my happiness definitely seems to stem from adoration of others, which is tricky, as people's adoration of me certainly waxes and wanes like the phases of the moon (which also weigh heavily on my happiness, since I am a Cancer baby, through and through). Throw in some good ole PMS and we've got some good old-fashioned wallowing, to be examined and picked apart like a Michael Jackson autopsy.

So let's see...what's been going on to lead up to this moment?

I have had a phenomenal summer. Truly. How could I not? I have been on an extended hiatus from work, and the last 3 weeks have been heaven as far as the weather is concerned. I'm tanner and hotter than I've probably ever been, due to many trips to the beach, pool and gym, as well as all the bike riding and yoga I've gotten accustomed to. I have great friends, many of whom are also on hiatus from work, so I have plenty of people to play with and keep me entertained.

I have been lucky so far in that I have been able to find freelance work when things have gotten bleak-I look at my bank account and kick my self-promotion into high-gear...I know how to market myself when I need to and it's proven to be fruitful...I took on a part-time job at an amazing establishment to keep me afloat, and I really enjoy it. I'm meeting fun people and have absolutely shaken up my "comfort zone" which seems to be the theme of 2009, over and over again.

I am doing my Montauk share house again and I adore it. I adore the people in the house and I am obsessed with Montauk..always have been. There's something about that town that is magical and soothing, and I am so lucky and thankful for every second I get to spend there. So there's that.

So what is the fucking problem?

Well. For starters. Money. There never seems to be enough of it. I always had money issues, because I am a serial spender...I have always made good money..not great money, but definitely enough to live on...and I frittered it away without a second thought. Now I have to worry about every cent that is earned and every cent that is spent (I don't much spend time on the latter, still) but what's weird is that I don't love money all that much, so I don't spend a lot of time trying to earn it. I just want enough to get by. Which makes me feel unmotivated and without goals. Which leads me to...

Creative output. I have had 8 months of freedom, basically, give or take some freelance work here and there. I have come up with some brilliant ideas. Many of which I have seen executed by others. I have had an idea for a book that my publishing friend told me is amazing, but I need to get on it NOW. Have I done any of it? Of course not. Honestly, my free days off have been consumed with how many hours I can spend at the gym (which is way too expensive but I cannot bear to cancel my membership) and how many people I can squeeze into my social calendar. I have half-assedly talked to some people about some of my ideas, and they are all "on board", but not really, because everyone is concerned with their own aspirations right now, understandably. I rely on others to make my dreams happen. This is apparent in life, as well as love. Which doesn't help me all that much.

I haven't dated in several months. I think this is partly because I am too comfortable being single. Possibly because I spent most of this year being obsessed with (Remax2) which felt safe. I have finally come to terms with my Remax2 issues. But that makes me feel empty...you spend so much time obsessing over someone and hoping for the best, and when you come to the realization that it isn't going to happen (even when you knew all along that it wasn't), it leaves you with, well, nothing. I have cancelled all my online dating subscriptions-I don't want to meet someone that way, and it's becoming more and more apparent that I'm NOT going to meet someone that way. So goodbye to that. But that safety net has been cut, so even more so I have to rely on my "charisma" and "charm" to make that happen, which as we all know hasn't been very productive.

I keep thinking that I want to want someone. But ultimately I might find it easier to be alone.

The other day at my part-time job I was jamming out to some old Adam and the Ants that was on the stereo. One of my coworkers, who is probably a good 10 years older than me, blurted out "I bet you were a real firecracker when you were a teenager."

I actually wasn't. I'm a firecracker now. But at the age of 41, the spark is weak.

Is This The Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy?

So, I have come to yet another realization about myself that has possibly been obvious to all of you for the last however many years you have been tuning into my life, but not so much to me...I clearly have a) commitment issues and b) I live in a fantasy world.

I find myself yet again entrenched in a situation that can only go nowhere, yet I spend so much time and energy on it. Admittedly, it is fun. It is an ego boost. And I am enjoying every second of this flirtation, for what it's worth. Yet I find that I am allowing it to take the place of all other intersexual relationships in my life at this moment.

There are a zillion nice guys who would be more than happy to spend time with me if I gave them half a chance. There is something different in me, something not so caring, that is making all the guys I come into contact with less important..and somehow, that makes me more desirable. But I don't give two flying fucks, because I am so engrossed in a situation that can't possibly go anywhere (although my way of thinking-as always in these situations-is never say never)..which is equal parts titillating and frustrating. The thrill of the game is always there, which is exciting. But the fact of the matter is that as real as it feels, it's a fucking game. Yet again, I prefer to be a pawn than live out the role of a real-life human in a big, fat adult relationship.

What the fuck is that?

Am I seriously still this fucked up over my last relationship that I can't fathom something real?
Or have I always been this retarded?

Either way, the realization is giving me too much to think about, and we all know how much I hate to do that.

Epiphany

Yesterday was Date #2 with Truffle Man.

I was a little bit nervous to meet up with Truffle Man, as I'd had a pleasant time with him on our last date, and didn't want to expect too much or be too hopeful. I also had a hard time with the outfit decision...usually by date 2 I am letting it all hang out (if not already on date 1) but I'm trying to be more demure in my old age, as I've mentioned before. I settled on a halter top with a short but respectable skirt and flat sandals. I looked casual yet put together. Cute with a hint of sexy, but not obvious.

Imagine my surprise when I got to the restaurant and Truffle Man was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks.

Yup, Birkenstocks.

I do not condone this outfit even if he were going to the beach. Which he wasn't. He was meeting me at 8pm for a dinner...granted it wasn't a fancy dinner, but it was our second date, and dammit, I have to worry about how I look, why the fuck doesn't he???

I was giving myself a hard time inside my head for being the kind of girl who cares about such things, but honestly, it was hard to allow myself to look past it. But I did, because he's nice, and I enjoy his company. But I couldn't help feeling like, in throwing on such an ensemble, he just didn't give a flying fuck about our date (or...even worse, he thought very carefully about it, and that was the outfit that he came up with, which is really frightening..so I try not to think about that).

I concentrated on our food and the conversation that took place for the next 2 hrs. Light flirting went into play, and I eased up about the bad outfit.

It was becoming increasingly clear that he was enjoying my company, and he hinted several times about seeing me again...doing things in the future...all very nice, very good things. We went to my local bar, had a drink...and then I started to get tired.

Now I know me, if I like a guy, tired be damned...I will rally. But all of a sudden I just really wanted to go. So he walked me home. And I realized that he was about the same height as me. And I was wearing flats, remember...I got to my apartment and I think he was waiting for an invite up. I hugged him goodbye, kissed him sort of on the mouth and thanked him for a good time. He looked disappointed. I was relieved.

Don't get me wrong, if he asks me out again (which I think he will) I will say yes. I have not completely given up on this. I don't care that much about the outfit. What I care about is that I don't feel attracted enough to him, and as much as I could learn to feel attracted to him, I'm just not conditioned that way. I truly believe that you like who you like, and that is just the way it goes.

I know you are all reading this and shaking your heads and thinking about all the times I wished I had a nice guy and all the times I cried over Remax2 and all the times I hated that I was single. But here's what I have been realizing over and over...I am not going to settle. I have been single for too long now, and I'm kind of ok with it...I want to be the type of person who doesn't need instant animal magnetism to be with a man. But I'm not. I cannot "learn" to be attracted to someone. It's not in my genetic makeup. I'm not going to date someone just for the sake of not being alone...as tempting as it can be. Maybe something will click for me the next time I see him. Or maybe he's another candidate for the Friend Zone.

It's not him, it's ME.

And four days later...

So, I reread what I wrote a mere 4 days ago and I feel like this week has had a significant turnaround. Truth be told, not all that much has happened, but I guess when you have absolutely NOTHING going on, a few small events can feel like the earth has shifted.

I did NOT get picked to be a juror. Thank GOD. It was quite a hilarious ride though. By day 3 I had developed such a crush on the Keith Partridge haired attorney. I don't even know that he was all that attractive, but I guess when you're sitting in the front row of a very small room listening to the same questions be asked and answered over and over again, you can make Carrot Top look like Brad Pitt. Or something like that. I caused quite a ruckus...I brought up a reason why they may not exactly want me on their jury...I had a beef with the defendant...I got taken outside a lot. I had to visit the judge. Keith Partridge hair told me I was an attention whore (well, he didn't say whore...but we all know I am one, so...) Then finally, FINALLY they let me go on Day 3. I waited for Keith Partridge hair to make his move. He did not. C'est la vie ;)

Tuesday night I had a date-yes a date!-with the not Jacques Torres truffle-maker. It was actually quite successful! We had a respectable two drinks. I did not wear a slutty outfit, figuring it was time to weed out the dudes who only liked me for my boobs. He told me how he had planned a surprise for me initially, had we gone out to dinner (I nixed dinner in lieu of first meeting drinks. NEVER do first date dinner. NEVER!) and my response was "Oh, were you going to propose?" At which he laughed. And not nervously, might I add. He drove me home, and there was a brief hug at the door. And he emailed me the next day and promptly invited me out again. So. We'll see.

My long distance paramour and I have been flirting shamelessly and endlessly all over the internet. Last night, after getting home from a night out in the East Village with Remax2, Mr Long Distance and I texted (sexted?) until 5am. He is coming here in July and I'm both intrigued and frightened about this visit. Too many expectations have been flung out there already, but then again, the power of suggestion is very, very mighty. So who knows. All in fun, right?

Remax2. He's still around. I think he is a lifer. I have no more to say on that.

I attended a going away party tonight for an ex-blogger friend, and reconnected with a
really great group of people that I regret I don't get to see more often. I'm thrilled for my friend and excited for her new life, but I am going to miss our neighborhood jaunts and dinners!

I did not hear back from any of the places that I interviewed at a few weeks back, and no new job opportunities have come up in my industry that I know of. I did, however, meet up with my friend and put in my application to hostess at the new restaurant she's managing. I also started applying for writing jobs...something that I never had the balls to do before. I even sent some writing samples from this very blog in response to a Craigs List ad looking for "sexy, smart, funny stories for a new nightlife publication".

So. We shall see.

Treading Water

I'm having a really hard time deciding if my life is going to get decidedly more exciting, or if it's just all going to blow up in my face in a big and bad way. Or neither. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, being that I've been coasting for the last six months or so and don't really have anything to show for it, and therefore need to hope and pray that I end up with something magnificent before I die of ennui or get evicted from my apartment.

Since I am still pretty much unemployed (had two interviews last week but haven't heard anything since then) I am going to have to get creative with the job hunt. I'm talking to a friend of mine about hostessing at a restaurant she manages. I'm looking at an opening at my favorite ice cream shop. I'm scouring the internet for weird odd jobs and, yet again, contemplating the nude model idea from way back when. My big bad memoir hasn't even begun to be written, so the likelihood of THAT providing me with any income anytime soon is just a wet dream at this point...but don't get me started or I will break down and sob about what a waste of life I am, and that, my friends, will just not be pretty.

As for my love life...it's still pretty pathetic...and probably will remain so (which is still being done on purpose...I got a lecture from one of my friends a couple weeks ago that I am just still not ready to meet someone...and she is probably absolutely right). BUT, I have a few things up my sleeve by the way of a long-distance fling...a musician who is traveling the world right now...and a guy who owned his own truffle company (unfortunately it is NOT Jacques Torres). Of course none of these things are going to lead to anything good or real, but if I'm not "ready"...then why not have some fun while I wait it out, right?

And I totally caught a lawyer looking at my tits during the voir dire at jury duty today. He has Keith Partridge hair, feathered and all...and I kinda think he's hot. If I don't get picked for the case I'm going to try really hard to get me some of that. Haha!