Wednesday, June 29, 2005

You Have the Right to Remain Silent

The make-it or break-it thresh-hold for most women in relationships are your standards: Cheating, Abuse, Wanting More, Boredom, Someone Better Comes Along. Those generally hold true for me as well. Of course, the operative term is "generally."

I now have to add one more: Criminal Activity. Crazy as it may seem, criminal activity is a deal-breaker for me. I'm not talking about pillaging and plundering, or holding up your local store clerk. I'm talking white collar crime. The kind with a 25 year jail sentence.

See, letting me meet someone wonderful just wasn't enough for Fate. Someone sweet and caring, attentive and trustworthy. Someone willing to get into a relationship, and give it the proper nurturing. No. I get to find someone with all, I mean ALL, of the ideal male qualities (let's not EVEN get into physiology, because dear god, if anything should be illegal, it should be his equipment) who just happens to be breaking the law.

Of course, he insists that he's not, and that I just don't understand the nuances of what he's doing. But seriously, people, I'm no dummy, and there are certain things this country stands by, no matter what you've got cooking.

So yeah, I spend a year-and-a-half after my divorce dating every schmuck in NY, find a great non-schmuck, and now I have to worry about federal indictments. If it's not one thing, it's always another.

I can just see it now: "No Bobby, Jr., daddy can't make it to your Bar Mitzvah, but he'll be out in time for your high school graduation." How much privacy do they give you for conjugal visits?

(I DARE you to tell me my life is NOT God's comic strip - double dog dare you.)

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Things NOT to do at your new job in the first two weeks:

1. Wear tight shirts that are sleeveless and/or show lots of cleavage (because it's damn hot in NY right now).
2. Download Kazaa and start burning CD's from your work computer.
3. Go to lunch with some partners and associates, and recommend to the senior associate going to Vegas for a bachelor party to be sure to hit the pool at the Hard Rock because there are some "hot pieces of ass" hanging out there.
4. Talk on the phone to your friends about the person you're dating and his illegal white collar crimes.
5. Tell the partner you work for that you're giving his revisions to your secretary because you can't read his handwriting "for shit."
6. Call the MIS guy a homosexual, in his native tongue. Repeatedly.
7. Sing along to the 80's music playing in your office, while people around you are trying to work.
8. Come in drunk from the night before. In the same clothes. Minus one pair of panties.
9. Delete important documents from the system (by accident) you were trying to copy and pass off as your own work.
10. Take a one week vacation to Greece three weeks into the job.
11. Tell the partner you work for the reason you were late is because you took the wrong subway, even though you really spent the morning having sex.
12. Blog.

Friday, June 17, 2005

It's Really What I Deserve

THIS is what happens when your baby sister reads your blog and finds out you cried after sex:

MyLifeIsGodsComicStrip: just got back from lunch, had a salad
Spawn: did you cry cause the salad was so good?
MLIGCS: yes, the salad was great
Spawn: great....or.....
Spawn: (cue the sobbing)
Spawn: ?
Spawn: was it like that?
MLIGCS: I think you're a total asshole
MLIGCS: no, it was not like that at all
Spawn: WHY?!!
MLIGCS: we were on your bed doing it
Spawn: I'm not an asshole
Spawn: I was talking about your salad
MLIGCS: and then, we were on all of your clothes
Spawn: goshhhh
Spawn: ohhhh shhhtoppp
Spawn: there's no crying
Spawn: are you crying???
MLIGCS: I'm a fucking moron
MLIGCS: I know
Spawn: Umpire: what seems to be the problem here Jimmy?
MLIGCS: She's crying
Spawn: (well Heinrich for our purposes)
MLIGCS: there's no crying in sex
Spawn: there's just no crying...
Spawn: awww
Spawn: its ok
MLIGCS: no its not
Spawn: yes it is
Spawn: it shows you have feelings
Spawn: and you are VERY in touch with them
MLIGCS: I hate you
Spawn: and (very very exterrreeemely gay)
Spawn: but its ok
Spawn: hahaha
Spawn: oh.oh.yes.yesssss.....wait....(sniffle sniffle)
Spawn: Heinrich: what's the matter?
Spawn: Heinrich: are you ok?!!
Spawn: Heinrich: was it that bad??
MLIGCS: hate
Spawn: MLIGCS: NOOO not at was wonderful
Spawn: WAAAAAAAAA (sobbs)
Spawn: Heinrich: interesting approach...
Spawn: MLIGCS: I don't know what's wrong with meeeee (waaaaaaaaaaaa cue the sobbing again)
Spawn: you
Spawn: are
Spawn: MOM
MLIGCS: that was below the belt
Spawn: no noo
Spawn: c'mon
Spawn: its just fun and games
Spawn: I'm just teasing
Spawn: I don't mean it in a bad way
Spawn: its right outta a movie
Spawn: think about it
Spawn: we could make a movie outta your life
Spawn: and it would make MILLIONS
Spawn: all single Jewish women will flock to it
Spawn: we'd probably have to play the jewishness up a lil more
Spawn: but other than that I'm seeing success that may rival my big fat Greek wedding

Thursday, June 16, 2005

"The Act"

I would like to introduce a guest writer, a dear male friend and fellow New York City dater. If anyone thinks I'm funny, make no mistake, I surround myself with people a lot more interesting than me.

NYC Reg. St. Sec. 503.

Statutory Rules for Sexually Active Males in New York:

1) Sexual Intercourse.

a) A man shall never use the words "make love," "making love," "lovemaking" or "make" and "love" within a five word span of each other or any derivation thereof.

b) On certain occasions, a man may, however, act in a sexual manner that may be deemed "making love" by one or both of the parties involved or disinterested and/or interested onlookers, provided that any such acts shall not be permitted more than once per any calendar month, unless special circumstances exist.

c) Notwithstanding that which is contained in (a) and (b), above, under no circumstances may a man ever, without express written consent of his entire wedding party, or, if not married, four friends not related within two degrees, "make love" twice without fucking eleven (11) times between said "lovemaking" sessions. In considering these eleven (11) sessions, anal sex shall count twice (2), any threesome involving two (2) women shall count as five (5), and any visit to a sex club or orgy involving seven (7) or more people shall count as the entire eleven (11). In fact, after such an occurrence, it is highly recommended that you "make love" within 12 hours of said act. (Trust me on this one fellas).

2) Demeanor during sexual encounters

a) Politeness is not permitted in reference to the sexual act. After you have already established a sexual relationship with a woman (or before with extreme caution and only if you have a criminal attorney on retainer), you should only demand, beg, order, plead, whisper, intimate or suggest. You may only make a request that a certain act be performed upon you if the tone, volume, and/or pitch of your voice does not remotely resemble that used when asking your significant other if you can go to Vegas with your friends for a five day batchelor party.

b) Always, and I mean always, have a conversation about "facials" before you decide to run it up the proverbial flagpole. I know some kinky women who would let you strap them on a wheel in a dungeon, yet never speak to you again if you grabbed them by the back of the neck and came in their face.

c) If you are one of many men who secretly enjoy having a finger shoved up your ass as you are cuming, wait until you are 100% sure that she will not attempt this maneuver on her own before making any such suggestions. And never request this before you have met her friends and are sure they like you.

d) Avoid forced "dirty talk." Wait until it comes from somewhere genuinely inside of you. Unless you have taken at least one improv and scene study class in the last two years, do not think you won't sound like a schmuck. Failure in heeding this warning will result in you coming across like Jim Carrey in an emotional drama scene.

e) Anyone can have a nice meal, come home, get undressed, get in bed and have sex. Very sweet. Throwing a woman against a wall or side of an elevator is not an act of violence. Further, if 51% of both of your bodies are past the threshold of the door, it is not public lewdness. (Or that is what I would argue on appeal).

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Rocket Science

Okay people, here's a basic lesson in mathematics. If everyone stands at the doors of the subway train (effectively blocking egress and ingress), but do not move the fuck into the middle of the practically empty subway car, how many less people will be able to ride the subway on any given day? Take your time.......No really, this is obviously a difficult conceptual problem for my fellow subway riders, they obviously need MORE time to figure it out since they haven't figured it out by this morning, which I'm sure is NOT the first (or even tenth) time they've ridden the subway.

Here's a crazy idea: MOVE INTO THE FUCKING TRAIN YOU FUCKING LAZY SMELLY OAF! Do it so that I don't have to jab you in the ribs to make you move. Because I will! Oh yes, make no mistake. Just because you're listening to your stupid iPod doesn't mean you can just stand there ignoring everything going on around you. Next time I will choke you with the headphones. You're lucky I wore my flip flops to commute this morning, otherwise your shins would have gotten a beating too!

Into the car, people. Move INTO the damn car. So that others can get on and off. I'm amazed this city isn't under water yet.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Humiliations Galore

Here's something painfully embarrassing: crying after sex. Yes, that's what I said. Crying after sex. And not crying because you're sad, but crying because you've had a couple of cocktails (still one of my favorite words) and now you're emotionally vulnerable.

I cried after sex this weekend. I know, I know: there's no crying in baseball! But apparently, there is crying in my apartment. Like a TOOL! Like a little bitch. Heinrich was NOT amused. I don't blame him.

The next morning he tried to tease me, but I told him the sex was so bad that I started crying afterward in relief that it was over. He laughed at me. At least he's a good sport.

I feel like I'm starring in that movie, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. But I'm not acting, I'm just being myself - which is the terrifying part.

I think it's fine actually. I think being emotionally vulnerable is healthy, especially after this year and a half after my divorce. With all the head-on collisions, derailments and ten-car pile-ups I've encountered in the dating world, I'm clearly a little rusty at being genuine rather than a shit-talking player, but I'll find my way.

One of the dumbest people I know (who has a great heart) told me one of the smartest things I've ever heard: You'll never win if you're afraid to lose. I try to remember this every time I have a serious decision to make, like taking a new job, moving (still in the air), meeting a new guy or making a new friend.

Either way, I'm sure I'm not the first girl Heinrich has made cry and it's not the first time I've cried. It's just the first time in a really really REALLY long time.

I mean, it could have been worse, I could have laughed after sex. And that would not have been good. AT ALL.

Monday, June 13, 2005


So today I started work at a new firm. I left my old one *deep sigh* for a 35% pay increase and more responsibility. KICK. ASS.

Apparently there are no single men at this firm either, although I subscribe to the adage "don't shit where you eat" or "don't eat your shit" or something along those lines.

I'll miss the Ambassador to Evil, and I'll miss sexually harassing all of my co-workers with porn clips and inappropriate displays of affection, but I'm sure I'll find other men here to harass. There was one partner, a good friend of mine, who is pretty square and straight laced, so of course, I would go running into his office and sit on his lap. Or I would walk in, turn around, grab my ass and ask whether what I was wearing made my ass look good. God help him if I was wearing anything that showed cleavage....But his impending break-down has nothing to do with me. I swear. Well, maybe a little.

And it has been quite eventfull with the Goy, we'll call him Heinrich, because it seems oh-so-appropriate. He met the Spawn of Satan and my uncle and his wife. I even went so far as to hide my profile on Match.Hell. I'm such a fucking pussy-ass girl. But I was getting emails from good guys that I really don't want to date right now, so I figured I would hide my profile, stop getting emails, and these guys won't think I'm a bitch for not responding. And when I finally blow things with Heinrich - because I'm such a fucking pussy-ass girl - I can always sign back on and start fresh. See? I'm always thinking ahead.

I'm off to try and fool these guys into thinking I'm a capable attorney.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Glorious Morning

Dear Fuck-Wads at My Bank,

I just wanted to write to let you know that I really did not appreciate having my check card declined this morning at the gas station. Although I understand your claim that my account information was compromised and "as the appropriate thing to do" you cancelled my card, it might have been wiser to wait UNTIL I GOT MY NEW CARD BEFORE CANCELING THE OLD ONE.

Your "golly fucking gee, Ma'am, it sure done said so in the letter we done sent you" response does not account for the fact that I never actually got the CARD that you were supposed to "done fucking send me."

Your unilateral cancellation has not only caused me humiliation, but agita in ways that may cause a permanent tick. Your "Ma'am, the new card was sent out on the 25th and I cannot explain its whereabouts" is a load of horse shit that you should be forced to eat. If you were within arms reach, you would definitely know the whereabouts of my four inch heel shoved so far up your ass it would be poking your damn eye out.

Your "As a courtesy Ma'am, we would be willing to send you another card under a rush order (three business days)" is really NOT A COURTESY WHEN YOU CAUSED THIS MESS TO BEGIN WITH. I have an idea, why don't you wait until the "new" card you claim to have sent out is ACTIVATED before you just go ahead and, oh, what the fuck, cancel the old one WITHOUT NOTICE. Hhhhhmmmmmm, just a suggestion, you total and utter DIPSHITS.

I wish a pestilence on you and your families so that you are effectively driven out of the gene pool.

My Life is God's Comic Strip

P.S. - to the traffic I encountered this morning after dealing with this mess, you TOO can SUCK MY ASS.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That, Except When it Comes to My Family

My sister (the Spawn of Satan) and I have decided that from now on the proper response to family questions about our personal lives is that we're gay or lesbians.

Knowing that older generations of the family contain homophobes, Spawn and I like to scare them a little every once in a while. Give them a little dose of reality, you know, what goes on outside the little box they so comfortably live in and keep trying to shove us into.

Saturday brunch was no different (but I think we get extra points for torturing family on the Sabbath - Go team!)

My aunt actually got angry. "You keep saying you're gay. Every time anyone talks to you, all we hear is 'I'm gay. I'm gay.' It's disgusting. It's not funny to joke about being gay. Being gay is sick." --Ahhh, fighting words.

"But what if I'm really gay? Maybe that's why I haven't been able to find anyone. I could be gay and not know it. Girls really are so pretty. We could get our nails done together. Imagine the wardrobe possibilities if I find someone my size."

Mom, now extremely angry, "If I hear you say that one more time, I'm going to smack the shit out of you. I don't want to hear that word coming out of your mouths again." Game on!

Me (wide eyed innocence): "But, what if I want to say I'm happy? You know, Gay means happy too."
Aunt (through clenched teeth): "Then say you're fucking happy."

Thirty seconds later, I turn to the Spawn, "Hey, remember that Halloween, when you wore that awesome GEI-sha costume?"
"Yeah, the one that got caught outside on the GAY-te?"
"Yes, because you were dancing to that song by Gloria GAY-nor."
"I love that song. Gloria GAY-nor has great dance songs. Hey, wasn't one of her songs in that movie with that character, GAYlord?"
"I don't know, but I don't think they called him GAYlord in the movie, he went by Greg. He has nothing to GAIn by using the name GAYlord."
"That's true. Are you going to watch the GAme on Monday night?"
"Yeah, I'll probably watch the GAme with my friend GAIL."
"Didn't GAIL buy a beautiful new alliGAYtor bag?"
"Why yes, GAIL...."

"You little fuckers."

My team always wins.

Friday, June 03, 2005


I was wondering when it became okay to insult a total stranger. Because if there are new rules, I'm game, I just need the handbook.

Last night, at my cousin's engagement party, I wore my fabulous new necklace (chunky oversized beads you see all over SoHo nowadays) to go with my fabulous new dress.

Feeling pretty good after a few cocktails (I love that word by the way - cock and tails, together....but I digress), I was hanging out with my sister and one of her male friends. One of his friends, trying to get in on the action, comes by to get introduced.

Hellos are exchanged. And then suddenly, he points to my necklace and says, "Wow. You look like you're wearing anal beads."

Kaboom. It was like a bomb went off. We stood there dumbfounded for a second, because no one could believe that a complete stranger would have the nerve to talk like that.

Now I'm relatively secure, and pretty confident in my fashion choices, but I couldn't let that slide for some reason.

So I reply, "I appreciate your need to share, but really, shouldn't we get to know each other a little better before you insinuate that you take it up the ass? If you like, after our first date, I could just strap one on and go to town on you."

For some reason, he walked away......

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Yes, the Joke is ALWAYS on Me

I met a boy. He makes my socks roll up and down and little hearts come out of my eyes. I'm so used to being disappointed by the guys I meet, I'm not quite sure what to do with this new emotion.

Of course, there has to be a hitch in all of this. You didn't think that I would be able to find someone that I both liked and lusted after without some sort of cosmic ass-fuck (non-lubed). After dating every single eligible Jewish male between the ages of 30 and 42 in the tri-state area, I find a totally awesome Catholic transplant from Michigan. Yes, he's anything but Jewish. He's tall, he's blond, he has these piercing green eyes that can see right through you, and I believe you could grate cheese on his abs. *Deep sigh* God bless the goys.

He asked me the other day about meeting the parents and how soon that would happen depending on how well things go between us. I told him he had a better chance of meeting the Easter Bunny. He offered to convert. I offered to try to make it to a fifth date before we start changing religions. Hell, maybe even have sex before we attempt to torture each other with our respective families. (ahhh, sex....I need a minute, or ten.......................)

I'm just going to tell my mom his name is Shlomo. Shlomo Hiemowitzberg. What? You've never seen a six foot Jew? Well, now you have mom. Deal.