The silent treatment is an interesting, if somewhat outdated, method of dealing with hurt feelings and anger. I can understand its effectiveness when one is attempting to avoid saying something akin to kicking the other person in the jimmy. Or when you want to send a clear, Bat-signal-like message that, "Hey, I'm rip roaring mad, and instead of just telling you why, you're going to find out by me ignoring you, you asking me what's wrong, and me ignoring you even more." The proverbial Na Na Na Na Poo Poo, if you will.
Well, the problem with writing a blog is that sometimes your blog involves talking about other people and their relation to your life. Those people may not appreciate all the things you write about them. Of course, they clearly appreciate all the good things you write, but the bad is always taken as if you've written the most vituperative, scathing pile of epithets ever strung together. Please, get over yourself, no one takes it as seriously as you do.
Once again, someone is PISSED about something I've written. Heinrich has gotten his diaper all up in a bunch because of the post, You Have the Right to Remain Silent. He wasn't angry for weeks after I posted it, but for some reason, last week, he was ANGRY, and we had an argument. Which ended with me apologizing profusely, licking the bottom of his feet, and taking it down the next day. I figured if something I did made someone I care about that upset, then the only right thing to do was apologize and attempt to remedy the wrong as best I could.
Heinrich told me he didn't want to talk to me, because he needed time to calm down. He then contacted me, proceeded to stand me up on our date and refused to return any of my calls.
Two days later, I receive a lame text, (by lame I mean, ":(" ), I asked "?" to which he responded "I don't like you, mad but I do miss you." Okay. But he also told me to leave him alone, so I did.
After a few days of not quite knowing what the hell was going on, especially when this was someone that I would speak with, IM, text, and/or see every single day, I decided to just ask whether he was so angry that we were no longer seeing each other? Or whether he was still waiting to calm down? (via text message, since phone calls weren't being returned, and emails were ignored). Of course, he ignored this. So I was forced to say that the silent treatment was hurtful and that an answer was only fair. He finally wrote me back, saying that he's trying to calm down. And has proceeded to ignore me since.
I know dear readers that you will say that he's found someone else or is just trying to punish me, or something shady is going on (maybe the feds got him and he had to use his one phone call to call his attorney...), or he hates me and just wants to torture me for as long as he can. And that's all well and good. But I honestly believe that this is an ego issue. A Big Ego Issue. And there just comes a point where I'm done assuaging his tender ego. And that point is one week and one day.
I figure a week is fair, we've only been dating for two months. He gets one week to ignore me, be mean, stand me up, be disrespectful and treat me badly even though I've apologized profusely, groveled and removed the offensive post. Now, I'm done caring. The post is going back up. And his childishness and petulance, along with his white-collar criminal activities, are put on display for all to read about. Because there is some crap up with which I will not put.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Quote of the Day
When god closes a door, he always opens a window, because you can't throw yourself out of a door.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Commitment vs. Monogamy
There is a difference between commitment and monogamy.
Generally, women assume that once a man is willing to be monogamous, he is also willing to commit to a relationship. ("Relationship" meaning the girl definition, you know, sharing, affection, vulnerability, emotional availability, unicorns, rainbows and all that crap.) The two concepts become interchangeable in a woman's mind. God knows, monogamy is hard enough, and in a city like New York, it's virtually impossible. (Let's just say I'm happy I'm not a man, because I'd probably try to stick it into anything that made it hard. Well, there's a lot of eye candy here folks.) But relationships are even harder.
But some men don't necessarily see it that way. There is a breed of man that believes having one sexual partner is preferable to having to go out nights with the boys and try to score some ass. It's easy, it's fun, and over time, he can build a really great physical relationship because of the comfort levels he achieves. He's the emotionally unavailable guy, the one who will call you his girlfriend, or the girl he's dating, but that doesn't necessarily mean he is committed to a "relationship."
Basically, from what I've heard from my girlfriends whining about "We're not sleeping with other people, but I don't feel like I'm one of his priorities" and my guy friends "she's fucking driving me crazy with all this 'we need to talk more and discuss our feelings' shit" a lot of relationships are not where the people in them think they are.
I know that men have feelings. And I even believe that once a man falls in love, really in love, he probably feels deeper than the woman. But, generally, it takes longer for men to be emotionally vulnerable, if they become so at all. And it's usually pretty easy for a woman to become emotionally vulnerable, especially if she's in a monogamous "relationship."
Lately, the way I've seen women break out of these "relationships" is by meeting someone else that provides them with some form of emotional support or caring that is lacking in their current "relationship." Not that these women are cheating, they're not intentionally going out to meet someone else because, obviously, they think they're in a real "relationship." But what seems to be happening is that they are meeting men through work or mutual friends, and some sort of friendship blossoms, or some sort of attraction develops.
This just happened to a good friend of mine. She had been dating her boyfriend for two years. And he seemed nice enough, friendly enough, a good drinking buddy, but he didn't seem like a good boyfriend. When her uncle was diagnosed with cancer, he totally understood that she couldn't make it to his buddy's birthday party, but he went anyway. Or the fact that he didn't really call or talk to her more than once or twice a week, but would make plans for the weekend, because he knew that's when he'd get some. But then again, who the hell am I to judge, I married the anti-Christ. So I just kept my mouth shut as long as she seemed happy.
And then she met one of my best friends. One of the best men on earth. With the potential to be the Most Amazing Boyfriend Ever. And they became "friends." Because their attraction was clearly more than just friends, but neither one was about to do anything immoral. The closer they got, the more my girlfriend realized that the emotional fulfillment she was getting from my best friend was something she had never gotten from her oh-so-mediocre boyfriend.
It was clear that although he was monogamous, he really wasn't committed to the relationship in any way. (They recently broke up, and I'm being super cheer-leader trying to get her and my best friend together, into a real "relationship").
It's something I've encountered in some of my own relationships, and it's hard to be able to differentiate between what I think is a relationship and what he feels is just monogamy. The difficulty is ascertaining what's really going on. And sometimes, you just don't know what you're missing until someone or something else shows it to you.
Or you can just do what I do: Date every wack-job within a fifty-mile radius, just to make sure you've given everyone a fighting chance to mess with your head as you whittle down the numbers. Sounds about right.
Generally, women assume that once a man is willing to be monogamous, he is also willing to commit to a relationship. ("Relationship" meaning the girl definition, you know, sharing, affection, vulnerability, emotional availability, unicorns, rainbows and all that crap.) The two concepts become interchangeable in a woman's mind. God knows, monogamy is hard enough, and in a city like New York, it's virtually impossible. (Let's just say I'm happy I'm not a man, because I'd probably try to stick it into anything that made it hard. Well, there's a lot of eye candy here folks.) But relationships are even harder.
But some men don't necessarily see it that way. There is a breed of man that believes having one sexual partner is preferable to having to go out nights with the boys and try to score some ass. It's easy, it's fun, and over time, he can build a really great physical relationship because of the comfort levels he achieves. He's the emotionally unavailable guy, the one who will call you his girlfriend, or the girl he's dating, but that doesn't necessarily mean he is committed to a "relationship."
Basically, from what I've heard from my girlfriends whining about "We're not sleeping with other people, but I don't feel like I'm one of his priorities" and my guy friends "she's fucking driving me crazy with all this 'we need to talk more and discuss our feelings' shit" a lot of relationships are not where the people in them think they are.
I know that men have feelings. And I even believe that once a man falls in love, really in love, he probably feels deeper than the woman. But, generally, it takes longer for men to be emotionally vulnerable, if they become so at all. And it's usually pretty easy for a woman to become emotionally vulnerable, especially if she's in a monogamous "relationship."
Lately, the way I've seen women break out of these "relationships" is by meeting someone else that provides them with some form of emotional support or caring that is lacking in their current "relationship." Not that these women are cheating, they're not intentionally going out to meet someone else because, obviously, they think they're in a real "relationship." But what seems to be happening is that they are meeting men through work or mutual friends, and some sort of friendship blossoms, or some sort of attraction develops.
This just happened to a good friend of mine. She had been dating her boyfriend for two years. And he seemed nice enough, friendly enough, a good drinking buddy, but he didn't seem like a good boyfriend. When her uncle was diagnosed with cancer, he totally understood that she couldn't make it to his buddy's birthday party, but he went anyway. Or the fact that he didn't really call or talk to her more than once or twice a week, but would make plans for the weekend, because he knew that's when he'd get some. But then again, who the hell am I to judge, I married the anti-Christ. So I just kept my mouth shut as long as she seemed happy.
And then she met one of my best friends. One of the best men on earth. With the potential to be the Most Amazing Boyfriend Ever. And they became "friends." Because their attraction was clearly more than just friends, but neither one was about to do anything immoral. The closer they got, the more my girlfriend realized that the emotional fulfillment she was getting from my best friend was something she had never gotten from her oh-so-mediocre boyfriend.
It was clear that although he was monogamous, he really wasn't committed to the relationship in any way. (They recently broke up, and I'm being super cheer-leader trying to get her and my best friend together, into a real "relationship").
It's something I've encountered in some of my own relationships, and it's hard to be able to differentiate between what I think is a relationship and what he feels is just monogamy. The difficulty is ascertaining what's really going on. And sometimes, you just don't know what you're missing until someone or something else shows it to you.
Or you can just do what I do: Date every wack-job within a fifty-mile radius, just to make sure you've given everyone a fighting chance to mess with your head as you whittle down the numbers. Sounds about right.
Monday, July 18, 2005
To My Dear Waxing Lady Who Happens to be Related to My Ex-Husband's New Girlfriend,
You and I have had a long and intimate relationship for about 15 years now. And I truly appreciate the hard work and effort you put in to rid me of my excess body hair. I even look forward to our little gossip sessions as you bend my leg back behind my ear to get nice and deep into my bikini line. Seriously, giving someone a Brazilian creates a certain bond, for sure.
But in all honesty, and not meaning any offense whatsoever, I really REALLY don't need to hear how my cheap, mother-fucking wife-beating ex-husband is wining and dining your relative at the trendiest and most expensive restaurants in town. Or how he spoils her with gifts, or how he's considered the most handsome young man in our community.
I don't appreciate being told that although people have warned her about him, his handsome good looks, charm, and expensive sports car are slowly but surely winning her over. (Being on Satan's payroll pays quite well, in case you were wondering.)
Yes, I remember the good-old days, when he was so charming, he threw me out of that expensive sports car in the middle of a residential area and went running to his mommy's house because he lost his temper at someone else, and I was trying to calm him down. Or the loving way he used to proclaim that he missed having sex with other women, even though I was always more than eager. Or the adorable little gifts he used to give me, like a punch or two in the arm because I was too tired to go out to dinner with his mommy when he made plans for us without talking to me first. Or that totally hysterical time on our honeymoon when he hid the video camera in the corner of our hotel room and secretly taped us having sex. Isn't he just precious?
Now I know that I'm the one that left him, and, believe it or not, I don't regret it for even one second. But, I also don't need to hear how one of the lowest life forms on earth is managing to get by just fine and living large, irrespective of how tired his one working neuron probably is.
So although I understand that you're probably imparting this information as a means of "keeping me in the loop" and saving me from any upsetting surprises, I think we should really stick to the topic of exfoliating, and maybe in-grown hairs. There should really be only one form of torture when you're getting waxed, so why don't you just give me another Brazilian, and we'll call it a day.
All the best,
My Life is God's Comic Strip
But in all honesty, and not meaning any offense whatsoever, I really REALLY don't need to hear how my cheap, mother-fucking wife-beating ex-husband is wining and dining your relative at the trendiest and most expensive restaurants in town. Or how he spoils her with gifts, or how he's considered the most handsome young man in our community.
I don't appreciate being told that although people have warned her about him, his handsome good looks, charm, and expensive sports car are slowly but surely winning her over. (Being on Satan's payroll pays quite well, in case you were wondering.)
Yes, I remember the good-old days, when he was so charming, he threw me out of that expensive sports car in the middle of a residential area and went running to his mommy's house because he lost his temper at someone else, and I was trying to calm him down. Or the loving way he used to proclaim that he missed having sex with other women, even though I was always more than eager. Or the adorable little gifts he used to give me, like a punch or two in the arm because I was too tired to go out to dinner with his mommy when he made plans for us without talking to me first. Or that totally hysterical time on our honeymoon when he hid the video camera in the corner of our hotel room and secretly taped us having sex. Isn't he just precious?
Now I know that I'm the one that left him, and, believe it or not, I don't regret it for even one second. But, I also don't need to hear how one of the lowest life forms on earth is managing to get by just fine and living large, irrespective of how tired his one working neuron probably is.
So although I understand that you're probably imparting this information as a means of "keeping me in the loop" and saving me from any upsetting surprises, I think we should really stick to the topic of exfoliating, and maybe in-grown hairs. There should really be only one form of torture when you're getting waxed, so why don't you just give me another Brazilian, and we'll call it a day.
All the best,
My Life is God's Comic Strip
Thursday, July 14, 2005
The Root of EVERY Word is Greek
Um, so I was away last week in Heaven, also known as Greece. Probably the BEST vacation I have ever been on. And that's saying a lot when you took your honeymoon in Tahiti and Bora Bora for three weeks in over-water bungalows.....
Spawn and my best friend were with me, as were 350 single, young, attractive, wealthy (ahem), Jewish people from all over Europe and America.
Of course seeing as how there are so many nice Jewish men to choose from, my best friend, Spawn and I ended up meeting three Greek guys on holiday, and spent most of our time partying with them. Because really, who the hell goes to Greece to meet Jewish men.
Needless to say, my dear overbearing Jewish mother was not impressed. Even more needless to say, I couldn't give a damn if I tried.
If you have never been to Greece (it was my first trip) and enjoy good food, weather, music, warm friendly people and dancing on furniture until the sun comes up, I highly recommend a trip.
Spawn and my best friend were with me, as were 350 single, young, attractive, wealthy (ahem), Jewish people from all over Europe and America.
Of course seeing as how there are so many nice Jewish men to choose from, my best friend, Spawn and I ended up meeting three Greek guys on holiday, and spent most of our time partying with them. Because really, who the hell goes to Greece to meet Jewish men.
Needless to say, my dear overbearing Jewish mother was not impressed. Even more needless to say, I couldn't give a damn if I tried.
If you have never been to Greece (it was my first trip) and enjoy good food, weather, music, warm friendly people and dancing on furniture until the sun comes up, I highly recommend a trip.
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.)
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.
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: GREAT. YESS . YESSSS> YESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!
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
MLIGCS: I KNOW
Spawn: are you crying???
Spawn: THERE'S NO CRYING IN SEX
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)
Spawn: SHE'S CRYING SIR
Spawn: and THERE'S NO CRYING IN SEX
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: MLIGCS: I HAVE NO IDEAAAA
Spawn: Heinrich: are you ok?!!
Spawn: MLIGCS: APPARENTLY NOTTTT
Spawn: Heinrich: was it that bad??
MLIGCS: hate
MLIGCS: you
Spawn: MLIGCS: NOOO not at all.....it 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
Spawn: BAAAHAHAHA
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
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: GREAT. YESS . YESSSS> YESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!
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
MLIGCS: I KNOW
Spawn: are you crying???
Spawn: THERE'S NO CRYING IN SEX
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)
Spawn: SHE'S CRYING SIR
Spawn: and THERE'S NO CRYING IN SEX
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: MLIGCS: I HAVE NO IDEAAAA
Spawn: Heinrich: are you ok?!!
Spawn: MLIGCS: APPARENTLY NOTTTT
Spawn: Heinrich: was it that bad??
MLIGCS: hate
MLIGCS: you
Spawn: MLIGCS: NOOO not at all.....it 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
Spawn: BAAAHAHAHA
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).
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.
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.
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
Update
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.
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.
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.
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
Appropriate
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......
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
I'm on a NEED TO KNOW Basis, People!!!
*ring*ring*
Hi Mom. What's up?
Nothing, just called to say hello. See how you are.
I'm fine. Anything new in the last nine minutes since I've talked to you?
No, nothing new, I just forgot to tell you that I saw your ex the other day. Out with his mom of course.
....Really?
Yes, but he looked terrible. I mean, really bad. He lost a lot of weight, and he was wearing this tight sweater that showed off all of these muscles. He looked gay, like one of those metrosexuals. Just terrible. Yuck.
(Slight pause) Let me get this straight. You called to tell me that he lost all the weight he gained after we got married and now his muscles are bulging out of his clothes? You called to tell me he looks like the well maintained men that take care of their appearance to the point where they look as good as gay men? You actually called to TELL ME THIS?!?!
*....*
Okay Mom, I'm going to get off the phone now. And I'm going to call the phone company to change my number so that you can NEVER CALL ME AGAIN.
Hi Mom. What's up?
Nothing, just called to say hello. See how you are.
I'm fine. Anything new in the last nine minutes since I've talked to you?
No, nothing new, I just forgot to tell you that I saw your ex the other day. Out with his mom of course.
....Really?
Yes, but he looked terrible. I mean, really bad. He lost a lot of weight, and he was wearing this tight sweater that showed off all of these muscles. He looked gay, like one of those metrosexuals. Just terrible. Yuck.
(Slight pause) Let me get this straight. You called to tell me that he lost all the weight he gained after we got married and now his muscles are bulging out of his clothes? You called to tell me he looks like the well maintained men that take care of their appearance to the point where they look as good as gay men? You actually called to TELL ME THIS?!?!
*....*
Okay Mom, I'm going to get off the phone now. And I'm going to call the phone company to change my number so that you can NEVER CALL ME AGAIN.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
What Lawyers Really Do
So one of our new clients happens to have a crush on the Ambassador to Evil. She's a matrimonial client, meaning, she's getting a divorce. She met the Ambassador because they share the same trainer. She's one of those wealthy women, manicured, coiffed, with, um, how shall I put this delicately.....some enhancements done to certain body parts. She's also Middle Eastern, like me. The Ambassador is extremely successful in his career and is a devoted family man. He is probably the most handsome attorney at this firm with a terrifyingly sharp wit. He is affable, good natured and really afraid of what I might say or do next to either torture him or violate firm policy.
Her flirting makes him uncomfortable, mainly because he knows that the beatings she claims to have suffered at the hands of her husband are nothing compared to the beat down she would get from Mrs. Ambassador. Clearly a woman to be reckoned with.
I was showing the new client out of the firm after a meeting when she asked whether the Ambassador was in so she could say hi. Yeah, say hi. Of course, I took her straight to his office, because any discomfort he feels is clearly pure entertainment for me.
The minute he came into view, her entire demeanor changed into that of a sixteen year old girl talking to the high school quarterback. I think she even twirled her hair around a finger. She leaned into his door post, sing-songed hello in her sexy Middle Eastern accent, how are you, just stopped by to say hi, to him. And he looked over her head at me, his eyes boring laser beams into my head because he knew I brought her over for my own entertainment. He turned red, answered her politely, but in a very curt, business-like manner and we left.
I came back to his office, and he stood there, shaking his head.
"What's the matter my little chickpea?" I asked him in my best Middle Eastern accent.
"Are you sad to see your little pita leave?"
I then draped myself around his door post, "Hello Ambassador, I just stopped by to say hello. Do you want to taste my babaganoosh? It's the best in town."
"GET OUT!!! GET OUT!!! GET OUT!!!!"
I love my job.
Her flirting makes him uncomfortable, mainly because he knows that the beatings she claims to have suffered at the hands of her husband are nothing compared to the beat down she would get from Mrs. Ambassador. Clearly a woman to be reckoned with.
I was showing the new client out of the firm after a meeting when she asked whether the Ambassador was in so she could say hi. Yeah, say hi. Of course, I took her straight to his office, because any discomfort he feels is clearly pure entertainment for me.
The minute he came into view, her entire demeanor changed into that of a sixteen year old girl talking to the high school quarterback. I think she even twirled her hair around a finger. She leaned into his door post, sing-songed hello in her sexy Middle Eastern accent, how are you, just stopped by to say hi, to him. And he looked over her head at me, his eyes boring laser beams into my head because he knew I brought her over for my own entertainment. He turned red, answered her politely, but in a very curt, business-like manner and we left.
I came back to his office, and he stood there, shaking his head.
"What's the matter my little chickpea?" I asked him in my best Middle Eastern accent.
"Are you sad to see your little pita leave?"
I then draped myself around his door post, "Hello Ambassador, I just stopped by to say hello. Do you want to taste my babaganoosh? It's the best in town."
"GET OUT!!! GET OUT!!! GET OUT!!!!"
I love my job.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Come Here
Okay, so I'm a bitch. Well, only sort of. You see, he had a bottle of white already chilled in the fridge depending on whether I wanted red or white. And he bought a few different types of cheese, including something spicy, because I told him I like spicy food. And he even got fruit (fruit!), and crackers, and fancy bread. Oh, and olives, yummy Greek olives. And he was ready on time. And even though rain was predicted, the weather was idyllic. It was perfect, fluffy white clouds, sun, warm air, no humidity. Just perfect. I've never thrown a football, but we brought it anyway, because I'm a fast learner (and my clumsiness will only endear me to him).
After three-quarters of the bottle, some cheese, some laughing, and some football tossing (which I'm pretty good at apparently), we were lazing about on the blanket, teasing each other about something. He was leaning back on his elbows, with his knees up, and I was casually leaning on one of his knees.
And then he said "Come here." And I froze. Because now he wanted to kiss me, but he wanted me to physically move my body, my head, and my lips towards his for our first kiss. And I couldn't. So I made some dumb joke about "not in front of the kids" meaning the ones on the blanket 10 feet away from us, blushed furiously, and told him I'm uncomfortable with public displays of affection.
See, I hate the "come here" for a first kiss. I was on the fence with the guy, not sure if I was attracted to him or not. But the minute I heard those words, I jumped off that fence to the opposite side of where he was. The "come here" puts the power in my hands, and gives me time to think before acting. If I'm on the fence and I have to think about whether to kiss a guy or not, then I'm just not going to kiss him. And painful awkwardness ensues. The "come here" forces me to be the physical aggressor, and although I have a big mouth and a pretty healthy confidence level, I'm not comfortable doing that initially. Most women aren't. Unless the chemistry is palpable (and it rarely is) then I'm not doing the kissing.
I almost said, "No, you want to kiss me. YOU come here." It's like when someone calls your house and asks "who is this?" without identifying themselves. "Um, well, you're calling my house, who are you?"
I think that if a man wants to kiss a woman for the first time, he should just kiss her. He should maneuver himself in such a way that he can cradle her face in his hands and lean in for a kiss. He shouldn't ask for permission (for the love of god, just kill yourself if you have to ask for permission) and he shouldn't be directing her to do anything either, including "come here."
I'm not a romantic, I'm really not. The number of times I've burst out laughing while some idiot was professing poetic images of his feelings are many; I have no qualms about telling a guy to get a hold of himself if he gets mushy too early. And I'm not looking for the Eiffel Tower and fireworks as a backdrop to a first kiss, but even jaded girls like me would like a guy who at least takes the first step, who makes the move to initiate physical intimacy. And the move does not include verbal directions.
Next!
After three-quarters of the bottle, some cheese, some laughing, and some football tossing (which I'm pretty good at apparently), we were lazing about on the blanket, teasing each other about something. He was leaning back on his elbows, with his knees up, and I was casually leaning on one of his knees.
And then he said "Come here." And I froze. Because now he wanted to kiss me, but he wanted me to physically move my body, my head, and my lips towards his for our first kiss. And I couldn't. So I made some dumb joke about "not in front of the kids" meaning the ones on the blanket 10 feet away from us, blushed furiously, and told him I'm uncomfortable with public displays of affection.
See, I hate the "come here" for a first kiss. I was on the fence with the guy, not sure if I was attracted to him or not. But the minute I heard those words, I jumped off that fence to the opposite side of where he was. The "come here" puts the power in my hands, and gives me time to think before acting. If I'm on the fence and I have to think about whether to kiss a guy or not, then I'm just not going to kiss him. And painful awkwardness ensues. The "come here" forces me to be the physical aggressor, and although I have a big mouth and a pretty healthy confidence level, I'm not comfortable doing that initially. Most women aren't. Unless the chemistry is palpable (and it rarely is) then I'm not doing the kissing.
I almost said, "No, you want to kiss me. YOU come here." It's like when someone calls your house and asks "who is this?" without identifying themselves. "Um, well, you're calling my house, who are you?"
I think that if a man wants to kiss a woman for the first time, he should just kiss her. He should maneuver himself in such a way that he can cradle her face in his hands and lean in for a kiss. He shouldn't ask for permission (for the love of god, just kill yourself if you have to ask for permission) and he shouldn't be directing her to do anything either, including "come here."
I'm not a romantic, I'm really not. The number of times I've burst out laughing while some idiot was professing poetic images of his feelings are many; I have no qualms about telling a guy to get a hold of himself if he gets mushy too early. And I'm not looking for the Eiffel Tower and fireworks as a backdrop to a first kiss, but even jaded girls like me would like a guy who at least takes the first step, who makes the move to initiate physical intimacy. And the move does not include verbal directions.
Next!
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Match.hell Statistics After Two Weeks
291 emails.
272 winks.
4271 profile views.
One bad date.
One so-so date.
And the two most ridiculous emails I've received so far (because I can't decide which is worse) and it just makes me mad to have to read this shit:
Subject: Hi, .. Oh yes, indeed ...
Wednesday, May 18th, 2005
Knock, Knock, Knock, ..
Hi & Good Afternoon _____ny75,
To You in New York ...
From the heartlands of the Cotswolds, in Gloucestershire, England ...
Lots of Smiles ...
I have Read Your Profile ...
With
Lots of Smiles ...
I'll start with an Introduction ..
Name ...
Alexander-Marc ...
Lots of Smiles ...
A'bientot
Alexander
Ps
Profile & Photograph(s) to follow ...
Subject: if u say yes
I will say yes. allright so what I am in India but it is still existing on the same planet and we are just fasr by day and night. if I am the day you are my night and if I am night you are my night.difference of day and night can be great
---------------------------------------------------------
What the fuck is this?! Is everybody on earth crazy or is it just me? Is there some secret plan to make me crazy? Go sell crazy somewhere else. I'm all stocked up.
272 winks.
4271 profile views.
One bad date.
One so-so date.
And the two most ridiculous emails I've received so far (because I can't decide which is worse) and it just makes me mad to have to read this shit:
Subject: Hi, .. Oh yes, indeed ...
Wednesday, May 18th, 2005
Knock, Knock, Knock, ..
Hi & Good Afternoon _____ny75,
To You in New York ...
From the heartlands of the Cotswolds, in Gloucestershire, England ...
Lots of Smiles ...
I have Read Your Profile ...
With
Lots of Smiles ...
I'll start with an Introduction ..
Name ...
Alexander-Marc ...
Lots of Smiles ...
A'bientot
Alexander
Ps
Profile & Photograph(s) to follow ...
Subject: if u say yes
I will say yes. allright so what I am in India but it is still existing on the same planet and we are just fasr by day and night. if I am the day you are my night and if I am night you are my night.difference of day and night can be great
---------------------------------------------------------
What the fuck is this?! Is everybody on earth crazy or is it just me? Is there some secret plan to make me crazy? Go sell crazy somewhere else. I'm all stocked up.
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