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.)

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.

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

"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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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......

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

The Art of Lying

A false statement deliberately presented as being true, a falsehood; something meant to deceive or give a wrong impression: LIE.

A false statement deliberately presented as being true, a falsehood; something meant to deceive or give a wrong impression while speaking to one's meddlesome, overbearing Jewish relatives: SELF PRESERVATION.

I'm attempting to teach my dear, naive little sister how to lie to my mother and grandmother, and pretty much any crazy relative we might have. Yes, this will take awhile.

She met a boy that my family heartily approves of. He's good on paper and my family would sell any one of us to a guy that's good on paper for a couple of goats and some jasmine if they could. (As Middle Eastern Jews, we clearly have different priorities).

And now, the endless questions and prying have begun. "So, did he call?" "When did he call?" "What did he say when he called?" "What did you say when he called?" "Does he want to see you?" "When does he want to see you?" (I think you get the drift).

And my darling little widgeon of a sister all doe-eyed, trustingly answers all of their questions, thinking they're trying to help her. But she doesn't know they're actually looking at her like the wolf looks at Bugs Bunny when he wants to eat him, with a big red apple stuffed in her mouth and miniature chef hats on her legs. They want to get her married off as soon as humanly and legally possible.

So I of course feel compelled to run interference. Because I'm not going to let her be the Play Your Cards Right Girl. So I answer for her. "No, he didn't call. He's not interested. She told me. Leave her alone." Of course, he's called her every day. But if they know, if they are given any confidential information they will use it to torture, break down and harass my little widgeon into insecurity and desperation (I'd like to offer Exhibit One, her neurotic older sister, me, as proof of the veracity of that statement).

She knows to follow my lead when I answer for her. My mom looks at me, "I didn't ask you if he called. I asked your sister." And I say, "Mom, do you really want to make her talk about it and feel bad all over again?" And my little actress takes her cue, puts her head down, looking all sad. And my mom looks back and forth, trying to gauge the situation, because she already knows I'm not to be trusted, but she doesn't know I've got my sister in a crash course for manipulation and lying.

And she foolishly tries to circle in and attack from another angle, very sweetly this time, "But I just want to know if he called you?"

And my sister looks back and forth between us, not quite sure which way to go.

Lady, I see you coming from a mile away. "Mom, don't you think she would have told you if he called? (creating a false sense of security). Why are you trying to make it worse for her? (creating guilt). Leave her alone. (Looking at her levelly, maintaining full eye contact) Mom, he didn't call her. (Then the clincher - leaning and whispering conspiratorially) I'll tell you about it later."

Now she thinks I'm going to impart some sort of gossipy information that my sister is too upset to talk about.

As comprehension dawns on her face, my mother says, "Ohhh, okay, I understand."

And my sister looks at me in awe that I've not only managed to deflect this onslaught of questioning, but I've managed to create a situation where my mom will actually feel bad about bringing it up to her for fear of stirring up any residual negative feelings.

See, I think that an emotionally and mentally healthy, beautiful, intelligent 19 year old needs to date without pressure to get married. Because that's just crazy talk. No Grandma, no one NO ONE gets married at 19 anymore. BECAUSE THE BRIDE'S NOT EVEN OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK AT HER OWN DAMN WEDDING!

In private I grab her by the shoulders and tell her "Don't let them get to you. DON'T TELL THEM ANYTHING. ANYTHING." Repeat after me: "I will not be a Stepford wife. I will not be a Stepford wife."

Who knows, in a few months she might be as good a liar as I am to them, and then she can sneak off to Vegas with a secret boyfriend like I did at her age. It just takes practice.

Rules of Engagement for the On-Line Dating Impaired

1. Do not send me four charming and flattering emails, get my number, and then NOT call.

2. Do not use LOL in any communication with me. If you write LOL after something you've written, it makes what might have been funny NOT FUNNY AT ALL. I am not a studio audience that needs to be told when to laugh.

3. If you ask me out on a date, don't tell me you only want to meet for 20 minutes because "you've been on so many of these and you'd rather not waste your time if there's no chemistry." First of all, NO ONE has been on more dates than me. Second, if you can't spend an hour or two getting to know someone you've gone out of your way to meet on-line, then you're a narcissistic douchebag who doesn't deserve even one minute of my time, much less 20.

4. Do not send me more than one email. If I don't respond to your first email, the rest of them trying to cajole me into talking to you only make you seem like the psycho stalker you probably are.

5. Do not contact me if you don't have a picture of yourself posted in your profile. If you offer to send me one, and then I don't respond, now we both suck. You because you're ugly, me because I come across as a shallow bitch. Just post your ugly picture to begin with, so that you can get ignored like everyone else.

6. Do not have misspellings or incorrect grammar in your profile. You sound stupid.

7. Do not send me one sentence, grammatically incorrect emails like "your hott" or "How're ya doin hot stuff." By the way, "ya" is NOT a word.

8. Do not contact me if you're old enough to be my father.

9. Do not contact me if I'm old enough to have been your baby sitter.

10. Do not contact me if you live more than an hour away. I don't care how often you come to New York, I'm not a goddamn tour guide and I'm NOT going to be your booty call while you're in town.

11. Do not write about how handsome or good looking you are in your profile. That's what the picture is for. If you need to say you're good looking, you're probably not.

12. Do not write cliche lines like, "looking for a partner in crime", "I work hard and play hard", "I like a night on the town and I like a quiet night at home", "I like to take advantage of all this City has to offer." Not only do you sound stupid (see #6) you also sound like you have the personality of a wet paper towel.

13. Do not talk about your mother in your profile. (This should be self-explanatory).

14. Do not expect me to sleep with you on the first date. Lawyer does not mean HOOKER. (contrary to what you may have heard)

15. And most importantly, don't lie in your profile about your marital status, your child-having status, your level of education or anything that I can find out about you by doing a search on the wide variety of legal databases available to me. Dumbass.

Dating Advice From the Happily Married

My best friend has helped me devise a way to weed through the gagillion emails I've gotten on the dating site:

I think you should create a stock response. Maybe with a questionnaire... actually let's make it a contest. Oooh... I'm liking this.
Ok...

Round I
1) What is your favorite movie quote and why?
2) What kind of shoes are you wearing right now?
3) I have a hangover, what do you recommend?
4) We go away on romantic vacation to a beautiful, secluded spot. After lounging on our private beach for the day, we return to our bungalow and the butler tells you that your mother has called and would like you to call her back. What do you do? (this is a trick question - most points for "that's impossible, I wouldn't give my mother the number").

Based on the number of responses we could narrow it down to the top 10, have a second round, and then the top 3 get dates.

Round II
1) Write a haiku about your last relationship. (This is another semi-trick question. The grading, on a 1-10 scale would go something like this.)
0 points - they don't get the 5-7-5 right.... or any haiku such as the following: the wheel of romance, all I have left are pictures, my russian jackpot (what my ex used to call his ex-girlfriend while we were married)
1-7 points - any haiku about a past relationship
8-10 points - any haiku denying that there were any past relationships, 10 points if they compliment you as well
2) A person dies, and arrives at the gate to heaven. There are three doors - one of them leads to heaven, another one leads to a 1-day stay at hell, and then back to the gate, and the other leads to a 2-day stay at hell, and then back to the gate. Every time the person is back at the gate, the three doors are reshuffled. How long will it take the person to reach heaven?
Scoring should be based upon accurately answering the question (5 points) plus relevant religious musings (5 points).

This is the same great friend that used to console me when I would complain that I'm going to be single forever, by pointing out that actually one day I'm going to die.

Today's post will not attempt to be funny

Last night, one of my sister's friends was killed in a car accident. Alcohol, racing and drugs were not involved. He swerved to get out of another car's way, his car "went off the road" and hit a brick wall. He was pronounced dead at the scene. He was 25 years old.

I had a conversation with my uncle's wife on Friday night about religious belief. She is very spiritual, if not ardent about practicing, and truly believes in God. She believes, as many many do, that if you do good, it will come back to you. Conversely, your bad actions will only reap upon you the seeds you've sown. That there is a Plan, and God's role in this world may not be detail oriented, but is active nonetheless.

She insisted that we cannot understand God and his actions and this Plan he's got. She tried to impress upon me that even if I don't believe in religion or God, I should believe that my actions have consequences. That I have to believe in the goodness of mankind.

I disagreed with her. Sometimes, what life doles out is the thing of nightmares, like a mother losing her 25 year old son in a meaningless car accident. But this ideology tends to manufacture explanations and create answers for situations that are inexplicable.

I don't subscribe to the rewards/punishment-Judeao/Christian school of thought. I don't believe in a God that I don't understand, who has created a world where his presence is supposed to have a positive impact, but really doesn't. I told her people should be good and do the right thing as an end in and of itself, regardless of potential outcomes. I refuse to believe a person's actions dictates their fate, and that somehow blame can be a factor in explaining the unexplainable. I refuse to believe in some Plan by some being out there which indiscriminately causes happiness and pain. What is she really asking me to believe in?

I believe that I have to be a good person. I believe that I have to treat others with respect, kindness and love. I believe that I have to take the high road. I believe that I have to do the right thing every chance I get. And I think I always, always have to do these things, regardless of what happens in my life or in the life of those I love. And I believe that that's where it ends. I don't think I'll be rewarded, I don't think that things will go my way if...., I don't think that anything will happen, except that I did what I could to be a decent person.

Terrible, terrible things happen to wonderful people. Amazing, great things happen to awful people. That's the way this world works. There are no explanations. There are no excuses. There is no way to rationalize it. It is what it is.

This was all I could tell my 19 year old sister as she was sobbing in my arms, asking for answers.

Last night a terrible thing happened to a very wonderful, very special, deeply loved person. I can only say his loss will be sharply felt by everyone that knew him. I can only wish his family and close friends my deepest condolences.

Because of this loss, todays world is not as good as yesterdays.

Once a Sucker, Always a Sucker

My online dating profile is complete. Again.

About Me: No filter between brain and mouth. Can shoot gun. Well.
Languages Spoken: Can cuss in Greek, Hebrew, Farsi, Russian, Italian, French and Arabic. Well.
Pets: Have: Fleas; Don't Have But Would Like: Dog.
Religion: Heathen.
Best Physical Feature: My Rack.
Favorite Foods: Vegan/Barbecue.
Drinking Habits: Hello, my name is _____ and I'm an alcoholic
Smoking Habits: Only to get high.
Who I'm looking for: NO ASSEMBLY REQUIRED (batteries optional).

That sums it up, I think. Let the games begin.