Greetings from Bum-Fuck

I’m in Missouri, or as they like to call it here, Missour-ah. I will be in Missour-ah until Labor Day weekend for a trial. Don’t be jealous, it’s not attractive. I’m actually not only in Missour-ah, but I’m in one of the deepest darkest corners of the “Show Me” State (Show me what? I have no idea because in all honesty, there’s NOTHING here I want to see).

For some reason, everyone keeps asking if I’m from New York, even though I’ve tried my gosh golly darndest to be as sweet and nice as peach pie. I haven’t lost my temper once and I haven’t even rushed anyone to move faster than their regular speed of neutral bordering on reverse.

Scenes from My Cousin Vinny keep flashing across my mind, and I live in constant fear while I drive with the radio on and the windows down that some state trooper is going to pull me over, confiscate my CD, chuck me under the chin with my driver’s license and tell me “there’s no dancin’ in these here parts. Preacher don’t allow it.”

Some older gentleman near the courthouse leaned in real close yesterday, leering and asked, after winking at me, whether I was Indian. I wasn’t sure if he meant dots or feathers, but I just skee-dadled away from him as fast as my stilettos allowed.

Being of Middle Eastern descent, I contemplated lying and telling everyone I was I-talian before coming here. But something about lying about my background bothers me. This is still America, after all. So I lied and told him I was Israeli, close enough, but not as inflammatory as the real deal. He made some weird ooooo-ing sound and has left me alone since.

Missour-ah is not that bad. Everybody is real friendly, and the truck to person ratio is about 3 to 1. I’m off to decide which fine dining establishment I want to eat at tonight, this will probably be my hardest decision of the day. Hhhhmmm, Olive Garden, Outback Steakhouse…..Fuck it, I’ll splurge and order pizza. Can’t go wrong with pizza. It’s like sex, even when it’s bad, it’s still kinda good.

Saturday Night Fever

- I found you an apartment, exactly in the area you wanted.

- No way Mom!

- Yes, the guy is getting married and he’s giving up his place. It’s an illegal rental, so no lease to worry about. Come to his wedding on Saturday night with me, his landlord will be there, she’s a little old lady; make nice to her, she’ll love you, you’ll get a great apartment.

- Shit, I have to come to his wedding? I hate these weddings, everyone stares at you and gossips.

- Look what’s the big deal, you spend one night with your mom, one wedding, and then you get a great place to live in.

- Fine. The things I have to do to find decent housing in this city.

Saturday night……

- Hey, didn’t you go out with that guy a few years ago?

- Who? The one with the hair plugs? Yeah, I did. Look, he’s here with someone. I think that’s a ring on her finger. Oh he was a nice guy, I’m happy for him…..Bartender, glass of white wine please.

23 minutes later……..

- Um, MLIGCS?

- Yeah Mom?

- Isn’t that your ex-boyfriend?

- Oh my god, I haven’t seen him since we got engaged and I left him for my ex-husband. Ohhhh, look at his wife, she’s gorgeous. And, wait, does she look pregnant to you?

- Yeah, maybe only a few months, but pregnant. She’s really tall, and so thin, even pregnant.

- Yes, I see that. Thanks Mom…..Bartender, vodka. Rocks.

17 minutes later……

- Oh dear lord, there’s my ex-mother-in-law. I didn’t know she was going to be here. I haven’t seen her since I left my motherfucking wife-beating ex. Jesus, could this night get any worse?

- Well, actually…..

- IS THAT MY motherfucking wife beating ex-husband?!?!?! AND HE’S HERE WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND?!?!?!? I didn’t know she’s a blond…..What the fuck is going on? This was supposed to be a wedding, not a goddamn convention. Bartender, whiskey. Neat. Actually, just give me the damn bottle.

The Real Reason They're Called Blind

The problem with going on a bazillion blind dates is that when you meet someone, on the bazillion and one blind date, who, once AGAIN, misrepresented themselves and looks nothing like their picture, you basically want to throw a drink in your own face so the alcohol can burn your retinas and optical nerves up into your brain and kill the neurons holding the image of their ugly lying face from your mind as you blindly grope your way out of the bar.

Produce is in Aisle Three

I know it doesn't say "turnip" across my forehead. The reason I know this is because I've caught glimpses of myself in various mirrors on occasion, and my forehead is blank. No writing, no scribbles, no signs, no doodles.

So I'm always amazed when someone attributes to me the intelligence levels of a vegetable. Not that there's anything wrong with turnips, per se, but really, everyone knows they're not as smart as asparagus or a particularly advanced cauliflower.

My girlfriend and I both met a guy whose romantic overtures we each rejected (unbeknownst to either of us at the time). And then, I receive a very curious email from him, months and months later.

The email asked about life, what's going on, singledom, the usual tripe. And oh so casually let me know he sent my girlfriend an email that went unanswered.

In response to my brilliantly witty and interesting reply letting him know that we are still single, he decides to offer himself as a prospective candidate. TO BOTH OF US. The, "hey there's always a great guy here in [somewhere that totally sucks] if ever your friend or you have interest ;)". (Don't even get me started on the emoticon).

Gentlemen, please, pay attention to the following: If a woman ignores you, don't try to circumvent her rejection by backdooring in through her friends. Women, although crazy and emotional on occasion, ARE NOT STUPID. I AM NOT STUPID. Oh, and I'm also not a pimp.

And please, for the love of god and all things holy and sacred on this good earth, you don't let a woman know she's part of your lineup. Seriously, fishing operations need to be covert. Not, "Hey, I'll take you, or your friend, or even that woman standing off to your left..."

Matters of the heart are delicate, and should be treated as such. Dipshit.

Conversation Snippets of Interest

My first drink ever was a flaming shot of 151.

What's that?

It's a shot of 151, lit on fire.

Oh.......Do you blow it out first?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey, I know this is a long shot, but my old college roommate, from about 12 years ago, lives in the town you used to live in for a while. You wouldn't happen to know Mr. Drives an Embarrassingly Loud Muscle Head Car That is the Total Antithesis of Him Being a Doctor would you?

Mr. Drives an Embarrassingly Loud Muscle Head Car That is the Total Antithesis of Him Being a Doctor? Hhmmm? Oh yeah,yeah, I think I know him. I went out on a couple of dates with him.
What?! You actually know him?

Listen, if he's single and Jewish, and in the State of New York at some point in his life, chances are I dated him.

Where did you guys meet?

On JDate.

Are you still on it?

No.

Why?

Because there's only a finite supply of men on JDate.....
---------------------------------------------------
MLIGCS: Listen, guys, we appreciate your interest in chatting us up and buying us drinks, but really, we're waaaay too old for you.

Ridiculously Hot Guy Whose Breath Still Smells Like Breast Milk: There's no way you're older than me.

MLIGCS: How old are you?

Ridiculously Hot Guy Whose Breath Still Smells Like Breast Milk: 24.

MLIGCS: Oh. I guess we're the same age.....Wanna dance?
----------------------------------------------------------
MLIGCS: Is that a hair growing out of the mole on her upper lip?

Friend: (shudders) I think so.

MLIGCS: It's really long.

Friend: I know, it's scary looking.

MLIGCS: It's thick like a pubic hair, but it's sticking straight out.

Friend: Yup. Do you think she knows its there?

MLIGCS: She probably uses it to floss.

Meow

MLIGCS: Look, I really don't want her to come out with us tonight, she's not any fun, and she's a total cock-block.

Girlfriend: Oh, stop being such a baby, she won't cause any trouble. And we're all going out in a group, so you'll have a good buffer.

Four hours later.....

Young strapping male in a group talking to Cock-block says to me:

Hey, Cock-block says you're crazy. She says you're the total crazy one in the group.

Really? That's funny. Yes, actually I am. I'm Crazy. But she's Easy. So gentlemen, start your engines.

If the Shoe Fits.....

In response to this on my match.com profile: "I don't like pedicures because I can't stand anyone touching my feet. I don't like manicures because I don't have the patience to sit around and watch nail polish dry"

I get this:

Dear MLIGCS,

I was searching through the on-line personals and came across your profile.

You seem like a very nice person and one who I think I have a lot in common. Of course, I do have a foot fetish and hope this will not be a problem for you. I love everything about feet. I like socks too. If I like a woman, I want to sleep with her socks. And sometimes, put my penis in her socks. I also can only reach an orgasm when I get a "foot job" and find nothing more sexually arousing then bringing a woman to climax with my foot. Some men are turned on by watching "fisting" films, but my library consists of "footing" films.

Have you seen the work of Troy McFoote? He has been in such films as"Footing Angels", "Something is afoot in Savanah's bedroom", "2 Feet from Heaven" and "Footsie and Tootsie go to Washington." (The latter has an anal footing scene that won an AVF award).

I suspect the reason I like feet so much is that I do not have arms. Well, no arms below the elbow. (I thought I should mention that also.) Some women are turned on by stubs, which I often cover with a vibrating steel cover. But, come to think of it, the stubs actually look like little feet, so this too may be problematic. I hope not.

I think in every other way I am the perfect man for you.

I anxiously await your reply.
The Foot Master

I love my friends.....

Admitting You Have a Problem is the First Step

Try to tell me that I can't have something, and now....I. Have. To. Have. It. Try to tell me that you're not interested in me, and now....I think I love you.

It's always the way. "Hhhmmm, not so sure if I'm really that into him" turns into "Oh my god, what am I going to doooooo, I'll never find anyone like him agaiiiiiin. Waaaaaaaa" when you break up.

"Yeah, he's ok I guess" becomes "He's soooo amazing, I love everything about him and want to have babies with him" the minute you find out he's dating other people.

Your backup becomes Bachelor(ette) Number One the minute you find out you're actually their backup. Sucker.

Losing the power (power you only THOUGHT you had, when in reality, you had NOTHING BUT DELUSIONS OF YOUR OWN DESIRABILITY) will always turn a confident, relaxed person in the dating world into a sniveling pile of insecurity, chock full of aberrant behavior, pathetic phone calls, and that desperate nervous little giggle every time they're with the other person.

Happens to me all the time. I just found out that a girl on my trip to Greece thought one of the guys I was interested in was cute. His "cuteness" has just tripled for no reason other than the smell of competition and that his options have just expanded beyond me. Now, He Must Be Mine.

My friend, on a date with a woman last night that he was sort of interested in, is very depressed today. Because last night, she revealed that she's dating someone else as well, and is...torn between them. Now, he loves her.

"What?! I'm NOT your One and Only?.....But I think we're soul mates destined to be together by the gods; it's written in the stars. Yes, I just realized it this second. What's your point?"

Puh-leeze

Irony, (no, not a black fly in your chardonnay...) is when you stop seeing someone, rejoin the internet dating site you met him on, and get an email from the site with your "potential matches" where he (out of thousands) happens to be highlighted as one of your perfect matches. I mean really.

Kindergarten Hath No Fury Like A Grown Man Scorned

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.

Quote of the Day

When god closes a door, he always opens a window, because you can't throw yourself out of a door.

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.

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

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.

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.