New Olympic Sport Proposal

I just ended one of those weeks where my outlook calendar has more blocks than lines and now, at the end, I am awake as usual at 5:40am, but on a Saturday unfortunately, and with a slightly upset tummy just from all the movin and shakin. I wish I could stay right in this spot for the next 24 hours and not move but I'm going to have to get out of the way at some point because the cleaning lady comes today. Which is ordinarily a good thing but today not so much because I just want to hide under the covers, I don't care that it's sunny out.

See below for how a wannabe-wishIwas-fabulous-but-I'm-ordinary New Yorker's calendar can get. Often. And people wonder why we look so old. Of course that part I will fight with potions and needles and scalpels, forget what they say about black don't crack. It can and does so I'm on the case. And it melts too! Anyhoooooo..let's run through the schedule of the past week. Assume a 6:15am work start time each day ending around 5ish but including all manner of appointments and client lunches during the day. And this is real talk and all happened this week. I just pulled this out of my Blackberry.

Sunday: 2:00pm Brunch with sorority sisters at the marvelous 'Cesca on the UWS. Delish.

Monday: 5:00pm personal trainer followed by 7:00pm show at Caroline's Comedy Club

Tuesday: 4:15am wake up for 60 minutes of cardio before work

6:00pm dinner at Spice Market for which I was 30 minutes late due to C train

Wednesday: 5:30pm gym (6:00pm trainer) followed by a fundraiser at Essex Restaurant

Thursday: 6:30pm spin class followed by dinner which was mercifully cancelled, substituted with Ugly Betty and Real Housewives of NY (on dvr)

Friday: 5:00pm gym for 60 minutes cardio followed by dinner at Asia de Cuba

A noble goal

Yeah I'm bragging on the great gym week I had but what had happened was, I bought this new scale that doesn't lie and the truth hurts. I need to get on it because all those client lunches and dinners and brunches with girlfriends and whatnot add up around the waistline and bootie areas. But not the boobie area unfortunately. The whole thing can really compromise your sexy if you don't watch it.

In Manhattan everyone I know is always like, "Oh, I'm having dinner with friends" or "I have drinks with colleagues/a client" or "I'm on my way to such and such fundraiser, I'm on the board". Or even better, "I got invited to this sort of secret party at this loft in Tribeca" and stuff like that. It's like, a competitive sport which perhaps deserves its own Olympic medal. If ping pong has one then New York socializing should too. The one-upmanship at the water cooler and/or on Facebook is astonishing! 

At work the morning question, "What did you do last night" is inevitably answered with something like, "Oh I went to the Vampire Weekend concert got trashed backstage and woke up in a panic at 4:30am next to a stranger thinking I was in Katmandu." or "Oh I had dinner at [insert fabulous restaurant needing a reservation 10 weeks in advance] with my friend who's friends with Kate Hudson and she stopped by. NOT cute in person." This ritual reaches its zenith on Mondays with the "What did you do this weekend?" but is only surpassed when someone returns tan, always tan, from vacation and you say, "Where did you go?" None of this Disneyland or Bahamas mess. It's always like, "I went to Mauritius to observe the last dodo bird on the planet while hanging from trees upside down and performing cleft palette surgeries on the natives."  "Oh, I didn't know you were a surgeon." "Yeah I was a plastic surgeon before b school but I got bored with it, I just do it as a hobby now." Whenever I overhear or even worse, participate in a conversation like this I just wanna be like, "You're such a liar. You saw that in a movie."

But seriously though, to reference my earlier post "A Sad Day In Gotham" if you don't mention Brunch on Monday morning people will look at you funny. No joke. Gotta do Brunch. 

Of course all of these reports have to be delivered in a blasé tone so as to disguise the speaker's utter delight in one upping your frozen dinner at home in front of the dvr story. Which I frankly tell with relish since I love watching TV so much. And also too, it is VERY important not to be late to work as a result of your social life. It's a rookie mistake and very very bad form. At least on the trading floor. You will be shamed.

So I'm working on a point system to propose "New York Socialite" to the IOC (=International Olympic Committee). There will be three categories of judging: Stamina, Status and Style:

Stamina

+1 point for every half hour less than 8 hours you sleep due to the event

+1 point for every cocktail/glass of wine pounded

+2 points if you make it to work before 7 am the next day

+2 points if you squeeze in the gym (min 30 minutes) the day of event

+2 points if you make it to the gym (min 30 minutes) the day after the event

-5 points for coming into work late the next day, whatever the time is

Status

+1 point if the event is a fundraiser

+1 point if you are on the board at the organization hosting the fundraiser

+2 points for the event being a secret

+2 points for location being membership only (i.e. Soho House)

+2 points for every A list celebrity you see

-2 points for every C or below list celebrity you see

+4 points for every photo published of you at the event in the media

+5 points if you spend over $1000 in one night

+10 points if your name is mentioned in Page Six or any other legit gossip rag/blog

Style

+1 points for every designer piece of clothing you wear to the event

-1 points for poorly manicured hands at the event

+2 points if you get your hair done just for the event

-2 points for looking a mess the next day

-2 points for coming in smelling like booze

+3 points if you get your makeup done just for the event 

+3 points for waking up next to a stranger, bonus +2 if he/she is hot

Under these criteria I get like 1000 points for this week but I'm not a world class player. I'm a small potato, an amateur, not connected, a little fish in a big deep pond. I don't have membership in a fancy club, designer clothes or 1000 bux to drop in one night but I do go to fundraisers and hope one day to sit on the board of one. 

Anyway I'm going to give this point system more thought and continue to refine it. And type it up and send it in. Because if badminton is in there, this should be too. And it's infinitely more exciting.

Drawers

I have a sickness. They say for certain sicknesses the first step to recovery is admission so this shall serve as my admission. Wait, is that the right word? I'm admitting my sickness. I confess.

I'm addicted to drawers.

So today is one of those come-to-Jesus laundry days where I have five loads and tons of folding and some hard decisions to make. I had been robbing Peter to pay Paul with respect to my underwear storage situation. Meaning, some quantity always had to be dirty or else I wouldn't be able to put it all away. But thanks to my brilliant upstairs neighbor who left his tub on all day which then flooded my bathroom and bedroom (my loo is ensuite) earlier this week, I had a massive pile of dirty beach towels to wash. So I figured I'd get up early today and wash EVERYTHING and handle this drawers business. By the way the neighbor apologized with a box of tasty treats from Kyotofu, a cool Japanese bakery nearby...which only kind of annoyed me further since I'm trying to get back in top shape. That's bitchy, huh?

What idiot does this? I lost two hours of sleep to the dripping.

 

Does this make up for my lost sleep and disfigured wall?

Anyway so at this moment (I'm taking a break, my hands are chafed from all this daggone folding) every single panty, bra and lacy thing I own is clean and dry. Except of course the set I am wearing. This fact forces me to confront an ugly but common truth. I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH ROOM! This is the perpetual New Yorker dilemma which makes us disconnect ourselves from our worldly possessions even though the world out there probably thinks we're hopelessly materialistic. We just want the few things we have space for to be really fabulous. Gotta make that one little closet count.

I've just purged everything that has become undesirable for one reason or another. Wires poking out, saggy elastic, bought in a moment of insanity, wrong size, bad fit, muffin top creation...etc. And guess what? I have just enough room for my bras, which take up effectively two drawers. Two drawers of drawers. But wait, that's just the bras not the panties. For every single bra I own I have at least one pair of precisely matching panties. Then I have additional panty inventory coordinating (gotta co-oooordinate) with my bras, for when I shower and change and keep the day going after working out at the gym, and just to have extras, cuz you never know. One thing you do not want to run out of is clean panties.

On the way to the trash since you can't sell it on consignment.

Let's discuss the actual quantity. I have exactly 78 bras exclusive of sports bras of which I have six. This means I have AT LEAST 150 panties of which only 10% are butted (as in not thongs). Maybe I have 200 panties because I really take it seriously when Victoria's Secret says 5 for 25 bux. In this count are only three white bras which for some reason strikes me as odd. Lots of black (12 black only, several more black and something) and nude/mocha/brown. But also lots of purple - 9 bras are lavender or purple, and 8 are pink or mostly pink. Only one navy blue. Actually if I include the navy/white striped one that's real old but holding it down like it's new, I have two.

The predominant brand is Vicky's, obviously, because that's good cheap stuff that you can run for about a year. Plus let's just say I don't fall in the category of needing a serious bra for support's sake, so Vicky's is fine. I also like Calvin Klein, DKNY, On Gossamer and Cosabella. Cosabella is more a panty thing for me because their bras suck. DKNY can be a bit pinchy sometimes. No La Perla or anything über fancy in there yet but maybe one day. 

This count was taken after the purge (see above) and does not include any formats outside of the range of bra and panty, ie tank top/panty sets and other stuff for very special occasions. Which I hope to have some of sometime before the decade is over. That stuff is hanging on padded satin hangers in my closet hopeful to one day get some attention again.

I've been this way for years and years and years. I wonder if it is an odd obsession.

WTF?

This is so bad it just can't be true. I've heard it really references an event where a chimpanzee mauled a woman in Connecticut recently. Alternatively it means the stimulus package is so bad monkeys (plural as in not just Obama) could have written it. I mean, it's not like it is a monkey caricature of Obama. Still, really? Don't people remember what happened with that AT&T long distance commercial back in the day when they showed people on every continent talking on the phone but in Africa it was a monkey? That was seriously bad PR for AT&T. 

Smart people draw these cartoons and edit these papers. They had to know it was gonna kick up a sh*#storm. Whoever let it run did it on purpose. The New York Post needs to increase its circulation in order to sell more advertising. It's a recession I've heard, so ad pages are down. Am I the only one noticing how many two-week issues the New Yorker is doing, and how much thinner Time Out is? Times are rough for print media and so they've stooped to this level. They knew if they pissed Al Sharpton off it would be worth money. My boy Al should get a cut.

Anyway interested in comments on this. What do you think? Post below.

A Sad Day In Gotham

I had the weirdest day out on Sunday. It started fabulously with me engaging in one of Manhattan's favorite pastimes - Brunch. The end...not so much.

If you don't live in NYC you may not understand that Brunch is a verb here, not just a noun. Saturday and Sunday Brunch is kind of a big deal. A way of life. A movement. Brunch foods are foods you don't eat at breakfast or at lunch (such as crab cakes topped with a poached egg) and of course it's the only legitimate occasion to get drunk at 11am or 12 noon. Of course said drunkenness may be induced only by Mimosas or Bloody Marys. Any other drink would be tacky. I guess you can also drink a Bellini or good wine. But no Cosmos or Gin and Tonic at Brunch. And definitely not dark liquor, that just makes you an alcoholic in need of an intervention.

So this Sunday I Brunched with friends from a very Upper East Side volunteer organization I recently joined. (Sidebar: This has been such a great way to meet a whole new group of people. Luvs it!) These ladies Brunch. Alternatively you can "do Brunch", depending on which syntax you prefer. We went to Gascogne, a super cute little French bistro with a fantastic garden in Chelsea on the recommendation of one of my foodie friends. They do a $20 prix fixe three course meal including a drink (ie Mimosa or Bloody Mary). Great deal right? NYC is full of these types of deals especially these days. Of course you end up spending a lot more than that because it's a small Mimosa and everyone is going to order at least one more round. As we did of course. I mean, a sober Brunch is just breakfast.

Gascogne

Brunch was fabulous. I wore a to-die pair of pointy toed 4-inch burgundy suede ankle boots with some skinny jeans and this great Ralph Lauren Black Label purple cashmere kimono sweater. I was feeling quite the New Yorker since who else would wear 4-inch heels with jeans to boozy breakfast? No one else does that but people here, because you can, but it's actually a bit stupid and over the top. But fun.

Then I called a friend to go ice skating because I've been dying to go for like, two years. One of my Brunch companions had given me the skinny on two straight bars in Chelsea so I thought me and this other friend would go ice skating at Chelsea Piers then go for a beer at one of these mythical straight bars. But the stars conspired against us a little bit. Plus it was February 15th and really, what kind of desirable person goes out on the day after Valentine's Day? Or does it matter? Hmmm....

First the Chelsea Piers schedule didn't work with ours so we went to Rockefeller Center since it's closer to Chelsea than Central Park and Bryant Park is Fashion Week right now. Rock Center is actually beautiful and fun and we had a great time once we got through the torture chamber where you pay and rent skates and change your shoes. My personal trainer was texting me about my cardio homework (she assigns me homework expressed in terms of calories to burn between torture sessions) and informed me that one hour of ice skating burns 400 calories! Which is worth almost six vodka shots. We bonded and chatted and laughed and didn't wipe out once. Had the afternoon ended with some hot chocolate at Dean & Deluca and a kiss kiss goodbye at the Subway, it would have been a perfect New York winter day. But no, we went chasing the high. Generally a bad idea.

Dr. Debi Thomas

First stop was The Half King which is a pub/restaurant in Chelsea with a somewhat artsy writer-type straight-ish crowd. But no crowd Sunday night except people drifting in and out to pick up food, and couples with babies and just nothing interesting going on. I guess people didn't have the day off Monday as I did. Or had a Love Hangover from Valentine's Day. Or are economizing because of the recession. At any rate we ate at the bar because we were starving, a game time decision that worked out OK but not great, and then decided to go down to the Meatpacking District to start a ruckus. I would not ordinarily choose this path but we were making spontaneous decisions and I didn't have anything else planned so why not?

Second stop - Spice Market. We sat at the bar next to a very handsome if anxious South Asian gentleman who as it turned out was meeting friends in town from Vancouver for dinner, who were late. Lateness and being made to wait alone apparently bother this guy a lot because he was making love to his Blackberry, like calling his florist, making dentist appointments, checking emails for the tenth time and web surfing, as he waited. No Brickbreaker though. Despite great eye contact and world class flirting and witty chat he didn't bite. His nerdy friends arrived apologizing profusely for being like a half hour late, and off he went. *sigh* Really it was no loss - South Asian men quite rarely marry black girls anyway, so no point in taking it beyond a polite chat at the bar. Wait, that sounded like I'm looking to get married which isn't quite true. In fact it sounded just plain weird and a little too deep and quite awkward but I'm leaving it in because IT'S TRUE. What I mean to convey though, is that no significant relationship would ever develop so the flirting at the bar was plenty. Entertainment.

Spice Market, the section where our gentleman friend and the group of sisters were (separately) seated.

We also saw a group of about eight beautiful sisters (=sistas, ie they weren't necessarily related) all dressed up for a date at Spice Market with each other. Something about that made us both sad. Maybe because they weren't smiling and laughing as though they were each others' date by choice. And also because they had clearly tried (successfully) soooo hard to look pretty. For like, each other or an unknown man or two or six who would rescue them from their suburban solitude. You could tell they didn't live in Manhattan by the big night outness of their vibe. In fact there were a lot of suburbanites and other undesirables - victims of violent fashion crimes (I tried to take a pic but my phone wouldn't pick up the detail), high school d-listers, tourists, ugly people and nerds - because it's Restaurant Week and Spice Market participates at DINNERTIME too. Quel horreur. In so many, many ways. I'm not the biggest fan of Spice Market because the lighting is too dim to see your food or get a surreptitious camera phone pic of anything interesting. I bit into one of those crazy Southeast Asian peppers there once and almost had to be resuscitated.

We next strolled over to Pastis, where I have previously only Brunched, to see what was happening there. Just curious. All the New Yorkers are like "OH NOOOOO!" right now. The crowd was a cliché, as you would expect. A lot of hipster trust fund baby model wannabe types dressed to the nines. Since I'm none of those things and was wearing a J Crew sweater and puffy vest (remember I had just gone ice skating, forgive me) and cowboy boots (the one touch of fabulous, because they're bronze), I wasn't dressed for the occasion and certainly didn't feel the energy of these pathetic fashionistas and divos. My girlfriend and fellow victim of this deteriorating day was decked out a très cool shirt/jacket hybrid thingy covered in zippers and showcasing her enviable decolletage. But that wasn't right for these folks either. Plus those beeyatches were way too ana* for us.

Some ana beeyatches we saw at Pastis

By this point we had long since realized we were chasing something that wasn't there but for some reason we kept going. I don't know why because I know better and really I'm not that desperate girl. I rarely torture myself like this. Maybe I needed something to write about because I am 99% of the time the kind of person who's like, "OK the vibe isn't flowing for me tonight, I'm going home and getting some beauty sleep." But onward we went. The next stop was Revel which is generally reliably packed with a good not self consciously hip but not B&T** crowd, but that night was a ghost town and really just sad and pathetic and depressing. We walked in, I used the loo, and we walked out. We should have called it a night but still, we soldiered on.

The FIFTH STOP was Tortilla Flats, where apparently everyone from NYU had agreed to meet. On a weeknight the crowd has a much better age mix, like at least a couple of grad students, but since we were clearly not in age range there we walked in and right back out. It's a fun place, though, I'll go back on like a Wednesday after work.

Tortilla Flats

We finally found refuge across the street from Tortilla Flats at Barbuto which had a more low key and adult crowd. Low key and adult because they were ALL MARRIED. Nothing but couples having dinner with their couple friends there...and all the husbands were sooooo hot. Hmph. A total tease. A friendly barkeep with great tats, and a so-so glass of Syrah kept us posted up at the bar where we engaged in extensive girl talk and then went home. I was sleeping by 11:15pm and dreaming about moving to London to find another Sting (see: The One Who Got Away posted 2/15/09). London is the only other place I could live except maybe Paris, but neither place has ubiquitous late night delivery so maybe not.

What's the moral of the story? Trying too hard is decidedly unfabulous, a little (ok a lot) pathetic, and can make you fall a bit out of love with this place. Also NYC is not a bar hopping place unless you're barely drinking age. You have to know your spot in advance and commit, and if it doesn't deliver on your expectations, leave and try another day. And also don't go out on Dec 26th, Jan 2, or Feb 15th. It would appear that is a loser move.

GLOSSARY:

*Ana = Anorexic

**B&T = Bridge and tunnel, ie from Jersey or an outer borough. Connotes gaudy and uncool. Acrylic nails and big hair and fake tans and what not.

The One Who Got Away

In honor of Valentine's Day and for the single folks out there, I thought I'd write this one about a lost "love". Everyone has at least one really amazing relationship (of any duration ranging from a one night stand through marriage) that for some reason or another, slipped through their fingers. I have my share although I don't regret a single one because without them, what funny stories would I have to tell? But if I really explore my soul deeply, there is a hook up that I didn't have that if I could turn back time, I would totally totally have. I coulda woulda shoulda.

A couple years ago I had a New Year's Eve party. I threw it together last minute and hosted it alone so I was anxious about whether or not it would come together. But don't you know it did? So many people came! It was really really an awesome time. Somebody in my building called 5-0 so it musta been good, right?

A (male) buddy of mine from college came through with a bunch of British friends. Uh oh. I didn't know it at the time but I was beginning to develop a soft spot for the Brits. I just love the accent, it sounds sexy...what can I say? Anyway he walked through the door with this smashing fella who was tall, slim, with prematurely salt and pepper hair and the most adorable dimples. That and his charming accent really got my attention. Plus he was the life of the party which I really like in a man since I have a strong personality myself. I like a man who can keep up! Let's call him...

Apparently this feeling was mutual so not long after that my college buddy invited me out to meet them one night down in the Meatpacking District. We ended up at APT because I think it was a weekend and there are very few "safe" places down there on a Saturday. You just may end up in an uncool place if you choose unwisely. But APT is reliably Eurotrash upstairs and downstairs the spinner keeps it just obscure enough so the place stays über chic. We met up with a couple of other friends of mine and Sting and I stared into each others' eyes tickling fingers in the candle lit back room until 3am. So intense. My friends were buggin' out...like yo she's into this dude? I think most of my friends have the wrong idea about what I like these days.

(The inside of APT)

Leaving the place, he invited me home with him. I remember it so clearly....

Sting: Come be with me tonight. [holding me close]

Me: I can't, I just met you, I don't know... [turning away]

Sting: Don't worry, it'll be fine. [gently cupping my face]

Me: I'm not that type of girl. [wrenching away]

Sting: Don't be silly, come stay with me! [hand reached out]

Me: I'm sorry, I have to go. Call me? [escape in cab]

This scene literally took place at that crazy intersection in the Meatpacking District in front of Pastis, so imagine it like in the movies because it probably looked like it.

Why didn't I go with him? So many reasons, not the least of which was it was laundry day and also too I hadn't shaved my legs. I remember being concerned about the morning - if I would sleep and wake up pretty, thinking that I needed to floss, and wondering if I had a brush or any eyeliner in my purse. Of course I don't travel with my do-rag and what would he have said about that anyway...or the possible hair disaster the next day? Plus I was feeling pretty fat that day as I recall. It certainly had absolutely nothing to do with him!

I later tried to recreate the magic via some subtle flirting but to no avail, the moment was lost. Now I'm permanently in the friend zone and he calls me "dear" or some other such nonsense. He has a girlfriend too, but I hold out hope that he'll come to his senses and dump her one day. Then I can be like, Trudie Styler. It's been two years but I'm still waiting!

What's that saying? It's better to regret something you did than something you didn't do.

Things I LOVE...

Instead of the post I was planning to put up, I decided to interrupt that programming with this special announcement. Stay tuned for the other one in a few days. This one is time sensitive in case any of the fellas are still shopping, on special request...you know who you are.


Everybody has things they love so much or would love, if they could have them, that they think about them distractedly or obsess over them at night before they fall asleep because they just want them so badly. Please tell me I'm not the only person who does that. Not that I'm materialistic or anything, because I'm not really THAT bad, but I do have my fantasies and they are not all about Taye Diggs. Plus all my things I love aren't necessarily things. But this list is mostly things and expensive ones too cuz I already have all the cheap junk I could ever want.

As each holiday and gift giving occasion passes that I pick out and then purchase (or worse, defer the purchase of) a lovely gift for myself...I have an even fuller inbox full of emails that say, "Black Swan thought you would like this item from [insert high end brand here]". Here's a random sample from my long long long a$$ list...

The Cartier Love Bracelet. The day someone locks this on my wrist I will be over the moon. I don't even have to love him back, I just want somebody to buy it for me since I'm unclear on the protocol of purchasing it for oneself even though I'm in a life long relationship with me. Preferably the version with a little bling. I just think it has such caché. Very classy as they would say on the Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Almost anything by Chanel. This is a massive void in my life. At the moment not even a Chanel lipstick or nail enamel graces my purse. Much less an actual purse. Anyone buying anything for me ever can just go to that boutique on 57th and Madison and handle business.

A six pack. They are so hot on both men and women. I used to have one I swear. I'm still basically holding it down overall but the level of definition I had what seems like moments ago, no longer comes to me after a day fasting. But no worries, I'm on my way back. My trainer is just sadistic enough to bring it out of me. By Spring Break it's gonna be on like Donkey Kong. Too bad I'm too old for Spring Breaking. Anyway you can gift a six pack, Equinox sells gift certificates.

(Note: This is NOT me)

Red roses. I may be unconventional and non traditional and what not, but I am a sucker for a bouquet of flowers. Preferably delivered to my office so everyone can see. Plus roses are fragrant. Actually they stink once reproduced in perfume and candles and such (like doo doo if Andre 3000 tells it) but in real life they smell spectacular and few scents are more lovely or remind me more that someone cares.

A Mackage coat. I will be scouring Filene's and Loehmann's and bluefly.com and netaporter.com to find one of these super warm super fly joints on sale over the next few weeks. Apparently I'm late to the Mackage party but better late than never. If it persists in being insanely cold (and I am not fooled by this 51 degree BS that we got here today in NYC, the wind was a dead giveaway that winter isn't over) then I need to do a better job of looking pulled together when the hawk is in effect. Plus they're cheaper than fur which will be on a future list. Yes, I am a fur wearing (or wannabe wearing) vegetarian. I just don't like meat but fur is the greatest when it's 11 degrees out.

Expensive perfume. It almost doesn't even have to smell good as long as it cost too much money. No seriously, it has to smell delicious. I hate the set from Macy's or Lord & Taylor's. I want the good custom mixed stuff or barring that, something that's exclusive to like Barney's or Bergdorf's or Neiman's. In my inventory now is a bit of Creed, a bit of Hermès, a bottle of Hanae Mori and some other obscure scent...Etro I think. Even that begs an upgrade, I don't have anything customized just yet, but I'll get there.

Alright fellas you have a list that should get you started. Happy Valentine's Day and do the right thing by your loved ones, lest you find yourself asleep on the couch for a week or so.

What would you do?

I usually would wait to post again until Hump Day but I am totally obsessed with this Ike Turner version 2009 ish that is going down. Especially since the market is totally pooping the bed today...I need a distraction. I was glad to see I was wrong and stocks rallied on Friday after that ugly unemployment number...but I thought investors wanted to see the stimulus package passed??? Bad economic figures and the market goes up. Good legislative progress and the market is down. I'm throwing away all my econ textbooks. This bear market is so scary.





But back to the topic at hand. Chris Brown is so over. Like, I don't even think he's cute anymore after how he did my girl RiRi. Messing up her face so bad she had to cancel a party over a week from now! He knows her face is money so he was being vindictive because a lotta times when a dude wails on you goes with the body shots so no one will know. He was trying to ruin her life. I heard a rumor it was over cooties but if that's true he got the cooties AND no career. And his groupie quality is going to seriously deteriorate so he'll have a hard time rebounding. On the other hand RiRi's career is going to get a serious sympathy bounce. And if Paris Hilton can still pull em she certainly won't be slowed down by any health concerns given her status. He's not only a degenerate for hitting her, he's an idiot. What a tool!


I'd like to think if a dude put his had on me both of us would end up in jail for assault but perhaps I'd just cover my face and cry and be like, "oowww please stop!". Like maybe I'd be scared and totally punk out and forget I went to public school and have been threatened with a knife before. (Actually I never saw the knife but this crazy chic named Scarlet yelled at me out the school bus window when I was getting off at my stop one day with these bright pink earmuffs on, "Girl in the earmuffs, girl in the earmuffs, I'ma eff you up." I was totally scared cuz she was Puerto Rican meaning she CLEARLY had a knife. Plus I hadn't provoked her which is even scarier. It never happened tho.)




Anyway back again to the subject at hand...what would you do ladies and gents? If your super fine girlfriend burned you with a nasty one would you wail on her and try to mess up her face? Ladies if your man wailed on you because you cheated on him, would you take it and cry or stab him in the eye with your car keys? And afterwards would you nail him in court? Or would you refuse to testify? And PUHLEEZE don't say you'd take him back. Would you believe, one of my guy friends' reaction to this event was, "Yeah he can't ever take her back". AS IF she would want his douchebag behind. Ok, so...chime in on this one in the comments section. Inquiring minds want to know.

Trader Joe's

From the annals of the extreme sport of dating in NYC comes another story from my not too distant memory.

One of the ways to avoid having to keep a pair of flats in your purse in case you need to flee on foot from the scene of a Date Gone Bad (also a reason to stay in tip top shape, see Run Forrest Run posted 01/24/09), is to date only by referral. Like, stick to house parties and getting introduced by friends and coworkers and classmates and the like. Keep it in the network so the person has a reference whom you trust and respect. This should provide some insulation from the crazies right? WRONG. Ok? Just W.R.O.N.G.

One of my dear girlfriends has a friend whom she thought I would like. And based on her description of him I thought she might be right. I was intrigued by the fact that he was a bit older because for some reason I tend to attract guys a minimum of five years younger than I am and would like to switch it up. So this guy is say, going on ten years older but supposedly in great shape partly because he's currently not working. That would ordinarily be a red flag but since he's a Finance guy it's not so odd these days and the smart ones will mostly land on their feet eventually I hope. I figured hey, give it a shot. I also chose to overlook the fact that he lives in the wrong borough for me because I really should be less elitist about that, and willing to travel for lurrrrvvvee. Since he's in the business, let's call him Trader Joe.

Trader Joe and I got each other's numbers through our friend in common and started texting. I know I know...I text excessively and people who grew up not texting think it's so rude and lacks a personal touch but I have intimacy issues ok?! Leave me alone. I tend to hold folks off and start by texting before I can move on to a live conversation. Plus I like to see if the guy is corny and uses a bunch of emoticons and abbreviations such as lol and lmao and even worse, rotflmao and what not which I find to be frankly a bit effete. TJ didn't though, he was all man and witty and sarcastic and self deprecating and just the kind of guy I like so we moved to live speaking and set up a date to have a drink.

We met at a spot in Soho after work. When he arrived I was wrapping up drinks in the same spot with a be skool classmate who was about to move to Dubai so I'm SURE the bartender thought I was a straight up pimp, because they're both really hot guys. I introduced them to each other as my first friend was leaving. Don't you love it??? And I was having a good hair day too.

Anyway so Trader Joe walked in and was way way way hot. I was so excited. Like I felt a little sizzle when he walked over. He was about 6' or 6'1", maybe 185, solid but not veiny tanning salon muscle, sparkling blue eyes (I don't have a particular thing for blue eyes but his did sparkle), a really cute shock of brown slightly graying hair that hung over said eyes, cool glasses, and pants perfectly fit to show off his super amazing perfectly conditioned physique. Great smile, nice teeth and lips and generally like, pretty pretty pretty handsome. I held in my deep appreciation of this fact and said something cool like, "Nice to meet you in person!"

We sat there for an hour and I had another drink and we made good solid flirtatious yet virtuous eye contact while chatting. I really liked his rags to riches, blue collar to Wall Street story. The whole scenario was quite compelling and I was thinking that he is totally the kind of guy I could fall into. Mind you, I quite rarely feel this way, maybe once every few years? We had a chaste cheek kiss at the cab and I giggled all the way home, calling my girlfriend immediately to thank her for the hook up because boy was I geeked. Until I got The Email.

...Ughhh...I have to tell you something...my ex girlfriend recently had a bad pap smear and was diagnosed with [insert somewhat bad mostly asymptomatic generally not but remotely possibly fatal viral thing here]. And she was a virgin so it was my fault but my doctor can't tell me if I have it because there is no test for men, and WebMD says this, and I'm trying to find out that, so if you never want to see me again I understand...

I've condensed it here but this email was maybe two pages single spaced? In that sort of crazed weirdo style that you usually find in like, letters that have baby powder in them to freak out the post office. There were so many other things wrong with this correspondence other than the disturbed rambling writing style such as:

1. How does a man over 40 end up dating a virgin? Is he a pedophile?
   
2. Why the After School Special Health segment, does he think I never got the memo?
   
3. Why hadn't he gotten the memo before age 40?
   
4. Why mention it now? After one hour together? Perhaps I'm being too picky on that one...
   
5. Why is he unemployed again exactly? Come to think of it he was actually released before the market blew up.

So my reply, trying to be nice and avoid any future awkwardness should I run into him again, was:

...Hey man it's cool, flattered you're thinking that way. Talk soon...

Or something to that effect. Because really, what else can you say? To which TJ replied -- and this is real talk, true life, no joke, I promise:

...I think I caused a misunderstanding...I was not intending to talk about the possibility of sex...

Well, what a relief! That totally cleared things up. He was just making small talk. And that's how I always make small talk, talking about cooties. Because it's just good wholesome polite conversation for people you've just met. And would you believe that the next time I saw him, maybe five weeks later, he asked me out again?

Honestly I should stick to meeting people on Craig's List.

JK!

No seriously, I don't do that. For real.

Just one more thing...

A box of these things has 110 calories.

Why do they exist? They're disgusting and bad for your teeth.

I can't stop eating them! Looking forward to Feb 15th when they will be banished for a year.

A Lil Quickie...

Ouch! That unemployment figure was ugly. And the revision downward even moreso. What surprises me is how the economists can't figure out that we're effed...and get the estimate right. Like, duh. Now the news is gonna talk about this all day and the market will be down and it'll just suck. So much unpleasantness, and on a Friday! And it's real extra cold outside too? I need a drink and it's not even 9am yet.

Anyway on to more pleasant things. I arrived home last night after my personal trainer tried to kill me. She has a mandate to return my bum to its former glory so if that's what it takes I guess I have to deal with it. Just undoing the damage of the "good life" (=working 12 hours a day starting at 5:30am). After the attempted murder at Equinox I plopped exhaustedly on the couch and was greeted by a DVR full of goodies last night. When I'm not off gallivanting in Manhattan and around the world having adventures to write about for your entertainment, I have some of my happiest moments at home on my couch with my DVR, remote in hand. Can we have a moment of silence for the DVR? Who invented this contraption? They deserve a Nobel Prize. Although there is probably some correlation between my bum situation and my DVR fixation...hmmmm.

Last night I burned through Ugly Betty, Grey's Anatomy, 90210 and 30 Rock all in the space of like two hours. There were so many goodies last night I could hardly stand it. 30 Rock was straight comedy with the new interns. Tina Fey is a genius, I worship her. Especially that movie Mean Girls whom I am convinced I know. I'm not going to say from where because this blog is not about a vendetta. Positive energy people, let's keep it positive! But let's just say, it wasn't high school. I'm cool with our Prom Queen to this day. :-) I'm shouting her out right now, she knows who she is and she better come see me in NYC as soon as the weather breaks! Anyway you gotta watch 30 Rock. Tracy Morgan is so funny I would have his babies even though I already know they'd be ugly because no amount of pretty is enough to make up for all he got goin' on.

On Ugly Betty...I love those b$%ches Amanda and Marc. They are so fierce! Ugly Betty is all about the fierceness. I also like they now have Lauren Velez on the show. I know a secret about her but I don't think I can write it here...but let's just say I used to have this friend who hung out with her once and came back from that trip with a story to tell! That show is just brilliant through and through but don't Betty look like her breath stink? All that metal gotta carry a lotta germs. Amanda mentioned it last night.

Then Grey's Anatomy managed not to bore me. There were no heavy handed platitudes, no grand breathless speeches last night. The actors must love getting to deliver all those monologues. Oh oops...Lexi had one. I forgot. But it wasn't too bad. It was also kinda cool to see Owen Hunt kirk out like that. Although I'm disturbed by his Cro Magnon brow...it just feels so aggressive and I would be scared if I saw that coming at me in the middle of the night. Reminds me of...

And 90210. Go Adriana putting yourself on blast like that - even though it was a bit narcissistic but whatevs. And go Rhonda too! I like that the nerd girl has something up her sleeve. Well played. I'm all about the sympathy trade...whatever it takes to get what you want girlfriend, I am not mad atcha!

Ok I gotta get back to work now...I got moved to a new spot on the trading floor and now I have three screens (from two) which is AMAZING and I LOVE it because now I just have one devoted to the Launchpad all day long, but it is higher beta too, just more opportunity to get busted doing something I ought not to be doing on the clock. I usually write these things at home but like I said, that employment number got me all depressed so thought I'd check in real real quick.

Adventures planned for this weekend so hopefully I'll have some juicy hump day goodies for ya Wednesday. And check back in on Sunday, I got a story from the vault in the queue you may like. Ta!

Tune Your Gaydar

Can we talk a bit about the homothugs?

Shawty wanna thug...

So Saturday night I was out at this bar in the East Village celebrating a friend's birthday. If you don't know NYC, you may not know that the East Village is not necessarily where the folks who live in Harlem hang out. This particular bar was fascinating because every half hour the vibe kept changing. When we first got there it seemed like everyone was really tall. Like, is it tall night at the bar? And then it was kinda Euro, then it was a bunch of models, then it was other things. So it was a bit of a shape shifter. That is one of the coolest things about NY.

www.keybar.com

The most fascinating vibe running through there was evidenced by these two big brothers sucking face at the bar. Openly. Right at the end right there where you see the picture of the lit matches in the photo above. Now this is totally fine with me but these dudes didn't look like they would be doing that at home. Like, back uptown in the Bronx or Harlem home or out in Brooklyn or Queens home. One of them was this hard looking bald guy with a mink jacket and big diamond earrings. Not in like a fabulous snap snap RuPaul gay way but in a drug dealer on the corner pushing the Range Rover with the dope rims kind of way. His boyfriend, who was actually much bigger but clearly the more submissive of the two based on their body language and the way Thug Life had his hand around his neck, was equally intimidating and um....butch. Yeah. Butch is the word I guess. Anyway I'd bet my bonus they both have women at home. Sike I'm playin, this is a recession! I'm putting that check underneath the mattress, I may never get another the way they're talking in Washington! Why My Boo (=Obama) gotta play me like that? But I digress.

You better work!

So there was this little room in the back of the bar where they and their friends had posted up. For the next couple of hours they and a few other thuggish looking brothers passed in and out of the spot along with several other folks who looked pretty interesting. I had a little fun trying to call top vs bottom. Then they dissipated and I personally dissipated too because I just can't pull ragers like I used to. In fact the whole next day was a wrap, didn't nothin get done. *sigh*

Back to the homothug thing...there are openly gay homo thugs like my hairdresser. He's actually not a thug at all but he wears a lot of urban wear like Enyce and baseball caps and whatnot and is very much a top. His boyfriend is very flamboyant, kinda pretty and model-like. In fact his boyfriend is fine in that, "Damn! Why he gotta be gay?" kind of way. Has this sort of odd energy and appeal like Gene Anthony Ray, très sexy. I knew my hairdresser was gay right away but everyone who meets him apparently doesn't. That's because I have the rugged gaydar skills. But he's out anyway, because he's a real man and not a punk. Plus I guess being a hairdresser it's a bit easier to be out at work.

Remember Leroy?

Then there are the homo thugs (and of course this isn't limited to men of color - think of Governor McGreevey and that preacher out in the middle of the country somewhere who was on that HBO documentary about Jesus right before he got busted) who are MSM - men who have s@x with men - but won't admit they're gay, and they're responsible for spreading these deadly cooties to sisters. I won't preach because I want to keep it light, but let's review some warning signs because who needs those kind of problems? It's time to tune your gaydar ladies!!!! Here are some signs your man may be gay whether he is thugged out or not, or brown, yellow, Puerto Rican or Haitian. Or white:

1) He's real extra homophobic. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." - from Hamlet by William Shakespeare

2) He has a strong opinion about what you wear, or likes to shop for your clothes. Or he wants to decorate the crib and does a better job than you. Or he knows how to properly wrap gifts and the etiquette around giving them.

3) He has secretive phone conversations or late night texts and you pick up the phone to listen or check his texts or whatever your surveillance method is, and the person on the other end is a dude.

4) He knows the lyrics to the new Beyoncé joint. Or in extreme cases, Britney.

5) If you live in NY, and he's a r&b/hip hop type of brother, he likes to hang out in the East Village. In Miami this would be Club Boi...but I think the cat is outta the bag with that one by now. Anyway they post candid crowd shots on their website so check it out if you're suspicious at www.clubboi.com. Or a Flex club in Atlanta, LA, Cleveland, Columbus, New Orleans, Phoenix or Miami. For more info see www.flexbaths.com. Or in Oakland, Cabel's Reef or Rimshot.

6) He gets in arguments with and stops speaking to his friends sometimes. This is extraordinarily gay behavior in a man implying an intimacy with said friends that he ought to only share with you and his female side piece.

7) He spends more time getting ready to go out with his boys than he does when he's taking you out. And sometimes smells of cologne or after shave that he doesn't own.

8) He only gets excited about relations with you when something really über freaky is involved, otherwise he may not show up for the game. And blames you for it.

9) He has spent a significant amount of time in jail and keeps in touch with his former fellow inmates. Probably a good idea to avoid dating ex cons generally, if you can help it.

10) You feel it in your gut.

I couldn't list all the signs here but you get my drift. If you can think of more add a comment below. No one is served by any woman staying with some dude who's in the closet. What can we do about it? Let's make it ok for the men in our families to be gay and maybe we can coax these brothers out of the closet. It'll be better for everybody. Ok, soap box moment over.

By the way, when Thug Life stepped out of the bar for the last time he checked me out hard including eye contact. For real y'all. Now that's just greedy.

Coach Obama

So the Steelers won the Super Bowl for the 6th time. That's a good look. The coach is a young brother running things too, kinda like President Obama is a young brother running things. This is good. Although in our new post racial world that I am hopeful we will create together, this ideally will matter less and less. Eventually. But it still kind of matters I think. Doesn't he kinda look like Omar Epps though?

However I was rooting for the Cardinals for their underdog story, Kurt Warner's former shelf stocking self and their lovely red and white uniforms. Not to mention the big play maker in the game, Santonio Holmes, went to the OSU and since I went to another midwestern school that has an INTENSE rivalry with the OSU (and in spite of their own lovely red and white uniforms) I am structurally incapable of rooting for any OSU alums.

But my hat's off to the Steelers, it was a great game - the only one I watched all season of course despite growing up on football like most Americans - and I'm going to sleep feeling warm and fuzzy because I just saw a bunch of people give their very best and fight the good fight. But first I gotta wait for my heart rate to go down because that was all quite intense at the end there. I wonder if that counts as doing cardio?

Datin' Ballers

I'm not the groupie type in any way shape or form. Not physically, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, psychologically, philosophically - you get the point. But I can't help but tell this tale of my brush with the lifestyle because it was just too funny. During this brush I did have a moment where I considered getting a good weave, some contacts and some enhancements to gain entree into the world. Sike I'm just playin', I NEVER would sign up for that life if I had to wear all that fake mess. But if I could get it naturally...who knows?

So back in the day I had to go on this business trip to Orlando and a friend of mine happened to be there on business too. I went a day early to have dinner with her and a slumber party in her hotel. After dropping my stuff off we were waiting for the valet to bring the car around to go out and this hot guy struck up a conversation with me. He was cute and about 6'1", so I had no idea that he was a ball player at first. Turns out his team was in town to play the Orlando Magic and he was just out and about. I must say, the confidence that comes with playing in the NBA is quite attractive - he just walked up to both of us like, "what y'all doin'" and totally met us at the wine bar where we told him we'd be like ten minutes later. Just invited himself along as though he was always welcome and made himself right at home with us.

The three of us each had a glass of wine and like, a slice of pizza at the wine bar and at the end he put 20 bux down on something like a 30 or 40 bux check. I thought that was interesting, and respected that he wasn't trying to throw his money around like a big man on campus. Today I probably would not feel the same about that though. He was sooooo smart and charming and cute! At this point he had been in the NBA over 10 years and had been a solid player but plagued by injuries. So, even though he had his own character in a big time video game, he hadn't reached Charles Barkley or Michael Jordan status or anything like that. I kind of liked this about him, because he had a humility that went with all the cockiness. Of course he had a kid but he was single, and I found myself having a little fantasy about what could be. Could I be a baller's wife? Would I fit into his world? What would his kid think of me? 

I was so dumb.

So anyway we all went back to the hotel and the three of us were in the elevator:

Baller: What floor are you guys on?

Friend: 12.

Baller: I'm on 9.

Me: Cool.

Baller: I should probably walk you guys to your room so you get there safely.

Me: Good idea.

Friend: [eyes rolling]

We arrived back at the room and my friend proceeded to take off her makeup and put on her pjs in the bathroom. The Baller and I chatted in the bedroom, with him sprawled casually across one of the beds. I was intrigued but not overly tempted. After all, everyone knows ballers have cooties and they don't call the next day. You either get pregnant or don't give it up. I was young but not that naive.

Baller: So how long are you in town?

Me: About three days. What about you?

Baller: We leave tomorrow after the game.

Me: Cool.

[awkward silence]

Me: I want some chocolate, I wonder if the mini bar has any Snickers.

Baller: You don't need a Snickers, you got all this fine chocolate right here.

HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I don't know what possessed me to say that about chocolate. Back in the day I used to have a lot of trouble with my mouth filter and things came straight out of my brain through my lips unchecked. It occasionally still happens and when it does, it's always the most mundane or bizarre random thought that has popped into my head involuntarily. For some reason the awkward silence with the Baller made my mind wander and I got hungry for a Snickers. Go figure.

But really what's funny here is clearly his response. And the fact that he thought I would hook up with him that night! Like go upstairs to his room with him and get busy. AS IF! 

Me: Sorry buddy, I'm not that kind of girl, and it's late. 

Baller: Really?

Me: Yeah, but I'd love to talk to you again.

So we exchanged numbers, he left, and I thought that may be it. But it wasn't. I called him a few days before his next team game in my home town, a couple weeks later, and do you know he called me back FROM THE TEAM PLANE?!?!?! Now I was starstruck and ready to go along with his program.

I picked him up from his hotel in my very uncool American made sedan style automatic transmission company car. Hey, it was free! I sold my sleek stick shift ride when I got that gig. If I had true groupie instincts I would have rented something hot and told him mine was in the shop. I took him to a poetry reading (they were very en vogue at the time) and to a club afterwards. At the poetry reading we shared a plate of wings and he preferred the flat part while I like the drumstick part. It was a match made in heaven.

Baller also brought out the naughty girl in me. He encouraged me to park the aforementioned uncool car in the ALLEY! And he decided in the middle of the date he didn't like his outfit so we went shopping and he changed clothes. When he stripped in the dressing room I almost fainted. Rays of light emanated from his biceps and his washboard abs. In fact, typing this all these years later, my heart skips thinking about that moment.

 

When we walked up to the door of the club the girl at the velvet rope immediately let us through and whispered in my ear, "You go girl." WTF??? And we went immediately up to the VIP area where I clearly stuck out like a sore thumb. I was so NOT ready for the big time. I was wearing Gap jeans and some Nine West shoes and carrying a cheap bag. *sigh*

You see, this is before I discovered Seven for All Mankind (and other even more serious designer jeans) and the wonders they do for the bootie. In fact I was in the dark about lots of things. I had very recently ended a really long, serious relationship and I was still frumpy and dumpy the way you sometimes get when you've been boo'd up for several years. I needed a makeover something awful so really it's a miracle this guy even took a look. 

Anyway he lost interest when I wouldn't give him any and I mentioned one too many times how he probably had lots of girls, being in the NBA. Or maybe because I was a corny ass bama? It's possible he may have sincerely wanted to get to know me. Eh, probably not. He retired not long thereafter and I am sure, lives in some big house someplace warm with a savvy woman curled up by his side every night. But I get to live my fabulous life too, and I don't worry about any groupies trying to take my man. So it all worked out!