The Definition of Junk Mail: RNC Membership Card

I tolerate junk mail. However yesterday, it crossed the line when I received my membership card for the Republican National Committee. As a registered Democrat and staunch Liberal, I felt faint… At first I thought it was a joke, and then I read the accompanying letter.

“Thank you for your donation to the Republican National Committee and showing support for the ongoing Bush agenda.”

Had I unknowingly crossed over to the darkside? Had one of my 2005 charitable contributions aligned me with conservatives? I quickly ran a mental check:

-National Public Radio
-Sierra Club
-Moveon.org
-Planned Parenthood

I don’t see how it possible. Those are charities that stand for everything Bush doesn’t: free speech, protecting the environment, Democrats and right-to-choose. I haven’t the slightest idea how I’ve entered their mailing pool, but I can only hope it is a fluke. I have a reputation to uphold and if people start confusing me for a Republican… Shudder!

Let the sunshine in...

One of the gripes I have about living in the concrete canyon that is Manhattan is the lack of direct sunlight. There are entire sections of the city (Midtown & the Financial District) where sunshine never hits the streets. In some instances, these areas have gone as far as installing mirrors atop buildings to reflect sunshine into the dark corners.

(Bear caution for “Architectural view” when looking at apartments. That translates to – sunless-apartment with views of building across the street.)

Spending time outside without once standing in the sun is unnatural! I find even brief moments of sunshine can dramatically increase my mood. My new job & daily commute has increased the amount of sunshine in my life exponentially. Aside from a short subway ride, I’m in the sun from the moment I wake up to the moment the sun sets. All this sun is making me feel like I’m in a percolator of happiness…

Through the eyes of a bouncer

A regular patron of the bars in my neighborhood, I've developed unique relationships with a couple of the bouncers. More than once, knowing the bouncers has snagged me entrance to a packed bar, or the bar after hours.

Friday night, following Thursday's Blogger Happy Hour (which turned into 2AM drink-fest), two of my bouncer friends went out of their way to comment upon our festivities.

Bouncer #1: My unoffical doorman
Always standing outside the restaurant beneath my place, this bouncer knows more about my life than my roommates. He knows what time I get home from work, my unhealthy reliance on cabs, how often I go the gym, my dating regularity, and how few get an invite upstairs. He can always be relied upon to give me a hard time after a night out. Following Thursday's debacule, he made a point of commenting on the group's "state-of-mind" as we bar hopped from the Magician to the Back Room. Avenue Elle, Dolly, Polly, Nice Guys, Monkey, Betsy, Josh and all... I was not the only one talking with an "alcoholic megaphone". We were all called out for being rocked and rowdy.

Bouncer #2: Guardian of "the door" at the BackRoom
Surprised to see me for a second night running, he asked if any of my girls got lucky with the Boston Bruins. (Yes, ladies that really was the full squadron of the Boston Bruins.) He was very surprised to hear that the ladies might have all struck out with the Boston sport guys, from where he was sitting, it all looked promising. Is there something someone wants to confess??

Gotta love the bouncers point-of-view on our night out. So glad someone was there to remind us of the insanity that was our first NYC Blogger Happy Hour.

Now if only someone could find my misplaced orange scarf...

Snubbed by Snob

Cat Fight!

As one of the five (that's right, 5) personas behind SnobintheCity, the site's originator and I have had a not-so-mild parting. The whole situation is really quite foolish, an exercise in catty behavior. Thankfully, I was able to salvage my contributions to the site, so in all essence this is small blip in my life as a blogger.

Between us, I've always considered "Snob" to be rather pretentious moniker.
No more Snob.
It's all about being below 14th Street.

Cingular, are you listening?

Love the 6-1-1 option on my cell phone which automatically puts me in touch with my service provider.

This morning I was thinking of a call I need to make today. It's not a terribly pleasant call and I would really love to just leave a voice message. (Who me? Avoidance?? Never?) With that in mind, I dialed 6-1-1. After explaining my situation to the operator, she informed me (while laughing) that no such service exists.

So to all you phone companies out there... can you please create an option to go straight to voicemail. If you create it, I promise to switch service providers.

Promise.

Mainline to cute LES bartenders

Hot Toddies: A bartender who had class, charisma and old-world charm. Whose smile and cocktail will make you feel all warm and happy inside

I can't believe that someone was genius enough to actually create this site. By linking to LES bars with cute bartenders, it is now possible to plan a whole night around the promise of eye-candy behind the bar. Love that!

If I can find a way to anonymously nominate my cute bartender, perhaps he'll soon be featured.

Love by the numbers

For the last couple months the social commentary in Elle magazine has been remarkable. Following is an excerpt from a recent column titled, Love Actually, by Rachael Combe (Feb 2006 issue, page 202)

Be Scientific: Yeah, yeah, love is magical, it’s a mystery, it’s fate. Whatever, I don’t buy it. It’s biology. It’s statistics. And the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor. In 1995, statisticians projects that about 88% of American women of our generation would marry at least once. Basically, if marriage were a deadly disease, your chances of catching it would be terrifying.

Isn’t that brilliant? Next time you or a girlfriend is freaking out about some guy breaking her heart, or never finding the right guy, or sputtering about how she’ll never get married.. Share that stat with her. It is sure to quell any fears. 'Cause if marriage is a disease, I want nothing to do with it.

In case you were wondering about that remaining 12% they article goes on to say:

The researchers also figured that a portion of that never-marrying 12% were people who were cohabiting – e.g., the Goldie Hawns and Kurt Russells of the world, and gay couples living in states where they can’t get hitched.

Do I look like a hotel?

Just received this message in my Friendster in-box.

Hey Snob,

So we are going to have St. Patty's Day party at [friend's] house on Friday night. If you're in town maybe you can attend? I was also wondering if I can stay at your place again? Your bed and company is much better than a couch or futon at [friend's] house. ;0)

Best.
"But Aren't You Gay?" Guy (NYC Guy Profile #9)

Isn't that self-invite rather presumptuous? He barely invited me to the party before asking to sleep over. At first, I took it as a joke, but after speaking to my roommate last night, word-on-the-street is that he's become minorly obsessed since meeting me. I guess he's always asking if I'm around, if I'll be meeting up and what I'm up to.

Now, I'm left asking myself. Why can't I get the guys I'm actually interested show this much interest in me? Why is it always the guys I could care less about?

Love my morning coffee...

...But love the independent Coffee Shop Guy more...

I recently started getting my morning brew at a new independently-owned coffee shop, located less than half a block from a behemoth Starbucks. My initial intentions were to show support for the "little guy." That was until I noticed the guy behind the counter.

For months now, I have been exchanging smiles with this artist/hippie coffee guy. I'm a complete sucker for his enormous brown eyes (think Hush Puppies).

He knows my order and start making it the second I walk in the door. When I walk in, he often rushes behind the counter to "help out." He notices and comments when I miss a day. He teases me when I show up late in the morning - obviously running late for work.

Since he was working alone this morning, I finally introduced myself. After learning his name, I'm crushing even more: Jake... Isn't that the cutest? Anyway, I am going to keep getting my coffee from Mr. Independent Coffee Shop Guy. Nothing will probably ever come of it, but it is nice to have the first person you speak to each morning be a hottie, like him.

It makes getting up at 8am that much easier.

Side Note: What's my deal with guys in the service industry? Waiters (Cafe Juanita), Bartenders (No Malice) and now the coffee shop guy. I obviously have a "thing" going here.

Love for the ladies

After last night's drink fest with Avenue Elle, Dolly, and Kristin, I gotta say, this blogging thing is pretty fly. Dolly & Kristin are the first folks I've met through my blog (truthfully, online ever!). We had such fun, since we all know about each other's lives from our blog entries we picked up like old friends. We caused quite the ruckus.

To the gentleman at La Lanterna: You should know better than to so blatently check out girls seated next to you. Your girlfriend deserved to be pissed at you.

For the NYC bloggers, we're planning on having drinks again on Thursday, the 23rd. If you want to join us, email and you'll get the full details. In person I can share the afore-mentioned untellable Wisconsin boy story...

I'm off to Denver for a weekend of skiing. Hoping the boys in Brekenridge are half as cute as those from Killington.

50 words later you expect me to fly to WI

This is the absolute worst date request ever. In 50 words he expects me to fly to Wisconsin for a wedding? Please note: I've been talking to this boy on-and-off for a couple months. But he has to be kidding, he couldn't wait to ask until this evening?'

Hey Snob,

How are you doing today?

By the way, if you’re looking for something to do on Friday, March 24 and feel like flying to Milwaukee, WI, I will be in Racine that weekend for my brother’s wedding reception.

Hope to hear from you tonight…

I'm not kidding, I haven't edited the copy down. Nor was I in the midst of an all-day email conversation with him. For full background on this chap, read these blog entries:

August 2005: Those Lips!
October 2005: Men A Comparison Through Flowers

He is a really nice guy who sent me chocolates at Christmas and a dozen roses on Valentine's Day. But honestly now! What is a girl supposed to do with an invite like that... Plus, my friend who went to high school with him told the most uncomfortable makeout story ever.

Dare I type it up and post it?
Dare I?

NYC Guy Profile #4 - The Skier

Age: 25
Height: 5'11"
Build: Think Chris O’Donnell
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown
Profession: ?? (Aside from being a cute skier??)
Residence: Braintree, MA


Meeting Synopsis: Last Tuesday at dinner with the ladies, we decided a change of scenery was in order to revive us after weeks of bad dates. Our dating lives needed a shot of adrenaline. One of the girls offered up her Vermont ski house in Killington. Little convincing was needed before we packed our bags, rented a car and were on our way.

At apres ski, my girlfriends and I struck up conversation with an attractive Boston-ite. Three Harpoon UFOs and much flirting later, the ladies and I prepared to depart the bar and head home for showers and Avant le’ Discotheque. Cutie-patootie, Skier Boy asked what our plans were for that evening. Filled with “liquid courage” I responded,

“There are three nightspots in this town: The Grist Mill – which is full of old folks, the Wobbly Barn – where we won’t be, and the Pickle Barrel - where we will be. Don't act like we won't be seeing you there.”

Relationship Details: No fail. That night after a drink at the bar, there he was. The ladies were psyched to see him, but since I called "dibs" during Avant le' Discotheque celebrations earlier, the ladies made sure the two of us were near each other as the group danced around to the surprisingly good cover band. After a couple trips to the bar and endless flirtation, I found myself bubbling over with “liquid courage.” I boldely asked if he wanted to ditch my friends and head to the bar upstairs to make out. Needless to say, we spent a good amount of time upstairs kissing, then downstairs dancing, then downstairs kissing… All in the name of fun.

Deal Breaker: When the bar closed, I was all set to send Skier Boy on his way, but he insisted on walking me home. We traipsed through the snow to the share house and hung out with those were who still awake. Oddly enough (this is one of the catches of having a share house) some old (50+) guy was sleeping on the living room couch snoring away. Despite his presence, everyone kept drinking around him. He was a serious grump and eventually woke up, yelling at everyone that it's past midnight and we should all be in bed. (Yes, he was that old and grumpy.) Skier Boy took this as a sign to leave. Our hopes of a couch make-out session dashed by the unpleasant housemate. Despite this, we still made out in the kitchen for a bit, then he was on his way.

LOVE SKIING.
2007 Ski House Rental Plans are underway...

One Extra Tip: Watch out for the Mt. Tabor speed trap. Fifteen minutes and a $217 speeding ticket later, the ladies and I were headed back to NYC.

I quit...

No really, I just quit my job.

I didn’t go off half-cocked or anything. Another job with a more prestigious agency… paying more money… with greater career opportunities… in a sweeter NYC hood… was already lined up.

Giving notice this morning was a lot like telling a boyfriend that you’ve been cheating on them. As soon as the words are out, a light bulb goes off in your supervisor’s eyes. All those long lunches, cutting out early, multitude of doctor appointments. How could they have been so blind? It is all so obvious now. You were cheating on them with another agency.

Today they are filled with nice words, trying to tempt me to stay... Begging me not to break up with them - give them another chance… They’ll be different, they promise…

I’ve done this once before, so I know in a couple days they're going to start getting bitchy and angry. Putting me down to feel better about me leaving.

No bother, I have already moved on.

Just like a break up.

Saved by a Friend

Yesterday my friend circulated this NY Daily News story about the "mummy maniac" serial killer. We all took this young woman's tragic death to be a firm reminder to be more careful, especially when drinking. When our minds are clouded and irrational, we still need to watch out for each other.

With that in mind, every random encounter with men is now peppered with thoughts of "Oh my goodness, are you a serial killer."

Last night in particular, I'm convinced I might have encountered the "mummy maniac". I was in the Meatpacking District, walking to meet a friend at Markt when I was approaced by a tall good looking guy. He was lost and asked if I knew where Bungalow 8 was. After I gave him directions, he complimented me and asked if I wanted to join him for a drink.

At this point, I noticed a cut over his eye. He caught me looking and told me that he had just hit his eye getting out of the cab and was concerned that it was serious. My suspicious radar when into over drive at this point, cause the cut didn't look new at all. It looked a day old at least...

Ehhh, psycho killer. No thanks.

Turbo Tax is God

Hallajueh! My 2005 taxes are completed and submitted. I must have been very good last year, because Uncle Sam was generous.

Who are those people who wait until April 15th to submit? With Turbo Tax and e-filing it is almost too easy. I have such a strong distane for math, I would trust most anything Turbo Tax spits out at me. So easy, a couple numbers here, a few numbers there, click this box, check your deductions. Finito! 48-hours from now you have a whole new bank account balance

I'll allow myself a few moments to daydream about the Diane von Fursteinburg wrap dress I lust after... Now back to the reality of my greedy friends American Express, Visa and Discover.

Have you ever behaved so badly?

Eds Note: What you are about to read is true account of my behavior from this weekend. Expect to be shocked and disappointed. I understand my actions to be completely inexcusable and unforgivable...
____________________________________

I had plans with a guy on Saturday night to attend his annual football team's gala. Not wanting to venture off the isle of Manhattan alone, I begged and pleaded with a friend to accept his friend's invitation, serving as my winggal.

Upon arrival, it quickly became apparent that this was the worst option for a third date. Imagine attending a wedding where you know noone and can only understand about 75% of what your date says.

The early part of the evening was okay... Throughout it all, I smiled, I laughed, I danced when asked - all the things that a date should do. I tried not let it bother me that no one (aside from my date and winggal) would speak to me. Or that his friends were giving him "thumb-up" sign as I danced with him (as if I were blind and didn't see them). Or that he exhibited some despicable table manners.

As the evening was ending,the guys asked us to attend a party in yet another borough. We quickly declined this invitation voicing our desire to be back in Manhattan. Looking silghtly dejected, my date asked if they could join us... (Eds Note: Okay, I know now, this would have been the appropirate spot to cleanly end the evening.) ... I agreed to them accompanying us.

Finally, the four of us hailed a cab and headed back to Manhattan. During the car ride, I decided that I was going to have a quick drink at the bar and be on my way. With this in mind, I kept trying to direct us to bars on the Upper West Side. (Seems fair that the bar at least be on his side of town?) Anyway, my hints weren't caught, and we ended up at some dismal brew-pub in the bowels of NYU.

When my date steps away to go to the bathroom, some guy starts talking to me. First he asks if I am there with boyfriend, to which I reply "no". (True) We talk for a bit within earshot of his friend and my winggal. He is called away before my date returns. Continue drinking. Still looking for a way out, I'm texting friends to determine who is around for a post-escape drink. While trying to think up how to take winggal with me, an opportunity presents itself.

Bar guy returns as boxes my evening's date out of the conversation. He mentions that he was leaving but wanted to get my number before doing so. (LIGHTBULB) Bar guy gets my number. As he walks away, I explain to my date that he can't honestly think I'm not seeing other people. Small very awkward banter, as my winggal and her date and literally picking their jaws off of the floor. Then I grab my coat and leave.

Post Date Commentary
I figure self-imploding a date is a heck of a lot easier than explaining that I really didn't enjoy myself and no I don't think I want to see you again, and yes I am going home right now, and then having to avoid all those phone calls... I took the simple (albeit, less socially desirable) way out.

I know that's terrible. I know Karma is going to be pay me back fierce. I was up at 8am on Sunday with a crushing sense of guilt for being such a b*tch. I was shocked and appauled at my own actions. Not to mention has to field a chastizing phone call from my winggal in the afternoon (Rightly so.)

It is highly probable that I'm on the verge of dating burnout. I seem to have forgotten that these guys I am dating actually have feelings. I'm not sure if I'm seeing them as individuals, or just people who occupy particular days on my social calendar...

I Heart the US Speedskating Team

Addendum: As if I need another reason to love Joey, He is donating his entire USOC gold medal winnings ($25,000) to the Sudanese genocide conflict - specifically the 60,000 refugess in Chad. Read his complete story here. Cute and generous... I'm so in love.


Hello Cute Boys!

I could hardly tear my eyes away from the Olympics on Monday night. I've found a potluck of hot men.... The US Speedskating Team. These guys are built and there no hiding their Herculan perfection wearing those skin tight uniforms. An added bonus, they are the perfect dateable age.

Joey Cheek
Birthdate: June 22, 1979
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 183 pounds
Age: 26

How cute is that name? He was terribly adorable after winning gold, smiling ear to ear, displaying perfect teeth... Mmm, mmm, mmm. The Olympic website notes, "When not skating, he enjoys playing the guitar, going to clubs." Someone hold me back. I thought I found the man of my dreams... until I saw this guy


Chad Hedrick
Birthdate: April 17, 1977
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 170 pounds
Age: 28

The Texan is so completely adorable, and he knows it. He has his own website which features his Ipod playlist (Beasties & Kanye West - Love!) and a Skates Off Photo Gallery. You can even email him, where he promises to read all of the messages. Danger. Danger.

I could marry these men. Where does a city gal go to meet a member of this illustrious team?? If I have to go to Texas to do it, I will!

I'm figuring once they return from Italy with their gold medals in hand they'll do the NYC interview circuit. Which means they'll be partying it up in NYC... Which is something Snob's quite adept at...

Hello Cute Boys!

Wonder what the administration's gun policy is?

From Yahoo News: 78-year-old lawyer who was shot by Vice President Dick Cheney in a hunting accident has had "a silent heart attack"

Snob's Translation: Cheney just might have shot a man dead.

The Accidental Valentine's Day Date

Being a single gal, I was prepared to let the Hallmark driven-relevance of this day slip by unnoticed. No need to hate on Valentine's Day, since I feel it's rather idiotic to designate one day from 365 that a couple needs to "be in love." Shouldn't every day together by prerequisite enough to display care, love and devotion to each other. I can't imagine being in relationship where the other 364 days were void of emotion.

Anyway... I'm stepping off my soap box.

I was so oblivious to the approaching day, when asked out on Sunday night, I suggested Tuesday night drinks. This new guy is going to think that I'm an uber-crazy gal. Completely unthinking I didn't realize my faux-pas until my roommate doubled over into hysterics. I need to call and delay this accidental Valentine's Day Date... at least till Wednesday night.

Snowdrifts

I love nothing more than spending my weekend morning (10am-3pm) snuggled in bed, under a heavy down comforter, dozing in and out of consciousness while listening to NPR, with a cool breeze slipping through the cracked open window.

That is until there is a snow storm.... Woke up on Sunday morning sleeping next to a two-inch deep snowdrift. The snow (which blew in overnight) split over my windowsill and on to my bed. Literally. I had to scoop handfuls of snow and toss it outside, before pushing the window shut and trying unsuccessfull to fall back asleep.

Back on the Boat - Things Get Rowdy

Snob had a smashing time on our cruise vacation. Smashing, literally! We racked up a $1,000 drink tab, not including beverages during the 2 open bars or the drinks/shots purchased for us (of which there were many...)

You can read a complete story-line version of vacation highlights on our dear friend Avenue Elle's blog... Day 1, Day 2, Day 3.

Due to an inability to remember anyone's name, everyone we met was quickly nicknamed. Naturally, ours was Manhattan.... Here's the cast of characters:

THE GOOD

• Dom -- A reoccuring character, we must give props for his stopping us and tuning us into the rumor of the secret Dave show. This tip allowed us to score 4th row seats.
• Jersey -- Decent guy, felt we never really knew you. (Friend of Hoboken)
• Hoboken -- The first outsider to adopt the word dossier. We developed a vacation long shot-out, "Put it on the dossier." "I have an addemdum to the dossier." (Friend of Jersey)
• Samantha & her mom -- The coolest parent ever! She accompanyed her 18-year-old duaghter on the cruise (min age was 21). During the day her mom sat poolside drinking up and buying us rounds. Samantha fit right in dancing up a storm with us during Ozomotli.
• Late Night Guitar Guys -- Two dudes with guitars played a nasty little set on the deck late, late night. Snob made a point of dancing around till Dom's Older Friend made the comment noted below.
• Mullet Band Guy -- Only because you are with the band guy will we go to the casino to be your lady luck.
• "Coolest Guy in These Parts" Guy -- Anyone who remembered our aliases and lets us claim the last bucket of Coronas, deserves to be noted
• Aaron -- Made a brief appearance poolside, but a strong impression. By far the cutest boy of the weekend, hung around long enough to make the Manhattan gals swoon with his style, sweetness and fabulous job. And as if he needed any more props, Ozomotli gave him a shout-out during the show. If only...

THE BAD

• Dom's Older Friend -- Tolerated only because Dom was cool shit. Laughed outright when he told us he, "Hate to sleep alone."
• Old Gross Married Couple -- Proposition #1. After straying away from the safety of the group, Snob was asked to "join them" in their balcony suite. Um, no. I'm young and cute and you are neither...
• Anchorage & his mullet-sporting wife -- Proposition #2. "No sir, I don't care if you think I'd look good in a thong, I'll never wear one poolside. Now please stop trying to take pictures of us."
• Cute (from the front) Boat Boy -- Nice to look at during the day, but morphed into crazy tripped out evening dude. He wouldn't stop eating ice out of my bucket of Coronas. Get lost!
• Short Sante Fe -- Really odd lad who attached himself to Snob's hip after a trip to bar together. Proceeded to squeeze into our row and made the gals uncomfortable with his non-blinking stares.
• Tall Sante Fe -- Less intrusive than Sante Fe, but after the previous encounter we stayed away from anything Sante Fe related.
• Married Guy -- If only his wife knew that he was going out of his way to talk to the fine young Manhattan things... Please go away, you are a waste of our single time...

THE OH MY GOD, NO SHE DIDN'T

Now we didn't talk to these two ladies, but we did laugh at their expense often. As if we didn't get enough poolside, we saw them boarding a flight to NYC, confirming our suspicions that they live in either SeaSide, NJ or Long Island:

• Thong Girl -- Hers was a metalic shiny pink number, spent much of the Ozomotli show running through the pool catching a football and "falling" into the water. Practically crying out to be looked at.
• Peer Pressure Thong Ruffle Girl -- The creme d'la creme of bathing suits. Not only was it a black thong, but there was a ruffle on it. Why a ruffle? What was the ruffle purpose? As if that wasn't enough, she had white girl cornrows halfway back her head.

Open Letter to "The Warehouse" (DMB Fanclub)

FULL DISCLOSURE:

With abject horror this weekend, I found myself admiring a pair of silver Naturalizer heels in a fashion layout of this month's Vogue. The shoes were eye-cathing enough to make me flip back for a second adoring look. To boot, they were priced at $69.

Have I been unnecessarily hating on Naturalizer? Were my comments, purely SNOBy and not fashion truth?

I decided to do some homework. After checking out Naturalizer's website, I can say my reputation as a fashion-addict remains in tact. Their footwear collection (aside from two pairs) are gerartic in appearance...

Whew! My reputation stands...

Editor's Note

FULL DISCLOSURE:

With abject horror this weekend, I found myself admiring a pair of silver Naturalizer heels in a fashion layout of this month's Vogue. The shoes were eye-cathing enough to make me flip back for a second adoring look. To boot, they were priced at $69.

Have I been unnecessarily hating on Naturalizer? Were my comments, purely SNOBy and not fashion truth?

I decided to do some homework. After checking out Naturalizer's website, I can say my reputation as a fashion-addict remains in tact. Their footwear collection (aside from two pairs) are gerartic in appearance...

Whew! My reputation stands...

Newsweek Proves They Have No Fashion Sense

Having just spent a week dealing with sharp pain at the ball of my foot, I read Newsweek's article on the dangers of wearing heels and the potential long-term health issues with great interest. I actually thought I was learning something, perhaps beginning to bend my All-Heels-All-The-Time rule...

My addiction to heels promises these health issues as I age:

- bunions
- hammertoes
- nail fungus
- neuroma, a pinched nerve that causes pain in the ball of the foot and a tingling in the toes.
- bursitis,
- strained tendons and a contracted Achilles tendons
- Bone spurs
- Knee surgery
- Arthritis

Then the no-fun editors at the publication went to far as to suggest:

Instead of Manolos or Jimmy Choos, check out the burgeoning number of comfort-shoe brands like Naturalizer, Easy Spirit, Aerosoles or Taryn Rose.

Um, you lost me there.

I'll take any of the above maladies over shopping at those stores. I will forsake the health of my toes, heels and knees.

They also reported that, a recent APMA survey found that 82 percent of women polled were willing to sacrifice comfort in order to be chic.

Fashion is a life long commitment.

NYC Guy Profile #3 - "But Aren't You Gay" Guy

Age: 26
Height: 5'9"
Build: Bookish
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Blond
Profession: Architect Graduate Student
Residence: Connecticut, Yale University


Meeting Synopsis: At a very alcoholic brunch, you meet a friend's extended network of college friends. One bears an incredible resemblance to Clay Aiken. Being slightly toasted you ask your roommate about his sexual orientation. She laughs because this has been a common question and noone is quite positive which way he swings. Later that day, you catch an older obviously gay man and Clay pose for a photo - which appeared to include a kiss or some sort of lip licking. Case Solved!

Relationship Details: As brunch turns into an alcohol fueled afternoon - into alcohol soaked evening, you are really enjoying hanging with your friend and her gay friend. At 5am, having missed the last train to Connecticut, he asks you: "Can I sleep in your bed?" Thinking there's no harm in having a gay guy in your bed, you agree.

Deal Breaker: In bed with the gay guy, wearing the norm - underwear and a t-shirt - you start to get the vibe that he might not be all gay. As you are passing out, you hear him telling you... "I noticed you the second I walked in the door. I was so nervious talking to you, I kept saying the dumbest things." Eh, pretend to pass out and not hear any of this. Be wary throughout the night as he keeps cuddling up to you...

Hindsight: I should have picked up on him not wanting to go to the bar where Cute Bartender works and, in hindsight, throwing a bit of a piss fit when I insisted.

Reasons why we won't have a third date

Dinner ... You drank 3/4 of the wine, never offering to refill my glass.

Cab to post dinner drinks ... After tying back my hair as I put on my jacket and scarf, you told me (in a very stern, bossy tone) that I shouldn't tie my hair back, because you didn't like it. Note: Do I care what you think? No. Notice my hair stayed up for the rest of the night.

Post-dinner drinks ... The available seating were small candlelit tables perfect for two to sit across from each other, you asked to sit next to me to which I refused, "cause this isn't a diner"

Post-dinner drink conversation ... After mentioning that I liked an evening cup of tea with a small piece of dark chocolate. You gave an icky smile and repeated the small, dark chocolate comment back to me. I got the distinct vibe that you were thinking about your penis at that moment.

Post dinner check ... You left a $4 tip on a $55 bill.

The Sealer ... After walking me home I thanked you for the date and gave you a hug goodnight. To which you said, and I QUOTE "I don't want that type of hug, you have your jacket and scarf on." Note: What the frick? Are we at Flavor Flav's house or something...

The Super Glue that Sealed the "No Third Date" Deal ... Unsure how to react to that last comment, I started to fish my apartment keys out of my bag. You used this split second to latch your right hand on my hip and kiss me. Where was your left hand??? Pressing firmly against the left side of my face, not moving, just pressed there, like a stone dead mackerel or something. This left me little room to pull away, I was stuck till you decided to detach yourself from me.

After the second worse kiss ever... I tried to get away so fast, I forgot that I had to use my keys to unlock my apartment door, and had an awkward semi-crash into the locked, closed door.

The #1 worse kiss ever -- The Older Man (NYC Guy Profile #6)

OK, here's the situation...

OK, here's the situation
My parents went away on a week's vacation and
They left the keys to the brand new Porsche
Would they mind?
Umm, well, of course not
I'll just take it for a little spin
And maybe show it off to a couple of friends
I'll just cruise it around the neighborhood
Well, maybe I shouldn't
Yeah, of course I should ....
(Complete lyrics here...)

Yesterday I started a meeting with "Ok, here's the situation..., " flashing back to my youth I rattled off a couple lines of the DJ Jazzy Jeff/Will Smith classic. The young PR pleebs in my office stared blankly at me. Eventually, one commented that she loved "that show." I found myself explaining that before The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, that song that inspired the sitcom. Again, blank stares...

How old am I?
Am I really that old?

On the same note, the Challenger exploded 20 years ago! 20! Remember watching that on television? Then yes, you too are old like me.

A Million Little Lies - So What

Sunday evening (my first date with "California"), he made an interesting conclusion about the bruhaha surrounding James Frey's book "A Million Little Pieces." I had mentioned that 12 pages of the whole book are being highly critiqued for being lies.

California concluded that if only 12 of the estimated 250 pages of the whole book were lies, that's a decent percentage of truth and do we really expect more than that? (Quick someone do the math) When if all comes down, despite our best efforts, no one is 100% truthful... In the grand scheme of things, we all lie more than that.

(Yeah right, you never lie...)

So what, Frey embellished his story a little. Don't blame him, he was trying to break into the publishing business. Do you have any idea how hard it is to write a book that sells with the astonding success of his?? Who knows what influence his editor had in those 12 pages. Aren't we all a little guilty of embellishing stories from our lives?

(Yeah right, you never embellish...)

Perhaps Frey has a future writing for the New York Times (a'la Jayson Blair) or at the Boston Globe (a'la Mike Barnicle)

Anyway, California turned out to be better date than expected. He was smart, funny, and cuter than I recalled. He fed just enough compliments my way to be nice and not crazy. The oddest compliment of the night was, "I really like your grey matter. Most women I've met in the city, play down their intelligence."

We have plans for next Sunday...

Weekend Houseguests

When I'm outside the city, I am compelled to invite everyone I meet to stay at my apartment the next time they are in the city. Not sure why these faux-promises keep tumbling out of my mouth. I need to learn a lesson. Way too many times I have said

"I can't believe you haven't visited me yet. I'd love to have you for the long weekend. Don't get an expensive hotel room stay with me. Of course you can bring your friends."

Even if these houseguests are your best friends and are completely respectable, there is an endless litaney of annoyances. Following are just a couple of my own:

Houseguest Rule #1
When you are out till 5am, don't expect a NYC walking tour at 9:30am, especially if your host promised at any point of the evening's drinking festivities to take you. Trust me - your sleeping friend doesn't want to go to Ellis Island, the Empire State Building, NBC Studios or Times Square. Each of these activites involves standing in long lines or crowded spaces, during which your friend will be inwardly pissed at you for making them get out of bed. If you are so eager to do these things you can't sleep until noon, leave your sleeping friend a note and hop in a cab, check back at 1pm when they've finally woken up.

Houseguest Rule #2
Brunch doesn't start serving alcohol till after noon, don't start asking at 10am what's for breakfast. New Yorker's love to brunch for three reasons: bloody mary's, screwdrivers and mimosas.

Houseguest Rule #3
If you throw up -- clean it up.

Houseguest Rule #4
To that point, if your accompanying friend throws up and is unable to clean it up themselves -- you clean it up for them. Do NOT under any circumstance let the lady of the house lift a finger (short of pointing you in the direction of cleaning supplies and paper towels).

Houseguest Rule #5
Not everything in the fridge is up for grabs, most of us have roommates. Ask before popping open that champange, uncorking that wine, or diving into that Ben & Jerry's.

Houseguest Rule #6
Spoil your host. Pick up the bill for dinner. Buy them at least one drink at every bar you visit. Pay for a cab ride. No matter how many times you treat your host, you will never spend as much as one night in a hotel. The importance of this escalates with the # of evenings you stay over.

Houseguest Rule #7
If you normally take two showers a day, please don't ask for a clean towel each time. Few city folks have the luxury of washers and dryers in their apartment, let alone their building. When we run out of towels, we need to carry them down the 5th floor walkup to the laundromate blocks away. Honestly now, are you THAT dirty!

Someone up there HATES me

An alarming trend with some of my favorite things. They are all meeting an untimely demise.

TV: Emily's Reasons Why Not Cancelled
Drinks: Belly (155 Rivington) Up for Sale
Restaurant: Cafe Juanita (153 Rivington) Closing

Apparently, someone up there hates me this week. Or my karma needs some serious tending to... Until this trend comes to an end, I am not developing any opinions about anything. Expect for President Bush - he is my favorite.

Schadenfreude

scha·den·freu·de (N).
Pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others.

Germans may make terrible boyfriends, but they have a seriously great sense of liguistical humor. It's a shame that the American language doesn't have a word that can even come close to this.

As a good friend said last night, leaving the Broadway performance of Avenue Q, "I'm never going to not laugh at someone falling down. Well as long as they aren't hurt."

While I'm on the topic of words... Let's do away with the following words: slacks and panties. YUCK

Someone else's embarassing moment

Recently a friend and I were dining at Tiny's Giant Sandwich Shop and witnessed an acquaintance completely embarrass themselves....

During our meal, we noticed said acquaintance pacing outside the restaurant nervously smoking a cig. He's a friend of a former boyfriend, and we laugh heartedly reminiscing about the tapered khakis he used to wear. As we're laughing, he turns and walks into the restaurant. Not wanting to have the hey-I-sorta-know-you-what-you-been-up-to conversation, I grab my friend's sunglasses and toss on a hat. Going incognito, I'm unnoticed. Which is a good thing cause it turns out he was only there to hit on the hot counter girl.

He walks up to cute counter girl and starts bragging about himself:

So hey, I've noticed you. I live in the neighborhood and rep a couple bands. They are pretty big, I get them shows at Hammerstein every couple a' months. You know completely cutting edge music, stuff I bet you'd like. I dabble in producing music, but I'm really more of a promoter. I can get tickets to pretty much any show in the LES music scene. So yeah, hey, I just wanted to you know say hi. My name is XX, and I'll see you around

Then he jets out the door. Doesn't give her a chance to respond. Doesn't even order anything. Now this is a very small restarant and everyone dining heard this terribly pick-up attempt. As he practically ran out the door, people started chuckling.

MTV True Life - Not So True

I'm sure MTV producers sit around and pat themselves on the back as they turn around each mind-numbing (yet addictive) episode of "True Life". One episode titled: I'm moving to New York had me in stitches...

Watching the program reminded me that although there are still lots of things I want in this city that are out my reach, I've come a long way and have done so on my own. Flashback to the days when dinner & lunch constituted white rice and red hot (sometimes with a pat of butter if I was feeling extravagent)... Or when I went out with only $40 in my pocket, taking the subway to save $ for drinking.

Want to feel good about yourself -- here are two of the individuals MTV profiled.

True Life: I'm moving to New York City
Julie -- the classic spoiled little rich girl, moves to NYC and lives off of her parents. After blowing $600 on 2 items from Intermix, she calls home to hit daddy up for money to pay her $500 electric bill. The show closes with her parent's threatenning to cut her off...

Josh -- the aspiring model from Wisconsin totally blows his chance at become a "world famous model" for a number of reasons: 1) Non-existant work ethic. 2) No sense of time. 3) Coping an attitude. 4) Being darn tooting ugly. The show ends with him back in Wisconsin, collecting cans for $. No joke.

And don't even get me started on ... True Life: I'm in an interracial relationship

The Ultimate Morning After

The setting: Sunday, January 1 at an East Village beer hall, three twenty-something girls are seated with beers recapping the previous night's antics. They are joined by another girl of similar age, played by yours truly -- Snob

Snob: Whew, I didn't think I'd make it, I've been nursing a massive hangover all day. That was a seriously killer New Year's party!

Girl #1: So, I heard that you left the party with Brad, give up the details!

Snob: Definitely brought a guy home last night, but it was Mike not Brad...
(Girls 1-3 exchange a quick glance at each other and start laughing.)

Girl #2: Um no, his name was definitely Brad.
(Laughter, as Snob looks confused)

(Looking to the other Girls for support.)
Snob: His name was Mike, wasn't it?

Girl #1 & Girl #3: Um no, it was definitely Brad.
(More laughter, as Snob looks confused)

Snob: Oh. My. God. I called him the wrong name. When we woke up, he flat out asked if I remembered his name and I said Mike... That's hilarious! Looks like I won't be hearing from either Brad or Mike.
(All laugh, as the scene fades to black.)

Love C.O. Biglow Mentha Lip Tints

As earlier reported, Bath & Body Works now carries the simply amazing CO Bigelow product line. During an afternoon shopping outing with friends, we stopped in and all scooped up this.... Mentha Lip Tints.

I've quickly developed an emotionally obsession and physical dependance on the tinted lip color. Available in a multitude of sheer colors, this peppermint-infused lip balm leaves you with a long-lasting minty tingle. It is an incredibly refreshing product to apply, reapply, and reapply some more... And with the blustry time spent outside these last few weeks, I can attest to it's lip protecting and healing capabilities.

One complaint: Bigelow over-pitches the product as a "breath freshner." That's just silly marketing schlep. I am slightly disappointed that CO Bigelow felt it was necessary to oversell this truly amazing product.

Think of this as the "Bonnie Bell" for the fabulash gal. Regularly priced at $7.50, they are now on sale for only $5. Consider this the excuse to dispose of the waxy Chapstick in your purse.

There's a reason it's called a Wing MAN

The other night out with College Friend, I determined the guy/girl wingman combo is the perfect setup...

No competition - 1

Increased approachability - 2

Easy conversation starter - 3

(The unexpected guy/girl wingman combo allows you to size up potentially interesting individuals without being obvious.)

Unbiased opinions - 4

The boyfriend/girlfriend card - 5

(Trumps the terribly ineffective lesbian card.)

Enough sexual tension to keep us protective of each other - 6

(Not wanting to see the other with a "dog" we cockblock the unworthy.)

While at the bar, College Friend met a beauty (think Penelope Cruz), as they got to know each other, I entertained her three hanger-on dude friends. One was a smashing mirror of Sean Austin (you know the fat hobbit?) who was coincidently completely wasted.

At 4am my wingman duty was complete, College Friend and Penelope had exchanged numbers and there was no sign of their night ending. I however, had no interest in the Fat Hobbit and said my goodbyes. (The following details have just been relayed to me, in a post-night out call with College Friend.)

College Friend and Penelope didn't want the night to end, so they headed to the corner diner. Her wingmen, including the Hobbit, accompanied them. Somewhere between placing orders and the food arriving, the Hobbit passed out at the table. As they all finished eating, one of his friends joted a quick note, "Please take me home," pinned it to the Hobbit's chest and left him seated at the table.

That's it. End of night. Isn't that terrible? Isn't that the worst display of friendship you've ever heard?

20 NYC Blocks = 1 Mile

60 blocks, 2 Avenues to work.
60 blocks, 2 Avenues home from work.
3 days of striking transit workers.
GRAND TOTAL = 18 MILES

The only good thing that came out of the NYC transit stike was an overwhelming urge to upgrade my shoe collection. As I walked those 6 miles daily, I came to despise my sneakers. Never had I felt so unattractive, sex-less and drole. I now know that footwear is essential to my emotional well-being.

With that in mind, I hit Steve Madden on Saturday afternoon and purchased two pairs of rocking heels, one black, one brown, completely guilt free. If it weren't the holiday weekend, I could easily have purchased others. This is only a short term fix, I'm looking forward to post-holiday shoe sales and intend on starting 2006 with an entirely new shoe wardrobe.

Elves Upgraded

Another reason to love the NYC fire department.

Tonight (Christmas Eve), I stepped outside my apartment and encountered 5 NYC firemen whose arms were loaded with wrapped holiday gifts. At that moment, they were having trouble locating the address of nearby apartment, in which a NYC lower income family was about to be presented with the gifts overloaded in their arms.

It was obvious that this group of guys was having the greatest time playing Santa Claus. A year of nightshifts, sitting in the fire house, silently protecting and watching, December 24 is a night they look forward to. (Personally, I would have loved to have seen the wrapping session... Incredibly capable men, become infantile when confronted with wrapping paper, scotch tape and ribbon.)

It's wonderful to know that in a city where it's easy to feel overlooked, overwhelmed and alone, NYC is truly an intricit series of small neighborhoods. Each neighborhood has their silent protectors, a network of individuals who aren't just there to respond to our 911 calls.

Side note: I fully support Santa's executive decision in replacing his elves with the NYC Fire Department.

Now that's what I'm talking about

You know those days that suck and nothing is going your way.... Well, I've found the solution to all that. (And no, it isn't a bottle of malbec wine.) It's from the School of Computer Science and Engineering at the University of New South Wales. Who knew engineers could be so charming??

http://www.cse.unsw.edu.au/~geoffo/humour/flattery.html

Addendum to: It's a Small World

After catching up with new guy friend on Saturday night, I questioned him about giving up my crush to the cute bartender. He promised up and down that he didn't say anything when he walked in. In all honesty, I trust the guy...

New guy friend even filled in some important details from last weekend's encounter. (Remember now, it was the end of an evening of drinking, some timeframe gaps should be expected...)

1) I originally reported that cute bartender and I had only introduced ourselves. New guy friend confirmed that late in the evening, cute bartender and I were having an extended conversation. This was interrupted by two gals at the end of the bar who were bring pissy and kept calling cute bartender over. (Contents of this conversation, I sadly can't recall -- stupid vodka tonics.)

2) New guy friend also commented that I left the bar abruptly after our conversation was interrupted by these pissy gals. (I'm not surprised by this, I probably had a moment of clarity about how drunk I was and left the bar before making an ass of myself. I've developed this exit-strategy over years of alcoholic behavior & terribly embarrassing morning afters.)

3) Earning points for full-disclosure, new guy friend did reveal that after learning about about our F Train encounter, he mentioned to cute bartender that I had spoken of him earlier. This is a forgivable admission, since he actually might have helped my cause.

4) Most importantly, after I jetted cute bartender had inquired about my where abouts. (So, it's not the ideal way to end a conversation, but at least I know he was interested in continuing to speak with me.)

Anyway, the next visit to said bar, will surely be worthy of another blog entry.

It's A Small World

Saturday night my friends and I do the usual pre-drinking / bar hopping around the LES. After getting a good drink on, one of the gals invites her new guy friend to come meet up with us. It's the first time I've met this new guy friend, so I size him up with the usual 20-questions. Since we live in the same hood, conversation inevitablably turns to our favorite bars.

Turns out he frequents a neighborhood bar that I've always liked for the pure fact that there's a cute bartender. No sooner were these words out of my mouth then new guy friend says, "Who XX (naming cute bartender)? He's my boy." Needless to say, the night wears on and we end up at said bar.
________________________________________________

This is where NYC becomes a small world, or new guy friend spilt the beans to cute bartender right when he walked in.
________________________________________________

We have too many folks to pile into one cab, so we split up, my friend and new guy friend going ahead. As the second cab, of which I'm a part of, empties out and starts to walk in the door of the bar, a voice says, "Hey, that's the girl from the F train today." I didn't catch who said this and figured since we're in the LES, most everyone is "that girl from the F train."

When I go to the bar for a drink, there's cute bartender. As I order my drink, he mentions that he saw me on the F train earlier that day. (He was the mysterious voice at the door. Yes, I had been waiting for the train earlier that afternoon, fresh from having my passport photo taken, and I must say I was having a great hair day....) Anyway, he and I introduce ourselves and that's about that.... At least next time I go back, I'll have his name and an offical introduction.

Your thoughts please: Okay, I am terribly cynical. I think the new guy friend said something cute bartender before I arrived. Because honestly now, how many people on the subway have caught your eye that you actually end up running into??? I've always scoffed at the Craig's List Missed Connection concept.

A Eulogy to my Bronze Heels

I remember the day we met like it was yesterday (Nine West, 5th Avenue at 19th Street). It was December 2003. I was frantically searching for the perfect, close-toed heel to match my fabulous New Year's Eve dress. I had tried on so many..., my energy was low..., I was about to give up..., then I found you.

You, with your 3 inch stiletto heel
You, with your brushed bronze leather
You, with you sophisticated pointed toe
It was love at first sight.

For two years we went inseparable, winter, snow, rain, on vacation, at work, the perfect party companion. Wearing jeans or a dress, with you I was always more confident, taller...

The last month was difficult. I didn't want to see the signs. When your leather seams started splitting, I looked away. When the metallic heel clicked against the sidewalk, I tried not to listen. When each step began to feel soft and flexible, no longer announcing "strut," I adjusted my walk so your thin, delicate heel wouldn't snap....

Last night, I put my favorite heels in their protective box one last time. As I placed the shoes into the trash, I can't help but think about all the good times we had together....

....kissing the Jude Law look-a-like....dancing on couches at the Pink Elephant...Vegas...Dinners at Asia de Cuba....

I will always remember you fondly.
Goodbye to my bronze heels

Friendster is Freaking Me Out

The History of the Situation: Not long ago Friendster added a system feature allowing you to see who has viewed your profile. At first it was mandatory, but after a serious uproar from their members, they made it optional. The catch, you can only see who has viewed your profile if you have opted into the program.

This curious cat ran an experiment for the last month. I opted into the program and for the months stopped snooping at other's profiles. (I prefer to remain anonomyous.) The take-away from this experience is that Friendster has some serious freaks!

The Reality of the Situation: In one month, I had 30+ views. Most of these were anonymous, by folks who opted out. One was a college friend. The other nine have driven me to the following conclusions

• Lesbians LOVE me... Three, count it three self-professed lesbians.
• Old men really like 20-something women. My oldest viewer was 48, others were 37 and 40.
• The world is filled with some ug-ly people. Honestly, if the photos these people posted were their best, I can imagine what their worst looks like.

Overall, an incredibly disappointing experiment. I have rejoined the anonymous viewers, prefering to have the latitude to imagine my mystery viewers are dreamy guys.

69 Days to a Bikini

Having just indulged myself over the Thanksgiving holiday, I've firmly settled into the "winter frame of mind," which entails guiltless second servings, rounds of desserts and unbridaled late night snacking. This dietary diversion is easily hidden behind the bulky sweaters and long pants of the winter season. As I struggled this morning with buttoning my jeans, I thanked myself that bikini season is at least seven months away...

...Until I remembered come February, I'll be doning my bikini for a seriously rockin' vacation. My girlfriends and I are leaving frigid NYC for Miami and the welcoming ports of the Caribbean. This isn't just ANY cruise, this is the Jazz Fest of cruises, featuring some of our favorite bands:

- Bob Weir & Rat Dog
- G Love and the Special Sauce
- Toots and the Maytals
- Ozomatli
- North Mississippi Allstars
- Mike Doughty's Band
- Mofro
- John Brown's Body
- Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

The pinnacle of the experience will be the concluding private concert on a private island featuring Dave Matthews. (Now, I haven't been a Dave fan since freshman year of college -- but a private concert, on a private island would make my thrilled to see even James Taylor.)

This will be an epic vacation, for many reasons. Here are just a few:

1. Guy:girl ratios favorable to the single gal (Assumption based on experience at past concerts.)
2. Sun, sunglasses, sun tanning, sunscreen, sun naps, sun dresses...
3. Mmmm, margaritas
4. Endless dancing... Dancing so much you invent new dance moves... Dancing so your thighs and calves are sore... Busting my favorite all-time dance move "The Molly Ringwald" (please refer to the Breakfast Club for visual reference.)
5. Four fabulous single NYC gals and one cabin -- code words for "don't come in" currently under development
6. Leaving the sweaters & socks in NYC, packing only tank tops, skirts and flip flops.

Now that I'm thoroughly jazzed for this trip, I vow to hit the gym 4 times a week. Two days of real gym, two days of bikram yoga. My bikini will be worn with no dismay, no dispair... 69 days to go!

Married and Bored. Single and Lonely

If you haven't heard Chris Rock's comedy skit "Married and Bored. Single and Lonely" I highly suggest renting it. His comic outlook on the marriage/dating scene shouldn't be missed.

Right now I'm going through a stint of hating being single. I'm so freaking sick and tired of it all. But then the prospect of being married and bored... ugh! Where is the happy medium? (To my married friends: Don't take offense - that set-up is good for you, I just can't imagine having to share my closet space.)

If we take Chris Rock's words to heart, the only exciting place to be "actively dating." The thought of endless dating exhausts me. The process of dating is so tedious... All those movies, dinners, phone number exchanges, emails, introductions to friends... Please tell me that this isn't the best relationships have to offer.

Perhaps the best time is the first couple months together, the "honeymoon phase" as it is commonly known... Examining the experience of those around me, I don't think that's the best time either. As happy as you may be about the new man in your life, you find others around you start acting weird and jealous. It's amazing how catty some women (you call friends) can get when expected to share time with you. This pressure removes some of the honeymoon pleasure.

Or is it the landslide, relationship ending moments that are the best. That momenth when you realize everything you loved has gone to pot, and you start injecting the anger, rejection, and all accompanying feelings into an endless string of one-nighters. (What is it about an impending breakup that injects the social life with an added shot of Red Bull.) Then again, just typing these moments reminds me how these actions make the whole world even more exhaustingly lonely.

My conclusion is that the fun and excitement is always going to be where you aren't.
To that point. I'm out to find some fun. Cause it sure isn't behind this keyboard.

Betty Crocker = The Devil

I was warned and I still did it... If you have any respect for your waistline, stay as far away as possible... Even if they are on sale for $1.99... Don't do it...

Betty Crocker's Warm Delights are the devil!!!!

You've been warned. I understand if you cave, I did.

Bikram Kicked My Butt

I have always considered myself a healthy individual. I hit the gym 4-5 times a week, am capable of running 6 miles on the treadmill, or knocking out 7,000 steps on the stair climber... With my background in dance, I consider yoga to be something I'm naturally good at.

Well, let me tell you... Bikram Yoga kicked my butt

After an incredibly unhealthy Friday night/Saturday morning, an individual convinced me that Sunday morning's 10am Bikram class way the best way to atone of my sins. (For those who don't know, the 90-minute class takes place in a sweatbox studio, 100+ degrees, which you aren't allowed to leave as the class moves through a series of 26 poses. )

Thankfully, the teacher is incredibly supportive, because I learned I'm not as physically fit as I presumed. I did try to do at least one of each pose, but most of the time I was so dizzy and nauseous from the heat, I sat on my mat watching those around me. It's quite remarkable to see individuals of all ages strike perfect poses. There was a woman 60+ who was simply phenomonal.

After making it through my first class, I felt detoxified, I fely emotionally energized. Physically, I felt very sore. (This morning, my back aches in places I'm sure muscles never existed.) Despite feeling roughed up and beat up, I can hardly wait for my next class. Tonight at 8pm.

Saying Goodbye to Bob Loblaw

If you didn't catch the title, indulge me for a moment and follow along.

Bob LoBlaw is the lawyer on Arrested Development. Knowing that, let's say the name... Bob Loblaw... (faster) ... BobLoblaw ... (faster) ... Blah Blah Blah.

Yes, that's it! Now tell me you aren't chuckling to yourself thinking of a lawyer named Bob Loblaw. To add to your chuckles, picture the role being played by Scott Baio of 80's classic "Charles in Charge" fame. When watching the program, I still break into fits of laughter everytime Bob Loblaw is brought up in conversation...

This just one example of why Arrested Development was the greatest show on television. Today, FOX made the decision to cancel the program. Apparently, Americans can't grasp the humor and genuis of a TV program that doesn't require a laugh track. Let's take a close look at the other programs on FOX's line-up that they considered worthy of continuing: Bones - (a blatant rip of CSI), Stacked - (need I point out the two reasons this is still on the air), Renovate My Family - (yawn)...

I've heard of write-in campigns saving a program... So there's a small glimmer of hope. (Although, since FOX has Arrested on the chopping block last year, I'm not too hopeful.) Here's the address: askfox@foxinc.com, email the idiots at Fox and tell them what you think of their decision.

Altoid Anyone?

Following lunch I reach for my Wintergreen Altoids. Digging in to the tin, I accidentally drop one. I do a quick check around my desk and can't find it... So I give up and go for another.

As my day rolls on, I step out for a meeting. As I return to my office, my boss follows me. We enter my office and mid-conversation he points to the floor laughing, "Did you bring the party to the office today? Try to keep the blow off the floor."

To my horror, I look over and there on my carpet is what used to be an Altoid, smushed and piled looking like the 70's are alive and kicking in my office. Leaving for the meeting, I must have rolled over the "lost" Altoid with my chair. The horror... The embarrassment...

Laguardia is my Lexus

Living in NYC, I don't have a car -- but I do have two fabulous airports:

• LaGuardia is my Lexus
• JFK is my Jaguar

For a drop-dead amazing airfare:

• Newark is my Neon

Every couple months I invest in a ticket somewhere far away, somewhere close, somewhere exotic, somewhere plain. This $300 investment is probably the equiliivant of your car insurance, gasoline and parking tickets.

Just another reason why being a NYC Snob is so fabulous.

Get Drunk with -- Il Bastardo

Headed over to your friend's house after work to console her over a recent or not-so-recent heartbreak? Forget the flowers or a sappy movie, bring Il Bastardo. No joke, this red wine can probably be found in your corner wine store:

Il Bastardo 2001 Sangiovese Rosso di Toscana ($10.99)

A good friend introduced me to Il Bastardo at the time of her break up, since then he's saw me through my heart break and accompained me to many a dinner party, bitch-fests and even appears on special restaurant occassions.

He's a solid date. Unlike the man who broke your heart, Il Bastardo's black-cherry aroma and distinct vinegary note is always reliable. Okay, it won't be the finest red in your wine cabinet, but it is simple, easy going and fits with your lifestyle. Il Bastardo won't talk back and after a couple glasses will gently tuck you into bed.

Wineloverspage.com recommends matching it with meatballs, sausages and spicy buffet fare.

I recommends matching it with a broken heart, cigarettes and a good girlfriend.

Sex and Birth Control - What you think you know

I like to think my girlfriends and I are intelligent, well-traveled and well-read. We're a group of politically, socially, fiscally aware women, who can hold their own in any conversation, referencing the most recent issue of The Nation or last week's Meet the Press.

Imagine my surprise as conversation turned to birth control and sex and the following statements were tossed into the conversation:

I don't care if I miss the final 2-3 pills in my birth control pack, I just toss them. What's going to happen, I'll be getting my period in a couple days anyway...

What? You can get herpes from oral sex?

I've been on birth control since I was 15. Since I might want to have a baby in a couple years, I'm going off the pill, so my body's fertility can readjust.

During this particular conversation, as these statements were made, the misconceptions were corrected. However, it got me thinking.... How long has it been since we've read that mini-insert that comes with our birth control? Now acutely aware of how easily a misconception can be adopted as a truth, I am making an active effort to reeducate myself. Starting with next month's pill pack, I'll be reading the fine print.

Side Note: If you haven't beeen turned onto it yet...The Nuvaring is quickly replacing Ortho Tri as the method of preference among my friends. Consider asking your gyno about it.

Earn the Right To Complain

If you want to spend the next year complaining about the state of things in the city, get out and vote today. Like choosing underwear, voting is very personal. I'm not going to ask who you are voting for, promote a particular candidate or attempt to sway your vote.

After taking 5 minutes to pull the lever and register your vote, we can continue our political debates and rants: Where's the 2nd Avenue Subway? What about building codes to keep tall buildings from envading my hood? Should ethical standards be set for Albany? What about balanced budgets?

If you were so inclined to study up before casting your vote. Here is Gotham Magazine's Election Guide for the Last Minute Voter.

Does New Yorker = Alcoholic

As I'm corresponding with a friend far outside the influence of Manhattan, the following exchange occurs...

Snob: This weekend my friends and I are headed to Boston for a weekend of college flashbacks.

Out-of-towner: I’m really impressed that you have enough energy to party three weekends straight.

Snob: What would one do without a good party on the weekend?

In evaluating the lifestyle I've been living for the past 5 years, there's a disturbing trend -- I think NYC is making me an alcoholic. Let's use last week as an example:

Monday Take the edge off Monday bottle of red
Tuesday Young Patrons Society Gala -> bottle service at the Hudson Hotel -> the Library
Wednesday No drinking, although from the previous night it is possible I was still hungover.
Thursday Parting cocktails for a coworker -> a wine & cheese party
Friday Happy Friday six pack, split with roommate
Saturday Halloween (read Slut-o-ween Take Two)
Sunday Dinner with friends featuring Italian red -> martinis at Simone's

What is it about the cities energy, pressure, the mass of people, the endless hours of office work that turns us into lushes?

There is no doubt that living in NYC, we drink more often than our friends living outside the city. I've always justified it by saying living in NYC, I have more opportunity to go out than "outsiders."

Now, I have a new theory, I'm blaming Zagat's & Shecky's for their Nightlife Guides. Every year, I pick up the newest editions and within those pages are lovely descriptions of bars & restaurants all around the city just taunting me to try them all. I've tried and multiple occasions to visit each one, but new places keep opening.. I blame you Zagat's for showing me what I haven't had yet.

If my rampage has made you concerned about your alcohol intake... Take this eight question quiz from Alcoholic's Anonymous.

See you all at the bar on Thursday night.

I'll Trade Paris for Kate Any Day

The rumor mill is churring and speading what I hope to be truths about celebrity comings-and-goings in the Metropolis of Manhattan.

I'll take Kate Moss and her vices any day, over the played out heiress of skank-ville Paris Hilton. Perhaps I've read one too many gossip column entries about Paris, but honestly I'm bored. I want a little mystery back, I want celebs who I dont' know everything about...

Kate offers something new and classier. Plus she dated Johnny Depp, before her started picking up those freakish movie roles. That's a bonus.

Peeve - Songs as Cell Phone Rings

Do you really want to smoosch everyone's enjoyment of a great song. If you do, I highly advise making it your ring tone.

There is a man nearby who has Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone" as a ring tone. Really people, as a ring tone. Now I love Kelly for so many reasons. (I've been out of the closet with this obsession for some time.... ) In one week, this man has single handlede removed any and all joy I ever felt when hearing this song.

Oh yeah, and to the girl on the MTA bus this morning getting such a kick out of her "Hey Ya" ringtone, it's time to download a new ringtone. Rockin' tunes from 2003 isn't fabulash.

(I swear she had people calling her just to set it off, cause her multiple phone conversations were mili seconds long...and she let the whole song play before answering...obviously oblivious to the annoyance of the passengers around her.)

Ellen Degeneres so fabulous stated when discussing this same topic, "Aren't we glad they got rid of those annoying telephone rings" (In the background - an annoying song phone ring continually sounds.)

Slut-o-ween

Dear Ricky's NYC:

I'm highly concerned about your current display of women's Halloween outfits. Perhaps, I've become cynical in my 20+ years of life, but what's with the full on slut display? Really, Ricky! What about Halloween screams slut to you? Slutty proctologist nurses, slutty flight attendants from "Mile High AirClub", slutty construction workers with cut off t-shirt reading "Got Wood?",

In thinking ahead to your costume order for Halloween 2006, please keep the following in mind:

1) If I wanted to dress up like an S&M maven or Sex Kitten, I would purchase those particular outfits. Not every cop outfit needs to be made out of pleather.

2) Not everyone (actually very few of us) look good in half shirts.

3) Even fewer of us look good in hot pants. I even checked a size up hoping there'd be more length in the inseam -- but no, you only offer a large waist band.

4) Still ranting about the hot pants... if a women is purchases the XXL flight attendant outfit, please, please, please, please add a little lenght to those hot pants. No one, I repeat no one, wants that type of fright on Halloween.

5) By the time the evening is over, it's November. For crying out loud, it's going to be 40 degrees outside! I'm freaking freezing!

6) More accessories please, move beyond the pirate, pimp and vampire fare. Assortment is a lovely thing!

Thank you for considering this. Until you offer more appropriate fare, I'll continue to take my costume dollars elsewhere. Perhaps next year, I'll hand over $70 for one of your pre-packaged costumes. Until then, I won't be back 'till your store returns to the smorgusborg of hair care prodcuts.

Sincerely,
Snob I.T. City