Guest Editorial -- A Short Story

Since I have no creativity this week... I am posting a true tale from my world traveling friend.

"How to Get Bucked Off and Kicked By A Horse and Live to Tell About It"
- a short story -

We were outside Santiago, on the grand Lake Atitlan, resting between two dormant volcanoes. The ranch belonged to two eccentric expats, Nancy and Jim, who lived there since the Guatemalan Civil War. That's when I met Rosa.

Rosa seemed a bit skittish from the start to be perfectly honest. While my boyfriend and Pancho seemed to hit it off instantly, Rosa had an uncalm nature to her. After a few brief instructions, we head off down the road, in great anticipation of the cloud forests and amazing vistas that we would soon encounter.

About three minutes later, the dogs showed up. Rosa didn't like them. They growled at her, jumped at her, and nipped at her face. She became visibly upset, and turned around, as though to head back towards the ranch. At this point I was uneasy but not entirely concerned. Then she started what can only be called a gallop back in the direction of the ranch, at which point I got nervous and probably started shrieking a bit. The dogs caught up to her and came at her from the front again, at which point she did a full-on rodeo buck with her back legs, veered to the left, and then bucked up on her back legs, sending me flying into a pile of logs. For a nanosecond I lay there with my eyes closed, feeling the impact all over my body but realizing that I was still alive. That's when I felt a cloven hoof kick into my ankle, and heard what can only be called stampeding around my head, which quickly brought me to my senses: " Holy shit I am laying beneath a horse going ape shit." By the time I pulled myself up Rosa was in a full-tilt gallop back towards the ranch, clearly glad to be rid of me.

Now bear in mind: My boyfriend had to watch this entire episode from his horse, helpless. I almost feel worse for him.

Almost, but for the back spasms, softball-sized shiner on my leg (complete with broken skin from the hoof), and overall soreness that feels as though I´ve been in about three car accidents.

Luckily, you don't need a prescription for Valium here :)

No Subject Required

Last time I met up with Nice Guy Finish Last, he gave me a hard time cause I never actually reveal anything about myself on my blog. Fittingly enough, my first personal revelation might be something that he can relate to.

In thirteen days, July 4th to be exact. It will be 365 days this last time I've slept with someone. I don't think I've experienced this type of dry spell since I was fifteen. Honestly, I can't! There was a time of my life when I was having so much sex, men practically overlapped. (Alright they did, just don't tell my ex'es.)

Today however, my obsession crossed the line when I saw pregnant woman and was struck with extreme jealousy because she is obviously having more sex than me.

Problem #1
The guy that I've been hanging out is incredibly a-sexual, shy or gay. Of all the time we've spent together (4 months) we've probably hit third base (if you regress to high-school make out terminology) once. ONCE! Obviously, this needs to end. He is distracting me from my end goal.

Problem #2
Somewhere along this lonely road I decided I need to actually like the person. Whatever happened to college, when being drunk was enough to sleep with someone. At what point did I flip the switch to needing to care about someone. This train of thought is royally screwing me right now (poor choice of words, cause nothing is screwing me at this moment.)

Problem #3
I have a date on Friday and all I'm thinking about is what amount of time is reasonable before we'd decided to sleep together. Come on! I'm starting to talk and sound like a guy!

In an effort to remind myself that I once had a very active, fulfilling sex life, I took a purity quiz. The kicker is that my existance in a sexless vacuum has raised my purity score. I've gone from a solid 22% in college to 24% sexually pure.

Hopefully, my weekend at the Jersey Shore over the 4th of July weekend will provide a few options. However, I'm thinking I should begin filling my application to become President of the "born-again virgin club." I'd be a shoe in....

If you see something, say something

Living in NYC, we are constantly barraged with public service announcements, subway ads, newscasters, government officials reminding us: If you see something [suspicious], say something. But sometimes life in New York is so uncanny it is hard to determine suspicious from normal.

Consider this:

About 6-7 weeks back I turned the corner from Delancy to Allen St walking north. A car traveling in the direction of traffic exiting the Williamsburg Bridge also turns the corner and pulls over in front of me. The driver hops out, walks to the trunk, pops it open and out jump two men. Two fully dressed, non-descript, fully-grown men. These men then start walking in opposite directions on the street as if nothing unusual happened.

Suspicious or just uncanny?

Tan Lines

You'd think I'd have learned by now the benefit of sunscreen while at the beach. But no, each year it is the same painful lesson. Too much sun, not enough sunscreen.

My first day at my Fire Island beach house was a semi-wash. Overcast and cloudy, I spent the day entertaining myself with bike rides around the island, card games and a six-pack of Corona. Sunday I was up at 9am to make the most of the available sun time. In my beach chair, I worshiped the sun for six straight hours. (Judging from my burn today, that was about one hour too long.) YOUCH!

Highlights from the weekend:

1. So quite unexpectedly, hanging out on the strip of bars on Ocean Beach I ran into a casual acquaintance. Now this gentleman has a girlfriend (protective alias: Sue). When we ran into each other he was with another girl (dirty ho name: Britney). It was so obvious by the way Britney was hanging on him that they were more than just "housemates". Tsk-tsk-tsk... I would never tell Sue about her boyfriend's coniving ways, but I am not above resorting to bribary. He owes me a beer or two.
2. I operated a grill for the first time. And from the reviews I received, I can cook a hamburger patties and hot dogs pretty darn well. To think for years, I've been asknig guys to do the grilling, cause well, I always figured it was a guy-thing to do. Next time I am going to fire up the grill and show off my skill with the open-range.
3. While talking to some guy at the bar, he asks me: "So do you ski?" To which I responded, "Of course, I was born in Vermont!" Judging from his blank stare, we were not about to go into a greater discussion of downhill or cross-country skiing...
4. Playing wingman for your girl who really needs to forget about a crap-ass week and shitty ex-boy can actually be fun.

Quick update: The Cute Architect Boy

Working in communications has drawbacks, one of them being that when a mysterious number pops up on my cell phone, 80% of the time I answer it. Is it a reporter? client? spokesdoctor? As much as I love my cell phone, sometimes I can do without. Except for on a night like last night...

Could hardly believe it last night when a mysterious phone number popped up. On answering, I nearly toppled over. Cute architect boy from my birthday called... I thought for sure that my drunken antics were al little too much for his mid-west self. But I guess all went better that night than I remembered.

We had a great conversation (almost an hour!) recapping the night's events. During which he refreshed my memory that he walked me home from the bar to make sure all was well. Anyway, since I'm out of town this weekend we made plans to have lunch next Friday. I can hardly believe that he called.

Oh the keg delivery guy just buzzed, I need to lug the empty canister downstairs to return it. Good times needed to end.

Fickle Am I

Fickle \ fi-kel \ adj : not firm or steadfast in disposition or character : inconsistent

Every time I hold one of those red cellophane Fortune-telling Chinese fish in my hand, it flips right over declaring me – fickle. Every time I hold the fish, it is the same thing. Fickle.

Saturday night, my birthday party, a raging success on all accounts. The turnout for the rooftop kegger was quite remarkable. The perfect mix of people attended; coupled with sweet views of Manhattan, free- flowing liquor, moonlight and the perfect ipod mix. So perfect, that at 2am, I was over it. People were still hanging out, but my fickle self wanted out.

So I left my own birthday party.

Headed downstairs with the full intent of ending up at 151. On the way, I noticed what used to be my favorite “healthy burrito” joint, whose closing I lamented to no end, had been replaced with a chic bar. My fickle self forget the promises I had made the staff about boycotting the new place, as spoke to the doorman and stepped through the door. My fickle self indulged in vodka tonics and shots from the ice luge.

Then my fickle drunk self decided that the cute architect boy I had just met was better than the guy I had been seeing for the last few weeks. So I told the guy I’ve been seeing that he was too drunk, I think he should go home. He balked and didn’t want to leave, but I insisted. He eventually left, but not after cluing into the fact that I was sending him home so I could hit on some other guy.

So now, my fickle self is hanging with the cute architect. We decide to meet up with other friends at the Back Room. The thing about the Back Room is that it is one of those old speakeasy bars, with a hidden room behind the bookcase. The private space is frustratingly difficult to get into. My roommate and I have befriended nearly every bouncer in the place to try to get behind the bookcase.

Now at this point, things are really fuzzy. All I know is I made into the Back Room of the Back Room with some guy who was not the Cute Architect boy. Not sure at what part of the evening I ditched him, or who I was behind the bookcase with, or how I got home, or how I ended up with a stress fracture in my foot.

But I know one thing, that fortune-telling Chinese fish is right, I am incredibly fickle.

Doing my part -- An Inconvenient Truth

'm proud to say, I have made the world a better place.

My 5th grade my science project discussed the declining habitat of Florida's manatees. Each student who stopped by my project and learned about the environmental and man-made threats affecting the manatee, received a -- get this -- "Save the Manatee" button. For a short while, these were the "it" accessory of my catholic school.

It was only a matter of time before the environmentalists jumped on board and everyone was sporting a "Save the Manatees" pin or bumper sticker. Well, twenty one years later those buttons made a difference. Today the manatee was pulled off the endangered species list.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060609/ap_on_sc/threatened_manatees

Former Vice-President Al Gore would be proud. Just five short days after watching his movie, I'm already making a difference. Now to start recycling.

My New Job is Turning Me Into A Binge Drinker

So this new job is really sucking the fun right out of me. Forget post-work drinks, I've yet to meet up with my friends before the 10pm hour since starting.

Tonight is it Friday night, 10pm and my client is calling me in a moment to discuss something. Now, I am all for being appreciated by the client, but this is boarding on abuse. They are so damn needy! Don't they realize what time it is on the East Coast?

So now when I finally get out of the office, I am going to meet my friends at the bar, friends who have been drinking for the past 2 hours. I'm going to start playing catch up.

Two shots to catch up.
3-4 beers to take the edge off
1-2 celebratory martinis, cause I finally made it out of the office

Next thing you know... It is morning and I have a hangover. Do you think AA is a business expense??