My Pity Party

Last weekend I celebrated the marriage of my best friend to an absolutely amazing guy. There is nothing quite like a wedding – filled with love and friends - to make you realize how down right pathetic single life can be.

When I am in NYC - I love being single. However, once I leave the island and enter suburbia, I realize that a stacked social schedule of parties, dates, bars, concerts, and dinner parties isn’t everything. Friends outside the city are falling in love, purchasing homes, raising puppies that grow into large, lake swimming, stick catching dogs…

For two years running, I've attended every single wedding dateless... These weddings become reason enough for me to throw myself a pity-me party. Somewhere after the rehearsal dinner and before the wedding, I get depressed. Depressed to the point that I cry. I cry to whoever happens to be sitting next to me at that moment -- Be it a random wedding guest (2005) or the bride (last weekend). We're talking sobbing tears, lock yourself in the bathroom tears...

I look around at my friends and realize we’re all having a blast because we’ve known each other since college. For 10 years, these couples have been sharing every moment of their lives together. (I know these all are not good moments, but still they are SHARED.) In these 10 years:

-- I’ve ended two long-term relationships. One resulted in a broken heart. The other a kick-him-to-the-curb-debacle
-- Had 10-12 one-night stands or casual relationships
-- Endured 364 sexless days

I tell myself I’m making the most of my late 20’s – but I’m starting to feel that I’m missing out on a party that everyone else has tickets to. I hate missing a good party…

Anyway, there is nothing like a friend’s wedding to toss a single gal into a depressing cycle of self-doubt and cynicism. That said, I am on my way home to find my way into the bottom of a bottle of Rioja. Self-medication is in order.

Who loves you ... I do of course

This cat is going to learn some new tricks and you are all invited to learn as well. MoxieintheCity.net invites us all to attend one of her Fellatio, Kama Sutra for Men or Women or Lapdance/Striptease Classes for free!!!
(Well, at least the first five who RSVP in each city will attend for free...)


1) Log on to MoxieintheCity
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Now how's that for love?

Pillow Talk - What not to say

His Fumble

Saturday night, during post-coitus cuddling, the Producer murmurs into the nape of my neck, “Joanna, you’re funny.” The temperature in the room immediately drops 30 degrees – My name is not Joanna. His ex’s name is Joanna. Until I coolly commented that, “My name is not Joanna” he did not realize his error.

He immeditately launched an incredibly nauseating apology. (Kissing my neck.) I don’t care about her anymore... (Kissing my cheek.) I’m sorry... (Kissing my ear.) You are right to be miffed, but trust me - she means nothing to me...

The whole scene ticked me off even more. I thought about leaving – but it was 5:30 AM. At 6:30 AM, I was tired of hearing him talk. I wanted to go to bed, so I let him off the hook: “You are drunk and you said it when you were half asleep.” Case closed.


My Fumble

Something about the Producer which I’ve shockingly remained mum about is his prowess in bed. He is attentive, long-lasting, adventurous, consistent and always puts me first. Not to mention, his stamina is practically unmatchable.

Following the “Joanna” evening, we slept till early afternoon at which point we woke up and started having morning sex. I say lots of things during sex, things like, “I love when you do that” or “I love that.” However, this morning I cut my sentence short and all that came out was, “I love you.”

I do not love him, this I am positive of. I was in the moment and I said it, but I did not mean it. Sadly, I can’t take those words back and I don't think he's going to let me forget it. That afternoon, when his football team was trounced he texted me: “I'm really down, my team is losing. Can you tell me you love me again to cheer me up?”

He said Joanna.
I said Love.
It seems this match is a draw.

I'm getting a raise...

… well at least CNN.com thinks I’ve earned it.

According to a study from The Journal of Labor Research, those who drink in a social setting earned more than those who tipped a glass at home.

Female drinkers earned 14% more. Men drinkers earned 10% more and they can tack on another 7% by going to a bar at least once a month…. (This, sadly, was not true for women.)

How you ask does drinking do this for you?? Well, it increases your social capital. You have more connections, you relate better to people and you have greater charisma.

It seems I’m on my way to making six figures. I'll raise a glass to that. Cheers!

3 months later...The phone rings

Nearly three months to the day, since I ditched the Date Night Guy (a.k.a Secret Guy) at my birthday party, I receive this phone message:

"Hi Downtown, it's Date Night Guy calling… I know I am a blast from the past. Listen, I was just calling you because I was thinking about how I left things and I wanted to apologize to you. Um, it wasn’t the nicest thing for me to do, just fall off the face of the earth. Um, so I just wanted to clear the air, or whatever. I don’t expect a call back, but if you want to call me back you are more than welcome to. That’s about it. I hope all is well with you. Take care. Bye."


Obviously, his perception of the night was quite different than mine. This is the guy I hung out with for four months and we got to second base (that’s ‘up the shirt’ for you non-baseball players) twice. FOUR MONTHS!!! There is something to be said for taking it slow – but this was absurd. I’d even begun doubting my sex appeal…

He was like relationship training wheels, a stepping stone to getting over my ex. Once I felt the desire to have a physical relationship with someone, I pegged him as Problem #1 to achieving that goal and shook him off, ending my sex-less existence with a vengance.

It seems I owe him a huge "Thanks." I'll return his call in three months.

Wino of the Month Club II

Yesterday, I picked up my second monthly installment from my wine club. This month it's three bottles of Spanish Tempranillo. According to Wikipedia, Tempranillo is the best-known grape varietal used to create Rioja.

My wine cabinet now contains…
• 04 Ercavio Roble
• 03 Don Roman Rioja
• 01 Marquis de Tomares Rioja

To my knowledge, I don’t think I’ve tried Rioja before. So I’m looking forward to this month’s wino-of-the month experience.

Wino of the Month Club I – Pinot Noir

The Dog House

I’m in the dog house with The Producer. Friday night after “the vault” opened, again I said too much and he correctly deduced that I’d double booked myself earlier that week.

Slutty – Sorta (see Stockpiling)
Wrong – No

Up to this point, we’d never had any conversations about what’s up with us. There were no rules or expectations. We’ve both been open about seeing other people. Both he (evidence) and I (evidence) enjoyed the perks.

Regardless, last week things with the Producer stepped up. We hung out three times, he invited me to a wedding and I invited him to an out-of-town party. We were hitting a groove. Then in classic Downtown-Chic style, I committed self-sabotage and opened the vault.

Monday, I returned from Boston jazzed to see him. Instead, I got a phone call and was told, “there’s something we need to discuss.” He laid out that in Friday night's endless babbling, I had contridicted myself and he deduced that I'd double booked. This made him uncomfortable and he wanted us to slow things down. According to him this wasn't grounds for dismissal, but he felt we needed to rethink things. Then he benched me until Friday. Damn it!

Anyway, I’ve been in the dog house all week and don’t like it one bit. The good news is that The Producer has called and emailed me since the conversation. I’m hoping tomorrow when we meet for cocktails, things will be okay. Since this is followed by his cousin’s birthday dinner, I have to think that's a good sign. (Family Intro = Positive Sign, Yes?)

Always the optimist, I can’t help but feel this was a necessary step for us to discuss what’s up with us. Since Monday night we definitely bridged this previously unspeakable topic. I’m cleaning up my act. I wonder if this single gal can turn a good thing into a real thing.

Answering the age old question...

Shopping for cheesy bachelorette party gifts, I picked up this magnet and plan on rigging the gift bag distribution cause I really want to put this magnet on my fridge.

Far Side Cartoon: "There's an egg and a chicken laying together in a bed the chicken is laying there with this big satisfied grin on its face, smoking a cigarette. The egg just laying there says, "For the record, I came first."

HA!

Yet again, I'm off to Boston. This weekend I'm hosting a bachelorette party. Debauchry to follow.