The Long Or Short Of It

I can’t decide!!

When I have my hair short, I want it long and when I have it long, I want it short. What is up with that? Why can’t make a decision? Why can’t I know which way it looks better? Why can’t I know which way I want it? Do I have ADD?

I don’t know, I think I might just like to change my look. I get bored with things and I need to change. That goes for shoes, clothes, nail polish, home decoration, and apartments.

I really like my hair short. I’ve had it short for most of my life. It’s really curly and thick. So when I was a child, my Mom always kept it really short because she couldn’t handle all of it when it got longer. I didn’t get longer, it just got bigger.

She let it grow out during the fall and winter months. Then, come Spring, Summer, she would chop it off. She’d come at me with my father’s moustache scissors and start snipping. She’d pull and snip, pull and snip. She did a really good job when it was done. But the problem was IT HURT! I don’t know why. I guess it was all the pulling and snipping. Man, when I’d see her coming at me with those moustache snippers, I started screaming and running. “Noooooooo! Don’t do ittttttt, Mom!!!!!!”

There was nothing I could do. She was a woman on a mission and wasn’t stopping ‘til my curls were on the floor.

Then, when it was all done, I would wait for Pop to come home from work. And I couldn’t wait for him to say, “My Blue Shoes is back!”

I loved it when he said that.

But I must have been traumatized, because now I have anxiety whenever I go to get a hair cut. I have actual fear.

As I mentioned, I have a lot of curly hair. I love my curls and keep it curly. I know the world is against curly hair. There’s a conspiracy against curls; blow driers, hair relaxers, Chinese treatments, hot irons. God forbid you don’t agree to have your hair blown out at the salon. The bitches screw your hair up if they can’t blow it out. They don’t know what to do with it. They just touch it and rub it to death until all that’s left is frizz. It’s a shame. Not to mention a waste of time and money.

I had my hair long and big in the 80’s. Then, everyone was getting perms; women and men alike. Even Bret Michaels. Everyone had a fro. The bigger the better. That was the first time I let my hair grow out. It wasn’t cute in-between, but fit right into the 80’s style.

I eventually went back to short several years later. Then, I got bored and grew it back when I read “The Rules”. It said a woman who wanted to get a man should have long flowing hair, so that they could toss it and that would made them be able to get a man to love her. Who was I to argue? So, I grew it back.

The only problem with that was, it was no longer the 80’s. I guess it was the 90’s by then and big hair wasn’t in. But my hair was big. It’s the only thing it knew how to be. Hair care products for curly hair were not good. They were only for straightening. I wanted to keep it curly. I’d tried the straightening, you know, blowing it out myself. What an ordeal that is. My arms would get tired and once you blew one part straight, the other part would dry frizzy. Then you’d have to wet it again, and then you’d start sweating. The sweat would make the straightened part frizzy again. Two hours later, I’d be so wet of sweat that I’d need another shower. So, my blow out days were few.

So that decision made itself. Don’t fight the curl!

Sex and the Shitty

I went to a midnight screening sneak peak of Sex and the City on Wednesday night. I wore these shoes.

Midnight?

Yep.

Oy.

My friend Yenta Hessa got the tickets. We went together. We thought it was a great idea. It was her idea. Meanwhile, who was asleep before the movie even started?

Yenta.

What the heck were we going to do until midnight on a Wednesday? So we decided to go for a late dinner. (I’d had to eat beforehand, otherwise I’d never make it.) Dinner was good. We had a Cosmopolitan before dinner, to get in the Sex and the City mode. And we had coffee after dinner, to keep our asses awake. We didn’t want to be snoring in the middle of an empty theatre at like 6 AM.

As I said, dinner was nice. It was like 500 degrees out. We sat outside at an Italian restaurant near the theatre. We thought we’d have a relaxing dinner. And we were. But all of a sudden we both heard whining. Where was it coming from? The table next to us. These two twenty-somethings were kvetching about God knows what. And they wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t just me. They were making Yenta Hessa crazy too. Then, a friend of theirs drops by. The friend has two dogs with her. What the…?

This isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed this. What’s up with people bringing their pets to restaurants? And what’s up with them being allowed in with their pets? I don’t get it!

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love animals. But I don’t want them at my dinner party. For various reasons. Hair in my food, being one of them. A trip to the emergency room is another.

Listen, some people are very allergic to animal dander. My sister, Hadassah, has a serious allergic reaction to dogs and cats. If she’s exposed, un-medicated, she can’t breathe.

Finally, the lady with the dogs and the girls left. We thought they never would.

Yenta Hessa and I headed down to the theatre at around 11 PM. Yenta didn’t think there’d be anyone there. But sure enough, we weren’t the only sickos on the Upper East Side going to a midnight screening. Although, I was the only sicko wearing fuschia sequin stiletto Louboutin pumps.

We go in. Find a comfortable seat. And wait.

Suddenly, Yenta is snoring.

Oy.

I look around at the folks walking in. They were getting pretty rowdy. How old were they? They were all around 20! We were like the oldest ones there. Was that because the rest of the 40 year olds were too lazy to go to a midnight viewing? Or, was this the new SATC demographic? These people were 4 when the TV show first came out~!

By the time the movie started, the theatre was packed.

I had to wake up Yenta Hessa.

The movie was a lot of fun although a bit over the top. But, although I am a huge fan, I have a gripe. From the first scene of the movie, the boom mike kept popping in and out of the shots! Now, this didn’t just happen once. But even once would have been unacceptable. I mean, really! This is a huge multi-million dollar mega movie. They spent gazillions of dollars on the clothes and the shoes and Abu Dhabi whatever the heck. And nobody noticed that the stupid boom mike was popping in and out of every friggin’ scene? How could that be? I don’t get it. Why did me and Yenta Hessa see it, and SJP and Michael Patrick King totally missed it?

Somebody please explain this to me.

Gripes and shark jumping aside, this was a fabulous thing to do! I’m so glad I went.

The movie was really long. 2 ½ hours. I got to bed at 3 AM. My feet were killing me. They are still killing as we speak. But it was so worth it.

Don’t you think?

Now, I gotta go catch up on my sleep!!

There’s A Big World Out There

I was once married. For a very short period of time. A very long time ago. But it changed me forever.

While I was going through my divorce, I had several setbacks. One of which was that my lawyer died before the divorce was final. The whole divorce process was difficult enough, without my lawyer dying halfway through. I was married for six months. The divorce took two years to finalize. It should have been quick or even annulled. But no! Of course! It took friggin’ years.

But after all the drama, we finally got the groom to agree to sign the divorce papers. Since, my lawyer had just died, instead of hiring another lawyer, his office took care of finalizing things. Now, due to the circumstances of the situation, I did not want to as see my ex ever again. So, my lawyer arranged for this throughout. I didn’t want to go to trial and didn’t want to see him. And I never did. I never saw or spoke to him during the whole process. I’m sure my ex hated the idea. But it was what it was. I wanted what I wanted and I got it. I love my lawyer for that.

So, it came down to the day of the signing of the papers. I’d waited for that day for so long, and had been through so much, that I couldn’t believe it had finally come.

We were going to meet at my lawyer’s office in Manhattan. My sister and brother-in-law accompanied me. I remember I was going to be in one room, while the ex was in another in the lawyer’s offices. As I said, I did not want to see him. I was anxious knowing that he was in the building. In the next room. I was scared. Scared, but excited. Excited about the future.

It was as if my life had stopped while I was waiting for this divorce to go through. I felt I couldn’t move forward if I was still married. Move forward as a person, as a woman, professionally, personally, and spiritually. I wanted my name back, my identity back. This day, I would.

We waited in the room for quite a while. Hours? It was like awaiting my fate. Waiting for paint to dry. But it was worse, because the enemy was lurking in the next room. As we waited I looked out the window. Through it, I saw New York City. At that time, I lived in Long Island, but I always loved The City. As I stared out the window, my sister later told me that at that moment I said, “There’s a big world out there.”

At least after today, I would have the opportunity to be in it.

I Left My Fart In San Francisco

Last summer I travelled to San Francisco with my nephew, Gavrel, to another one o those singles conferences. Can you imagine? I baptized my baby nephew and I went to singles events with his older brother Itzik, and now I’m going with Gavrel. I don’t mind really. He doesn’t mind. We get along. So it works. I love him.

Turns out Malice was going to be there as well. Actually, she’d contacted me prior to the event. We’d planned on meeting each other there. Now, this is literally years after the Puerto Rico and Miami debacles. So, don’t judge.

As previously mentioned, Malice is an attorney. She is few inches shorter than me; dark straight hair, dark skin, red red lips, long long red red dragon lady nails, brown gums, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, raspy voice, bad breath. Sort of the anti-BueShoesManhattan. But somehow, people think we look alike. Not a compliment, for me anyway. (She’s a little scary intimidating.)

The first night on the trip, Malice contacted Gavrel and me when she arrived. She was going to be alone, so we invited her to meet us for dinner at the hotel when she got settled. It looked like we were going to be spending time with her since she was on her own and so were we. It wasn’t a bad idea. At least I’d have someone to hang out with if Gavrel found friends his age at the conference.

So, we all hung out the rest of that night. The following day, we had breakfast and decided to do some sight seeing. We were going to go with Malice, since she’d been in San Francisco before. The three of us had a really nice day. We all met at the dance later that night.

During the dance, Malice excused herself to have a cigarette. She’d been gone a while. Meanwhile, Gavrel was meeting new friends, which was great. But I was pretty much alone. There was really no one else my age at this thing.

I texted Malice. She told me she’d met a gorgeous Australian lawyer in the elevator and was having drinks with him at the hotel bar.

I didn’t see her the rest of the night.

Next morning Malice came to breakfast. Told us all about her night and the gorgeous Australian lawyer. He seemed too good to be true. He didn’t seem like he really existed. She had plans with him later that day, but would go sight seeing with us again today. So, we were making plans for the day. We were on our way out of the hotel when Malice’s cell phone rang. She answered. Then she told us to wait for her to be off the phone.

Twenty minutes later… she returned. “It was the gorgeous Australian Lawyer. He wants to spend the day with me. He needs help with something in his room. I’m going up. But wait for us. I will introduce you to him when we come down.”

I waiting because I wanted to see if this guy really existed.

Thirty minutes later…

Malice and the gorgeous Australian lawyer came walking over, arm-in-arm.

I thought, “Wow! He WAS gorgeous! I guess he IS real. Why does he like HER??”

We met. He had a fabulous Australian accent. They left. Arm-in-arm. And I never saw Malice again, the rest of the trip.

That night, at the party, I was pretty much on my own. Bored. Gavrel had made plans with the new friends he made. I was happy for him.

But sad for me. I kinda had no one to hang out with.

Déjà vu.

Dumped again by Malice. Why am I not surprised?

The only consolation was Malice had stayed on in San Francisco a night longer than we did. When she returned home, she called me. On her and her gorgeous Australian Lawyer’s last day in San Francisco, he pretty much dumped her. But she’d never admit to it. She just said that he was busy all day, then rang her up for a booty call like 20 minutes before he left for the airport.

Payback is a bitch.

Absence of Malice

You remember Malice? She’s the frenemy. The one who I was stranded in Puerto Rico with during the volcanic eruption. She monopolized my relationship with Avi. Yes. Her. Believe it or not, I’m still friends with her, but I keep it real casual.

Don’t ask why (because I still do) but I agreed to go on another singles trip with Malice. As if I didn’t learn from the last trips I spent rooming with her. But it did it again. And I regretted it. I still do. And I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’ll never do it again, all right??

I thought it would be ok. Because this time, Malice had a boy friend, Tevye, back at home. Well, he wasn’t exactly at home, he was a long distance boyfriend. But a BF just the same.

So, we’re on the trip. Things are going well. I met a guy, named Yankel, from California. He was single, nice, cute, and the right age. I liked him. I was thinking he was liking me too. A group of us were hanging out by the pool one day, when Malice starts flirting with Yankel. Wha--?

What’s up with that? She can’t do that! She’s got a boyfriend.

Well, apparently, she could.

Margarita and I started questioning her on it. Malice answered, “Yes. I’ve got a boyfriend, but I’m NOT dead.”

Oh yeah, if she keeps it up she’s gonna be! I thought.

“Hey! That’s not fair! One per customer sweetheart! You already have a BF. Give someone else a chance!!” Margarita and I exclaimed.

Malice didn’t get it at all. I guess according to her when the cat’s away …

So, the weekend progressed and Malice continued to flirt with Yankel. I’m really not into fighting over a man, so I just kept quiet. Figured if he liked me, he’ll go for it. But he kinda flirted with both Malice and me.

The last night we were there, we went to a formal dance, to which we drove a car we’d rented together. The night was winding down. It was about 3 AM when Malice came over to me and said, “You’re still having fun, I’m going back to the hotel with Yankel. You can get a ride back later, k? Bye!” And she was off.

I was busy picking my jaw off the floor when I ate the dust of my rental car speeding off into the night.

Did that just happen? I couldn’t believe it.

Got a ride back to the hotel from none other than Shitless from Seattle and went straight to the room with my Louboutins in my hand. Put in the key. Open the door.

It’s locked …

… from the inside.

What???

I knocked on the door to my own hotel room!

Nothing.

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Finally, it opened. Inside I see Yankel run into the bathroom and Malice acting weird. When I saw that I threw my shoes down, went into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut. When I came out, they were gone. I went straight to bed.

Next day, I barely spoke to Malice. I was so angry. I guess I was a bit passive aggressive at that point, but I just didn’t feel like talking to her. But then, she asked me if anything was wrong.

“What’s wrong?!? WHAT’S WRONG?!? You wanna know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong!!!”

And I proceeded to tell her what was wrong. I yelled at her. Told her off so bad. Now, mind you, Malice is a high-powered attorney. And I just ripped her a new asshole. Even she was left speechless.

Take that bitch!

Yeah, it was pretty ugly. But Malice had it comin’.

No, I don’t believe in fighting over a guy. None of them are worth it. But this wasn’t a fight over a guy. It was a fight over what was right. I wasn’t angry that she got the idiot guy, but that she left me without a ride in my own car at three o’clock in the morning, then locked me out of my hotel room for a guy.

We women should stick together. Be there for each other.

But instead, we’re cut throat for a lousy man, who is not even worth the price of a rental car.

Who Died and Made YOU the Fashion Police?

A few months ago I was sitting on the bus. In the back. Clearly I take the bus a lot. It’s a fabulous way to travel around the city. If you have a lot of time. Of course the subway’s a lot faster. But I live so far east that I have to take a bus to get to the subway. So, oftentimes, I just take the bus. Also it’s a more civilized way to travel, don’t you think? And then, you are safe above ground, in case of an emergency. Not to mention, you can see the sites as you travel.

On the down side, it’s slow. I mean really slow. Like you can walk faster. So you need lots of time to get where you’re going. The local stops at every block. Folks take forever getting on and off.

Anyhow, back to my story. I’m sitting there in the back of the bus, so I can see everyone walking in. It’s friggin’ cold out, like it was all winter long. Then, a fabulous woman walked on. She was about 70, but I wanna be her, not when I’m 70, but like in six months. She was tall, slim, and beautiful. Wearing fur; a big fur hat, coat, boots, and purse. Black leggings, red lipstick, black sunglasses. She walked on and immediately ruled that bus. She sat beside me.

I was reveling in her awesomeness, when I heard a voice. I looked over. A very plain woman, wearing brown penny loafers, was shaking her head and yelling at the fabulous fur lady. Talking some kind of smack like, it’s terrible that the fur lady was wearing fur and that animals were killed to make all the fur, etc.

Ok, so she said it. And so was it over? No. She kept at it.

At first the fabulous fur lady just ignored the loafers lady. But then, she finally said something, “Who died and mad YOU the fashion police?”

You go fabulous fur lady!

I didn’t say a word.

Another woman and her husband beside us didn’t say a word either.

Loafer lady kept muttering stuff.

Then the fur lady said, “Oh yeah? What are your shoes made out of?”

The loafer lady didn’t have a reply. She just kept mumbling about the fur and the animals. Then she got off the bus.

It was silent for a while.

Then I leaned over to the fabulous fur lady and said, “I don’t care what she says, you look fabulous!”

The woman beside me agreed.

The 24-Hour Job Interview From Hell. The Sequel.

Guess what? I got it. I got the job! Lisa clearly didn’t. But really, are we at all surprised? Lisa officially blew that interview at about midnight that night. In between married guy numbers two and five!

But you’ll never believe what she did next!

If you recall, myself and my friend, Lisa, interviewed for the same job. She was friends with the interviewer, Ariella. And after our interview, Lisa invited Ariella, (who’d be the boss of whomever got the job) out with us. Lisa is married with a couple of kids.

Meanwhile, while we were out that night Lisa was trying to hook up with all the married men we met at the bar. She was not only trying, she WAS hooking up with them. It was as very wacky night. Lisa was busy hooking up, while, in my mind, I was still on a job interview. Who cares that it was 2 o’clock in the morning?

Well, my geekiness paid off. Because I got the job. A really great job too. I won’t be poor anymore. Yey!

So, I really just found out that I’ve got it. I’m all excited about this awesome new job. I was trying to work things out like filling out paperwork for the company and deciding when to give notice. How much notice to give, etc. I hadn’t yet made an announcement at my current job yet, when I received some text messages and voicemails from… who? Yes. Lisa.

Well, she IS my friend. I was glad to hear from her, even though I thought that maybe she was nuts, anorexic, bulimic, adulterous, and a nymphomaniac. Given her behavior at our interview from hell.

So, later that day, Lisa called again. I picked up. Was happy to speak to her.

“Hi Lisa! How are you?”

“Hi. Yeah, I know you got the job, so I want your job. I want to call Bob (my boss) and be the first to ask for your job.” Lisa quickly articulated about a-mile-a-minute.

“Huh?” I was confused and stunned. “You want to do what? You can’t talk to my boss! You can’t talk to anybody. I have not told him I accepted the new job yet. Nobody knows. You CANNOT call ANYBODY!!”

“And furthermore. How do you even know? I haven’t told anybody yet!” I mean, at that point, no one but the new company and my mother knew.

“Well, I have a relationship with people at the company.”

“Oh really? Does that mean that you can know my personal business? Or give you the right to blurt it to the world before I have a chance to tell them first???” I thought. I didn’t say that. Instead I just sat there with my jaw on the floor. Dumbfounded.

“Well, I want to be the first to ask him, not the twelfth. I know everyone’s going to be asking for your job and I want to get to him first.”

I went silent.

Then I said, “I’m speechless. I really don’t know what to say to you.”

She then went on to apologize for her behavior. But it was too late. She already did it. It was unacceptable, man. Don’t you think? I finally got off the phone with her and called Hadassah, my sis, and ripped Lisa a new asshole.

Meanwhile, I got a text. From Lisa. “I’m sorry … blah, blah, blah. Good luck with the new job. You’ll be great at it.”

Yeah, right. Whatever.

Delete.

I was so pissed.

After a couple of days, I cooled down. I realized that I got the gig, she didn’t. She was an asshole. I wasn’t.

What I was, was done. Done with Lisa…

And my old job.

I see a Chanel bag in my immediate future.