Valentines Day

“Don’t talk to me about Valentine’s Day. At my age an affair of the heart is a bypass!” Joan Rivers

Another Valentines Day…

Without a valentine.

Again.

It’s like:

Christmas without a tree

Prom without a date

New Years Eve with no one to kiss at midnight

July 4^th without someone special to watch the fireworks with

A birthday without candles

It’s kinda sad. But I’m sorta getting used to it.

Well, I’m going to choose to look at the bright side of this dilemma. It’s better than getting dumped on Valentines Day!

I’m watching the Charlie Brown Valentines Day special. He can’t get a valentine either. At least I’m in good company.

I Still Hate Valentines Day

“Don’t talk to me about Valentine’s Day. At my age an affair of the heart is a bypass!” Joan Rivers

Ring, ring on the Blackberry. Hold on, I have a text.

“Happy Valentines Day. Are you in love yet? Lol”

It’s from “Yakov”, my ex-boyfriend.

Ewww. Pffffffffftttttttt! Hand gesture.

I look at my sister. She looks at me. “What the heck just happened?

“Ugh! I hate Valentines Day!”

There have been years when I liked Valentines Day. Those were my childhood years, when I’d receive loving cards and chocolates from my Pop. Classmates would hand out sweet little notes.

And then there were the Valentines Days when I was in a relationship with someone special. It was wonderful to get the right thing from the right person on the right day!

I say this because there’d be Valentines Days when I’d hoped my love interest would recognize it appropriately and they didn’t; V-days when I’d receive a card from someone I wasn’interested in; days when I was dating someone I really liked and he got me something stupid for Valentines. I once dated someone once who gave me jewelry, a card, flowers, and cooked me dinner one year and the next year, gave me a half eaten box of chocolates and a monkey card.

That was the year I was dumped on Valentines Day.

I suppose the reason I am now anti-V is because of that year. That really sucked. And I’m still not over it. It was several years ago, when I was seeing a man I was crazy about. We’ll refer to him as 'Moishe'. (The names have been changed to protect the innocent … and the guilty. Not that they deserve protection.)

I’d been seeing Moishe for a couple of years. We had broken up once before, but were back together for several months. I was crazy for him, but he had not really acted himself since the reconciliation. I tried to ignore it for a while, but it was becoming more and more apparent that he was losing interest. I knew I should talk to him about it, but just couldn’t find the words or the right time to bring it up, you know? I almost really didn’t wanna hear it, but at the same time knew I had to if I was going to keep my sanity.

So, it’s Valentines Day and we were spending it together. I think he’d cooked dinner. We’d eaten, talked, watched TV and it was getting late. He seemed very distant and acted as if we were just friends the whole night. He never uttered sweet, loving words, which he had done in the past. So, I mustered up the courage to say, “You know, on Valentines Day, people usually say, ‘I love you’.”

There. I said it.

Waiting for his response...

He says, “Well, they say it if they mean it.”

“OUCHHHHHHH!” It was like he stabbed me with a butcher knife! I immediately felt ill. No, he is NOT doing this to me on Valentines Day!

By the time we were through discussing the fact that Moishe didn’t like me on Valentines Day, it was really late at night.

I drove myself home. Crying all the way in the dark.

Happy Valentines Day… to me.

Head to Head

Yesterday morning, I left for work. As usual. Went down the elevator. Doors opened at the lobby. As they opened, I heard the doors of the adjacent elevator open simultaneously.

Weird.

So, as I exited the elevator, I glanced at the person coming out of the other one through my peripheral vision.

It was a woman.

She looked familiar.

I looked away.

Then realized, it’s my arch enemy.

My stalker.

My cousin Ramona.

The one who followed me to my apartment building, then bought a unit in it. Now she lives downstairs.

Ugh.

I looked at her again.

She was looking down.

I don’t think she saw me or knew who I was.

For a split moment, I thought, “Maybe I can just walk away right now and she won’t realize it was me!”

Um, really? Do you think I’d really get away with that?

I couldn’t turn around and walk the other way, or go back into the elevator and wait for her to leave, like I did one time before.

Or could I?

No. There we were. Head to head.

There was no where to go. No where to run. No where to hide.

I figured, I made enough enemies for one week. I better just take my medicine.

Dammit.

So, instead, I stopped. Stood in front of her with my hand on my hip, and stared at her until she looked at me.

“Oh, hi BSM! How are you?!” Kiss, kiss.

"Hello Ramona." Smooch, smooch.

We walked through the lobby and out to the street together. All the while, I was wishing she was not there.

We talked. But I didn’t hear a word she said. All I could only think was, I need to move!

Immediately.

BSM Meets SJP

I went to the New York City Ballet opening on Wednesday night. Yenta Hessa wrote me there would be celebs there, but I was skeptical.

I went straight from work, so I was not dressed up. Luckily, I was wearing my fabulous long animal print coat.

As we walked up to Lincoln Center on the warm spring evening, I took in the beauty of the area. As I came closer to the theatre doors, I saw a crowd. There were paparazzi and a red carpet. Mind you, the red carpet was about eight feet long. Somehow, I always thought it was longer.

Stopped and stared. Well, there were no people yet. But waited a minute.

One or two folks went onto the red carpet.

Then, I heard Yenta say, “There’s Sarah Jessica Parker.”

“Whaaaat? Where?”

I looked and looked. And there she was. SJP!

I love her.

I am a big Sex and the City fan. Obsessed.

I looked down to grab my cell phone. I still didn’t get an iPhone. By the time I get it working, she was gone. Blocked by the paps.

Damn.

But I could see her shoes.

Christian Louboutin nude patent leather pumps.

Fabulous!

Shhh. Be Vewy Quiet. We’re Hunting Wabbits.

I went to a mixer for a potential Jersey Shore share house last week. I did this house about two years ago and thought I might do it again this year. I knew a lot of people from my house two years ago. So that was cool. By the end of the night, two guys asked me for my number (I was having a good hair day). Both of them were in my house.

They were all, “Oh, hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

I was like, “Um, I was in your house last year. We met already.”

“Oh really?”

I mean, how stupid can you get? It’s not as if I was 400 lbs. two years ago, and had gastric bypass or something. Or as if I was a blond, and now a brunette.

Whatever.

One asked for my number. He had his Blackberry ready, so I gave it to him. The other was looking for a pen. I told him to look me up on Facebook.

I really wasn’t interested in either of them, but the male attention was nice. Also, I figured, they’d never call or write anyway.

Sure enough, a few days later, bachelor number one emailed.

A few days after that, bachelor number two friended me.

Wow. I must have been having a better hair day than I thought!

A few more days later, my phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. I stared at my phone.

Hmmm.

Should I pick it up?

I don’t know.

Maybe I should.

Maybe I shouldn’t!

What should I do??

I hate picking up an unfamiliar number.

But then, I decided to go for it.

Live life on the edge, BSM!

I picked up, “Hello?”

“Hewwoe.” Replied a very quiet, timid, high pitched male voice.

“Hello?”

“Hewwoe? The voice sounded kind of like Elmer Fudd. “Is this Blue Shoes Manhattan?”

Ok. I thought. This person just said my name. They know me. But who is this??

“Umm. Who is this?” I asked.

“Lafayette.” Doing his best Elmer Fudd impression. It must be hunting season.

As soon as he said his name, I quickly began trying to think if there was anyone I knew named Lafayette. Taking inventory in my head. I couldn’t.

Who. Who. Who could this be?

I tried to stall, saying stuff like, “Oh, hi, blah, blah, blah. How are you?”

Finally, I asked, “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Lafayette, from the Shore house.”

Bachelor number two.

He asked me out.

I turned him down.

Just call me Buggs Bunny.

Looks like it’s gonna be an interesting summer.

I thought we were going to go out for drinks, not have a sleep over!

I decided to move to Manhattan so I’d have an easier social life.

I was wrong.

It was difficult living in Long Island and going to events in the city. I always had a million bags with me and was wearing goofy work clothes to an after-work party. Then, it was a whole ordeal getting a train back to Long Island.

I remember one time, driving in to a party with my LI girlfriends. They drove. They were so late picking me up, that we literally missed the party!

I really have a pet peeve about lateness. But that’s a whole other blog post I guess.

So, once I started living in the city, yes, getting myself to events was easier. The problem is, NOBODY ELSE LIVES IN THE CITY!!!

None.

None of my friends live in the city. Half live in LI. Half in New Jersey.

So, when there is an event in the city, they want to sleep over on my couch.

Now, I’m a generous kind of gal. But I’m no push over.

If I let them stay over once, they would assume they’d sleep over every time they bought a pack of gum.

They’d be like, “Ok. So, we’ll go out for dinner, then drinks, then in the morning blah, blah, blah.”

“Huh? Um. Excuse me? Did I say anything about the morning?”

Why is it, if I make plans to have drinks with someone that I have to be prepared to make them coffee, scrambled eggs and bagels the next morning?

Fuck that shit.

I wanna sleep late in the morning. I want to walk around my apartment with hairy legs and my hair in a three-foot afro all morning. And not brush my teeth until noon, dammit!

If I have company I can’t do that. AND my place has got to be tidy.

What the Fu--?

Ok Mom. So I didn’t curse that time. That one was for you. You, who does not even read this unless I force you too!

I once had a friend who wanted to hang out in the city. We were making plans for weeks. Then she popped the question. “What are we gonna do the next morning?”

To which I replied, and which is the reason I no longer have this friend, “Oh. I thought we were going to a concert, not having a sleep over.”

Ok. So was that so bad?

The friend then said, “Oh. Then let’s do it another time.”

You mean to tell me that if this person wasn’t going to be able to sleep over my place that we weren’t going out?

Yep. It’s true. And it’s not just one person. This happens all the time.

F- them!

If they want to sleep in the city so bad, let them pay rent and New York prices. Or get a friggin’ hotel room.

It’s different if I offer. But THEY ask. How rude.

It just happened again the other day, which is why I’m thinking about this again. A friend from Jersey asked if I wanted to go to an event with her in May. I said yes. She said, “Can I sleep on your couch?”

Damn! I was caught off guard. I didn’t know what to say. How to respond. But it’s hard finding girlfriends in New York City. And beggars can’t be choosers, right?

So, I guess I should clean the bacteria off my couch.

Hmmm. Or should I??

Naked Without My Cell 2

So?

What do you think I did?

Nope.

Didn’t buy an iPhone.

Thought that, until I made up my mind, I would re-activate my old Palm Treo instead.

A couple of months ago, my sis, Snookie, helped me do some winter cleaning. At that time we came across a box of my old cell phones and faceplate covers. Snookie was like, “Hand ‘em over! We can donate them.”

“Um …

… O …

… K … ?”

I somehow felt quite uneasy about this. But I succumbed to the peer pressure.

I handed over the box to her with trepedation.

Now, here I am, three months later. With a dead Blackberry.

I emailed Snookie. “Could you please bring me those cell phones I gave you? I think I’ll hook one up until I can decide about the iPhone.”

“Huh? What cell phones?”

Whaaaaaat?? What the heck was she saying? Doesn’t she remember the donation/winter cleaning exchange? How could she not?

I emailed her back. “Remember? The ones I gave you for the flea market?”

Two days later, “Oh yeah! Now I remember.”

Thank goodness!

So I hooked up my tried and true, but beat to a pulp, held together with duct tape, Palm Treo. Great phone. And it still works, unlike my Crackberry.

When I got to the Verizon store, all they did was try and sell me another phone the whole time. Jeez. Can’t I just get my silly old phone connected, please?

So, now when folks ask me why I didn’t just get the iPhone 4, I say I’m waiting for the iPhone 5.

I just hope that the iPhone 6 doesn’t come out one month after that!

Naked Without My Cell

My Blackberry broke.

And I feel a little naked.

No calls, no texts, no email.

I’m a bit uneasy.

But it’s freeing at the same time.

So, now the question is, to iPhone or not to iPhone?

I’ve been jonesing for the iPhone since its inception in 2008. But I didn’t want to go AT&T. That’s a whole other story. I have to hang out the window of my apartment to even get half a signal with AT&T.

When the iPhone became available for Verizon I was so excited finally to get one. Then I learned that the next generation of the iPhone, the iPhone 5, is coming out in the summer. So I would wait?

But the other day, my Blackberry died a premature death. And I am faced with the difficult aforementioned life question,

To iPhone or not to iPhone?

Attorney at Flaw. Part Deux.

… If there is a next time.

The Attorney called the following week.

We played telephone tag for a few days. He’d asked to take me out during the week. Given that I was still hungry from the last date, I was a bit hesitant. I also thought that we should make a plan for a date and him not call me to go out that day or the following day.

By the time we actually connected, it was Thursday night. He asked to go out this week. I pointed out that the week was pretty much over. And that I’d already made weekend plans. This did not go over very well with the counselor. He got a little huffy.

Hmmm.

I suggested we make a date for the following week.

He wanted to go out on a Monday night, in Long Island. I should take the Long Island Railroad to the venue and he would drive me back to the city afterwards.

Um. Let me think about this.

Um. In my nude patent leather peep-toe Christian Louboutins? I don’t think so.

Nope.

I told him that weekdays are a little tricky because of work the next day. He snapped back, “Well, that’s why I’m being nice enough to drive you back home afterwards.”

Well, what a gentleman.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

I continued to try to pin down a day for the following week, but he kept saying, “Well, you can let me know what day is good for you.”

Then I would say, “Well, Thursday is good.”

And he just kept telling me I could let him know.

So, that’s sort of how we left it.

I know the guy for a week and a half and he’s already having a diva fit on me.

I’m certainly not going to call him and tell him again that Thursday is good for me, am I?

Come to think of it, Thursday is probably not good anymore either. And neither is Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday!

I was going to go for a third date to try and figure this all out. But is it really necessary?

Am I done?

Do I need to learn any more?

So, is it me? Am I being too critical? Too demanding? Too ‘The Rules”?

Or is this just an Attorney at Flaw?

Please let me know what you think.

Attorney at Flaw

So, is it me? Am I being too critical? Too demanding? Too ‘The Rules”?

I met a man on an Internet dating site. He’s an attorney. We liked each other quickly and exchanged cell phone numbers. He called immediately and we made plans to have a first meeting that weekend. That Friday, I was on my way home from happy hour with co-workers, and I got a text.

“Wacha up to?”

“Happy hour.”

“Wanna meet up for a drink tonight?”

“Let’s just stick to the plan of our date this weekend.”

“Oh. I thought you’d be more spontaneous.”

Hmmm.

Is this guy already an asshole?

Maybe not. I’ll give him a chance.

So I met him that weekend.

He was in touch during the following week, and we made plans to see each other that Friday night at 7:30.

7:30. That’s dinner, right?

Yeah, I thought so.

So I didn’t eat ahead of time.

He offered to pick me up at my apartment. I said, “No. That’s ok. I’ll meet you there.”

He said it would be no problem for him to pick me up.

“Um, no. That’s ok. I’ll meet you there.”

I never have new dates know where I live.

So I get to the restaurant and he has a table at the bar lounge. Immediately I think, “Shit. I should have eaten before I came.”

And I should have, because he ordered drinks and a couple of appetizers. Spring rolls and grilled zucchini.

I had a nice time. But I was starving…

… and trashed.

I guess I better eat before I go out with this guy next time.

Take This Job and Shove It -7

By November, I began to develop chest pains.

This was not a good sign.

It felt as if there was a heavy brick sitting on my chest at all times. And it got worse when I got a call or an email or Blackberry message.

Even if I saw a Blackberry.

Somebody else’s Blackberry even!

Somebody stop the red light from blinking!!

I felt it even on New Years Eve at a party.

This is just not healthy.

It’s time to take care of Blue Shoes Manhattan and tell them to…

… Take this job and shove it.

Once I did,

The chest pains were gone.

Tazmanian Devil

I don’t understand it, but I can walk into a spotless apartment and within five minutes, it looks like it’s been robbed.

Why is this?

And there’s no one there but me.

I’m the one that did it.

No one else.

I’d like to be able to blame it on someone or the dog or something. But I live alone.

Without a dog.

Damn.

How can one little person create such a mess?

What’s up with that?

As I walk through, clean in front of me, I turn and look behind me. It’s as if a tornado passed behind me as I walked.

Once I’m through, the place is trashed.

And guess who has to clean it up?

Really?

Take This Job and Shove It-6

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Ugh!

Fever.

Sweats.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Getting emergency calls from all over the territory. Got like 15 requests in a couple of days time.

I was freakin’ starting to lose my shit.

How could I be expected to work when I felt so sick? Why couldn’t I have a couple of sick days? Is this how it works when you work from home? Well or ill, you work?

And how can I be expected to take planes to these towns in a couple of days? How do I make it stop?

It’s not like a regular job. You’re sick. You stay home and watch TV for a couple of days until your fever goes down. Then you drag your sorry ass to work and shlep for the rest of the week.

No. Me? In order for me to go back to work, I have to take a flight to the Podunk town and hope I can fix whatever fucokta problem these people are having. No shlepping for me. No. I can’t just take the friggin’ subway to work, I have to take a plane!

As I lied in bed in my puddle of shvitz, I thought more and more about these things. And I really started to freak out.

Take This Job and Shove It-5

The last time I’d spoken to my boss we had talked about a company meeting on the west coast. That I didn’t mind. But I also needed to be back in New York early the following day. How was I going to be at both places? She wanted me to take the red eye night before. Now, I tried the red eye a couple of months ago. I really didn’t like didn’t like it. It actually made me a little crazy. Because it’s late. You’re tired. The lights are off and everyone’s sleeping on the plane. But me! There’s no good position to be in to sleep. Then, I’m good for nothing the next day. I just slept all day from not sleeping all night.

When my boss “suggested” I take the red eye, it made me very upset. Why couldn’t I just leave the west coast earlier? No. That was not an option. It really pissed me off.

It may have been the last straw.

Take This Job and Shove It -4

I thought it would get better.

It didn’t.

I thought that once I became more experienced it would get easier.

It didn’t.

I thought I’d give it a year and then quit.

But then I got the flu.

I was feeling pretty horrible. My boss knew I was sick. But the Blackberry kept buzzing and blinking and the phone continued ringing. I had fever and sweats. Blackberry beside me. I became more and more ill with each vibration.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

I turned the phone over and turned on ‘silent’. Every couple of hours I would turn it back over.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Yipes!

Blink. Blink. Blink.

No!

I looked at the mail. It was growing.

Oh no!

Turn it back over.

I was sick. I couldn’t keep up.