Is That Who I Think It Is?

Last week I was sitting in my car, waiting for six o’clock, when it would be legal for me to park my car in that parking space for the night. 

New York City parking rules.

I often do this because I am parked right outside my door.  I wait about half an hour.  While I wait, I keep busy listening to the radio, blogging, emailing, making phone calls, and people watching when I run out of things to do.

The people watching is fun, and sometimes I see folks I even know.  On this particular day, I saw three people walking together on the sidewalk that I was parked next to.  Two guys and a woman.  One of the guys was sucking on a straw.  He kind of looked like P Diddy or Puff Daddy, or Sean Combs, whatever his name is this week.  I think Diddy sucks on straws.  The woman with him looked like his baby mama.  The other guy with them looked like a bodyguard.

All of this was going through my mind as they were passing.  I was wishing I could have gotten out of the car to see them more clearly.  But I couldn’t leave the car there, for fear of getting a ticket.  Then, I thought, “Take a picture!  Take a picture!”

I whipped out my phone and fumbled with it.  By the time I got it going, they were ahead of me with their backs to me.  But I figured I’d take a pic anyway. 

Well, you know how when you are trying to take a great picture, and you think you are?  But just when you are about to, you click, and then there is a delay before the camera to actually takes the shot?  And then you end up with some wacky photo of someone picking their nose?  Anyway, I didn’t think I’d get a good pic of Puffy, maybe just his back.  But… I clicked the camera while they trio had their backs to me walking away.  And, for some strange reason… just as the camera engaged, they all three, turned around and looked in my direction.  My camera snapped at the exact time that they turned around.  And took the picture shown on this blog.

I analyzed it, and analyzed it.  Was it really him?  I wasn’t sure.  I was too emotionally invested, at this point, to decide.

So, I thought I’d get other opinions.  I texted the photo to family, who never responded.  Then, I just forgot about it.  Two weeks later, I remembered, and showed some folks the shot and asked who they thought the guy looked like.

Puff Daddy, they said.

“Yey!!! Woo hoo!!”  I screamed.  “It was him!  I was really him!!”  I was just so excited that I had actually saw Puffy in person, no matter how long after the fact it was.

Shoenniversary

I recently went on a Shoenniversary to the Bergdorf Goodman shoe sale with my BFF’s Sookie, Pam, and baby Tara.

A few years ago, my niece, Pam, suggested we go to the Bergdorf Goodman shoe sale to celebrate the start of summer.  She had never been, and we thought it would be fun.  And it was.  I think I even blogged about it.  You can take a look at past blogs if you like.

Anyway, we had so much fun, (we purchased about ten pair of Louboutin and Manolo Blahniks combined) that we decided to go every year.  So, this year rolled around and we found ourselves back at Bergdorf Goodman’s shoe sale.  This time, we also added a visit to the Christian Louboutin store on Madison Avenue.  They were having their bi-annual sale as well. 

I was in shoe heaven at our Shoenniversary.  And so was baby Tara.  She was happy as a clam.  Perhaps we’ve created another shoe-aholic.

Although, I really wanted to purchase that day, I didn’t.  For some reason, I just couldn’t find anything I loved in my size.  I was sad, but my wallet was happy.

I thought, "I made it through without buying!  Maybe I’m making progress with my shoe-aholic-ism.  Yay for me!"

Well, that was a month ago.  Yesterday, I returned, to the Bergdorf Goodman shoe sale.  It was still going on!  And the prices were further reduced. 

Oh, it was so much fun. 

I tried on a pair of crystal Jimmy Choo’s.  OMG!  They were beautiful and $2000.  But for half price, they were a steal!  They were exactly my size and looked fantastic on.  Only, they heels were wobbly.  So.  No big deal, right?  They were gorgeous!  I was considering them, but I didn’t purchase.

Something made me leave the building without doing it.

I emailed my BFFs, this morning, the following:      

I have a confession to make...  I re-visited Bergdorf's shoe sale yesterday.  

Without "yous guys"

Made it out alive.

Without buying anything.

Even though now EVERYTHING's 50% off.  

Even the LOUBOUTINS!

Really low stock.  

But still some good stuff, according to me!

 I've been thinking about it ever since.

Even though I made it out alive, I thought about them all night long, in my dreams, and again this morning. 

That’s not healthy.

And that’s why I shouldn’t have gone.

So, He Didn’t Kick the Cab THAT Hard, Did He?

I saw him today.

The ‘kick the cab’ guy.

After five years.

And he looked as handsome as ever.

Damn.

I was still attracted.

Shit!

I missed him.

Fuck!!

About six years ago I dated Lafayette. I was really crazy about him.

Really.

But I had to break up with him after three months because of his bad temper.

One evening out in Manhattan, as we were crossing the street, a cab cut us off. Lafayette became so angry so quickly that he kicked the cab as it passed. And I got scared.

It was at that moment that I decided I couldn’t be with him even though I was crazy about him.

I know that I mostly write about the nutty stuff that goes on in my life here, as a single woman in the big city. But what you don’t know is that I was in an abusive marriage. It was so scary that I can never go back. So, any sign of any kind of abuse from anyone; a boyfriend, girlfriend, boss is a red flag for me.

So, you can imagine my fear when the kick the cab moment took place.

To make a long story short, I broke it off with my sweet heart.

Seeing him again today really hit me.

So, here I am.

Alone,

As usual.

Thinking about it. Six years later.

And wondering if people can change.

When we all know they don’t.

Then, wondering if I over reacted.

He Didn’t Kick the Cab THAT Hard, Did He?

All I Want for Christmas is Shoes

It is a week and a half before Christmas.

And I am a little down.

I can’t quite get into it.

Is it just me?

We should all feel happy and thankful and full of love.

But me?

I feel poopy.

I can’t even get into shopping.

And I love shopping!

I don’t really feel like getting a tree.

Or decorating it.

Last year, nobody ever saw my tree. Just me.

How sad is that?

I guess it’s my fault. I should have invited someone over.

I don’t know what it is.

I have a lot to be thankful for.

Well, I guess a lot of people get depressed at Christmas.

I’m so not into it, I don’t really even want anything.

Well, I guess maybe one thing.

All I want for Christmas is shoes.

Dancing With the Star

I attended a gala last weekend.

Gilles Marini, the sex-on-a-stick hunk from the first Sex and the City movie was going to be honored there.

Before going, I fantasized about meeting him.

I envisioned the meeting in my head.

It was kinda like the law of attraction.

Because I met him! Almost the same way I pictured it in my mind.

We were at cocktail hour and I saw Gilles from afar. Oo! And he was…

… Sex-on-a-stick all right.

I almost spit up a mini crab cake when I spotted him.

He was even dreamier than he is in the movie and on Dancing With the Stars.

Later on, at the dinner, I saw him taking pictures with some women.

I thought, “Let me get my camera!”

And another woman at my table grabbed me and announced, “We’re gonna meet him!”

I was in.

So we B-lined it over to Gilles, who was glowing on the dance floor.

Snapping pix with this one and that one.

Then, he turned around and looked right at me and said, “Whew!”

I smiled and nuzzled next to him. Unable to breathe.

His arm, around my waist.

Mine around his.

On the outside, I was giggling. But on the inside I was screaming with glee, “Gilles!!!!”

The camera flashed and he was gone.

But it’s three days later and I am still happy.

The Sleepover

A few weeks ago I posted about a friend who invited herself for a sleepover at my apartment after a gala.

Well.

It hit the fan.

A few weeks prior to the gala, she asked (over text message) if I wanted to go. She had a table. I accepted.

Then she asked if she could sleep on my couch.

I reluctantly texted, “kk.”

I hate it when people put me on the spot like that.

She asked what ‘kk’ meant. I answered that I meant ‘yes.’

So, the day before the gala, she texted me, “What are the logistics for tomorrow?”

I answered, “You can park on my block and we can go to the gala together.”

She started writing something about putting her car in a lot, yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m like, ok, do whatever.

Next day. Day of the event, she called on her way to New York. (She was driving in from New Jersey.)

I told her to come and park her car on my block. We’d take a cab to the gala. But since she was running late, she said she’d meet me at the venue.

“Ok. Whatever.”

So, we met at the venue.

We were having a fun time. The whole time, I’m still assumed she was staying over. Heck, I’d spent the whole day cleaning. She’d better stay over! (But you know what they say about assuming.)

But neither of us spoke about it. I just figured it was a done deal.

Toward the end of the evening, Yenta Hessa said to me, “I asked her if she was sleeping at your place and she said, ‘No’.”

“What? What do you mean she’s not staying over?”

I was confused.

--

--

And happy at the same time.

Is that bad?

My instinct was to confront the friend. But something made my stay silent. I don’t know why.

I wanted to say, “What’s going on? I thought you were staying over.” But it wouldn’t come out of my mouth.

So the rest of the night passed and I didn’t say anything. And she didn’t say anything.

At the end of the night, I went home. And she went home. And we never said anything.

The next day I felt really bad about it. I called her. Left a message.

She called back, so she couldn’t be mad, could she?

She was.

She told me she was waiting for me to invite her over. That her bag was in her car.

I was nauseous.

Are you kidding me?

“What do you mean? You asked me if you could stay over. I said yes. I didn’t realize I had to invite you!”

“Well,” She said, “You only said ‘kk’. I gave you several opportunities all night long, to ask me to stay, and you didn’t.”

So what does that mean? Does that mean a communication over text message is not as binding as a verbal communication? Then, why the fuck did you text me bitch?

Personally, I think texting is stupid. But if that’s the mode of communication one chooses to correspond in, then I’ll go with it.

I had a guy I was dating tell me he loved me for the first time over text message. I was highly insulted. What the heck was I supposed to do with that information over text?

Anyway, I apologized, but I was secretly happier that she didn’t stay if she was going to friggin’ play head games with me.

F- that!

The shit hit the diva fan. And it’s on her.

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.

Wardrobe Malfunction!

I love the fashion of the 1940’s.

My mother has kept a lot of the clothes she wore back then. I love to wear it. So I go through her closets often.

There’s a suit from the 50’s that I like to wear. The last time I wore it was in the 80’s. But I found it in my closet recently and thought I could resurrect it. Since I finally waxed my legs for spring, I decided to wear it to work yesterday.

Put it on.

Yey, it fits!!

Even with my minor weight gain.

Looked fantastic.

Off to work!

Get my coffee.

Jump in my car.

Rrrrrrrriiiiiiiiippppppp!!!!!!

“Huh?”

“Did I hear something?”

“Was it a rip?”

“No. It couldn’t be.”

Started the car.

“I must have imagined it.”

Turned on Elvis Duran on Z100.

“Let me just check.”

Reached down and felt the back of the skirt around my bottom. All I could feel was my tights.

“Oh no!”

“It’s ripped!!”

Now what was I gonna do? If I go back up and change, I’ll be late. If I go to work, I’ll have a three-foot rip in my skirt all day.

Guess I’m going up to change.

Called work to tell them I was going to be late.

Scurried up and found the first dress I could find.

Stepped into it.

Zipped it up. “Ah. Thank goodness it fits!”

Went right back out the door.

Made it to work only 15 minutes late.

I got compliments all day on my dress.

Go figure.

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.

Is This What My Life Has Become?

I was out with Yenta Hessa last week. We went to grab a bite to eat. The restaurant we went to was busy. We left our name at the door, “It’ll be 50-60 minutes”.

We went to the bar.

Turns out, you can eat at the bar as well. I really don’t like to do that, but since it was late, and we were hungry we decided to try. Only thing was, the bar was packed as well. So, we scoped out seats. Me, on one side of the bar, and Yenta Hessa on the other.

Nobody was budging.

After about 35 minutes, we saw a couple start to get up. I walked over to them. But on my way a chubby old man approached the couple. He was about a hundred and two years old. He wore old man glasses and had old man hair. You know, totally bald on the top, with grey fringe down the sides. His friend looked like Homer Simpson’s boss, Mr. Burns.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

“Are you going to take those seats?” I asked.

“We’ve been waiting for an hour!” He exclaimed.

What a gentleman. So much for chivalry.

Take the seat, I thought, as I walked away.

We waited some more.

Then some seats opened up near Yenta Hessa’s area. We sat. “Ahhh.”

I look to my left, and there’s Santa Claus and his elf sitting next to me.

His friend was even older, maybe a hundred and sixty two. He had the same white baldy fringe hair, but his head was loaded with liver spots.

Oy, I’m going to loose my lunch.

All of a sudden I hear, “Do you come here often?”

Are you kidding me?

Ebenezer Scrooge is hitting on me!?!

I turned to him and smiled.

Then I turned to Yenta Hessa and whispered, “Is this what my life has become? The Winter Warlock just asked me if I come here often!!”

Yenta shook her head.

Then, he continued. He was a lawyer in the building, and blah, blah, Charlie Brown’s teacher.

I didn’t hear another word he said. All I could think of was how my life came down to this? How could this hundred and seventy five year old man think that I would seriously ever want him?

Do I look old? Do I look his age? Do I look close to his age? I don’t understand!

Has time flown by so quickly, that I didn’t realize I’m a hundred and seven too?

Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy my dinner.

Bus Boys Love Me

I find that professional men are not attracted to me.

I really don’t know why. I’m certainly cute enough.

But no bites from doctors and lawyers.

And since I’m a highly educated professional myself, I would like to date within my group. I mean, I’m not stuck up about it or anything, but I deserve something good, don’t I?

But, ya know who’s really into me? Bus boys.

And parking garage attendants.

Oh, and food take out delivery boys.

It just happened yesterday. I was walking into my building and as i walked through the front doors, a delivery guy was walking out. He looked at me. Then, as I passed, he hissed at me!

Do you know what that is?

Well, they don’t whistle anymore. They don’t do kissing noises either. They hiss. “Ssssss.”

That’s the kinda guy that I like. A guy that hisses at me.

Why me God?

Now, a doctor or lawyer that hisses at me. Well, that’s a horse of a different color!