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.

Donkey Booty Badonkadonk

I was out to dinner a few weeks ago. 

An Italian restaurant on Second Ave.

It was a gorgeous October night in Manhattan.  So gorgeous, in fact, that the weather was warm enough for outdoor seating.

We sat at a comfortable table.  But the tables were all very close together.  So close you can hear the conversation at the next table.  So close, that when you try to squeeze out of your table, your ass ends up in the linguini of the guy at the next table.

There was an empty table to the right of us.  That is until a couple came.  They were a stunning couple.  In their twenties.  The guy was tall, dark, and handsome.  With a great body and shaved head.  The girl was a Brazilian bombshell, who looked like Sofia Vergara on steroids.  She was tall, dark, and exotic looking, with a slammin’ body, a Spanish accent, long brown hair in a high ponytail, and a donkey booty.

The couple was having small talk. 

I was having small talk too.  But, who could concentrate on my small talk?  I couldn’t stop looking at the couple.  I was more interested in their small talk than mine!

Of course, my date’s hair was shaved.  But that’s where the similarity between him and our neighbor ended.  My date was the complete opposite.  Short, old, and wrinkled, with secretary's spread.

Jessica Rabbit got up to go to the ladies room.  As she did, her ass cheeks knocked over all the glasses on the opposite end of my table.  “Oops!” She exclaimed, as her badonkadonk skimmed my veal parmigiana.

Sofia was very animated.  She was talking and flirting with her date, with her Latin accent.  She was flicking her hair left and right.

At one point during the dinner, I reached down to get something from my purse, and I felt something smack me in the face.  It was the Brazilian bombshell’s hair.  She flicked it and it was so long that it hit me in the head.

I looked up in surprise.  I think I made a noise.  And she looked at me and said how sorry she was, in her thick Brazilian accent.  I told her it was fine and we both laughed.

I think I was having a girl crush.

My date had no idea what had just happened. 

A few minutes later, I felt something hit me in the noggin again. 

Again!  It was Sofia flicking her frigging horse ponytail. 

Again!

Ok.  This is getting ridiculous.

I didn’t say anything.

My date was like, “What happened?”

Clueless.

He missed it again.

Sure enough, another few minutes later, it happened again!

What?

She flicked her hair again, and…bam!

More horse dung in my eye!

This is getting out of hand.

Enough is enough. 

Can this chick please keep her stinky tail on her side of the restaurant??

Thank you!!

I Found Love in a Hopeless Place

I had a date the other night.

I was going to be meeting him for dinner in the neighborhood. 

It was an 80 degree day in October.

I had labored over what to wear and decided on my little black long sleeved Versace dress and turquoise suede Manolo pumps.  I threw on a fitted denim jacket to funk it up a bit.

I did my make up and headed out.

The restaurant was several blocks away, but I thought I’d walk.  Half way there, I began to perspire.  After all, it was 80 degrees!  So I took off the jacket at a stop light.

While doing so, I spotted a handsome man also waiting at the corner for the light to change.  I thought I saw him glance my way.

I thought to myself, “I must be lookin’ good in my Versace and my blue shoes in Manhattan.”

The light changed.  And as I began to walk, the handsome guy came over to me.  He reached over to my neck as he said, “I think you have a tag.”

How embarassing!  There was a friggin’ Verace tag hanging out of the collar of my LBD.

He continued, “You look so beautiful tonight.  You don’t want to ruin it by having a tag.”

I thanked him in my humiliation. 

We ended up chatting for about a half a block and then he went on his way.  I thought he was going to ask me out any minute, but it didn’t happen.

Imagine, finding love on the street in New York City. 

Well, not quite.

Botox and the City

I’m dating a plastic surgeon.

Does that mean he’s looking at the bump on my nose during dinner?

I have no idea.  I don’t know him well enough to ask.  But that is what I’m thinking a lot of the time.

The bump on my nose and the eleven on my brow. 

Oh, and my chicken neck. 

Did I mention my parentheses?

Normally, these things really don’t phase me.  But I can’t help but be a little self conscious. 

It’s fine with me.  I know just where to go if I ever decide I need Botox in the City!

My First Fashion Show

Believe it or not, I’ve never been to Fashion Week. 

Well,

Not until this year.

I went to the Rachel Zoe show on Thursday.

And.

It was

Fabulous!

I mean, not just the show, but the whole experience.

I’ve been dying to go for years.  It’s just that, at first, I didn’t know how to score a ticket.  Then, I got shut out a few times.

Last year, I went to Fashion’s Night Out.  That was awesome.  I bought Chanel nail polish.  All I could afford last year.

Walked so much, that I got huge blisters on the bottoms of my feet!

Well, anyway, the show was very exciting. 

Although I was on the look out, there were no celeb sitings.  Well, aside from Rachel Zoe and her cute hubby.

Aside from the near fainting spell from not eating dinner, and near wipe out from my seven inch peacock suede Daffodile Christian Louboutins, I was in heaven.

And I can’t wait for February!

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.

Oh Rats!

Today I had to run some errands during lunch hour.

I had to go to the bank, pick up sunscreen for my trip (yey!), and grab a salad.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was bright, the weather is getting warmer, I was able to zip up my favorite emerald green Prada pencil skirt this morning. (Thanks Weight Watchers!)

So far, it’s a good day.

So good, in fact, that I was practically skipping down the street to the bank, in my stunning turquoise blue spring coat, black suede platform wedges, and my Chanel rhinestone shades.

As I was saying, I was frolicking across 23^rd Street. Suddenly I spotted a small animal running towards me, trying to cross 23^rd Street as well!

Is it a cat?

Is it a dog?

Is it a squirrel?

Oh no! I think it’s a …

Dare I say it??

… RAT!?!?!

Yes. It is!!!

And it is coming right for me!

Then it swerved to the right. I swerved left.

Then it swerved to the left. I swerved right.

I wasn’t walking anymore. I was sort of jumping and screaming at the same time.

Then it came B-line for me.

Right in the middle of crossing 23^rd Street, I started skipping, hopping, and screaming simultaneously.

Can you get a visual?

That thing came so straight for me that I jumped over it to avoid it running right up my black suede platform wedges and emerald green Prada skirt.

There I am, hopping and screaming in the middle of the street as cars waiting at the red light!

I could see people looking at me and giggling, but I couldn’t help it. There was nothing I could do. It was goin’ down.

As I passed the rat and made it to the opposite street for safety, I was still screaming a little, giggling, and jump skipping. Then I made several grossed out, ewww body shakes.

More pedestrians on the corner saw it and were also amused.

Some bald, leather jacket, motorcycle guy turned to look at me as I approached the corner of 23^rd Street and 3^rd Avenue. He chuckled. “Wow, that’s something you don’t expect to see!”

I turned to him and agreed.

Have the rats now left the subways and taken over the streets? Do we have to step aside as THEY pass?

The streets are not big enough for the both of us Mr. Rodent!!

Another leisurely lunch hour stroll gone to shit.

Dude Where’s My Car?

I lost my car on Saturday.

Well, it’s ok.

I found it.

But from the time I lost it to the time I found it, I think I grew 20 grey hairs.

I parked my car on the street on Friday afternoon. I always park my car on the street. Sometimes I forget where I put it, but it hasn’t happened in a while.

It’s a common problem. And easy mistake to make when you park in a different place, on a different block every day. The days sort of end up running into each other and then you forget.

Anyway, in parked on Friday afternoon on my block, a few Avenues west of my place. I had to really maneuver my car into the parking spot, since a huge white truck was double parked next to the car in front of my spot. It was a really good spot.

On Saturday, I was headed out to Long Island to see the family. I was running really late and it was cold and raining out. I started walking to the car. Only, when I got to the street where I thought the car was, it wasn’t there.

Hmmm. Maybe it’s on the next street over.

I walked over to that street. No car.

Maybe it’s on the next Avenue.

I walked over to that Avenue. No car.

It’s raining and cold. And now I’m beginning to panic.

Where the heck did I park the flippin car?

I had to stop and think.

Think!!

Maybe I’ll have to hail a cab and make him drive me round and look for it. I was getting fatigued.

It was also getting later and later. It’s almost not worth going anymore. As it was, I was running so late.

Maybe I should just turn around and go back to the apartment. But, I’ll have to find the car eventually. I may as well just keep looking.

Then, as a last resort, I prayed. I’m not the most religious person, but in times of need like this, I figured I’d give it a shot.

I prayed to the saint who helps you find lost shit, Saint Fenurious.

Suddenly, I remembered the big white truck. That made me remember the street it was on. The car wasn’t on one of the streets I was looking on. It was on my street! The street I live on.

I headed back towards my street.

As I turned the corner, there it was. My sweet car was sitting there waiting for me. Winking at me, as it always does.

I sweetie! There you are! Thanks for waiting for me!!

My faithful car was patiently waiting.

I unlocked the door and jumped in for warmth and dryness.

Thank you Saint Fanurious!

Hunger Pains

My BFF, Yenta Hessa, emailed me on Wednesday. “I have tickets for Hunger Games tomorrow night. Wanna go?”

“Sure!”

So, yesterday, we were off to the games.

Unfortunately, I haven’t read the books, so I really hadn’t a clue what it was going to be about. But then again, I love that.

We went. No waiting on line for 17 hours. We just walked in.

We probably should have gotten to the theatre a bit earlier, because although we had tickets, most of the seats were taken when we got into the theatre. But, in true BSM fashion, we scored fantastic seats.

Most of the movie was a lot of fun. But about three quarters of the way through, I started to be bored. They were in the woods a really long time.

And my butt started to hurt. And I started to wish I was on my couch in my pajamas.

You know, people are annoying at the movies. I remember, when we were young, my father would get into a fight every time we went to the movies. All because the people who went were stupid. After a while, he stopped going to the movies all together.

I got some popcorn and I ate it quietly. But the woman next to me brought her own treats. In a plastic bag.

You know what that means, don’t you? Every time she reached into the plastic bag, it crackled at about 90 decibels in a quiet movie theatre.

It really kind of distracted me from the hunger. And I couldn’t concentrate.

So, aside from my sore butt and my noisy neighbor, I managed to enjoy Hunger Games.

Today, my sister, Sookie, asked me how the movie was.

I said, “My butt hurt.”

Match Dot Shlong

I had a profile up on a dating website for a while. “Had” is the operative word.

It was actually a site for people of a particular culture.

I really don’t like dating websites, but I figure I may as well try, right? Even though they give me the creeps. And I thought it might be good because it was guys with the same background as me.

So, a got a hit from a cute guy. He was a good age. Divorced. Two kids. Seemed legit. I had to actually pay up for the stupid thing in order to write back to the dude. But, you know, I got a good feeling about it.

It took me about a month to do it, but I did. I was pondering over it. Should I? Shouldn't I?

Whatever, whatever.

So finally I signed up and got back in touch with him.

And the guy was still interested!

I was kinda excited about it.

He wrote back, “Here’s my email adres and telphone nummer. Call mee soon if you fell sayfe.”

I told him I’d feel safer if I could email him first (even though his spelling sucked for someone with a Masters degree), and he agreed.

His email address was his first and last name. So, since I had his full name, of course I Googled him.

Guess what came up?

His profile on “MiPuta.com”

His screen name was HOTGUY-4U

It read, “ GOOD LOOKING ‘RUSSIAN’ GUY WHO LOVES ‘BRITISH’ LADIES. LOOK HOT, DRESS HOT AND YOUR MINE.”

Note his spelling of ‘you’re’.

Also, I substituted the nationalities to protect the innocent. Other than that, that’s what it read verbatim.

On the site, there were like a million hot chicks’ pictures. And by hot, I mean they all look like hookers.

So. Hmmm.

This was the nice guy who, out of all of the guys on dating websites who I never gave the time of day, I decided was a good one?

Oh brother, my judgment with men is really in the shitter

I got so grossed out; of course I never contacted him.

I’m gonna be single forever.

I’ll Tackle You to the Ground at Filene’s Basement Blowout Sale - Part II

... I looked.

And looked.

Looked again.

No black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

Checked the dressing room.

No black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

Asked the little Russian woman organizing the clothing on the racks, “I just saw it,” she said.

I told her I had it earlier, but I put it down. I joked that I guess I shouldn’t have done that.

She replied in a thick Russian accent, “No. Not today!”

And she was right. I know that. I learned that at Loehmans. I call it the Loehmans mentality. Never walk away from something you’re interested at Loehmans. It may not be there a moment later. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.

This is actually the reason why I buy too much. I don’t want to let anything go.

Suddenly, I woman with about 50 dresses crumpled up in her arms, passed in front of me. In the pile of fabric, I thought I spotted black silk. OMG. It was my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress!

I walked over to her and asked, “Are you going to try that on?”

If so, I figured I’d hang around her in case she didn’t want it anymore or it didn’t fit.

But instead, she immediately spat, “I’m buying it!!”

I turned around and sulked back to my place in line, in front of the woman who kept smacking my booty with her hanger.

The woman in front of me asked, “So, did you find it?”

I told her my story. She responded, “You should have never looked like you were interested! You know how women are, she’ll buy it just because you wanted it.”

Damn! She was right. But I thought I’d be honest. Honestly always wins out in the end.

Doesn’t it?

Oh well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

I stood on line again, which was moving like a dead turtle, and plotted. How was I going to get that dress away from that woman?

The dress that I didn’t need earlier, I was obsessed with and couldn’t leave the store without.

Myself and the line ladies discussed it further. About 15-20 minutes later, they pushed me to look again. At least for the second dress.

I left the line.

Re-checked the racks.

Re-checked the dressing room. The dressing room ladies looked for me.

No sign of the woman with my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress. Was she on the line now? I didn’t see her.

And where was the second black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress?

Nothing.

I sulked back to my place in line… Empty-handed.

The line had moved forward a little.

While on the line, I spotted the woman with my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress. She had about 100 items now. My black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress was one of them.

Damn!

I pointed her out to my friends on line. The woman behind me, who kept poking me with her hanger spewed, “She looks mean!”

We all laughed.

As we got closer and closer to the front of the line I dreaded the fact that I would check out without my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

I thought about offering the woman with my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress my place in line if she would just give up the dress to me.

I didn’t do it.

But I did keep seeing the little Russian woman who organized the racks. I decided to asker her. One last time.

“Excuse me, but did you happen to see the black silk Escada wrap dress again?”

“Yes!” She said in her thick Russian accent. “I have it. I thought you left.”

“What??? I have been on line all this time. Can you get it for me?”

And she did.

The other ladies on the line started screaming and cackling as the woman brought the black silk Escada wrap dress to us.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! You must wear it for New Year Eve!!!” They screamed.

I thanked the worker.

I was five people away from the front of the line.

I guess it was meant to be.

I’m glad that I was honest and didn’t tackle that woman to the ground for my black silk Escada ruffled wrap dress.

After all, honesty IS the best policy.