new blog update
Current mood: excited

The moment we've all been waiting for. New blog is almost complete...and on it's way! Thanks for your patience!!

Much love

D

1:40 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

To Kiss a Frog

You know how they say "you've gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince." Well, I'd like to amend that statement…you've gotta kiss a lot of princes too …because most of the time princes are just frogs with crowns.

Let me start by asking a question……how many frogs have you kissed? I'll bet that number is pretty low. See, I don't believe we ladies give the good ol' frog a fighting chance. If we don't immediately see perfection or the potential there-of, (I.E. charisma, physical attraction, success) OR if we believe that he is below professional, and financial quality standards, then no bueno, no chance-o, no deal-o! If Mr. Frog doesn't prove himself prince worthy very quickly, I'm pretty sure we send him a-packin'. Prince Charming or bust, right? Why not? We deserve the man of our dreams!

That said…how many princes…men with glittering gold crowns of so-called perfection… have you kissed to only find out that this so-called prince was really a lying, cheating, awful excuse of a person?

Look, jaded as I am, I still believe people enter relationships with the best of intentions, aspiring for love, friendship, and great sex. However, ladies, I dare say, we blindly swoon over men who meet "princely" standards, yet never realize that we're only looking at a royal toad.

I bet a lot of us would like to date a man with a great position, personal fortune, excellent investments and a fantastic 401K…a man, perhaps, who is clever, charming, charismatic, and intellectual…or maybe a strong, savvy, smoldering, sex machine. Sounds great, right! But these rich Riches are not necessarily prince charming. Nor are the charismatic Johns who can woo the pants off granny. To be a real "prince" our frog must be more than the dollar value of his crown.

Yet, dare I say, some of us so desperate to find our prince (see "Do Single Women Have an Expiration Date?") that we are fooled by these frogs with crowns. Do we allow ourselves to be blind with ambition? Do we close our eyes to reality and see only what we wish to be true? Who then is at fault when our heart is broken as we finally understand that we are just one of many participants in the revolving door of said "eligible bachelor's" dating regimen? How then can we tell the difference between our prince and a royal toad?

What we need to remember is Mr. Prince is not qualified by the total value of his assets, physical, financial or otherwise. A true prince is a man who allows his woman to fall in love with him while he cares, compromises, and loves her completely in return. While the proverbial prince comes in a different package for everyone, the real one is strong, sensitive, and head over heels in love with you.

Why, ladies, should we turn our backs on the frogs out there and continue to pursue the "glittering ideal"? Remember, all that glitters is not gold…look beyond the crown because our true prince might be squatting right in front of our faces.

3:18 PM - 6 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

Why all the hatin’?

The reason they put all of the Red States between the east coast and the west coast, is because if California and New York were ever next to one another, the Californians and the New Yorkers would probably kill each other. No joke. Civil War part deux. The irony is we have way more in common then we'd ever want to admit. Mainly that we both like to complain…ABOUT EVERYTHING! But that's beside the point.

Declaration of War part one:

Forget about slavery…let's talk about the housing market. Honestly if I hear one more LA'n complain about how difficult the rental market is I think I'll commit homicide. Twelve hundred dollars a month for a 750 square foot, one bedroom apartment with easy freeway access and a patio? How about $1200 for a 4x8 room in Hells Kitchen by the Lincoln tunnel complete with noise, traffic, midnight sirens and exhaust fumes? $1,000,000 for a four-bedroom loft, in a nice residential area, in West LA? God help me! Listen blondie, let's talk when you're spending a cool mill on a studio in Chelsea four avenues from the Q train!! Not to sound bitter and nasty, which I'm sure I am, I mean, I'm a New Yorker, but give me a break!

K, now that I've insulted all of my Cali-buddies I've got to even out the score.

Declaration of War part two:

New Yorkers, don't know how to live! Why do we have to be so uptight? Can't we relax a little? Does life always have to be a competition to see who's more over-worked, underpaid and innately miserable? Must we judge everyone on their geography and insult anyone who's actually smart enough to not pay a bazillion dollars for a teeny tiny shoebox sized apartment in SOHO? Why must we be so elitist?

The thing is, New Yorkers and Californians don't realize how similar they really are. First and foremost both have, what I like to call, the "Rome" complex. I'm sure that is pretty self-explanatory. But just to clarify, each believes they are the center of the universe and there exists no other land beyond their borders. Everyone is ardently pursuing something, just some are pursuing it in the cold, and others on the beach. Neither likes tourists, yet both make the majority of their money off the tourism market. Masses move to both cities yearly to pursue their dreams and generally end up pursuing the buck instead. Besides that, Californians drive the way New Yorkers walk. The streets aren't big enough to fit all of the people. Housing is still stupid expensive regardless of the space it offers. Once you move there, you never leave, unless you go broke or start a family. And last but not least, both will be under water, like the lost city of Atlantis, within the next 100 years.

So why all the hatin'?

10:17 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Cellphones...the Demon Spawn

Enough sentimental introspective blogging…try this one on for size…whoever invented the cell phone should be shot!

Cellular telephones and the advent of other such wireless calling, e-mailing, texting, blackberrying, razring, edging, or whatevering devices have ruined the entire concept of dating, socializing, networking, and perhaps humanly connecting in the 21st century.

At this point, I almost wish we would regress back to BC when we were apes; where, in the very least, we picked gnats out of each other's hair. I mean, at least apes connect on the most fundamental of levels...that of physical interaction. People, interaction requires just that…INTER ACTION! Action between. Interactions electronique do not, by any means, replicate the soft caress of a hand, the gentle gaze of the eye, two bodies...you get the picture.

Today however, our idea of "reaching out" comes by way of the random, brief, acronym laden text or the rushed just-finished-my-lunch-break-while-walking-back-to-work voicemail. BTW there is nothing natural about having a phone super glued to your ear. AND (just so you know) texting is nothing more than an excuse to not communicate! But, that's a whole other blog.

Look people, I'm mad. I'm mad because the other night I was on the most amazing first date. I kid you not, a flawless premiero date-o laden with good wine, good food, great conversation, and an amazing connection. Things couldn't have possibly been progressing any better…we were clearly well on our way to walking down the aisle; That is, until somewhere between appetizers and aperitifs his blackberry beeped.

No, not a blackberry that would be too obtrusive, a slim sleek cell phone that sends and receives e-mails and text messages at the press of a button. This thing probably cost 700 bucks, but everyone I know owns one, and I want to murder the person who created it.

Must we waste wads of cash on gadgets that not only inconvenience us, but, essentially distance us from the people it is supposedly better "connecting" us to? Can we not wait to answer our e-mails until we are alone and in the comfort of our own homes? Is anyone really that important? And more importantly, Mr. Cellphone Man, WHY MUST YOU RUIN MY DATE??? But I digress.

"Do you mind?" he asks.

"No of course not," I respond, trying to be agreeable.

Well, the joke was on me because now, all of the sudden, I was the third wheel in this tiresome threesome.

Look, besides first date inconveniences, you know the world is in trouble when the drunk-text has replaced the drunk-dial and sweet nothings, or better yet, indecent proposals come via mobile messages. There is no longer such a thing as sending flowers, but I can't even tell you how many "hello sexy ;)" messages I've received over the past two weeks!

To make matters worse, due to the advent of this demon spawn, we are now required to be "on call" 24/7. Let me ask you, who in this world truly wants to be reachable when they're on the toilet? Better yet, who wants to have to answer a call from their boss while in the throes of passion? And, who…I ask, WHO, wants to have to call their parents back immediately…ever? Yet, it seems more and more, every matter has become a life or death situation in need of immediate response. Anyone can reach you at any time of any day, and they expect nothing less.

Worse than that, how many times have you left your phone behind and said, and I quote, "I feel naked without it". Personally, I feel naked when I'm not wearing clothes. I'm exposed when I'm not wearing clothes. So, I guess that would mean I'm exposed when I'm naked. Cellular phones do the opposite of expose, they cover, build walls, and erect barriers. Cellular technology is just that …cellular…it is remote, detached, removed. Yet, we have grown so dependent of these mobile distancing devices we yearn for that "connection". I too suffer from the obsession. It is a malady that must be fought, yet what kind of cure is available?

I implore…put down that phone. It's our only hope. Turn it off for just an hour. Remove yourself from the clutches of an instantly gratified society…Fight the urge to respond and let life take its course. WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT IT CAN'T WAIT??!! You'll come to see that most everything can wait, but what can't are your potential girlfriend or boyfriend, your children, your spouse, your friends and family who need you and all of you; your attention, your focus, and most importantly your present and loving human interaction. Break down the barriers, stop making excuses, and start taking responsibility. Reach out, personally connect, and I swear you won't regret it.

2:08 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

"Over it" a.k.a. I kinda just don't give a shit anymore:)

Have you ever experienced that cathartic moment when you realize you are finally "over" something? Anything? Be it a job, a friendship, a lover. That moment when you can sit down and recognize there are no emotions left to attach to an experience, save indifference.

How strange is it to invest so much of yourself; To spend endless time and energy embodying some thing…no, not even a thing, an intangible event or emotion…with such substance and significance, for so extensive a period of time, to then have it all vanish in one brief, yet final, and amazing moment.

I say amazing with caution because, in reality, there is something incredibly odd and just a bit disheartening about this cathartic moment. Liberating as it may be, do we not need but to be needed? Do we not cry, but to feel? How does it feel to no longer feel? Am I still feeling something though it seems I feel nothing at all? I know that's a foolish question…of course I am feeling. Feeling… but no longer investing. There is no weight in this person, place, or thing. No Purpose. It is no longer important, no longer the focus of my life. I need not pursue it with such tenacity and single-mindedness, nor do I have any desire to do so. It is tainted, impure and without use, and I recognize this. Save the occasional thought, I no longer desire it, yearn for it, or even reflect upon it with sentiment.

I unwillingly embodied this "thing" with such deep and extravagant emotion, and now find it to be embodied no more. Air fills my lungs, tension leaves my brow, yet tears begin to form. Tears of mourning. I again mourn, only this time I mourn the loss of anger and sadness. I mourn the loss of my sense of loss. Strange isn't it.

Ok, enough flowery hubbub. Story is, I'm over my ex and frankly it's a very strange feeling. Almost as strange, and appropriate, as the Soprano's series finale. I mean I am over it in every sense of the word. Done, through, finished, finis, cut to black, roll credits, over! Not angry over, or sad over…not mad and spiteful over, just over, as in done. Ah, the wonders of English semantics! How many ways can one say the word done? Though I find this abrupt revelation quite liberating (well, some would say I have been liberated for some time now, if you know what I mean…wink wink, nudge nudge;) I still find it, well, a bit odd. Not anything similar to an empty soul - kind of odd, just a bizarre sense of done, odd. There is no longer something missing or incomplete in my life. My void is voidless. (I know I'm using all sorts of words, all kinds of wrong, but I needed words that have yet to be coined…you get the picture.) See, now all I sense is innately indistinct incredulous indifference. In other words, I kinda just don't give a shit anymore.

I suppose I should embrace this new development and move on, but I feel the need to contemplate this strangely disconcerting sense of freedom. Perhaps I'm slightly neurotic and overly analytical. I'll admit to that, but I bet I'm not the only one in this world to reflect upon their new-fangled freedom with sentiment, reverence, and curiosity.

In conclusion what is there to gather? Well, I suppose one can feel nothing at all and still be feeling something. This is the strange and intriguing dichotomy of the mind. To be over is to have moved on, to have grasped the bigger picture and regained control. But, you can be "over" and not without, because we always proceed. One feeling will replace another and another and so on and so forth, for Life, is cyclical. Hmmm…just something to think about.

7:06 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Coat check girls

I am writing this story as homage to coat check girls everywhere. You know who you are…Women who come to the big city with even bigger dreams of love, luck and Louis Vuitton luggage. I too am one of you, a disillusioned, too-smart-for-her-own-good chica who finds herself learning more Spanish from the dishwashers in her restaurant than on the Spanish countryside with her dream beau; The incredibly rich, fabulously handsome gentleman with a private jet and a villa somewhere exotic (preferably outside of the tri-state area). I mean really, isn't that what we all want…an affluent, handsome, lover, perhaps an heir to a small fortune, who makes our heads spin, and promises to take care of us through sickness and health until death or divorce do us part?

Of course, that's what we want, until we fall in love…much as I did…with the WRONG guy. By then it's too late. We're in love, dreaming dreams of little ____es (fill his last name in the blank) and suppressing, no, squelching our every hope of country homes, BMW's and Harry Winstons.

Tragic isn't it? No, not so... this man completes us. He smells right, feels right, IS right, and nothing else matters; not the impending financial struggles, not the incessant bickering, not the flagrant cultural and religious differences. Nothing matters because he has thrust himself into your life, forcing you to forgo your dreams to be "happy" with him. He charms, woos, cares, and then the true tragedy unfolds. He splits, leaving you a broken shell of a human being, grasping at straws, trying to make heads or tails of what remains of you life.

You see, this is where you begin to ponder the wonders of alcohol, pain-killers, and the C train. Truly tragic.

But, this is not uncommon. You too have been there and have felt the searing pain of loss. You have mourned a relationship and wondered if you could ever smile again…ever love again. You understand the cycle of the heart; as it begins skipping beats at the mere thought of your love, moves on to synchronizing itself with another's pulse finding true harmony, contentment, and then stops beating altogether as you sit alone on the subway watching the infuriatingly happy couple nuzzle while whispering sweet nothings into one another's ears, as you discover the cavernous depths of depression and the true sense of the word alone.

But depression is only the beginning. Depression makes way for pain; Excruciating pain that turns to anger, which subsides to guilt, doubt and confusion. Confusion relents and you are left wondering…questioning yourself…feeling insecure, ugly, undesirable. You rewind the past 16 months, replaying every moment. Beginning with the day you laid eyes on him, smitten, unsuspecting of the fact he would love you so deeply and then leave you so abruptly without so much as an explanation or apology. You play "your song" on your brand new Macbook (the only song you have downloaded and did so the moment you opened the box) over and over again purposefully invoking tears and sadness because to feel that is better than feeling nothing at all. You wonder how you came to this place? You no longer understand the path of your life.

Suddenly your job is no more than dirty money earned at a dead end hell hole and you no longer know what your dreams are. You arrived in this city eager to find fun, fortune and fame and are now engulfed in the mass of millions of strangers all clawing their way to the top. You are lost and alone and your only friend/support has left you high and dry without so much as a forwarding address. Though it seems like the end, I suppose this is only the beginning. Like so many other lost and forlorn women, I must pick up and move on, embracing or burying the past, whichever I find more suitable, and begin the hunt…no not for the perfect mate, the hunt for myself.

P.S Dearest friends, please don't worry, I wrote this story quite some time ago. As well, it is far from autobiographical...I am not suffering (well not right now), nor do I have any dream of a Harry Winston, or a Spanish chateau. Those who know me best know I really only like cowboys;) I suppose I wanted post this blog for others in need of support and the knowledge that no matter how it may seem, they are truly not alone.

9:12 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Do single women have an expiration date?

Is marriage an epidemic? Am I the only one left battling the disease? I mean, my friends are dropping like flies. It's as if they're in a race to the altar and if they don't cross the proverbial finish line before their 30th birthday, they're going to shrivel up and die. So, what do they do? They stop playing games, give up on the chase and find the first decent guy willing to settle down. How many times have I heard, "He's cute," a.k.a. not the most attractive man I've dated, "and he's real sweet" i.e. he's comfortable and safe so he's a keeper. I'm not saying they're wrong, but here I sit wondering…is dating a game of beat the clock? Does our eligibility have an expiration date?

I was out playing pool with my best friend, her husband, and some of his recently married and divorced male friends when, in the middle of a relatively compelling conversation about, "Relationships, What's the Point?" they unanimously agree that a woman loses her appeal after thirty. After much panicked prodding, on my own behalf, it finally came out that they considered a single woman over thirty completely washed up….an iconoclastic old biddy! I thought the myth of the single librarian was dispelled in the 1960s, but I guess I was seriously mistaken! In their words, a woman post 30 loses her physical attraction and gains demanding, opinionated, tough, and judgmental tendencies. In other words they felt inadequate dating their female peers. So these gentlemen (for lack of a better term) decided why date a 30 year old when you can date a 20 year old? These mid thirty male professionals were pursuing 22 year old coeds, and they were more than happy to admit it! Are these men suffering accelerated mid-life crises and battling to recapture they're youth? Do they not deem themselves worthy of an equal? Or are single women over thirty really bitter, jaded and completely washed up?

Now I'm forced to reassess, I'm not nearly thirty but am beginning to sense the onset of my own desperation. These men have convinced me I must claim a mate while my youth is still in tact; so, I suppose that is exactly what I'm gonna do. I mean, realistically I'm not getting any younger, I am six months closer to a year older than I was six months ago, and fine lines have begun appearing under my eyes. Apparently all the cosmetic surgery in the world cannot remove the scars of thirty years of broken hearts. In the past when a relationship ended my favorite phrase was "I'm still young…" But now I'm beginning to wonder if my idea of youth is terribly distorted.
So do I begin the frenzied search to beat the clock and find the first decent guy who likes me and wants to settle down? He may not be all I ever dreamed of, but apparently my eligible days draw to a quick close. Though I feel rather lukewarm about that kind of relationship will I continue to plod on? Under normal circumstances I would have kicked the mediocre guy to the curb, and resumed my quest for Brad Pitt but according to the peanut gallery, these are not normal circumstances. Will I be forced to jump feet first into a possibly second-rate romance and plod right down the aisle for fear of my own expiration date? The possibility definitely exists, but, at this point, let's just say, I'm glad I have not. And to that I say, on to the next.

9:14 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment