(That's Why) The Lady Is A Tramp

A missing peace

2010-04-28T01:30:00.013+01:00

Shoulder to lean my head against, head to kiss. Man to argue with, man to take me over, to guide me down... the only worthy of surrender. Back up and first plan of action, hand to dry my tears, arm to hold. Confidante, kin, challenger and soul mate.

Where are you, lover for all night and the rest of my life, trusted friend and worst possible enemy, cushion and springboard, beginning and end and all that runs between.

You are the one I miss and I don't even know you yet.

Where have you gone when I cry myself to sleep? Where are you going and will you take me with you?

It's been a long time coming. I'm ready, willing, finally able.

I am so full of life but now I want to overflow.

No, it doesn't matter where you've been before. All that matters is when you're here.

"I" is not a number

2010-03-07T20:17:00.003Z

I is not a number. I is so much more.

I is not where the pendulum lands, or three arbitrary digits. I is not what I ate today. I is not body fat content or water weight. I cannot be measured that way.

I is my ambition, my drive, my success. I is my mistakes and the lessons they teach. I is checking my email in the middle of the night because I don't want to miss a thing.

I is the person who cries at sappy movies and The Little Prince. I is the voracious reader who stalks the new releases at the library. I is each word I write, each song I sing, and freedom on the dance floor. I is new recipes and long sips of white burgundy. I is lazy mornings in bed with cat curled at my side.

I is traveling around the world, my fascination for language and culture. I is the men that have burned me and the ones I've let go. I is the passion I put into each kiss. I is my very soft heart and the barriers I put up to protect it. I is still the vulnerable girl who believes in true love.

I is my friends. I is the banter and laughing and experimental cocktails and threatening to marry each others parents. I is the random gift I get for you just because I know you'll love it. I is the people I have lost and the dull ache that recurs when I remember.

I is my family and the years of love and support they have given me. I is the wonder of watching my brother grow up. I is the pride that reflects in my parents' eyes. I is knowing that the people who matter will never see me as a number or a size.

I is the choice to nourish myself and not assign food labels of "good" or "bad." I is the long walks I take to center myself and the joy I feel when the sun hits my face. I is honoring my body and feeding my soul. I is taking care of me.

I is a woman, a daughter, a sister, a friend.

I is not a number.

Things Not To Do When Dating Me (Before, During or After):

2010-02-13T21:36:00.004Z

Take me to a Chinese restaurant and/or serve me anything containing soy.
Try on my jeans, and then proclaim they look better on you than me.
Use the same quote over and over and OVER, even though it wasn't funny the first time and I have no idea what movie it's from.
Criticize everyone: your family, your friends, your friends' girlfriends, yourself. It makes me wonder what you think of me. I hold myself to high enough standards already.

On that note, constantly comment on your food intake and what you ate that day. It took years of therapy to get me through an eating disorder; I don't need to relive it with you.

Neglect to send a card on my birthday.
Get aggressively drunk and then do cocaine in the bathroom.
Show up for but then decline a booty call because you might run into a couple of my friends. (I am NOT kidding.)
Try to convince me how awesome it would be to move to Israel and live on a kibbutz.
Cancel dinner and suggest drinks instead because you "get too hungry at work."
After we've broken up, send me random texts every few months that read, "Hi." Or "Do you want me dead?" Well, now I do.
Tell me my dress shows a lot of cleavage... and you disapprove.
Bring food only for yourself to an event, then send me off into the night to find dinner for myself... while you stay behind with your friends.
Break up with me in Dulles airport.
Push my head down. Just. Don't.
Step on my cat and play "spin the kitty." You wonder why she doesn't like you?
Fly me to Vegas for my birthday... even though we've only gone out a few times and have never slept together. Holy pressure, Batman!

And then have the nerve to be- and stay- on the phone when I get off the plane.

Send me to Barcelona alone while you remain in London. No hablo español, señor.
Not only notice but point out every hot woman that walks by. Or is on TV. Or in a magazine. I get it. You have a penis.
Refuse to meet my family, even for a drink, when they happen to be in town. Trust me, they didn't come to see you.
Tell me I'm built like a Brickhouse. (What??)
Make it abundantly clear you view me as a sex object and nothing else...
...Or call me "dirty" if I have a higher sex drive than you.
Raise your eyebrows when I order a second (free) Bloody Mary at brunch.
Throw up in the bushes outside your apartment and then try to hook up with me when I put you to bed.
Be obsessed with Ayn Rand or any other philosopher- and find ways to work them into every discussion.
Insult my religion, spirituality, family, friends, politics. You don't have to agree. You do have to respect me.

And, now, for the grand prize:

Introduce me to your "son"- actually a stuffed frog of whom you share custody with your ex-girlfriend. When you do have him, insist on carrying him everywhere, taking pictures at various DC vistas and inviting him to join in our conversations (but you do the voice).

Trapper Keeper

2010-01-20T12:17:00.007Z

You say I'm in your inner circle.

I am your Trapper Keeper- tell me anything and know I'll keep it safe.

We reveal our deepest thoughts. We act vulnerable. We call it intimate, like we've somehow defeated the distance between.

But at the end of the day, your clock is that much further behind

And you kiss her head and she's got it all.

And I lay in bed and try to hold hope tight.

Is it really so wrong that

2009-11-18T01:20:00.006Z

...my mother once told me boucle sweaters looked slutty and I can't get that out of my mind?
...I sing to my cat and change songs to fit her (ie "what's new Franny cat?")

...but when she meows back I tell her to use her words?

...when stuck behind slow walkers I can't stop myself from saying, "REALLY?" out loud?...

...I often have multiple bottles of wine opened at once, because sometimes you feel like a cab, sometimes you don't?

...a viewing of "Mean Girls" can totally make my day?

...I find Kate Hudson wholly unattractive?

...but I wouldn't kick Eva Mendes out of bed for eating crackers?

...I still have a crush on Fox Mulder?

...I count my (mile plus) to and from walk as daily exercise?

...all of my birthday gifts and/or cards revolved around wine?

...I know, acknowledge, and appreciate that my looks have had something to do with my career success?

...I am seriously annoyed by people who (mistakenly) consider Vitamin Water healthy?

...(yet consider dark chocolate, cheese and olive oil to be essential food groups?)

...I am even more annoyed by people who don't know the difference between your and you're, they're and there, etc.?

...I feel more alive in stilettos?

...I get turned on by a really nice Mercedes?

...I am absolutely a hopeless romantic?

... I'm sure I will get shit for this list... but I couldn't care less?

Happy Birthday to Me

2009-11-13T17:46:00.000Z

Since it's not really "cool" to write a tribute to yourself, I suggest you head on over to Brando's place to read about how awesome I am. Thanks, Brando. You're a true friend and business partner. Looking forward to many more cocktail experiements.

Real courage

2009-11-11T16:08:00.008Z

I usually think of myself as a courageous person.

I'm not afraid to approach the stranger at the bar, or tell someone exactly what I'm thinking. Even if that person is my boss or a client. I am a subscriber to the "better to have loved than lost..." theory; I too often wear my heart on my sleeve and get hurt as a result. But, no matter. I've gone through some rough situations and come out stronger. I always land on my feet.

And then I remember the things that make me a wimp: I say I'll try anything once, but I've never worked up the nerve to ride a roller coaster. The thought of playing a contact sport makes me wince. I hate hate HATE being cold and wet, and will do all that I can to avoid being uncomfortable while traveling even the shortest distance.

I could never put myself in the heat of battle.

I can't imagine the feeling of coming so close to death... not just one's own, but the deaths of those around you. Your fellow soldiers', and your enemy's.

I think this take the ultimate courage- to stand in the face of destruction and atrocity every day, because you believe in something bigger than yourself. And to keep believing despite the misery and hardship. They keep going, simply put one foot in front of the other, knowing each step could be the last. It's true that each step any of us takes could be our last. But we aren't forced to confront that reality on a daily basis.

I truly don't know where we would be today were it not for those brave men and women who fight for the cowards like me. Thank you, soldiers and veterans, for holding a gun so I don't have to. For seeing things I never will. For taking just one more step.

*thinking of you Papa

Things you should buy me

2009-10-15T14:43:00.003+01:00

I was chatting with a friend about possible gifts for his girlfriend's upcoming birthday. Jewelry? Flowers? Bag of cash? So overdone. Seeing as my own is a month from today, I'd like to offer you some suggestions for an awesome birthday present:

Bottle of genuine sand from your recent vacation. Extra points if it is an empty plastic liquor bottle

Framed photo of friend of mine who looks like Count Chocula

Umbrella with talking bird on the handle

Signed (topless!) poster of Mel Gibson

Gift certificate to Applebee's, or KFC/Taco Bell (otherwise known as the innermost circle of Hell)

Weight Watchers and/or Curves membership (outer circle of Hell)

Personal performance of Cats in my apartment

Lifetime supply of soymilk

Tickets to a Creed concert, front row if you can swing it

Captain Ron 2: Weekend in Paradise? and/or Electric Bugaloo 2 on DVD. I'm not sure if these actually exist but they should.

Gosh, I'm getting all excited just thinking about this. Feel free to steal these ideas for your Christmas tree/Hannukah bush/upcoming nuptials. And be sure to leave any more suggestions in the comments.

Guest Post

2009-10-13T18:23:00.002+01:00

Hey, check me out over at Shannon's place, where we're celebrating her 500 or so posts! Cheers!

What I Did on my Staycation

2009-09-21T01:47:00.008+01:00

Haven't taken a vacation in over 2 years, so decided to take a "staycation" this past week. What I did:

Broke up with someone who completely disrespected me and acted like an asshole; good riddance.
Got a wonderful massage
Went to the dentist
Had the bar lunch at Proof
Had a great lunch at Zola wine bar and got hit on by the absolutely adorable chef
Went on a very impromptu brunch date with no sparks but honest conversation
Hosted a group of friends for wine and dinner on my roof
Went to synagogue for Rosh Hashanah and was invited to a delicious and very interesting lunch with the congregation
Cried over breakup. Questioned the good riddance
Had a fun pre-Rosh dinner with an amazing friend
Worked out and went on many long walks
Spent a lot of time at the library
Slept. A serious amount.
Read a few good books
Saw some disappointing films
Spent some quality time with my crazy/cute cat
Thought about using her as a "seeing eye cat" just to see what might happen
Actually discussed the idea of having a seeing eyed brick on wheels. Yes we actually discussed this.

I had a very relaxing week, in all.... Not productive, per se, but it did allow me to reorient myself. Plus, I didn't have to deal with packing or jet lag. Of course, there were things unwelcome such as breakups and bug bites, but nothings perfect right?

The Giggle Post

2009-09-06T16:41:00.009+01:00

(Note: Unfortunately Blogger does not allow password protected posts. That being said, if you are related to me, I ask that you stop reading now. This includes you, Cousin Scott.)

The French have an idiom for "orgasm:" la petite mort. The "little death." This can mean a number of things- crossing the threshold over to the subconscious; the finality of letting go and surrendering to a force beyond mortal control; the beautiful and sublime finale to an otherwise arduous yet pleasurable journey- perhaps a perfect metaphor for the human existence. Whatever this little death may be, there are plenty of us who would gladly greet the reaper over and over and over again.

Because the orgasm is a relief- a full relief of physical, mental, and some would say spiritual, tensions- we become free in the moment, able and apt to express the very base of our nature. This can be beautiful or monumental or even sad. I have heard of people crying after sex, finally processing emotions that have been buried deep beneath the surface. Many simply fall asleep, some in their lover's arms, some across the bed, hovering alone in their vulnerability. Otherwise tender lovers become callous and spring to their feet, halfway out the door before dressed, leaving the other to process what has just occurred. And then there are those of us that are lucky enough to laugh.

Yes, laughter post-coitus could be received as an insult. "Was that it? Ha!" As far as I'm concerned, this is a grave misinterpretation. Think about it: laughter is among the highest compliments you can receive from a date. She is at ease, she's amused, she likes you. (You don't laugh with people you don't like. ) And when you can make her giggle- throaty, uncontrollable, where is this coming from and I just can't stop it giggle- you know you've hit the jackpot. She's not thinking about the sounds that escape or the face she might make. She is free with you in the moment, full and unthinking. Much like the orgasm itself.

But, oh!- to giggle naked, uproariously, among the messy sheets after crossing that threshold again and again and again? Were I able I'd bottle such bliss and make my fortune on the black market. I have suffered many petites morts at the proverbial (and literal) hands of another, and let me assure you, there is nothing compared to this. You may think you've known rapture, but I can't think of anything better than ten minutes of unbridled laughter as you ride out the serotonin overdose. It takes skill, and trust, to make it that far, to break down all walls, and only one has. He may have thought I was temporarily insane, and perhaps I was, though I'd never apologize for giggling too much. For all the little deaths in the world, there is nothing to make you feel more alive.

RANT

2009-08-21T13:59:00.004+01:00

Ok, I know I just blogged about this, but WTF people? Or more specifically, WTF DC men?!

This morning, as I made my way down the Metro escalator, a morbidly obese man said to me, "Good morning," to which I politely replied with a brusque "good morning" of my own.

He then says - and I quote- :
"You look very nice this morning. Good enough to eat later."

Excuse me, Fat Bastard? First of all, you are morbid-effingly-obese. I'm pretty sure you could consume six of me without making a dent in your ridiculous appetite; and I'm quite positive you'd prefer a rack of lamb to my own. In fact you're probably picturing me with an apple in my mouth roasting over an open flame.

Secondly, why not just say "you look very nice this morning?" I would have taken the compliment and moved on.

THIRDLY, had I the balls or the time to turn around and spit in your face, I'd run the risk of death by asphyxiation as your ass crushed my lungs.

So no thank you, asshole. Keep your disgusting thoughts to yourself and keep feeding that vicious cycle with Big Macs.

WTF.

END RANT.

You complete the post

2009-08-20T14:34:00.001+01:00

"He's my favorite Conquistador," he said.

That's not my name

2009-08-13T18:09:00.007+01:00

My college roommate, Rebecca, is tall, blond, athletic and beautiful. She never failed to attract attention wherever we went. Rebecca also possessed a particular gift for catching the eye of strange men on the street, so much so that it became a joke that every homeless man in DC was in love with her. She once had an old Asian man chase her around Washington Circle, screaming, "I see you! I know you!!!" and accusing her of selling drugs. That is not an exaggeration. I believe he once threw apples at her from a tree. She also had the homeless wo/man who resides on the Georgetown bridge offer to eat her mother's you-know-what. Rebecca politely declined.

For some reason I was able to slide well into my twenties without major incident such as the above. Sure, there was the time during my high school's senior spring break when a man resembling Big Pun attempted a guess at my measurements and then tried to buy me off my friend Peter. But, hey, I was 17, dressed as and dancing like I was Jenny From the Block, and drunk. Plus, it was at a club in the Bahamas. That sort of thing is to be expected. (On a break in Nassau in college, another man told me I was a "little thing but had a chunky butt," which he apparently liked. My nickname for the rest of sophomore year was chunky butt. Awesome.) Back in DC, I could walk beside Rebecca and rest assured that at least no one would try to harass me.

So I don't know what's changed over the past few months, but I now seem to be wearing a sign announcing my willingness to be picked up, groped, or shouted weird things at. Perhaps it's the blessing/curse of having big boobs for the first time in my life. In any case, it has brought out the crazies in droves. Some of the more notable encounters:

Walking out of a convenience store in Chinatown, broad daylight on a Sunday. I hear behind me, "Yo bitch! You dropped something!" and turn around. Slightly scary, unwashed man grabs his junk and says, "My number." Charming.
As I leave CVS carrying cat litter, a man approaches me out of nowhere and tells me I better go home and feed that kitty. I am really hoping he's too cracked out to try innuendo.
Homeless man on street (again in broad daylight) comes up to me to tell me he loves my pink pants. Uh, thanks?
Not one, but two taxi drivers telling me I look "Italian" and inviting me to come visit them in Africa.
And just this morning a lovely young vagrant outside my apartment building christened me Ms. Sexy and said he'd like to take a juicy bite of me (!)

I am seriously baffled as to what these men think they are accomplishing by saying such things. Really, am I going to turn around and actually give out my phone number? I suppose I could be flattered but I have a feeling I'm not the only one this happens to. More than anything, I think it is a power play, a malformed one at that, for some form of dominance over women who are in all other ways superior. It's their little way of trying to take us down a notch.

I wonder what any of them would do were I to take them at their word, say, "hey baby, ok, you really want a taste?"

Ladies, in the comments, share some of the more bizarre solicitations you've received. And men, homeless/crazy men, if you're reading this, consider yourself warned. Because one day, we just may bite back.

Good day sunshine

2009-07-17T14:04:00.006+01:00

Happy Friday, everyone! No, I'm not usually this chipper (except when I have to be... I'm in sales, after all), but I have a feeling it's going to be a beautiful day in the neighborhood. As the Magic 8 Ball says, "all signs point to yes":

I received two awesome texts from two awesome guys before I even left the house (yeah one was my dad, but so what?)
Fresh dry cleaning = extra easy dressing
My abs are still sore from last night's workout
First song my iPod chose: Wannabe. Nothing like a little Spice Girls to start the day. God, I love Posh.
Second song: one of my favorites by Mindi Abair
Room on the Metro!!! And no one gave me the evil eye!
Lots and lots of great client meetings today
...And two candidates going in for interviews
Meeting one fabulous lady for drinks before we head to a NINTENDO(!!!) party hosted by this fabulous girl where we will eat, drink and play Nintendo DS before walking away with a free system of our own (love you Zan!)
I get to give a gift today, and it is a frickin' cool gift if I do say so myself
I may or may not have kisses in my future
Other things to look forward to: bar crawl Saturday evening, Harry Potter (yessss), concert with Jess Monday, and New York next week!

Well, I am off to deliver doughnuts to some lucky clients (want some? you know how to reach me). Have a great day and wonderful weekend!

And it really makes me wonder....

2009-07-08T02:39:00.005+01:00

He's moving to NY (my home city) soon, and we're supposed to meet tomorrow to have drinks, to say "goodbye."

But, now that I think about it, what's the point?

I've known him for about eight years, and never has he treated me how I wanted, or how I deserve. Sure, I'm attracted to him, and, yes, we have our memories, but if he really cared about me, even as a friend, I would have better souvenirs of our relationship.

I was smitten over our first conversation, in French, about how we were going to be married and have four children, and, oh oh, oh la la!

Clearly, that is not in our stars.

Even when I see him- every few months or so- it's as if I could be any one of his appreciative audience members... Nothing special here. And I respect myself too much to submit to these little throws of attention.

So why should I go out of my way to bid adieu to you? Whether I do or don't, I'm sure you'll treat me with the same indifference that you treat everyone else, whether or not you "loved" them, whether or not they cared for you while you puked in bushes or put up with your terrible kissing.

At this point, there's nothing left to say but good luck. Thanks for showing me exactly what I don't want, and what I deserve in a relationship. I'm sure you will be very successful in your career. Still, at the end of the day, can that alone be fulfilling? How do you sustain yourself on a perpetual diet of niceties, flirting and malnourished promises?

Do you believe that I still believe everything you say?

... I don't believe in you anymore.

Ruminations

2009-05-21T01:19:00.015+01:00

Just a few things that have been on my mind lately:

-Today I met someone who's never heard of Twitter. Really? Really?! Have you been living under a rock or in a 1960's bomb shelter?

-Men that spit on the sidewalk. That is beyond disgusting. You make no attempt to hide it. And what spurs the need to spit at 9 in the morning? Chewing tobacco? Seriously, that is just so unattractive.

-Fat people don't bother me; obese people who are sloppy offend me. It has more to do with personality than anything else. I don't understand people who (literally and figuratively) parade their weight around. Take a little pride in yourself. Just a bit.

-Obviously, I am a judgmental person. Yup, I am... And though sometimes I feel bad about it, I think it stems from the perfectionist within. Bane or boon? Probably both.

-Visceral songs- songs that you love even though they are not related to any moment or thought in your life. It's like you relate to them based on something you've forgotten. They just speak to something deep within. It's most difficult to share these songs with other people; never have put them on a mixtape because it would be way too intimate.

-If you like me, call me. I know you have a blackberry, so email doesn't count. Make the extra effort to dial a full 10 digits. It won't kill you, I promise.

-"Famous" bloggers are the next Paris Hilton. You better have some great writing to back up those incredible stories. What makes you so fascinating? The improbability of it all. No, this is not said out of jealousy, just in awe of egos based on online personae.

-Why do Viagra commercials contain warnings for women who are "pregnant or may be pregnant?" Why on Earth would any woman reach for the little blue pill??! See also: drugs whose side effects clearly outweigh its benefits.

On dressing for summer

2009-04-29T16:00:00.001+01:00

Ladies, some ground rules:

Just because it's hot out does not mean you're at the beach. Or in Jamaica. That means no hot pink pants, tie-dye shirts, platform flip flops (shudder), tube tops. If miniskirts or cleavage were not appropriate in your office last fall, they're still not. There are plenty of options beyond tiny sundresses and halter tops: gorgeous shirt-dresses, DVF wraps, nice linen pants. Please invest in a skirt suit in a lightweight fabric. Yes, you can still wear black in summer!
Warm weather does not equal a pass to wear tight clothing. This is especially true in the office. I'll say it again: if it wasn't appropriate before, it isn't ok now. Outside of the office, be aware of what you're exposing. If you're not in bikini shape, what are you doing wearing Daisy Dukes and a lycra tank top? I don't want to see that. Wouldn't you be more comfortable, not to mention more in style, in a maxi dress?
The same goes for too-loose clothing. Flowing dresses, cute. Schlumpy cargos? Not so much. Yeah, I get it, it's steamy, you don't want fabric sticking to your skin. But, trust me, there are breathable fabrics galore that can alleviate that problem. No need to reach for the oversized T. I am a big fan of "beach pants;" Ella Moss makes some adorable pieces that look good and are comfortable.
Exposed toes = pedicure. For the love of God, if I see one more unpolished toenail I am going to scream! Fine, we don't all have the time or money for biweekly pedicures (I certainly don't), but at least pick up a file, a bottle of polish, and get to work! You wouldn't wear a skirt without shaving your legs, would you? (I hope not.) Same goes for your toes. No polish, no flip flops. Deal with it.
Speaking of grooming... Do it. You know that scene in Sex & The City where we get an eyeful of Miranda's "situation?" Don't be that girl. I don't care how you do it, just keep your legs crossed till you do.

Quote of the week

2009-04-15T21:59:00.002+01:00

Shannon Stamey: so, sometimes, you gotta take your pixel nipples and run.

-the ever talented Shannon on what it's like to be the official SS Boob Formatter.

I'd like to buy this bear a Coke

2009-04-13T20:51:00.009+01:00

"Polar bear attacks woman at Berlin Zoo," the headline reads.

What the headline should read: "Insane German woman jumps fence to molest bear."

I have come across this story several times over the weekend, and each time I wonder to myself, wtf?! I love how "it's [still] unclear why the woman entered the bear habitat, but police issued her a citation for trespassing."

Perhaps they should also issue her a straitjacket and some anti-psychotics. I mean... again, WTF? Was she fooled by the fluffy white exterior? Maybe she just really wanted to give him a Coca-Cola?

You know, they don't really drink that.

Coverage of the story has been everywhere, but no article has tickled me more than this one at CNN. Not only is the photo pure (evil) genius, there is a video link that reads "watch polar bear attack woman."

My friend thought he might be a bad person because he laughed out loud at that picture on CNN.

Well, if laughing at a giant German lady being dunked by a bear is wrong, then I so don't wanna be right.

Almost famous

2009-04-07T15:02:00.004+01:00

The first thing I did this morning was check DCBlogs. I just had a feeling. On the way to work I grabbed the Express, and sure enough, there it was.

My coworker called from across the office.

"Did you see yourself in the paper?!"

"Yup," I replied. "Now they have more shit to talk about!"

Though it's not the first time (actually, it was you who outed me to my entire office), as Shannon pointed out, it's always nice to see your name in print.

Thanks, Express! You put a bit of spring in my step today. And a bit of stardust in my eyes.

Didn't you graduate?

2009-04-06T15:00:00.003+01:00

Last time I checked, we were no longer in high school. Or even college, with the rampant cliques and catty sorority girls.

Now, I'm not so naive as to believe that cattiness disappears once we enter the "real world."

But, for the love of coffee and all things holy, since when did the blogosphere become such a nasty place?

I recently found out that my name has been brought up in emails and conversations, prompting people to ask what certain bloggers have against me, or I against them.

And ya know what?

I DON'T ANSWER.

When their names come up in conversation, I don't badmouth them. The only time I comment is to say that yeah, I read their blog, it's good.

And though we may not speak in real life, yeah, I do sometimes read your blog. So what? You're a good writer!

But I refuse to perpetuate gossip. The only people who know what happened in any situation are the ones directly involved. That's it. Anything else is hearsay.

So it pisses me off to hear of my name mentioned in email chains sent to plenty of people who don't even know me, leaving them to wonder and speculate about a situation of which they have no reason to be aware.

I know I'm not the only one in the DC blogosphere to go through this, and I think I speak for all of us when I say: back off. I don't bother with you. I don't talk behind your back.

Other than this blip, you don't exist for me. Were we to see each other in public, I hope you could be civil. I know I certainly could.

If I have to defend myself, I will. Really, though, is that what you want?

So please stop bringing me up in your conversations. I know it's hard, but I'm sure there are more interesting topics to discuss.

After all, isn't that why we blog?

It's been a minute

2009-04-01T17:06:00.003+01:00

Yeah, it's been awhile - just over two weeks- since I've blogged. I have been writing posts in my head, pondering things such as the utter wrong-ness of the Boost mobile commercials (3o year old guy like breast milk?! Ew) but have been putting my energy into other things, such as:

a) my addiction to Twitter.
b) recuperation.
c) work and other professional ventures.

On the health front, I found out that I do not have Crohn's but suffer from other issues which this is not the appropriate forum to go into. Suffice to say, I will be trying a few different medications as well as something called biofeedback, and hope for the best.

It took a couple of weeks of ongoing tests and Xrays, biopsies and scans to reach this conclusion. I didn't take off any more time than absolutely necessary but was finally run ragged and nearly had a breakdown at work. I took a long weekend and went to my parents' in NY, which was lovely and recuperative.

Upon my return to work, I found out that I will now be doing marketing for the firm, rather than staffing and recruiting. Which we desperately need, yes, but... surprise! I now have a new(ish) position.

Fortunately (or maybe not), this feeds into my Twitter addiction. If you are interested in following my firm on Twitter, shoot me an email and I will send you the link. We post job opportunities, HR/staffing news, etc. I'm not going to post the feed here as that will completely de-anonymize me, as well as the people I work with.

Anyway, I am totally loving the social marketing aspect, and plan to start a blog for the firm too. Huzzah!

And, on the personal front, been relaxing as much as possible. Besides the stomach stuff, there's been a cold and strep. Watched a lot of movies and TV on DVD. Working out, running when the weather's nice, cooking, and hanging out with friends. Playing with the kitty (she looks just like Puss In Boots). Celebrating date-cation tonight at a happy hour. Because the dates I've had lately have, uh, sucked, to put it lightly. To the point where they're too boring to even blog about.

I would like to retain two, maybe three readers, after all.

Well, happy Hump day everyone. And happy April fool's too- I'd prank you but I can't think of anything so ironic to be funny.

Oh, except I converted and gave up wine for Lent.

Cheers!

Leprechaun jeans

2009-03-16T00:12:00.011Z

It was cold and gray as I got dressed for Shamrockfest on Saturday. The weathermen promised miserable rain. Of course I opted for a green shirt, and debated between the Uggs and my new hot knee-high boots. Knowing the looks of disgust Uggs would elicit from my companion, I opted for the latter.

Let it be known that these are skinny-jeans boots. That's what they're built for, that's why I bought them. It's not like I'm going to stuff bootlegs or flares into these puppies. Only the most tapered of leg, tightest of calf may apply.

So I reached for my old standbys, my size [XXS] black skinnies that I've had for years. 100% cotton, fits like a legging, no stretch, unforgiving pants. In honor of the holiday, you might even call them leprechaun size. Yes, they require a bit of manipulation to get on (and off- damn those ankles are small). But they zipper easily and I can button them. I put them on and did the three angle mirror check for any muffin top action. I thought they looked fine. I zipped up my boots and was on my way.

It had already begun to drizzle when we arrived, and we grabbed our first beers and huddled under the tent. Yeah, it was freezing, but at least we were dry. We, uh, observed the masses for a while, knowing full well that at some point we would need to emerge for a refill. Eventually the time came and we ventured out. I had my hood up and gloves on. Still, it was no match for the weather. Especially once we got sucked into an hour long game of flip cup. Which was awesome, yes. You know what all that beer leads to though? Having to pee. Really really bad.

I made my way through the crowd to the quaint port-o-john, and didn't bother to take off my gloves as I swiftly undid my pants. I did my thing and yanked the pants back up around my butt and zipped the fly, and attempted to manipulate my fingers as to button them. Which was an exercise in frozen futility.

I could not feel my hands. At all. The gloves were off at this point and I would have kept trying, but there was someone knocking. Shit. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled down my jacket and opened the door.

I made my way back to the flipcup table, shivering, and clenching my fingers in order to generate any vestige of feeling. Nothing. At this point I had also lost all sensation in my feet. It was beyond the pins and needles stage- had I not been upright I'd have sworn someone had cut me at the knees. I was so cold, I told my friends. So very cold. So cold that, tee hee, I could not button my pants.

Well, don't worry, they said, my jacket covered it anyway. One even offered to try and complete the job for me.

And he tried, oh did he try, but the pants would not button.

I'm not sure what this looked like to passerbys- me leaning back and he leaned into me, his hands clearly manipulating my crotch area as I furrowed my brow in cold, wet embarrassment. He valiantly struggled for over 2 minutes. Alas, his efforts proved fruitless, and I was doomed to spend the rest of Shamrockfest numb and open for business, like a bad Antarctic prostitute. I felt like an overweight seal. When was the last time he had to close tight pants? It wasn't me, it was him, my friend protested. Whatever. It was definitely time to go.

As the numbness evolved into a horrible burning frostbite, I somehow made my way out of the stadium and to a taxi. God bless this man, I thought. He took one look at me and blasted the heat. Get warm, he called, as I exited.

The first thing I did when I entered my apartment was unzip my boots and yank off the pants. I then jumped into bed (I may not have even removed my jacket) and remained under the down comforter until I could once again locate my extremities, at which point I took a long, hot bath.

The next day, after a workout and shower, I was faced with the same weather conditions. Sadist that I am, I once again reached for the pants. Body don't fail me now, I prayed as I pulled them over my hips. And, what do you know, they zippered, and buttoned! Huzzah!

I texted my friend to let him know of my victory. "Now I can sleep tonight," he responded.

Well you know what, so can I, buddy, so can I.

Companion

2009-03-09T23:36:00.007Z

By all accounts I am a very lucky girl.

I have a family that loves and supports me (more than I ever thought possible), dear friends, a job with people I adore, a darling cat, a gorgeous apartment, and, with the exception of a couple long-term bothers, my health. I should be happy, and for the most part, I am.

But even a "happy" person can't be happy all the time, can they?

I woke up on Saturday with a feeling in the pit of my stomach, like something wasn't right. I didn't want to get out of bed. I was low. What it was though, I couldn't put my finger on. For the past month I've felt the straining economy pull at my neck. As a recruiter, I've seen the effects firsthand. I'm worried about business, and my own economic well-being. Plus I've had a tough couple weeks in terms of my health. I was tired. I wanted a hug.

Anyway, thank God I had plans to meet a friend for lunch, and then another that night, otherwise it would have been a day spent on the phone crying to my mom.

Sunday came with the same feeling. I buried my head between my pillows as long as possible, till I forced myself to get out and take advantage of the weather. A run, I decided, might help shake this, get me all hopped up on endorphins. I set out toward the Mall, Britney thumping in my ear. The run soon devolved to a jog along Pennsylvania, and then slowed to a walk around the tidal basin. I needed to be near the water. Sometimes I just get like that; I craved the ocean but this was the next best thing. I turned off my ipod and sat on the edge. I closed my eyes. I listened to the wind. I started to cry- not hard, just a few tears. I noticed a couple on the steps looking at me, either in sympathy or embarassment at my display of emotion. Despite that, it felt right at that moment, to be among yet isolated from the world, focusing on the wind and the water and my breathing.

In, out. I tried to see inside, find the route of the emptiness. It's funny how empty can be so unbearable, how empty isn't really "nothing," at all.

Was I missing love? No, I have survived long without that. I am used to spending days by myself. In fact, it's something I enjoy: hours spent with a good book for company. I have no problem going to a bar alone. Often I just feel like it. Yes, quite often I relish in my solitude.

Sometimes, though, some days... you are not enough for yourself. Some days you need to see yourself reflected in someone else's eyes.