Archive for the 'boys' Category

oh, bell hop? you seem to have forgotten this enormous trunk.

so, i may be writing a little prematurely, but then, it seems, i tend to do lots of things prematurely.  like write people off.  other things i take too long to do, like pack the emotional baggage and send it on its way.

casey and i have played out, almost to the letter, exactly what i warned against just a few posts ago.

i jumped to conclusions- understandable given my recent history with the opposite sex and wrote him off.  erased his number (to prevent drunken texting), cursed him and sullied his name amongst my friends.  i emailed him to tell him why he’s an asshole.

he called immediately to voice his surprise- where was this coming from? and protest my conclusions.  after discussion he admitted that he should have been more vocal and communicative and my reaction was understandable.  sound familiar? 

i can’t believe it went down almost exactly as my general hypothesis outlined.

lame.  i hate being predictable.

anyway.  not sure what will happen.  i think we both feel like a-holes right now.

as we should.


it has come to this.

whilst having drinks with my recently engaged best friend in from the left coast for the holidays, we got to talking about relationships.  he’d been lucky enough to find a girl that was not only beautiful, but honestly enjoys his entirely warped sense of humor and world view.

with us were two fellow single gals, both friends of my friend, both young, attractive, smart, kind.  we are of varying interests and temperaments, but share roman ancestry and cooking skills.  together, we agreed on the following list of criteria that must be shared by possible male suitors:

1. not creepy

2. does not like the movie the notebook, publicly or privately

3. reads

4. is nice

5. likes sports. 

n.b. you just cannot trust a man who does not understand and enjoy sports- be they the american past-times of baseball and football or foreigner friendly fare like soccer or rugby or hurling.  i think tyler durden would agree with us on this point.

it should be noted that, sadly, despite my new knee high black leather boots and witty repartee, none of the three men that have hit on me since the creation of these commandments has even come close to passing.  lo, they’ve actually failed on more than one count.

the only real question left to ask is this: how low will our standards sink by the time we reach 35?  or 40?  i mean, some of these ladies want kids.  to raise, not date.  i believe that actually needs to be pointed out.

ladies, for the love of all that is holy, do NOT make your man watch this film.  just pressing the play button on your remote automatically lowers testosterone by 38% and shrinks testicles up to 3 millimeters in diameter (each!). 

it’s science.

bell hop! take these bags, please. posthaste.

i’m about to offer a little insight into the female mind.  granted, i am not your typical typical girl, but that’s probably what allows me to observe and report on what’s going on in here.  i could offer theories and procolomations and diatribes on the differences between the sexes and the problems they bring to cross-gender communication, but bluhhhhh.  we’ve all heard it.  what makes this different, what makes this noteworthy, is that i believe that i’m finding myself in a very unique situation.

namely, i seem to be seeing a man who doesn’t have any weird hang-ups or baggage, or games.

wait!  don’t leave!  i’m serious.  he’s totally normal.  or, if you’re a relativist, he’s off the charts not normal.


where to begin?  ah, yes.  so, as many an urban female in my age box, i am on  i am not an avid user, but feel that need to get myself out there, at least somehow and occasionally run across a guy, or even man, that piques my interest.  about a month ago, give or take, i came across such a person and we began to exchange the inane, awkward emails that are the hallmark of the digital dating age. 

these were funnier than most and progressed to the phone level within a week or so.  i encounter a problem: the long adored northern irish accent.  i love it, but i’m out of practice.  this embarasses me on many levels, mostly because i don’t want to make anyone needlessly repeat themselves.  it’s frustrating.  to combat this, i kept phone calls brief (i’d do that anyway, internet, because i am not a phone person).  knowing the paralyzing effect his speech patterns have on most americans, the man (lets call him casey, for reasons i may reveal one day), played along. 

we made a date.  going through the nightmare that is batshit, i didn’t feel very attractive, eloquent, or even sane, so i canceled.  relatively late in the day, too.  he handled it with grace.  we rescheduled.  date number two follows the pattern of date number one.  again, he’s gracious and understanding.  we text.  he uses some abbreviations, but not an “lol” in sight.  i wonder if i’m about to fuck up some serious potential.  i suggest date number three and casey agrees to meet me at a local bar for a drink.*

i text him that i’ll be the nerd at the bar with the giant history book- the truth, but also a mini-test.  i’m a nerd, an earnest nerd as opposed to snarky, ironic nerd, which seems to be the cooler kind.  he doesn’t flinch.  he shows up on time.  he’s as cute as his picture, if a bit skinnier.  he’s polite.  i understand him in person.  time and six or so rounds fly by.  he mentions juan carlos and hugo chavez.  we both do a double take when we realize that the other is actively and interestedly participating in this conversation.  we smile.  good sign.  he asks if i live close by.  i say “don’t even think about it.”  direct quote.  he laughs, unoffended and says “no.  i ask because this has got to be my last drink and i’d like to walk you home.” me: “f.  i’m sorry.  these things just come out of my mouth. i’m a disaster at being a girl.”  casey, with the appropriate amount of fliration “you seem to be doing just fine to me.”

we finish our drinks and he walks me home.  we’re both drunk, but he’s not creepy, nor aloof.  he says he’s not good at this, but he thinks it went well and would like to see me again; what did i think?  i agreed.  he walks me to the front, gives me a kiss (yum) and waits until i’m inside to leave.  i text him thanks.  he calls me to say he had a wonderful time, was glad i was such a good kisser and that he can’t believe he just said that.  he’s sorry; he’s not good at this.

second date: meet at the movies.  see a great film.  he cuddles up to me towards the end.  we go for dinner.  good conversation.  he walks me home again.  a tamer kiss (no booze this time).  he apologizes again for not being good at this.  i tell him he’s doing great and that it’s always awkward.  he looks forward to it not being awkward, can we do a third date?

blah blah.  it’s now been four or five dates.  he works really hard and i seem to be busier than hell lately, so we don’t get to meet up too often.  he texts every day.  calls occasionally (we’re both not phone people).  he says nice things.  he doesn’t get jealous.  he listens to me.  he offers information.  he’s a gentleman, but not cold.  my mini birthday gift didn’t freak him out- he loved it and was genuinely touched.

i warned him that i’m blunt and up front and do nice things for people and it usually freaks men out.  he seems genuinely surprised and baffled at this.  i told him about beefy mcweirdo, he shook his head.  he says what he means.  he is nice.  he appears to be honest, even to his detriment.  he’s a man.  i don’t think i could whip him if i wanted to.  i can’t find ulterior motives.  i’m totally at a loss.  who is this guy?

finally, the payoff: 

my insight.  i’m TOTALLY paranoid.  completely.  think maybe he doesn’t really like me, he’s just got nothing better going on.  it’s ridiculous.  we both recognize that i’m the one with my guard up.  i can’t help it.  i’ve been fucked over so hard lately.  and i let myself be.  it’s a tough tightrope to walk- being strong, but not closed off.  i’m doing OK, but not great. 

anyway, we rescheduled our date from tonight until tomorrow because of the ice storms- it makes coordination tricky.  it’s one day, and i’m already thinking: he doesn’t really like me.  if he really liked me, he’d forget the weather.  i’ve forgotten our last two dates where he worked 12 plus hour days and still hurried to meet me on time.  forget the fact that i’m in so much pain from the weather that i feel awful and honeslty prefer to be in bed, watching 30 rock.  i’m not letting that little badger named panic totally free in my head, because i know i’m being ridiculous.  i know i could flat out explain all this to casey and he would listen, not get creeped out, shake his head and assure me “honey, we can totally go out tonight if you like.  what movie do you fancy seeing?”  and it would be even cuter because it would be in that lilting brogue. 

women are freaks! we’re nuts.  now, don’t gloat guys, you’re equally insane, in your way.  our problem is that we let our brains get ahead of us.  we have conversations, grand scenes, events, relationships, endings, fights, possibilities play out in our heads in the span of a minute.  we’re so connected to our thoughts we feel these things as if they’re real.  ever wonder why your girl is pissed at you when you didn’t do anything?  you did.  you just did it in her head.  and you were such an asshole about it.

here’s the thing.  we can easily help yourselves.  men, be more forthcoming with information.  males and females both neglect to state what’s obvious to them.  women are just six days, weeks, years ahead.  men are that far behind.  or are on auto-pilot.  don’t take for granted that your girl knows why or what you mean. just tell her.  even if it’s not pleasant, trust me when i tell you that what we’re thinking is a probably a hell of a lot worse, and definitely more convoluted.  i know you hate to use extra words, but it will save so much pain.

and ladies, take your man’s words at face value.  and trust your instincts.  your gut instincts, not that nefarious badger in the back of your mind.  if the guys a liar or an asshole, you’ll figure it out.  in the meantime, so many misunderstandings and absurdities will be avoided.  you don’t need to know everything at all times.  trust me, it’s usually not all that interesting. 

i guess i’m in a good position because i’m kind of on to myself.  i know i’m being a paranoid jerk.  and i won’t act hurt or aloof tomorrow because acts of god prevented a man from taking me out tonight.   i’ll just be happy to see him.

provided he doesn’t secretly hate me and is planning to string me along for sport…

kidding!  kidding.  right?

* incidental tip – first dates should always be a drink, you can always expand.  it’s easier to do that than to try and contract if you don’t hit it off)


i just went on a date with a man who brought up juan carlos and chavez. 

my mind reels.

is this possible?

the (e)star wars girl

so, it’s been a long couple of weeks.  the cb situation continues to spew it’s rumours, budget meetings and consternation.  i had a marathon 36 hours in miami beach with my latin american agents.  i went straight from the airport to say goodbye to a dear friend moving to the left coast.  i got up early to attend a three hour introductory meeting to one of the possible solutions/ possible bad ideas to end the great cb crisis of ’07.  then, a giant storm came in on friday and has knocked my body back about nine months.  (dratted positive post from two days ago, you jinx!)

no worries, though, there has been a very bright silver lining during all this:

twice in the last week i have been told i am referred to as the star wars girl.  or, according to the argentinian, the estar wars girl.  i can’t imagine a greater compliment.

once by bmw, who told me he was talking to his friends about me and said they asked “oh, you mean the star wars girl?” and then from the smoking hot miami-beach located agent.  we had long, draining, but productive meetings on our mutual business, he bickering with his female co-worker and me with my male tv consultant, mr. brekkies. 

i got to geek out with the smokin hot, suave, hilarious argentinian out over an extremely expensive, tantric themed dinner (poor ximena will never live that choice down) while mr. brekkies and ximena looked on with stoic silence. 

the next morning, when picking us up for the second day of meetings, señor caliente showed me all the light sabres, action figures, replicas, comic books he’d traslated into neutral spanish for marvel (of course) and his titanium web slingers.  he let me raid his toys for some souvenirs.  quite delighted, we left the office for the airport and the flight home.

while in the elevator, señor caliente told us all how he went home the previous night and told him how his boss at insert licensing company here (me) was an estar wars girl.  we laughed.  mr. brekkies asked what she said.  señor caliente: i cannot repeat it.

awesome.  i’m a virtual homewrecker- i unnerve wives, but never get any action.

then, to put a cherry on the sundae, there was a bulldog in the lobby, ending my bulldog-spotting-drought of nearly five months.  i did the usual giggle, jump, clap and point routine, which was pretty much a repeat of my reaction to all the toys in the office upstairs.

star wars girl

both of these things will tide me over for weeks.

it’s the little things, friends, the little things.

would i lie to you?

not about the important things, friends.

exhibit a:

yes, that’s my eye and earlobe in the corner.

please, no more applause.

ricky nelson, i salute you

enough of the brain problems, back to the fun.

we went back to the temple bar again the last night.  we’d gone to see casa mila (la pedrera) late in the afternoon and hadn’t accomplished much else that day.  because, as i explained to cs, that we had a problem.  we couldn’t leave our hovel because the sun was out there.  despite all this and our well-laid plans to go to bed early for our early flights, cs declared that it we had to go out that night.  it was our last night.  no fighting that logic.

we met up with the hilarious irish girl we’d seen the previous two nights and her cohorts.  she’d gathered some boys from roscommon and they asked us to join their group.  they twisted our arms by buying us a couple of pints of fat frogs and then two baby guinness shots.  i have since determined they were evil plants from the planet of teaching responsibility through reverse psychology.  just when i thought i was doomed to sink into an irish hole of drunk, maurizio showed up!  huzzah!  david was not with him.  boo!

maurizio came because he thought david might show- they have a very informal friendship and just meet up there sometimes.  he and cs bonded about italy, amongst other things, i’m sure, while i pined and wished for my imaginary boyfriend* to show.  alas, he never did.  to buoy my spirits, maurizio told cs a secret: david thought i was cute and tried to call me the previous night.  unfortunately, he only had my office number and not my blackberry.  curs-ed fates!

we all went off to find a disco and with maurizio’s guidance, found one on las ramblas, relieving us of a long cab ride to porto olympico and an 18 euro cover.  he couldn’t join us because he had serious research work to do in the morning.  we bid him a warm adieu and followed the irish upstairs.  of course there were many swirling, twirling lights on the dance floor, so cs and i hung at the bar.  it was hot.  i turn my head for one second and when i look back, cs is talking to three fine looking, but barely post adolescent, boys: jose uno, jose dos and alex.  and they were from?  tenerife.  seriously. we had to fly 2247 km (1,396 miles for those of you on the SI system) to find natives of tenerife.  it was no hoax.  they showed me their papers.

though they were all cute, and cs had her weary eyes on jose uno, we realized we didn’t want to be there.  we didn’t want another drink.  we were tired of sweating and breathing in the musty air.  we were tired period.  we decided to head home. 

on the way, we passed the slightly unhinged israeli girl we’d ditched on the way to the disco (mostly at the irish’s urging.  but they were right.  she was kind of crazy.  and very intense).  she was talking to a nigerian man selling trinkets on las ramblas.  we trudged up to our hole for the final time so i could pass out for a few hours and cs could shower in time for her flight to roma.

i left the next day and had smooth, uneventful flights home.  on a lark, i checked my email.  god is good, folks, because i had an email from the catalan waiting.  he wanted to know if i was going back to the bar that night- he’d run into maurizio who told him he’d seen us the night before and he wanted to see me (sniffle).   he wrote that he’d wanted to spend the night with me the other night and tried to follow us to the disco (sob).

unfortunately, i was now back at home, 6169 km away (hysterics).

i wrote him back and told him all this.  he said he was leaving on holiday that day, but would be on messenger at 22h on 2nd september.

sigh.  a girl has to have dreams, i guess.

so now, i’ve decided my immediate life goal is to emulate ricky nelson and have a man in every port.  this trip was a good start towards that end.

 oh, and BMW came over the day after i got home.  a girl has to eat.  more than once a month, too. 

*he’s an actual person of course, just not my boyfriend.  not yet, people, not yet. mwahaha mwahaha (curling imaginary** handlebar mustache). 

** the mustache is not real.  not since we went to el corte ingles, anyway.  zing!

homage to catalan(ia)

y’all, life was rough on saturday.  we got up around noon and decided to suck it up get some fucking french toast.  really, tortilla and cafe, but it helped sober us up.  it was time to sight see.

we wandered over to the picasso museum and surveyed its massive line and opted for the gift shop instead.  it was way too hot to stand there and since i’d already been, cs thought we should do some more wandering and head towards sagrada familia.  what i didn’t know until that moment is that ‘wandering’ means ‘buy lots of bags’ where cs lewis comes from, which is viriginia beach in case you were wondering (holla saltdogs and navy seals).  our long, scenic and scorching hot walk was broken by the comic relief of calling home to talk to cs lewis’s mother, ma weber.  she’s a lovely woman, and quite fun to party with, but she’s out of her mind.  i literally spit water all over the sidewalk listening to just cs’s half of the conversation.  which reminds me, if you have the means, hop on down to club web in vb, it’s a great experience.  book ahead, though, that place fills up.  especially when there’s a steel drum band scheduled for the weekend.

i digress.  in an unbelievable turn of events, there was no line to get into the cathedral, so we gladly pay the 8 euro to go inside.  i was pleased to see cs was as blown away as i am by this sublime monument and we took our time soaking in the beauty and divinity.  it truly is amazing.  i was also impressed by how much had been done in the ten years since i was first blessed by the sight of it.  putting it into context, it was started in 1883, so that much progress in a single decade was remarkable.  i can’t wait to attend a sunday service there one day, and have hope and faith i will have the opportunity in my lifetime.

we walked back by heading down calle mallorca towards casa mila or la pedrera, where the line equalled that of picassos museum.  knowing we had time tomorrow, we opted to come back and enjoy a stroll down la passeig de gracia. 

we hooked a left at plaza catalunya and headed back to the hostel, where my duty as the “official arbiter of cs’s spending habits on souvenirs” was put to its strongest test yet.

we relaxed, showered, and headed to bar gaudi for dinner, which is located two doors from our hostel.  knowing cs and me, going somewhere so close is shocking, absolutely shocking, but it’s true. 

the reason this is relevant is because the guy that stands outside and solicits patrons had been trying to get us to eat there for the last 36 hours.  he was pleased to lead us to a table where we enjoyed an amazing dinner, as well as the company of our waiter, tomate (i’ll explain later) who was quite taken with my face and language abilities.  i was too taken with my artichokes from the oven to notice, so his asking me out later went totally unnoticed.  i’m spastic, yes, but i blame this stupidity on these artichokes.  i was seriously picturing me in a wedding dress and las alcochofas in a tux and cummerbun.

leaving, we told the guy outside that it was great and i said “si podria casarme con las alcochofas, lo hare.”  it took me at least a half hour to put the subjunctive for that together correctly.  instead of applause at my proper tenses, he said “que bueno.  me llamo alcochofa.  do you want to be married and live here or in new york.”  he then told us he got off at two.

we smiled and wandered off for another pub crawl, which ended you’llneverguesswhere: the temple bar.  the scene of last night’s crime.  or the inception and planning of the crime, anyway.  we didn’t return in the hopes of meeting up with johhny b good’s stag do, so we weren’t disappointed to not see them there.  in short order, cs was chatting up a pack of scots and i was talking to maurizio (a venetian phd student in town to study) and david (tall, dark, handsome, catalan).  love. at. first. sight.

we were contentedly talking to our prospective prospects when the next thing i know, plan b is back and dressed like a school boy.  following closely behind was the rest of the crew in identical ensembles, replete with johnny in full harry potter costumes.  hilarious.  i didn’t see rio grande at first, which was fine, because david was a piece of pixie dust combined with a dream and i was happy as a clam where i was.  eventually, cs got folded into the stag do once again, but i resisted, excepting a brief interaction with justin timberlake junior (where was that guy last night???).  i finally noticed rio, who was squarely ignoring me (boo! bad form!).  we made eye contact later, i waved, he mouthed that he was really drunk and that was pretty much that.

after a few more hours of this, cs’s new paramour had talked her into going to port olympic and the disco baja beach with the whole do.  when they were throwing us out at last call, she was in the street yelling past the bouncer, “come on, come on, we’re going to the disco.”  i asked david if he and maurizio would come with and he said he’d love to, but we had to wait until m came back from los aseos.  i waved off cs lewis and waited.  when m came back, david disappeared.  I was like “what the? i thought you guys were coming with?”  m said yes, they would come.  i told him where we were going and to meet us there since i had to go out to cs before she popped an anuerysm.  they had my card and email, so we were insured.

 i got into one of the cabs and headed down to port olympic with the rest.  once there, i realized i’d been before and we didn’t have to pay the 18 euro cover to get in.  all we had to do was go downstairs to the beach level and grab an outside table at the disco, no cover at all.  only darren had the sense to listen to me and we scored a large table right by the doors to wait for the rest to figure it out.  eventually, herbs, jt jr, johnny, rio and plan b caught on and came to sit down.  we ordered a round, which i paid for (what the?) and still rio did not acknowledge me.  not a thanks, nothing.  i really didn’t want to be there, and was already cursing my seperation from david, so when they got up to go to the strip club down the way and asked me to join them, i begged off.  i was ready for home.  i found cs inside (still didn’t pay) and she was still chatting up the same guy.  i told her i was off and would see her later.

i got into a cab upstairs when i realized i had exactly 8 euro to my name and no idea how far i was from las ramblas, which means i had no idea how far i was going to have to trudge home.  the cabbie agreed to take me as far as the 8 would get me, which was exactly to my street, thank you jesus, st. george and the traffic-less streets of late night barcelona.

cs got home later with the guy (tim, i believe), who’d been chatting her up the whole time and planting soft, tongueless kisses on her all night.  when she asked what his hesitation was he replied “because i have a girlfriend.”  zunh.  i mean, zunh?

apparently, he kept chatting her up after that, took her home, and then asked if he could come up.  what the?  is this pretty woman?  what the fuck?

anyway, i was gutted about losing david and maurizio, but pretty annoyed by rio as well.  i didn’t go there to see him, and didn’t expect him to chat me up (though he did look disturbingly hot in his uniform) or not go home with a different girl, but some manners, please. 

luckily, david has my email.  fingers crossed.  i’ve already constructed a whirlwind trans-atlantic IM-based romance in my mind and i don’t mind telling you it’s fantastico. sigh.

fording the rio grande

oh, where to begin, where to begin.

we got to barca around four or five in the afternoon: hot, tired and thrilled to be amongst spaniards.  we grabbed some fabulous food and went up and checked into our hovel.  i mean hole.  i mean hostal.  we grabbed some rest, went out for a bocadillo in a sandwich chain (shut it.  it had air conditioning, which was desperately needed at this point).  then, we decided to hunt for a decent pub.  true, the proverbial bar had been lowered to the point we could shuffle over it, but we were in barcelona and we meant business.  this, of course, left only one choice: hogan’s, an authentic australian bar squai on las ramblas.

a pint of fosters here, a pint of fosters in an irish bar and the hunt continued.  we happened upon- get this- another irish bar.  ok, a few more.  but that’s not really the point.  the point is people, that we were in an irish bar.  which means the trouble was a-brewing.  i asked cs at the beginning of the trip what the over/under was on us being in the middle of stag party at some point.  we should have made some points, because before you could say “yes, i’ll have that fifth pint of fosters, please” there we were. 

they were even easier to identify than usual because they were all wearing matching soccer (ok.  football.  they were brits) jerseys with a picture of the groom as a four year old and their nicknames on them.  before i could say “how much do i owe you for that drink?,” we were in the midst of four of the eighteen members.  let’s call them herbs, plan b, rio and mark.  because that’s what they were named.  at least according to their shirts. 

quite quickly, and without warning, i had entered into a transaction with, um, rio, to meet up at three am at the hard rock cafe for a little action if neither of us got lucky before then.  i was totally kidding and not taking him seriously, of course.  i think he sensed this so he broke out the big guns: the pinkie swear.  now i was legally bound.  it was for serious a true blue straight up transaction.  no flirting or leg work.  it was a five minute once over from either side and then a contract.

alas, as chance would have it, we never got to frequent that fine, movie-themed establishment because we kept chatting at the bar.  rio asked if i’d like to accompany him to get some fags (cigarettes, not homosexual men).  i told cs i’d be back in ten seconds as i hadn’t yet decided what my involvement would be with this gentleman, but when we got to the newstand and he asked me how to say condoms in espanol, i figured what the hell?  he’s totally full of himself and british, but really hot (think jason statham) and i’m young, white and single.  so, i told the man “un paquete de condons” and off we went.  i rolled my eyes when he told the shopkeep “the big ones, please.” let’s come back to this later.

after a brief stop at my hovel (it was closer) during which we were kicked out and i remembered that i am far too old and well paid to be staying in places that don’t allow guests, we headed off to his fancy pants hotel and headed straight upstairs.  i think it was around the point that he held the door open for me that i finally decided that i’d probably hook up with him.  alright.  ok.  it was when he told me that he liked the cut of my jib two hours before, but let’s pretend.

anyhoo, all you need to know:
(seriously. more or less, this is what we’re talking about)

without getting too graphic, let’s just say that his little throwaway comment at the newstand was not only not a joke, but an understatement.  i thought we were going to have product relevancy issues.

he taught me several handy phrases in egyptian arabic which revealed that he was, in fact, egyptian arabic and quite pleased by my earlier statements regarding the US and UK’s treatment of muslims.

i was called, in all seriousness, a ‘naughty minx.’

i am totally hooking up with more self-centered playboys.  good god did that guy know what he was doing.

finally, i LOVE this transaction thing.  no nonsense, no time wasted.  which rocked, because it meant more time for play.

when i was ready to leave at seven am, he got dressed to walk me home, much to my surprise.  he was insulted that i even conceived of the notion that he wouldn’t be a gentleman.  i was like “take no offense, in new york, i’d be like ‘bag of peanuts,’ i’m getting on the subway.” 

he gave me his email and told me to tell him when i’d next be in london, which i readily, though very wearily, agreed to. 

cs lewis was happier to see me than anyone had been in my life.  my “ten seconds” had been more like four hours and she was concerned.  for a hot second.  then we hi5ed ourselves to sleep.

what do you get when you cross a hedge fund trader and a longshoreman?

well, that depends on whom you ask, i guess.  but according to ronnie of carle place, long island, what you get is what i, apparently, need. 

cs lewis and i met at the beer garden for a drink after an especially painful stab therapy session.  as i’d suspected, cs lewis’d made friends by the time i arrived.  ronnie and ralphie, two mooks of the highest order (a sincere compliment in my book).  they were waiting for friends, too and had invited cs to sit with them whilst she waited for me.

i was in a foul mood.  work had been especially rough, i’d endured 6 hours, 2 cancelled flights and several delays at cleveland hopkins airport.  i’d had to meet corky st kurtz, the ‘creative’ head of my division in the president’s club and had a very awkward conversation.  you know when you know that someone just does not like you, especially for no good reason, but you have to have polite, civil, and hopefully productive conversations with them?  and then they condescend to you and tell you to remain there after they leave and have some drinks because they’re free?  did i mention that i’m pretty much the only person out of seventy plus in the division actually bringing in revenue? 

couple that with the painful therapy and the fact that i had to get up early the next morning for an mri, and i was so close to going home and burying my head in my pillow.  luckily, i kept my date with cs because these guys were hilarious. 

ralphie and ronnie were joined by mikey and val.  the former being a high school english teacher living in his parents long island basement with a prodigious early eighties porn collection and the latter being a french immigrant working in technology who thoroughly enjoyed all the racist slurs and gallic slander we could conjure up.  ronnie was married, waiting for his wife to get home from a girls night out so they could celebrate their first anniversary together.

i must tell you that a night out drinking with a quadrumvirate of ball-busting mooks is exactly what the doctor ordered.

they gave very helpful advice on men. mostly from ronnie, who told me i scare the shit out of the stronger sex and that’s why i’m single (yeah, ronnie, that’s what i tell myself).  other roundtable topics included favorite authors, the best lines from fight club, shaving/ hair preferences and personal styles, why, exactly, mikey still lived in the basement, the diamond trade and nifty blackberry tips.

i had intended on going home early so as to avoid being hungover for my MRI, but stayed out late because it was such a fun and relaxing evening. 

i also learned it’s possible to play wingman via text (good luck with frenchy, cs!).

we definitely have to hang out with those guys again.  and, yes, daphne, you’ll be there.


“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”


Upon common theatres, indeed, the applause of the audience is of more importance to the actors than their own approbation. But upon the stage of life, while conscience claps, let the world hiss! On the contrary if conscience disapproves, the loudest applauses of the world are of little value - john adams
May 2018
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from the man who taught me everything:

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”