The Virginity Monologues

Because I am obsessive about checking my financial accounts online, I just found that the charge from last Thursday's dinner has officially hit my account.

And I've never been angrier about the situation than I am right now.

Since that fateful night with The Italian, I've been upset about it and I've been able to laugh about the situation. This level of anger is new.

He had some Armani Exchange bags on him when we met up and he ended up leaving them at Asia de Cuba. I thought seriously about going back to Asia de Cuba the next day and picking up those bags, since I have the coat check tag for them.

I decided against it, as I have no idea how truly crazy this man is and I didn't want to risk psychotic crazy. I wanted to extricate myself as much as possible from him.

Now, I'm wishing desperately that I had gone back and picked up those bags. I don't even know what was in them, but I'm sure it would have alleviated some of my present suffering. (I just called Asia de Cuba and the bags are gone now....)

It's not even about the money. Being out $170 isn't going to kill me (although, that could have bought me at least 2 new pairs of shoes!), it's the fact that he was a complete scam artist that really chaps my hide. I'm sure I'm not the first girl he has done this to, and I'm sure I won't be the last.

I don't know that I've ever hated anyone more in my whole life than I hate him right now.

I hope Karma comes back and bites him on the ass so hard that he can't sit down for the rest of his life.

Today's Title from: What Goes Around Comes Around by Justin Timberlake

Labels: The Italian

It was a quiet weekend. Spent almost entirely with Shannon and Karen, the two best friends a girl could ask for.

On Saturday, I dragged them up to the Bronx for my favorite yearly event- The Orchid Show. My friends patiently wait as I wander the paths, oohing and aahing and gently touching the delicate and beautiful flowers. I fill up my camera memory with picture after picture. I am happy and at peace.

After getting some dinner, (on the way to dinner, some lovely teenage boys declared us 'cute as a button') we head back home to get ready to go out for the evening. We'd started the week with grand plans. Drinks. Dancing. But it's starting to rain as we arrive home, and Karen is getting ill from dinner. We're tired and we have cupcakes that we want to eat, and after stumbling across a movie on TV that we all love, we decide to stay in.

When I check my phone just before going to bed, I have two missed calls from a number that I don't recognize. Karen calls the number back and I am not surprised that The Italian answers at the number. Karen hangs up and I shake my head at his audacity. He had called me on Friday and asked if I wanted to go to Paris for the weekend. No thanks. He called frequently over the weekend. And I wonder how many calls I'll have to not answer before he gets the hint.

Sunday was Long Run day, having been too lazy on Saturday. So, I went to the gym, turned up my iPod and settled myself in for a while. It was a tough run (weekend mornings usually are), and I struggled through the first mile. By mile 2 I hit the zone, but when I finally slowed myself down at 3.25, I thought I might throw up. Then I met Karen and Shannon for a dinner party, then it was down to Fairway for some grocery shopping.

While grocery shopping, Cam called. I had also been hearing from him quite a bit. He was buying an iPod and wanted me to buy it with him, and when I couldn't do that, he wanted me to come over and help him set it up. And I'd gotten one random call at 2:30 in the morning, because he'd apparently been drinking a lot.

I agreed to come over later that night.

And as we laid on his bed, while his iPod was updating the 3500 songs on his computer, with his head on my stomach, he talked to me about work and life and all sorts of stuff. And I wanted to slap him in frustration. I was tired of his spiel about not wanting a relationship. He clearly wants me in his life. When is going to admit this to himself?

We fell asleep like this- even though I'd had no intention of staying the night and had told him so. I woke up at 1ish, too tired to go home.

So I spent the night in his arms. I reveled in the feel of his hand, caressing my hip. And I woke, more rested than I've been in a long time.

I hate it that I sleep better with him.

Today's Title from: I Could Hold You in My Arms, by Ray LaMontagne

Labels: Cam

The Italian strangely enough was early to meet me. And was carrying 2 very large bags from Armani Exchange. And said that he had also been shopping at Versace, where he lost his phones and his Black American Express, and uses this excuse to frequently use my phone. He starts walking me to an unknown destination and pretty soon we are walking into Asia De Cuba- where everyone inside knows him. And he informs me that Matt Damon will be eating dinner with us (don't get excited, although he touts this all night and frequently calls "Matt", Matt never actually shows up).

When we don't get seated fast enough for The Italian's liking, he decides we're going someplace else. And as we're catching a cab to Tribeca, he mentions he doesn't have any cash on him. Okay. Whatever.

In the car, he makes a call to 'Robert DeNiro' to find out a good restaurant in Tribeca. Then we get out at the Tribeca Grill, but The Italian decides he doesn't want to eat there. And yes, I think he was high. So we wander around Tribeca a little and end up at an expensive Spanish restaurent. The Italian orders appetizers, the biggest steak on the menu, and 2 bottles of wine.

AND THEN MAKES ME PAY FOR DINNER, because he claims to have lost his American Express card.

Total Bill $170.

I am not joking.

God, I wish I was.

He had offered to let me live in his apartment in SoHo (because apparently he never uses it), but at the end of the night makes it a condition that if I don't let him go home with me, then I can't have the SoHo apartment. So I tell him to Fuck Off, get in the first cab and leave.

He calls me 3 more times that night.

And again, I have learned a lesson the hard way.

Trust No One.

And Beware of Pathological Liars.

Labels: The Italian

I'm still tired. Almost every night this week, I have gone out after going to the gym. I've been dragging my ass home between 11:30 and midnight, then absolutely crashing. I'm thinking that this should stop, but between now and Sunday, free time is on the light side.

Tonight was supposed to be chill. Something happened last night that changed that.

I left work yesterday, went to the gym, then showered and headed to Chelsea to meet Spatch. I was so excited to see her. She'd been in Hawaii for 10 days, and the week before she left had been so busy that getting together had been impossible. We had a lot to catch up on.

I was waiting at a bar stool in the front window of the tapas restaurant when she arrived and we greeted each other enthusiastically. It was busy, I had made reservations, but we still had to wait a few minutes to be seated. As we stood at the hostess station waiting for our table, a man approached me. He had the look of a man on a mission.

He told me I was beautiful. He pleaded with me to tell him I was single. He asked to join us for dinner, but I wasn't about to let some Italian punk interfere in my time with Spatch, so he asked if he could take me for dinner the next night, to the restaurant of my choice (PETER LUGER'S! Ok, not really, I would never do that, but I'm tempted). Before I agreed, Spatch challenged him to come up with 3 good reasons why I should go out with him. Bizarrely enough, he completely failed this test.

Something about The Italian rubbed me the wrong way. He was too smooth. Clearly too practiced in the the art of picking up on strange women in public places. I agreed to go to dinner with him tonight, but imagine I'll get a free meal, maybe a little amusement, then when I don't sleep with him on the first date, I'll never hear from him again. I hadn't actually ever expected to hear from him at all. But he called at 1:30 in the morning last night, so his intentions to take me out might actually be sincere. We'll see....

Dinner with Spatch was absolutely fabulous. She never disappoints and I never want to stop talking to her. My heart ached for her as she spoke of her impending breakup with her boyfriend and even though she acknowledged that she deserves better, I afraid that deep down inside she doesn't believe it. And even though my faith in men is certainly not at its all time high right now, I believe that there is someone better for her. Someone who wouldn't make her cry with such intensity, and someone who would never let her go, because he recognizes that she is the best thing that could ever happen to him. I believe in this man for Spatch.

I drink more wine than her and I eat more than her. We stay for 2 hours and by the time we leave, my Italian boyfriend is long gone. We walk to the subway together and we eagerly make plans for the summer. Outdoor cafes. Baseball games. Shopping. Cocktails. The forthcoming adventures of 2 single, nympho girls in New York City.

You have been warned.

Today's Title from: Happier by Guster

Labels: The Italian

I'm outrageously tired. So I'm taking a break. I'm not going to the gym on my lunch break today. I figure there's probably a limit to how much I can push my body physically, and I imagine I'm very near said limit. Especially after I pushed myself extra hard on my 2 miles last night. Then, just because I could, ran another .5 mile.

Then I went to an Indigo Girls concert (Thanks Spatch!).

Then I went home and slept like I imagine I will when I'm dead.

Since my self-imposed celibacy, life has been so tragically uneventful. But you know what, I am quite enjoying the lack of drama. I like it that I can't remember the last time I cried, the last time I wanted to lock myself up forever because another guy had treated me like shit, or the last time I felt like I just wasn't good enough.

Now that's some good times. Better than sex, even? Maybe.....

Today's Title from: Never Again by Justin Timberlake

I just returned from the gym, where I did a half an hour of targeted-heart-rate elliptical. I don't sweat much (which is why I can do it on my lunch breaks), but it gives me an opportunity to watch old episodes of America's Next Top Model in the middle of the day, plus when I get off, I look at the calories burned (which I'm sure is overstated) and feel a great sense of accomplishment knowing that 85% of those calories were fat calories, all because I kept my heart rate right around 130.

Yes, sometimes I wish I could escape from my brain.

And now, after wolfing down a 6-inch turkey sub on wheat from Subway, I'm still hungry. So I ate a pear. And I'm still hungry. My stomach is actually growling. What is this about? I want to bend over, give my stomach the death glare, and tell it to stop whining already.

Sheesh.

Meanwhile there is a large box of candy bars on my desk that my sister sent to me (I did request it. They are candy bars that I can't get out here and I wanted to share them with my co-workers).

They taunt me. With their coconuty goodness.

Mmmmm.

Non-sequitor: I went to a hip-hop dance class last night at my gym (in Harlem), and I may have been the uncoordinated white girl that needed a lot of extra special attention from the instructor but damn, if I didn't have a fabulous time shaking my booty....

Today's Title from: I See You Baby by Groove Armada (the Fatboy Slim remix)

I am coming to a interesting realization. The men in my life, really don't go away.

Case(s) in point:

Mr. Wrong: I never talk about him anymore, because I hate him. I haven't answered his calls or hung out with him in over 5 months. I'm not playing a game here. I genuinely don't ever want to see/speak to him ever again. He still calls. He called on Friday night at 3:30 in the morning. At least he has stopped calling 5-10 times in one night. It absolutely stuns me that he is still holding on when not getting even an ounce of encouragement from me.

Scott: Despite not speaking for over a month. I got an email, a text and a phone call from him on Friday. He'd like to start over and take me out on a date. I'm sorry, WTF?

Cam: We still fight, almost daily about the status of our relationship, despite my repeated attempts at telling him that there is NO relationship. It's really starting to irritate me. I may have had very strong feelings for him at one point, but I gotta tell you, all the fighting has really killed all that. He is driving me absolutely insane. I could happily never talk to him again and now that I've blocked him on IM, I hopefully never will.

The one that has disappeared though, is the one that I least wanted to.

Marc.

Not a word from him in the last month. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him.

Life just isn't ever fair is it?

Today's Title from: Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol

Labels: Cam, Marc, Mr. Wrong, Scott

One month of Operation Hiatus down- two more to go. There are days when I think that this is really good for me, and there are days when I absolutely hate every single second of it. I still have my defeatist 'No One is Ever Going to Really Love Me' attitude. So clearly, I still need some work.

The weirdest aspects of my personality come out while I am on the treadmill. I get bizarrely competitive with the person on the treadmill next to me. I watch their time/speed/distance and have to beat them in some way. Yesterday, as I was getting into my running groove, a guy got on the treadmill next to me. He was tall, gorgeous, in shape- basically a physically perfect male specimen. And of course, I felt dowdy and slow next to him. But I was determined to outlast him. He might have been running faster, but I was going to run longer. And when he got off his treadmill about 4-5 minutes before I was due to finish, I almost did a fist pump, high as I was on my own ridiculous victory.

And I get nutty about the numbers. I'm always stressing time and distance, enough so that for at least the first half of my run, I put a towel over the electronic console part of the treadmill to stop myself from checking it every half a second. I always have to beat my last 2 mile time (I generally always run 2 miles on the weekdays, then my Saturday runs are longer. As my Saturday runs get even longer, I'll have to bump up my weekday runs to 2.5, then 3 miles). So as I'm finishing my 8th lap, I always mess around with the speed constantly to make sure that I finish under my last 2 mile time. Sometimes this means that I have to sprint the last 100 feet or so, and then I want to throw up. So, that's fun.

Now, at the tail end of one of the longest days of my working career- I may need someone to lay me down, give me oxygen, and put an IV of chocolate directly into my carotid artery.

Doesn't that sound wonderful? In reality, I will be hie-ing myself over to Grand Central, where I will ride the subway to my friend's office, and we will take ourselves to Costco with some guy who has a truck and I will purchase gigantic sized portions of things that I'm sure I don't need.

And just warning you- I will probably eat a hot dog. Because I love Costco hot dogs. Don't hate.

Today's Title from: Sabotage by the Beastie Boys

Monday night was amazing.

Karen and I arrived at the Waldorf Astoria around 12:15, because that's when the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony ended. And walked right into the After Party, despite the presence of girls with guest list clipboards who should have stopped us but didn't, because we have apparently perfected the art of looking like we belong.

Being in a room full of famous people is weird. It's confusing, because when you first see them, you think, "I know him/her, how do I know them? Did I work with them? Did he used to do my hair? How?"

And then you realize that you know them because you watch them on TV/listen to their music/make fun of them on a regular basis.

The first person I noticed was Seth Meyer from Saturday Night Live (although we did see Maya Rudolph walking out of the Waldorf earlier). We watched Aamer Haleem (VH1 VJ) introduce himself to Paul Schaeffer (music guy on the Dave Letterman show). The Furious 5 rocked the champagne table (and one of them grabbed my ass). Kid Rock elbowed me. Karen was given the number of a famous bass player. I marveled at the number of piercings in Slash's face. At the end of the night, I surreptitiously watched Eddie Vedder and tried to figure out if there was a way I could introduce myself without looking like a complete tool. And as we walked out, we casually noted that Michael Stipe had definitely done some head shaving since we had seen him last.

Rumor had it that Jay-Z had made a brief appearance, but we didn't ever see him.

It was a party chock full of industry executives. I heard the word "project" said about 5,000 times. Don't these guys ever know how to just let loose already?

And there were more. People I knew I should have recognized but I didn't.

Karen and I were proposed a 3-some by an interesting gentlemen, who couldn't stop dropping the fact that he was a producer. When we declined his oh-so-tempting offer, he seemed to lose interest in us rapidly. I can't imagine why.

Paparrazzi took photos of Karen as we walked out, because she is tall and beautiful and people assume that she is 'somebody' (not that she isn't, she just isn't a famous somebody!).

As I hiccuped my drunk ass all the way home, after fighting off one of the bell boys at the Waldorf who begged us to let him come and cook and clean for us, I was content in having managed to successfully dress myself 2 nights in a row, befitting for such glam parties and managing to go both nights without making a fool of myself.

Today's Title from: Cowboy by Kid Rock

"I'm so happy right now."

I said those words a lot this weekend.

I said it on Friday night, as Karen, Shannon and I headed home after watching The 300 together.

I said it on Saturday morning after I had a fantastic 3 mile run. Then again, on Saturday afternoon as Karen and I laughed so hard we cried in a Sak's dressing room trying on Spanx with 2 salespeople outside the door shouting encouragement to me. The again on Saturday evening, as we walked out of a restaurant having just finished one of the most delicious meals we've had in a long time, coupled with 3 lovely glasses of wine that had gotten me sufficiently tipsy.

I said it again yesterday after my desperately needed manicure/pedicure. Then again as Karen and I stumbled home around 12 am, having just returned from one of the coolest parties I have ever been to.

I have connections. That I can't reveal, but they are good connections.

R.E.M. is being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame today. Last night was at a party at Del Posto- a Mario Batali restaurant- for them. Which I was invited to.

Last night, Karen and I mingled in a large room of people that included:

All members of R.E.M. (obviously, and oh, how I love Michael Stipe)
The Beastie Boys
Patti Smith
Ed Burns
Christy Turlington (easily the most beautiful woman I have ever seen)
Sammy Hagar
Mario Batali (who was NOT a nice person)

and other people who I can't remember/didn't recognize.

And tonight, we've been invited to the party AFTER the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony.

Needless to say, I took tomorrow off.

I'm so happy right now.

Today's Title from: At My Most Beautiful by R.E.M.

I did it! Last night, I finished the Total Body Conditioning class STRAIGHT out of Hades, and I could walk, without aid, back to my locker to retrieve my iPod, then walk over to the treadmills and run. I could have run further than I did, but there was something off with the belt on my treadmill and I was getting shin splints like nobody's business. I had to stop, because it felt like someone was pounding a strip of nails into my left shin. I could have switched treadmills, I suppose, but I was already 75% done anyway. And I needed to go home and eat. And Grey's Anatomy was on and I didn't know if it was new or a repeat (repeat! Those bastards!).

These are important issues, people.

Yesterday was not a great day. I don't remember which horse movie it was (maybe the Horse Whisperer) where they talked about how sometimes you have to break a horse down completely, before you can build him back up- for training purposes or something. I've totally fucked that up and now y'all think I go about beating horses, but really, nothing offends me more than cruelty to animals.

Anyway, I feel like this is what's happening to me. That I have to hit absolute rock bottom before I can start building myself back up again. And everytime I think it couldn't get worse, something happens, like I call my dad and after saying, "Hey, it's Chloe", he doesn't recognize who I am so I have to add the "your daughter" disclaimer- JUST TO CLEAR THINGS UP.

Isn't he a peach?

In my head, I've been repeating over and over in my head- I can't control him. I can't make him a better father. The only thing I can control is my reaction to him. I will not let him get to me.

Is it working?

Eh.

Pilates works better. I would know. I just finished a class.

Tonight. I am seeing The 300. Having majored in Greek history, I am both very excited and very nervous. Historical inaccuracies (i.e. Spartans fighting in their underwear? I don't think so) tend to bother me. But the Battle of Thermopylae is such a great story, I'm so excited to see it brought to life in such a visually arresting manner.

Today's Title from: Hurt by Nine Inch Nails

I tend to obsess about things. When I take away one obsession (i.e. men), I have to replace it with something else.

My new obsession is food. I eat all the time. And then I email Karen about what I'm eating. I'm constantly taking inventory about what I'm eating.

For instance, today I've had:

-bowl of shredded wheat with blueberries
-a hard-boiled egg
-a red pear (DELICIOUS)
-a cup of hot chocolate- I need something hot and coffee is out until lent is over

Currently I am eating: lemon grilled chicken with steamed vegetables. The chicken is so delicious that I am certain that there is no way it is healthy for me, but not to worry kittens- I just add a little spear of broccoli to each bite and it tastes terrible again, and all is right with the world.

And, that, is a sad, sad commentary on my life. I used to talk about sex and all kinds of good stuff. Now it's all being taken over by the gym and steamed vegetables. I'd cry myself to sleep tonight if I weren't on such a high from all the endorphins.

Today's Title from: Grace Kelly by Mika

I'm not even going to talk about how absolutely infuriating it is to have had a 60 degree Saturday, then to have the high today be 20. And with windchill- 3 fucking degrees. I don't know that I have ever, in my whole life, been more ready for the end of winter. And I have lived in Russia, so that's saying something.

I had a great weekend. Again. A really great weekend.

Friday night I met up with Spatch, where we had the most delicious martini's ever invented with a cheese plate. It was a fabulous couple of hours, sitting and talking with her. The rest of the night did not go QUITE as planned (we waited 1 hour and 45 minutes for a table before we finally gave up and went someplace else). Spatch proved herself wonderful over and over again as more and more wrenches were thrown into our plans, and she handled them all with aplomb, while I behaved like a sulky, disobedient child. I'm easily frustrated when I really want things to well. Luckily, Karen and Spatch developed quite a liking for each despite everything, and hopefully we will all have many more, less frustrating get-togethers.

The rest of the weekend passed in a veritable blur. I feel like I spent all weekend attempting to better myself. I went to the gym. And did over an hour of cardio despite every muscle in my body screaming at me to stop. I made banana-walnut-coconut muffins for my roommates. I went shopping and bought a shit-load of really healthy food. I started a new book, a heavy one, about faith. I spent some quality time with Email Boy.

I started liking myself again.

And I dreamed about Marc. A lot.

Today's Title from: You Can't Always Get What You Want by The Rolling Stones

The Morning After

My abs hurt. Every muscle in my legs hurts. My ass hurts.

There was no wimping out last night at my Total Body Conditioning class. Especially since the outrageously chipper instructor took a particular liking/loathing to me and spent half the class in front of my face correcting my form or screaming at me to flex my foot. Once, I got a "very nice!" shout out from the front of the room (for my ability to kick!) and I nearly collapsed with glee at having finally done something right.

The best part of the evening was when I was stretching and panting/heaving/dry retching on my back as every muscle in my body spasmed from use and abuse, red-faced and liberally drenched with sweat, faced toward the windows in the studio that looked out on the weight area of the gym. There, at the windows, stood two, large, reasonably cute men. Watching me. When our eyes met, one of them lifted his hand and gave me a cute little wave.

WHAT THE FUCK!

This is not the time, place, or body juxtaposition that I was ever hoping to get picked up in. And those men must have been shooting heroin directly into their eyeballs to have been delusional enough to find me attractive enough for the Cute Wave.

I was supposed to run 2 miles after the strength training. But I got on the treadmill and after about 10 minutes, knew that I was verging on passing out/projectile vomiting on the person on the treadmill next to me, so I decided to call it a night.

Tonight I have plans that I'm so excited about I could pee my pants! But that might be a direct result of all the water that I've been drinking. Spatch and I, and some friends are having a Girls Night Out, and it will be totally bitchin'.

Today's Title from: Let's Go Crazy by Prince

If left to my own devices, I will totally wimp out when it comes to strength training. Cardio- I can push myself on forever. Weights- I'll give up after 10 reps. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I get bored. Maybe it's because I feel like I look stupid.

I am starting a training program for a 10K- to be run on June 9th. 3 months should give me more than enough time, although, after the cramping that began at 1.75 miles yesterday, I may have to rethink that.

Anyway, part of the training involves strength training- obviously NOT my forte. And I decided- classes will have to be my saving grace.

So, yesterday, I made a schedule of all the strength training classes at the gym right next to my office and near my apartment. Abs. Total Body Conditioning. Core Conditioning. Strength training. Pilates (oh how I love Pilates).

Some are only 1/2 hour to 45 minutes and can be done on my lunch break. Is it weird that I'm super excited to start?

This may be my most ambitious training I've ever embarked on. But I've also got about 4 people that want to run the 10K with me, so I have to finish. And I've got to tell you, there are few times on earth when I feel better about myself then when I have finished running.

Kittens and running.

My cure-all.

Today's Title from: Just Like a Pill by Pink