The Virginity Monologues

Who's tired of the Barry Bonds post, huh? Me! That's for sure.

I hardly even know where to begin.

Thursday night was eventful and sad. I am increasingly more frustrated with myself for the drama I can't seem to escape in my relationship with Oscar (who has no idea how much drama there really is). I'm tired of the myriad of different opinions of how I should be handling things. I'm tired of the gripping anxiety that sends any semblance of rationality straight out the window. I'm tired of letting one person have this much control over my emotions.


Friday Night


Karen, Maria and I met up with our friend, Eric, for dinner at Butter for Restaurant Week.


I could spend hours writing a review for this restaurant. It was everything that you want a dining experience to be. Fabulous service (the adorable waiter wasn't even remotely condescending when I asked questions about the wine) and food that was absolutely to DIE for.


To say that I am enamored and would gladly marry this restaurant is an understatement.

Saturday I exercised my rights as the lease-holder to my apartment and informed all of my roommates that specific cleaning jobs were being instated, as a few apartment members seem to have forgotten recently how to yield a broom. It turned into cleaning day at my apartment, complete with a visit from our Super who 'snaked' our shower drain and enabled us to now shower without water pooling around our ankles by the time we are done.

Later that night, Karen and I grabbed some dinner then went to a movie. Our 'date night'. We excitedly planned for our upcoming trip to Montreal and I basked in the comfort of being with my very best friend. We laugh when people tell us to just make our lives easier and marry each other, but honest-to-god, I could spend the rest of my life living with Karen and some cats, of course, and be perfectly content.

On Sunday, I met up with Spatch, who takes me out to Ana's place. I am immediately in love with Ana's filled-to-the-gills apartment, which is also home to her 2 cats. We spend the day lounging and talking with all the different people who stop by. I spend some quality time making bacon for everyone, then Spatch and I set up the massage table and start doling out 4 handed massages. I am uncertain of my movements, having only given the most amateur of massages to friends and boyfriends over the years, but Spatch is gentle with her instructions, and we find that we work together well, reading each other's movements. And I am struck by how glad I am that we are friends.

Today I am back at work and having had to reschedule my Dr's appointment this week due to some last minute meetings, am trying to devise a new lifestyle to naturally help out with my increasingly worse anxiety. I am reading about natural supplements and foods which are proven to decrease cortisol levels.

I am also considering removing men from my life completely......

Today's Title from: Somewhere I Belong by Linkin Park

Labels: Ana, Oscar, Spatch

I think I've made it clear previously that I LOVE baseball. I love the nobility and grace of the game. I love the power of the swing and the poetry in a perfect pitch. I love baseball players who clearly LOVE the game. And I love teams that play with heart.

I've never been a huge fan of Alex Rodriguez. He plays dirty ball. Plus he's cocky and arrogant and a cheater.

But I LOATHE Barry Bonds. He sullies the integrity of baseball with every swing of his bat and makes a mockery of those who still believe in the spirit and soul of the game.

And all this hype about him beating Hank Aaron's home run record is heart-wrenching for me. It is a cavernous empty victory.

So, I turn to Rick Reilly for comfort; a columnist for Sports Illustrated, who describes my feelings on this matter perfectly in the most recent issue:

Remember this: The man who held the record before Bonds- one of the most principled and honorable men you will ever meet- is reluctant to even speak to Bonds on the phone, much less be there to witness the record breaker. Just because a thief paints over a masterpiece doesn't mean the masterpiece isn't still underneath.

Thank you, Rick Reilly. Thank you.

Today's Title from: Warning by Notorious BIG

Labels: baseball

I am boycotting the deli next to my office and let me tell you- it is cramping my style.

Reason for the boycott:

After weeks of getting more and more frustrated with my breakfast experience there, one morning last week was the final straw for me. With increasing frequency, they have been out of my morning bagel of choice- cinnamon raisin. Why are they not learning from this problem and ordering more? I don't know, but everytime I walked in and they were all out, I got more and more pissed. And when they did have my bagel, they never toasted it the way I wanted, no matter how many times I requested it 'toasted well', I always got back a barely toasted bagel. SERIOUSLY. And I'm not bitchy! I'm always very polite and smiley and the guys behind the counter love me. They just never toast my bagel enough.

So, one morning last week I went in, and AGAIN they were out of cinnamon raisin bagels. I sucked it up and decided to head back to the grill. I'd salve my bagel sorrow with a sausage, egg and cheese roll.

I stood in line at the grill, and waited and waited and waited. They are not speedy guys. Then, I'm finally at the front of the line, I'm waiting for the guy to take the next order, I'm ready with my breakfast choice- and the guy at the grill turns to the guy BEHIND me in line and says, "what can I get for you?"

I just walked out. I couldn't take it anymore.

I haven't been back since.

Reason Boycott is Cramping My Style:

1. Their cajun fries. Enough said.

2. Their flavored coffee.

Now, I prefer to Dunkin Donuts coffee to any other coffee on the planet. But there is no Dunkin Donuts between home and the office, so, I just have to go without (plus, I have a hard time stomaching Dunkin Donuts since Rachael Ray became their new spokeswoman. I have a deep and abiding hatred for her). There is a Starbucks, but it is always INSANELY crowded and I don't deal well with hordes of uncaffeinated New Yorkers before 9 am. The Dulce de leche latte just isn't worth it. So, I found myself giving the flavored coffees at the nearby deli a chance. And, well, I love them. Especially the caramel vanilla. With a shitload of sugar.

It's a little slice of heaven.

Unfortunately, they are the only deli on the street with flavored coffee. So I have been without since The Boycott began. And I don't know how much longer I can hold out.

Today's Title from: Wake Up by Arcade Fire

"I'm just going to warn you now," I told Karen, "his friends are weird."

I was taking her to a BBQ in Prospect Park in Brooklyn being held by Email Boy and all of his friends. And as the subway ride out there became more and more interminable, I questioned whether the trek was even worth it. His friends haven't always gone out of their way to be friendly and the girls have never even spoke to me.

Luckily, Karen is my lucky charm.

She had the boys eating of her hand faster than you can say I'll-Have-Some-Ketchup-With-That-Hamburger and before not too long we were playing Frisbee with some of them (badly), then found ourselves being picked first for kickball teams.

Between our dazzling displays of athletic prowess, Karen and I lounged on a blanket under the perfect blue sky, safe-guarding the wiffle ball equipment and marveling at how unexpected the day had turned out. While the Girls of the Lifelong Friends group still were not exactly welcoming, we found the Girlfriends of The Men to be equally as eager to make friends, and I conceded that maybe they all weren't so bad after all.

Information which Karen promptly relayed to Email Boy, who couldn't have been more delighted at my acquiesence.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love him?

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Although wildly different, Saturday was equally as delightful as my Sunday in Prospect Park.

Around 1 in the afternoon, I met up with Spatch in Madison Square Park, for some Shake Shack burgers and some lounging in the afternoon sun. Then we walked down to the West Village where we cooled our feet in the fountain at Washington Square Park before getting pedicures, then heading back to Washington Square Park where Spatch napped while I read Harry Potter, then proceeded to doze off myself.

After waking up we headed to The Dove, one of my favorite cozy little places in the West Village with wallpaper that allows me to pretend I am in a bordello. Spatch got a martini while I tried a new wine that I ended up hating. Wonderful friend that she is, Spatch traded me drinks while we devoured our cheese plate - cashel blue, mango stilton, emmenthal and fontal cheese with toasted bread, dried apricots, figs, almonds and olives. One of my favorite things about Spatch is that our taste in food is practically identical. Making food decisions with her is frighteningly easy.

At this point, we were individually ready to head home. She to pack, me to read some more.

My evening at home wasn't as relaxing as I anticipated when I walked through the front and watched as the door fell off it's hinges.

Luckily, my super has a super-sized crush on me and fixed our door for us quite promptly. And I only had to flash him a little.

Hizzzz-ot.

Today's Title from: Comedown by Bush

Labels: Email Boy, Spatch

We are in Oscar's car driving to his apartment in Brooklyn, when I realize that I have left my cell phone at home, on my desk, in my rush to gather things together after Oscar called and informed me he missed me and was coming to pick me up.

"Shit! I forgot my cell phone!" I say.

Oscar slows down a little and asks if I need to go back and get it.

"Nah, I'll be all right. I don't live and die by my cell phone and anyone who needs it has my work number."

"I don't have your work number!"

I laugh at Oscar's indignance. "You don't need it! I was referring to family members who may need to call regarding my brother."

He harrumphs.

"Do you want it?" I ask.

"Well, I should have it," he says.

The next morning, torrential rains and a hell of a thunderstorm kept Oscar and I in bed a little while longer than normal, as we snuggled under the covers and giggled together about nothing in particular. And even though I was still having aftershocks from the previous night's earth-shattering orgasm, I managed to coerce him to engage in a little early morning nookie (my absolute favorite time for gettin' some). He then dropped me off at the subway station so I didn't have to get drenched on the walk there. And gave me his only umbrella.

So cute.

Later that afternoon, I realize that I had left an article of clothing at his place. I call him from my work number (since I don't have my cell phone).

"Hello," he says.

"Guess what you have now?" I said, not even bothering to identify myself.

"Your work number!" he responds.

I am ridiculously pleased. For reasons that are difficult to explain. I called him from an unknown number and he identifies me and what I am referring to immediately. He doesn't fluster to figure out who I am. He doesn't have to mentally work through a slew of women who may be calling him.

He excitedly tells me that he will be sure to store the number into my information in his phone.
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The word on the street is that my brother is getting better. The doctor managed to placate my mother (who has no coping skills) by assuring her it's just a 'raging' case of pneumonia and it's going to take some time to cure it. This does not however, placate my control-freak of a father who also happens to be a doctor. He is currently driving down to my brother to oversee all future medical decisions. Arrogance thy name is Rick (that's my dad). At least he's going above and beyond the call of fatherly duty, considering he lives about 400 miles away, and I can't fault him for that.
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Last night I met up with Spatch at an adorable wine bar in Chelsea. Thank you Citysearch! I walked in and immediately loved the place. The decor was minimal but cozy. And the seating was such that I got sink into a soft booth seat and Spatch got her hard, rigid chair. Everyone was happy.

We talked non-stop through dinner. The Friar, Oscar and The Redhead were our topics of choice. When she mentions her frustrations at still missing The Redhead intensely, I assure her that breakups have no set timeline and we get over them when we're ready. I suggest that cutting off contact would probably help. I remember that after The Ex and I broke up, I would crave him, so I would see him and then everytime I gave in to that urge, it was like we were breaking up all over again. It only prolonged the pain. Ugh.

When I ask her about The Friar, her face absolutely lights up and I fear that she is not remaining as emotionally detached as she claims and I call her on it. She assures me that she's keeping it cool and casual, but I'm not sure who's she's trying to convince more- me or her.

We leave a ridiculous amount of food on our plates and head out into the cooling night. Due to the steam pipe explosion, her subway line is still not running, so I walk her all the way home.

On the way home from the subway, a man on the street calls out to me as I pass him, letting me know that he thinks 'bigger is better'.

Thanks buddy. I've been searching desperately for a man who thinks that the way to my heart is by essentially calling me 'fat'.

Fuck off.

Today's Title from: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill by Lauryn Hill

Labels: family, Oscar, Spatch

No change in my brother's condition. They were so concerned about the his lack of progress that they life-flighted him last night from Podunk Hospital to a hospital in our hometown, which is not enormous, but definitely has better medical care than a hospital in a town with a population of 2,000.

He arrived last night and treatment has been considerably more aggressive and the outlook is positive.

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I have always held a firm belief that there are 2 sides to every story and that most things in life aren't as cut and dry as we want to believe. It's something I try to remember in most situations and when I'm angry, I often try to consider the other person's point of view before letting my anger get the best of me. I don't always succeed.

Recently, Spatch wrote about her first meeting with Oscar.

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I interrupt this blog post to tell you that as I was just walking down the street to a meeting at another building, I saw Clinton Kelly of What Not to Wear fame and I almost had a heart attack. I didn't approach him, cause I'm generally against accosting celebrities, but it was still very exciting. Because I love him.

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Back to our regularly scheduled Blog Post.

Although, I still maintain that Oscar is a bit of a douche and I'm a little uncertain as to why I am still dating someone that I hate as much as I adore, he isn't QUITE as evil as Spatch described.

When he first arrived, and yes, he was late, Spatch was talking to a guy who I immediately didn't like as he practically oozed skeeviness. After Oscar arrived, him and I engaged in a 'tense' conversation which consisted of him asking me about family issues that I have been concerned with, and asking if Spatch need rescuing from The Crazy Australian, as Oscar also immediately got a bad vibe from him. Oscar reiterated his concern for Spatch's welfare many times to me.

No, I told him, she can take care of herself.

Spatch asked him his job. He asked her about her taste in men. He asked where Ana was and was disappointed at not being able to meet the third party of our trio. He talked to her about her issues with her current 'lover' (as she described him), and got the scoop on her new job.

To say that he didn't ask her a single question about herself, is not how I would have described it.

Spatch headed into the bathroom, and the Crazy Australian made a beeline for Oscar, despite the fact that we were clearly having a private conversation. Crazy Australian accused Oscar of giving him 'sideways looks' and was demanding quite drunkenly that Oscar explain himself. Oscar insisted he had no beef with the Crazy Ass-hat and just wanted him to go away, which he finally did. The bizarre exchange was instigated completely by The Weirdest Man I Have Met in a Long Time. If Oscar had his way, he could have gone the whole evening without ever having to interact with him.

At 1 am, a few hours after Oscar had happily been buying both mine and Spatch's drinks, we decided to call it a night. We all walked to the subway together, and Spatch gave us a minute alone to say our goodbyes as our route home took us in opposite directions. As we stood there in the hot subway, he wasn't ready to leave me, even though I had to leave for LaGuardia in a mere 3 hours.

He decided to go home with me, even though certain physical conditions on my part left sexual relations out of the question. He just wanted to be with me before I left.

We headed back up to my place, arriving at 2 am. The next few hours, he hung out with me and asked me about all the things in my room that make me inherently me, while I packed for my trip home. At 4 am, we hopped into a cab that dropped us both off at 125th street. He went into the subway, I got onto the M60 bus to LaGuardia airport. Neither of us having slept a wink. He held me tight and kissed me.

Once I got to the airport, he called to make sure I got there okay, and called me almost every day that I was gone. Making sure that I was weathering the family storms okay. Laughing as I told him the story of my sister-in-law's cornering me and asking me about the Myth About Black Men (regarding penis size). Offering sympathy and condolences as I cried about my brother.

It would be easier for me to put Oscar into a box and label it Bad Guy- Keep Away. But he has his moments, where he makes my whole world feel all put together with just a look, or a touch. He was eager to meet Spatch. And he's asked me every time I've talked him what she said about him. Maybe he didn't act the way she wanted him to, but he tried. And yes, I hated The Redhead, Spatch's boyfriend, but even he doesn't fit neatly into that box. He had his moments where he shined, as much as he had his moments where he was a COMPLETE douchebag.

The truth is that none of us fit neatly into any box. I've always wanted to be A Nice Girl, The Girl Who Would Never Treat A Man as Badly as I've Been Treated, but I've done it- recently in fact. There was a guy who was stalker-like in his pursuit of me, and because I was a chicken and didn't have the guts to just tell him I wasn't interested, I let it drag on way longer than it should have. I'm not proud of that. And now, someone can put me into the Girl-Who-Gives-All-Girls-A-Bad-Name box.

I am still undecided about Oscar. And it's not really about him being a bad guy vs. a good guy. It's that we have completely different relationship styles. And I have to decide what I can put up with and what I can't.

Labels: family, Oscar, Spatch

5:30 am. I am sleeping in the bed of my brother's trailer, and his son, my nephew stirs in his bed next to me. Within a few seconds, he is crying. I kick the dogs out of bed and pull my nephew into bed with me. He laughs and climbs all over me as I struggle to wake up.

Everyone else in our camp is asleep. We've been camping for 3 days and today we pack up to leave.

The dogs are whining to get out, and I can't ignore them anymore. I snap their leashes on, gather up my nephew and pray that the dogs don't pull us over on their way out of the trailer.

Pretty soon everyone is up and I hand over the little one to my mom, so I can shower. Once I'm ready to go, I bundle my nephew into the car and drive into the nearest city. The city that we drove my brother to in the middle of the night a few nights ago because he couldn't breathe.

I find the hospital again easily, and I walk to my brother's room unbothered. The nurses know me.

I walk in and my sister-in-law takes her son from me and holds him tightly. I walk over to my brother's bed and ask him how he's feeling.

He regards me from behind the oxygen mask and just shakes his head a little.

My sister-in-law heads back up to camp to get her trailer and truck ready for my mom and step-dad to drive it back home, while her and my brother remain at the hospital over the next few days.

I stay with my brother in the meantime.

I cover him with blankets. I refill his water cup. I ready a warm washcloth for when he's done puking.

I listen intently as the doctor explains the results of the chest x-ray. Fluid in the lungs. The pneumonia hasn't changed.

I cry silently in the bathroom. My invincible big brother is heart-breakingly sick. He never should have come on this camping trip, but we all thought it was the flu and it would get better. Plus it was the first time in years that we would all be together. He didn't want to miss out on the jet skis and the four-wheeler and the endless family bonding.

We all gather in his room. I look at my sister, and my two brothers, all of us together in the worst kind of circumstances. We are all struggling to rein in our emotions as we watch them stick another IV into my brother's arm.

We have to leave him. People have to work and I have a plane to catch. I kiss his hot forehead as I leave and tell him that I love him. I hug my sister-in-law tightly, praying that everything turns out okay. That I never again have to marvel at her ability to weather storms like I did after their first child was born still-born only a few short years ago.

Tomorrow I leave to come back to New York.

Tonight I will sleep next to my nephew again. I'll hold him in the morning when he wakes up and pray like hell that his daddy returns to him quickly and safely.

Today's Title from: Without Us the Family Ties Theme

New York City is not big enough for my dating life.

Last week, just as I realized that I had left my debit IN the ATM a few hours before and stood on the street frantically calling Washington Mutual customer service, Dave walked by. Dave, the investment banker that I dated last summer who on paper was fabulous, but became freakishly controlling and had some suppressed rage that scared me a little. I didn't stop him, I was too involved in the events at hand, but I was freaked out a little that this is the SECOND time that I have seen him on the street since I stopped returning his phone calls. I'm hoping that it is the last.

Then, just now, as I left my building to go get my eyebrows threaded, I passed The Italian. I couldn't say anything as I watched him pass me. I completely froze. I was screaming inside my head, but I couldn't make the words come out of my mouth. The super-fantastic icing on the cake is that he didn't recognize me and HE CHECKED ME OUT. Now granted, I was wearing sunglasses. But one would think that a person would remember someone that they scammed out of an incredibly expensive dinner. Once I was about 50 feet away from him, I had composed myself enough to want to turn around and go find him and scream at him, but I lost him in the hustle of 42nd street. Yeah, not QUITE how I had hoped that would go.

Why can't I happen upon people that I WANT to see? Like Derek Jeter?

Today's Title from: Not Ready to Make Nice by Dixie Chicks

So, I'm feeling like a normal person again. I'm done PMSing and I had a great weekend.

Friday after work I met up with Spatch and Ana, we worked out in Chelsea, then proceeded to drink ourselves into a stupor at Dallas BBQ. Yeah, it may not be the most high class joint in New York City, but when you've got a hankering for a Texas Sized Pina Colada, it hits the spot pretty perfectly.

On Saturday, Karen and I hit the beach for the first time this summer. Three beautiful hours of soaking up some good quality sun. We couldn't have asked for more perfect conditions. And both of us ended up with a nice golden glow. The night, we hit our favorite restaurant in the West Village- Smorgas Chef where we had the distinct pleasure of dining outside and having a front row ticket to the whip-cracking going on outside the lesbian bar across the street. This is not a euphemism for anything. There really was a woman in leather pants and dominatrix heels, cracking a 15-20 foot whip. FASCINATING.

Then went to see 1408, at 34th and 8th where we will never see a movie again. The audience was FILLED with the most rude and obnoxious individuals I have ever encountered. They talked to each other. They made calls on their cell phones and they stomped around the theater in the middle of the movie. I finally reached the end of my rope and had a theater employee give them the What-for. Then, after the movie was over, Karen and I huslted ourselves out of there, terrified as I was of getting beat down by the perpetrators.

Sunday morning dawned muggy and H.O.T. Karen and I did some shopping together, and I got a fabulous new Michael Kors (my favorite designer) shirt at Marshall's for $30. I love me a good bargain. Then had dinner at Mama Mexico, where we both discovered that our appetites have shrunken considerably in the heat wave. We both left our plates woefully full. Heartbreaking. Truly. But a welcome change from the Eat-Everything-In-Sight Diet that I had been engaging in for the previous several weeks.

But I am still unsettled. It may be that I am girding myself for an All Out Brawl while camping with the fam this week. My brothers tend to be very single-minded and relentless with their disapproval. Should be good times!

I am also still roller-coastering about Oscar. Dump him for good? Give him the benefit of the doubt? But mostly I'm upset because why I am allowing this man to affect me so much? It pisses me off!

Note also- the lack of cursing in my post. I am trying to clean up my language before I go see the fam. Certain words have become a little too comfortable in my vernacular, so they have been reprimanded appropriately and put on probation.

Today's Title from: Everything Happens to Me by Billie Holiday

I'm running out the door, but I didn't want to leave things as depressing as the last post.

YIKES! Huh?

Anyway, I'm getting sleep, things are getting incrementally better and I'm smiling again. Real genuine smiles.

The fact that I have a new boss that is absolutely fabulous helps. As does the very long talk that I had with Oscar last night after I attempted to break up with him, but he wasn't having any of that.

Today's Title from: The Light by Common

4:30 am: Firecrackers right outside my window had woken me up an hour earlier and I am lying in bed, unable to go back to sleep, despite being absolutely exhausted.


I am thinking of how to end things with Oscar. Oscar who had called me on Sunday, then promised to call on Monday and I haven't heard from him since. I finally broke down and called him last night (late, around 11:45ish), despite that I generally am violently opposed to calling someone that has promised to call me. He didn't answer and he didn't call me back.


I am remembering all the nights that I waited for calls from Scott. Calls that didn't come.

I poke my mental fingers at the emotional bruises caused by the months of silence following The Consumation of Marc. And curse myself for the thrill I felt at text I received yesterday from him where he called me 'baby'.

I remember my street in Portland, OR. The street where I spent countless hours, riding up and down it on my bike, waiting for my dad to show up. For the fleeting moments of my life when he would be fulfill his parental obligation. I wonder sometimes if he denied me his love the most because I was the one who wanted it the most desperately.

I feel anxious.

I feel helpless.

I feel sadness.

Not able to escape my mind this time, unable to talk myself down from my Tower of Irrational Fear of Rejection, I head into the living room to distract myself with re-runs of Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It keeps my demons at bay long enough for exhaustion to take over.
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11:30 am today

I am talking to my sister, who informs me that my childhood best friend, Shauna, had called our mom to get a more current email address for me.

Tiff: Oh, by the way, Mom told Shauna that you aren't going to church anymore. (Shauna is quite devout and it will cause quite a stir that I am no longer attending)
Me: Really? Why did she tell her that?
Tiff: Because Mom's new plan is to shame you into going back to church.

And my day officially just got worse.

Going home next week is going to be SO joyful. I can tell already.

Can I please just go home and bury my head under my covers with a big box of Godiva chocolates?

Today's Title from: Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Labels: anxiety, Oscar

My Weekend in Stories:

1. You really just need the highlights on this one.
I'll give you the keywords:
Blowjob
Strong Gag Reflex on my part
A Profound Assurance that I Will Never Hear from Cam Again
(insert maniacal laughter here)

2. As Karen, Shannon and I were walking home on Friday night around 12:30ish, we ran into my next door neighbor, Jay. Jay, who left a big box of shit (not literally, it's mostly DVD's and a weird pair of shoes) at my place a few months ago and I have been dying for him to come and get the eye-sore out of my bedroom.

"Hey," I say, "when are you going to come and get your shit?"

"Right now," he replied. "I gotta go pick something up, then I'll be right over."

1:30ish, I am dying of hunger, but am too lazy to do anything about it. I call Jay, and ask him to stop and get me some chicken on his way over. He agrees and tells me he'll be there soon.

2:00 am, Jay calls. He wants to know if I'm still awake, and lets me know he'll be there in 20 minutes.

I fall asleep.

3:30 am: I wake up mildly disoriented and not sure if Jay came by to pickup his shit or not. All I know is that I want that box of DVD's out of my apartment.

I assume that he is still out, carousing around the neighborhood, as is his normal routine.

So, I call him to tell him NOT to come over and I'm just going to leave his box o' shit in front of his apartment door.

His girlfriend answers his phone.

And I realize that I am in a STICKY situation. There is no way that I can explain why I am calling Jay at 3:30 in the morning without sounding guilty. He's a cheater- she knows it and I know it. No matter how I explain it, she's not going to believe me.

In a moment of PURE panic, I do the most guilty action of all. I hang up.

30 seconds later, I start receiving phone calls from a Blocked number. I know its her.

And I can't have her hear my voicemail. It says my name on it. And I am over at Jay's apartment often as his sister is the one helping me out with my Legal Battle. If Girlfriend figures out that it's me, I'm going to be in a WORLD of hurt. Probably phyiscally as well as mentally and emotionally.

More panic on my part as I struggle with how to get rid of her without her hearing my voicemail.

So I answer, then hang up.

Repeat. About 20 times.

When finally there is a lull in the Psychotic Calling Frenzy, I call my voicemail, change the message to a generic, computer generated response that gives only my phone number.

I turn my phone off, wait for my heartbeat to slow down and eventually go back to sleep.

3 days later and she's still calling me. About 3-4 times a day.

Yikes.

All I wanted to do was get rid of that friggin box.

So, if you know me, and are confused by my new voicemail- that is why it has changed. It may stay that way for a while.

3. I can only tell so many stories of men picking up on me on the street. It's always the same thing. The same song and dance. They all end up being the same guy. Needless to say, it happened again last night. This one was a little more persistent than most, after I blew him off, he chased me down the street. But he hasn't done anything yet to prove himself different than any other asshole that I've dated in the last year.

Chances that he will respect me and treat me right: 5%

4. Friday afternoon. I am sitting on a chair in a fitting room at a lingerie store pitying myself because a demi-cup bra just doesn't work with my boobs. They're falling out everywhere and NOT in a sexy way. There's just too much boob.

Across from me, Spatch is admiring herself in the mirror in the exact same bra. It looks fantastic on her. It fits her perfect breasts perfectly. The matching panties only enhance the perfection.

The only other bra that is not full coverage in my size is the nastiest pattern ever invented.

I give up on the sexy bras.

They're just not meant for me.

However, the day was perfect. Days with Spatch start out with plans for only one thing- generally food related. Somehow, we always manage to string our single planned event into full day affairs.

Shopping. Pedicures. Gym. Brunch. Bra-fittings. Ice cream. There is almost always ice cream.

And I am always sad to leave her.

Today's Title from: Dirt Off Your Shoulder by Jay-Z

Labels: Jay, Spatch