The Virginity Monologues

To say that I had a great weekend would be grossly understating how much fun I really did have.

Friday night:

I met Ana at her office and the 2 of us headed up to Yankee Stadium to meet her boyfriend and another friend, DreamyE. It was Ana's first baseball game and it was such a joy to see it through her eyes- to answer all of her questions and to laugh at her confusion. We ate hot dogs. We drank beer. We hollered at the vendors. It was a perfect night. Marred only by the fact that we left early in what would be a 14 inning game.

After the game, Banana went home and DreamyE went with me to meet up with my friend, Michelle for a night of boozing. We started in the West Village, which was a bit of a bust, then made our way to Fat Baby in the Lower East Side, where the night got interesting. As we were dancing downstairs, I made some significant eye contact with a cute boy. By the end of the night, we had done some pretty hot making out, and a digit exchange. (We have since made plans to go out on Wednesday.)

Saturday:

There is a guy who lives in my building and I see often on the street, who we shall call The Pharmacist (some of you may get that, some of you may not. If you're terribly confused, email me and I'll explain it). We have a mild flirtation going on, as he pretty blatantly hits on me almost every time he sees me. He's OUTRAGEOUSLY hot and has maybe the most amazing body I've ever seen, but I keep my distance, despite his persistence, as I disagree with some of his life choices.

So, Saturday afternoon, I had just stepped out of my elevator and was checking my mail. With my head bent over the mailboxes, I wasn't paying much attention to anything else around me. I felt a hand, wrap around my waist, and a set of lips press against the back of my neck (my hair was in braids, so the back of my neck was particularly exposed) and a shot of electricity spread all the way down to my toes, as I whipped around to see The Pharmacist disappearing into the elevator.

Holy smokes that was hot.

I made my way down to the West Village to meet Spatch in a daze. Unable to focus on anything in my head but those lips. And my neck. Rowr.

Spatch and I pamper ourselves with a manicure/pedicure before we are off to meet my friend, Dan and his friend, Jack, who expressed an interest in Spatch after we ran into them last week. Since it was a bit of a blind-date set up, Spatch and I chose tapas for dinner as its a great group meal. Email Boy was also set to join us as he is very good friends with Dan.

Dinner was perfection. We laughed. Spatch regaled us with Burning Man and other fascinating stories. Spatch and I ordered round after round of food and the boys ate it with gusto. The conversation flowed seamlessly and seemed to touch on almost every topic imaginable. Dan (who I've had a MAJOR crush on for about 2 years now) and I fed each other and were definitely the comic relief/dirtiest people at the table. Just thinking about it brings the biggest, most ridiculous smile to my face.

After dinner, Email Boy had to leave us to go meet some other friends, and the remaining 4 of us made our way to Max Brenner's Chocolate by the Bald Man for dessert, where the comraderie continued. After dessert, we all parted ways. Filled and happy.

Saturday night/Sunday morning:

I hit a stumbling block. I woke up at 4 am. And out of nowhere, I ached for Oscar. I missed him something awful. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to see him. I just wanted to hear his voice.

I blocked my number and I called. Hoping to just hear his voicemail.

Imagine my surprise when he picked up. Imagine his surprise that I then hung up. I don't know if he knew it was me, but he didn't call back. And hasn't called since last Thursday.

Probably for the best.

Sunday:

I met Spatch in Madison Square Park. Interestingly enough, as I called her and was on my way there, she was also on her way there. How convenient. I stood in line at the Shake Shack while I waited for her. When she arrived, the first thing I did was lay my head on her shoulder and cry. Cry for the ridiculous boy, who doesn't deserve my tears, who I ached for. We filled ourselves up with burgers, fries and shakes, before heading down to Battery Park so Spatch could catch some sun, and I could be soothed by the water before meeting some friends for drinks.

The rest of the night passed quickly, food, drinks and a film festival. I went home exhausted. So, so content.

And this time, the smile reached all the way down to my toes.

Today's title from: Drivin' Me Wild by Common (a.k.a. My Future Husband)

Labels: Ana, Oscar, Spatch, The Pharmacist

As I crawled into bed last night, I marvel at how the weekend seemed to fly by as if bolstered by nitrous oxide. Tired to the very marrow of my bones, I don't know that sleep has ever come faster. And I am happy, but the smile doesn't reach my eyes.

Sunday morning, I call Spatch to get her advice on a situation. She suggests brunch in a few hours and says she'll invite a few people. We decide on Essex House and I offer to go early to put our name down.

Right as I'm leaving my apartment, I receive a text from her saying that we'll be a group of 6. Ugh. I can already foresee problems getting a table. I get out of the subway to a new text. We are now a group of 8. The hostess at Essex House essentially laughs in my face. When I press her for an estimate on time, she throws out 2 hours although it could feasibly be longer.

Everyone starts arriving. They are all Burning Man people. And soon we are 9. And although I am friends with most all of them, I will never feel a part of them. Especially when conversation centers almost exclusively around Burning Man and people I don't know and places I've never been. I sit on the perimeter, observing and listening. Not really participating. Spatch promises me some alone time later that doesn't materialize. We are a large and unwieldy group, wandering around the Lower East directionless for seemingly hours. I am quiet and introspective, wondering if its worth my time, trying to fit in with a group of people that I so clearly don't belong with.

We shop in a store that I would never set foot in on my own, and as I browse the garish chunky patent leather heels, I think of the delicate stilettos that I prefer. And Spatch, noticing my reticence presses me about where I shop. I am loathe to even utter the words Banana Republic in a place such a this, for fear that I will taken into the back and flogged.

After an ice cream break in Cold Stone, we all part ways. I have some time to kill before I have to be on the upper east side, so I lounge in Starbucks at Astor Place, and call my sister.

And for the first time since I sobbed in the bathroom after getting his reply text to my breakup, I cry to her about Oscar. It surprises me. I haven't even been tempted to call him. Why am I suddenly sad and missing him?

Today's Title from: Walk On by U2

Labels: Spatch

Coming off of a truly great weekend, one of the best I've had in ages, it makes me angry that the unresolved issues with Oscar are still nagging at me and keeping tears close at hand at all times.

On Friday night, Karen and I went to a concert together. It was loud, it was offensive and it was hilarious. We made our way home that night with ringing ears and gigantic smiles on our faces.

Saturday was my day to spend some time completely by myself. I've had a hard time enjoying only me time lately, as the issues with Oscar are never far from my thoughts and in the time when I'm not busily surrounded by people and noise, contemplating his apathy has been painful for me. I haven't wanted to be alone, to be in a situation where I can't distract myself from my head.

But Saturday, I was ecstatic to just wander the city all by myself- window shopping and being more and more sure that I was going to be okay- completely alone. I was sure of it for the first time in months.

Later I met up with Spatch at her new apartment. We made cookies and drank wine and basked in catching up. Later I convinced her to have dinner at my favorite Indian restaurant in the East Village, even though we ate almost nothing, having filled ourselves ridiculously full with chocolate chip cookie dough earlier.

In a complete food coma, we made our way to the west side of Manhattan for an anniversary party for Spatch's friends Dicey and PJ. I love parties that Spatch takes me to. The people are also so very, very interesting and I invariably always get hit on. Some offers are tempting, others are not. Not to mention, the people are always incredibly friendly. They ask questions that they genuinely want to know the answer to. I generally don't want to leave.

This morning Karen and I headed up to the Bronx to go to church and lunch with a friend for her birthday. It was a perfect day. It was nice to be in church again. Its been a long time for me. And lunch with her family was wonderful and perfect and the waffles at Amy Ruth's were to die for.

Its been the perfect weekend. Perfect friends. Perfect parties. The weather has been a little too hot for my taste, but I'm not complaining.

But all weekend the perfection was marred. Marred by a pending break-up that I don't really want to do. I don't really want him out of my life. But the good times are not worth the bad times. I have to be strong enough to do this.

Today's Title from: Stronger by Kanye West

Labels: Oscar, Spatch

I have ZERO motivation today. After a stressful week, complete with a day filled with SO MUCH anxiety that I spent the entire day shaking and not eating (apartment legal woes rear their ugly head again). A long, productive talk with my lawyer and a good nights' sleep have helped my state of mind considerably.

Getting to see John Legend in Bryant Park this morning didn't hurt either. YOWSA that man is hot.

I met up with Spatch last night for some tapas and commiseration. Both of us had been through hell and back in the previous 24 hours and drinks and tears were on the agenda. After talking through all of the horrible stuff and surmising that both of us will indeed manage to go on living, I told her the story of Oscar and his lessons for me in Relationship Communication. As I neared the end of the story, the part where apologized to me so sincerely for crimes he didn't commit, I found myself tearing up. I told her about all the legal woes without even choking up, but the second I start talking about Oscar, I lose it.

After I'm done with the story, she ponders the possibility that Oscar might actually be A Good Guy underneath it all after all. She sees the tears, tracking down my face in my ridiculous burst of emotion and says, "You're really falling for him aren't you?"

I nod.

"And I'm TERRIFIED. I'm more scared of my emotions for Oscar than I am of my apartment management company."

She quizzes me on how I'm showing him my feelings and I confess to her that I do as little as humanly possible. My calls and texts to him are the bare miminum. She encourages me to open up and let him in- send him text messages for no reason, telling him that I'm thinking of him and other emotionally expressive steps.

Just thinking about doing this paralyzes me with fear.

I change the subject, getting her advice on ways to supplement my income in this city (I'm NOT great with money, hands-down my biggest flaw) and learning that she is a veritable treasure trove of information.

We leave Las Ramblas, one of our favorite tapas places, and walk up to 14th street. Just as I am saying goodbye to her, my lawyer calls and talks me off my ledge. She assures me that everything will be okay and I am comforted by her legal speak that I don't particularly understand.

And I go home, eager to start our with some of my new ideas and confident that just maybe, the universe might align itself in my favor after all.

Today's Title from: Each Day Gets Better by John Legend

Labels: Oscar, Spatch

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'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

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

After Oscar opted not to call me until 11:00 last night, there was a fight. A big nasty fight.

And I don't really want to talk about it anymore. There hasn't really been any resolution and I don't know what to do or how to proceed, so I'm giving myself a few days to not talk about it and just let everything settle in my head, while I figure out what I can put up with and what I can't.

Thank you everyone for your comments yesterday.

And thank you especially to Spatch, who was with me last night and figuratively held my hand as I descended from irritated to irate to crying on her massage table. Along with my anger issue, I have an anxiety issue and it's such a comfort to have someone witness it's truly spectacular grip on me, walk me through it, and still want to be my friend afterwards. When I was at my worst point, she laid me down on her massage table, cued up some Bach cello solos and gave me the most relaxing massage of my life, for which I am eternally grateful.
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One day, I was riding the bus home. And a girl came and sat in front of me with a McDonald's bag. I watched in wide-eyed fascination as she pulled out a double cheeseburger, opened it up, put a handful of fries in the middle of it, closed it back up and ate it.

Fries! In the middle of the cheeseburger!!

Having been officially diagnosed with an unhealthy obsession with french fries (well, really all things potato, but mostly fries), I was PISSED that I had never thought of this! Such a genius idea!

Since then, I have been on the lookout for more opportunities to incorporate potato related food items directly into other food items (I'm still undecided about whether or not I want to try incorporating hash browns directly into pancakes).

Today, I got a turkey sandwich for lunch and a bag of potato chips. And I know other people have done this before, it's not like I'm reinventing the wheel or anything. But I decided to try the potato chips IN the turkey sandwich. Which not only introduces a bit of potato into my sandwich (always a plus), but it always makes my sandwich crunchy. And people- I LOVE crunchy. I am in constant search of crunch.

Oh, that sandwich was heavenly.

And I am officially converted. I can't wait to try Doritos in a sandwich. I realize that Doritos do not contain potato, but they pack a hefty crunch and they are beyond delicious to me, so I imagine the marriage of Dorito and sandwich will be every bit as wonderful as the potato chip and sandwich.

Mmmmmm.

Today's Title from: Tell Me What We're Gonna Do Now by Joss Stone

Labels: Oscar, Spatch

Ugh.

Current life-situations are such that I find it almost impossible to be light-hearted. Every minute of my life is shadowed by my overwhelming fear of Wednesday morning and all the legal mumbo-jumbo I have to wade through in the interim.

In order to keep the Apartment Management Company tyranny at bay as much as possible, I filled my weekend to the absolute gills.

Friday night I met my fabulous friend, Maria, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the new Greek and Roman galleries, which I have been very anxious to see. Afterwards we grabbed dinner and talked non-stop throughout. I'm sort of anti-sappy these days, but I have to say that more I get to know her, the more I absolutely adore her.

After leaving Maria, I hit Astoria, Queens to slumber-party it up with my longest New York Friend, K, whom I haven't seen nearly enough of in the previous months. We stayed up late talking, laughing and watching ridiculous TV. We slept in late the next morning, gorged ourselves on various-fruit-pancakes with a plethora of condiments (chocolate syrup, whipped cream, maple syrup, lingonberry sauce, etc, etc), then proceeded to continue watching lots of ridiculous TV.

Exactly what I needed.

I finally dragged my sorry as home, to get ready for a house party in Williamsburg (that's Brooklyn for you non-New Yorkers) thrown by my darling Email Boy and friends. Since I only knew Email Boy and my roommate who I had dragged along with me, in my boredom, I drank myself into an alcohol coma. Not really. But I was wishing I was in a coma when I was puking my guts out once I got home.

Ugh.

The next morning dawned beautiful. I STRUGGLED to get out of bed, as I was officially the Queen of Hangover Land. But I had a brunch to be at and people to not disappoint. Thank the heavens for Aleve and Pepto Bismol.

Brunch with Spatch and friends was fun. Perusing a multitude of sex shops in the West Village- even more fun. After separating from her friends, Spatch and I made our way back up to her apartment, then onto Central Tourist Avenue, otherwise known as 34th street for some shoe shopping. Once we had exhausted ourselves in the shops, we headed down to Madison Square Park for one of my MOST favorite New York City activities- The Shake Shack. I have previously put my foot squarely in the Burger Joint camp, and although Shake Shack burgers may not be the best, they are still DELICIOUS. And getting to lounge on the soft grass of the park while we ate them, was heaven.

Still feeling pretty nauseous, I eventually called it a night and headed home.

Total amount of down-time for the weekend, was approximately 5 hours.

People to Thank For Keeping Me Sane While Every Second Is a Fight Not to Cry:
1. Spatch. E-Cards and Encouragement and a perfect understanding of when I absolutely cannot talk about it anymore.
2. Email Boy. A perfectly timed call just to say hi today, when a serious breakdown was looming. And he doesn't even know about The Issue. Plus, he's taking me to a Mets game tomorrow. God, I love him.

Today's Title from: Badd Business by Phantom Planet

Labels: Email Boy, K, Maria, Spatch

The ride home from Brooklyn was long. And it was the 2nd time in 24 hours that I fell asleep on the subway, something that I have to be REALLY tired to do. My head was fuzzy with memories I was trying to imprint in my brain in all their intricate detail.

The dinner party was at the same apartment as the party I recently went to with Spatch, and in the daylight, I found the neighborhood to be adorable and charming, not nearly as menacing as the last time I was there (although on my way back to the subway later, I was followed by a very creepy man who made weird noises at me, so I'm back to being afraid of the neighborhood).

As I walked in the door, I was greeting with lovely smells and an overwhelming feeling of being underdressed, as I was the only female not in a skirt/dress there.

As always, everyone was outrageously friendly. I knew almost no one there, and Spatch sat with me for the first little bit as I got comfortable, but had some hostessing duties to attend to and left me to my own devices. I found myself immersed in a conversation with a magician, named Jeremiah, with a million fetishes, who later played with my hair for hours and who listened to the story of The Italian with rapt appention.

As I surveyed the room and the tall, red-headed man sitting in front of me, I found myself experiencing something I haven't experienced in a while.

"Ana," I said. "I realize that Jeff is white, but he is smoking hot and I would totally make out with him."

Shocked by my admission, Ana encouraged me to go for it. I declined, having been with Oscar less than 24 hours previously. But I was pleased to realize that I was maybe finally ready to step out of my comfort zone and be more open about who to date.

My lust for Jeff only intensified after he spoon-fed me rum soaked watermelon and bananas with melted chocolate. When our eyes would meet occasionally, I would suddenly get shy, nervous and unsure and look away before he could see the longing in my eyes. I was in over my head and my natural flirtatious abilities were failing me miserably.

Leaving was a struggle. It was getting late and I had a long train ride in front of me. The last thing I wanted to do was leave. I find myself frightening comfortable in my own skin when hanging out with Spatch's friends.

And I really didn't want to leave Jeff and the twinkle in his eye.

Today's Title From: Get Your Freak On by Missy Elliot

Labels: Ana, Spatch

Ahem.

In an amoxicillin/thera-flu/aleve induced coma on Friday, I, uh, may have accidentally rejected some comments. It was not intentional! I was confused about all the buttons!

So, I offer my sincerest apologies to Shaun, A Lover and a Fighter, Coco and L. Luckily, I get all my comments emailed to me, so I still have a copy of all your lovely words and they will bring me much warmth in the months to come, I'm sure.

Oscar. How I needlessly worried about him.

Here's the rundown:

Thursday night, he called me and I informed him that I was ill, and I feel like I made it pretty clear it wasn't any pansy illness, but this was Wanting-To-Die Sick. He offered his condolences and told me he would call me on Friday to check up on me.

Haven't heard a word from him since.

Seriously.

Did I mention that was Thursday?

Nice knowing ya! See ya!

I think the fact that I'm not really that upset about it is a good indicator that we weren't headed for true love anyway.

Moving on.

I'm feeling better. It still hurts everytime I swallow, but I no longer have to prepare myself for the pain of each swallow by gripping tightly to whatever is closest to me. So that's good. I was having some trouble sleeping, due to the extreme phlegm in my throat, as it would close up my airway and I'd wake myself up because I couldn't breathe (FUN!), but then Karen introduced me to the most wonderful invention ever. Theraflu in a tea-like form. DING DONG.

Hands down the best sleep I've ever had 2 nights in a row, which I think is probably a lot of the reason that I am feeling so much better.

Plus, I had a really fantastic weekend.

Saturday, Karen and I went out to Long Beach again for the day. We had hoped to get ourselves some lovely color on the beach, but the sun did not cooperate and we were forced to pack it in shortly after arriving due to extreme cold. Luckily, Maria lives mere blocks from the beach, so we went back to her place, ate some food and drank some beer and hung out with some others friends whose beach plans had been thwarted by the weather.

We also played approximately 2-3 hours of Guitar Hero. The greatest video game ever invented.

Then we all had dinner together. Then Karen and I hit the 11:13 train back to Manhattan, and I have never been more glad in my entire life to snuggle into my bed.
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Sunday morning, I wake to a text from Spatch, sent at 3:40 am the night before requesting gym or brunch? I assess my physical state and text back that maybe we should stick to brunch.

Spatch, Ana and I meet at Alice's Tea Cup (my FAVORITE brunch place) at 12:30 and manage to avoid an hour and a half wait. The three of us are such an interesting mix, I am so glad that circumstances have brought us together, because there's no way we ever would have met otherwise. We talk and talk and talk. About alter egos and the trouble with being known by 2 different names, about how Big Production Sex isn't always what we want and about my frustrations with my less-than-attentive doctor.

After brunch we head back to Spatch's place and I am green with envy at her new location and the adorable dog she gets to live with. We lounge on her bed as we discuss locations for some new lights she purchased at a stoop sale. I'm comfortable and full. I could have happily stayed on Spatch's bed for the entire day, cuddling with the dog and hearing Ana and Spatch's stories about the Burning Man community. I leave them, consoled in the knowledge that I will be seeing them again on Thursday.

Today's Title from: 9 Crimes by Damien Rice

Labels: Ana, Oscar, Spatch, tonsils

As I waited at the bar of Las Ramblas, a new tapas place that Spatch and I were trying out, I texted madly back and forth with Email Boy who wants to plan a road trip to Graceland together. As I annoyed everyone around me with my shouts of laughter at each of his text messages, I thought of how frustrating it is to have this relationship that is so perfect, literally I would change nothing about it, and to have it remain strictly platonic. Am I doomed to never have this level of comraderie with a love interest?

Spatch arrived, punctual as ever, and as we toasted our white peach sangria to 'being happy with ourselves, just as we are', I reveled in the myriad of complex but completely satisfying relationships that fill my life. We talked non-stop through our croquettes, meatballs, and mushroom/tomato/avocado salad, but dismissed dessert in favor of hitting up Cold Stone later.

After we left the restaurant, we wandered across the street to a sex/costume shop so Spatch could look for more costumes to experiment with. We found ourselves in the corset section, picking out ones to try on.

Spatch couldn't have looked sexier in her black with red accents corset. It fit her perfectly and accentuated everything exactly how it should be accentuated. After getting the laced-up torture on my self, I turned to look in the mirror and as I surveyed the sight before me- boobs up to my chin and a 20 inch waist (okay, no way was it really 20 inches, but it felt like it!), 'sexy' isn't exactly the word I would have used. I liked the look okay, and I loved the feel of it, but since there was no way I could ever sit down in it and I'm sure the struggle to maintain nipple coverage would never end, I decided maybe a corset isn't the best look for me. Spatch maintains that I just need to try more.....

After Operation Corset, we wandered on to Cold Stone, where I always try something different and Spatch always gets the same thing. As we sat in the window people watching and talking, she asked me if I could name everyone I had slept with.

"Of course!" I said confidently.

And yet, as I got to the end of the names in my head, I found myself coming up one short. 24 hours later and a thorough re-reading of the last 2 years of my blog and I am still drawing a blank. Have I miscounted somewhere along the way? Or can I really not remember?

This vexes me.

Oh well. Must not have been that great!

Spatch, however, was fabulous as always. I'm so excited for her to move to Manhattan so we can spend more time together......

Today's Title from: Keep it Playa by Pharrell

Labels: Spatch

There is a discernible difference in number of comments when I write about silly boys and when I write about the gym/my eating habits. I wonder what that's about.

The elliptical machine at my gym won't let me do a program for more than 25 minutes. So had to do the x-train aerobics program twice last night. I want to punch it in it's smug electronic display face.

After througly exhausting myself at New York Sports Club, I took my sore legs down to Alphabet City where I met Spatch at Louis 649, a great little bar that plays live jazz and has no cover. UNHEARD OF! I know. Plus, they have a dog, that sings along to the jazz and an ADORABLE bartender who definitely knows his alcohol. It doesn't get any better!!! Except they don't serve food. So, Spatch and I went around the corner to order ourselves some juicy, delicious burgers and only so-so fries to consume while whiling away our evening to the singing dog and enjoying the refreshing taste of Lambic. And Port. And a shot of Tequila for Spatch, but not for me, cause Tequila makes me crazy, especially when it's offered to me before I've had a chance to fill my belly. Empty stomach + tequila = potential for flashing.

It's interesting- going out with Spatch. She can talk to anyone. Everytime I left her for 30 seconds or more, I'd come back to find her engrossed in conversation with someone new, generally someone of the male persuasion, because trust me on this- men GRAVITATE to her. It was because of her friendliness that we ended up engrossed in conversation with a great guy from the area, who I exchanged cards with at the end of the evening and am hoping to convince him to have drinks with me again. Because he's smart and cute and funny and is everything that I SHOULD be going for, when I'm not getting distracted by arms. Lovely, muscley arms. I just want to caress them. And lick them. Mmmmmmm.

Anyway. (Is it hot in here?)

As an FYI for all Spatch readers, she told me last night that she is done with her Blog Hiatus and will be posting today. So, go check it out, bitches.

Today's Title from: Under the Influence by James Morrison

Labels: gym, Spatch

I'm not 100% sure that I even remember what it feels like to be well-rested. After the week I've had, there's nothing I want to do more this weekend than sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

Tuesday night I went to a Yankee game with Spatch and 2 other friends. We sat in the bleachers and shouted taunts to the players and people in the box seats with the rest of the rowdy fans. At $5 a ticket, we couldn't have asked for a better night. After the game, Spatch crashed at my place, as I live 10 minutes from Yankee stadium and she lives an hour and a half. We had all sorts of girly plans for the evening, that should have included baking, but a text message threw a wrench into my sanity and I fear Spatch might have all sorts of new ideas about my mental health. I think I might be able to sweet-talk her into brunch again though.

Wednesday night, I had Date #2, with the man that I met last Friday. Oscar. I think I'm ready to talk about him. We met on Friday. We talked on the phone that night for 3 hours. Communication continued all through the weekend and Sunday night he invited me to a get-together at his place where he introduced me to some friends and treated me like a queen. He never asked for more than I was willing to give and showered me with compliments all night. Communication never faltered. Calls and texts abounded. Wednesday night, I met up with him and some friends, then he took me out to dinner and we went and had some drinks, then we went back to his place and watched Scarface (really, I fell asleep while he watched Scarface) and for the second time in a week, he drove me home at 4 am, because I asked him to.

And let me tell you something. This man has SKILLS. Amazing skills. Like- imagine the best lover you've ever had- he could teach that person some lessons.

He wants to see me again tonight (total 3 times in one week, can you say- whipped?) and I'll hedge a little with complaints that I'm tired and that I'd really like to give the bite marks on my neck some time to fade, but chances are high that I'll probably cave.

Last night was a birthday dinner for Email Boy. I was at a company event in Chelsea, so he came and picked me up there, then we headed down to the West Village to have dinner at my favorite restaurant, where the food is outrageously delicious and the live jazz is even better. Dessert was a Chipwich for Email Boy and a Haagen Daaz bar for me, then we headed to another one of my favorite places- a lounge filled to the gills with pool tables, ping pong tables, Scrabble, chess, shuffleboard, a bar and a live jazz band. We put our name down for ping pong, got ourselves some beer and then settled in on one of the couches to enjoy the music. The wait for ping pong got longer than we could take, so we then just wandered around the West Village, discovering new places and making fun of each other. As we climbed back into the car to go home, we called my sister (they've met), Email Boy is considering going on our Family Camping Trip this summer and wanted to know if he can stay in my sister's trailer, as sleeping in a tent is a little too rough for a boy from Staten Island, who I'm not sure has ever even seen a tent in real life. After my sister assured him that he could bunk with her 4 year old son, we headed for Harlem to get me home before I passed out from sheer exhaustion. On the drive home, I, once again, marveled at the ease of our relationship. After 3 years, its still fun. And never boring. And it only gets better.

And I wondered if our relationship will be like the movies, where we'll have this amazing friendship for years and years, and we won't realize how much we really love each other until one of us gets engaged and all the chips have to be laid on the table in a big dramatic scene complete with tears and throwing things and inevitably, the most romantic kiss anyone has ever seen.

Or we will just stay good friends, eventually just drifting apart as life takes us in opposite directions, eventually becoming nothing more than fond memories of those crazy days when we were single and living in Manhattan.

Today's Title from: It Don't Have to Change by John Legend

Labels: Email Boy, Oscar, Spatch

I am presently ecstatically happy. Why? You ask? Well, let me lay it down for you (have you noticed that I love lists?)

1. I received not one but TWO packages today. And I LOVE packages. The first contained the skirt that I ordered from Banana Republic that I have been anxiously awaiting. The second contained books. Lots and lots of lovely books from my beloved Spatch (one of which is about a women who LOVES shoes. Is there a more appropriate book for me anywhere on this planet? I think not!) Of course, my boss immediately began rifling through and I, in turn, immediately became embarrassed and turned bright red as she picked up something with a very risque cover. Oh well. I'm a single girl. I've gotta have some distractions! Please!

2. I just finished a hot fudge sundae from McDonalds. The consistency of the hot fudge is decidedly different from when I was a kid- I remember it being smoother? But it's still a delicious treat for less than $2. Yummy.

3. Cam tapped into my 'dirty' side last night (previously he has only been shown bits and pieces) and I got a fabulous orgasm as a result. Finally! Unfortunately, I also have a crick in my neck from the extended-length blow-job. C'est la vie!

4. I was also gifted today tickets to the Mets/Braves games on Friday night. Email Boy will be my date and we will eat hot dogs and drink beer and have a FABULOUS time. Go Jose!

5. It's spa week. This means a facial for me and my girl, Karen, on Saturday for a mere $50.


6. I'm single. I'm beautiful. And I live in New York Fucking City. Take that, bitches.

Today's Title from: Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill

Labels: Cam, Spatch

I walked in the door to Sobaya, a traditional japanese restaurant in the East Village at 8:43, a few minutes before our scheduled meeting time, and Spatch was already there waiting for me. I had come from having drinks with co-workers so I was already 3 glasses of wine ahead of her and feeling pretty damn good.

We sit at the bar and Spatch teaches me what all the different dishes are and which ones she recommends. I opt for the shrimp tempura soba and she gets a vegetable soba. We ask for help with our sake selection, then we chat like long lost 15 year old BFF's while we wait for our meal.

To date, I have not been in The Redhead Fan Club. I have found Spatch's boyfriend to be emotionally immature and have tried convincing her on multiple occasions that she deserves better. It didn't help that at her birthday party he made little effort to talk to the rest of us and was visibly uncomfortable with the large group of people. But I judge people by my own standards, and group situations are what I do best. I can easily converse with most anyone and generally don't have trouble fitting into most situations. Not everyone adapts as easily. I have a hard time remembering this.

As she told me about recent interactions with The Redhead, I found myself more willing to accept that he is not The Bad Guy. I'm not ready yet to believe that he is The Good Guy, but I am willing to admit that he doesn't fit as neatly into The Box of People to Hate as neatly as I thought he originally did. And quite frankly, compared to some DECIDEDLY Bad Guys (Scott? Anyone?) The Redhead is a veritable saint.

As always, my time with Spatch ended too soon. I can't believe we wasted a year of our lives just reading each other's blogs, when we could've been friends the whole time! Argh!
________________________________________________________________

I got an email from Patrick, The Blind Date, yesterday. He had to go out of town for a work emergency and wants to go out early next week. I'm excited. But I wish I was more excited. I wish that life experiences hadn't taught me to be guarded.

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It's literally taken me two fucking days to finish writing this post. Sorry for the delay folks.

Happy Friday the 13th everyone!

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

Labels: Patrick, Spatch

It was a good weekend. A great weekend even.

I stayed busy all weekend. Almost no down time at all. Movies, volunteering, dinner, parties, brunch (more about this below), shopping and Oscars.

I have everything I could want. I couldn't ask for more. Really.

I have really, really, really great friends. I feel so lucky, every day, to have the friends that I have. I can tell them things, the things that I've hidden about myself my whole life. And they get it. They understand. They don't think I'm dirty or nasty or any of the above. It's..... liberating.

I love my life. I love my apartment. I love my job. I love my city.

And yet.

Somewhere inside of me is an echoing void.

That I am no longer partially filling in with the likes of half-assed men.

And the yawning silence terrifies me.

No Cam.

No Scott.

No Marc.

I have the life I've always dreamed of. So, why am I not dancing with joy at all times? Why do I need a dick to feel complete?

Why does a phone with no missed calls and no text messages make my heart plummet?

How will I ever be enough?

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Brunch With Spatch

I am early because.... I am always early. It's what I do. I head to Alice's Tea Cup anyway, knowing it will be busy and thinking I can put our name down to alleviate some of the wait time. While I am standing at the counter, waiting to give my name and watching the hostess have a nervous breakdown, I turn around to see Spatch behind me. She is also early, also hoping to put our name down. I am ridiculously pleased to find someone else who shares my penchant for timeliness.

We talk until we are seated. Discuss what we will order. Then eagerly wait for our tea and scones and crepes and eggs benedict. I see a man walk through the door, who looks vaguely familiar. I noticed that he carried a bicycle wheel in his hand and it clicks in my head that this is The Redhead, Spatch's boyfriend, who I have never met, but feel as if I know intimately. We had not planned on him coming, Spatch had invited him, but hadn't heard from him. We were at a table for two, and adding another chair to our tiny table makes us a fire hazard. Before I can even suggest just moving to another table, The Redhead has decided to leave. No bitterness at all, quite friendly about it actually, just a simple acceptance of how things are. The whole exchange was short and not at all unpleasant.

But I can see the disappointment in Spatch's face. When he had appeared at our table, she lit up. Her love for him on her face as clear to me as the sun shining outside. And when he leaned to kiss her as he left, I could see it in her kiss, so much emotion behind such a simple action. I almost had to turn away, almost embarrassed to be witnessing such a soul-baring moment.

"Jealous" isn't quite the right word, but its the first one that comes to mind.

We re-group. And we talk. And talk.

The earl gray tea is delicious, and we litter the table with empty sugar packets before we have to ask for more.

I am content in her presence. I confide in her that behind my sexual bravado is a bevy of insecurities. I tell her my fantasies. She discusses with me the various forms of bondage and how she handles each one.

We discuss our pasts. Frankly. I love the way that when Spatch likes something about you, she will tell you immediately. She has no guile when giving praise or compliments and they flow naturally from her mouth, without an ounce of insincerity. Her honesty and candor is refreshing and endearing.

I find myself telling her about Scott. And the raw emotion that he stirred up in me, and I am practically sobbing as I recount my moments with him. Those moments that were heartbreakingly special at the time, but now seem like such a waste of my affections.

Two pots of tea and an insane amount of sugar consumption later, and we have to leave. She has appointments to keep and I am meeting Karen to help Sephora reap more and more profits every year.

We discuss all the things we want to do together in the future. Sleepovers in Harlem. Restaurants to try. Bars to go to. Parties to attend.

"Ecstatic" isn't quite the right word, but it's the first one that comes to mind.

Today's Title from: Fidelity by Regina Spektor

Labels: Spatch