Well well did I kick up a sh*t storm with that last one. No excuses or backtracking though. I’ll let it remain up for people to get their knickers in a twist about. Because although I definitely got more serious and personal than I would ordinarily in this forum because it is the Internets after all, it’s you know, honest and what not. So please scroll down to “Seriously, though” and continue to comment if you indeed want to further discuss.

What I want to discuss right now is the fact that I hate going out on Fridays and I have three invites for this Friday, all three things I want to do and am honored to be included in. Something at 6, something at 9, something at 10. Oh, and tentative plans with another friend who I don’t think will want to tag along to any of them. FYI this isn’t bragging for you non-New Yorkers. Pretty normal schedule for a summer Friday if you have a couple of not really overlapping friend groups. But honestly right now I’m too tired to sleep and am exhausted just THINKING about my weekend. And I need to wash my hair, and everything is a mess in my apartment, and I need a manicure and to visit the eyebrow lady and to floss.
But as per usual I am delaying going to bed because I have this thing about not walking into my room until I’m dead tired to minimize ceiling staring time, and I just worked out and need to shower, and it’s just so overwhelming! What I really want is for my mommy to come and give me a bath and tuck me in like old times. I love my mom. She’s the bestest.
Perhaps I wouldn’t mind some empty space on my calendar but if I had the empty space I’d be bored and feel all depressed that nobody liked me enough to invite me anywhere, so I am tired AND confused/conflicted. I should be in bed by 8pm tomorrow to get all rested up in advance so my face won’t sag (which now it kinda does sometimes when I’m tired, isn’t that HORRIBLE?!?!) But tomorrow is the REAL HOUSEWIVES OF ATLANTA! Which I have to watch live at 10pm. Or semi live, starting at 10:15 to skip the commercials. What to do what to do?

Anyway Friday is a terrible night for festivities for me because I haven’t gone through my weekly Saturday morning beautification rituals. Which should perhaps now include some headstands to counteract the face sagging? Maybe I won’t charge my camera…

The adventures continue!

Guess what? I’m back. I’ve been silent all summer. Why? A dumb reason. I’m embarassed to go into it. But just know, that you gotta do you no matter what you think that guy is gonna think. Oops…did I give it away? Yep yep.

So much trashtasticness has happened in the past four months of this lonely exile from the Internets for me. The most impactful was the death of my first boyfriend and the architect of the soundtrack of my childhood. Michael Joseph Jackson. May he rest in peace. But what a train wreck. As much as I loved him, you know…I do believe in mercy killings/euthanasia (especially for myself). So like, not that I’m not mad as hell at Dr. Conrad Murray and every other enabling person in MJ’s tragic life, I can’t imagine how he wouldn’t have sullied his legacy and made an even bigger mockery of himself with that series of concerts. Throughout it all no one ever challenged his dominance as a performer. That London gig would have been a lot worse than when Jordan went and played baseball. Anyway, RIP MJ, I love you forever.

What else has been a hot mess? Let’s bring it to the present. It may take several entries to go through all that’s happened. I’m going to consult my favorite blogs out there to refreshen my memory. But in the moment I am salivating waiting to see tomorrow’s episode of the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Sheree done lost her crib and brought the Cleveland out. Did you see her fighting with that queeny party planner? And I can’t wait to see her snatch that crazy wig off Kim’s head tomorrow. So I have a new tv, it’s HD…and now I can see how awful Kim’s wig is. I am shocked and appalled frankly. Who knew? I mean, since most fake hair is either Caucasoid or Asian in origin you’d think a white girl would be able to get a better match for texture and what not. I expect that kind of travesty atop a chickenhead from the hood. Oh but wait…that’s what Kim is. Because really who else rides the Bentley to Target? Anything more than a Mercedes in that parking lot is overkill.

I guess Kim is performing in line with expectations, as is Sheree. Some people thought Sheree had some class because umm….she said so. But having a few bourgeois credentials (by association, not personally) myself, I could tell from her “ax” rather than “ask” etc, that she was from the hood and straight frontin. Perhaps she should consider anger management? And some diction classes. Homegirl would not cut it in the Inkwell. Ha! And boo hiss on Lisa and Ed with respect to their foreclosure. It’s not the first time flossy “good” hair good girl Lisa from the hood of Englewood has gone belly up…she’s filed for bankruptcy before. Will save more comments for after tomorrow’s episode though, it’s getting late here in the Big Apple and I need to get my blogging stamina built back up.

Anyway it’s good to be back. I’m gonna ease in and hope you start reading and commenting again too. And stay tuned for some of my adventures while I was away which include international travel on some Coming to America-ness and a weekend in Vegas that I may not be able to say much about…ok maybe just a lil bit. 😉

See below for the Sophie’s Choice facing me in the next 48 hours, since I’ve recently (today) decided to fire my accountant. He’s slow and lives way out in an outer borough requiring FedEx back and forth and such, and for 2008 things just weren’t that complicated. Dealing with him, nice man that he is, is torture. Really. Plus he always calls me from a blocked number which I think is shady. Like…are you calling me from jail?

I really should just do it myself, tonight, since I didn’t book any losses or gains in the stock market or buy or sell property. I left everything (let’s call it nothing) in my 401k alone. Sitting right where it was, pitiful and skinny and neglected and lonely. My poor little itty bitty 401k. It is just so beat up! 😦

Then there was the employment situation which was mostly the same…meaning no multiple jobs. I mean, there was a bit of a corporate shift but it was pretty seamless administratively speaking and the papers are in order on that.
The only complicated part is my charitable donations. Gotta make sure I got all my papers are straight…which is the true reason behind my procrastination. Although, I would have found another reason if I didn’t have this one. I regularly give tons of unworn and gently worn stuff to the Salvation Army (because the donation center is seriously close to my place) which even with their stringent criteria should make a dent in my tax bill. I’m also a member of NPR and some other ish…this is Manhattan after all and it’s all about being on boards and committees etc. Plus there is what I have given to my alma mater and the various other things along the way last year. Honestly it’s a bit out of control so perhaps 2009 will be a leaner year for all of that.
Fingers crossed I don’t pass out from exhaustion when I get home (last night was not a good sleep as Sunday never is) and I get around to one or the other so Uncle Sam won’t come knocking on my door. Fingers crossed harder that my W4s are all straight and I have been having the right amount deducted. Don’t want any ugly surprises!

No big adventures the past few days, although I am about to embark upon some great little endeavors including hosting a party, and helping a friend a teensy bit if I can with her very important party, and dodging questions about Easter and why I am going shopping tomorrow and not to church. And a fundraiser in a couple of weeks for which I am on the committee!!! Moving up in the Manhattan world. And lots of travel in the next two months. Of course now reality TV has been a WHOLE ‘NOTHER story. Very eventful the past seven days. More on that in a moment. But first…

After the post before last post I got a lot of “God is good” going on in my ear. Uh, ok. I don’t know why people think preaching like that will convert a non-believer, a never-believer. Discussion is good for sports’ sake and preaching is futile. Say something interesting. By the way I don’t like the word “non-believer” because it exists in a negative space with the whole “non” part and also because it derives its meaning from another word, and I don’t see not believing that way at all. Humanist, I like a lot. It’s a nice word. It doesn’t imply deviance. It doesn’t reinforce Judeo Christian hegemony. More specifically one can be a Secular or Christian or any other adjective Humanist but I’m a Secular one. If you’re curious about Humanism broadly speaking, visit http://www.humanism.org/. I can’t endorse every single word on the site because I haven’t read every single word, but I agree 100% with the “Statement of the Humanist Movement”. Of course there are other sources but that sums up what I believe.

Now, back to more important things. Shows I watch include the Real Housewives on Bravo – all of them. I also used to watch The Hills but grew weary of those children (they are children to me) flipping their hair and pouting their glossy lips. Don’t get me wrong because I am a fan of the heavy black eyeliner with shiny nude lip look because that’s how I roll, but I hope I have more substance than these girls. Sometimes I do. One interesting thing the show did for me, along with following my girl Britney, was to illustrate to me that white girls wear weave too. Who knew? The question is, do they buy Indian hair or fellow white girl hair? Where does their hair weave come from? Anyway I am officially kicked out of the MTV demographic therefore basically there is something unnatural about me watching this mess, so I divested myself of The Hills last season. I also check out Harlem Heights (they’re also too young for me but I gotta watch it) and Keyshia Cole: The Way It Is. It was Keyshia Cole who broke my 20 year BET boycott. I have a total girl crush on her. I love her ghetto fabulousness to death, but I can’t pull it off, wouldn’t be authentic. I never had to go see my toothless crackhead mama in jail so I just don’t have that kind of swagger. I still refuse to watch BET other than those two shows, but that’s another post altogether. And then there are other things I watch but nothing reality TV wise that is quite so juicy.

Ok. So. In The Hills season premiere Spencer straight gaffled Cameron, his sister Stephanie’s ex boyfriend. Stephanie’s upper lip is looking particularly juicy btw. I wonder if it’s Juvederm, which is the new plumper of choice. Did you see it? And did you know Spencer was so gangsta? Am I wrong for thinking that’s a little hot even though he’s totally weird looking? I’m wrong, totally wrong. And we all know how Spencer plays the bad boy for the cameras so I think he’s going for an Emmy or a movie role or something. Apparently my homey Cameron needed stitches after Spencer wailed on him like that. Those punches were real. Well. Now the children have gotten my attention again so I’m back on The Hills. Yes I do fall for cheap tricks. And, I think that Heidi looks just like a Barbie doll. Not real in any way but money well spent. Bravo, Heidi! Shoot, I think she looks good…in that way that she looks good. Feel me?

Heidi before. Heidi after. Nose, boobs and chin. And peroxide.

Now let’s talk about people just as childish and crazy but 20 years older than The Hills crew, the Real Housewives of New York. I officially proclaim Kelly Ben Simon to be a cokehead. At least, in my humble opinion observing her behavior. Plus she rocked a green dress with pink rubber boots so she gets a gas face for that…but more importantly what is up with her trying to cuss out my girl Bethenny!? In the middle of Brass Monkey no less, followed by the worst flirting I’ve ever seen with a guy who frankly seemed a bit gay and was carrying a laptop bag. My loyalty is with Bethenny and her mia* jaws. She is just so crazy and jaded and so real with it, I feel like she’s my soulmate. But not in a weird stalker fan way. I just can relate to her thing. Totally unpretentious yet fabulous for brief moments, every once in a while. Low key enough to feel snubbed by an orange giraffe (Kelly) pretending not to know her repeatedly. Although perhaps a biscuit or two once a week wouldn’t hurt Bethenny because frankly when you start to approach 40 you need either Juvederm or a couple of pounds (just 3 pounds not 10 pounds) to keep your face youthfully plump and rosey. See Exhibit A below. Bethenny, stop sticking your finger down your throat! There is so much more to say about this show but I’ll save some for later.

Now on to Harlem Heights. I think it’s progress that “we” have our own silly staged reality tv show devoted to banal concerns just like The Hills, which this show is clearly modeled after. But there is also the social consciousness element, hence the show starting with the election of My Boo…and the redemption of hood homey Jason. I wonder if the show would attract viewers outside of the obvious demographic if it didn’t preach about giving back to the community so much. Why can’t the girls just be superficial and bourgeois and devious like on The Hills? Am I wrong for that? I’m wrong. Again. Sometimes I be thinking some wrong things. I just don’t like being preached to when I’m trying to have fun by watching stupid television. I fast forward through the non profit parts. I wanna see Brooke, Kan-YAY’s ex girlfriend (I thought it was KANye all this time, who knew), smooching on homey in the club while Ashlie gives them dirty looks from behind the bar. That was awesome. I’m of the belief that we need to stop being so Self Conscious (go Kan YAY) and showing it by inserting a non profit conversation into every thing we do. My two cents. My favorite on the show is Briana: “If you not cookin dinner on Sunday while he and his boys watchin the game, you not his girl.” Ha! I know that’s right. I wonder if ordering take out for everybody and putting it on a plate counts?

*Mia = Bulimia. In this context, “bulimic”. Bulimics sometimes get swollen, prominent jaws as a side effect of puking. You can google it, I’m telling the truth.

All day. All night. Every day. E.V.E.R.Y. NIGHT.

Back during the election My Boo got in trouble for saying about small town Pennsylvanians, that they “get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”

I personally agreed but cringed as Hillary, whom I would have voted for but don’t love, was able to capitalize on this mistake. Her hubby was my first presidential boo though, I was NOT hating on Monica…power is sexy, what can I say. And those sparkly eyes and grin. Don’t mess with Bill! But anyway My Boo was speaking the truth but not just about small town Pennsylvania.

Look at those big, strong yet graceful hands!

People DO cling to God and religion. Black people in the hood cling to guns and pit bulls too. It is human nature to want to believe in something. We need a safety net that lets us off the hook and gives us something to look forward to. Heaven, reincarnation into a higher caste, “the man that has been prepared for you”, whatever floats your boat.

What made me think of this? Yesterday I saw this dude who looked just like Ned the Wino. He was sitting on a park bench, chillin like only someone who doesn’t have a job to go back to can chill at that time of day. Perhaps he had just gotten off his shift or something and was waiting for somebody else to get off work so they could go do something together. But he kind of looked underemployed to me.

For those of you too young to remember, Ned the Wino was a character on the legendary sitcom, Good Times (spun off from Maude which was spun off from All In The Family). The oldest son in the family was JJ played by the hard-on-the-eyes comedian Jimmy Walker, and he was an artist. One day he painted a portrait of a black Jesus and hung it in the living room after which the family enjoyed a string of good luck. Now, the whole premise behind the show was this family’s bad luck, hence the ironic title Good Times. So clearly, good things actually happening deserved like, a whole plotline because it was so unusual. I swear those folks had the worst luck trying to get out the projects. Everytime they were on the verge somebody died (James, season four, car accident in Mississippi), broke their leg (Keith, bye bye NFL) or got betrayed by their lover (Wilona, too many examples to count).

Well, eventually somebody noticed that Jesus looked just like the bum on the corner – a dude called Ned the Wino. Until that they thought it was Jesus blessing the family with good fortune. Turned out it was just a picture of a regular old drunk in a robe. And sort of the moment they stopped believing the good things stopped happening and they went back to their hard luck life. So maybe it was the belief itself that brought the good fortune, or luck, or Jesus. And of course the fact they switched from the white Jesus to the black one. Right? I don’t know, it was a cute episode.

Ok…what was my point? Oh yeah, well this dude looked precisely like Ned the Wino to the point where I almost went up to him like … “Ned, what’s up homey? You still a drunk? Still posing for Jesus portraits? Can I take a picture of you and put it on my wall?”

Also my other point is…um…maybe this is the whole point? I dunno. Anyway I am continually amazed by human beings’ deep need to believe in something outside of the force of human action to arrange events in their favor, and to explain events that are not in their favor. We are collectively obsessed with this higher being concept and have waged wars, committed genocide, drawn party lines, excommunicated and executed and burned people at the stake over it. But what’s that really all about? Creating order out of chaos and giving us a way to sleep at night with some sort of reassurance that it’ll be better tomorrow and at the very least, it’ll get better when we die, which is inevitable. So like, a 100% satisfaction guaranteed sort of thing. Who doesn’t like a full warranty?

But…what if things don’t go your way because it’s YOUR FAULT or even somebody else’s but you just gotta live with it, no relief in sight, no answer to your prayers? And what if lucky things happen to you randomly? Like buying a winning lottery ticket or narrowly avoiding getting hit by a bus? What if it turns out you’re very very lucky or very unlucky? Do we think that people who don’t win the lottery or do get hit by that bus don’t have a picture of Ned the Wino on the wall? Of course they do! They say their prayers too. I was in church several years ago and the pastor goes, “There were no saints (Pentecostals) in that World Trade Center! Because we are SAVED!” Well how dumb is that? I never went back to that church again, which is awkward because my grandfather founded it but whatever. One of my girlfriends who still believes in God for some reason – I guess this same human nature reason or maybe because she’s Catholic – is getting a divorce and has come to believe that God just has favorites and she’s not one of them. These people must all be homeys with Ned the Wino. Frankly no one in the world could ever say the divorce is her fault in any way, including her soon-to-be-ex husband. But yet she’s divorcing after a 9 year relationship, she wants kids, and has an alarmingly short shelf life remaining on that trade. Bitter is not the word.

So the question is, what happens when you find out the picture on your wall is just a drunk on the corner, incorporated accidently into your religious iconography by a teenager’s unconscious mind? Will your good fortune disappear? What happens if whatever you pray for never happens and like all middle aged and old people you turn your focus towards praying for Heaven and then you die and nothing happens? Kind of anticlimactic, eh? Would you be liberated and empowered here on Earth by the notion that nobody is in charge but the collective of humanity? Would it motivate you to do good work and inspire good work in others or do you need the promise of Heaven to do that? Would it scare you half to death? Would you be relieved of the crippling effect of hopeless hope and be able to get down to business and make something good happen? Or would you experience the existential nausea that Jean-Paul Sartre so eloquently described in La Nausee and become paralyzed?

What if there is no God?

Have you ever met someone who was so FIIIIIINNNNNEEEE-uh that you felt like you were staring into the sun?

I’ve been reflecting on this lately. There are two basic categories of people who are this good looking: famous and not-famous. And neither is dateable long term unless you are also one of them. Really you can classify these genetic freaks any way you like but I tend to be of the mindset that if I were that good looking I would find a way to get famous and rich, and just be all fabulous all the time. Not that I’m materialistic or don’t have values, because I am and I don’t (ha!) … seriously, not that I don’t have substance, but who wouldn’t want that? To be gorgeous and famous and rich? Sign me up. So if someone is that good looking and they aren’t famous or haven’t tried to be then they have an interesting thought process going on about themselves and their place in the world. Like, I want to pick that person’s brain. “What are you thinking? Get some headshots and get moving!”
So I don’t personally know any famous people in this category. I have met two. These people look like they’ve been airbrushed but they haven’t because they’re standing right there in front of you, live.

I also saw Halle Berry once and she didn’t even look real, she was so pretty. No makeup, nothing. beee yatch.

I do know a few non famous people of this persuasion. I have a good girlfriend whom when I met her and found out she was an investment banker instead of a model, I thought she was off her rocker. What is wrong. with. you. ???? You’re 5’10”, 120 and like the prettiest girl in the world. Heck, I’ll be your agent. All that gorgeousness just wasted to be enslaved to your blackberry 24/7. Hmph.

There is also this guy I met a few times a few years back, a casual acquaintance, who is borderline stare-into-the-sun fine and I think he has given it sort of a shot, I’ve seen his modeling pics here and there. Even if he doesn’t ever get famous at least he has followed his calling of being fine and put himself out there. That, I can understand. Maybe one day he’ll be famous and I can say – I’m totally friends on Facebook with that guy. He’s sent me messages on there before. But no pokes.

Then there was this guy I used to sort of hang out with occasionally waaaayyy back in the day, like the 90s, who was ambiguously ethnic fine – you know the type? And I have a strict policy with myself over not swooning over light skinned smooth hair green eyed dudes because I know every one else does. But honestly this guy looked like a tan version of Brad Pitt in his heyday before he deserted his loving wife for that hussy and rubbed her nose it for all the world to see. This guy’s extreme fineness was just too much for me. He got his wisdom teeth pulled and I showed up on his doorstep with a bowl of jello. With fruit in it (pears)! Yeah, it was like that. This guy never tried to get famous off his looks, he’s like an intellectual or something these days and married to someone who is probably all Groove Theory chic or something.

More recently I met this guy at a work meeting – drinks at a spot that was totally too cool for school. There were four men and myself which is usually the case, and he walked in last. There I was in professional mode, in my suit and my heels etc and he walked in. Say 6’3″, thick black hair, cufflinks, nice shoes, shoulders, lips, teeth. eyelashes a mile long. oh. my. oh. my. OH. MY! I thought I was watching a Bollywood movie…he was like Surya the Sun God.

He was so fine I lost all concentration and sat there reminding myself not to look at him too much, for like two hours. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stare into the Sun for two hours? I almost lost my mind. Even his fingernails were perfect. He was impeccably dressed and had a cool upperclass Indian accent revealing a British education. You know I love the Brits! A big brown Bollywood Brit is in a class alone. I hope he didn’t notice the drool on my chin. I tried to keep cool. But I would be lying by omission if I didn’t admit that when he replied to my follow up email within 1 minute, my heart skipped a beat. But seriously though, why isn’t he famous? No really, why is he a finance nerd instead of being famous? Although, he could become a finance rock star given what he does so I take that back. He IS trying to be famous. Now I understand.

Lawd have Mercy. JAIHO!

You know what’s the move? 

The Delta Shuttle to Chicago Midway airport. I have to go to Chi town relatively frequently for work, and it’s the easiest on both ends. Quick check in at LaGuardia along with free newspapers and magazines. And not talking cheesy ones either. The free papers run the gamut from the Financial Times to USA Today. So something for everybody.
But would you believe they have EBONY MAGAZINE for free in the Delta Shuttle terminal at LaGuardia? How cool is that? I wonder if it was there before Obama got elected. I didn’t start taking this flight until after then, my dumb behind was always schlepping it on American (which totally sux arse) to O’Hare (which is a torturous place). 
Anyway it is time for me to board my flight. But I’m sayin, if  you ever have to travel NYC to CHI definitely take the Delta Shuttle.  

I know it has been a long time since my last post. I started this thing, and was all hyped about it, and then I had so many ideas that I got this overwhelming anxiety over what to post next because I had so many thoughts. Has that ever happened to you? So many things running through your head that you just clam up? Anyway, since so many adventures have occurred over the last two weeks and I’m still processing them to make them suitable for public consumption, today’s post is from the vault. It’s been sitting in the queue waiting to be posted so here goes…

Don’t be jealous but I have had a couple of really spectacular first dates. This is the story of the one I can write about. The other involved a French Caribbean island and lasted five days, so I think I can’t put that on here.

One of the great things about being single and not necessarily 25, is that people are always trying to set you up. That may sound annoying but it’s actually quite fun. I’m always up for an adventure because at the very least, I’ll make a new friend.

I sincerely believe that. Really.

So a friend of a friend, who is also sort of my friend, had this friend. Said friend lives far away in a warm foreign place but comes to NYC frequently for visits and business. He was coming to NY and my friend and her friend wanted to introduce us.

So we met and I liked him. Truly. Very very cute, an impressive athlete, tall, and a cool British accent. Now y’all know how I love the Brits. In fact I’ve recently taken to drinking my tea with milk! Anyway because he was so smooth, and British, let’s call this one…James Bond.

On his next trip to NYC Mr. Bond and I arranged a date. It was to take place over the course of an afternoon/evening and it was my responsibility to plan a snack hour in the late afternoon between our 3pm and 7pm activities. I picked a cool tea house on the LES (Lower East Side) since he’s British and all that. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

After much flirting on Bloomberg and texting, he knocked on my door for our date. He was soooo cute and eager I couldn’t stand it! Just adorable. Waiting for us outside were a car with driver. If you don’t live in NYC that may sound really extravagant…if you do it’s simply a nice touch. New Yorkers (the Manhattan variety) hire cars with drivers all the time because most of the island doesn’t even have a drivers license. So it was a nice touch to make sure we didn’t have to throw elbows with the hoi polloi for a cab. Or worse, walk to the subway. It’s not like there was no butler or champagne in there or anything. But…it was a Mercedes and not a Town Car. !!!!

So off the driver went driving us downtown. And don’t you know he dropped us off at the heliport down there on South Street?!

Holy smokes Batman!

007 had arranged for a helicopter tour of the city for the two of us. While waiting I experienced some pretty severe hair situation anxiety because it was a damp day and I had a fresh Dominican roller set, and those don’t hold up well under stress. I fretted privately that the force of the helicopter blades combined with the humidity would create some sort of tragic disaster from which I would be unable to recover. Remember when homeboy, Montgomery from Fame, got his arm chopped off by the trauma helicopter on ER? And he couldn’t be a surgeon anymore even though they reattached it and they had to chop it off again and he basically died of heartache? Anyway it distracted me a bit from our conversation but eventually I eased into it and sat there just listening to his melodious voice tickle my ears with tales of a childhood in London. Or somewhere in England.

Then where was the moment of…what if we die? But I got over that.
So the tour was cool but like a bit awkward because we didn’t have mics to talk to each other and we did a lot of pointing and grinning and thumbs upping. It lasted say 15-30 minutes and then we were back on the ground and my hair was safe. (sorta) But you know, I figured, he really doesn’t know the difference about the hair so it was all good.
We cabbed it over to the tea place (http://www.teany.com/) where Bond ordered a beer. I thought that was hilarious. He was super nice and really awfully cute but had a tendency to ask me questions in the superlative or absolute like, “What’s your one goal for this year?” or “If you could do one thing over, what would it be?” Kind of ironic because I’m the last person who thinks that way. You could ask me a question like that every day and get a different answer depending on my mood. Kind of an interview/date. But not like an audition date which is how I usually feel with a certain group of men. It certainly didn’t give me that I-wanna-do-dirty-things-to-you-right-here feeling. But the lighting was soft and dim, making me look young and dewy, and he was enraptured, I’m sure. Really that’s all you need for a good date – soft lighting and alcohol.

So the third leg of the date was also pretty awesome. But frankly I was getting tired. He took me to see “August: Osage County” which later won the Tony for best play. Our seats were something ridiculous, Row H Center or some fantastic up close ish like that. By that point, I put my hand on his knee. I had had a glass of chardonnay by then and was feeling bold. And impressed with the level of effort and thoughtfulness put into the endeavor. But that was as far as things got.

After the play he escorted me home. We had a chaste hug at the door and I bid him good night. Not even a kiss. Kisses are meaningful to me…if you get the kiss you get the caboodle eventually, unless you do something stupid. Really, swapping spit is quite intimate don’t you think? But I digress…all that activity and I was worn out and needed to go to sleep. Poor Bond, his preparedness and generosity worked against him because I was tired from all the excitement. I think he was kinda pissed. Yeah. He was pissed. You know how I know? NO MORE HELICOPTERS. No more Tony Award winning plays. No plane tickets to see him down there where he lives in the warm place, stuffed into a bouquet of flowers. We were supposed to go to dinner a few weeks later but I guess I didn’t give him enough encouragement or something because after a string of steamy texts to which I responded like a total prude, he fell off the face of the earth. You gotta put out or act super duper impressed if a guy goes all out like that. I was just trying to act like I wasn’t all brand new…ya know? Like, obviously all my dates take me on helicopter rides and to hit plays then declare their passion for me via text. Oh well. He was geographically undesirable anyway.

What’s the moral of the story? There is none. I just wanted to brag about the fact that somebody took me on a helicopter ride once, on our first date. Cool, huh?

Well, maybe this: even chauffeur driven Mercedes and plays and helicopters can’t make your heart skip a beat. The idea of someone is nothing compared to the real thing. And that guy can take you to McDonald’s. Right?

The Honorable Michael R. BloombergMayor, New York CityCity HallNew York, NY 10007

Dear Mayor Bloomberg,

I am writing in reference to the poor wind and weather conditions New York has recently experienced. Even though it is March, the caustic cold, wailing winds and persistent precipitation continue. I would like your office to do more to cause this egregious weather pattern to cease and desist its assault on New Yorkers.

For example, this evening I was walking west on 50th street from Broadway towards 8th Avenue. The wind tunnel on this block is unacceptable. The wind behaved very aggressively, cutting my face with its force and bitterness, and causing me to lean forward to defend myself. I was brought to tears by its ferocity. While I did get some relief upon reaching the intersection, I was forced to pick my way through a horrid slushy mess at the curb, challenging even my trusty waterproof Timberland boots.

I slipped and slid the rest of the way home, all the way fearing for my teeth and my tailbone. Why? Because the slush left by this March snowfall mixed with the grime in the street created a vicious hazard placing both my coccyx and the lovely result of much painful and expensive orthodontry in danger. If I were to have fallen, surely I would have landed either on my bottom, cracking said coccyx; or on my face, knocking out my teeth. Both of which would have really sucked.

Until this issue is resolved I am withholding all further contributions to the revenue stream of this city. Please do not deduct any further taxes from my pay until you can assure me and my fellow citizens a reasonable weather pattern. We all expect four seasons, but any longer than three months in any one season (other than summer, of course) is unconscionable. Winter has far overstayed its welcome and I am sure, is contributing to the economic woes of our lovely burgh.
 
I eagerly await your response, and more importantly, a solution.
Warm regards,

Black Swan www.ablackswansong.com