The Politics of Love

Relationship Cop Out?

2011-11-10T13:31:00.000-05:00

Is there a defining moment when you think your friend could be more than just a friend? Or does it really just boil down to a spontaneous hormonal moment that takes over? Two members of the opposite sex that spend a lot of time together are bound to, overtime get a jolt or two…right?

Recently, while on holiday, I spent some time with a friend, who I up until that moment viewed solely as a brother. I don’t know what happened – different time zone, jet lag, and lack of sleep…all these things could have contributed to my single episode of wanting - a brief and ill advised moment where I crossed the line, so to speak.

I’d like to think I just tip toed over it; only thing I’m not tip toeing over is this newfound habitual tendency of undressing my guy pal in my dreams. Honestly, I don’t know how it came to this. I’d prefer to lavish this post with a more Freudian explanation than that, but I don’t have enough blood flowing to my brain to even justify my inappropriate horniness under the guise of that psychosomatic mumble jumble.

I’m having all these, lusty lunges – yup, I made that up. I’m defining it as ‘embarrassing double entendres you throw out when you start losing all sense of friendship propriety’. The moment when your eyes glaze over and wipe out all proper buddy behavior and replace it with “I wonder what you look like naked?”

I know it’s wrong – wrong of me to suddenly flip the switch on our friendship with overly aggressive flirty behavior – which mind you, I was keeping under control until his mutual attention started pumping me and my game up. Oh lord, I just claimed to have game.

I find myself doing what I call sleazy activities…listening to inappropriate amounts of R&B, basically whoever sings about sexing you up and slathering you down - and purposely letting my mind wander. I’ve started placing orders to Agent Provocateur and Victoria Secret for future lingerie emergencies. I totally feel like a pervert.

My urges are one thing, but my hesitancy to take this any further boil down to my fear of outing myself more than I already have – I haven’t actually uttered any damning words, so I figure I’m still in the safe place. Right now, I’m enjoying indulging my mind in the ‘what if’s’. I don't want to spoil the mood with having to deal with sudden definites. Frankly speaking, if there’s not mutual want to take things to another level, I stand to lose. So I’m choosing to stay friends and let things evolve naturally – no pressure.

Or is that a cop out?

I Want You For Your Mind, and Other Things That Are Hard To Believe

2010-12-13T18:47:00.003-05:00

I am stimulated by engaging conversation and my desperate want of it often leads me into this trouble area with men. Men that I enjoy being mentally stimulated by but don’t have romantic notions of. And so I go out on dates that I don’t perceive as dates. I am naïve on that front, because I believe that they are seeking the same from me – mental stimulation and not a physical manifestation of the bonding that just occurred between us.

After a few meet ups, I hear the clumsily hidden expectation of ‘more’ in their conversation. My chest heaves in a sigh and I realize that we will not be able to have this, this perfect thing much longer. And I am reminded of what most of my guy friends tell me “it’s impossible for a man and a woman to have a platonic relationship”. And I suppose I can understand that, just as much as I understand that in those moments I am playing with fire -

But I have no hidden agenda here; this is not some ploy to seduce him with my intelligence – which even sounds preposterous in this age of the male obsession with stacked chicks and low IQ’s. My choices are not made within age limits, height requirements or body types. I carry no preconceived notions as to what constitutes a good conversationalist.

Now, by no means am I saying that good conversation is something women are in possession of and not men. I’m just categorically saying that I don’t want to get stuck in another restaurant sitting across from a guy that quotes sport stats all night, my mind secretly clicking into survival mode and translating everything he says in the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.

Engaging conversation is rare commodity…tell me, how can I have it with you without you having me?

It's The Return Of The SEXY SATURDAY VIDEO

2010-12-04T12:00:00.002-05:00

HMMM...LYKKE LI touching herself as she deadpans her face toward the camera, caresses her crotch and with a disarming flatness in her voice, Li sings, "I'm your prostitute, you're gonna get some". MY, oh MY.

I'M OK, YOU'RE OK

2010-11-30T15:20:00.001-05:00

I haven’t had time to do one bad thing since I’ve been away these many months. Not unless you count climbing into bed with a friend and not giving it up a sin. OK, so it’s a cock tease but I don’t think I’m going to hell for it. Or is there a special place reserved for girls who think they want to give it up and then change their minds?

God, it feels good to be back. I mean, I think I’m back, as long as you want to keep hearing my insane thoughts.

So here’s the deal…I’ve been editing an online magazine and it keeps me pretty busy. Things are finally starting to level out to a non-crazed pace. My calendar has stopped smoking, my eyes are starting to roam, my hands are idle and I need to do something or someone. Hitting these keys and crafting these thoughts are a start but momma might just need something stronger. Like a life. But right now I’m OK settling for sex. Actually, I’ll take baby steps trying to get back into the game and wish for an earth shattering kiss – that leads to touching.

Problem is, in the mist of the all the recent hubbub I’ve only been hanging with people in the same industry, which is to say the pool is shallow. What passes for dates these days, are really just meetings held in restaurants, this way I can work and eat at the same time. Flirting is carried on with the same people and is generally understood to be the glazed gleam and wink of a second glass of champagne. I did get propositioned by a pretty decent looking gal sometime ago, but by the time I realized I was being hit on she’d already left the room with the guy sitting beside me. I don’t even have a time of reference for the “sometime ago”. So you see, I’ve been a social retard for the better part of a year. And as it winds down I find myself in that awful dilemma of wanting to screw one of my ‘see you all the time’ friends. Oh, that sounds awful…how about, “wanting to make love” –nope; too serious. “Wanting to sleep with” – too gentle. I’m aiming for primal.

I have been having twisty pretzel dreams about him. Knock all the stuff off the kitchen table dreams about him. What I’m trying to do is put the hormones aside for a sec to see if there’s any depth in this situation. I’m not capable of using a good friend for a one nighter. And I’m pretty sure a Walk of Shame will have a negative effect on our friendship. So, is it just lust or have I been in a unique position of gaining something positive from all this one-on-one time and its him per say, and not his hot bod that’s got me all worked up?

As I ponder this with my third jumbo cup of coffee for the day – I wanna say hey, hello, how you been? Did you miss me? I missed you. See you soon.

The Willing of Stuff

2010-01-03T12:00:00.000-05:00

I have long since willed many things to come, the first of which being the publishing of the novel that I have worked on for over five years. The second, a man – a creative, sensitive without being wussy, lanky without being underfed, geeky but with the ability to whip off the glasses and expose his inner Clark Kent, lustful without needing to exhaust himself outside of our shared bed. Lastly; world peace. Well I had to say that didn’t I or else the other two would just sound superficial and self serving. And yet none of those things have come to fruition, to which I draw a long sigh and hit the period on the keyboard as if it cements its finality in ever coming true. And then I’m here after so long a period of not writing, I’m here and missing my readers and the comments and the moments I set aside to read your blogs and wishes and dastardly deeds. Somehow it becomes new air and all consuming, and I feel right and fulfilled. I find the patience to wait for all these things to come.

It feels good to be back – how are you?

Sexy Saturday Video

2010-01-02T12:01:00.003-05:00

I found myself at the 'Panda Bar' in Philly a few weeks ago and there were these flyers for another gig being passed out that had Grace Jones on the front with Keith Haring. She was semi naked, the rest of her haven been painted by Keith in huge white geometric shapes. No one of the kiddies at my table knew who the hell they were except for me. Was I the only one who remembered the power and lust of Grace Jones?!

Seems its time to whip out the old time machine and unveil the woman who made men cum when she looked at them and said "Pull up to my bumper baby."

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-12-26T13:27:00.002-05:00

We'll be at the years end soon so I thought I'd wrap up the last SSV of '09 with a song that resonated with me throughout the year.

Caleb Followhill's voice is killer on this - the guitar riffs and the chorus is pure lusty glee.

Enjoy

The Sexy Saturday Video is BACK!!!!

2009-12-19T12:00:00.002-05:00

That's right...it's on ...again!

I figured a comeback should be big - GAGA BIG.

It's got Lingerie, Nudity, Vodka, and Murder - what more could you ask for?

THE POLITICS 100TH POST - HOW IT ALL BEGAN

2009-11-16T10:13:00.008-05:00

Before I came to Blogger the Politics and I used to be in New York. I introduced The Politics of Love at a little paper distributed in the Village. This was my very first column, seemed fitting for the
100th post to take it back to the beginning.

To say thank you for all the love you've give me over the past year, I'm giving away 7 (I like odd numbers) Politics Of Love Soundtrack cds.

If you've stuck around long enough you know that I've dedicated several blogs to TPOL's favorite songs

http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/07/boy-you-looked-so-good-i-could-have.html

http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/05/hit-it-to-my-hot-spot.html

So if you want one make sure to mention it in the comment section, first seven to say "Hit It To My Hot Spot" ...well that's what I'm gonna do. :) (2 responses already so they're only 5 left!)

It all started when my uncle made me miss that eight o’clock train into Manhattan. There are only six blocks between our apartment and the train station and he drove every one of those six at a NASCAR speed of ten miles an hour. Frustrated, I got out, slammed the car door and ran up the steps of the station to the platform in the hopes that the train would arrive late. I made it to the top step just in time to see the train rush by with my friend sitting in the last car, waiting for me as she does everyday on the eight o’clock train. Now, not only did I have no one to talk to, gone was the chance of catching the connecting train at Thirty-Fourth Street, eliminating any chance of getting to work on time.

Dropping my duffel to the ground in exhaustion, I sat on it, conjuring up horrible tortures for my uncle in my head, impatiently awaiting the next train. At seven past eight, the A train to Manhattan pulled in, the doors open and I stepped in. Crowded as usual I stood by the doors. Three stops in, I looked around and spied an acquaintance of mine. With an hour ride ahead of me I decide to fight the sway of the train, go over and talk to him.

“Hi! Long time no see,” I said. In the back of my mind I’m thinking “fate” made me miss that eight o’clock train. Previously grinding my teeth into sand over my uncle’s habitual lateness, now sainthood came to mind, this being the guy I’ve liked for years.

“Hey,” he responded and looked away.

Nervously, I tried again. “So, how have things been?”

Well, I guess those were the magic words because one thing led to another and we’re talking the politics; how he was on this campaign to get his old love back. He was completely gone over this girl. Previously, on several occasions I’d planned to ask for his number, so of course at that moment I’m thinking, “this is the JACKPOT.” But once he started talking about this reconciliation he had in mind, I was slowly brainwashed into becoming a goner for the cause. He started speaking about his pain, the kind that gnaws at your stomach and makes like hunger. Then he started preaching about a remedy. He kept saying to me:

“If I want to make the pain go away, make the hunger shut its screaming mouth. What do I do? Who can bring about a release for the pain? I have to get her back and this time things will be different.”

He kept asking me what I thought about his campaign promises (let me interject an -ism here). He and I have never been what you’d call tight - mostly “Hi” and “Good-bye”, a few group dinners, maybe a wedding or two. Now he’s got me all wrapped up in his notes; all the high and low’s he’s pitching me. By this time I’d forgotten how adorable he was because I’m all siked up to hear more about the cause.

‘How do you plan to get her back? What can I do? Where do I sign up? Will there be buttons’? I asked.

I’m caught up in the politics of love.

In my head I hear, “Oh, you’re fighting the good fight now!” Reality is, I came here for MY cause and now I’m on the verge of campaigning for HIS. Just moments ago I was ready to get up on my own platform, ready to pull him into my debate. I was ready to speak. Can’t you hear it now?
“This is what I stand for! This is what I can do for you! Vote me!”

I’d wait ‘till the crowd went wild or - in my case – until he gave me his number. But, like I said, it’s all politics, love is. ‘Cause once I approached my targeted audience with politician-like finesse, he started interrupting, preaching about his own stance.

Enwrapped in the silken words, my cause is now forged with his 'tomorrow is a brand new day' promises, complete with cheesy campaign songs. I was trapped - his Shatner like beam had been fired and now glued me to the distant planet. I was spaced out on sensation - excuse the pun.

Meanwhile, he’s still spinning his tale. “I really love this girl. There are days when I can smell her perfume in the streets on women passing by and I immediately think of her. I wonder what she’s doing and I wonder if she’s thinking of me.”

God, I thought, ‘How far away is she again?’

“Are you listening to me?” he says.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I spaced for a minute. Go on,” I reply.

“You’d love her; she looks like Katie Holmes from that show. You know, Dawson Creek. Only prettier.”

Dang Dawson’s Creek! I knew that show’s constant love mishaps and magazine good looks would leak out of TV-land and ruin me someday. I mean, how could that much drama and American Eagle clothing be good for anyone? Are all the kids on the Creek looking that great merely coincidence? Hardly. It’s politics, I tell you; the politicking of love.

Thirty minutes later, he’s romanced himself! Hell, he captivated me; it’s like he was the juicy chapter of your cheesy dime store harlequin novel. Words so smooth they hit you like ice but slip right off. He’s the guy that inspires the sympathy vote, rallying the nation towards a better cause, screaming at our consciences:

“It’s better to give than receive.”

“Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country!”

It bothers me that no one else on the train seems to notice his gushing displays. While he's ending his speech his arms are flailing and he’s flashing those pearly whites.

Well, he gets off three stops before mine and as we parted, I found myself hugging him “Congratulations,” I say while patting him on the back. The subway doors close, I sat in one of the plastic seats facing the window with my head down spinning out of control. What did I just do? Reflecting back on the past hour I knew that if he actually used that speech, he’d be sure to win her back. Hell, I’d cast my vote for him and don’t candidates usually vote for themselves?

It was getting chilly on the train so I pulled my sweater out of the duffel and put it on slowly. Dazed by my loss I concentrated on slipping the holes over the fabric-covered buttons.

“How about you dear?” a voice from behind said.

“Huh?”

“How about you, would you like a button?” Turning around, it was a lady dressed in a red scoop neck top with blue jeans handing out campaign buttons for the presidential candidates.

“How would you like to support a man who cares about your needs?” she asked as she started to pin a button picturing a smiling candidate on my duffel.

“No, thanks” I said. Pulling back my duffel before she finished, I walked towards the doors. Still bent over my chair staring at me, she looked confused and I yelled back with one foot out the door, “Sorry, but I’m through with Politics!”

Sexy Saturday Video - 99th Post

2009-11-14T16:10:00.006-05:00

Today is dank and grey in Philly.
And that's got me feeling pretty moody which is why I chose this video.

DJ Shadow's 'Six Days' is complicated downplayed sexiness with it's interlaced sulky beats.

My new project has kept me from updating as often as I'd like; but the next post will be my 100th!

And to say thank you for all the love you've give me over the past year, I'm gonna be giving away 7 (I like odd numbers) Politics Of Love Soundtrack cds.

If you've stuck around long enough you know that I've dedicated several blogs to TPOL's favorite songs

http://bit.ly/9FkSk
http://bit.ly/osCRb

So if you want one make sure to mention it in the comment section between today's post and the 100th coming on Monday! First seven to say "Hit It To My Hot Spot" ...well that's what I'm gonna do. :)

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-10-31T14:11:00.003-04:00

Yes, it's a little unconventional but after all it is Halloween.
So I feel more than comfortable admitting that quirky and dark beats start my blood a boiling. With the exception of Smashing Pumpkins 'Eye', this song was my favorite cut off the David Lynch soundtrack for 'Lost Highway'. With a Gothic Reznor, a killer drum solo and a video that plays homage to Edward Gorey's 'The Gashlycrumb Tinies' - I give you my Sexy Halloween Treat.

BOO!

Black Leather Lust

2009-10-30T23:51:00.002-04:00

It's almost midnight and I can't stop looking at them...

So many other things I could be doing like finishing up 'Psycho', it's coming on TCM and I've never seen it all the way thru.

I still have a half finished beer that needs finishing.

But they keep calling me, they want me to put them on again. And so I will.

Cause they're just that hot,

Cause they make me wanna do bad things,

Cause they make my legs look so sexy I can't stop touching them,

Cause I think they want someone to feel me up

So I'm gonna take the dress out the back of the closet - you know the one right? The one you buy cause it looks so good on you but you never wear cause it's too hot for an ordinary go out and now you're just a little apprehensive about showing that much skin. yeah, the goth spot is open till four and I'm in the mood for a little NIN and alot of lusting leering (cause that's all that ever really happens).

They'll go perfect with my new crop and I can already see it sitting on the bar next to my drink - the sight of which should start some interesting conversations.

Or I could just throw on the ex's shirt and make the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show and be a sexy Janet in black leather heels.

I gotta do something, they're itching to go out. And I'm sure the night will end the same way; a little buzzed and a tumble into bed with a slight grin. What more could I ask for? A little trouble maybe?

No matter what happens I've got my alibi all ready "The shoes made me do it".

Love The Wrong Way

2009-10-27T14:25:00.000-04:00

An old friend got married this weekend and I for my toast I would have loved to have told an old story about how his new married status should be the cure for his habit of loving the wrong way. But on second glance the story seemed too crazy for wedding banter; no need to scare his new bride. I'm really happy he's hitched now, cause I thought I'd wind up turning him into the authority's sooner or later.

A couple of friends and I were out in Manhattan having dinner and dancing the night before my good friend Elle was coming to visit. After a couple of shots of Jack I found myself on the bad end of a allergic reaction. The itching started on my face, I tried splashing water on it, but in less than five mins it was out of control. I felt like peeling my skin back and just raking it. It was like a forest fire - it quickly spread from my face to my toes. I was a frenzy of scratching and clawing as we piled into the car, debating whether or not to go to the emergency room. I was starting to lose my cool cause the itching was turning into a painful burning sensation and I could feel my face starting to swell up. No one would let me look at myself in the mirror and I could hear panicked whispers from the back seat. Next thing I knew, I couldn't see and my face felt like it weighed a ton. Thank god for that 24 pharmacy. Whatever the pharmacist gave my friends knocked me out in nano seconds.

All I remember after that was waking up in bed twice during the night as one of my girlfriends continued to give me the medicine the pharmacist said would control the reaction and get rid of the hives.

I looked like Frankenstein after a bad night on the town, the pharmacist had said it'd probably take a day or so for all the swelling to go down. Under a haze of drugs I vaguely remember Fran offering to pick up my friend Elle from the airport the next day - which was cool with me, I had no desire to go out scaring the townsfolk. One of my girlfriends drove me home to Philly where I immediately got right back into bed.

All Fran was supposed to do was entertain Elle in New York for a day or two until I recovered. A day later I phone him up to tell him I was better and that he could bring her to Philly. He tells me that she's enjoying her visit so much that she's decided to stay an extra day. No biggie I thought, she was going to be staying with me for almost a month, she might as well enjoy herself.
The next day came and went, so I called to see how she was...

"Can I speak to Elle, Francois?"
"Sorry, she's out shopping."

Two more days past, so I called again.

"Fran, it's almost been a week now. Did she change her mind about coming to Philly? Has she said anything to you? Can I speak with her?"

"I'd really hate to wake her up. She's sleeping, she's exhausted, we've been out sightseeing all day. I'll tell her you called when she gets up."

An entire week passes and now I'm concerned. The phone call starts to go the same way the rest did until I hear his bedroom door opening and then her voice in the background.

"Fran, is that her? Are you talking to her Francois? Let me have the phone!"

There's what sounds like a struggle for the receiver and then, after an entire week of hunting her down she's on the phone with me - and she's angry.

"I can't believe you, if you didn't want me to visit you should have just said something. I came all the way from London to hang out and you stick me here!"

"What are you talking about Elle," I say. "I've been waiting for you all week, I thought you wanted to stay in New York awhile longer.

"Who told you that?"

"Fran did."

"Fran, did you tell her that I didn't want to come to Philly. Fran?! Well did you? Get your coat on Fran, we're leaving for Philly right now. Aren't we Fran, leaving for Philly?!"

I could tell from the way she said it that she wasn't asking. And when she arrived on my doorstep with a devastated and embarrassed looking Francois I got the most incredible story.

I lie to you not, Fran had been holding her hostage.

Let me explain.

Her flight arrived on Monday. Fran picked her up from the airport and immediately took her back to the apartment. He told her about my being in bed for a couple of days. Elle had been concerned and wanted to call me right away but Fran had told her this wasn't a good idea and that I'd surely call her as soon as I felt better.

Tuesday
Apparently, she hadn't done any of this so called sightseeing that he'd mentioned. Instead Fran had gotten up for work early and left her sleeping. It wasn't until she decided to go out for some fresh air that she discovered he'd locked her in the apartment. When confronted, he swore it was a mistake.

Meanwhile whenever I'd call he'd tell me that Elle was too busy having fun to come to Philly and then turn around an tell Elle that I was still sick and couldn't entertain company.

Wednesday
To make up for 'accidentally' locking her in he took her out to see some sights, only she had to see it out of the car window - no getting out. "There's a shortage of parking in NY, best to do it this way." At one point she needed to get some money exchanged so Fran stopped her by an American Express. Well, Fran has sleep apnea so when she got back to the car he was out cold. "I swear, she said, I screamed freedom and started running around looking for a payphone so I could call you. He'd been watching me like a hawk since Monday - it was getting creepy." But alas Elle has never really gotten the hang of using American pay phones. When she realized she couldn't understand how to dial out, tears ensued and feeling defeated she walked back to the car.

Thursday
When I called, Fran said they wouldn't be coming to Philly because he'd arranged wine tastings at some Long Island Vineyards. "You know how long a drive that is," he'd said. "By the time we're done I'll be to tired to drive her to your house." Seems like only Fran thinks they had a good time. According to Elle there was no winetasting, instead he took her to his job for lunch and introduced her to his staff. They sat in the cafeteria as he tried to insinuate with odd body language that she was his girlfriend. Later that evening he did take her out to Long Island for dinner where she proceeded to cry and ask repeatedly what was going on, wanting to know why I hadn't called her. Fran told her he didn't know why I wasn't calling but that he was determined to make her visit a good one, because it was becoming obvious that I wasn't committed to that purpose.

Friday
Well Friday was Fran's day of reckoning....Elle had started to suspect that something was wrong. Fran's house phone had been restricted from making long distance calls and when she tried to sneak and use his cell she found it locked. "Can't I just take a train to Philadelphia? she asked. He told her I'd asked that he not let her come to Philly just yet. "Couldn't we leave the apartment for a while and hang with some of your friends? she asked. "I don't have friends." he replied. And that's when I called. Elle was listening at his bedroom door and could hear my loud voice on the other line.

Next thing I know it's early Saturday - two in the morning and Elle walks through my door and collapses in my arms crying...he freaking made her cry. At the time I was still confused and didn't understand what was going on. All I know is Fran didn't even stick around, he came in, used the bathroom and hit the road. Needless, to say I was horrified when she told me what happened. She'd genuinely started to believe that I'd invited her to come all the way from England only to change my mind about letting her stay with me.

That morning we called British Airways and cancelled the reservations Elle had managed to make to return home that Sunday. She figured she was going to wait for him to go to sleep - grab her bags and make a run for it.

Yup, that's what happened. Only thing Fran ever said about the incident was that he just wanted her to like him, and he'd thought getting her to spend some time with him would help accomplish that. I always wondered if I'm really allergic to Jack or did I have an allergic reaction because Fran gave me the Jack . Needless to say I never taken a chance on either after that.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-10-24T19:42:00.002-04:00

Today a Sexy Cover Song.

I make no bones about loving me some Elvis Costello - the man has some deep thoughts. You match the power of his lyrics with the voice and emotion of Fiona Apple and BOOM it explodes!

Reform Me

2009-10-20T01:20:00.001-04:00

I’m a holy girl looking for an unholy man. It’s not that I don’t want them to be religious it’s just that I only seem to be attracted to heathens. In the beginning I want to reform them to make myself feel more spiritual but then after I do, I run into the annoying problem of having a man that’s not remotely interested in helping me fall off the path every once in a while into Dirty Land. And then I’m disappointed – then I’m bored.

See, catching them while they’re already holy could mean a lifetime of missionary and a fear of bondage. Plus, if they have the ‘no sex before marriage’ rule that’ll mean I’m not supposed to see the goods before the’ I do’s’. I have nightmares of being stuck with a man with a less than appealing package – and that fear can only be assuaged by a test drive. So now I’m back to the so-called ‘unholy’ guy because the last thing I want to do is corrupt the mind of a guy I might be sitting next to during the next service. Especially if we don’t work out cause then he’ll go and tell everyone that I’m a heathen – and I don’t want to be the heathen. At least not until I’m having one of those certain moments in which I am not myself but instead the someone I need to be at the moment. ;)

Plus I’m sure there’s a bigger punishment for touching a holy hot guy than there is for touching the hot guy who’s already touching other people. Right? We’re all flawed; I just want the universe to give me one guy that’s perfectly flawed. Therein lies the dilemma, I want the impossible. I want to be in a Merchant Ivory movie – corseted and restrained in emotion and the next I’d prefer to peruse the shelves for the perfect crop while being served absinthe. The more spiritual part of me wonders if that makes me dirty, inquisitive, experimental or merely imperfect. Hmm…I think I’ve just found great adjectives to describe my dream guy.

Ok, this is going to have to be a ‘to be continued’ post – I’m going to ponder this some more as the half raspberry gin, little bit of grapefruit is starting to kick in.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-10-10T23:59:00.002-04:00

I don't care what you think,
Annie's red hair + her stance + a man's suit + the crop = Sexy.
I remember the 1st time I saw this and thinking "Can women really be this cool?" Hell yeah!

US Pole Dancing Championship 2009

2009-10-07T12:38:00.003-04:00

I shall be back with regular post tomorrow.
But until then, watch and be amazed.
Who do I talk to get tickets to this?!

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-10-03T12:00:00.001-04:00

You knew we had to do Madonna sooner or later.

Sexy cowboys and dirty knees and genius choreography - who knew that could be so steamy? Madge did. And that's why she's still the Queen.

Modern Day Dorothy's

2009-10-02T15:47:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine has informed me that she is revamping her wardrobe, because as she so eloquently puts it, "According to a new study, men seem to think that women who are fashion forward hold money and material possessions in high esteem -an attitude which forces love and spirituality to be runner-ups in a relationship." The article went on to categorize how men view a women's viable relationship worth based on their clothing choices. Since she's tired of being 'out' of a relationship she's looking to spice up her wardrobe with choices that convey, 'safe, stability,' and I suppose overall weakness in personality.

The day after our conversation, I watched a man step off a bus; his look was polished, immaculate and very stylish…immediately I thought that this was a man who took pride in his appearance and perhaps other aspects of his life as well. But of course, I couldn’t read his life story with crystal ball divination. The sane part of me realizes that outward appearances cannot serve as the sole judge of character. But was another woman watching him at the same time thinking, "Is he vain because he dresses nicely? If we were in a relationship, would he care less about our future or more about his next outfit?" Who knows? I just know that to say anything to credit or the discredit of his character based on clothing choice would be a guesstimation.

While these were my friend's thoughts on the matter (not to mention that twisted survey from the magazine that thinks they know what men are thinking), I have to admit that some people still assess me based on my wardrobe, using choice key words that start to morph into adjectives to describe my personality instead of my style. "different, flaky, unique, spacey, other-worldly." I do sometimes refer to myself as an 'odd bird and I suppose I repeat it because that's what people have been telling me. Yet, I feel incredibly normal. So is it perhaps that what the men from the article really want is conformity? Are they threatened by women women who choose to express themselves through clothing? As I type this; the thought sounds silly, but what else could it be?

My friend then suggests that I experiment by dressing differently for a month to see if people's attitudes or comments toward me altered any. Could I change my single status with the power of new clothes? I went home to contemplate it but instead switched on the television and the Wizard of Oz came on (70th Anniversary ya know).

And because I tend to get carried away with things, my mind ran with the realization of how brave Dorothy was. There she was, a girl leading men on a journey for their own personal freedoms. A different sort of girl in a strange world. Off down a road in search of a brain, a heart, and some courage. I started thinking of celebrating these essentials on a grander scale. I could be a Modern Day Dorothy in a weird Wizard of Oz reconstruction.

I can picture my inner Dorothy:
This is the Dorothy dizzy with the realization that she’s in OZ. This Dorothy doesn’t want to go home; she enjoys discovering what life is like in strange little places like this. So she looks and plays the part: ruby red lips, panties of gingham underneath her low rider knee length khakis, a green tin of Altoids in her cargo pocket -- ‘don’t want to offend the little people’, she thinks, as she takes them and pops them into her mouth two at a time; they fizzle and dissolve on her tongue. There's no group singing cause she’s come equipped with her Ipod. Earphones get pulled over her head as tiny speakers sit casually in her ears. She presses play and the music beats rhythms that speak to her like brain waves. She looks down at the yellow brick road shaking her head - "heels don’t really work well with brick." she thinks. "Oh well, can’t let a few cracks stop you."

Does she dare set her own boundaries? Does she, dear?

You see, for this Dorothy, every boundary she crosses, every rope she unties from herself makes her feel more complete, like the women she has always admired. Unbounded, she walks taller, laughs lighter. One would imagine that releasing such a force would cause her eschew a less cautious approach and stomp through life’s moments, but she tiptoe’s slowly, absorbing every ping and pang of emotion. She’s the girl who would pause in the middle of the yellow brick road and pick out her wedgie. She cares naught for who saw it, or what would be said about her - and that only says more about her. The road to Oz is laced with insecurities, ready to grab hold of the imagination to weld against one’s courage, one’s will. And this Dorothy is sick of the adherence to social stigmas that don’t allow one to be human.

Briefly, I thought about how easy it would be to be so-called normal and fit into the mold – to morph into what other people perhaps might want to see me as. It can become increasingly difficult to stay true to oneself and not allow other judgments of you take root and grow. I have faith that the more women come to terms and embrace their own selves including the imperfections and flaws without picking at and obsessing over them will make others unafraid to expose their own. The inner you should never be costumed by someone else – celebrate it.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, to hell with that article.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-09-26T12:00:00.001-04:00

Talk about Animal Attraction...
Hungry Like the Wolf had one of the most primal make out sessions.
Tame for 2009 but but for the 80's it was HOT HOT HOT!

Simon Lebon rising from the Amazon waters
seen later baring the marks of a lusty jungle love. Mmmmm. Nice.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-09-19T12:00:00.000-04:00

This week I'm taking it back to Classic Sexy.

Every man wished he was Robert Palmer
and and women searched for the perfect spandex dress and that dangerous shade of red lipstick.

Video Blog: Are you saying there aren't loads of Whores in America?

2009-09-18T11:07:00.008-04:00

Witness the confrontation when the girls and I argue down a male friend. We were on holiday and had just come from dinner (too much wine) when from nowhere he starts foolishly trying to explain why America has more whores than England. It's a classic battle we now refer to as Camp US vs. Camp UK.

When Will The Gods Stop Smiting Me With Crushes?

2009-09-16T10:03:00.006-04:00

God dang it, I’m so tired of crushing. It should be relegated to the teen years – not allowed to infect you past the age of twenty-five.

I don’t care how lovely it sounded when MJ sang it, I want the butterflies to get the heck out of my stomach and find someone else to sneak up on and give them the dry heave. Because that’s what it really is, we dress it up by saying ‘they gave me butterflies’ when what you really mean is ‘I saw them and suddenly needed to hurl’.

The intensity is too much, I don’t want it to keep making me obsess about what I look like before a date – heck I don’t even want it to make me agree to a date per say. It would be perfection if we were simply hanging out, having a beer, watching the game – no pressure, no assumptions. And then somewhere during a commercial break maybe we’d have a moment. Just a moment, I don’t need fireworks that soon in the game. I just want it to be relaxed instead of the typical ‘we’ve forced this’ situation that ultimately leads to agonizing silences and long awkward glances worthy of being a scene from Scanners. Because if this is us just hanging out I will finally be able to eat a full meal on this ‘date per say’.

Now don’t take that to mean I’m one of those women who doesn’t want a guy to know that I like food – it’s those afore mentioned crushing butterflies occupying the space in my stomach that’s allotted for the food. Now if I could have those few simple requests fulfilled and it’s getting more intense between us, that’s ok, because at least at this point I’ll have had the time to acclimate my crushing to a more sane level of maturity. I can miss you without wondering where you are every second of the day; I can smile at you when I see you instead of whipping out the Kool-Aid grin.

Yet I’m remiss to understand why Mother Nature insists on my needing the stomach bender to tell me he’s The One, or Mr. Right Now? I mean, if that’s supposed to be the barometer of meeting Mr. Right then mine is broke cause it dings off every time Mr. Cutie, Mr. Artistic, or Mr. Great Conversation happens by. That just shouldn't’t be. Not that I’m thinking that something is terribly off; just that the syndrome I believed to be mainly a problem of the male species is now my plight. I just love men; all sorts of men to be exact. I used to roll my eyes every time I’d hear some guy giving an interview and saying “I just love all women.” I’d be thinking, yeah that’s just your way of saying; “I just want to keep bonking chicks without ever committing to just one.” Now I’m begging my body to give me a break – “Body, I’ve been out of high school for a long time now – in case you haven’t noticed – I’m too old for this crap.”

What shall I chalk it up to?

Maybe it’s just my hormones making up for all the lost time. I virtually spent my high school and college years in the library reading about what happens when two people like one another instead of actually putting that knowledge to test. And now I’m paying for it – I now write books about complicated relationship situations, yet it’s quite clear that in real life I can’t excel in writing myself out of them.

SHOWING SOME GUEST POST LOVE!!

2009-09-14T10:00:00.005-04:00

Calling People Names is a blog I never forget to read.
The crazy chick who writes it is honest to a fault and hilarious to boot. I love how her posts seem as if it were a conversation she'd had in her head but accidently said aloud.

I have been trying to get her to guest post for awhile now, so without further ado...

Bad Timing's Bitch

This post is, of course, weeks over due. Deadlines have never been my strong suit...not with school, not with work, and certainly not in my personal life. I think it’s fair to say that time, in general, is a problem for me.

Oh, I know the basics. Don’t start gossiping around behind my back with the other bloggers, “She can’t tell time” or “I’ll bet she only reads digital clocks!”

Well fuck you guys! I don’t have to squint at the little lines on a digital. I have severely handicapped eyeballs, ok!

What I meant was...I’m one of those people that have the timing of a prisoner reaching for a bar of soap in the communal shower. It’s SO off it’s sometimes painful. Then again, there could be a happy ending...if you’re into that sort of thing. No judgment.

Bad Timing is like a man. My lifelong stalker man. (Other than Fisher Price. Keep up people, keep up.)

He made his first appearance when I was seven. Nick was my then boyfriend because we hit each other on the playground, and those are the rules.

Once I believed Nick and I were a sure thing, I decided to seal our union with a kiss. Unfortunately, he was very afraid of girl cooties. Ben told him they were transferred directly from the lips on a girl’s face and not her vagina like his older brother Gil tried to make him believe...because everyone knows that girl’s don’t have two sets of lips. (I picked on him about this mercilessly for the rest of his life.)

Ben pointed to a rash near his slobbery pie hole to prove his claim. I was quite upset, since I knew the real reason for his supposed cootie rash. It wasn’t the poor accused Tracy, but rather his habit of licking his lips and the surrounding area over and over again. My Aunt slapped him in the back of the head for it daily. Either way, Nick was having none of my Bonnie Bell shellacked goodness after that.

Being a resourceful kid, I made a plan.

After school we would all go to the cafeteria and wait our turn to get on the buses. There was a short flight of stairs between the main hall and the cafeteria entrance and we ran up them together everyday. I decided that I would plant one on him then. I figured he’d be less likely to see it coming since we’d be moving fast. (Yes, I used to RUN. “Used to” being the operative words.)

But Nick must have heard the talk around the playground, because he deftly avoided my puckered embrace three days in a row. Each time we ran up the steps and I made a dive for him, he danced out of the way and I was left with empty air.

On the fourth day I was determined to tackle him like an NFL pro. Eyes. On. The. Prize.

As I launched myself at him, I knew this was it. This time I would make contact. And I did....

With the wall.

I was SO close, but he moved just in time. I’d put so much force behind the attempted tackle that I flew past his retreating backpack and slammed face first into the wall.

There was blood, yes. And tears, yes. But I learned more from that experience than “let them come to you”.

I learned that Bad Timing can screw you in the asshole anytime he wants. And Bad Timing....really likes my asshole.

During the rest of my school years he showed up here and there:

Once in 6th grade he left a mysteriously colored wad of toilet paper on the girl’s bathroom floor for me to step in, and then gleefully pulled the fire alarm.

He showed up again in the 9th grade and brought my period with him...a week early. Bad Timing was no slouch. He knew that was every young girl’s worst nightmare.

But I’m thinking his most memorable school appearance was in 11th grade. He made me drink an entire Mt. Dew just so I’d have to ask for the bathroom pass. And find my Frinemy, Loren, with her bushy ponytail bobbing up and down between my boyfriend’s thighs in the “closed off” corner of the bathroom.

Of course with a performance like that he had to go out with a bang and have me suspended for three days, for hitting her in the back of the head with my World History book, when I was supposed to sing a solo in the chorus show. Suspension meant no singing which meant no public adoration...and I was pretty disappointed about that.

I did find out a few years later that Bad Timing felt pretty rotten about that one and redeemed his self by ensuring Loren was in the wrong place at the (say it with me!) wrong TIME...and contracted the gift that keeps on giving. Not hugs. Herpes. (That could be a button...)

But once I became an adult, he got a little tired of crowded room wedgies and bean burrito madness and moved on to the juicy stuff.

See, Bad Timing is a bit of a pervert. He was quite euphoric when I became involved with anyone in a sexual way. Not only that, but nudity of any kind seemed to trigger his attack mode.

Like...when the UPS man caught me streaking across the yard. Or when I called Tony by his brother’s name in bed....which was just a big misunderstanding really. Or when I was accosted in a very small shower by an extremely large naked stranger...and what came up was definitely BAD TIMING.

Our list of run-ins could go on and on. But there was one job, a little over four years ago, that Bad Timing failed at so miserably that he’s been redoubling his efforts ever since.

He thought he’d change my schedule at work, get me closer to the boss...then I’d get a bun in the oven and man! Wouldn’t that just be off?

But it wasn’t. It was just right...and so was she.

Only now, I afraid he’s taking his frustration out on The Kid.

Just the other day she said “Shitfaced” in front of The Grandmother’s church biddies...and I could see Bad Timing written ALL over that one.

Just goes to show you, everything comes full circle.

Now you'll have to excuse me. He's gone and turned me in for writing nasty things about him and now I'm being given a PILE of work to do...right before knocking off time. Sigh.

Over and out.

*A big thanks to the lovely and witty Politics Chick for letting me guest post on one of my favorite blogs. I hope she'll be returning the favor soon. (Hint, Hint...off your lazy bum!)

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-09-12T12:00:00.001-04:00

I know, I know
I've been incredibly selfish with this month's SSV's.
So I'm going to indulge myself this one last time and then give you
the goods from now on.

I'm a sucker for cute Desi guys - Raghav is no exception.
You can usually find me in the front row his of New York shows trynna make eye contact. Sigh...

Raghav if you're reading this, "Tum mere sath bahar jana hogi?"

Ok, back to reality...watch it...I command you.

Paris - The Lover in my Life

2009-09-11T12:30:00.000-04:00

I’m sighing every few seconds today because I’m feeling incredibly lonely.
Oh, it’s not everyday of course just when the weather so-so and something triggers it.

When I feel like this I want to be in Paris
I know…who wants to be in Paris alone.
But I’m a bit of a masochist.
When I’m there Paris is my lover – I’m not sure I want to share her with someone else.

I love that when I arrive it' early in the a.m. and she’s already bustling and moving about without a care that I’ve come. Whenever I arrive, she always encased in fog as if she too is unhappy.

For the first few hours I find that I’m not as excited to see her as I was just hours ago on the plane. In thought; in theory; she was a much better lay.

I grumble a bit wondering what made me come this far. I hem and haw wondering if I really feel like seeing her. I unpack and then do something insanely American like finding a Starbucks to nurse my caffeine addiction. But in all actuality I'm really frightened to step into my favorite cafe and use my bad french. I'm afraid they'll know right off the bat that I don't belong in this breathtaking city and toss me out. So I walk back to my hotel room and drink the espresso on the balcony as the sky clears up.

But by the afternoon she starts coaxing me out to come to our favorite spot.

I get upset with myself thinking, “Why not? You didn’t come all this way to sit in a room watching Law & Order in French. She's clever, she knows as soon as I start walking down the streets I'll start to remember how she made me feel last time and I'll be hooked. So I get dressed up and meet her on the Seine a block away from the Eiffel Tower an hour before nightfall.

The sun starts to set and she lifts up her skirt to show me all the wonders of her beauty and I gasp. How could I have been so dense as to have forgotten how glorious our past encounters were? For some reason I feel like if I were kissing someone else at that moment I’d miss these moments – her window boxes,
her soft music wafting out of cafe doors, her pink lights which would be lost on me if I was absorbed in the taste of another lover.

Sigh, I wonder….

All I need to know about MEN I Learned through Rock & Roll

2009-09-07T12:00:00.003-04:00

Music is an art form and Art imitates life. There are prevalent artistic gender divisions in the performance roles of music. Of course if you also view the lyrical content of an individual’s songs as works of art, then we can look into Ethno-esthetics, which tells us that culturally we set definitions of what art is. In our creative endeavors we strive to express our ideals, our thoughts. But some are fed up with such music that carries/or lyrics filled with heavy artistic values…blah, blah, blah.

If you were looking for me to go on about art with ideology, you didn’t luck out here.

I will, however, give you a little insight into the types of boys out there roaming the streets; the type of boys I happen to find pretty tasty. Using musical genres, musician appearances, and lyrical content to support my own theoretical causes, I will be completely biased by basing all my information on the guys in Rock & Roll that I worship and adore. Think of it as a guideline for all you newbie’s out there who never thought to go after this genre of men because you just didn’t understand them. I love seeing that, actually-the girl in the record store dressed up in a conservative outfit coupled with the matching strand of pearls lustfully glancing over her stack of CD’s at the guy with the spiky hair, black polished fingernails, and black boots. Ok, I’m starting to wander into my fantasyland… so without further ado: All I need to know about men I learned through Rock & Roll.

Bob Dylan taught me that men could be poets. Even if the guy is scraggly and can’t really sing that great, he’s the kind of poet that creates a niche for himself. He is generally found in chic coffee houses. Never seen without his knapsack which always seems to be slung around his chest. Catching the poet is almost like trying to find the lost city. He and his thoughts are very ephemeral, coasting from reality to dreamland; if you do fall in love with the poet get ready to lose your heart when you become second place for his current cause. Instead of flowers and chocolate, the poet will always instead shower you with words.

The Stones taught me that men could be sluttish. Oh yes, these are the types of boys we all want, but know they aren’t very good for us at all. But the leather pants and the vintage t-shirts just do something to us - don’t they girls? They prove that it’s just not as simple as saying the right words; you have to back them up. Slutty boys have actions to prove that they stay true to their slutty ways. The best thing about this type of boy is the ride they take you on and the fact that they can get away with wearing more jewelry than you do. Relationship wise – I wouldn’t go looking for them to stay true to any contractual notions of love.

Bowie taught me that guys can be ambiguous. Okay, the "hero or homo" thing is very tricky – you never can be quite sure what team he’s batting for without straight out asking. But if he’s anything like David Bowie, than you’re probably thinking, "I’ve never seen makeup on a guy look sexy till now." And if it’s your team, he is sure to be the perfect unisex persuasion of gleeful orgasmic lusting.

Elvis Costello taught me that you men can be offbeat, irreverent, yet still be classic and hip. The Costello’s you will find are usually your close friends…like Molly Ringwald’s ‘Ducky’ in ‘Pretty in Pink’. Oh, they don’t really seem to care about much except for being different and their biggest dream is still to blow the little town’s that they’re stuck in wide open, but the only thing they really want to blow is the lid off of is their secret longing for you. The Costello’s are quick on the wit and even sharper on the sarcasm. But admit it - you love their black-framed intellectual style glasses because you know that someone behind the frames lurks a Superman just dying for you to lose sight of the goodie-goodie Clark Kent image and be all-strong and all-cool, all the time. I’ve discovered that the Costello’s have the charm to finesse; there’s nothing sexier than Costello making women think that they are the flirts and that he means business when it comes down to the romancing. Who could forget Everyday I Write The Book: Don’t tell me you don’t know what love is/When you’re old enough to know better/When you find strange hands in your sweater/When your dreamboat turns out to be a footnote/I’m a man with a mission in two or three editions…"

Lenny Kravitz taught me that a man can defy any definition of appeal and character. This type of man is the oxymoron; the indefinable sort that will constantly continue to puzzle and amaze. You cannot put this man into a box – he is unwilling to be tied down to any preconceived notion. This urban metro-sexual tends to challenge your mind and willpower. While exhibiting rebel characteristics, he still fiercely loyal ‘till the music in your relationship ends. Best part about this guy is that he is a bit of all the above mentioned, and that is the optimum goal.

Whether or not all this crap I have spewed out proves to be of use to you remains to be seen. All I can say is that I put all men into these five categories – or at least I’m only attracted to men with these characteristics. If you don’t agree with any of this…whatever; you can let me know that to, but I can tell you what my response will be…

"Lump it…" I’ll never be your beast of burden.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-09-05T12:00:00.000-04:00

We're going International this Saturday.
This is Tarkan, Turkey's biggest Pop Artist.

Look at those eyes. In this video, you literally spend 3 mins just watching him bare chested, drink water and eat fruit.

And this is why I love him in spite of the eyeliner. Gone with the sensitive stuff - at 1:20 of the video he turns into the "I will stick my tongue down your throat and lift my shirt up to show you my rock hard abs" Tarkan that I've grown to love over the years. He's so known for his sexy dancing that finger cymbals were actually sold with his cd's in Turkey.

God Bless Turkey.

My Overactive Imagination and Her Kid

2009-09-01T13:55:00.004-04:00

We all have them - just some more than others. I’ve got a double dose, a couple of scoops on my cone. I believe it’s the geyser where most of my problems shoot up from. See, for the better part of my life I’ve carried an Overactive Imagination. As of late, she ran away, got knocked up and came home giving birth to a healthy bundle of Assumption.

Assumption always assumes and suspects without hard evidence to backup her theories, which is precisely why I’m sick of her. I constantly have to reprimand her, “Why Assumption? Why assume when you can just ask?”

“Why?" she responds. "Because it’s not as much fun to ask.", she says. “Asking provides you no torture, no sleepless nights and, most of all, no intrigue.”

Ah, I see. Asking would be the smart thing to do and Assumption isn’t interested in sanity. Often prone to flights of fancy, she stews in her own juices every so often stirring the ingredients together to make sure she’s brewed the right amount of brouhaha and stupidity.

Just the other weekend I ran into a close friend of mine at a party (ok, another crush, but this time it was mutual). Everyone was dancing, talking and having a ball in general. Out of the blue, Assumption whispered in my ear, “Doesn’t he seem different tonight”.

“No,” I replied, “Now leave me alone.”

Of course Assumption can’t do that - persistent little bugger.
“Come on look at the signs,” she stabbed, badgering me relentlessly. I figured why not just listen to her, perhaps then she’ll go away.

“See, tonight he’s not funny enough, not talkative as usual. He’s being quite moody. Notice how he’s particularly distancing himself from YOU.” With that word she made this annoying sound effect in my ear, you know the one where the word echo’s as if it had been yelled into a long corridor - “Distancing himself from yoooou, yooooou, yooooou, yooooou, yooooou, yooooou, yooooou, yooooou, yooooou…”

During the entire night the thought hadn’t crossed my mind - until now, this singular moment. Alarms were sounded and the ticker tape in my brain started spitting out obvious reasons to why he was ignoring me… earlier when he arrived I made eye contact but chose not to say hello immediately; obviously he thought I was slighting him. Never checked my breath before I spoke, it must have blown him away. Maybe my dress was too tight and now he thinks I’m a hussy.

Suddenly my brain worked on the same principles as an Etch-a-sketch. Assumption is shaking it, giggling as she erases years of hard earned emotional maturity and is drawing a jungle gym.

“A Jungle gym?” you say.

Yes, a Jungle Gym, where she’s swinging and leaping out of control like a crazed monkey until finally, in steps her mother, Overactive Imagination to stop her. That didn’t quite help.
The two of them occupying the same space was too much for me to handle. Assumption doesn’t want to go, she’s throwing a tantrum, kicking out common sense, rationalization and my motor skills (I have to claim this because the party was taped and it is my excuse on why I look so bad dancing on camera).

Overactive Imagination finally takes hold of her and starts dragging her out. Assumption isn’t satisfied though, she hasn’t done enough damage - having to have the last word as brats often do.

Loudly I hear her jesting words again, “distancing himself from yooou, yooou, yooou, yooou, yooou, yooou, yooou.”

From within me came the sound of fuses busting, engines overheating, hoses disconnecting leaking fluids everywhere. I’m running on steam and I need to be cooled off. My eyes’ search finding him once again, only, something’s horribly wrong. Blinking twice I look again but there’s no mistaking it, he’s starting to morph into this Uber-model. Now I’m angered that he’s dancing with other people, smiling and chatting and toasting, all of which is what a party consists of. But understand there’s this steam train racing in my head, wheels moving faster, faster, past the speed of light - so fast in fact that common sense didn’t have a chance jump on. My heart does flips, I mean, I liked him before, but now it’s different. He is buried treasure that I’ve long searched for, a diamond in the rough, needle in the haystack, sun and the stars, alpha and omega.

I HAVE LOST IT, replaying back every conversation that we’ve ever had, judging every pause, every hesitation.

Did they mean anything?

Were they signs of us going wrong?

With every supposed mistake I become uglier and he gets better looking.

I remember plans that I made and broke, some without apologies - Boom! six-pack for him, dry frizzy hair for me.

Recalling times when I laughed funny, or talked too loud. God I must have seemed like an idiot -
Crooked teeth for me, a smile so white you need shades for him.

At this moment I’m sure that I have always been a creature and that he took pity on me. Tonight was the night he couldn’t take it anymore. I am an unkind, unattractive and thoughtless human being. He hates me, and-who cares! I never liked him much anyway. Who needs him!

Making my way over to him thinking I’m going to clobber him for making me feel so bad, I hear…“You wanna dance?”

“What?”

“Do you want to dance?” he repeats. It’s him, and he’s asking me to dance.

“Yeah, sure” I say.

Ten seconds into the music and I swear he says laughingly, “You seem a little off tonight, what’s the matter, am I not paying you enough attention?” he says as he pecks me on the cheek. Laughing, I toss my head back as he turns me in a spin. “No. You must be imagining that,” said convincingly as we pause to have our picture taken. Getting back into step I think of nothing but the dance letting my movement blend with his.

I’m pretty sure you’ve had plenty of days like this. Absolutely nothing was wrong but you’re Imagination creates something and goes wild with it. Although this was a very extreme case, I think I got a hold of some bad food or something. Lesson to be learned-as women we tend to over think situations. We can be so abstract in our behavior – a living Picasso stuck in a painting – our minds lost in blocks of paint, one eye near the bottom of the canvas near the title “Woman Lost”. Hung on the wall examined and analyzed by all, all the while, just hoping to overhear the definition to this disease, to be released from the madness. Meanwhile the guy isn’t even on the same page; he doesn’t even have a clue what’s swirling around in that pretty head of yours. Sometimes I think it’s a blessing that they’re such simple creatures – if they only knew.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-08-29T12:10:00.000-04:00

I'm going back to a classic this Saturday, it's before we ladies knew whose sex George really wanted.

He Said, She Said

2009-08-27T15:44:00.009-04:00

How do you perceive the behavior of the opposite sex when it comes to dating & relationships?

He Said:

"The point of dating and relationships is to find a person with whom you have that extraordinary connection. The problem I find is, once you find them, what do you do from there?

Much like two experienced fencers facing each other for the first time, dating has become a series of feints and fakes. Truth doesn’t really enter into relationships until months later, and it’s only then that we find out that our beloved is a rabbit-boiling-in-a-pot-lunatic. The biggest problem with relationships is that we’re simply not honest with each other.

For men, when we first meet a woman, its’ a great deal like a nearsighted catcher trying to read the pitcher’s signals. We won’t get a lot to go on form her, not for a while. Whatever we do will be discussed with her omnipresent friend at length, at a later date in the worst light possible, so the heat is on. We say something at dinner. She looks at her friend, and purses her lips. This will cost us dearly, we realize with horror, and so we spend the entire night reading their silent signals, wondering if the pitcher will throw the curve ball or the high heat. She is not going to voice her displeasure here, but, by God, it will be voiced. By women bringing lots of disagreeable friends with them, they put men through a gauntlet of criticism. The relationship is no longer you and her, it’s you and her and her good friends that thinks you’re head is too big and her good friend who thinks your gear is fake and her friend who can’t stand you, because you remind her of her ex.

Let’s say we find someone, and we’re immediately interested. If we’re too eager and we let the wrong woman know, they use us until we’re completely spent, like a sea bass with a hook in it’s mouth. So, we learn to suppress our feelings for some time until we realize what sort of person this is, and can we trust her with our feelings? That leads us to restraining ourselves constantly, much like the Victorian era gentleman…

“Pass the butter, dear” Evan said. I love you, he thought. Your eyes twinkling like twin stars, you skin like sandy Sao Paulo beaches…

“Lovely day isn’t it,” he said instead.

“Quite.” She said.

For men, we’re not being real at all. We date people we really don’t want to be with because we’re bored and there’s nothing better to do that night. Or we do what she wants for an evening, because we don’t feel like arguing about it, not because we particularly like her. Relationships fall through, things happen, so like an experienced traveler, we always have a contingency plan if things go wrong, and her name is Dana or Michelle. We go through pains to perpetuate an image, because more and more women simply care about male stereotype instead of the actual individual. Some women care less about who you are then if you have Timberland's and a throwback jersey. I know a great deal of friends with unpaid bills, but a closet full of designer clothes, because in the end, it’s your image that’s important.

In the end, men and women spend the majority of their time trying to convince the opposite sex that they are what they are really not, and when they hook up based on that illusion, no good can come of that.

In view of that, I’m making the only resolution that counts – a personal one. I will be honest. I will stop playing games. If you ask me, you will know what our relationship is, I won’t feed you crap. If I’m feeling you, I’m man enough to tell you and if you can’t handle it, I probably shouldn’t be with you anyway, because you’ll keep playing the same game that I won’t play anymore. I won’t string along multiple women at the same time, insisting that we’re just friends, but doing the things with them that are more than friendly. I will be honest.”

She Said:

Can I respond back to him?

Ok, you’re right, you are going to discussed at length with our friends. Doing it to find fault with your every move, contrary to popular opinion, isn’t the optimum goal. Believe it or not, some women want to find things to love about you. I think that you’ve been burned too often, in fact, often enough to have altered your perception.

I say this because you mentioned that “by women bringing lots of disagreeable friends with them, they put men through a gauntlet of criticism”. You didn’t say “if women bring,” or “when women”, but “by women” – as if this is the only thing we do, “bring disagreeable friends”. That’s just not so, and it makes me wonder who you’ve been out with lately. In all fairness let me say…no, a woman’s friend shouldn’t dog you unnecessarily, that’s just uncalled for. But understand that ladies protect one another, and therefore, do appear in groups sometimes. It’s the way it’s always been done and will continue until the girl you have the extraordinary connection with the “disagreeable” friends decides that she wants you no matter what her girlfriends say.

But if you’re out with someone whose friends are looking at you head, cracking at your gear and comparing them to their former flame …you aint’ with the right girls.

This exposed nerve of yours is pulsing and while not unfounded, it is surely not a widespread problem.

BTW, if you’re not feeling her and your man enough to tell her and she can’t handle it be man enough to accept it without attacking her integrity or her friends by assuming it’s a game they’re running on you. She may have been damaged from a previous relationship, or maybe she just wasn’t feeling you – and that’s not playing a game, that’s just being real…isn’t that honest enough?

Your resolution is an admiral one. Your take on the need we sometimes have to be someone other than ourselves in relationships is sadly true. I just ask that you don’t allow your past experiences to color your new ones.

Dear European Hottie at MOMA,

2009-08-25T13:18:00.010-04:00

Can it really be considered stalking if I was overcome in the museum by the beauty of your movable art? Yes, that's what I'm referring to you as. Yes, you...the tall blonde, black t'd, washed out red jean, Converse wearing, cute tiny goatee sporting hottie that I 'bumped into' continually throughout MOMA. You were just an annoying blur in my camera when you walked in the compass in hand exhibit...

but I couldn't help but watch the intensity of your art gaze.

Or the way you pondered model like over at the cutouts of Betty Ford news articles by that obscure crap artist.
Oh, but when you bent over to take pictures of it with your cell phone ....drool. I wanted to know you, I wanted to be so familiar that I could walk over and hug you from behind and gently tug on your ear with my teeth and ask if you what you could possibly see in that piece.

You probably don't remember but we smiled at one another two floors later, I think we both recognized that we, in fact had been crossing paths the entire afternoon. I forgive you for walking past the 'Wyeth'
without so much as a second glance in support of taking pics of the ancient aircraft because the view from behind was lovely...

I hope you're a regular, if I ever see you again I'm going to jump you - or maybe something less crazy like asking you "Do you come here often?" "Who are your favorite artists?" Perhaps even ask you out for coffee - unless I see you go into the architecture wing...in that case I'll wait for you outside in some other unassuming stalker like fashion.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-08-22T12:00:00.001-04:00

I’m a sucker for Funky House music, come Thursday I scroll through my Ipod looking for my Dance List and this is the first song that plays.

I take a warm shower, jump into a white tee and panties and strut up and down the hallway, pausing every so often to really get into the groove with the banister (wooden guy) remembering that year when this was the top song in the clubs - come Friday night it would play and how things got wild making you feel alive and happy. Video’s not so bad either.

Complicated Relationship Flicks

2009-08-20T17:11:00.000-04:00

I've decided to get a head start on the weekend - I'm anxious to de stress, settle in and watch a few of my favorite movies. They're all about complicated relationships; somehow it's more entertaining to watch them unfold on tv and not in my fricking life. So I'm going to cocoon myself in for awhile along with chocolate, ice cream, and pie. But not before I leave you with my must-sees - they make me laugh, cry, sigh (no, it's not the most proud of female thing I do), curse and not surprisingly a few of them turn me on.

Love Me If You Dare

Sex and Lucia

When Harry Met Sally

Vicky Christina Barcelona

The Code of Honor

2009-08-18T11:20:00.000-04:00

"Oh, you're killing me SadGirl. You with your emails about your cheating best friend. That subject is touchy and I hate to get preachy. But I did promise you I would discuss it, So here you are - stop harassing me - you've won, I'm fessing up to how I feel about it. "

The Code of Honor is protocol, a set of rules that is understood between friends when it comes to love and relationships; boundaries not crossed in order to preserve the friendship. It in a whole is too expansive to cover all at once, but for now let’s start with the basics:

Thou shall not covet thy friend’s current or past lovers.

It’s one simple commandment yet it’s become a fad to ignore it and be selfish on a whim for ones own desires and wants. This behavior is quite contagious, it seems. What happened to not getting “too close” and respecting the friendship? What is so hard to understand about this commandment? Just because it wasn’t engraved on tablets and carried down the mountain by Moses doesn’t mean it isn’t a sin. From the onset of any friendship, this is a HUGE no-no. You risk damaging a relationship with the one person who probably means the most to you. Once that happens, you might as well hold onto any apologies because they’re always a day late and a dollar short.

Still trying to comprehend all this? Have I confused you with the thou and thy? For the record, that means YOU. Now, there are two parts of that commandment I want to dissect. Count it off aloud: One, two. Now lift up your hand and use your fingers – uno, dos.

The first principle covers coveting a friend’s current lover.

There’s not much to say about this other than: If anyone who thinks it ok to break this one, you are a scumbag. Even if you’re just “thinking” about doing it, in theory, you’ve already put it into practice. In essence it is the equivalent to walking up to your friend, slapping them in the face, prying their mouth open, taking out their piece of candy, putting it in your mouth and running away. Sounds like an exaggeration you say? But tell me, how can one describe stealing from a heart?

Not entirely without shame, is the person who got involved with the stealer. They too share the blame, on the basis that they should have known better than to jump from one friend to another. It’s no different than dating someone and then moving on to his brother or sister. Coveting the current lover is a bold statement to your friend that your happiness means more than theirs.

Secondly, there’s coveting a friend’s past lover. In case anyone claims confusion as to the term and or definition of “past lover”, it does not mean someone they had a one-night stand with. Nor does the past have a time limit; the past is all involving, all including. Unfortunately, people waste time trying desperately to use this as an excuse. So, if you were thinking of using it, let me just say, it’s lame, unbelievable, and will more than likely get you some well-deserved physical therapy sessions. But if you still feign mental retardation as your choice, this select group is usually referred to as ‘the ex’.

Surely somewhere, some naive person is reading this justifying his actions. “You are so wrong PC girl,” I can hear them saying, “My friend wouldn’t mind; they would want me too be happy, no matter who it was.” To which I reply, “Your crap runneth over. "

They could have broken up five years ago; she could have cheated on him, he could have left her for someone else. Hell, he could have tried to run her over with his car and she had a restraining order put out on him. But you’d better not touch them! Friends only remember that person as their own. Their lips kissed, they shared the inside joke, the favorite song, etc… In their mind, that person holds a place reserved for past loves and you cannot interfere with that. It’s the tried and true time travel mantra: matter cannot occupy the same space at the same time.

No matter how big my soapbox gets, people will constantly try to make what’s wrong right again. “I know they used to be involved with my friend, but I’m in love. I deserve some happiness too.” I’m sure you do, just not there. Nice try, but we ain’t buying it. But perhaps I can interest you in some crap that doesn’t stink.

And for you select group of people that will try to do it on the sneak tip: It may work for a while, but when it blows up, duck. For anyone I know, trying this, doing this, wondering about breaking the “Code”, the muffled voice you hear on your machine saying, "I know you know I know you know I know." - That’s me.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-08-15T13:00:00.001-04:00

Let me just say up front that if you don't enjoy this weeks SSV then,
I'm sorry you don't get it...really I am.
I just don't what else to tell you.
I shouldn't have to convince you of it's hotness.

The heat, the sticky sweat over that golden skin, the white sheets, the 'yeah I'm in your personal space but I'm gonna sing in my sexy ass voice right next to your ear cause I know that turns you on', the tongue dancing (3:40) that makes me wanna stick cold Popsicles down my panties.

Who the hell else emotes such strong sexuality while stroking a guitar? Lord, the man has me cussing. I'm gonna just shut up and finishing watching the video - you watch too.

Playing Doctor With The Boys

2009-08-12T12:55:00.006-04:00

I have recently discovered that several of my male friends think I look like a "bobblehead" – but only when I loose a certain amount of weight, and apparently only from certain angles. The choice vantage point in which to view all this seems to be from above. After laughing, I considered what was said…"whoa", I replied. "What are you saying? You think I got a big head?" In response, I was informed that it’s not my head that I should be concerned about-it’s my body. You’ve read it right here folks! My low-grade body is making my head look bad.

One particular male friend squawked about my eating habits…"you’re starving yourself", he says. He proceeds to remind me of certain diets I participated in the past years. I’m asked to refer back to photographs from a trip we took together in 2001. OK, I’ll be the first to admit it. I looked particularly small in those photographs. But in my defense, I’ve got a healthy bustline and we all know that when things get bigger, other things seem smaller – but no one complained about that feature.

Ok. I’m not hurt by these comments. On the contrary, I laughed. I laugh at the ‘above’ or ‘overhead angles’ that they’ve mentioned. Now when I question how one would achieve looking at someone from those angles, I am told that it’s just because they are so much taller than my 5’2 and a half. Yet I think it’s the search for a better cleavage angle that has brought on the "bobblehead" theory. But no, not them, nah, not my guy friends…they weren’t trying to get a mental booby snapshot; merely trying to help me achieve the perfect body, so that I’ll be pleased…seriously, this is what they actually said.

Quite soon afterwards, earlier remarks about my head were followed up with "It’s not that you’re out of shape, or too skinny - it’s that we think (there’s the comments of the peanut gallery again) that you should focus on toning up. Let it all be in a tight little package. We think you should tone up your booty so that it matches your bustline." Which confuses me, because I was under the belief that I indeed did have a great booty - so the "no booty" remark was argued. I guess I sort of won that argument – at least, I think I did. He agreed that maybe he was wrong and generously offered to ‘take a closer’ look the next time I wear pants. He even had a suggestion "perhaps you should wear tighter jeans". Ok, I admit…it’s not a big booty, which is to imply that you can’t let’s say… sit a drink on it. But it’s firm, though obviously not firm enough or plump enough for my critic’s.

Concurrently running on the same marquee are "Why don’t we do something new with your hair", and, "Are you shaping up those legs?"

But again, I draw your attention to this sorted discussion of my anatomy – I’m not suggesting an obsession with me; I am however pointing to the fact that certain men enjoy playing at Operation. I suggest maybe they lean towards a slight obsession to have eye candy in front of them at all times, no matter if you are the girlfriend or best friend. I think they believe it to be well concealed as ‘healthy concern’, a wanting for you to be at your best. Yet I think they think ahead, planning accordingly for such occasions as:

Dining out – no questions asked, just a general public assuming that he is "with" the girl, not merely friends with the girl. I would also gather to say that public outings with a good-looking gal pals enhances their attractiveness to other woman within the radius– women who always seem drawn to the guy in the room who is already attached. Women who’ll want him two-fold if his companion looks good – let us not forget the severe misplaced jealously we women tend to carry if she is more attractive than we are.

I’ve seen the nods my guy friends get from other guys when they’re accompanied by a cute girl friend. I can only assume that the mutual nods are a form of guy points added to a membership card. I figure it must translate into some sort of machismo currency. So how many punches do you need on your card before you can get that free sandwich?

But I have been reminded that sarcasm isn't necessary because I have merely been told that this is all for the betterment of me. For the love and concern of a friend. Again, Yes! I know you find that laughable, but really, that’s what they said. But get this - I’m gonna do it. I’m going to spend extra time in the gym and tone up – for me.

I’m also going to return that concern and loving-kindness they’ve been showing me. I’m going to turn their figurative Post-its into literal ones. Ones that I can stick onto any body part of theirs that I believe could use a little shaping up. So that the next time any cute girls see us out together I can smile at them knowingly – let those oh so naughty little thoughts transfer from me to her. So that she and I may go and find a good high place to perch in the hopes that we too may enjoy a "bobblehead" view.

Getting It On With Jerrod

2009-08-12T12:45:00.000-04:00

So many guys I haven't gotten around to playing with yet - Jerrod is one of them.

Oh, we flirt back and forth but there's been no pay-off until now.

It's Jerrod 100th post over at his insane blog 'The Yellow Factor'.
For the occasion he decided to award his favorite blogs with The Yellow Snowball...

He also said some lovely things about the Politics:

"Politics Of Love - Her blog is like the hang out you want to be seen at and the drink you want in your hand."

So while I decide what to gift him with ;) you should go over and check out the blog if you haven't already.

The Yellow Factor

The Angst, The Idols, The Hughes

2009-08-10T16:56:00.004-04:00

I would have never made it through high school and all the frustrating teen angst and lusting without John Hughes. God I loved these movies - No one wrote about teenage relationships better than Hughes. He might have been older but he remembered what the teenage years were like and wrote it out in perfection.

RIP John 1950-2009

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-08-08T13:00:00.003-04:00

Oh, stop whinning - I know you've had Shakira already (you wish) on the SSV.

But in this second helping, Shakira's not only gone all European disco on us,
but she's included a cage, half an outfit, and a nude bodysuit that gives the
illusion of...well you know.

I trust you'll be chanting "I want to go there..." soon enough.

Damn you Shakira and your seductive flexing and bar grabbing.

Politics Of Love in Paris Video Blog- French Girls Vs. American Girls

2009-08-06T13:56:00.001-04:00

It starts getting really windy around 0:35 so here’s your translation…

Ted: there was this one girl I noticed on the Metro the entire way and I couldn’t stop looking at her…the girls here are unbelievable.

PC: Any difference between the French Girls and the American Girls?

Ted: I think French Girls…they don’t try to show off. I think that’s the biggest difference these girls are absolutely fantastic!

PC: they have a lot of confidence, don’t they?

Ted: Oh yeah…

Alex: They have this kind of attitude…they’re so laid back – real easy going, ya know? And…ah, it’s different. Like in the States people are really guarded, cold and conservative. Girls…people are a lot warmer here.

PC: Wow, not a lot of good things being said about American girls at all.

Ted: No, we don’t like American women

Alex: Where are you going from here?

PC: We’re going to go try and find some guys that actually like American girls

Alex: Sorry to disappoint.

Sex YOU Up

2009-08-04T12:40:00.004-04:00

My Week is not complete unless I read Dan Savages's column. Now those unfamiliar with his wonderfully jacked up Sex Column 'Savage Love' should definitely check it out. There's nothing like reading about weird fetishes or being amazed that he has to explain to someone why they shouldn't use someone else's butt plug. Really? Someone really had to be told that?

The only thing about reading the column is that it's always placed between ads such as these...

You simply can not advertise any bigger that you are indeed reading something smutty and perverted. And let's face it, I am. Yet does that shame me into refraining from reading this until I get home? Nope. I've been inking up my hands in city newspaper call girl sections for years to read good old 'Savage Love'. Dan even has a weekly podcast so now I download him directly onto the pod and rock out to 'Savage Love' during my train ride to work. But there's still something about grabbing the paper and anxiously flipping to the back to look for the column that I love.

My brain now filled with all sorts of perversion, feels a bit smarter, better informed I dare say. So today instead of spreading my skewed version of advice I'm promoting someone else's. I'm sexing you up with Savage. Check it out - thank me later.

http://www.villagevoice.com/advice/view/SavageLove/2009-07-30
http://podcasts.thestranger.com/savagelove/

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-08-01T13:00:00.004-04:00

All I need say is the Former Prime Minister,Tony Blair recounted in an interview how he nearly fell off his treadmill when this video came on. And we all know the British are smuttier than they want to let on...but come on, who are they kidding we've all seen 'those' BBC shows. So if it knocked his socks off, I think it's good enough for us.

The 'Boy You Looked So Good I Could Have...' PlayList

2009-07-28T15:02:00.004-04:00

I’ve been laying back and daydreaming this summer away. Sometimes I get caught up in the eye candy – in all the guys I’m not allowed to touch. I'd like to pretend that these things never cross my mind, that I'm just as gentle and harmless as a fly. But the hot & bothered look is getting harder to disguise. I’m trying really hard to be good. This is my summer of no casual hookups…my quest for more soul searching and less lip locking, less fondling, less nibbles on the neck, less sitting on the sofa so close that I can smell the soap off your just showered body.
I chew gum when I’m anxious or antsy and looking for something to do other than what I shouldn’t be doing. Needless to say I’ve been chewing a whole lot of gum since June.

This weekend I was at a block party that was full of good music and good vibes. Not to mention, some very tasty looking guys. And you know me – they walk by, the soundtrack in my head starts thumping and I start molesting people with my mind. What can I say, it was a hot and sultry day flowing freely with tunes and libations. Since I was a perfect lady and went through an entire pack of Orbit while keeping my hands to myself I’d like to release my frustration and post my ‘take me’ music here. What I love is how every guy brings a different song and a different vibe.

So enjoy my, “boy you looked so good I could have had you…
up against the wall,
down on the curb,
during the second set of that band,
while you were playing guitar,
sitting in that chair,
on that stoop,
on the rooftop,
as you were pushing that last bite of food into that lovely little mouth of yours” playlist.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-07-25T13:00:00.000-04:00

Sorry guys, today is not your day. Now is your last chance to look away.

Ladies, I'm willing to bet most of you have never seen this video before.
This is D'Angelo's 'How Does It Feel'
Rumors circulated once this came out-some say he had some help in achieving that look of ecstasy toward the end. ;) Guys protested that only a self absorbed ass would film something like this.

But when all was said and done and the camera started dipping lower and lower no one gave a rat's ass what people said. I mean now as your watching is anything important really coming to mind?

Nah, I didn't think so.

VH1 TV Shows | Music Videos | Celebrity Photos | News & Gossip

The Middleman

2009-07-22T05:45:00.000-04:00

Middlemen are reliable friends that serve as a go-between. Sometimes labeled: The Listener. Dubbed: The Cleaner. Alias: The Fixer. All arguments, love stories, trials, secrets, pondering, and revelations within the group are made in confession like ways to Middleman. These creatures of habit hold a thankless job requiring the ability to multi-task, decipher code, plan and prepare to prevent future mishaps, an eye for detail, and a great deal of tact. Middlemen shuffle information around like Recon Missions. They understand who needs to know what, and when – if at all.

For example…my middleman went on a road trip with a friend whom I’ve had my eye on. During their conversations my middleman made note of all dialogue that directly pertained to me. If the dialogue went astray he skillfully geared it back – without arousing suspicion. Afterwards, he filtered out what he believed should stay on a need-to-know basis, and delivered the rest to me. Now I know where I stand with the aforementioned friend - key information that helped me avoid a potentially embarrassing situation. In turn, I realize that any comments I made regarding that person was sent through the same filtering process and systematically delivered to the friend. You must always assume that he is the other friend's Middleman as well. So you only ask the questions you don’t mind being mentioned in return. Only fill your Middleman with information that you are not ashamed to have repeated.

Maybe you think it’s a horrible mistrust to use a Middleman to take care of my dirty business, but we all use one, maybe he or she is not on the books, maybe its’ just under the table work. But it’s completely legit because everyone is aware of the middleman’s job – he isn’t covert. You don’t think both parties are aware of the Middleman – please. They might not want to acknowledge the existence and need for one but they’re sure as hell not above using one.

All you need is an organized system; simple ground rules, perhaps you should add a disclaimer if you want to make absolutely sure your information stays with only him. Just make sure your disclaimer is mentioned at the start of the conversation to avoid confusion for the Middleman, information not officially sworn in at the beginning of a conversation can be stored in the wrong part of the Middleman’s brain and can therefore be sensitive to leaks.

There are a few minor medical side effects for the Middleman. Too much information coming in and not enough information going out can bring on bouts of nervous twitching, ulcers, migraines, high stress levels, addictions, lapse in memory, and occasionally temporary slap marks (due to information begged for, but not accepted relay). As of late my Middleman has started to exhibit these signs of job stress. The charts he used to keep up with all the information coming in versus what he doled out has started to converge-everything is a blur.

I used to be able to combat the symptoms by coaxing him into his favorite diner (familiarity is an essential key), tempting him with a stack of warm buttermilk pancakes, and a side of corned beef hash (comfort food). I’d wait until I could see the glaze of warm syrup that spread across his Pancake Mountain reflected in his eyes. Ever so slightly I’d increase the level of coffee in his cup (speeds up the heart rate, upping the level of information received). But now, he’s unresponsive to any motivational tricks.

Yes, my Middleman is running out of steam. They say that Middleman don’t have long careers, something about lack of job advancement/quick burnout. Frankly, I’m afraid he’s faking it all, trying to buy time in order to unionize. Then they’ll all start striking, demanding things like…salaries, therapy reimbursement, health benefits, personal days. So here I am abusing my writing privileges in order to thank him for everything – an attempt to quail the situation. I’m thinking about Middleman appreciation day…I wonder if that will work.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-07-18T13:00:00.000-04:00

I'll admit these days my weekends have been more for working than playing ;)
So this Saturday if you're slaving away like me, I give you permission to take a break and watch Chris Isaak's sinfully dreamy 'Wicked Game'.

Better yet, grab a cold beer first, press play and then wait for the tight shots.
I swear they'll make you feel like a perve watching from the corner.

Riding The Bitter Train - A.K.A. "The Other Woman"

2009-07-17T12:13:00.008-04:00

You guys are killing me with the requests (which I love - don't stop) but I'm afraid it's going to reveal the more unpleasant side of me. So, 'Wronged Girl'...you wanted to know if I'd ever been dumped - YES! And if I had been dumped you wanted to know how I got over it. Well, I used to write a little column like this years ago for a small paper in NY and the week I got dumped I made myself feel better by killing him in my column. Here's an excert of what went to press. I'll give you my disclaimer before you start reading; "Breakups make you crazy." Read on:

"Here I am riding the bitter train today going “woo, woo” at every stop. Been traveling on an all day ticket and I plan on riding to the end of the line several times. I know the passengers would appreciate it if I’d stop pulling the cord for every station stop. But I wanna see every place: Slapsville, Poke-ka-eyeout, Rolloveranddie, and ShesnotasprettyasIam. Then maybe, just maybe, after a day of wandering around these places contemplating what reasons he could have possibly had for leaving me for another woman - I might stem the urge I have to hurt someone.

I’ve already had my daily coffee dosage which may not have been too smart seeing as how my hand is a little jittery right now, all I need is a it’s not you its me and I could end the man’s life with this here stirrer. A plastic straw right through the heart and I’ll suck out all his lies and box him with them. Gonna be like Tyson at a bad fight, the sight of my glove coming towards his pretty face is gonna make pee run down his leg like a little girl locked out of the house after drinking a Big Gulp.

I suppose this is a cautionary tale: when you’re traveling alone on the train you have lots of time to imagine and daydream because the miles in between bore you. Only… my daydreams are becoming a little disturbing. I’d worry, but I really think he should. I’ve been trying to keep the voices down to a minimum-really, no more Lou Rawls singing, You're Gonna Miss My Loving. No more clowns telling me to run him over with their little cars. Though, I have dreamed of stampeding elephants making him no more distinctive then the gum squashed into the ground. Then they could really call it the ‘Greatest Show on Earth’."

That's it - I'm not letting you see the rest because it just got insane. I don't even know why my editor let me print it. I really believe there's no right or wrong way to get over being dumped because the emotions need to run their course. Though I did get a really great piece of advice when I was going through it, "Don't waste your time thinking about someone who's not thinking about you."

Since the ladies who post here have always given great advice I open up the floor to them, perhaps they might have same sage advice for you.

It's Why He Isn't Calling You

2009-07-15T10:55:00.010-04:00

To The Girl Who Emailed Me About Whether Or Not She Should Call Because He's Not,

I understand your anxiety. I have been there counting down the days till he calls, waiting for my phone to ring and signify his want to hear my voice. I've experienced the twenty-six days gone by and still nothing freak out. Those times where your fingers keep drifting towards the phone, they want to dial his number, but you've warned them that such behavior could get you hooked again.

But based on what you've told me it sounds like you gave away too much information too soon . This is why he hasn't returned your calls, and barely acknowledges your emails. If he does call you back, I'll bet you'll let slip that you’re upset by his behavior. Then, puzzled by the changing moods of his conversation you'll began to talk too much – rattling on about inane subjects just to fill the silence and the awkward moments in an last ditch effort to sustain this flailing conversation. I promise you that nothing good will come of that besides you instantly beginning to feel ill.

But if you do as most will anyway, remember the moment you started feeling ill because it's stemming from the dank, dark place in the pit of your stomach where all your insecurities dwell, just waiting to be regurgitated because you've come to the realization that you lost your cool points.

Don't feel bad, we women understand that the sheer emotion of liking a guy can somehow coax you into divulging more information in one sitting than he would have in an entire lifetime. It leaves you scrambling to try and remember all you said, what effect that had on him, what he might have been thinking about you as he listened to you ramble on, worse yet, how he views you now that he knows the whole shebang. And while you have eagerly divulged personal information, you'll find that afterwards, to recall anything he's said you’d have to scrape together his wanton words in order to make a complete sentence.

I think we get caught up on the sentiments, it's as if they were candy conversation heart messages. Packaged and disguised in array of pretty colors, they might as well be ‘artillery in a box’. The person you’re speaking with pulls back the tab on their box and drops one out; each piece a well sculpted curvature sent in to use as a smoke screen, fogging the brain. You’re dazed and can’t see through the well-scripted little phrases: “you’re cute,” “I love you,” “call me.” The more they use the more body blows they deliver. Eat enough of those and you’ll soon see they turn into chalk in your mouth; you’ll wind up scraping your tongue for the next half and hour.

Try to remember that too much information can be overwhelming and suffocating. Information about oneself should be dispensed over a goodly amount of time, to retain that fresh, oh so interesting viewpoint in their eyes.

So no, you're not going to fall to pieces if you don't hear from him…it's merely our vanity of wanting to be acknowledged that arouses those feelings. Just do yourself a favor and wait to hear from him first. Put yourself on a telephone strike – which is to say strike yourself with the telephone whenever the slightest urge to call him crosses your mind.

And the next time you talk, only reveal as little as humanly possible - keep some mystery alive there. Promise yourself that you’ll speak in as many words and syllables as released from the other person’s mouth, in order to gain even footing. Don’t allow the sound of their voice to make you become oh-so loosey-goosey. That fate will have them knowing the ABC’s of your entire world and you’ll somehow have only a fortune cookie idea of them…you’ll know everything and nothing at all. Give him sometime to digest what you've put out there.

*photo from Post Secret

And The Winner of the Best Sex Euphemism Is...

2009-07-13T17:39:00.007-04:00

SKYLER'S DAD!!

He's won a copy of "The Guide to Getting It On" By Paul Joannides
One of my favorite thick ole' paperbacks. Let's hope he puts it to good use.

I don't think anyone can deny that his entry rocked the house with filth and creativity:

"making the 2 backed beast.
getting some.
getting lucky.
rock the house.
bow-chicka-bow-wow.
bumpin uglies.
doin the deed.
gettin busy.
goin at it.
horizontal bob or mambo.
hittin skins.
organ grinding.
laying track.
plowing field.
the old heave ho.
play hide the cannoli.
a squeeze and a squirt.
batter dip the corn dog.
taking the skin boat to tuna town.
fill the cream donut.
pour sour cream on the burrito.

and my personnel fav:
take “old one-eye” to the optometrist"

Congrats! I'll be contacting you for your address.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-07-11T13:05:00.002-04:00

Well, if you are inside on this glorious Saturday then I'm gonna treat you
right on this Sexy Saturday...

Watch Justin and Ciara get closer than you and I ever will to either of them.
And if watching Justin's lips going up the side of Ciara's face & Ciara's tongue grazing Justin's ear doesn't turn you on - check your pulse - cause you're dead.

Sex Euphemisms

2009-07-08T09:41:00.008-04:00

Yesterday after reading Lilu's sexy innuendo fueled comment about last week's 'Sexy Saturday Video', I went crazy trying to list all the sex euphemisms I could think of. I even enlisted (rather forced) my friends to help - I think we made a decent go of it. But I feel like I must at least hit 50 before I'll feel satisfied.

So put on your dirty thinking caps and let's finish this list together! I want that comment section filled with filth! The best euphemisms is gonna win a dirty, dirty prize ;)

King my Castle

Rock my Boat

Swim to my Shore

Blow on my Whistle

Cream in my Coffee

Butter my Bread

Pour some sugar on me

Float my Boat

Clean the Pipes

Swing in my Jungle

Ride my Pony

Ring my Bell

Knocking Boots

Doing the Bump

Mattress Mambo

Horizontal Hokey-Poke with a Hot Beef Injection

Making Whoopee

Doing the Deed

Gettin' her Done

Putting in Work

Stuffing the Turkey

Putting the Pig in the Blanket

Cushion Pushing

*photo by Heathre

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-07-04T17:04:00.004-04:00

Please, please don't be in front of a computer reading this!
It's the freaking 4th of JULY!
Instead please be at a BBQ viewing this on your Iphone.

I'm with some sexy Indians right now which made me this of this video.
So what only half of it is in English...no one's supposed to be paying
attention to that anyway - not with all those sexy dancers in the background.
And my god if Abhishek Bachchan doesn't float my boat.

Interview With A Guy: The Big 'O'

2009-06-30T11:44:00.004-04:00

Politics Chick: So you figure most women lie about orgasms, huh?

Guy: Yes.

Politics Chick: I’m assuming you’re speaking from past experience. Why do you think you've been lied to?

Guy: Oh I know I’ve been lied to, my ex once told me she faked them with me. Maybe she lied because she was mad I broke up with her, but hey, I guess it could have been true. I'd rather know that I haven’t given you one than be lied to about it. I hate the lying!

Politics Chick: Maybe she wasn’t satisfied and didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so she fibbed about it.

Guy: Well, put it this way ... women, if you cum and you enjoy yourself let me know with your moaning. But if you don’t reach that ‘O’ status I want to know that too. It's better for you... if I think I'm giving you orgasms, then you'll never reach one... but if I know you haven't yet, then I'll keep trying harder to get you there and someday you will!

Politics Chick: So you're saying you won’t be deterred by it but spurred on?

Guy: Exactly ... if you haven't reached that point, then I need to do better. But if I think I'm already doing that, there's no reason to improve. Does that make sense?

Politics Chick: Yup.

Guy: Now if you laughed at me and said something like "you suck at this" or "you're too small”... Those types of things would be hurtful.

Politics Chick: To say the least. Do men fake it I wonder?

Guy: How would we fake it? I mean, you can tell if we cum and we can tell if you're wetter than normal.

I think most men think if they cum then they've had an orgasm and I have to be honest, I'm not sure if I've ever orgasmed. Not sure I know what it feels like to have that feeling of going beyond …

Politics Chick: I believe it’s entirely possible for a guy to pretend he came. But hey we don't have the same equipment so maybe I'm wrong. But it occurs to me that women are motivated by good sex and the emotion and when one is missing then the goal of the “O” is lost. Some men must require both (few I bet).

Guy: Actually, now that I think about it some more... I have noticed a difference from time to time so maybe I have. Who knows?

Politics Chick: Um, I think if you’d had you would know. I’m just saying…you know? You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.

Guy: I’m not. Why would you think I’d be…

Politics Chick: Anyway - my ex had said something to me before about not being able to orgasm because his girlfriend at the time started to feel like more of a friend than a girlfriend. He fakes it because he doesn’t know how to tell her that she doesn’t turn him on anymore. So I guess guys do pull a fake every now and then.

Guy: I did find that at the end of the relationship with my ex I was never in the mood even though she still looked the same as when we started dating and she still had great moves in bed. But I just couldn’t get aroused. We lived together and probably didn't have sex once the last month we were together, she would try and I just couldn't and didn't want to. Something just turned off.

Politics Chick: Ouch...it doesn't get anymore humiliating than that. Not to get technical or anything, but that not faking, that’s just not doing it.

Guy: Well I felt bad! Doesn’t that count?

Politics Chick: No.

**For the record, and before I get the angry emails. I do believe in Global Warming

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-06-27T13:00:00.005-04:00

You know the drill - it's Saturday - you're home and I felt sorry for you
So I left you this Sexy Saturday Video.
Now, the men may not be so happy with this Saturday's Post.
But this is for the ladies.

This video, this song, these lyrics, that voice...yum.
That combo could find me befuddled, in the corner, twisting my hair, saying something like
"...and the next thing I knew my panties fell off."

Enjoy ;)

Email Virginity

2009-06-25T16:40:00.004-04:00

It’s like a flashback - I touch the Home Row…he touches me.

I type my first letters, unravel my first thought, layers of emotions are peeled off, leaving me as vulnerable and naked as the first time. It’s so unfamiliar yet exciting, spine tingling and painful.
This is a big step for me. I’m still hesitant to expose myself.

I’ve spent the first few awkward moments wondering if my body was fit enough. Then I realize he’ll never see it. Great! Now I’ll spend the next few wondering if he’ll be attracted to me, without the perfect abs, the designer clothing, the makeup and everything else we mistakenly use to seem ideal in another persons eyes.

AAUGHH! What is it about sending out the first email to someone you have even the remotest feelings for that makes you so nervous? I mean, it’s not as if I’m trying to convince him to procreate with me. I’m just looking to come across as smart, sassy and funny.
Not too much too ask for, right?
So why is it that with every keystroke I feel like I’m putting on more layers than taking off? Brick by brick, I’m building a wall to protect myself from what might be waiting for me on the other side of a @dot-com address.

This is precisely why we ask for email addresses – it’s easier than speaking face to face and you can avoid those deadly silences that occur during your first phone conversation. Personally, I appreciate the freedom that comes with emailing. If I were left without its saving grace, I’d be reduced to relying on my menu of stupidity to guide the way. Believe me, those choices don’t exactly paint me in a flattering light, they make me seem, how shall we say, special, and not in the ‘rare/extraordinary’ sort of way.
I instantly become that android from a sci-fi flick; suddenly as I come across an obstacle, before my eyes appear a screen with well-calculated options based on the probabilities of a good outcome. Got this picture in your head?
OK, now knock out the words well-calculated and good outcome. We’ll keep probabilities but let’s crop it down to probable, because it’s more than probable that these options will appear instead:
a. freeze
b. run
c. stutter like Rain Man
d. all of the above – guaranteed to be the floor show option
What is that! It’s as if I confused the emergency procedure on what to do if you’re on fire with meeting a guy - Stop, Drop, and Roll!
I’m witty! I’m intelligent. All I want is to convey that in this email. It should all be so simple. I’m trying to keep some perspective here - after all they’re just words, sentences, paragraphs and maybe a Love, The Politics Chick thrown in somewhere at the end.

The reality is that if you say something stupid in your first email your chances could be blown, forever. Face-to-face advantages are lost in realm of cyberspace; a person can’t just overlook your mistakes and focus on you. When you’re face-to-face, you might be thinking… “God, he pronounces that word wrong one more time, I’ll scream.”
But, you could become oblivious to this if perhaps the words are accompanied by an exotic accent. Maybe it works better for you if you have the ability to focus in on their beautiful face. “Yeah,” you keep telling yourself, “stare at their wonderful face and I’ll get through this dreadful, ungrammatical conversation.”

But with email, accidentally misspell a word (or oftentimes, words) and the person on the receiving end is thinking, ‘Well, she never won any spelling bees, did she?’ If you put your commas and semicolons in the wrong place, you could have meant to convey your feelings one way but you now you’ve goofed, leaving the receiver ample opportunity to read something else into it - now you’re being served with a restraining order.

Factor in the time you’ll spend waiting for a response back, while you try not to obsess over the reaction and conclusions the other person will be drawing from your email, and now you’re dealing with a person a little less stable than before they had pressed SEND.

It’s completely mind-blowing to know that our personalities are out there; traveling through cables, sitting in in-boxes, waiting to be opened, judged, and sentenced. Come on! Look at what it’s doing to us! Here we are sitting in front of our computers chanting these crazed mantras: “Come on, baby…save my email…save me, baby…press save…don’t delete me…file me in your folder.”

I once received an email that was so dorky, I just have to believe that the pressure of the first email got to him and caused him to write: “Yes my little sunflower. Do you like that? Because that’s what you remind me of. You will wilt unless you let me water you (I suppose that means let me take you out on a date and feed me. God, I hope that’s what it meant). Sunflower, your petals are so pretty.” Hey, I’m sure he didn’t mean to sound psychotic. But that night, I had a nightmare about some rabid gardener ringing my doorbell, trying to coerce me into going out with him.

I’m telling you this because you need to stop and think. Please stop and think about what you about to say! You can’t bring that email back after you’ve pressed send no matter how you cry and repeat over and over ‘No, no’. There is no second e-mail virginity! At least not a legal one. You know what I’m referring to. So if you do have his/her password, please remember that it is a violation, not to mention somehow very morally wrong to pry into another persons email without permission.

I’m stressing now. Somewhere in the world, things more pressing than my first email are taking place. But I’m not aware of them, I’m too busy being intimidated by the sins my keyboard has yet to commit. But then again, his email address is burning a hole through my pocket, and I get all tingly just knowing that I can make direct contact with him. Perhaps he’ll like my message so much that it compels him to read it over and over and over again. This could spawn continuous emailing, relating, online laughing, late night chatting on instant messenger. Somewhere in between breaths, when my fingers are close to pressing SEND, I want to forget all the worrying and end it all with a press of a button.

You wait and wait until you think the right one has come along…but is he worthy?
Will the return email live up to your expectations? Will he? Everything’s so clumsy, exciting, spine tingling and painful in the beginning…but you’ve just got to keep on going…right? I mean, you only lose your virginity once.

Therapy For Friends

2009-06-22T01:23:00.000-04:00

Administering therapy to your friends is a tricky thing. The mere fact that you regard the person as a friend refers you to the unwritten book of rules. Every sect has got their own set of guidelines that they follow, but some rules are just hard and fast, they translate into any society, no matter the language barrier or difference in tax bracket. We have a common ground, a foundation of sorts that we base morally sound friendships on. Maybe your wording is a bit different then mine, but it’s a needless to write down; mere common sense rules and I bet it goes a little something like this…

"The Giver, ‘he who gets his life’s blood sucked out’ must have an opinion when asked for one. He must also freely dispense his or her thoughts when requested, with no regard to its being contrary to what said friend wants to hear. The Taker, ‘he who bothers you with questions pertaining to the meaning of it all never to follow said advice’, is under no obligation to pay for or appreciate the given advice. ”

The ruling is pretty unfair if you are in the position of the Giver, but the rules however are binding. Personally, I have never seen the scenario played differently. But in my head I have imagined the Giver having the foresight to be an entrepreneur like Lucy from the Peanuts strip. The Giver could set up a stand and charge for their advice, making sure as hell to get more then five cents for it. Maybe, five cents a word could work if they could drag out their responses all while recording them on a tape player to keep accurate account and get every cent owed to them.

On second thought, that may not be the best way to handle these types of situations. I wouldn’t even be prone to this wild imagining if it weren’t for the fact that had I’d gone to school to be a shrink, I might actually be getting paid for my gems of advice. It almost made me faint when I calculated just how much I might have earned from my basket-case friends. Figuring in the amount of hours they’ve spent on my couch, the late night phone sessions, all the emergency happy hour drinking, the weekend road trips/ getaways to detox the best friend. Multiply all the hours striped from my youth that I’ll never get back, times the going rate in psychiatry these day’s, and I figure I’m owed seven thousand and five hundred dollars and eighty-seven cents for the past two months alone. Quite honestly, I’m rounding down.

To be fair, not everyone has that kind of money laying around earmarked for the express use of maintaining mental sanity – which is why most of us have friends in the first place. We can afford the booze that goes very nicely with the conversation about passed over promotions, cheating mates, etc. What we can’t afford however is the time it takes out of a busy schedule to actually see a professional, let alone pay a professional to humiliate us by telling us what we already now but don’t want to apply. But our friends, they already know we’re crazy and broke.

I’m beginning to visualize some sort of barter system. For every piece of wisdom I dole out they would have to fulfill one wish off of my payment list; the payment list consisting of a number of decent options that they can choose as alternatives to real currency. After a fair amount of advice had been doled at to said friend, my checklist of payment options would be mailed out to them. They would simply check off which option best suits their budget, mail the form back and I would collect when the opportunity presented itself.

For example…

( )One, guilt free ride to work.
( )One, candy of my choosing for our next movie outing.
*Candy must come from the concession stand; picking it up from the drug store on the way to the theatre is forbidden.

Now let’s just agree that some of our friends need more help than others. They require what might be viewed as a more than a monetary amount of tuning up in order to run smoothly. So if the therapy has been taking place on a ‘more than normal’ amount of time I’d be forced to up the anti. It's not gouging, but special circumstances call for special rates. Lets’ look at it from a worldly perspective; if you were on a cruise ship and had to see the Ship’s Doctor, he would have a separate rate for a weekday visit and a weekend visit. Heck, there’s a different rate for day and night hours. If that doctor has to step away from his dinner table or interrupt his weekend excursion in order to see you, get ready to pay double for that tummy ache you could have averted by staying away from the mid-afternoon surprise sushi hour on the Lido deck. I speak from experience.

So I’d mail out what I like to call the High Rollers card.
Select one of the following – and please, to avoid altercation, pay promptly. Thank you.

( )One (unused) ticket to a Yankees game.
*Home games only – away games only incur further cost for me. And lets face it, if you’re receiving this card I’ve paid enough already.
( )One $20 gift certificate.
*The certificate must not bare the following store names or include the combination or use of the following words: less, discount, why, land, world, bargain, or hut.

Once their form is filled out, returned and fulfilled, I could again spill out my never-ending jewels of wisdom till it was time to start the billing cycle again. Now if you do decide on this route, let me suggest you only run a tab for your very good friends as a gesture of good faith. Everyone else pays or you don’t play (i.e. send over your goons).

For years I have made wild speeches and keen observations in accordance to my friend’s problems. These pearls of wisdom were golden; they were “I have a Dream” quality! But alas, in one ear and out the other. Regardless of how many times they ask for it, you always hear “You're wrong, it’s not like that”, only days later to hear, “You were right. Why didn’t I listen to you?”
My personal favorite is “I can’t believe you let me do that!”

Why do they waste God Given talent? Had they been forced to go to some shrink who charged them a hundred bucks an hour, they’d be like monks waiting to hear wisdom fall from the lips of the Dalai Lama, the advice would be precious and they’d snort it like coke.

But why should they buy it when we’re giving it out for free? But I know another saying, we hear this phrase all the time. You get what you pay for.
Before I rock the system and institute my new barter system, I’ve been trying to alleviate the burden of my Giver duties by using what I’ve since tagged as the ‘Fortune cookie one liner’. It’s currently being used on a trial basis. You can try it, it’s very simple. For every problem you are asked for advice on stop and give your friend a look of genuine pondering. Wait a few minutes to give the illusion of deep thought – your body language should say “I am calculating and the pros and cons of this highly interesting conundrum.” Then in response use a generic, homogeneous statement: Ask and ye shall receive. Follow the urgings of your heart, not your mind. Be quick; lest the race be won be
someone else.

I figure these responses pretty much cover a wide spectrum of questions. You can’t really get into trouble with answers like these, because, they basically say nothing and everything all at once. Hopefully, you like I, will come off looking wise, throwing to the untrained ear what will seem like cool eastern philosophies. Most essentially it will allow you to retain the good stuff to impress the new friends you are bound to receive.

At least, that’s what my last fortune said.

The Sexy Saturday Video

2009-06-20T13:00:00.002-04:00

It's Saturday and you shouldn't be here reading this, you should be out having fun and creating havoc. But if you are stuck inside watch the Sexy Saturday Video - it'll make you feel better.

Why?

Because even if you don't understand Spanish they still sound sexy as hell.
Because that's freaking Alejandro Sanz in the video!
Because the Reggaeton versions are always dirtier.
Because everyone knows she's hot - even I have to admit that if I met Shakira and thought about her sliding across the table simultaneously, I'd start to stutter...

Catch ya Monday ;)

Sappy Song Blog: Love Me Or Leave Me

2009-06-18T16:36:00.017-04:00

Ok Dearies, this is a Song Blog. Press play and then read on.

A couple of nights ago during a movie that I waited two months to be available on my Netflix queue, I was barraged with text messages.

The texts came from a guy I dated over three years ago. I thought myself to be madly in love but it didn't work out, mainly because he kept running into and touching other women that he swore the universe was sending his way. After a years of being continously reshelved I dusted myself off so he could clearly see my expiration date for his crap had well past.

Because of the recent events I’ve been playing and replaying, Nina Simone’s, “Love me or Leave me,” as we both discover the intricacies of that crazy ball of love as it bounces from the lovelorn to the loveless.

Love has a bad way of timing. It’s never a choice decision who you give your heart to. One moment it's just having fun and the next someone’s stealing it away.
I want to ask of my heart, “Do I get to have an opinion, can I have a thought of my own?!”
My biggest gripe is that my ‘someone’s’ don’t seem to be working out.
I’ve come to the point where I’d like to return them.
I’ve still got the receipts - in some instances I never even opened them.
It may be hard to return the others... the bubble wrap was just too tempting.

Why do my products have so many defects? By saying ‘products’ I do mean guys. I hate to objectify but I’m into associations now, so bare with me. I mean come on - just like a product, we see you, we buy you, and then we apply you. Typically like so many others I have purchased before you never work and I can’t take you back because I already used you. So you wind up in my bathroom closet in the corner on the second shelf where all the others go to die.

Three years later on a lazy Saturday afternoon with nothing else to do I’ll decide to clean up a little and go into that closet systematically throwing out everything and wondering why I ever brought them all in the first place. So I can’t help but wonder, is it my love or do my guys have defects?

So Nina and I continue to break down our song of heartache in a way that only those all too familiar with that bastard love can understand…“Love me or leave me and let me be lonely/you won't believe me but I love you only/I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else”

Grandiose sounding, isn’t it? I imagine that Nina herself was hopelessly lovesick singing in some smoky, dim lighted club. In an elegant dress she moved about the stage, floating her woes out to the crowd on her gossamer wings of a voice - evoking emotional nods of the head, thoughtful tapping of fingers on the tables. She’d look like she meant every word of this song. She sang it for everyone suffering through these great catastrophes of the heart…“you might find the night time the right time for kissing/night time is my time for just reminiscing/regretting instead of forgetting with somebody else…”

But I’ve come up with a theory to Nina’s, and mine, and yours; in love we sometimes make stupid mistakes at the urging of our hearts, but we are hard pressed to regret them. Our hearts know that in order for it to be happy now - at this moment, it must hold tight to its sanity. It must believe that the love we received was well worth the pain it caused in the end.
How else would we keep getting people to sing tragic yet beautiful love lost songs that we drown ourselves in…“there'll be no one unless that someone is you/ I intended to be independently blue” .

When Nina sings I can feel myself drowning in the reminder of that feeling when there's misery inside your love, and I love knowing that somewhere someone else is listning to this and knows the same ache.

Now maybe Nina doesn’t do it for you; I’m just sharing my song - the one that makes me wail.
While I go on strutting down the streets of Philly looking for, Mister Right, I’m going to feel a little better knowing that even if the next one fails I’m going to keep trying until I do succeed. Because heck, even if he isn't reliable I'll always have Nina.

Potential Whatever

2009-06-16T12:22:00.010-04:00

Potential Whatever (pō•tĕn•shăl hwŏt•ěv´er): a phrase used to describe an individual who won’t make the final cut.

The foretelling of a Potential Whatever comes from that gut feeling we sometimes get. It’s when we know that the relationship we’re in won’t make it through the calendar year. Basically, it’s when the person you’re dating has the potential to wind up in near imminent conversations in this manner:

Your friend: “So how’s insert Potential Whatever’s name here?”
You: “Who?”
Your friend: “You know, PW’s name goes here again.”
You: “Who?” (By now you are rolling your eyes.)

Everyone’s harbored a PW at one time or another. What makes us hold on to them for so long? Wrong as it may sound, they generally tend to have a good shelf life. These temporary products consume your time for the moment providing that quick fix when you need it. The problem with indulging in a Potential Whatever is the fact that they have to expire. The fun runs out, your patience runs out, you stop dreaming and reality steps in. You get to the point where nothing they say, do, or have is going to make them worthy in your eyes. Now the only potential they’ve got going on is the potential to make you sick.

Maybe you were the one who started the relationship and now you feel like being the one to end it would be unkind. Even so, staying in a relationship that you’ve come to realize has reached its expiration date makes you the user in the union. Yeah, I said user. Knowingly walking into or staying in a relationship with a PW based selfishness and a wanton attempt at trying to fulfill your own desires makes you the user. There are consequences in staying the course in this type of relationship. The trappings in this course of action occur when the PW catches on to their own sure demise and that’s when they become Masters of relationship manipulation.
When a PW catches wind of your knowledge of them possessing a ‘good thru’ date, to stay in the game they need to divert your attention elsewhere with Vegas-style illusions. The PW has no intention of bailing out on you so they’re not about to make it easy for you to send them to the place where products go to die. Their showy display of exploitation comes in varying types of poison. I’ll just list the deadliest concoctions:

The Skillfully Planned Unreturned Phone Call - You will try to end it an in environment that is safe for you - the less damage the better. No pieces to pick up-just a phone to hang up. But the PW is clever, they have more experience in ditching the blows. T here’s no way they’re going to let you catch them on the phone. Therein lies the bait; more than likely, no one has ever ignored you so expertly. This move is delivered to spur you on to frenzies of unparalleled proportions even if you’re hesitant to say it out loud. It’s the old way of making you want what you can’t have. Somehow you are coerced into believing their hype. Before you know it you’ll start thinking that perhaps you were about to make a horrible mistake by letting them get away.

The Catch Lines - “I really wanted you to get to know the real me.”
It’s a thought planted and left to linger, arousing and stimulating the brain into thinking that they are a viable option for future appearances. They become literal thieves of your mind and time-casually alluding to having personality, persona, dreams, and goals. Words pour out of their mouths slowly, drizzling like honey over your reasoning only serve to disguise their real agenda here – survival.

They’ll play on your sympathy claiming to need help and protection from the harsh world, pretending to be scalded, scarred, and trumped in the tragic burden that is their life - and you’ll fall for it if you're not careful. Trust me, it's not worth it, over time they slowly revert to what they were before. The gauze will fall from your eyes to reveal the same PW you were trying to rid yourself of in the beginning.

But don’t go back! This burden of being with the wrong person will wear on you, cause you to start canceling dates, lack the ability to communicate, notice nothing substantial about your life anymore, think that the phrase "it’s better to give than receive" only applies to you. If that happens you'll become the damaged goods and the PW will tire of you and start making eyes with other people in your presence, start introducing you as a friend, talk to you one minute and ignore you the next, make flirting without ever soulfully committing to someone a sport. You can take a breath now. You will wind up being dumped by the PW instead of the other way around.

If what I’ve said here sounds strangely familiar, then come on! Let them go. A person’s flaws should be ones that you finally don’t think you need a Band-Aid for, because if you’re trying to bandage them they’re sure to be your “Potential Whatever”.

Sexy Saturday Video

2009-06-13T13:00:00.002-04:00

Cause it's Saturday and you shouldn't be here reading this - you should be out having fun and creating havoc.

But if you are stuck inside then you deserve a little flirty fun, a little lusty loving.

So enjoy your Sexy Saturday Video.

Catch ya Monday ;)

The Third Wheel Manifesto

2009-06-11T15:16:00.000-04:00

Couples, these musings you are about to read are the collective sighs we let out every time we are asked to be “The Third Wheel”. We as your friends realize that you don’t mean to deposit upon us the guilt and shame that comes along with this status, but, you must realize, you are different now. You used to be one of us, the single, grazing few who look up from the grass every now and then to gaze lazily across the plain, but you’ve been picked off - taken from the herd.

Being the Third Wheel makes us feel semi-pathetic, because if we’re available to go out with you that usually means we didn’t have better plans ourselves. Now, I suppose that when I start dating again someone will register the same complaints with me, but until then, I’m trashing this antiquated buddy system.

When I think of three, I think: odd number…disharmony… three’s a crowd.

People stare at us when we’re trailing behind you; pitying us like we’re some poor, humpbacked, misshapen creature from a horror movie. Forget trying to offer a rebuttal, because let me assure you that my sources are strong. In order to relay accurate and reliable statistics, I required that all “Wheels” have at least thirty hours or more out in the field before they could participate in this study. These poor souls and I only hope that you take heed to our research as well as our pleas.

What is agreed upon, according to most Wheels are the following: once you start dating, it’s as if your new personality arrived from a parallel universe. It’s bizarre; you seem to have lost brain cells. Apparently you all possess dictionaries that only supply pet names like ‘Boo Bear’, ‘Honey Love’, ‘Noodle’, ‘Cupcake’, ‘Pumpkin’ and ‘Love Muffin’. I mean, are those names or menu items? Are you dating them or eating them?

Ever notice that when you engage us in conversation using these names that we supply a look of confusion and proceed to ask you “whom are you referring to”? You follow-up by saying, “you know who I’m talking about, I’m talking about my boo.”

"Oh. Your boo."

Now listen up, because you NEED to know this. We WANT you to know this. First, yes, we do know whom you’re speaking about. But our rulebook on such matters clearly state… in order to preserve ones dignity a reply of no is required, yes, a firm, “no, I don’t know who you’re talking about”.

This allows us to retain some self-respect. This is not story time; you are not reading to children. Please, spare us and use their real names.

Second, sitting. There are major problems with the seating arrangements. We, as the minority, realize that there’s no solution, no better way to handle it, but it doesn’t mean we have to like it. We don’t want to be alone on the aisle two rows behind you; it’s lonely and obvious. Problem is, if we sit with you, you don’t really want us there and furthermore it’s not our idea of fun to watch you cuddle, swap spit and play with each other’s hair through a two hour movie. So, basically, it’s a case of screwed if you do, screwed if you don’t.

There have been complaints made by other “Wheels” that good movies are being ruined on account of insane, uncalled for acts of lovey-doveyness…and in public view nonetheless!

One Wheel said, “I was sitting there enjoying my popcorn, when BOOM! Out of nowhere the couple began taking turns sipping from the same straw repeating to one another, “…and one for you and one for me…” I became so physically ill I had to excuse myself and use the ladies room.” Couples, this behavior and utter lack of respect for your Wheel has to stop!

So low on the totem pole is the Wheel that it is now being compared to Chinese Water Torture; every outing like a slow drip.

Waiting in the car while you the two of you commence a thirty-minute goodnight.

Drip…

Having to watch you no longer realize how to walk independently, always holding hands, apparently, in order to stand up straight.

Drip…

Asking us to do our own thing for about an hour and then meet you back at the car after you invited us to hang out with you!

Drip…

Now for the record, there are exceptions. Some “Wheels” have reported pleasant times accompanying their friends. They said being treated as part of a group and not apart from it was entirely refreshing. I assure you this is not a common occurrence; they happen about as often as pink elephants are spotted.

Reality of the matter is, even though I state and claim these things, I’m a sucker when it comes to my friends and suckers get sucked in. So, until I learn my lesson or retain the will power to say no, chances are that’ll be me you see sitting behind two people gazing into each other’s eyes. I’ll be the one staring off into space wondering what I should have said to avoid all this. I’ll be thinking I should have handled this situation as one wise doctor might have:

“I do not like to be the wheel.
I do not think it’s a fair deal.
You have me sitting in the back.
It’s worse than being on the rack.
I would not like to meet you there.
And would I like to drive you where?
It’s like you’ve gone and lost your mind.
I’ll tell you this just one more time.
My brain is fried, I think no more.
I’m slowly gagging on the floor.
And if you ask me one more time,
I swear I’ll poke you in eye.”

Or something like that.
photo by John Fraissinet

Men and Toilets

2009-06-09T12:33:00.006-04:00

Coupling had to be one of the funniest British shows EVER. It dealt with relationships and all the funny differences between men and women. So for all the guys who feel like breaking into occasional rants about your toilet freedoms - this is for you.

Interview With A Guy: Relationship Timing

2009-06-05T13:15:00.007-04:00

So this week I had the extreme privilege of paying the PPA for parking violations. One is for an expired meter, and the other for staying thirty minutes over my 2hr space limit.

Apparently this week my timings been off – which got me to thinking about the timing in relationships. Must of us make up and operate by these ridiculous rules about who calls who first and who should make the first move. Personally I just like to follow the vibe, but I wanted to get a guy’s viewpoint on it. So I sat down with a guy to discuss, ‘Timing’. Enjoy.

The Politics Chick: I keep trying to understand the gist of Timing when it comes to relationships, particularly the guy’s take on it.

Dude: People make up these silly rules about when it's the right time to call someone after you find out that you like them. Like, when is it the right time to actually tell them that you like them or when is it the right time to go on a date? My rant is: who made these rules anyway? And why should we obey them?

Is this an ok topic? Is it practical? Or just plain dumb?

The Politics Chick: No, this is good stuff - keep going.

Dude: I mean, sometimes people miss out on things because their friends tell them that they shouldn't call right away or that they should wait for other person to call you first. But does it really matter who makes the first move or when it should be made? Sometimes relationships never get a chance because some people are just too afraid to break these rules and take a chance.

The Politics Chick: You got that right.

Dude: Sometimes people fall into misunderstandings. For example, "Well, (he) or (she) didn't call me, so that means that they don't like me." IDIOT! Hello?! You never really know for sure what's going on until you actually do something instead of speculating on conclusions that aren’t based on solid proof. I personally feel that these "timing rules" are for kids who like to play childish games. In the real world - love, relationships, and romance; these things are for adults. Well, for adults who act like adults.

The Politics Chick: Well said. Do you think that some are inclined to speak up first but sike themselves out before they get the chance?

Dude: Yes, out of fear of rejection. But you either take that chance or face the infamous consequences of "if-I-only-made-that-move-when-I-had-a-chance" bit. I know it's easier said than done.

The Politics Chick: Tell me about it... when the moment comes, it’s less than thrilling and never as well executed as you'd planned in your mind.

Dude: I personally let a lot of wonderful girls slip away for the simple fact that I was more concerned about how and when I should say something until I realized that I was wasting valuable time. Next thing I knew, someone else who wasn't afraid to speak up beat me to her. That's why these "timing rules" sometimes don't work out as planned. But then again, you always have that contrast....

The Politics Chick: So what are your thoughts on girls being the ones to speak up first? Forward or compelling?

Dude: Well that depends on the situation and the guy. I mean, if guy likes a girl and he knows that the girl likes him and she makes the first move...well...GREAT! Less work for him, but there has to be mutual interest that is noticeable on both ends. Some guys get intimidated when a girl comes on too strong. In my case, if a girl makes a first move and I already like her, I go for it. No questions asked. Some guys prefer to have that control over the matter; it just depends who you are.

The Politics Chick: Okay, well, talk about the "control", what’s having control over the matter?

Dude: Well, guys tend to like to be the ones who plan things out, make the decisions on how things are going to work, down to the very detailed pickup line to get the girl. It's a lot work in planning these things and we take pride in doing it. When things turn out just as we planned it . . . AHHH, VICTORY! As men, we've conquered, triumphed, scored or whatever you want to call it. When that happens, we feel more like a man because we did it…we took control of the matter. It's a man thing.

The Politics Chick: Unbelievable! Do you need some raw meat now?

Dude: I know it sounds stupid but that's nature. When a girl does it first it's intimidating because she took the role of planner and executor and all our hard work, all our ideas were for nothing. There's no excitement, no challenge, which sometimes leads to a complete turnoff for the guy-especially if he doesn't like her in the first place. I guess it goes back into ancient times...when men were always considered the hunters. Are you getting all this?

The Politics Chick: Oh I’m getting all this. Let me make sure I understand this; I wouldn’t want to misconstrue anything. In other words...if the girl really was being honest, and the guy liked her, but she came on first and he's put off by it, everyone loses out?

Dude: NO, that’s not always the case. Like I said, it depends on the guy. If the girl comes on too strong then...yeah, maybe the guy wouldn't like it. But if she's sneaky and clever (which girls are experts of), the guy is easy prey.

The Politics Chick: Ok, so now we’re sneaky. I’m sorry I must have been crazed thinking that guys have ulterior motives. Please tell me… what do you consider too strong?

Dude: Definitely too much touching too soon. I forget that I have to speak in general terms since most guys have sex as a primary goal and that would be a turn on. Like I say, everyone is different. I don't like it when I just meet a girl and she's already caressing my hand or putting her head in my lap when we're not at that ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ stage.

The Politics Chick: Ah. Well thanks; you've been tons of help.

Dude: I'm glad to assist. Hey wait, are you going to trash me like you did that other guy in your 'Wanted Ad' blog?

The Politics Chick: Me? No . . . never.

The Restaurant Files Present: Another “Food in Exchange For Sex” Metaphor

2009-06-03T13:14:00.007-04:00

Location: Brooklyn Heights, NY

Scene of the Crime: La Traviata Restaurant

I was sitting at a cramped table in the back of my favorite restaurant with two good friends who, for the duration of this conversation, will be referred to as ‘Frankie’ and ‘Annette’ (of course they’re aliases). It was a Friday night after a long day of work.

Somewhere in between our second and third glasses of house wine, the hysterics broke out. Yes folks, it doesn’t take much for us (i.e. we are CHEAP dates). No, seriously, wine will do that -open Pandora’s Box. Every thought jumps out of your head and starts slapping you silly. Think not? Then come on down and watch; I guarantee you a show. We know we could get at least five bucks outta you, and that’s just about enough to cover another glass of wine.

Then came the moment of truth - the food arrived! Our lovely waitress sat before Frankie a plate filled with Porchetta on a bed of fettuccine, soaking in red sauce. Annette was served Calamari with linguine in a sweet tomato sauce, and for your stunning storyteller: Baked chicken on a bed of angel hair pasta doing backstrokes in the lemon-garlic sauce, little piles of pasta taking swim breaks on banks of ricotta cheese and chives.

First bite and I swear the pasta curled up and started massaging my back. The meal is so good that Frankie was later found leaning back in his chair, head against the wall, eyes closed . Annette was discovered moaning and repeating the words, “Why, why, why,”. While I am reminded of similar sensations; mid-summer in the kitchen cutting up ripe mango's, it’s fleshy pulp sliding through my fingers, the juice running down my arm - the stickiness.

Now, all I have to say is that when food starts doing this to you, it’s a warning sign. Get yourself a man, a woman, get something! Cause you’re just one step away from the vapors and they can knock you out.

See, I figure it this way: when food starts taking you places, giving you strange romantic-type notions, it’s because you’re missing a vital thing - companionship. If you've arrived at this place then you’ve probably noticed yourself become a slave to the #1 signs of loneliness: Ben and Jerry’s. You’re making one too many stops at the drug store and it ain’t for pantyhose; you are a willing participant in any “Buy three candy bars-get one free!” deal.

There is a void in your love life and you’re looking to fill it with Mister Right or Misses Right, or maybe just a Mr. or Ms. I’m-Comfortable-With.

You are vulnerable so please proceed with caution, because at times like this we are bound to make mistakes. Like, when you thought that last piece of cake at your cousin’s wedding would make you feel better. Puh-LEASE.

Good and healthy food - not unlike a good partner - can be filling. It can make you moan and leave you satisfied, but sometimes you can get a bad meal from an awfully good restaurant. It’s what I like to refer to as an “off night”. Give all restaurants leeway for this, but if they continually produce bad meals then you simply must eat someplace else. I think you know what I’m trying to convey. I know this is hard, when he or she…oops, I’m sorry we’re using metaphors here. What I meant to say was - I know this is hard - it’s your favorite place and you love that old jukebox that has those great song selections. But if the songs never change and the records start skipping, will you still keep feeding it quarters?

Be careful and don’t let your heart make all the decisions; use that noggin that God gave you. Having doubts? Don’t push them aside - investigate and weed the crazy ones out! Or else you’ll wind up like my friend.

There she was in the passenger seat of her date’s car, the destination supposedly a surprise. At a toll booth, her date throws the toll out of his window; it misses the basket, rolls under the car and when she goes into her purse to get another for him, he says, “Are you crazy? You think I’m gonna lose a perfectly good token? Just get out, lay down flat, reach under the car and get it for me, will ya?”

‘nuff said.

That type of insanity is just not worth a trip to Atlantic City, which is where they wound up, which is where she ditched him in Sam’s Salt Water Taffy Shack, hailed a cab and rushed home. That should never have happened. Not when a few simple questions would have saved her from humiliation and an expensive cab ride. Oh, and remember that these are not intended to provide rock-solid solutions to your dating disasters, but they are complied from friends who’ve had their fair share of loonies.

1. Do mental health problems/issues run in your family?

2. When I say the word, NO are you receiving mixed signals?

3. Do you have a jealous, prison bound or recently paroled ex?

4. What’s your favorite Vegetable? (Though I have never heard this being a way to determine mental unbalances, Frankie assures me that crazy people eat certain vegetables and that he’s known too many to be wrong. You can email me for a pocket sized laminated list for quick reference use at restaurants at thepoliticschick@gmail.com).

5. What’s your favorite color? (Yet another questionable theory, which makes me wonder if I should re-evaluate FRANKIE’S stability. Anyway, he says to beware, most unstable people know this one and will lie in a desperate attempt to protect themselves. “A foolproof way to be sure is to observe what color clothing they constantly wear,” he said. To this I said, “Well, won’t that take some time? You could be bound and gagged by then (and not in a good way).” He shrugged his shoulders. So now I’m guessing this one is not so foolproof.)

This list may not be a great help, but I feel better since I put the word out. In the meantime, if you’re looking for a good Ben & Jerry’s flavor try Chunky Monkey, and if you’re going to be by a drug store anytime soon could you pick me up a Twizzler, Snicker or a Kit-Kat combo?

Travel Edition of Politics Walking, Video Talking: The Irish Boys

2009-06-01T09:27:00.005-04:00

Today is brought to you by the letter "S".

Actually my entire weekend (my kick-ass weekend that is) is bought to you by the letter "S".

As in "S is for shots".
Shots are dangerous.

Shots are the devil.

Shots make the Politics Chick chatty.

And ya know, shots and secrets don't mix.

One should always remember that loose lips sink ships.

So while I mainline this OJ/Coffee concoction and think about what I've done, you go ahead and watch this video clip.

This time I was in Dublin, waxing poetic on Irish guys.

Hit It To My Hot Spot

2009-05-29T11:05:00.013-04:00

I have quirks (don’t we all)…on the first day of Spring I call up my close friends and sing a song to their voicemail announcing my new season happiness.

In the summer I create a flirty beat-filled, Let’s get it On Playlist on my Ipod. It’s great for spirited walks on hot summer days, or for a quick plug into the sound system at a party. But ultimately I think about getting it on with cute guys while I make it.

I feel comfortable enough to share an abbreviated version with you. Listen to it, make fun of it, steal it for your own Ipod – I don’t care. Just promise me that if it helps you get some you’ll say thank you to ‘moi’ in the comments.

My line up:

Yelle – Je Veux te Voir
It’s in French and it’s fun…need I say more.
Yeasayer - Sunrise
It’s still innocent now. I’m starting to get that great summer feeling. I’m stealing glances at you from across the room, pretending to listen to current conversation.
White Rabbits – Percussion Gun
I’m ready for my first glass of red wine, I’m feeling like the party is really getting started.
MGMT- Electric Feel
Chillin’ feeling the vibes in the room, finishing off that wine.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Heads Will Roll
Now I wanna dance. I’m turning the flirt up to high grabbing you by the neck of your t-shirt drawing you closer to me as we dance.
Anjulie – Boom
By the time the track gets to 00:55 oh it’s on…I’m the spider and you’re the fly.
Death Cab For Cutie – I Will Possess Your Heart
Longest intro ever…but imagine all the kissing and groping you can get in before a word is even uttered.

From The Male Perspective: The Wanted Ad

2009-05-28T12:09:00.009-04:00

Ah, men …they say the sweetest things – sometimes. But most times they just say the most unbelievable, objectionable, mind-blowing things. I’m here to capture that moment with a new series I like to call ‘From the Male Perspective’. So meet this weeks’ guy who I asked to write a Wanted Ad for his idea of the perfect woman. This reads more like a guy who wants his own little Dr. Frankenstein lab where he can create the perfect woman to objectify and then loose interest as soon as one of her parts falls off. But I’m not here to judge and if nothing else, it’s funny…

WANTED: The perfect woman for me.

Has to be at least between 5' 4" and 5'11".
Can be anything from light-skinned to just below bronzed. I like dark women but not so black that they're BLUE. And depending on maturity, she can be as most as 10 years my junior and five years my senior.

As far as the body is concerned (and I AM concerned): Slightly voluptuous, but certainly not huge; long, smooth neck; nicely sized, firm breasts, shapely legs and an ass that makes other HUSBANDS look. Most guys are T&A. I'm a legs and ass man! And TIGHT!

I know I'm somewhat out of shape, but my girl is going to be tight all over; so tight, Spandex FALLS off of her. Skin so soft and taunt, when I tap my fingers on her inner thighs, it's like playing a snare drum. Oh my, my, my...
Her eyes, whatever shade they are, should penetrate not only deep into what she's looking at, but into herself as well.

My woman should also be smart, and a bit sassy. Without that last one, I'm afraid, I'd have to take Serena Williams over Halle Berry (not that it would be a bad thing, but I'd be robbing the cradle).

And above all, her HAIR, when we go out it has GOT to be TIGHT and DONE.
NO split ends, brittle strands, dry, cracking, moisturizer-lacking, conditioner-deprived, knockoff weave-wearing hairdos! And there you have it, the perfect woman for me.”

Flipping The Script

2009-05-27T14:17:00.005-04:00

“Yo! What’s up with flipping the script?! Wasn’t everything ok, weren’t you enjoying what we had?” That is what I’ve said to nearly every guy friend I’ve had that wanted to take our friendship to the next level. After I looked at him like he was growing a second head, I’d voice my concerns about not wanting to lose a good friend if the relationship didn’t work out or not wanting to be in a committed relationship at this time in my life. More than likely I ended my speeches with some passé statement like, "In time you’ll see its better this way" or "Trust me, you don’t want me, you just THINK you do." Then I’d follow it up with a couple of lies: "Of course we can still hang out, BUD" or "No, why would I view you any differently now?”

Each time, something inside of me would be screaming bloody murder - my skin got too tight, my pores too small - their words were suffocating me. I conveniently lost their numbers, never hung out at the same spots we went to together so I wouldn’t accidentally run into them; basically I tried to forget we’d ever met.

It wasn’t that I suddenly stopped caring for them, but my mind couldn’t adjust to the change. A creature of habit does not like to be moved out of a cozy environment to one that doesn’t suit its needs. That may sound crass, but believe me, if they could have seen what little wheels were cranking in my head as they were telling me how they felt, they would have stopped mid-sentence and retracted what had been uttered before I began to suspect that it wasn’t a joke.

In my defense, I’ve never been much for confessions. Matter of fact, I hate any kind of confession that involves me having to deliver unsavory news. Nine times out of ten, chances are you don’t feel the same about the other person. I don’t want to hurt my friends but no matter what you say, if the person doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, you’re going to be wounded. Once I’ve known someone for years and we’ve established boundaries, telling me something that huge is tantamount to driving on the other side of the highway, jumping the median, and rushing into my lane head-on.

But now…now I’ve got a friend whom I’m not exactly feeling sisterly towards. My mirror is reflecting back a hypocrite, the worst kind, the kind who justifies their actions with barely plausible situations, borderline justifications and semi-sane answers to questions they’ve made up themselves in order to answer them with their own crazed sensibilities.

In my defense, if you’ve only known the person a short period of time and it seems like the relationship was never solidly set up for the rules of platonic play shouldn’t you have the right to flip the script while it’s still written in non-permanent ink?

This new situation I find myself in leaves me only one option. So this is my apology to all the guys who I abandoned ship on, just because you decided to follow your heart, just because you wanted to be honest with yourself and most of all with me. I over-thought things, perhaps, at times, over-reacted. Only now do I realize what strength must be mustered up to unload feelings of that magnitude. I will in the future put what you say in a safe place so that I can't analyze it, but instead, empathize with emotions that I have now come to realize should be validated and not victimized. Unfortunately - even though I understand now - it doesn’t mean I won’t get unglued…but I can try.

Travel Edition of Politics Walking--Video Talking: French Men Vs. American Men

2009-05-26T11:23:00.009-04:00

While I recover from this weekend's debauchery (booze, boys, sun, seafood and the shameful, shameful viewing of a 'Jon&Kate plus 8' marathon) I'll leave for you with a new video clip.

I was in Paris a little while ago consuming large amounts of food & red wine (which I'd like to blame for the giggling you'll hear, but if you've watched past video's you know that's really just my nervous sex/love talk thang). I decided to whip out the video cam and interview some locals for the blog - things got really interesting, it'll take a while to share them all. But let's start off with this one; here I am by the Eiffel Tower talking to two French Women about their thoughts on American men (BTW, yes, she does say "they hit women").

The Average Guy

2009-05-22T17:56:00.004-04:00

I am exhausted with the charming facades of men who look like they were cut out of underwear ads. I’m tired of swooning over the cultured appearances, the nice houses and careers of the previous men I’ve dated. While there is certainty nothing wrong with wanting a man with all those characteristics it’s come to my attention that this seems like a pre cursor for non committal, early mid life crisis, anal/flaky behavior, and an overall wishy- washy demeanor.

What I want instead is a man who is normal most of the time. A man who isn’t more concerned with his career than he is with me, who knows how to live a life rich with quality not quantity. More than anything I would for once, like to meet someone who doesn’t put out feelers without intentions of ever following through, or break my heart and then act like it was all some unfortunate misunderstanding.

In the beginning I perceived the problem to be about age – everyone knows women mature faster than men so I tried dating up. To my great disappointment I found that men are simply men no matter how many extra digits you try to round them up to. While patching up from yet another painful freefall to despair that I made this discovery, I find that the guys that lift my spirits, the ones there when you need them are not the majority in the dating game but instead the minority – so how is it that I’m just now catching on to that? Oh yeah, my pre conceived notions…those have been demonizing the men I used to label the ‘Average Guy’.

The description of an average guy depends entirely on a woman’s perception. I used to think the average guy lacked ‘flava’, that X factor I needed to keep it spicy. He must, I imagined, wear classic yet safe clothing choices ala, Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch. They love flip flops and man sandals, wrap around sunglasses and typically gather together at sports events or Jimmy Buffet/Dave Matthews concerts holding the never out of style ‘red’ plastic cup of beer. He doesn’t dance (at least not well), wears those God-awful hip sacks on vacation and only has sex missionary style.

Getting hit on by a so called 'average guy' would make me look at them in digust, thinking that he was looking at me imagining me in dress that looked like a table cloths, coming out of a suburban home handing him his briefcase as he kissed me goodbye and then I'd proceed to load our 2.5 kids into a minivan for soccer practice.

Yes I am this dramatic.

Now I’m hearing and witnessing women I know, dating or marrying the guy.
Most women say they overlooked him for so long but in the end they realize he was the one that always came through for them. My girlfriend remarked, "I’ve had guys care for me, but not on this level; in the beginning of our relationships I'd question the niceties, the compliments, the concessions minus the drama. I slowly began to understand that what I’d benefit from was a simple acceptance of these gestures within myself. I'm witnessing first hand the fullfillment in having what I’ve known I’ve deserved along but hadn't been getting out of my prior relationships. I simply want to enjoy him without making him pay for past dummies. Now reached the place where it’s ok if we don’t work out I’m just overjoyed that he's serious enough to think of us as having potential.”

Cute boys…you better step up the game, the tides are turning against you.

Breast = Power!

2009-05-19T13:01:00.006-04:00

Everyday, seemingly normal women are walking around cloaking their superhuman powers. Right now as you read this a woman is receiving a overpriced designer token gift of affection and love has nothing to do with it. Love has no rationale here.
Oh sure, love may be a higher force in your world but I have discovered that breast have a power all unto themselves.

My mantra has been The Greater the Power, the more dangerous the abuse ever since mine were pimped out for free food by a good friend who for the sake of my kindness will remain nameless. But know this, Keri (oops), ‘sending your well-endowed friend into a fast food joint in order to get a few extra pieces of chicken carries a certain shame factor’, it’s a definite misuse of the power. Strangely, as small that victory was, I was left with a craving for larger battles to best. I blame her for starting me down this path of corruption.

Once you notice other people being beguiled by your breast there’s no ignoring the possibilities that they offer. Who could resist the temptation to spread their wings after trying out this new wonder? Suddenly you’re a comic book hero using them for justice, to right wrongs, solve crimes, or maybe you just enjoy employing them for evil deeds.

OK, even I have to laugh at that last line.

Honestly, they have never to my knowledge had the ability to solve crimes, but something tells me if Angela Lansbury had had a better rack it wouldn’t have taken an entire hour to make the villain confess.

Guys…don’t email me saying that it’s unfair that women can use a god-given creation to manipulate because we both know it’s just another golden opportunity for you to dream about being able to get closer to our breasts.

I’m sure women will write to me and complain about my condoning the use of breast to obtain some sort of upper ground voodoo like possession over men. You’ve probably never had the privilege of seeing this power made a sport worthy of Olympic medals. I have watched in amazement as women have procured tables at booked restaurants on a Saturday night by simply unbuttoning a few buttons.

It’s not as if I’m encouraging women to run out to high-priced, snobby stores that otherwise ignored them, press their boobs up to the window just to get some service! Honest.
Maybe to just …push them up a bit; heck, if you’ve got the goods, why not use them?
Come on…you know that even if you hid them underneath three sweaters their power would burn through the material. It’s as if they had hypnotic disc attached to them.

Kissinger said Power is the great aphrodisiac. True. But this is the part of the story where I blame the misuse of god given talents on those that give us the power. Whether it be men or women; the way I figure it, if you hadn’t turned them into such a big deal there’d be no power to harness.

Frustrated and fed-up I say, why not? I personally am sick of men having conversation with them instead of me. How many times have I had to use these lines: “I’m sure they can hear you, but I can’t.” “Um, if you hadn’t noticed, my eyes are up here.”

So why not let the breast work for me? Why should others get enjoyment out of them and not me? They have already been exploited, over used, over-worked, and highly underpaid by society itself. In this day and age, most women use what they can in order to make it in a man’s world. We have so little leverage that surely this one thing that God obviously wanted us to have should be put to good use. Let’s face it, soon time will pass and they will lose their perkiness. It’s a sign. It’s like that old saying about youth…get it while the getting’s good.

Well I guess I’ve sufficiently used my writing power for evil today. Here I stop, knowing I’ve reached too far, shot too high, flown too close to the sun. It’s all gone to my head as I was about to start blaming the makers of high-quality pushup bras.

So excuse me.
I think I’ll just cool off, go sit the girls, the twins, and the team on the bar and have a free beer.
Until next blog, please enjoy my favorite episode from that old show Designing Women - Mary Jo's new breast.

Politics Walking--Video Talking, Presents: Dating Do's & Don'ts

2009-05-15T10:13:00.009-04:00

I don't like being couped up inside on beautiful days, so I decided when the sun comes a calling I'll grab my video camera and hit the streets in search of more sane advice than mine.

First up, three friends shopping around New York's South Street Seaport - though you'll only see two guys on the clip. The third was a bit shy and decided to just shout out his answers off camera.

BTW, when they laughed and pointed, saying "you wanna do those" they were talking about the sailors walking across the street - boys...

Interview With A Guy: What Type of Panty are You?

2009-05-14T14:41:00.006-04:00

I was having drinks with a guy friend, we were discussing bad pick up lines when he told me he had on question he asks all the women he hits on. I immediately thought it to be one of the most ridiculous come ons I'd heard of yet– that is until his explanation started to sound plausible. It’s more of a question really, one he uses to find out what type of girl you are personality wise, from there he decides whether or not you’re going to be his one night stand, or his one true love. But you read on and see how accurate you think this testosterone fueled tea leave reading really is….

Guy: It’s my icebreaker question. If you had to pick a panty to describe yourself, which would it be? Each type of underwear represents a different type of woman. Your choices are: boxer, white cotton, thong, Victoria’s Secret, or granny panties.

Politic’s Chick: If she chooses boxers, what's she saying?

Guy: Your boxer chick is the more masculine, athletic type. Nine times out of ten, she may run a bit on the lesbian side but not really know that about herself yet.

Politic’s Chick: Ok, what about your white cotton panties?

Guy: White cotton are females that aren’t really worried about getting a man, probably because they’ve already got a man; they’re content.

Politic’s Chick: What happens if she says she is all of these panties? Every girl has a different panty for a different mood.

Guy: True, each chick has at least one of each, but each woman generally leans toward one particular type.

Politic’s Chick: So what your really asking is, ‘What type of panty do you wear more often?’.

Guy: Right.

Politic’s Chick: What if she's a thong kind of girl

Guy: Oh, she’s your looser girl. Nine times out of then, I have a good chance of getting with her on the first night. Thong girls are really into themselves, they feel sexy all the time.

Politic’s Chick: Do they carry condoms?

Guy: Again…nine times out of ten.

Politic’s Chick: Ok, on to the granny panty girls.

Guy: Granny panty girls, sad to say are your more lackadaisical, lazy, couldn’t care either way. This girl doesn't feel comfortable with her body.

Politic’s Chick: I hate to ask, but is she a certain weight?

Guy: Its’ not a weight thing. It could be that she’s lacking self confidence and that’s why she doesn’t have the sex appeal. If you don't feel it, we won't either.

Politic’s Chick: How does the Victoria’s Secret girl differ from the thong girl?

Guy: The thong girl thinks she is sexy and she wants you to know it, she oozes sex appeal when she steps into the room whereas the Victoria’s Secret girl feels sexy on the inside. Victoria’s secret is more content in her sexuality. One thing we notice is that older women walk around like they’ve been sexy all their lives, you can see her confidence in her sexuality because of the way she handles it, younger girls however are just realizing that their cute, their still feeling themselves out.

Politic’s Chick: But do they both wear the same panties?

Guy: No. The younger one will walk around in the thong because she just realized she is sexy and she thinks she’s bigger than the system. But your older woman goes to Victoria’s Secret to compliment the sexy she already possesses for herself, not for you.

Politic’s Chick: Any combination that doesn’t go together?

Guy: I know what combination doesn’t work for me.

Politic’s Chick: (laughter) and what’s that?

Guy: Granny panties/boxers. You can keep them!

Politic’s Chick: What type of panty do you think I am?

Guy: I’d have to say…hybrid white cotton panty.

Politic’s Chick: What’s a hybrid girl like?

Guy: They wear the nicer styles, they just jumped out of the Hanes her way, you’re trying to heat it up…but you are still the good girls at the core.

Politic’s Chick: (insert eye-rolling) Let’s have it on record – what type of panty do you prefer?

Guy: Actually I like an assortment, but I’ll take that Victoria’s chick any day!

The Restaurant Files Present: The Blame Game

2009-05-07T13:12:00.009-04:00

The Location: Manhattan, NY
Scene of the Crime: Dallas BBQ
Assailant: Tristan, my best friend

Victim: Me

We’re at the bar when Tristan causally says, “…oh, by the way, I saw him.” Now, I know what this means. This isn’t just another “…oh, by the way…” moment; she meant to bring this up. That’s why she’s got me here surrounded by all this booze. She wants to talk about IT: her sort-of, kind-of relationship, with her almost, could-have-been boyfriend. I’ve just been hoodwinked; for the rest of the evening I have to play The Blame Game.

And for those of you who don’t know the rules, I’ll state them:
.

·The best friend (you) must agree with the said girlfriend in any conversation that involves placing blame for unfortunate accidents that have resulted in the ending of a relationship with the said boyfriend.

· Never insinuate that it is the girlfriend’s fault in any way shape or form, even if you know her account of the events to be untrue. If consoling words cannot be thought of, it is appropriate to nod your head in agreement or roll your eyes, it is never however acceptable to use the phrase “ok if you say so”-this can only cause confusion and mistrust.

· Any nasty remarks you aim at the aforementioned boyfriend can be recalled into later conversations by the girlfriend once they get back together.

Ok, so now you know how the game is played. However, if you are still at a lost on how this works, please refer to National Geographic’s documentary on the eating habits of the female praying mantis.

And now, to start with, let’s see how well you can pick up the principles of the game:

I’m going to give you a synopsis of our conversation as an example. Take notice of all my responses in quotation marks these will help guide you should your girlfriend pull a Blame Game on you. During the conversation I will refer to her male friend as ‘Bozo’. When mentioning the ex- in conversation, remember to coin an unfair-yet-humorous new name for them. This will ensure you ‘brownie points’, which are vital in this game.

The saga began when Bozo invited Tristan over to his apartment to have a couple of drinks with him and his friends. Bozo then mentioned something about having run out of vodka and that’s where Tristan saw her ‘in’, so she offered to pick some up on her way over.

Now, the ‘in’ is an opportunity for women or men to make like a hero and save the day. The goal is to gain that person as an acquaintance - to hang out, get tight, become one of his or her favorite amigos without the person realizing that this is but a ploy to achieve the ‘more than friends’ status. You have to go on the campaign trail and make like the politician pretending to love eating in the neighborhood restaurant. In fact, you love it so much that you’ve invited camera crews to film it. Not unlike the spectacle you’re willing to put on in front of his or her friends to win them over. Problem is, the ‘in’ is hard to swing and there are rarely second chances.

Ok, now that I’ve explained that, let’s put Bozo back in play…

Once Tristan got to the apartment, she made drinks, drank drinks, drank some more drinks, joked around with his friends, drank more drinks, got sick and threw up in his tub. Now, notice my immediate response to having heard of this tragic incident:

“Poor dear…no, of course it’s not your fault. Remember you didn’t have anything to eat all day. Bozo should have offered more at the party then chips and pretzels, because, maybe if he fed people right, accidents like this just wouldn’t happen. Cheap ass Bozo bastard.”

After the hurling incident, Bozo drove her home; that was nice enough. According to Tristan, she thought so, too. So, in the car, in front of her house, she revealed to Bozo that she had ‘feelings’ for him. She says that he seemed receptive to that bit of information, but two weeks later when she saw him at a social function, he ignored her all night.

Now, one could say that she was ignored because she’d blown her ‘in’ by boozing it up and hurling in front of God, country and his friends, but watch how I chastise him in an effort to stick to the rules:

“What a dirty thing for him to do, just DIRTY. A person should never be judged by an accidental sin. It’s like overlooking all Tom Hanks good movies and judging him solely on the basis of Joe Versus the Volcano. It’s simply not fair.”

I won’t bore you with the rest of the story (her drunken rambling), besides, I’m sure you get plenty of that with your own friends. The last thing she said before the eventual alcohol driven loss of common sense was, “I heard Bozo got MARRIED last week; hasn’t even known her for 6 months and he didn’t bother sending me an invite!” I sat there wondering if someone would save me by taking the fork off my plate and stabbing it through my right temple, but with a job still left to complete I manage these last few words: “I’m sure that he’s miserable and that she’s a troll.”

Oh well, now you know the object of the Game: To live through it.

The Un Married

2009-05-06T14:32:00.006-04:00

I'm befuddled as to why some women feel the need to caress my back in that "oh, I'm so sorry for you lost" way when I say that I'm not married. Or why they follow that up with a sigh when I answer, "No, I don't have any children either".

Why the pitiful look? Am I supposed to be ashamed of this, or feel like a failure because I'm not attached to anyone?

I ran into a old friend from school the other day and as we were catching up I find out that she's been married for almost seven years, has four kids and a great hubby all packed away in a huge house in a tiny suburb in PA. She rattled on about how unfulfilling single life is and how part of being an adult was accepting these mature responsibilities. I got curious about what this life of hers looked like so I checked her out on Facebook and there they were, mountains of pics of her baby showers, her wedding, and family vacations. For a second I started to wonder 'what had I been doing since college'? And as my pity party was about to collapse in on me, another girlfriend called and we couldn't get in 5 minutes worth of conversation before she was hollering at her kids - they sounded like they were running around her apartment like banshees. Once she walked out of the kids room to hear better she started in on her husband, the bills, the lack of sleep, etc... Suddenly I started remember whats so good about my life and rationalization behind my choices.

I absolutely love doing things my way, when I want, and how I want. My money is mine, my time is mine and I'll be ready to give that up when I'm confident that I won't regret having done it.

For the future ladies reaching out to stroke my un married pain away - if you think that the new accessories are husbands, kids, family pets, and houses in the burbs that's ok. But my freedom is my shiny new bauble and anytime its starts getting dull and I bump into one of you and succumb to thinking for one second that I'm missing out on something I'm gonna hurry and shine it right back up.

*find the un wedding ring at http://www.fancyjewels.com/product.php?id=unweddingRing_rings

Tell Me What You Eat

2009-04-30T11:58:00.015-04:00

Wow, I really don't maintain this blog very well do I?
But I'm back!
I started writing a book about relationships...blah blah blah.
It'll be out soon I hope but in the meantime I want to start this blog out fresh with new topics and confessions and I want everyone to join in and make it the hot spot to come to and talk it out.

I've been thinking about Fruit Salad lately - wait...hear me out.

Eating can be a very sensual experience, particularly if you pay attention to when you are doing it.

The weather has been getting warmer and coincidentally so have I. Springtime puts my flirt into action, I'm definitely more aware of my senses and my body. My reaction to fruit salad is one of my favorite spring/summer affairs. I wait patiently and anxiously for the winter to pass and for the fruit to ripen. I rise early on Saturday mornings, grab my shopping bag and head for the farmer's market. There's something about being outside and smelling the aroma of the fruits that gives me the vapors - and they can knock you out!

I pick Pears because they have that grainy texture that feels rough across my tongue.

Mango's because they're sweet and when you cut a particularly ripe one it's juices run down your arm - plus its pulpy flesh feels smooth in my hand.

Strawberries - well they need no explanation do they?

Kiwi for a tangy and sweet combo that makes my mouth pucker.

Pineapple because I enjoy the vibrant color and when i bite into a piece I enjoy the way the fruit sometimes comes off in strands - it's such a visual payoff.

Watermelon for that lush sound that comes from biting into a juicy piece.

Mixed together the colors and the smells make me think that good and healthy food not unlike a good partner can be awaken your all your senses.

Now I'll be the first to admit that when food starts doing this to you, maybe it's a warning sign. Maybe, there's a void in your love life and you're looking to fill it. Or maybe you just lust after good fruit. I think it's entirely possible that your desires could be sublimated and you're acting them out in another way. Hence my feeling energized, awakened and satisfied once I've eaten the fruit salad. Is it possible that not having a way to exert your sexual energy can cause you to eat food instead of embracing your sexual feelings?

What turns you on?

*luscious photo from http://sundaynitedinner.com/ginormous-fruit-salad/

It's So Judy Blume

2008-10-26T20:20:00.007-04:00

My friend killed my crush.

All I wanted was to mention it and have a laugh. Crushes are supposed to be fun and flirty little obsessions that we’re allowed to take back to an unashamed girlish state. I think it’s permitted to gossip about, giggle unconsciously at and blush at the mention of them from one friend to another.

But no, she started going on about how it could possibly work out between us. Bringing it into a forum that’s reality based is a no-no.

Now I’ve noticed that there are people talking about relationships in more luscious wording than I believe I can muster. Matter of fact, I saw a blog where a 15 year old fasionista appropriated on tights with more passion.

Wondering why I can’t think more long term instead of on fleeting emotions.
Is it because I know this place where you can unwittingly become consumed with thoughts of them instead of you, or maybe because a crush carries a smaller, safer definition in comparison to say, love, worship…those words involve feelings of rejection if they aren’t reciprocated.

Can we hang crushes like charms on a bracelet that jangle together as we walk around; to admire at random while focusing on other pursuits?

Lustfully Speaking

2008-10-17T01:53:00.005-04:00

Why is it so hard to control your urgings?

And why does that sound like this is about to be an episode of Degrassi High?

You would think that at my age I wouldn’t be prone to overactive sweat glands.

But I am, or I have experienced that as of late. It’s embarrassing to say the least.

Worst part of all this is that it’s a friend, a much younger friend who I’m lusting after.
No, that’s too strong a word… he gives me butterflies in my stomach? No, that’s too romance novel.

I think I have a dreaded boy crush …and I’ve officially turned this into an 80’s movie monologue.

We have those awkward silences; I think we’re sharing long suggestive looks. Or maybe I’m just the perv staring at him too long.

But for two solid weeks I haven’t been about to turn off the dreams or stop getting flustered when we accidently touch. For the record the dreams are sweet in nature, we’re just hanging out and somewhere in near the end there’s a little kiss exchange.

But I wake up every morning thinking “For real! For Real, G! Get a grip.”

Unfortunately it seems the only grip my mind wants to get is one on him.

So I started concocting ways to burn him out of my mind.
Watch porn. Masturbate more?

Only now when I touch myself I hear cheesy base laden songs playing in the background. He’s there wearing his socks and boxers asking me if I need him to put more toner in my copier.

I’m now convinced that was the wrong way to go.

So…I’m going to try something different, anything but acknowledging that this is actually happening would be good.

I’ll keep you posted.

That Vibe

2007-10-09T23:26:00.002-04:00

Ok, I don't know what's going on with me. Then again, I think I do. It's not an ongoing thing - it just happens everytime he calls.

I use to really be into him and I thought we was vibing me too. There seemed to be every indication that we could ....now I can't even say it. Then, we had the 'talk'. You know the one where they list all your good qualities as if it were going to really soften the blow of the inevitable let down. The 'I don't see us together' is a killer.

Now he's seeing someone and he's really happy. Deep down somewhere I'm happy for him too. I don't dwell on what happened - we remained friends after that little chat. I don't spend my days thinking of him, matter-of-fact I'm seeing someone myself. So tell me, why do I feel like such crap after I receive a text or a phone call from him? It's not just a phone call; I can handle talking to him. It's when he talks about how right she is for him that it stings. Now given all that has transpired I gather to say that he was right, we weren't suited for one another - not in that way. But still I have the ache and I wonder if it's not jealousy. Over the fact that I listened on late night phone calls to his whining and dramas'; that he was never this outgoing with me. You can put so much time into a man that you began to feel like you own them - you created that. And then all your hard work goes to some other woman.

Perhaps it’s just jealousy over the fact that I couldn’t be that special to someone who I thought was special - he is, in fact. Letting go is harder than I thought, something always lingers there. Who knows why we crave things that we know we don't really want.... I just want to be done with it already.

Yeah, I Said It

2007-09-28T15:06:00.000-04:00

Bitch is a term for the female of a canine species in general. It is also frequently used as an offensive term for a woman, taken to mean that she is malicious, spiteful, domineering, intrusive, or unpleasant. This second meaning has been in use since around 1400.

I really felt the need to define this word before I go off on my tangent today. I don't want anyone acting like I'm just misusing it or trying to deliberately be offensive. You get so used to guys screwing things up that you forget that women can be just as petty and catty. Why do certain women/girls have to go there? Why do they have to mess up good men before a good woman can get to them?

This only pertains to the women who make this word come to the edge of your mouth. I just figured they must have forgotten the definition of this word, since they insist on acting like one. Have some respect.

I have one final definition to leave you with...
A relationship breakup refers to the ending of a relationship, typically a romantic one. A breakup can vary between emotionally traumatic to consensual for those involved, especially if romantic love is involved.

Breakups can occur for numerous reasons such as conflicts in personality, lifestyle changes, or attraction to a different partner. Breaking up with someone is also commonly referred to as "dumping" (Though dumping is commonly used in situations where one person has feelings for one that are quite strong, but the other dosen't generally feel the same way, as in "Borice was dumped". However, due to the negative connotations of 'dumping', many who have consensually ended a relationship choose not to describe it thus. Furthermore relationships that are ended through "dumping" usually also end the friendship, however relationships ended mutually more often become friendships. –Thank you Wikipedia

Ok, so I want to be fair about emotions, ‘Emotionally Traumatic’, it said. What realm that extends into for you, I don’t know. I agree, when someone dumps you, the need to be chummy is gone. But why think that making their life miserable is going to change anything? Why waste any moment of your life on them? Everything is hard to hear when it envolves someone saying, no matter how nice, that they don’t want you. Yet I can’t help but wonder why one couldn’t be civil about it. The games won't help you move on.

Delta of Venus

2007-09-21T17:24:00.001-04:00

I'm feeling quite creatively woman today and that can only mean one thing...it's time to re read some Nin. If you're not familiar with Anais, here's an excerpt of her famous journal writings

"The kiss in the taxi is the kiss which remains in the memory as perpetually unfinished and to be sought out again, for as the taxi moves it gives to the moment that physical proof of insecurity and ephemeralness of adventure, over swift, arousing resonances which cease at the first stop, the taste upon one's lips is a quick, deep lacination arrested by the sudden stop of the machine. The interference of the traffic is the recall to reality. Eyes out of the crowd rummage into the taxi to catch that flash of vertigo, that open mouth, the drunken look in the eyes. The street lights are the searchlights, opening crude ways into the smokey clouds of cigarette smoke, breath and perfume. And now the taxi is rolling again, the kiss is broken by fear of its termination. When the taxi stops, the adventure is broken. One steps on the pavement with a sound of a body falling from heaven."

And now I'm obsessed with this website - not that you haven't heard it mentioned before I'm sure, but have you visited this 'sin'fully wonderful bit of spice. Once you read Anais you really need the clothing the match the mood.
http://www.agentprovocateur.com/

Gin &Tonic

2007-09-17T17:36:00.001-04:00

It's so embarrassing, but for the past week and a half I have gone to bed with at least one drink; Gin & Tonic or Rum & Coke.

Being an adult is difficult to say the least and responsibility has just about worn me out. It's one thing after another - looking after your credit, paying the bills, making the money, planning future enhancements, finding love, maintaining relationships, etc...

Right now I'm doing all those while trying to finish the book I've spent more than two years writing and not writing. Yet at night I can't help but wish all this were mapped out already and the task of completing it all had been taken care of. That drink instead of being taken to bed with just me, might just be taken to a bed filled with the relaxing contentment of achievement (and a man).

Enough angst and boo-hooing. How are you?

How Instant Messaging can screw you...

2007-09-07T17:53:00.000-04:00

My conversation on Yahoo Messanger with the guy I'm kinda seeing:

JD: what are you doing tonight?
Gin: my friend, that doctor I was telling you about wants to have drinks tonight
JD: what doctor?
Gin: the girl doctor
JD: do you two have drinks often?
Gin: no
JD: that must be weird, sitting there, talking with him over a beer, knowing he's seen your ..
Gin: what? what are you talking about? I've never slept with the doctor
JD: I didn't say that
Gin: I'm talking about the girl that cute doctor I told you about
Gin: I'm quoting you: JD: that must be weird, sitting there, talking with him over a beer, knowing he's seen your
Gin: what's that then. lol
JD: but doesn't the girl doctor examine you below the waist?
JD: oh (insert blushing emoticon here) lol
Gin: lol
JD: I thought you meant girl doctor as in the doctor who checks out your lady parts
Gin: lol
Gin: There's no way in Hell I'd have drinks with my GYN
Gin: lol awww..."your lady parts". how adorable
JD: lol. that's why I was so confused!
JD: lol I'm glad you think I'm adorable
Gin: and then you thought it was a guy doctor too. awwww
JD: yeah, I thought he was hitting on you since you're so damn cute and sexy

In A Fog

2007-09-05T13:35:00.000-04:00

I am literally 'zombie' like today. Thanks to my own drug choices of Allegra and Benadryl - a not so smart combination to cure my sinus problems. In my defense the Allegra was not drying up that nasty post nasal drip - yeah, yeah, I know its a yucky think to speak of- the benadryl took care of it in a matter of hours and finally sweet sleep started washing over me, only to wake up this morning feeling like I was an extra in Night of the Living Dead.

This past weekend, I took my niece to Sesame Place. Yup, kids galore, running around on sugar highs, crying jags, and temper tantrums. Any motherly instinct I might have had was frozen in fear on Monday. Oh don't get me wrong, kids can be amusing and down right cute - lets not forget about the unconditional love they tend to dole out. But didn't I want to reach out and grab the kids who ran over my feet, shoved past me in line, and those two little girls with the grabable hair that knocked over our Big Bird lunch pails - those meals cost $8 bucks a pop. So for the day
I was a rock star as far as my niece was concerned, I'm the cool aunt... but I could have easily been thrown out for busting up a couple of kids- and that's just a little scary. Not exactly a motherly thought is it?

I was redeemed however when the mother in the bathroom stall next to me called out to her run away son (he'd slipped under the door and was running around the bathroom) three times and had her request for him to come back ignored each time finally murmured under her breath "you little shit". If that's acceptable I may not be so bad after all.

HoneyMag.com

2007-08-24T10:11:00.000-04:00

Well folks, seems everybody wants a piece of me. Naw, just kidding but I'll tell what isn't a joke, HoneyMag.com! Where all the fly urbanista's hang out. Starting last monday I packed up some of TPOL started blogging there.

What your going to see is an extended version of the Video Clips I post here. Each week I'll pick one topic and stop people on the street to discuss it on camera. So I hope you'll join me there as well, here's the link: www.honeymag.com/modules/politicsoflove

So what's been going on with you guys lately? These past few weeks I've been trying to get out more and take in some stuff. I miss the days where I could stay up 2am then get up at 6am - I might just be getting older. ugh. Went to see the Yeah Yeah Yeahs last week, it let out at about 12:30am, the bags under my eyes didn't let out till two days later. But Karen O rocked the @%*( out of the Electric Factory - haven't felt that alive in a long time. So I posted a CD giveaway on the Playlist page to celebrate the emotion of music and to say thanks to all you babes that show up here every week to read my ranting.

BTW, am I the last to find out that Tootsie Pops come in Tropical Flavors!

Weird Thought of the Day

2007-08-14T14:50:00.002-04:00

I've done my fair share of traveling, I've always traveled with friends and family but never with someone I was seeing romantically. Now I find myself wondering how that experience might be.
For the first time in my life I'm wondering about how sharing this bigger part of my life will effect me. In the past it seemed a distraction to take a boyfriend traveling; I already had travel partners, we had similiar likes & tastes. Better yet we had goals, I'd grown up with these people dreaming about what sights we'd see and journeys we'd master before settling down.

I'm a bit scared that we won't mesh, that the close proximity that goes hand-in-hand with most journeying might bring to light all the unpleasant qualities we're bound to have. Sharing similiar interest with your travel partners can make for an enjoyable trip, whereas long spans of travel with partners with opposite interest can really have a lasting effect on any relationships for better or worse.

I'm worried that I find out that too much about them doesn't mesh with my personality and that that will be the beginning of the end. Therefore, I'm hesitant to go anywhere for longer than a weekend jaunt.

French Milk

2007-08-03T18:26:00.000-04:00

Oh so wonderful...the weekend is here!

So here's the plan - I'm gonna film an intro for the website. Oh that reminds me, Check Out my new opening page - I'm a sucker for Alice in Wonderland. So much wordplay, hidden sexuality and of course drug use (lol). With that in mind let me tell you about the new book I've been reading, French Milk. It's a new comic journal about Lucy Knisley, who spent a month in a apartment in Paris with her mother; enter more sexuality, new adult awakenings and really accurate descriptions of Paris living. You should definitely go to the bookstore and find it.

Funny...just got a text 'Hello' from my A&F guy, who apparently thought it would be cute to text me from 'Hooters'. Ah...wings, beer and breasts. It does actually sound heavenly so I'm not gonna judge.

Ok babies, I'm multi-tasking - shopping Ebay - finally gonna purchase that Adult Alice in Wonderland outfit ;)

What Turns You On?

2007-07-31T17:05:00.000-04:00

OK, so perhaps you've noticed I've been away for awhile. Other than being wrapped up in the last Harry Potter book, work has been a crazed. Therefore I'm not getting to film in Philly till this Friday, the 3rd. Sorry babies, I know I said today, but I haven't even composed the article for this week yet!

If I haven't expressed it before, let me say it again, I love doing the Video Clips - meeting all you fantasically open people. So this week I'm going to pry and find out what fetishes people are holding onto to. What turns you on? Feet, smells, lingerie...?

Personally, I'm turned on my words - no, I'm not ashamed of such a nerdy turn-on - not if you're wooing me with similes and metaphors, not if you're talking about words encompassing more than four syllables; I go weak at the knees. I don't care! One of the sexiest words in the dictionary? Concupiscence... Mmmmmm. I can just see the clothes peeling off...

Who Doesn't Love A Good Mix Tape?

2007-07-20T17:53:00.000-04:00

There's nothing better than the Summer Time, except maybe a great mixtape for a weekend car ride. But for all of us stuck at a desk during beautiful weather that can be a bit difficult.

So this week I've started a Politics Mix Tape Section...Yeah, that means I'm laying down the music I wanna hear! Seriously though, if you've got a good compliation, send me the list and I'll try and feature it. Don't forget to Theme it people!

That brings me to another great project, the InternationalMixTapeProject. People from 'all around the world' (duh) participate by sending a personal mix tape to their monthly assigned buddy, and in return someone out there in the cosmos gets you as their assignment and BAM! you've got new music at your doorstep each month. You just never know what you're going to get - that's the best part, it's a musical journey without a known destination. This fly guy named Ryan runs it - Check it out at http://www.internationalmixtapeproject.com/

Bye Babies!

So Fresh and So NEW NEW

2007-07-18T15:29:00.000-04:00

Well, Well, My Babies... I've updated the Archives section so that it's a little easier to navigate now.

And I promised an update on the blind date second date didn't I? Can I just be honest and say that I'm still in a bit of shock...he's nice; average and nice. Now, I'm not using average in a bad sense - its just I always imagined myself with someone artistic and uniquely different in some spectacular way. So if I allow myself to get involved with someone who I perceive doesn't fit that bill is that settling or just being realistic and open to a different point-of-view? Don't lie and tell me that you don't often feel the same way. Nevertheless, I agreed to a third date. I agreed to another meeting - that amazes me to no end. But he's sent me daily texts to say hello, sweet emails during the week - and honestly, I can't come up with a good enough excuse on why this guy shouldn't have a fair shot. It's not a crime to shop at Ambercrombie & Fitch or to (ugh) wear man sandals...

Enough picking at him - back to business. I'm loving the emails being sent to me from the 'Leave Some of You' section of the site!! You guys are voicing what you think the next article should be about and leaving pretty intriguing relationship questions in my inbox and I've been responding to everyone. Keep em' coming!

I think we'll be filming in Philly this weekend - Look out here I come!

Oh Boy!

2007-07-16T17:53:00.000-04:00

Goodness, the numbers for the site have been fantastic over the past few weekends! You know what that means? Somewhere out there are people logging into my site on Sat & Sun before or after those drinks, dates and states of vegetation in front of the tv. GOOD LORD, the Politics is getting popular. LOL

It's ten mins to quitting time here at the ol' nine-to-five. Am I the only one waiting for their 'real' career to pay off so you'll never have to return to a desk again?

Tell you about my second date with A&F guy tomorrow, gotta run!

Men on the Brain

2007-07-16T13:26:00.001-04:00

When I was younger my dream men used to be Jon Cryer, a.k.a, Duckie from Pretty in Pink, Elvis Costello, Jeff Goldblum, Jon Cusack and David Bowie. If you were a misfit, misunderstood, or slightly odd, and nerdy yet prolific then I wanted to smear my tinker bell lip gloss all over you.

Now don’t get me wrong, I watched Charles in Charge because of Scott Baio and I definitely saw every movie the Corey’s were in – but they just didn’t do it for me.
I still have the hots for Goldblum and Bowie. Cusack could give me a call any day. What I realize is that along the way to adulthood I lost sight of reasons why they were so attractive to me.

Instead of searching for the unique I started drooling over the obviously cute and let’s face it the obvious is never really the most interesting. They lack the sort of personality that maintains appeal. You grow older and you begin to realize that in the grand scheme of things ‘looks’ isn’t everything. I realize now that I was on to something in my young age.

Blind Date

2007-07-13T13:55:00.000-04:00

I'm so excited - it's Friday and you get to see the new video clips! And I also get to tell you about my blind date yesterday...if you can call it that. Is it fair to say that if you've known of the person for awhile but never actually met them face-to-face?

So I was a little stunned-he was your typical 'guy at Dave Matthew's Concert' only thing missing was the plasic red cup of beer. I could tell from the look on his face that I wasn't what he'd pictured either. Was that a bad thing? not necessarily, we're going out for drinks tonight. But he is my anti-guy - you know the one personality you never really imagined yourself giving a chance. But at this juncture in life I'm realizing that the guys you think you have figured out are never what they appear to be. And if I'm using that in a negative way, doesn't it sound like it could be construed as a positive thing as well? Maybe he'll surprise me.

Iced Coffee & Queens!

2007-07-09T14:39:00.001-04:00

MMWAH! That's to all the sweeties who stopped and talked with us on Saturday in NY!

Kay and I trekked from the Seaport to Times Square looking for those unfraid to spill their secrets in front of my tiny little video cam...some just couldn't hack it and others just went for it. I can't wait to post the footage on friday.

Just when we thought we were done and on our way to see 'Phantom' - yes that's right, I like theater, I went to see Phantom (ps. wasn't that great, but its one of the biggies that you just can't ignore-shame on any broadway babies not checking out the classics.) Oops, I digress...ANYWAY, just when we thought we were done stopping people I SPOTTED THEM, three glorious queens! Yes that's right boys, I'm talking about you! They were freaking funny and down to earth, so make sure you come back friday to see them dish on one another.

Unfortunately you won't see the Starbucks cutie I spied over my iced coffee-to shy to film-hopefully not to shy to email and give us a Hall Of Shame interview.

Oh, I almost forgot about my first guy, the first one to agree to be filmed, a Friends with Benefits wet dream cause he's caught in the game. How many guys do you see falling for the FB? I know, I know...hardly any. If you wanna hear his story you'll have to wait till friday. Until then!

Wait! Stop ignoring the Mailing List! Tell us who you are! No more vague emails people! I wanna hear your dirt!

On The Town

2007-07-06T13:16:00.002-04:00

The Politics is leaving for New York today - I'll be tramping along my favorite parts of the Big Apple. Somehow, I will manage to put the Gray's Papaya Hot Dog down long enough to grab victims off the street for the Video Clips/Hall of Shame sections of the site.

What The Heck! Next Week I'll just theme the whole site in honor of the city that never sleeps...ugh that's so cliche.

Yet, it is my home away from home and I hope you'll come back next week to check out my adventures. I promise juicier secrets, dirty questions and let's pray for spicer answers...

The Politics is out to make you blush - stay tuned.