Lesbian wishes and Champagne Dreams....

I once thought I would dip my feet in the pool. Swish them around. See if I wanted to take a swim. But I think deep down, I've always known I'm not that kind of fish. I can't swim both upstream and down.

"I think I'm in love with you." She said. "Whhhuh?" Was all I could muster. I was eighteen, she was nineteen, one of my best-friends for years. "It's becoming to difficult for me to live here with you, to watch you, ya know.... " I had just finished taking a shower and was sitting wrapped in nothing but a towel. Suddenly, the moment took on a different mood entirely. I tightened the wrap, suddenly self-conscious, aware of my body in a way I hadn't been before. "It's not just that. I just love you." She decided to take a year off from college and fled to Australia for six months, on a trip with her then boyfriend, a married fucktard who came back to the states a week later while she stayed behind, finding herself. One day she showed up on my doorstep, an orphan, unwelcome in her mothers home. I welcomed her into mine with open arms. I missed her. She was adventurous, exotic, exciting, spontaneous.... She lured me in with her sordid tales from down under, working as a stripper, experimenting with ecstasy, spending her days on Bondi Beach, and her nights with new found friends in Aussie nightclubs. She was different when she came back. Matured, traveled, slightly jaded, harder. But around me that melted.

I smiled at her. I didn't say anything really. Plausible Denial. If I pretend I didn't really hear it, then it didn't really happen. I wasn't sure if one of the things she discovered about herself was that she was a lesbian, or was she just attracted to me? We got dressed, I in the bathroom, with the door closed this time, and headed out to a friends party. She repeated her declaration of love while we were outside. Fcuk. "I love you too." I replied. "But.... not in that way." My heart sank. I didn't want to disappoint.

She moved out shortly after. Things were never really the same. And she continued dating guys that were complete and total fucktards.
____________________

As I got a little bit older I started to wonder. Are all women naturally bi-curious? Ask most women if they would rather watch two beautiful women kiss, or a decent looking man and woman, and more often then not the answer will be the former. We love beautiful women. We have girl crushes for god's sake. Guy's don't crush on other men. Or do they. They surely don't admit to it. But we all find ourselves in love with Angelina Jolie and Salma Hayek. Add a little bit of alcohol into the picture and most girls have had a lesbian encounter, sometimes two.

"I had a dream about you last night." My other girlfriend whispered as we sat down to eat with a group of friends.

"Ooooooo, what was it about!" I asked excitedly.

"Well, I was really really drunk last night off Cristal again actually, so its all kind of hazy, but we were having sex, again."

My excitement suddenly turned to awkwardness. This was was the third time she had confessed to me that she was drunk and dreaming of fornicating with me.

"Don't tell anyone." She said. "I'm not a lesbian." She assured me. But her touches at dinner were more frequent, more gentle, softer, she was playing with my hair, tickling my back. Was she trying to seduce me! I brushed it off. I was overthinking it.

Or was I.

"It was really good." She said as we sat in the back of the taxi riding up tenth avenue.

"Yeah, I luvvv their food. Yummy." I replied.

"No silly. The dream."

"Oh......" I let out an embarrassed giggle. We obviously were not on the same page. Or even reading the same book it seemed.

"So what do you think about that?" She whispered. Ok. Are you asking for like....what are you asking for, I was wondering.

"Have you ever?" She asked me. "You know..."

"No. You would know!"

"Well..... I never would. Except with you."

"With me? Why me!"

"Because."

The Butterflies just weren't there. And I'm not one to experiment for the sake of experimentation. Flattery, though highly coveted, as well as exclusivity, just wasn't doing it for me.

"Stop drinking Champagne." I offered sympathetically.

"Why?" She looked slightly confused.

"Because then you'll stop wanting to have sex with me."

____________________

A few years had passed. "That's it. I've decided I'm going to be a lesbian." I had made the declaration to one and all. Anyone who was interested, anyone who would listen. I had had it. This should have been the first sign of course, the insincerity of my motivation, lesbians across the land would be booing me if they knew what I was up too. But I didn't care. I had suffered enough heartbreak, humiliation, devastation at the hands of the opposite sex. I preferred Lesbian Pron to Straight Pron, I thought Angelina in GIA was HOT and what girl doesn't get excited at the thought of doubling her wardrobe, hello! I even recruited friends to help me find a girlfriend. I'm not really the go out and get em type. And besides, how does one go about letting the Girl World know that now you are "available." Peruse the "women seeking women" personals? There's an entire vernacular to be learned.

Femme, Butch, lipstick, Dike, baby dike, bull dike, fluff, bluff.... yeah, you get my point.

The realest test of my foray into lesbianism came from a most unexpected place. Once again, a dear friend. A friend with a boyfriend, in a long term relationship actually. She had never mentioned any dreams, didn't admire me when I was barely or completely unclothed in her presence, she was just a BFF, though lately had been clinging to me more than ever. And one night, too tired to drive home, she decided to stay the night at my place. We decided to watch a movie and climbed onto my bed. She asked if I wanted her to tickle my back. Girls do this to each other all the time. It's just a girlie thing. I said please. Only I fell asleep at some point. But not completely asleep. I was in that middle place, where you kind of have a sense of what's going on but you're body and mind are so exhausted they are helpless to move. I felt hands caressing my back, then moving down my body, far down my body.......I couldn't move. I didn't know what I was feeling. I didn't know if I wanted more or I wanted it to stop. The arms were pulling me. They wanted me to turn over. Lie on my back. I did. I felt them move up my stomach, to my breasts. They lifted my shirt. They caressed them. What was going on......somethings-

I was so tired but I understood what was going on. I was trying to process it. Do you want this?I had to ask myself. Obviously she does.... Doesn't look like you have to do any of the work. That definitely goes in the plus column. But something was nagging at me. Something just didn't feel right. It didn't feel bad, it many ways it felt nice, but it didn't feel Right. And then the deciding moment came. She brought her mouth to mine, and I knew this was the test. If I could do this, I had my answer.

I couldn't. I didn't want it. I felt so bad. Luckily I had a territorial dog who decided she had taken things too far, or maybe he thought I needed rescue. He broke the moment. I turned over and went to sleep. I acted like I had no idea what was going on.

She cried the next day. She told me it wasn't about sex. It was about feeling close. She had suffered a difficult year and she hadn't felt close to anyone like me in a long time. She was confused about what she was feeling, overwhelmed with love for me, for the friendship we shared, and she wanted to translate that in a way she didn't know how. It was sincere. It made me cry too. But what it also showed me was that I can't have sex with girls. Not in real life at least. I'm just not that kind of fish.

Some things are better left to the imagination............

I still have my girl crushes though:)

She, He, and Them....

1. She has no tattoos. Her mother thinks "only whore's vair tatoo's." She disagree's but wouldn't dare disobey.
2. She, on the other hand has many. The one on her left arm in fact, says "Fcuk You."
3. He had sex with a midget.With a small arm. And liked it.
4. She lost her virginity when she was 12. To a boy named Spud. On a park bench. She didn't feel a thing. But told Spud it hurt like hell.
5. He always says excuse me before he's about to pass wind. He's a polite farter. His farts aren't so polite, however.
6. She has never seen her real hair. Not since she can remember at least.
7. She tries to talk to her dog like he can actually understand her. "No, don't pee there, it will ruin the wood."
8. He finds the crust on pizza disgusting.
9. She will eat his pizza crust after she finishes hers. She think's it's delicious!
10. She's never said a curse. Well, not really.
11. She never went a day of her life without saying her favorite word, Mutherfkcing Cocksukcer.
12. She had sex with the entire starting five of her high school basketball team.
13. Not all at once though.Not necessarily all seperately either.
14. She thought she would marry the man she lost "it" too.
15. Boy, was she wrong.
16. He secretly cries everytime he watches "The Lion King."
17. She only dates married men. Though she knows she wants more. But she's scared.
18. She would never date a married man. "Do you want Scott Peterson."
19. He loves guns and violence, but practicaly faints anytime Doctor 90210 is on and they show any kind of surgery.
20. She learned to be proficient in the use of the AK47 at the age of 14. As well as other heavy artillery. She thinks every woman should have these skills.
21. She collects frogs for good luck. Nothing but bad things have happened since.
22. He has really nice feet. She calls them "Jesus Feet." Why. She doesn't know.
23. At one time the net worth of all the men she was dating was nearly 1 billion dollars. And she was still living out of a suitcase.
24. Three of her husbands have died. They call her the "Black Widow."
25. She thinks they should call her the "Shining Miracle" because she survived the Bastards.
26. She has a habit of saying "I'm sorry." Even when someone has commited an offense on her. If they have bumped into her, or kicked her, She will say, "I'm sorry" to them.
27. Though he has more than enough money to pay for anything on the menu, he still asks the waitress, "How much will that be?" everytime he wants to add something extra to his meal.
28. Whenever you ask him a question, He will answer you, "Well...." and then you won't hear from him for another hour. But when he finally answers it will be detailed and well thought out. Too bad you forgot what the question was.
29. She has a very cute laugh. People actually wait for it to come. It's that cute.
30. She has a 4 drink limit. 5 makes her a lush. At 6 she's just a Slut.
31. He's having sex with his best-man's mother. The wedding was less than a year ago. They are "In Love."
32. She believes in true love but it's like the Hope Diamond. You know it exists but few have ever actually seen it up close.

Blaaaaaahhhhhh

I have absolutely nothing to write about. This post is going to suck. But at least I gave you warning.This happens sometimes. I call it CFBS. *I can't fu*k**g breathe syndrome* Did you know Lindsey Lohan actually has BREATHE tattooed on her wrist. She said she sometimes needs to remind herself. Ummmhmmm. Poor Girl. Anyway, It's hurricane season. And while we haven't had a "REAL" hurricane yet, we did entertain Alberto, but he was more of the boy who cried wolf than anything else, we have had a steady flow of ominous storms like EVERY day that are kicking up alllllllllllll the shyt that makes my Asthma go bonkers. Thus, I can not breathe. Which makes me antsy, a cranky little biyatch. Unable to sit for long periods of time. Totally UNPRODUCTIVE. This weekend I did absolutely, completely nothing. We did make it to a screening of the new Adam Sandler movie "Click" at Muvico though, which is always a classy experience, about 1/3 of the way through all you could hear behind us was, "Bitch, you want me to kick your ass here, or you want to take this shit outside!" Suburban kids are so Gangsta!

Moving on...

I keep smelling myself. No. It's good. I've always been a very conservative deodorant kind of girl. Stick not spray. Powder not gel.Powder Fresh not any of those strange exotic fancy smells. Always Lady Speed Stick. However, yesterday while at my heaven of all havens, CVS, I discovered a new scent. Exotic, but NOT offensive. Lady Speed Stick has come out with a new scent called Fruity Melon, and it smells heavenly. Not necessarily for everyday, I still like my subtle baby powder fresh, but the fruity melon smells fresh and fruity without smelling offensive and perfumey. Yum!

But back to "CLICK!" which we saw at MuvicoSux. I will tell that story later. Adam Sandler knows how to make the perfect combo Guy/Chick flick movie. Which is why he will always win. I was crying through most of the movie. Because I am so that girl. And it was just completely relevant to my life at the moment. Sometimes people are running so hard to get what's at the end of the rainbow, and they don't realize its just a bowl of flakes. I was fortunate or unfortunate enough, depending on how some might look at it, to learn this lesson early. Now I can actually take everyday, one at at a time, enjoy it for what it is, instead of trying to fast forward it in the hopes of reaching something that may or may not exist. I understand what matters, what truly matters, is today, the here and now, this minute, this person, this moment, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Be present in the moment.

And at this moment I am doing absolutely nothing! I'm sitting around in the infamous "I love Pink" sweatsuit. Today's pick is the royal purple, hair in a pony tail, inspired to do nothing. I need to write. I need to work. But what I really want to do I sit in front of my 42 inch TV and watch Armageddon and Dirty Dancing. I already knocked out Braveheart on Saturday. I have a strange chick flick tri-fecta. I need coffee. I'm not even a coffee drinker. And yet I now want my vanilla latte every day like a crack fiend. This post sucks. And yet I don't even care. Because I am Totally. Un In Spire ED. Whatever. That doesn't even look right. I'm going to do something wasteful and read some gossip, who's hired, who's fired, who's knocked up and who's getting divorced. Then this day can be a complete and total waste.

WooHoo!!

Bye Bye Bitches!

I have no vices. Like seriously. I don’t drink. My mom offered me alcohol when I was five. She’s European. That’s how they do. I’ve never smoked nor tried a drug. Not even the ganja. I don’t like anything that’s an offense to my senses, if it doesn’t taste or smell pretty, I’m not letting it near me. This is where I suppose I am a snob. But only with myself, I don’t judge others who partake. Go ahead, Indulge, have fun, I’ve even been known to fall in love with an alcoholic, a pothead or two. Pisces…. They seem to fall into this category. Not that I’m trying to stereotype or anything. But now I know to ask, “What’s your sign,” first. I do know a Pisces who’s the exception. A good friend in fact. Kwame. You’re excused.

As the summer is about to start the only thing I fear might actually be an addiction, is fast approaching. “Oh God, I’m going to lose you to the dark side again.” He says.

I’m ashamed. Could this actually be my vice? I obsess over it. I crave it. I think about it when I’m away from it. I detox from it once it’s gone. It’s where I go to escape from the stress of my real life. It’s toxic, its indulging, it makes me lose touch with real life. Oh my god…. I’m addicted to a reality television show. Not any reality television show. The only reality televison show that has 24 hour live internet feeds, for almost 3 months. Three shows a week, plus all access to everything that’s going on, at all times in between. Which is watching a live sociological experiment, lying, cheating, conniving, plotting, loving, pleading, laughing, playing, kissing, sexing, friendship….

I have casually watched it every year. But last summer, maybe because I had moved away from everyone and I was looking for something to fill the void, as most addicts do, I decided to take the plunge. I signed up for the internet feeds. And I was hooked. And it wasn’t just me, supposedly. There were hundreds of thousands of other dorks and rejects and people who shared my “VICE”. It was the highest rated season yet. They had the two best houseguests ever, in a “buxom blond” named Janelle who everyone took for a bimbo and tried to evict every week, but was secretly a fox and played her ASSSSS off, telling all the nerdy obnoxious, sanctimonious chicks plotting against her every week, it was “BYE BYE BITCHES!” and the debonaire, smart, sweet Iraqi Kaysar, the ultimate underdog who was voted out by the same NERD HERD, then voted back in by America, only to be manipulated and lied too, and kicked back out the next week by the same Nerd Herd. And this summer, they have come back with a vengeance.It’s ALL-STARS. Janelle and Kaysar will be back for sure. America’s voting. And though I’m ashamed to admit it, I will be subscribing to the live feeds once again, because I now know that I too have an addiction. And yes, It’s probably not healthy, being obsessed with other people’s lives really can’t be a very productive thing. But I’ve spent my whole life clean and sober. This is MY thing…..

So its Big Brother 7 All-Stars… my vice, my version of Crack. Yeah, I’m a dork.

DEALBREAKERS

I want this ~~~~~~~~~~~>

But I am no longer a 1. I am part of a 2. So I have to "compromise". So I don't get ^That. Which is ^*$#^^it!!

"We just fixed up the apartment. You want to tear it all apart with a new dog!" He says. It won't be like that I tell him. It won't be like before. When he met me I wasn't alone. I came as a package. Included was a neurotic mutt named Nookie. You can thank Marissa for the name. And the dog.

It was a warm summmer day in August or September, we had just finished getting Naked Brazilians, and this woman outside had these teeny little puppies, a mixed bunch,all rescued from a puppy mill, all needing homes. Buried in the brew was a mutt, no one could really tell what he was, Beagle/Jack Russel/Hot Dog mix maybe... he was teeny, cute with the warmest chocolate eyes. Riss said we had to take him. We were supposed to be Co-parents, we were going to raise him together,because he was sooooo adorable. I said alright, we scooped him up, and ventured off on our new journey. A few hours later she was gone, I was a single parent, and Nookie had a deadbeat dad. It's not really Riss's fault though. She had way too much going on in her life. The timing was awful. I just wasn't ready to handle a new baby on my own. When he was barely a few months old I was offered a job in the N.J. NBA office, which meant I would be gone insane hours. You just can't do that to a puppy. I felt like a dispicable parent, neglecting her child, abusing him. I loved him so much and yet I was at a loss. Eventually I started working for myself, and was able to be at home, we became attached at the hip, but then that became problematic. He didn't know how to be alone. He was never properly trained. The vet said that his breed was hyper sensitive,emotional, fragile... I empathized with him. He was me in so many ways. He always wanted to please, but sometimes he just didn't know what to do.

When we moved here everything was new for him. He destroyed the carpet. He tore into the front door with his nails when we would leave. He would howl for hours until we came home, so loud that all the neighbors wanted him to go, and we got a notice of eviction. They wanted him to go, or us. And they weren't the only one's. He had he it. I was his only supporter. I was loyal. I understood him. You don't give up on someone. You help them. Even if he is a dog. How you treat an animal is how you treat man. That's how I was raised. But I was no longer a single, and he was becoming a dealbreaker. He was a mess, pissing and shitting everywhere. So I gave in, I found him someone who seemed patient, kind, loving. Someone with a backyard. A nurse. She was a caretaker, she would be good to him, I thought. I miss him. I think of him all the time. How he would crawl into my lap, snuggle under my arm, sometimes bullying his way in there while I was sleeping. The funny way he would sometimes tilt his head like he could understand me, almost as if he were a person. How Mandy finally trained him to sit using Gummy Bears when nothing else would work.

I did it all wrong and now I want a chance to do it right. I have the time now. The time to take TIME. To sit with the new dog, to train him..or her. Him/her. We don't even have to get a puppy, he doesn't want it chewing everything up. He won't budge. He doesn't want its hair in the house. He doesn't want any accidents. It doesn't matter that doctors have found out that having a pet can be better for your health, something that is a BIG FKCUING deal for someone like me. He doesn't think dogs belong indoors. Maybe this is our dealbreaker. I'm alone. He has friends. He leaves for work. My work is here. My friends are not. I left them. I can do this right this time. I need this. I need a companion. He doesn't understand because he's not built like me. He doesn't need anything.

There are dog people, cat people and people who don't want either. I don't know those people, those "don't want either" people. And I certainly didn't think I might end up spending my life with one. Giving affection is therapeutic to me. To man, and to man's best-friend. That's what having ^ that is about for me. Not something cute to show off. Something to lay in my lap, rub, feel its heartbeat. Sit by me when I'm at my darkest, just BE there. Forget diamonds.. a DOG is girls best-friend.

He's seen me naked

“Don’t worry, I’ll hire you a personal assistant. I promise.”

I’m needy. Need-Eee. And I’m having a slight nervous breakdown. I don’t want to Need anyone. But I do. And right now it feels like the world is crashing in all around me. I wasn’t always like this, needy. I used to be IN-DEE-PEN-DENT. Then my brain went to mush. Maybe this is just an excuse. Maybe I want to be taken care of. I can’t drive. I don’t mean “I’m not good at it”. I mean I can not drive, like it’s against the law to let me get behind the wheel because of the seizures. Plus my blindness. I might kill someone. So I’m like a child. I have to be chauffeured. I left New York because it was too hard to walk everywhere on my still barely useful legs. Now I live in a state where people have to drive just to get to the corner store. I’m not sure I properly thought this out. I used to have food delivered to my apartment, sometimes at 3 am. Now, the only choices for delivery are Papa Johns and sub-par Chinese, and both quit at 11pm. What if I’m ever single again? Will I survive? Maybe this is a disaster. Maybe I’ve made all the wrong decisions. “I Love Pink.” It’s what my ass says. I have five of these sweat suits. Victoria’s Secret. I don’t get dressed anymore. I just sit around in my sweat suits, hoodie up, hiding out, tears streaming down my face spontaneously. I can’t remember things, numbers, words, people. It takes me twice as long to do things I did without thought once before.

I don’t want a Personal Assistant if he goes on tour. I can’t even believe this is a discussion. “Not a discussion” he says. “Its done. I’m not leaving you alone. Someone has to take care of you. You can’t take care of yourself.” Which means I’m Need-Eee. But I don’t want a stranger. I want him. He’s seen me naked. Not in that way. He knows all of the things that are wrong with me. The things others don’t understand, unless they have been around awhile. He deserves someone better. Someone who’s not damaged, complicated. All of my insecurities are creeping in. I’m a daddies girl. What if daddy dies. The doctors say they don’t know now. It might be the “other” cancer. The far worse one. I have to stand on my own two feet. But I have a brain that doesn’t talk to them sometimes. I want to be strong, not to be NEEDY. If not for myself, then for them. I want to feel like wearing something other than a sweatsuit that says, “I Love Pink” on my ass….

An open letter....

Talk to me....

I'm alone.

Lonely....

I don't know what I'm doing. I've left everything. Everyone. Gather me up in your arms. Tell me everything will be alright. You're distant. A piece of me dies each time I see you dissapointed. I want to be enough. Enough to fulfull. Satisfy.Fill the void.

Less Than. That's how I feel. Not than another woman, than the future.

I'm alone.

Lonely.....

We used to talk. I knew you loved me because the way you would say my name was different. I knew that my name was safe in your mouth.

I could always talk to you. Now, I feel like when I open my mouth, stones fall out.

Love uses you, Changes its mind, its tempermental, humiliating, tiring.

Life isn't different. Do our lives lie along the same path? Entwined like rope, or are we diverging.... Your eyes mask your soul, while my eyes bare mine. If only they could meet, for an honest moment, like they once did, to bare the truth.

C.A.N.C.E.R. is a four letter word.

She said not to cry.

I'm crying that really ugly cry where snot comes out and you huff and puff and wail and look like a wretched animal, the kind of cry you lock yourself in a bathroom to let out freely because letting anyone witness it is like letting them see you wholey, completely naked.

He has CANCER.

HODGKINS DISEASE......

You knew. You are connected to him in a way no one else can understand. You smile like him, squinting your eyes the same way. You have the same quiet manner about you, until you don't.

You knew. You prayed you were wrong.

It's not supposed to happen like this.

He just had a heart attack. HE JUST HAD A fucking HEART ATTACK.

When I was a little girl I had night terrors. And nightmares. Everynight. I stole his sleep. He didn't care. He would come in my room and watch over me, singing to me, play games with me, give me whatever small comfort he could provide to lull me back to sleep. He was DAD.

One Christmas morning when I was 8 he gave me a Globe and Encyclopedias. I looked at him like he was crazy. "You'll always be pretty, but if all you ever get are barbie's you'll always be stupid too." He said.

He taught me all about first downs, sliders, technical fouls. His face lit up everytime he talked about his beloved Celtics and Red Sox. He took me to my first baseball game at Fenway Park. I hate the Red Sox. He doesn't care. He just cares I came.

When my mom got sick he dropped everything to take care of her.

When my granpa got sick he dropped everything to take care of him.

When I got sick. Over and over again. He dropped everything to take care of me.

I want it to be me. I'm young. I'm like the teflon don. I can suffer. I bounce back from everything. But leave my dad alone you fucker. Be on your *ffing way Bitch. You're not welcome here. He's going to fight you. If I could fight you for him I would. And you don't want to mess with my mom. She's from Russia you know. She once pistol whipped a cop.

N.Y.C. to M.I. A.

This came today.........

And this is coming tommorrow, hopefully. To replace the 2 yr old car we now treat like a step-child. I'm ashamed.

I remember when I lived in an apartment too small for a dining room table. A lot of nights I ate over my kitchen sink, or at the coffee table which was my dining table. I remember when I used to look at cars pull out of garages in Times Square and say, Ooooooo, that's pretty. But I didn't know anything about them, and I really couldn't afford one. And if I could, I certainly couldn't afford to park it. $300 a month for a garage...pssshhh, If I was going to be spending that on anything it would be something much more practical....like these. I have two bedrooms and two baths now, a kitchen you can walk around in without feeling like you should be bending the person over, a formal dining area which as of today if is no longer naked, and a terrace that actually sits overlooking a golf course. I can wake up every morning, walk a few feet out of my door, take a swim and bask in the sun, something I used to dream about on the sweltering rooftop of my 47 story highrise apartment in the middle of Manhattan.

I remember when I used to spend sundays in the city at my favorite shops, walking my fingers along all the things I wanted but secretly knew I couldn't have.

I lived to pay rent.

Isn't that the New York story.... We make sure the rent check doesn't bounce, gets in on time, and everything else is just a luxury. Manhattan is a city for the rich not poor. Poor being a Broad term. Manhattan's poor might be Wyomings Rich. But, of course, who the f*^~k wants to live in Wyoming.

I would have never left New York by choice. By choice meaning, if I had any idea when I got on the plane to Miami that it would be the beginning of the end of my life. My life as a "New Yorker." Because at the time the thought of ever living anywhere else was as horrifying and repulsing as adopting Damian the devils Child. 666. "I don't want that."

"It's nice for a weekend." I would always say about Miami.

"It's just not a city to me" I would say about Los Angeles. Its so spread out.....

New York is a magical, mystical place. Everything is old before it ever gets a chance to be new. Every cab ride is an experiment in foreign relations, and stepping outside of your door can mean the difference between life....and life passing you by. The city can roll over in its impersonal waves, people walk with their eyes distant, focused on some other horizon. New York is dirty, noisy, rushed. It can suck you dry and leave you exhausted, but there isn't any other place in the world like it.

I miss it.

I miss it so much sometimes it hurts.

I thought I was coming here for a weekend.

It's been a long weekend. 2 1/2 years to be exact. I no longer live to pay rent. I live to live. Not that I didn't in New York. In a million different ways I had a life there that can never be replicated. But in a million others, I don't have to be a spectator anymore. I have a certain kind of freedom now. I don't have to always feel like I'm suffocating, drowning, trying to keep my head above water.

I don't have to feel guilty for staying in. Wondering if I'm missing what's going on out there. I've found new pleasures, made new discoveries. Sometimes I can't imagine that I lived all those years without Palm Trees. I'm having a love affair with them, with Las Olas, News Cafe for Brunch, Sushi Samba on Lincoln Road when I'm feeling Nostalgic for the city......

So why did I stay....

Because as the weeks passed my desire to stay a week longer outweighed my desire to return to a New York winter that burns and bites and makes you wonder why you aren't living somewhere warmer...slower...easier. Somewhere like Florida. One week turned in two, two to three. Shortly after, I met someone. Someone turned into THE one and THE one opened my eyes to a different kind of life.

"You're such a city girl." He would say in his half endearing, half condescending way.

" Yes, yes I am." I wore it like a badge.

When we flew up to New York to break my lease he winced.

"This is what you're getting for $2600 a month."

"It has really nice views.... and granite counter tops." I tried to sell him.

"You realize in Florida we could have a four bedroom house and a 7 series for this, Right?"

You either get New York. Or you don't. I do. But I made a choice to say goodbye. For love. For money. For my health. Because I could no longer sell it to myself.

Not that Ikea and the # 2 train weren't good to me......

Okay scratch the #2 train. I really hated you. One day I'll write you a letter.

Burn baby burn

My body's burning. It's this cold burn that makes me want to tear off the right half of my body, the half that burns, like a lion would tear into its prey. I swear I wouldn't care. It's fucking miserable, the cold burn from my brain, from the scarring left in there. The worst part is I can't be touched when it comes, the burn. Being touched is like suffering the most unbearable torture. I feel bad for him. He only wants to help, to caress, to make me feel better. But something as light as his breath on my skin can make me want to cry.

I live with the burn all day, but its always worse at night, when my body is overstressed and tired, when the medication has metabolized and worn off. I hate pills. With a passion. I secretly skip them sometimes. The last time I did this it happened. In the car. I don't know what it looks like when it happens. I can't imagine I look very sexy, convulsing. I would probably laugh if I was watching. I know I'm being a bad girl, skipping the pills. But the medicine just makes me so tired.

Always so tired.

Burn baby burn.

I wish I could talk to the scar in my brain. If I could I would tell her.

"I'm not your bitch.... BITCH."

Fatass

I used to be a model. I used to be in videos. Now I look at models. In videos.

Now I'm a fatass.

"You're such a fat kid." He says. He thinks its funny. He thinks its endearing....my love for sweets. How I covet them. He thinks I'm crazy. He says the scale is making me delusional. He says I'm tiny. Obviously he's delusional.

I've never been "skinny." Always "slim with curves." But I've gained ten pounds in the last three months, and I'm feeling like my curves are starting to look more like, well- blurbs. So......why the weight gain you might ask.

Because I'm a fatass. Not to be confused with a fat- Ass. I would be jumping for JOY if this weight had, in fact, GONE to my ASS. Instead, its hanging around in my stomach, vacationing along my arms, taking a siesta in my FACE.

BOOTEEDOO: When you're stomach sticks out more than your booty do.

^ I'm About to HAVE one of those. Oh, How the mighty have fallen.

AOL had a front page story yesterday on Thyroid deficiencies. I am convinced this is my problem. My thryoid is not doing its job, making me a FATASS. Because while I have the Mind of a fat kid, I do not, in fact, have the appetite of one. I don't eat like one and I gained this weight when I was exercizing the most. So, of course, this can't possibly be my fault.

Unless of course it is.

I actually contemplated being a contestant on Survivor, not for the Million dollars, but as a weight loss program. Those are the kind of extreme circumstances I would need to stop eating, because I love food. Its like sex. Some people are even whore's for food. Like Riss.

He says I look better with the weight. But in a time where the standard seems to be "anorexic chic' " a la, Nicole Richie and Lindsey Lohan, and Jessica Alba is getting so thin her head is starting to look like a bobble, its hard to feel comfortable getting thicker rather than thinner. I read an article once where Jessica Alba said that she knew she was fat, and if "Hollywood talked about Jennifer Lopez and her Ass" she could only imagine what they were going to say about her. I was watching Jessica the other night, as she hosted the MTV awards, and I almost saw one of her neckbones popping out. She was a toothpick. I went over to the mirror and I started talking.

"You have really fallen off. Fatass."

The mirror talked back too me. It said.

"Are you fucking crazy? Go sit your ass down and eat a fucking snickers or something."

50 Things you didn't know

1. I briefly dated a guy who plays for the Buffalo Bills. He said he had no children. It turns out he has like EIGHT.
2. At least once a week my mother tries to talk me out of getting married. This week, her words of wisdom were, "Men are not for marriage, they are for Transportation." As in, out of one country...and into another. She's Russian.
3. I have never smoked a cigarette, tried a drug (including weed) and I do not drink. I have caught a contact high though.
4. I hate the sound of men clipping their toenails. Especially in bed. This will make me cringe. If I hear them in the bathroom I make them close the door.
5. I am horrible at math. I can ADD. That's where it begins and ends. Really.
6. I can watch the movies Braveheart, Dirty Dancing, Armegeddon and Pretty Woman over and over again, any day, at any time. I'm not saying these are American Classics. I'm just saying that I have the ability, you know...if ever called upon.
7. Tara Reid, Paris and Nicky Hilton, Christina Ricci and Sara Michelle Gellar all went to my high school.
8. So did Macauley Caulkin. I felt bad for him. The press was outside of his apartment everyday. His sister was in my class. She was very quiet but one of my only friends. She left after like a year.
9. I was a dancer until I was 18/19. I suffered chronic tendenitis which made me quit. Sometimes when I would tell people I was a dancer, they would think I meant stripper. I think it's because I have 34dd's.
10. I'm afraid of the telephone. I have telephonaphobia.
11. When I was little, my dad bought me this rare Mickey Mouse Jacket. One day I didn't come home with it from school. He asked me what happened to it. I said I gave it away. Another time, he managed to get me one of the first Cabbage Patch Kids, which were almost impossible to get. One day I came home from school without it. He said, where's the Cabbage Patch? I said, this girl at school really wanted one and her mommy couldn't find one anywhere. I wanted to share. My dad said he knew exactly what kind of kind I was gonna be from that day forward.
12. If I start out the night with clothes on, I will strip till I'm naked. I can't sleep constricted.
13. I can't sleep with socks on. Nor can I sleep with my feet exposed. The blanket has to always cover them.
14. I like the room to be really really cold so I can snuggle under the comforter. I hate when its warm. I won't fall asleep if I'm the least bit hot.
15. I grind my teeth when I sleep. I didn't know this until I lived with someone.
16. One summer, my mother made me read 50 books. They were on the schools summer reading list. You were only supposed to pick five. My mother claims she didn't know. She's lying.
17. I won a writing award at end of the sixth grade year for a paper on Marilyn Monroe. I was never prouder of an award in my life. 6th grade was a good year.
18. When I was five my parents got us a dog named Jacques. I hated the name but I loved the dog. One day he got hit by a car and lived. But had seizures and was always choking on his tongue. When I was nine I went to summer camp and my parents put him to sleep while I was gone. I've never forgiven them.
19. I hate cherry flavored candy. I will pick out all the cherry starbursts, cherry skittles, cherry jolly ranchers. But I do like actual Cherries.
20. My favorite food is pizza from the shop on 78th and Broadway.Miami pizza Sux.
21. I have to have a coke with no ice when I'm out at a restaurant but wouldn't think of drinking coke at home.
22. I am terrified of escalators. And bathtub drains.
23. I have seizures. And a tremor. But both, only sometimes.
24. I'm slightly colorblind.
25. When I'm really tired I will sometimes stutter.
26. I like the smell of gasoline, fresh laundry and neighbors cooking.
27. I'm ashamed of how much television I watch.
28. I can count the number of guys I've slept with on less than two hands, almost one. I'm not sure if this is good or bad.
29. I don't know if God exists. I believe in people. My mother believes in God. My father doesn't. And thinks anyone who does isn't using their brain.
30. I cannot date anyone under 6 feet.
31. I talk to my dad everyday. Usually twice a day. Sometimes 3 or 4 times a day. He is my best friend.
32. I had the chicken pox.... twice.
33. Who knew this was this hard.
34. I was "let go" from a job two weeks after receiving a raise because I wouldn't sleep with pervo my boss.
35. I have small hands and feet for my height.
36. When people call my house and I answer they say, "Can I please speak to your mom."
37. I like doing dishes but I can't cook for shit. This dissapoints me.
38. I don't say I have to pee. I say, "I have to tinkle."
39. I've seen every movie. I mean every movie.
40. I'm so sick of rice and beans right now I want to throw up.
41. Places I've never been but want to go: Egypt, Somalia, Athens, Rome and Paris.
42. I eat everything on my plate seperately in order beginning with what I like least, saving what I like best for last.
43. I'm very affectionate but I surround myself with people who aren't. I don't know why.
44. My grandmother used to call me "Lanichka." The last time I saw her she thought bombs were dropping on her(Parkinsons disease). She died a few months later. She was gang-raped by the Russian Army when she was nine.
45. When I was growing up I wasn't allowed to say the word "Jerk". It was considered a bad word just like shit or fuck.
46. Then one day when I was 16 I caught my dad on a business call drop about 15 F bombs and all bets were off.
47. I don't really like coffee, but when I need to work I'll drink a vanilla latte to keep me up. But then I get diarreah.
48. I walk into walls. Alot. But its not my fault.
49. Because I can't see out of the right side of both of my eyes.
50. I slept with my significant other on our first date. Yeah. I'm a whore.
51.But then we moved in together so now I'm a housewife :)

Love Letters........

The All-Star

It wasn't your fault really. I was still so young. I had had a crush on you for so long, pedastalizing you, scripting you, scripting us. With you I finally understood the difference between a documentary movie and Disney. Crushes can be easily scripted, painted any color you like, but real life- adult relationships are much more complicated. You could have had anyone, and you did. But you took your time and got to know me, and I you. You were so much like me. I fell in love with that. But you were weak. You were a liar. You were a weak liar.

"I need you."

I wanted you to need me.

"I trust you."

I wanted so much to trust you.

"I miss you."

And everytime I would come back. Back to a lie. But one that I wanted to hear. I wanted to help you. But I had to read about other women in the newspaper.

"Don't believe that. You know the media. They manipulate things."

The last time I saw you should have been beautiful. Instead you were sad, pathetic. You were a drunk. All of the people you had around you, and no one cared. No one but me. I told you. "You're a drunk." You had to stop. Bottles strewn everywhere. This was where I learned lifes' lesson. Money, fame, cannot buy you happiness.

I slept with you. It was goodbye.

You went on to date the supermodel. You treated her the same. You're a a fucking idiot. But its not your fault. You never were malicious. You're just weak. I pedastalized you because that's what I used to do. I've learned. Thanks for the lesson.


The Year Long Rebound

We never should have dated. You're a Leo.

You were everything he wasn't. You were controlled. unemotional. logical. I now know I hate those things.

I'm not saying I hate you. I love you. Just not in that way.

The night we met you never left my side. You told me I was beautiful. I believed you. You were sincere. You were handsome. I knew of you. Other girls wanted you.

When you picked me up you opened the passenger door for me. You never stopped doing that. I liked it.

You took me to Kentucky Fried Chicken on our first date. It was our first date. But I'm no snob, so I thought nothing of it. Two months later we'd never been too a nice restaurant.

"You're cheap" I'd say.

"I'm frugal." You'd say.

Then you pulled up in your new lexus. "I was saving for the car."

I realized then that you would always be trying to save for that next big thing, while meanwhile the daily pleasures of life passed you, passed us by. I didn't need a Lexus. I lived in a city with arguably the best restuarants in America and I wanted to occasionally eat at them. I wanted to go to the movies or sleep on at least 300 count sheets.

You didn't know how to touch me. When you caressed me it felt like someone petting their dog.

I knew your voicemail code. You should probably not use your birthday.

I didn't want to check it. But everyone said I should. I knew I wouldn't find anything. I was dissapointed when I did.

I was naseaus when I asked you who Sophia was and you said you didn't know any Sophia. This made me want to stab you. But I am a peaceful person so I just let it go. You were the rebound guy and I was secretly still in love with him.

Soon came the Puerto Rico fiasco. You would play for them for the summer. Paradise. beaches. $2.oo breakfast feast at the cafe every morning. We were having a wonderful time. Until we weren't. You fought with me because I gave water to a dog that followed us on the street. A small, white, fluffy dog so obviously once someone's pet. You hate dogs. You yelled at me for giving him water. This was a dealbreaker. We started fighting about everything. But then you needed me.

You were betrayed. We had to leave. This was the first time I ever witnessed true vulnerability in your eyes. I was there for you. At the airport we sat. You cried. It was the first time I saw you shed a tear. Not even when your grandfather died. You were finally showing emotion. We talked. Really talked. If only this had come sooner. I never really really knew you. And maybe you never really knew me. We both had walls up. We needed each other. You loved my beauty, my kindess and generosity. I needed your control, detachment, reliability.

I have no idea how we broke up. But you're a best friend now. The only ex I can count as such. I'm still trying to figure you out......

The PUSSY

I hate you. I really really hate you.

I was a beautiful person when I met you. Now I am broken. That is your fault. I believed in the base human decency of all-mankind, however naive, until you changed everything.

I wasn't looking for you. I wasn't looking for anyone. I was finally free. Happy being alone. Learning to be comfortable in my own skin. I was growing up. I found my passion. All I wanted to do was walk to the restroom. You kidknapped me. You had my arm. It was crowded. Beyond crowded. I needed an escort. You looked harmless. If only I knew. I didn't think you were attractive. I thought you were average. The sweater you were wearing was ugly. But you were so taken with me. It was nice. And though you kidknapped me by the arm it wasn't rough. You were gentle. You wanted to know me. You asked if you could call somtime. I rarely gave my number out. I said alright. The next day I forgot about you. You were forgettable.

That night you called. I wasn't home. When I listened to the voicemail I debated returning your call. I now know I shouldn't have. But I did. We talked for hours. You were shocked that I could talk to you about sports. We were comfortable. Like we had known each other forever. We both knew. This was different for me. I hardly could remember what you looked like. This wasn't about attraction for me, no school girl crush. I didn't want you because someone else did. You made me laugh. We spoke for a week. It was the first week of lies. You had a daughter but you were afraid to tell me. By the end of the week when you did I laughed.

"I love children." I said.

You were relieved. But I should have been the scared one. It was your daughter. You shouldn't have kept her a secret, even if just by omission, even for a week. It was a week we spoke for hours every day. What else would you hide for fear of my judgment.

Before our first date you brought your daughter by my apartment. She was beautiful. I was glad you felt comfortable enough to introduce us. You dropped her off at home then picked me up. The restaurant you chose was perfect. The dish you recommended delicious. I saw the bill and went for my purse. You wouldn't have it. The way you looked at me made me nervous. I liked it. You saw me. You memerized everything about me. We kissed that night. It was like being kissed by the ocean.

It was nearly a month before we had sex. We spent nearly every minute leading up to that moment together. At my apartment, at the studio... I would work while you would mix, dinner, the movies. We were inseperable except for the few hours you went home to sleep and take care of your daughter. You tried to make me a Laker fan. I told you I was Knicks 4 life. Everywhere we went people looked at us and smiled. We were good together. They knew.

A few months went by. I was never happier in my life. We were in love.

Then you dropped the bomb.

Mandy came out from LA and I wanted you to meet her. It was important you get along. She was my best friend. You picked us up with Brian. We went to Bar 89. Mandy talked to you. Then she got drunk off of Martini's.

I wanted to believe you. I did. It was possible. We were always together. It made sense. She went to work at 6 in the morning. You only got home at 6. She came home at 5. You left at between 12 and 2pm. You took your daughter to daycare. She picked her up. How could you be seeing each other? I was with you every day, every night. You bought the house when you found out she was having the baby. You weren't together, but you weren't with anyone else. You wanted to raise your daughter. It made sense. You resented your dad for being a deadbeat. You didn't want to do that same thing to your daughter. I believed you. I understood.

But did she understand? Why was she searching through your things? Why did she email me? And why were you so afraid of me emailing her back.

I should have left you then. I tried. I told you we needed to take a break. That you needed to figure things out before we could continue. Your life had changed. You couldn't continue living two lives. You listened. You tried to pacify me. You told her all about me. She packed up and moved out. She played you.

She told you she was going to take your daughter to Pennsylvania. You panicked. You pushed me away. I told you she couldn't do that. You were supporting her. She had a bullshit part-time job. You earned six-figures. You owned the house your daughter had lived in her entire life. You could ask for primary or equal custody. You had no spine. You were the same with your mother.

I told you I was going to my parents. It was best for both of us if leave the city for a little while, to give us both space, time to reflect. We needed to figure out what was best for each of us. You told me not to. You said I was running. You told me to stay and you would fix everything. I should have said FUCK YOU. Instead I stayed.

Fixing everything turned into her moving back in after a week. You told me you discussed it. She understood everything. It was merely a custodial arrangement for your daughter. Nothing more. And she was alright with that. They would be staying in the house in the long term and soon you would be moving into an apartment on your own.

I believed you. You loved me. You wouldn't hurt me. You sought me out. When I told you it was over you shed a tear. You couldn't let me go. I couldn't let you go. When you got on the plane to Miami before going to do the Missy song you made sure to tell me you loved me. It was almost like it was going to be the last time.

Things were never the same after that.

The first few phonecalls I didn't pay much mind too. Wrong numbers maybe. But then it got stranger. And then She called. And she started yelling at me. I tried to calm her down.

She wasn't very smart. In fact, she was ghetto. And I can say that because she terrorized me. So yeah, she was fucking ghetto. She told me you were on your way to my apartment. "Why?" I said.

"Because I just told him you sent me a letter threatening our daughter."

This is where she knew you better than I did. This is where she knew your soft spot for your daughter superceded anything and everything. She knew if she could fabricate something threatening harm against your daughter any sense of rational or logic would go out the window with you. Because if you had TWO functioning brain cells you would have remembered who I was, and that I don't even step on cockroaches. I barely cursed before we met YOU FUCKING BASTARD. And she knew that before I came into your life she had everything she wanted, a beautiful house in a posh area in New Jersey, a luxury car and the man she loved. Now that was all threatened. You weren't married. She wasn't guarenteed anything.

You actually asked me if I wrote it. I told you to go to hell, and spend a while thinking about things while you were there. I told you what she was doing. That you were being manipulated. It was so sad for me to watch. I wanted you to protect me. Not accuse me.

It only got worse from there. By now Mandy had moved out from LA. We had spent the day in the Village shopping. Shortly after coming home psycho babies mama called my cell phone.

"You were at my job today!"

"Scuze me? Who is this?" I asked.

"You know who this is bitch. I know you were at my job. The security officer told me. I know what you look like." And she proceeded to describe me. "Stop coming here or I'm going to report you."

I told her to go ahead. The only way she could know exactly what I look like is if she was stalking ME. Because SHE worked for the phone company and knew all of my information. I had no idea where her office was. Nor did I have any interest. For the next few weeks a few mornings a week I would be awoken in the morning by her, pretending to be someone else, someone named Rachel. It was always something new. Some new disease she told me you had. Sometimes she started out saying you gave it to her, then contradicting herself saying she gave it to you. She was a moron. She said she, "Rachel" was another girl you were seeing. I asked where she got my number from. She didn't have an answer. I asked why she sounded so much like "T", your PBM. She didn't have an answer. I filed a police report and had the phone company trace the calls. They were able to find out where your psycho baby mama worked and that all the calls came from payphones within blocks of her office. "Rachel" didn't have an answer for this. It was wearing on me. The constant phone calls. Her threats. Lies. I felt like I had walked on to a bad movie set and everyone had a copy of the script except me. I no longer knew what reality I was living.

This was your mess. My life was simple before I met you. In fact, it was the simplest it had been in a long time. I was happy. Single, alone, but content. When i met you, I had never known anyone like you, I never felt a love like yours, and I wanted that, but at what cost. Being terrorized day and night. You were a fucking pussy. And a liar. And to this day I don't know what the truth was... is. A few weeks later I ended up in a the hospital, having suffered a stroke. Paralyzed on one side. I had been sick for a month leading up to that. I was unbelievably stressed out. You didn't protect me. I will NEVER be with someone like you again. I put all of my trust into you and that was a mistake. You didn't deserve me or my love. You shattered my heart into a million little pieces. I'm a different person now, and that's sad. Because the person you met was unique and special, and should have been cherished. She would have been cherished by the one I'm with now, she would have been handled with care. Instead, you dropped me off a 50 story building.

Girl who fears....

I should be a better person than this. I shouldn't secretly want him to myself. He's a genius, a prodigy...and I'm evil, selfish, horrible. When we met I had almost died. He said, "I'll be the stregth you lost."

He's given me everything. Hope, understanding, respect, loyalty, commitment. He loves me just as I am.

He loves me Just As I Am......

But it wont always be like this. It can't be. I've seen what fame can do. I've been down this road before. But he has a gift. People make demands of him. And sacrifices will be made. I already feel it. I'm a horrible person for being scared. I should only feel joy. "I'm doing this for US." He says.

He's different than the others. Then all who've come before him. He's honest.

I love him more than I have loved anyone all the days of my life.He came into my life when I felt like I was suffocating; lifeless, breathless....drowning. He brought me joy and sunshine and happiness when my days had been filled with gray skies for so long. He was so much of what I was not and yet so much of what I was. , and I felt like every single time I looked into his eyes every fiber of my body wanted to melt into his. He was not perfect, I was not anywhere near perfect, but we were perfect for each other. And perfect for each other is all anybody can ask for in a world where nothing makes sense and everyone is just trying to carve out a little piece of happiness for themselves.

He can't be all mine forever. I have to share him. Not with another woman. He would never ask that.

I don't want to share him. I'm ashamed. But I know what can happen. I will be the sacrifice. I'm a horrible person. I've already lost so much.

But.... he loves me just as I am.

I will love him just as he is. I will love him and be here. I will love him when he goes on tour. I will love him when we've been apart for weeks or months if necessary. I will love him when 19 year old girls named Monique are whispering in his ear that they can do things I've probably never heard of. I will love him when it feels like everyone in the world is getting a peice of him but me. I will love him because it's all I know how to do.

But between you and me, I'm an awful person. And I'm scared.