I’d like you to meet my new coach in life & love, Patti Stanger. I am unsure about what is happening to me, but I think my year of single dom is starting to wear on me because while watching my new trash tv addiction, The Millionaire Matchmaker, I find myself agreeing with a lot of what this insane bitch says. And After a date that ended pretty terribly a few days ago (no details please, suffice to say I will not be receiving emails from this gentleman any longer), I feel I need to institute a new rule for my dating life inspired by Patti. And that is: No more “drinks” dates. I don’t know if this is a an online dating thing or a modern dude OMG I’M SO BUSY thing but I am sick of dates that are just drinks. And I refuse to go on them any longer.
Patti breaks it down like this: “coffee is cheap and drinks are an audition”. My thoughts exactly. Besides, coffee dates are for meeting for a job interview or when you meet up with your friends who work downtown. And I understand that the point of a “drinks” date is just in case you have no chemistry, you can make an easy exit, but I think I am also done with impatient dudes who want to meet after exchanging two emails. But, as Patti also says, “It?s important to remember that even if your date is not your dream guy, you are gathering information and experience, called Dating Data, that you will use on future dates with someone more to your liking.” (Text taken from Patti’s rules!)
This is another thing that has happened in online dating: whereas previously I felt that guys were more willing to actually I don’t know, learn a few things about you, now after a few emails in which you both agree that yes, you do enjoy Flight of the Chonchords and no, you don’t have a corporate job, and they stalk you on Myspace to make sure you are not repulsive, dudes want to immediately jump to meeting. Like that night.
So from now on: dinner dates. Like in Patti’s club, at 4 or 5 star restaurants only. So getting a burrito does not count. I believe this eliminates any person who would actually date me but it may be time for an overhaul of my “standards”. If anyone knows any investment bankers who enjoy dates with dirty mouthed chubby ladies who would like to take me to any of the restaurants listed here, let me know.
I’m in Vegas! Woo! Very, very brief because I’m actually having a life at this moment.
1) The Venetian is a nice hotel. The Wynn is nicer. I never thought I’d be able to say either of those things with any kind of authority, but now I can! The Venetian however, has free wi-fi and Bouchon and you all know how I feel about constant Internet access and constant access to French fries. I MUST HAVE THEM BOTH.
2) Las Vegas is an amazing place. There is so much wrong with it, but I love it. It’s so fake and so ridiculous and so loud and it’s just fantastic.
3)I’m a lucky person, living a charmed existence. Life is good!
If you don’t watch House, this is Dr. Cuddy, the hottest Dean of Medicine ever. Her role on the show is to ruin Dr. House’s fun as well as provide him with an endless amount of sexual tension. I love House. I love Dr. Cuddy. I love Sela Ward’s character, Stacy. And I love the medical mysteries. What I hate are his little slaves/junior doctors and their fucking terrible dialogue and I hate that THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS DIAGNOSTIC MEDICINE. A doctor’s job is to diagnose, therefore every single doctor on planet earth is a “diagnostician”.
Anyway, back to Lisa. I googled her name because someone on Crazy Days & Nights brought her up as a potential blind item answer and mentioned that she was a “huge dyke”. Naturally, my interest was piqued.
Imagine my sheer delight when I uncovered Lisa’s fascinating past: she was a club kid in NYC who used to go by “Lisa E.” and was so popular she was dubbed the “Queen of The Night” by superfag James St. James of Party Monster fame! How awesome is that, especially in light of her playing super straight laced Dr. Cuddy! Club kids, for those of you who don’t remember or were not TV addicts in the 80s like I was (considering I was about 8 and had nothing else to do), were these people:
Not only that, she used the notoriety she gained from being in the club scene to write a musical called “Positive Me” about the AIDS crisis that was happening in mid-1980s NYC. She’s gone on to work in a ton of different roles, including an MTF tranny! And to top it off, she is vegan and rescues dogs!
I wasn’t able to uncover any indication of her gayness, so I think the commenter was perhaps just sharing her fantasies out loud.
In any case, we love you, Dr. Cuddy! Perhaps I will catch you in the club some day! I am proud to call you a broad I like.
I done went and ignored you for 3 straight days after I told you I would be here every day for 30 days. And like an abusive boyfriend, I am back, on my knees, begging you to take me back and forgive me. It’ll be different this time, It’ll never happen again, all of that stuff I was doing when I wasn’t blogging? It meant nothing to me, it was just a diversion, I’m blocking it out!
And so here we are. I’m gearing up to have it all come full circle, back to the scene of the crime, going, going, back, back to Vegas (apologies to those of you who are not Biggie fans). We are going there because our friends won me and my two BFFs in a charity date auction. If it resembles anything like my previous trip to Vegas, I am in serious trouble. We are booked to stay at the Venetian and I am currently stalking ways to get bottle service at LAX (the latest Paris Hilton hangout) Do you think if I call them and tell them I am from a VERY IMPORTANT MEDIA OUTLET (as in, this blog, DUH) they will just give us a table?
I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who can talk their way into things -I want to go to the club, but I want to go VIP. As in, I want to have a place to sit and laugh at people. I was looking through websites for clubs in Vegas and stumbled upon this kid, Jack Colton, who has some kind of “Vegas insider” page and while I found his site to be very helpful, I thought the pictures of the people who were supposed to be “hot” to be um, just a bit disappointing. I mean, is that all that is needed to be hot? A fake tan and heavy eye makeup? I think maybe, I just have the hipster bias. I see people like this and think: these are the kinds of bitches who make out with each other just to turn on dudes and who will show their tits for Mardi Gras beads and who will unironically talk about which Sex and the City character they are. As in: not my people.
(A Classic Vice Don’t:” If this was an R&B band they’d be called, POSE 4 DJ (a Pile Of Steaming Estrogen For Dumb Jocks”).
Anyway, if you have tips on the best way to get into clubs, please let me know. I only want to go to hot places. I spend my entire life in unpretentious, “low key” establishments and Vegas is not the time to do that. 5 star luxury ONLY, bitches!
Is there anything sadder than being home on a Friday night, slightly zonked out on the Vicodin that you took because your uterus won’t stop contracting and you feel like an asshole because you missed your friend’s benefit and you’re in your Old Navy sweats and you’ve gained 5 pounds in 10 minutes and your tits are up at your face and you look up from checking up on your RSS feeds and see that the ad on tv is for some gel that is supposed to REFRESH YOUR VAGINAL PH?? Thanks advertising, for making me feel fantastic about myself once again. It’s moments like these that make me feel like a busted cliche.
I’m not one to keep it to myself, now you can feel like a lonely single girl, too. Pull up a pint of ice cream, put on that Kiehl’s face mask and watch:
(Check out the sly eyebrow raise from the woman at 0:12)(In the time it’s taken me to post this entry, this commercial has come on at least 4 times. Bite me, USA Network. What are you trying to say? I’m probably the only person on the planet who has ever heard of, much less watched the TV show Psych. You should be praising me for sticking through it, not insulting my lady parts. Don’t make me switch to E!)
One of my friends recently got laid off from their job and found themselves with a very large flexible spending account to spend. Rather than buy a lifetime supply of Advil or Q-tips, she decided to buy 33 packs of the morning after pill, also known as Plan B and share the wealth with me and a couple of other sassy broads.
This makes me think of all of those wonderful times that Plan B & I have partied together. There’s the first time: in college, having to do that ultimate walk of shame from one end of a freezing cold campus to another in the dreary Oberlin winter to pick up the pills in which I convinced myself that I not only had every STD known to mankind, I would also now have to raise a child, who would now ALSO have every STD ever and we would be exiled to a leper’s colony, a colony full of people who did not use condoms each and every single time they had sex. A few weeks later, my uterus revealed she was indeed empty. A couple of months later, it was confirmed I did not have every STD ever. Those were good feelings.
Then there was that time when I was actually on regular birth control but had of course forgotten to take a bunch of them for a couple of days and naturally, that exact same weekend was the weekend my man was in town and the minute he left, I made my friend drive me to the Potrero Hill Walgreen’s to take care of things. The little queen pharmacist looked me up and down and after asking me all the regular intake questions (last time I had sex, last time I took my birth control) sucked his teeth in, rolled his eyes and said “Uhhhh..yeah…you should PROBABLY take it”. Like you’ve never had unprotected sex, SIR. Why the dirty looks?
Having unprotected sex is one of the dirty little secrets of adult life. Everyone has done it when they probably shouldn’t have and everyone likes to get on their high horse when other people admit to doing so. I mean yes, ideally, we should all be using condoms all the time including for oral sex. Lets be real here - if you truly want to get serious about preventing STDs, you should also be using dental dams, finger cots, and gloves. Oh, and don’t kiss anyone either because you may get herpes. Just stare at each other from across the room; abstinence really is the best prevention, you know.
Fuck that. It’s called risk assessment. Some times you take a big one and hope for the best. Plan B throws a little more certainty into that “hope” cocktail. Here’s to you, Plan B, to always having backup, and to all those babies that never stood a chance. I’m raising my glass to you tonight!
(For more info on Plan B & emergency contraception - visit Not-2-Late.com, run by Princeton University. It is the grand daddy of all morning after pill sites and even teaches you how to use your regular birth control pills as emergency contraception, if you do not have access to Plan B.
To find out where to get tested for HIV, check out the CDC’s HIV testing site. For other STDs as well as more info on HIV & emergency contraception, my favorite resource is good old Planned Parenthood. And yes, even men can be seen there! )
This is the point in any experiment in which I start to get bored and start to rationalize why I shouldn’t go through with my 30 posts in 30 days. Only 5 people read my blog, I think, and almost all of them know me in real life. I already did the entry about Vegas-Gate. What else is there?
Because the show must go on and because I have to develop some kind of discipline if I am ever going to get anywhere in this life or I will kill myself. Well, I won’t kill myself. I’ll slowly do it with more alcohol and more vices.
Anyway.As I write this entry, my head is burning with the chemical death of Feria hair dye and my neck is covered in Vaseline (a typical Wednesday afternoon) as every single time I looked at my hair, I could see the faded out red from the last time I did a shitty drug store hair dye job and it was making me angry. Soon my hair, which is already pretty black, will be EXTRA BLACK.
I love doing things that give me an illusion of control like dying my hair. My favorites are:
1)Re-arranging furniture
2)Emptying the dishwasher and doing another load of dishes
3)E-stalking my exes and seeing how busted their new girlfriends look
4)Putting up a Craigslist ad, getting a ton of responses and ignoring all of them
5)Going for a walk with my iPod and imagining fantastic revenge scenarios, music video style
What are the things you do to make yourself feel better that don’t actually change anything?
1. Despite what anyone tells you, your virginity is not a sacred gift. It’s not something you own and it’s not something that makes you a better person. On the flip side, if you want to do it but haven’t, it’s not a burden or an indication that you are a leper who will never get laid. It just makes you some one who hasn’t done it yet. That’s all it is. You will do it and realize that sex is many things but never let it define your worth.
2. Your sex is not like anybody else’s. It isn’t like it is in porn or in movies and it isn’t even the way your friends may have described it to you. It’s yours. Maybe your first time will hurt, maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll bleed, maybe you won’t. Maybe what all your friends think is weird is what turns you on during sex and you are feeling like a freak. Don’t get caught up in this - it’s all up to you and who you’re hanging with. The important thing is to have fun.
3. Always pee after you do it. I don’t care if it’s cold, I don’t care if you don’t want to put pants on or a robe and you may have to go out into your dorm hallway or walk past his parent’s bedroom or walk past his giggling housemates, you will pay very dearly if you don’t pee. Why? The proof that God hates women: the UTI, or urinary tract infection. When I volunteered at a women’s sexual health clinic, Monday mornings were known for two things: girls wanting the morning after pill (more on this later) and UTI appointments. This typically happens when you have a lot of sex in a short amount of time or really rough sex. Anyway, can be avoided by peeing afterwards. You’ll thank me later.
4. Dudes like what you look like naked. There are literally millions of articles written in women’s magazines about how to hide your imperfections from men and you may as well burn all of those rags in a big giant trash heap because the truth is that they aren’t noticing. And if they are, they likely think whatever body part you despise is adorable and they want to do dirty things to it.
Same goes for underwear. There is a particular type of dude who is really into women’s lingerie but really, I have learned buy cute underthings for one person: me. I’m not saying to bust out the hanes her way period underwear when you go on dates, but if you’re spending hundreds of dollars on Agent Provocateur in the hopes that your man will notice for longer than one second, I say stop doing that and instead invest your money into regular waxing or a Gillete Mach 3 The results of the latter will be far more appreciated than an 100 dollar thong.
5. TALK to your partner. This one is hard - women in general have a hard time speaking up for what they want and we are totally conditioned to believe that sex is just going to magically be perfect. This is totally not true. Sometimes sex is work. Sometimes you have to be the writer, producer, director AND star of the show, you know what I’m saying? If the dude does not appreciate that you dare question his stunning technique, then I say, it is high time to pull your panties on and get out of there. A guy worth having sex with wants nothing more than to make YOU happy, he should be thanking his lucky stars you are even there.
I’m not going to lie: when it was my ex’s birthday last year, I listened to The Smiths “Unhappy Birthday” on repeat. Is there a song that captures that sweet essence of hating someone you also still love more? Look at the lyrics: And if you should die/I may feel slightly sad/but I won’t cry and then the clincher, that lovely aside at the end: “from the one you left behind”.
In my case, it was more: I hope you’re happy with that skinny bitch! I bet her ass isn’t taking you to Europe and dinner at Absinthe and buying youtickets to a fucking Red Sox game two rows behind home plate, you fucking asshole! By the way, I love you. And I miss you. BABY COME BACK (you can blame it all on me).
Ahem.
Which brings us to this video. I was looking for videos of UnHappy Birthday on YouTube and stumbled upon the following trainwreck of an iMovie montage that one very upset man made for his ex on his birthday and then apparently SENT TO HIM, which to me, is the saddest part of all, how clearly he still cares for him. You don’t send links to people you are not still in love with.
Edit: The YouTube embed link was messing up, so we’re going to have to do it the hard way and you’re going to have to click through! Wishing An UnHappy Birthday to Joey Nelson
There’s also a blog, and apparently this dude owes his ex 11,500 dollars, in which case, the above video doesn’t seem so psychotic. Naturally, I’m very curious to find out the details. I ran the asshole’s name through all the usual social networking sites and came up with nothing. The scorned ex has a personal blog and even a Yelp account, but unlike yours truly, they don’t vomit out all of their business on the Internet and there is no dirt to be found. Perhaps the creator of the video, Todd, will find this blog entry and give me the gossip. Send me an e-mail at maria AT onesharpbroad.com, I’ll buy you a drink in exchange for details!
I didn’t write a blog entry last night because I was doing a little thing that you may call “sleeping”. Many thanks to my pals for buying me two Coronas on an empty stomach during the Upright Citizens Brigade/ASSSSSCAT show and then taking the party across the street to fancy pants Frisson, where I consumed two delicious blood orange margaritas and where I was so hungry I actually licked all the salt off of the glass, hungry for any kind of nourishment but deciding against paying 15 dollars for a “snack” at the bar. I enjoy Frisson a lot, even though it’s decidedly way more swank than I will ever be, but it’s just like Vegas - you’re there, so why not pay 12 dollars for a drink?
The last time I was there was early last year on a date, with a sweet but extremely awkward recent Stanford grad. We’d had an extended text message back & forth about our shared addiction to reality shows. He had a habit of coming up to the city once a week and going to fancy restaurants and he abruptly invited me to go to dinner with him via text at about 6:30pm. Even though I always follow The Rules, I know the value of a good meal and I didn’t want to spend yet another Friday drunkenly eating Indian food at 3 in the morning with the alcoholic crew I was running with at the time, I accepted, but not before getting drunk at a bar beforehand.
, this is Dr. Cuddy, the hottest Dean of Medicine ever. Her role on the show is to ruin Dr. House’s fun as well as provide him with an endless amount of sexual tension. I love House. I love Dr. Cuddy. I love Sela Ward’s character, Stacy. And I love the medical mysteries. What I hate are his little slaves/junior doctors and their fucking terrible dialogue and I hate that THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS DIAGNOSTIC MEDICINE. A doctor’s job is to diagnose, therefore every single doctor on planet earth is a “diagnostician”.
fame! How awesome is that, especially in light of her playing super straight laced Dr. Cuddy! Club kids, for those of you who don’t remember or were not TV addicts in the 80s like I was (considering I was about 8 and had nothing else to do), were these people:
