One of the Boys

This whole 3 months forced chastity thing my friends have me on has made me think. I mean, I'm not going to be a prude or anything after the 91 days, 7 hours and 52 minutes are up, but maybe I should be a little more selective about who I have sex with. Maybe. I've started to really understand that some of the men I have been with are not so nice. Like at my job, for example. I was sleeping with the head bartender Jim for a bit, and during that time I thought it was fun, but I don't think he respects me that much. I was chatting with one of the barbacks at my place who's also Jim's friend, and he says to me, "We like you Sara- You're just one of the guys." Really, Ryan? Because seeing as how I fucked your friend and made out with you once I guess that makes you both gay. Oh, boys.

I had a really nice time with the girls yesterday. We hung out at Bonnie's and she made us this awesome chocolate velvet cake, and we just sat around and talked. Jean jokingly called it "Cake Break" (she loves it when words rhyme) and Bonnie was so enamored with the idea that she suggested we do it once a week. What? When did my best friend become Martha Stewart? It's a bad thing. I think it's ridiculous but the girls have been riding my butt about how I need to learn how to accept "female companionship" better. I reminded Bonnie about how in High School she once dabbled in female companionship of a different nature and she got a little pissed. Sophie loves the idea and next week is bringing a vegan cake. Remind me to stash away a bag of Ho Ho's.

Big news, Bloggie- Stewart, my friend from San Francisco, just moved to New York to start up this Arts Review website and he wants me to freelance on a few articles! I guess that means I go to events and write about them but I know it means extra money. The girls are convinced good things are happening to me because of my forced celibacy. Well that sounds kind of Catholic. Didn't they tell you in church that bad things will happen if you have sex? Now I'm paranoid. Maybe there is a god and this is his way of telling me I should be a nun.

If I were a nun, I'd be the modern, untinentionally sexy-nun. You know, the young, rosy cheeked ones that wear a conservative long sleeve button down shirt with the buttons carelessly undone to the base of the cleavage, unaware that a shy mound of bosom is peeking out...shirt tucked in, tight, so as to reveal a slim waist complimenting a dashing A-line skirt right down to the tops of the knees; slightly scandalous yet respectful of the lord. And when I get down on my knees to pray I will clasp my sweet, innocent hands together, eyes closed, face flushed with excitement that maybe He is listening to my dirty, dirty thoughts and He accepts them. Just then, Father McMaddon, fresh out of the seminary, bursts through the door and tells me there's an emergency down at the orphanage and he needs my help. I jump up, unaware that the pew beside me has offset my balance and right as I'm about to fall over, Father McMaddon swoops in and catches me, his hand held in a firm grip about my tiny waist and lower back. Our eyes meet, and lips barely touch as the only sound echoing off the stone walls is the short, hot pulsations of our panting breath. He draws me closer, studying my face...


Oh my god I need to get laid.

S@#t List

I know I told Sophie to stop talking all the time about her bowels and sex (not together, thank you), but that's what I want to talk about today. I have this ever growing shit list that is so long I think even I am on it. Long story short, because I was neglectful of my friend's feelings yesterday, they made me "prove myself to them" by signing a contract that says I will not have sex for three months. Fuck them, I signed it. You want to play hardball? I got my gloves on, let's do it. Jean was being bitchy to me, Sophie is driving me nuts and Bonnie is so pregnant-touchy. The 18 year old is pissed that I don't want to have a more serious relationship so now he's acting like a stupid little boy. He's pretty insecure.

The Belizian definitely has a secret life that is interfering with our love affair. He only calls me if it's past 2 AM and most times he doesn't even spend the night. Oh, did I mention Sophie brought James home the other night and the next morning he took a half hour dump in our bathroom? I don't need to hear all about sleeping with your ex-husband crap let alone dealing with actual ex-husband crap in my apartment. Total shit list.

I do feel bad about pissing Jean off; I did say something wrong. I need to get off her case about meeting guys. I know she can meet guys on her own, I was just trying to help by setting her up with my friend, and I happened to mention he is both disease free and easy. I was just trying to be nice.

So no sex for three months. Guess what, I can do it. I'm sick of everyone anyway. Maybe Bonnie's right and I will learn something. Like, I don't know, meeting a guy who when he does have sex with me will take more moral responsibility about treating me the way I should be treated. Bonnie says that starts with treating myself the way I want to be treated. I'm pretty sure she bit that off her fruity life-coach. The problem is, do I even know how I want to be treated? That's why I'm on my own shit list.

See you, Bloggie

I'm Not Mad, I'm Just Bemoaned

Okay, I have a confession to make. Whenever I know I've done something wrong (yes, Bonnie I have a conscience albeit small according to you), I know when someone's mad at me. My way of bringing it up is to say, "Are you mad at me?" or "You're not mad at me, are you"? to get off the hook. It usually always works because when I bring it up, the person is caught off guard and goes, "Uh...No! No." But I guess I'm not the only one who knows that trick. So when someone says it to me I say, "No, should I be?" and then I look at them as if I was raising a suspicious eyebrow and if I knew how to raise an eyebrow I'd do it. And then that person feels bad because they should.

Let's take Bonnie for example. That beeotch hasn't called me in 3 days and I invited her out last night and she was all ignoring me and FINALLY she e-mails me this morning like, "Hi Sweetie! Sorry I didn't get back to you." So I ignored her and in 2 hours she called and was all, "Are you mad at me?" Um, yeah, you haven't called me in days.

Omigod Bloggie, check it out- Sophie invited us to this "industry" party last night and the cast of Saturday Night Live was supposed to be there, but by 1 AM Jean was tired and Sophie was drunk and depressed about something so we decided to call it a night, and we put Jean in a cab and Sophie and I got in a cab but then I realized I forgot my schoolbooks so we went back and then the cocktail waitress insisted on buying us a drink because I tipped her well (I'm in the biz) and I think she had a girl crush on me and long story short the cast showed up and we partied with them until the bar closed! I don't know how to tell Jean because she'll be real pissed off I didn't call her but Sophie was busy chatting up some of the women to photograph their vaginas and I ended up making out with one of the new cast members who shall remain nameless. Well, I didn't really catch his name. Maybe he was a member of the crew. Who cares, making out with anyone famous is always good for the narrative value. I don't care if Jean is pissed- life lesson, always stay a little bit later than you intended cuz that's when the fun stuff happens. The last time I left a party early Sebastian Bach showed up and my friends hung out with him so I learned my lesson.

Maybe I should call Jean. Or I could wait 3 days and then ask her if she's mad at me. Or maybe the blog is the way to go. Either way, I need to start watching SNL again so I can say "I made out with that guy!" Life is funny. Too bad that show isn't.

Shaken and Stirred

I am going to kill this new bartender they hired at my bar. First, because they hired a new bartender and it's become painfully clear that I will never be promoted from cocktail waitress, I don't know why, and second because she is a mixture between Kathie Lee Gifford and Dakota Fanning. I don't know much about Dakota Fanning other than she's an annoying child actress.

Her name is "Staycey" and she's an "Aspiring Actress" who thinks she is everybody's best friend. Yes, I know what I'm doing, thank you very much, and I'm not here to make friends. I was placing an order with her, 'Hey SWEETIE! What can I do you for? Ha ha ha!!!" Oh, did I mention her laugh is like crisp bubbly champagne dancing down a cliff of needle sharp razors? Or at least that's how my spine feels when she laughs loudly which is invariably and at nothing in particular. So I ordered a Stoli and soda, Ketel and soda and a Corona. She makes the drinks in record time (showoff) and goes, "Okay, so you can remember which is which, the drink with two straws is the Stoli- 'straw' plural for S- Stoli. The drink with one straw is the Ketel, because it's Ketel ONE, hahaha... and this is the Corona because it says Corona. HAHAHAHAHA!!!" Ow, my spine. What a patronizing bitch; I don't need to know which is which, like the customers can tell anyway. I gave the wrong ones to the customers on purpose.

I don't know what it is about bartenders that think they are somehow better than cocktail waitresses. It's the power dynamic. I have to ask them for drinks and they just stand behind their big oak throne and wait for me. And then I have to tip them out at the end of the night when I see drunk regulars throwing $20's at them? All I get are Sacajawea coins and linty tic tacs from people's pockets as tips. Oh, and phone #'s. This one guy last week paid for his friend's round, tipped me only a dollar but slipped his phone number in with it. I cleared my throat real loud until his friends were listening then said, "I'm sorry. Is this the number I call to get the rest of my tip?" His friends thought it was hilarious and I've never seen a man shrink so low into his chair. I've got to get a new job. This college bar depresses me.

Sophie and I have actually been getting along. It's only because we see each other in small doses. I was even able to get her on the guest list of this band she wanted to see because I had dated one of the guys who works at the music venue. She was really impressed for the first time ever, like, "Wow, Sara actually knows important people". Well, biblically.

Bonnie's moodswings are giving me motion sickness. I spoke to her on the phone yesterday and she was totally pleasant, and then today she called screaming because I didn't tell her I had a nice phone conversation with Greg. So what, I can talk to her husband. And besides, it didn't cross my mind to mention it. I can't wait 'till she has this baby.

Oh and Jean? Still stuck in LA. I love it.

Bye, Bloggie

Who's Crazy Now

I met the Belizian boy at this bar last night. We only meet late night so I'm starting to think he's either married or has a girlfriend or is a vampire or something, but nonetheless I got the call and I met him. No, I didn't wear a trenchcoat and sunglasses. Actually, I did have a trenchcoat on but it's pink and not flasher-creepy. Anyway, I'm sitting at the bar waiting like a HALF hour for this guy, and I overhear this conversation from these two girls next to me. Normally I hate conversations that girls have in bars because they are always high pitched tirades about how men are horrible, but this one was rather interesting so I listened in.

Turns out girl #1 was seeing this guy and just found out (from someone else) he was married.

THE SAGA Part 1:
Girl 1: "You'd think he could just tell me, and then it'd be a lot easier to break it off. Just let me know; I'm cool with it."
Girl 2: "Doesn't matter. You are in a lose/lose situation. You stay with him, you lose because you'll never really be with him. You tell him how you feel, and all of a sudden you're crazy. Do you know how many times I've had an honest conversation with a guy about what I want out of a relationship, and then he tells his friends that I'm just crazy?"

Gosh, they're kind of right. I've been there, but I always thought that it's because I was crazy. I mean I am, but... you know. Now here's where it gets interesting.

THE SAGA Part 2:
Girl 1: "So anyway..." (ring ring - her cellphone goes off) "Oh, hold on. Hello? Oh, okay. see you in 10 minutes"
Girl 2: "You're really going to see him?!"
Girl 1: "Listen, if we were all perfect we'd be boring. Gotta go."

Damn. That's some fucked up shit. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the crazy thing. I never really thought about it before, because I hear that from my guy friends ALL THE TIME. "Damn, that bitch is crazy." Does the guy really think that or is it just something he says? Is it possible that the girl you have known for months/years, and have loved/liked/enjoyed time with, all of a sudden loses the seratonin releasing-capabilities between her brain's neurotransmitters within a day and is now officially crazy? Because if that's the case, you sure can pick 'em, asshole. Who's crazy now?

I didn't get to hear the rest of the conversation because the Belizian arrived. But yeah, the only crazy person I know that wears her crazy on her sleeve is Sophie, and yet that makes her somehow un-crazy.

Jean called me last night, stuck in LAX because her ride didn't pick her up. I love it when Jean's well made plans don't work out. She gets all huffy and I swear that if she were a cartoon I could actually see the smoke rising from her little curls. I told her to get a soy latte and suck it up. She was like," Soy Latte? SOY LATTE?! What the fuck!" I told her it was an LA reference but then she hung up on me. I love that girl.

Oh, I called Bonnie's house because her cellphone was all messed up and I got Greg on the phone and we talked for an hour. I really like that guy; he's so genuine. If I ever get married it will be to someone like Greg. He's dreamy.

Well, off to work. No, I just lied, I don't have to work until later. I just have nothing to do until then.

Bye, Bloggie.

Boys Don't make me Cry

Oh my god, is there no justice in the world when a perfect power couple like Hillary Swank and Chad Lowe break up? Okay, let's look at the facts, I heard that besides playing a dude in one movie, Hillary Swank was the original Karate Kid. And Chad Lowe is the brother of Rob Lowe. But they always looked so happy on the red carpet- it just goes to show you that no matter how much power, money or fame you have, love does not come along for the ride. I guess Chad should have known something was amiss when his own wife didn't even thank him when she won an Oscar even though the network cut to him, tears of joy streaming down his face. But who left who? It's the age old question- are men threatened by successful mannish women or did Hillary leave him because he wasn't man enough for her? And if so could anyone be man enough for her? I have a headache.

Okay, now let's look at my friends Bonnie and Greg. Two different backgrounds, fell in love immediately. Greg runs off to save the world at moveon.org and Bonnie sleeps with a high powered lawyer. So what's the message there, don't try to do good? Bonnie knows I understand her situation and she felt betrayed that Greg spent so much time at work, but does that mean she had the right to betray him? And did she ever fall out of love with Greg? Cuz every time I see them now they are so super happy/lovey dovey. But keep in mind Bonnie is now pregnant so she's vulnerable again and needs Greg. So... maybe the sign of a good relationship is co-dependency and Hillary Swank should have seen Chad Lowe as a father figure or something to get the affirmation she never got as a child. Or maybe Hillary Swank should have been the mother figure Chad Lowe never had. Or father figure. Some of the best relationships I know are based on co-dependence.

Oh, I was on set of this indie movie yesterday, helping out this girl in the film department who promised to pay me if I was the "Production Assistant" of her thesis film. It was awesome. I see now why everyone wants to be an actor. I just sat around all day, ate free food and played with my walkie talkie. At one point one of the actresses was doing her scene, and she stopped and said, "What's my motivation?" to which my friend was trying to explain something about her character's "spine" or something; Maybe it was a movie about scoliosis- I wasn't paying attention but then I thought, what's my motivation? I mean, what motivates me to get out of bed in the morning besides my alarm clock or a guy in my bed? It can't be work, I hate it. School is sorely disappointing these days. I've started thinking about some, dare I say, philosophical stuff. See, when I was bitching about school to my friend who is a philosophy major, (I like to call him the Sexual Intellectual because he has glasses but is totally hot in that Clark Kent "Glasses are off, time to make love" kind of way) he said, "A fool's brain digests philosophy into folly, science into superstition, and art into pedantry. Hence, University education." I have no idea what that means but I think I need to figure it out.

And I may not understand relationships, but I think I'm beginning to understand love. Gracie Allen said to George Burns upon his proposal of marriage, "You're the only boy who ever made me cry, and I decided that if you could make me cry, I must really love you." Sophie cries about James constantly. She even told me she cried happy tears when they had sex. That I find disturbing but nonetheless, I'm beginning to understand this love thing a bit more. Because for whatever reason you are with this person, healthy/unhealthy, something about them untaps this well of emotion that most people you meet could never touch. And then you cry it out. I've never dated a man that made me cry. Unless he hit me, but that's different.

Maybe that's what was wrong with Chad Lowe and Hillary Skank- he could full on turn up the waterworks at a public awards show, whereas Hillary didn't even remember his name. Oh now it's obvious- she left him.

Bye, Bloggie.

Lies and Lying Liemakers

Hey, I have an idea. Quit lying to me. You know, there's a difference between withholding the truth and straight up in my face lie. Like, I dunno, take Sophie for example. She wouldn't tell me where she was going all those nights. Not a lie. She finally reveals she's sleeping with James. But "Oh, I'm not interested in having anything happen. We're just friends." Lie lie lie lie lie. You know, don't introduce a topic and then lie about it. It's like this classic example. Let's say you broke up with someone and you have that awkward sit down months later.

Boy: So, are you seeing anyone?
Girl: No.

Not a lie. Even if she is (which she probably is) it's one of those things the other person doesn't need to know. Now, let's change things around.

Boy: So, how's things?
Girl: Great. Work's good, and I just got a new account. Oh, I went over to my friend Tony's house the other night and he had the funniest book.
Boy: Tony? Is that the guy you're seeing?
Girl: No, we're just friends. I would never sleep with Tony.

Ding ding ding ding ding. See, that's and example of introducing the lie and then lying about it. I hate that one because it's the most obvious. How about this one:

Sara: Hey Sophie, that sweater of yours is missing.
Sophie: How do you know?
Sara: Oh... I was doing laundry and I noticed it.
Sophie: Sara!
Sara: What?
Sophie: You borrowed it and probably got stains on it and now you're trying to cover your tracks!
Sara: That's not true!

Trifecta lie. Oh, in that case it was me but that's just because I didn't want to hurt her with the truth and I thought that by bringing it up first it would make it easier. Oh, wait. Now I understand why people lie. But it still hurts my feelings when you lie to me.

Oh and Sophie, if you're reading this, I did ruin your sweater but I'll buy you a new one.

Wow, that actually felt pretty good.

No One Let the Cat Out of the Bag

There's a line from that Verve song "The Drugs Don't Work" about Richard Ashcroft's dying mother in the hospital where he compares her to "a cat in a bag, waiting to drown". I had been feeling real down yesterday because of school, and they're not promoting me to any bartending shifts at work, and the 18 year old seems to be all over me and I realized I don't think I've ever been in love and maybe I never will be so yeah, that's how I felt yesterday. Like that damn powerless cat in a bag, waiting to drown. So Sophie gets home yesterday and she's all bubbly cuz SHE'S been in love and is still getting post divorce sex which I guess is great, and she asked me what was wrong. I started to say, 'I feel like a cat..." but then I stopped myself because even the visual of a cat in a bag would be too much for Sophie so instead I said, "I feel like a cat... at the vet's office. You know, because they don't know what's going on and it's kind of scary." So Sophie smiles and I swear to god says, "Look at the bright side. At least the cat is at the vet, so it's going to get help." She then nodded real slow in affirmation of her great insightfulness. I swear that bitch is gonna get slapped. I want a roommate who's not my friend and doesn't care about what kind of day I'm having. If I wanted advice I'd fuck Dr. Phil. Ew.

Oh, Bonnie called me at 3 AM freaking out because of that movie, "Capturing the Freidmans" so she made me rent it and watch it because "she didn't know if he was guilty or not!" And "I can't sleep 'till I know!" And "The baby!" And something about Footloose but that's where she lost me. Bonnie, he's totally guilty. Not of molesting ALL the boys- but one or two. You see, the thing about sexual abuse cases back then was that therapists didn't properly know how to get information out of kids who were allegedly abused, so some of the memories were inadvertantly put there. At the same time, that doesn't mean because some of the boys were lying that all of them were. He (the dad) definiteley had the typical behavior that child molesters have, (ie kiddie porn in the basement) and it wouldn't surprise me if something inappropriate did happen. For me, the movie was more about the system, the law and the shoddy investigation than about his guilt. I can say that as a victim of sexual abuse, thank you very much. Oh, I forgot- Sophie hates it when I talk about being molested so when she reads this she'll start to cry. Suck it up, Sophie, I'm over it. Oh and by the way Sophie... in the song, the cat dies.

Alright, off to work. Jean said she might come visit me tonight. I hope so because I'd like to see her.

Bye, Bloggie

I Knew It

Sophie's sleeping with James Sophie's sleeping with James Sophie's sleeping with James. I have confirmation- Jean told me and then I confronted Sophie and she's all, "Well I didn't say anything to you because it's not a big deal and you make a big deal out of everything" and Jean's like, "I didn't tell you because I don't consider random sex a big deal" and I was like, "Neither do I" and Jean's like, "Yeah, I know. That's why it's okay for you to do it all the time, I just don't need to hear about it" and I'm all, "What the fuck; you just don't want to hear about it because you're not getting any" and she's like, "Um, yeah". But I still felt left out. Sophie is not just my friend, she's my roommate and I have to know about these things.

Bonnie didn't know either, which makes me feel good but when I told her she just didn't care. Then I told her her butt looked good and she freaked out. I can't do anything right.

The 18 year old just got back from London and he wants to see me ALL THE TIME and I kind of want to take a breather from him; he's way too into me. I've got to get my priorities straight. And then there's the Belizian guy- he's really sweet but doesn't speak much English and I think that may become a problem down the road.

Oh, I got my stop smoking kit from NY. It comes with flyers, an information booklet and a free batch of nicotine patches. And a phone sponsor who totally has a crush on me. His name is Fed and he has the hottest voice. I know he likes me cuz he's like, "I'll call you once a week Sara, just to see how you're doing". I haven't quit yet, I gave myself a quit date- one month from now. I'm just building my tracks.

I'm a little nervous about quitting but I know I have to. Sophie's all on my case and I know, I know it's bad for you. But I've been doing some research and it turns out it's actually worse than they let on. Like, smoking is REALLY bad. They sent me a picture of this narsty piece of driftwood they're trying to pass off as a smoker's lung. Well, maybe it does look like that. But not mine- mine would definitely not be that bad.

The problem is the NY State Quit thingee is so outdated, one of the reasons they give you to quit is because it's expensive and then they say, "Over $1,800 per year for a pack a day smoker paying $5 per pack". $5 per pack? Try $8 dipshits. I know the government is out of touch, but come on. Get with the program. It's like how George Bush thinks that the average family can get by on minimum wage as long as they shop at Walmart. Is it bad that I kind of like Walmart? Their savings are extraordinary.

So in order to quit smoking, there are 5 "D's". Delay, Drink Water, Do Something Else, Deep Breathe, Discuss With a Friend.

Yeah, this should be easy.

Smoke 'em while you can, Bloggie.

Chasing the Dragon

Okay, let's get one thing straight- I was never an alcoholic, I was a drug addict. Two totally different things. I have been told to stay away from alcohol because it "impaired my judgement" thus causing a "gateway" to other drugs. So don't give me shit for having a bit of champagne on New Year's, Sophie I'm looking in your general direction. Also, it's goddamn New Years.

Jean cancelled on me so I just dropped by the bar and wished my co-workers a happy one, had a glass of champagne and went home. Whereas SOPHIE was out ALL NIGHT with some boy she won't talk about and came home WASTED. So who's the alcoholic now? Okay, Bloggie I'll stop having fights with Sophie while I write this. She won't tell me who this boy is. I hope she's not seeing James again.

Jean had a nice new years I guess, because she just stayed home. It's such a dumb holiday- you get all the recently 21 year old Jersey to New York transplants, squeeze them into the tiniest slut shirts, slab an inordinate amount of black eye make up and sheer lip gloss on, throw $100 into their square tipped manicured hands and release them onto the streets. Right behind are the men who love them... ie. is that vinegar and water in the air because I think I smell douchebag. Invariably they end up in places like my bar. People like me usually end up cleaning their vomit. Which is never much because the girls don't eat so it's just tequila and bile. Oh my god, I actually just made myself sick. Now I could delete that sentence. But I won't. Okay I just reread it and I'm sick again. But it stays.

Bonnie is on her "I'm having my last vacation without a child" which I'm sure next year will be followed by "I'm having my first vacation away from the child because we hired a nanny and the kid stays home". Whatever, I hope she lets me babysit.

Well, off to the gym. No, not a resolution, I just really need to stretch. Plus our cable is still off and they are having an Americas Next Top Model marathon at the gym followed by an encore presentation of Celebrity Fit Club. That show makes me uncomfortable but I watch it anyway.

Oh my god, I just remembered I had a dream about Verne Troyer last night and he was hitting on me. If I'm gonna go midget, why not Peter Dinklage? He's a reputable actor. Even in my dreams I have mediocre standards.

See you, Bloggie