UpDating

So I'm back together with Andrew which means I am attracted to every other boy I meet. It's like when you're at a restaurant and you get a good lamb chop but wish you had ordered the salmon. But you're glad you didn't because maybe the salmon is fishy, but now you'll never know. Andrew is great. We've been spending a lot of time together, and I'm glad to be with him. But hot-damn it's like all the single, straight hot boys in New York come out of hiding the second you're in a relationship.

Okay, first there's indie rock boy. You don't have to delve far into Williamsburg to find one. His name is Travis (of course) and his hair is exceptionally ironic. We had a great conversation at this bar the other night and there were totally sparks. He gave me an odd look in the cab on the way home when I didn't try anything. Did I mention we took a cab home together even though his neighborhood was out of the way? Maybe sharing a cab gave him the wrong idea. Or the right one. Hmmmm... I didn't get his number but that's what craigslist missed connections is for. If Andrew doesn't work out, I mean.

And then there's Vaughn. This one is tricky because Vaughn is an acquaintance of the 18 year old. No, Vaughn is not 18. But it's weird because the 18 year old introduced us ages ago, and I keep running into Vaughn randomly. I saw him last week and again, there was this weird flirtation. This time we did exchange information. But it's innocent- his friend has some poetry reading he thinks I should check out so he just wanted to send me the information about that.

Andrew is so cute, when my dog Martini ate my vibrator, he bought me a new one. How cool. But weird, I guess. Andrew is full on honoring this no-sex contract. It's up next month, so I think this is his way of being like, "Here, have a vibrator until you can have sex with me". That's sweet, right? Okay, it's kind of weird. But he did cheat on me so I should be receiving gifts.

Jean has been away for a week so I have the place to myself and have been writing a lot. But Sophie won't leave me alone about this apartment thing. She holds the fact that Andy Samberg asked her to move in with him over my head as leverage. It's so stupid. She's like, "We should find a place. OR (coquettish eye roll) I COULD move in with Andy..." Aw, shut up, I'm working on getting a place. Move in with him or don't, just make a goddamn decision already. She's so not moving in with him, it's obvious. She better not.

Bonnie and I have been working on ways to make Richard's lawyer pay for outing her at that party. I mean, honestly, who announces to a party of celebrities and social debutantes that "This woman does not know who the father of her child is! Ha Ha!" There was no laughing, but that's how I imagined it went down, like if Richard's lawyer had an evil handlebar mustache and a monocle that he fingered ever so slightly with a twist of his thumb and forefinger. Bonnie is the damsel, tied to the train tracks at this big social gathering. Richard's lawyer cackles and with a swoop of his cape, he disappears... leaving Bonnie to the vultures (gossip columnists) at said party. Oh yeah, so anyway, we're plotting revenge . I don't know what yet, but I joked about sending him a prostitute that was a she-male. Bonnie thought that was just gross and stupid. Whatever, I might do it anyway.

So that's that. I'm seeing Andrew tonight for a date. He wants to take me out to some fancy restaurant or something. I don't know what the occasion is but I'll bet you anything with my luck, the waiter will look like Jake Gyllenhall. And then I'll have to order the salmon.

Chem Lab 101

Why do people fall in love and then fall out of it? I am a big fan of the chemical theory. No, not getting drunk and hooking up kind of chemicals, I mean the actual release of endorphins and such that creates this blissful feeling. We all want it. That's why people drink and use drugs or work out too much- it makes you feel good. The release of dopamine and seratonin allegedly have a lot to do with it. There was some study in Italy that found that people who have recently "fallen in love" have a drop in seratonin, creating a kind of obsessed depression causing anxiety, jealousy and the need to have sex. Mix that with the release of endorphins and dopamine and you're on an emotional roller coaster. A year later, said patients fell "out of love" and their seratonin levels went back to normal.

Well, what the f@#k does that mean? Basically if you follow this theory, and don't think for one second "Chemical Theory" would not be the name of my band were I to play an instrument, you're in for it.

Then there's the spiritual side of love. I have found myself in strange situations that could only be described as being guided by a higher power. Odd coincidences, chance meetings, weird and exhilarating moments that feel "movie-esque". You hear about all these crazy love stories on Oprah and are inclined to believe that there is one person out there for you. Oh, crap. Add the fact that I am an emotional female and I have no chance.

So, what to do with all of this information? I see people hooking up and breaking up all the time, so why even bother to have a relationship or gasp, get married? I have learned this: The why of it doesn't matter. It's what you choose to do with the situation in front of you and how it makes you feel.

Let's look at Bonnie. She and Greg are working things out. They are truly friends as well as partners/lovers/make me want to vomit because they are so right for each other. They both want the same thing, and work towards goals. And I hear the sex is great.

And then there's Jean. She broke up with Nathan because in the end, he wanted to take care of her. But it involved her quitting her job, moving to St. John's and sitting around all day eating grapes and bossing around a cabana boy. Okay, perfect situation for someone like me, but that's not what she wants. I respect that. I guess. No, I do. Also, between you and me and everyone else reading this, I don't think she was really ever in love with him.

Sophie is in love. So much so that she may move in with Andy Samberg. Bletch, she's just star struck. Someone wise once said, "Talent is an aphrodisiac". That's very true; how do you think Harrison Ford has had a hold on me all these years? He's not really that cute. Well, no, he is.

So, what about me? I took Andrew back. He makes me feel good. And I already know my seratonin levels are low, so that explains that. But if I had one more wish I could put in Bonnie's fruity "Wish Jar" it would be that somewhere, someone would find a way to inhibit the chemical that makes you feel like crap when someone falls out of love with you. If that were marketed, we would have no more need for Alanis Morisette and Fiona Apple songs. But until then, at least I have my friends to keep me sane. That's the only kind of love I don't need to theorize about.

Oh, my dog ate my vibrator.

Get a Big Cup

A few nights ago I was hanging out with the girls at a bar when I met a young up-and-coming theatre group from a small college in the Midwest. We started talking about art in New York and after a few drinks the conversation moved from theatre to sex, as most conversations are wont to do. I guess they all saw me as some sort of old New York guru, as one of the young-uns asked me, "We just graduated, so what's the dating scene like in New York"?

Dating scene? Is there even one? I'm just used to people sleeping with friends of friends or co-workers, and sometimes you take it to the next level of "dinner and a movie" to legitimize, but dating?

Here's a great example. I log onto my Friendster account this morning and get a message from some guy I don't know who viewed my profile. He said, "Sara, you look cute. Let me know if you're into ballbusting". Ballbusting. Oh, I totally googled that word. Guess what- aside from the generic definition of "giving someone a hard time" ballbusting is an actual S & M act that is gaining popularity here. It's allegedly huge in Denmark. Basically, it's when a girl stomps on a guys balls and he loves it. I usually call that marriage. But to answer the young man's question, when people are trolling Friendster to find people to stomp on their balls, yes, the New York dating scene is bleak. Suck it up and buy a jock strap.

Speaking of fetishes, Jean told us that Nathan is into threesomes. Not bad. But he wanted to have one with guess who- Bonnie! Our pregnant friend. I joked that it would actually be a foursome. Ew. Needless to say, I guess her perfect relationship is over. I don't blame her; I'm into kinky but that is just plain weird. Bonnie was all over it, though. She got real excited that men still find her attractive even though she has a small bump on her belly. I'd like to remind her that I'm happy when I'm bloated and a guy finds me attractive. Why does she have to look so good?

This week was crazy; I went to DC with the girls for an impeach Bush rally and reconnected with my kindergarten boyfriend Jimmy Lester who is now a secret service agent. He asked me to stay the week with him, but I ended up leaving with the girls. I had a really nice time. Sophie and I are actually getting along better now that we're not living together. That doesn't change the fact that I miss our apartment. Now that Jean is single again she's been spending more time at home making spreadsheets.

Which brings me back to dating. Andrew called and apologized for being a jerk. He wants to give it another chance. I miss him but I'm still mad at him. I know that because the sexual attraction I once had with him is gone, and in a not-erotic way all I want to do is stomp on his balls. But knowing New York, he'd probably love it.

Honestly

I've started babysitting this two year old who loves to watch TV so that makes her immediately cool. One of her favorite shows is Oobi- for those of you unfamiliar with this low budget phenomenon, Oobi is just a hand with eyeballs. Sometimes he don's a hat, but for the most part it's pretty simple. He has friends: his sister Uma, Grandpoo and his ethnic friend, Keko. That's really about it. There's always an adventure, but as the show is designed specifically for small children and grown-ups on acid, the characters only speak in three word sentences. "Oobi go fishing", "Keko's house. Dinner!" Needless to say, I am obsessed. While the concept of actors' hands-as-puppets with slip-on eyeballs is disturbing at first, there is a reason you can peel neither myself nor this child from the screen when Oobi is on. I think it's the simplicity of it. When Oobi is sad, he says, "Oobi sad". If Grandpoo wants to go hiking he just says, "Grandpoo. Hike!" There was one particularly touching episode where Oobi went to Keko's house for a sleepover, and Uma his sister lay alone in her bedroom and uttered, "Uma miss Oobi". I think I just love the innocent honesty the characters have.

Speaking of the honesty, Jean needs to stop being so damn straight-forward with me. She thinks it's good that the guy I was seeing, Andrew, left because he was a no-good jerk anyway. Maybe she's right, but doesn't she know the cardinal rule of NOT bad mouthing the ex because it makes the other person feel that their feelings of loss are invalid? Whatever, she's just happy I have yet to break the no-sex contract even though the other girls are convinced I should. The only thing more annoying than Jean being right is when she knows she's right.

Bonnie and Sophie are getting along great. I'm a bit jealous. I miss Sophie as a roommate. I know it sounds crazy, but I've taken a liking to her Aloe Vera juice; it's quite tasty. Okay, that's not true, but I do miss her.

Hmmm... When I was younger I used to lie to cover my tracks/avoid confrontation, but seeing as how I always got caught and only recently learned the value of friendship, maybe I can take a lesson from Oobi. He really is a good friend to Keko and a fantastic brother to Uma. But what would I do if adults really were that brutally honest? I wonder what would happen if Andrew just said, "Andrew fuck Staycey", instead of giving me the adult chatter excuse for a breakup. Which would I prefer? I would probably just like it if I heard it from Oobi.

The Company I Kept

Everyone knows the phrase, "You're as good as the company you keep". Well what the hell does that mean? I feet like I kept good company with Andrew- oh, take a seat Bloggie, this is good: ANDREW DUMPED ME LAST NIGHT BECAUSE HE THINKS I'M FRIGID. Yes, you can re-read that if you want. He doesn't get that my friends made me sign the no-sex contract so I could learn a lesson, and originally he said it was okay but again, as usual, men think with their dicks. It all goes back to evolution. And you know, even if I had sex with him he probably still would have slept with that stupid bartender, Staycey and then said, "I can't handle a relationship" blah blah. But it doesn't change the fact that for one second, I thought he was different. Please ignore any past blog entries about how he is a good guy. Change the words "fun" and "understanding" to "vile" or "limpdick". Maybe I'll do an auto-word-replace after I post this.

So who's company do I keep? The girls continue to be a constant source of support/endless drama in my life. First of all, I am writing this from a laptop in Starbuck's because the apartment Sophie and I are subletting has smoke and water damage from a fire next door and I am relegated to Jean's couch for a week. Sophie had her surgery so she needs attention from Bonnie and I couldn't deal with staying with Bonnie because she'll just give me chores to do centering around Sophie, and I just feel like being alone right now. Andrew had the balls to show up to that industry party last night and we barely spoke. And frigid? Isn't that a 14th century phrase invented by men who could never make a girl have an orgasm? If a person in Japan can design and mass produce a vibrator that places jelly "rabbit ears" at the exact location of the clitoris every time, there is no reason anyone can't get it. Big ups to the Rabbit Habit, BTW.

I think what makes me the saddest is that the dog I was inadvertently given, Martini, is not with us. No, he's not dead, he's on a five acre estate in Connecticut with guess who- Jon Stewart. Oh yeah, did I mention that I brought Martini to the party (he had nowhere to go after the fire) and Jon Stewart fell in love with my dog? I know I can't have a dog anyway so Iet him take it. I mean, it's Jon Stewart; he could have my first born child if he asked nicely while wearing that hot suit with an underscore of Daily Show music.

Which brings me again to Andrew. We work together. Awkward. Maybe I'll ask to be reassigned to another cubicle. I thought that by phasing out my bar work there'd be less "office drama". Guess what- everywhere you go, relationships mess everything up. Screw him. He has no idea how not frigid I am. I think the girls are giving me some leeway in the contract now. There must be an addendum for "heart broken pity sex". Last night someone at the party said to me, "You have every right to sleep with whomever you want to right now". Then again I think he was just trying to get me in bed. Men are good at smelling out windows of opportunity. The question is, do I even want to anymore? I'll just screw everything up. No, wait, Andrew is the one that screwed everything up. F@#k that; I am as good as the company I keep and he doesn't deserve my company.

I miss Martini.

Three is the Loneliest Number

I had a conversation with this young girl at my bar yesterday about sleeping with two (or three) different guys at the same time. No, we're not talking orgy, we're talking seeing other people. She was in a conundrum- which one of the guys she's seeing should she sleep with? I was like, honey, they don't call it a tasting menu for nothing. I told her about the times I've done it. Sleeping with the one guy who you've been seeing but it's a casual thing, and sleeping with the guy you are properly dating. Her point was she would never want to know the guy she is sleeping with is sleeping with someone else. It's a territorial/health thing.

Hmmm... Even though Andrew and I aren't sleeping together (because of that dammed no-sex contract, thank you very much), I would hate it if I knew he was with another girl. And if you truly care about someone, why on earth would you even want to sleep around? Low self esteem? That's why I've done it. So my advice to you is this, unnamed girl, do whatever you want, not because someone else is doing it.

Sophie is driving me nuts with this surgery she's having. I am a little worried about her. I've seen enough Discovery Channel shows about doctors who accidentally leave instruments in patients during simple procedures, and then years later the patients go through metal detectors at airports and find out they have a footlong forcep embedded in their spine. So maybe I am a little nervous. But it doesn't change the fact that she currently has a grapefruit sized cyst on her ass and will need to sit on a rubber donut for weeks. That's pretty funny.

Jean has been acting all weird about Nathan. I think she finally found something wrong with him. I'll bet you he goes to the bathroom with the door open. I ask her how things are going and she just goes, "Fine" real short-like and changes the topic. Like in K-Mart a few days ago I ask her about him and she says, "Good. Wow, look at this decoupage." Jean loves big words but hates dollies. She bought three.

Off to Bonnie's tonight. I think she will cook again. Ever since she got this new kitchen and a baby inside of her she's been cooking up a storm. I hope she'll still have time to cook after the baby. I also hope she'll have time for her friends. I've read about new moms shutting off everyone they know because it's this weird Me-And-My-Baby-Against-The-World syndrome. Or maybe that's just Katie Holmes. PS I still think Chris Klein is the actual father. But much like how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop debate, "The world may never know". Oh yes, the Owl in the commercial says it takes three. But he bit the candy off.

Later, Bloggie

Sweet, Sweet Kisses

You know it's bad when you like waking up next to a dog. No, not like a "dog of a man", a real dog. This dog I've been watching, Martini, is very affectionate. Maybe it's because the owners are five days late in picking him up and he thinks I'm the only friend he has. But I woke up from a nap today and Martini is on my bed, rubbing my face with his nose. I have never felt that much love from something for no reason whatsoever. I just held him for minutes, rubbing my head in his. It'll be sad when he leaves. Then again the owners are rather late in picking him up and I have not heard from them. I'm sure they have a good excuse, like family emergency or accident or something.

Speaking of hospitals, Sophie's getting surgery. On her ass! Seriously, Bloggie, I couldn't believe it. It's minor surgery, my friend had the same one too, but she's going to be such a bitch in recovery. "Oh, whaa wha, I can't sit, I can't do yoga" whatever, I can't do yoga and my body is fully functioning. Tree pose that, Sophie. In all seriousness I joke because she will be fine. Luckily Bonnie is offering to help her after the surgery because I am too busy to play nursemaid. Which means I get the place to myself!

Okay, easy segue... me and Andrew have almost had sex like, ten times but my friend's convinced me to hold out. The "No Sex" contract is almost up and if I made it this far, who knows. But having the place to myself is so High School, and I always had sex when my parents went out of town. There's only so many movies we can rent and I can tell Andrew is getting impatient. But he's still with me and I think that's cool. And when the three months are up, I am going to f@#k the s@#t out of him.

Oh, okay, the other day Jean tells me that she built a fort in the lounge at Greg's party. I thought she was talking about like, popsicle stick art or a playing card tent but no... she built an actual fort. I don't think there's anything else to say about that.

I saw Bonnie last night and she looked amazing. Pregnant women just glow. I don't know why. I'm jealous of her experience, it's so different. She's going to be an amazing mom.

Hmmm... Sophie just reminded me that I should follow up on this dog. She seems to think five days is a long time not to pick your animal up. Oh, and she wants me to let everyone know that her surgery is VERY serious and she could die. That was verbatim.

See you, Bloggie.