So for now...

Sophie's ex-husband James is officially married. Although Sophie did her best to stop the wedding by running at top speed down the aisle as the ceremony began, it didn't work. He made his choice. I hope Sophie is okay with hers. I know she will be.

Jean and I continue to have our love/hate/love relationship. It's strange how you can be friends with someone for even less than a year but feel like you've known them for an eternity. Or maybe that's just because we're always the two left at the bar and those extra hours become an eternity. Especially the next day when you are stupidly hung over.

And Bonnie, well, the thing I love about Bonnie is that she's still got that bitchy 12 year old in her that I fell in love with the moment we met. And now she's growing another bitchy soon to be 12 year old. She actually admitted last night that the reason she had been acting out all this time is because she loves the attention. And she deserves all the attention she wants, because she's amazing.

And then there's me. I sold my book, and then had it optioned for a movie. I actually have more money than God now, and as Sophie pointed out, I'll blow it all. I believe her exact wording was that I would curl up all my money in a cylinder and actually perform oral sex on it. Sure, why not, it's my money to blow. But I'll ask Greg for some financial help, maybe I'll invest it, or hedge it or whatever it is that rich people do.

So for now, all is calm in our little family until this baby is born. Or until Sophie does something dramatic. Or me. Or Jean's math books mysteriously disappear.

When I arrived in New York a year ago I thought I had it all together. Turns out I didn't. I don't think anyone ever does. But throughout all this time, family drama, stupid work things and even stupider boys, I never questioned my relationship with these girls. I might have questioned the word "stupider", but I know it's a word because I just did a spell-check. And I also know what great friends I have.

Later, Bloggie

Looking Up

I hate to jinx things, but everything is looking up. Greg is the father of Bonnie's child, Sophie is doing a lot better, Jean, for once, took control of a fundraising event and managed to have a good time (although the free liquor helped), and I GOT MY ROMANCE NOVEL OPTIONED FOR A MOVIE! Oh my god, you have no idea- basically they're going to turn it into a romantic comedy. They loved the storyline, about a young man who tries to rob these four college girls, and they catch him and put him in their basement as their sex slave. Except, well, they're changing it around a bit where instead of being a thief he is a hot traveling salesman who, recently out of a bad breakup, needs a place to stay and ends up as their new roommate in the basement. Wackiness still ensues, but it's not as dirty as my book. And that's okay. I've got cold, hard cash.

I can't wait to quit my bar job. Once I have the first check in hand, I am going to quit in the most creative way possible- I am open to suggestions, by the way (see comment section at the end of this blog).

It's funny, a lot has changed in the past year since I moved to New York. I managed to find a great group of friends, have had some crazy things happen that almost seem fictional had they not actually happened (hello, private visit to the Oval Office), and learned a lot about relationships with the opposite sex. For example, I'm worth a lot more than the heaping loads of cowpie I used to receive.

I first came here as a visitor; a tourist. My first memory of New York is looking up at the skyscrapers. I had never seen so many large buildings in one place at once in my life. Now I occasionally look up at the buildings because you'll always find something you've never seen before. Like, do you know that at the tops of most buildings there are invariably these awesome gardens? Of course if I was rich and lived in a penthouse I'd make a garden too. For now I have a basil plant. But like I said, things are looking up.

Martini, I Hardly Knew Ye

I don't really know how to say this, but Martini, my dog, has passed. Someone gave him chocolate (and espresso) and he went into cardiac arrest.

I don't know why chocolate AND espresso, and I won't reveal which one of the girls it was, but let's just say it was very fine, expensive chocolate and rather high quality espresso. The only reason I am not naming names is because I forgive her and I think she was genuinely sorry for her mistake.

Even if I were to hold a grudge, it would do no good as Martini is gone. So I am trying to think of all the happy memories we've shared together.

The girls handled everything well. For once. Well, I thought I saw Jean laughing at his funeral but maybe that was just tears. No, she was laughing, but inside I know she is crying.

Sophie is finally getting help for her little problem, and I am continuing the apartment search as Jean has again flat out refused to find a place with me. Whatever, Sophie and I make better roommates anyway.

Okay, so it was Bonnie. But she looked so sad and later told me she missed him. And one day I'll give her daughter chocolate but it will be a happy event because children are not allergic to chocolate.

That's all. Oh, except that Jean is still waiting for her HIV results, Bonnie has yet to know the father of her unborn child and Sophie's under a lot of stress. I would normally end this blog with "At least I have the dog to keep me sane" but I don't. So instead I'll listen to country music and cry a bit. Or maybe I'll write a country song about Martini:

Been a long time ago
Too long to really know
When a dog named Martini
came 'round

He came to stay with me
Without a family
And in him a new friend
I found

My friends were jealous quick
Jean said he had fleas and ticks
So make fun of my friend
they did

Bonnie said he was dumb
Because he ate my gum
But I ain't the one stupid enough
to have a kid

To his needs I would cater
Tho he ate my vibrator
But I sure didn't mind that
a bit

Soon his days were numbered
When at Jean's house we all slumbered
And Bonnie gave him deadly
chocolate

(CHORUS)

Oh, Martini oh Martini
My little cuddle bear
Bonnie didn't mean to kill, I swear

So now I sit here all alone
Smilin' cuz I know why
You're sleepin' in a dog bed in the sky

That righteous little dog bed in the sky.....yyy (hold that note)

I love you, Martini

Internet...vention

I am officially obsessed with the internet. It's been a growing addiction since I learned about Google many years ago. Now I truly cannot live without it. If it were a choice between TV or internet, I'd choose the latter. You know why? Because you can watch TV on the computer. There's this thing called YouTube where you can view an endless array of random videos. You want to watch a cat talk? You got it. Anyone up for an SNL Digital short? It's yours. Hey, who wants to watch a webcam of some kid playing Nintendo? It's crazy.

I am also now participating in this online survey about bartending for this focus group study. It pays $100, so I'm all on it. It's a message board and they ask us all these questions and we respond. We can also talk to each other, and I am currently conducting a wild and public bulletin flirtation with one other bartender from Miami. Why? Because that's how I roll.

I have also used this damned thing to find out more about Sophie's little problem. Although I can't talk about it here, but Sophie, I'm getting you help. And I won't tell Jean or Bonnie.

Jean and I hung out yesterday. Well, I bartended and Jean hung out. I guess she got a weird piece of news about a friend of hers or something. We had a nice talk; sometimes it's just nice knowing that people understand/agree with you. And then we read aloud dirty limericks from this "Ye Olde Limerick" book my friend found on the street. I'll tell you, you've never lived until you've read the one about "Nymphomaniacal Alice" who did something tawdry with a phallice.

Sophie has been all up on my case about finding an apartment, and Bonnie is so preoccupied with this baby I feel like I haven't seen her in ages. I miss her. I hope we can all four hang out soon this week.

Okay, back to craigslist. Why do I need to check the missed connections section every five minutes? Oh, that's right... because I can.

I'm Not the Firestarter

Okay, how do you talk about something that you want people to know about but you don't want to make it obvious to protect the guilty/innocent? Especially when it's in a blog that Jean has pointed out to me on many occasions is public.

Let's see. You know how there have been like, three fires in Sophie's life this past year? Twice in her studio and once in our home? That's weird.

So, it looks like my dog, Martini may have Canine Dementia. It's kind of like alzheimers, but for dogs. The initial test results came back negative, but there is still more aggressive testing that can be done, and I'm all for it. I just need to borrow some money from Bonnie. The girls didn't take me very seriously; they think he's just dumb. But for a dog he's very smart. Like, the other day, he figured out that Jean had left her expensive cheese from Balducci's on the counter, and Martini found it. And ate it! See, he has good taste. And that makes the possible dementia even sadder. The fact that he sometimes barks at nothing and walks into walls can't just be elective stupidity.

Speaking of elective stupidity, wouldn't it be kind of funny if Sophie did accidentally set those fires? Like, not on purpose, but in a fit of carelessness, which she is wont to posses, maybe she just left an iron on or set a match without remembering? Everyone does that, right?

So Peter met Jean and told her a bit of serious news. It's always feels good to see an ex look like shit, except when they tell you they are HIV positive, then it's not cool. I know Jean will be okay, but man, that's messed up.

I give it another week before Bonnie moves back in with Greg. There's only so much Rita Weisberg anyone can take, and if Greg is seriously going to let his mom stay there, then there's something wrong with him. Which is good because previously there was nothing wrong with Greg.

Wow, fires are powerful. Sometimes people light them on purpose to, you know, have a sense of control. I wouldn't even blame Sophie if she DID set those fires, not that she did. I would just hope she didn't set any around me and sought help. That is, if she were a pyromaniac. Which she's not.

I Walked the Line and the Line Won

On the plane to Hawaii last week I watched Walk the Line twice. Not because it was that great but because my only other options were Rent or Everybody Loves Raymond. It was a pretty good flick if you ignore the beginning and the end. Because right there in the middle was this incredible love story between Johnny Cash and June Carter. For those of you unfamiliar with this tale, I'll break it down. They fell in love, their love was forbidden (something about a wife at home) and then the pills got in the way. All I can say is: story of my life! Well, not really. But it was sweet that they ended up together after all that. Sorry if I spoiled the movie for anyone.

Okay, I'll admit it- every girl has got a little bit of a romantic in her. Some more than others but like I said, it got me. When Johnny looked into June's eyes and proposed and swore he would be true and never pop another pill, heck, even I suspended reality and thought, 'Say yes, girl! He LOVES you!" Then the plane hit turbulence, my traytable knocked my arm and the businessman next to me woke up in a start. Even in my dreams things are bumpy.

Maybe it's because in real life they are. This week I reviewed the Amateur Porn Film Festival (yes, there is one), and Sophie's ex-husband James, submitted an old web-cam porno of them. Ouch. Bump. On top of that, Greg told Bonnie he wanted her to raise the baby Jewish OR ELSE! Bumpier. And then Peter called Jean and broke the news that they would be working together. Bumptastic. Now me, I'm fine. I was just doing my job and walking the line.

But when I got home, I got this impending sense of dread. Something about Andrew. I love him, I think. But is this it? Is this my Johnny Cash? Because I don't feel nauseous like all the other times I've been really into a guy. Maybe I want the drama. No, I do want the romance. Because if I really wanted the drama, I would have watched Rent. Well, no, I still wouldn't have, that story sucks.

See you, Bloggie.

Maholo

Okay Bloggie, I know it's been a while but I've been in Hawaii! I know, I know. Well, it's good news and weird news. The good being I got an all expense paid vacation to Hawaii. The bad being it's because our website got bought by some super corporate company and they flew us down there for "Team Training". What the f@#k is that? And did you know Aloha means hello AND goodbye? Well, according to the video on the plane, it can also mean a feeling. So I guess you can be greeting someone whilst wishing them adieu and emoting all at once.

Andrew thought it would be good for us to have a vacation, but the second we got down there, they split us up into "Adventure Groups" and took us to separate sides of the island of Oahu, with the goal of meeting up on the last night. They put us with people we don't know, and we were supposed to bond/beat drums in the woods/get drunk and hook up. I hate corporations. Our team leader was named "Janice" and she smiled as if the pineapple shoved up her ass might fall out if she flinched. Seriously, bloggie, we hiked and did trust falls, and at night everyone got drunk and the men wore Bermuda shorts and flirted with local women while the ladies bought shells and joked about getting "leid". I missed Andrew. He was stuck on the south shore with all the sewage.

At the end of the trip, we all met on the top of this place called "Diamond Head". Andrew and I split up and I gave him diamond head of my own. Oh, shut up, I'm allowed to be crass, I was stuck with balding production supervisors and project managers for the entire trip. We are the only creative area of the company. Oh, I have a new title, "Content Strategist". What the heck does that mean?

Oh, did I mention I broke the no-sex contract? I had to, Andrew and I are in a great relationship. I don't care that I owe $840. Well, I do, but Jean hasn't mentioned it because she has been distracted with Nathan. I hope she forgets.

Bonnie is having drama of her own. She temporarily moved out because Greg's mom, Rita Weisberg, is pressuring her to raise the baby Jewish. I don't care what she does as long as she gets out of Jean's place. She has "nowhere to go", I'm like, that's what they make hotels for. I hear New York has several of them. Also, her and Martini do not get along. Who hates dogs? Apparently babies are okay, but dogs are "dirty and annoying". Boy is she in for a shock.

Sophie could not be happier to have an excuse to stay with Andy Samberg. Well, she can move in with him if she wants. No, I hope she doesn't. I got her a freelance job with my company, (she's in the "graphics" department, ha), which means she takes photos. She better thank me for it.

Well, back to work. This new office is stifling. Hello bigger cubicle, goodbye freedom. And I have a feeling this is gonna suck. Aloha.

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.

Every Day is Arbor Day when you are a Dog

Okay, so I've been dog sitting this beagle mix for the weekend, and I know how Jean feels. But the difference between our situations is that this dog is perfectly house trained, which means he has to go on walks. Many walks. And on these walks he is not happy to pee on one tree, no, rather he has got to pee on many trees. Like, every third tree is his property and he has to pee on it again to let the other dogs know. He gets this shit-eating-grin sense of satisfaction after every stop. And then it's on to the next tree. I'm like, "Seriously, Martini (that's his name, seriously) that last tree was good enough for the both of us. Let's go home, Project Runway is on." Then he's like, (if he could talk) "No, I want to space the urine out over several blocks, and besides I know you taped Project Runway." It's like all my guy friends who need be with many different girls because they've got something to prove. I only know a handful who have actually peed on said girls, but it is sort of the same thing. This is why I don't live with a man because I know he'll just want to go on "walks". And heck, maybe so do I.

Speaking of infidelity, we took Bonnie to this $5 psychic to find out who the father of her child is. You'll never guess what Rosa the Psychic said. She goes, "You don't need to know right now." I didn't have the heart to tell Bonnie that is the number one cop-out piece of crap a psychic would say, but for $5 what did she expect? Bonnie took it very seriously and this wave of relief just fell over her, I swear it was like she was on some spiritual plane. Sophie was certainly on something, but then again she always is. Jean was very quiet. Does she believe or was she just playing nice? I'll bet you $20 Jean went back to the psychic to ask about her and Nathan. Those two are totally going to get married.

Things are good with me and Andrew. Really good. Okay, he told me he is falling in love with me. I almost slept with him the other night, but I got nervous. Not about breaking the no-sex-contract my friends made me sign, but about taking our relationship to the next level. Like, commitment/sex/boyfriend. I want him to be that, I think. I'm glad he is being patient with me. I really did used to be a total whore, I am realizing that now. But all that sex was meaningless. Let's just say I've peed on enough trees to claim ownership of the greater tri-state area. And so I've found a tree with shade. And that scares the crap out of me.

You know you've got it bad when your blogs sound like a Judy Blume book.

Later, Bloggie

I Can Believe it's Not Butter

A very insightful advice columnist once said, "People would rather be right than happy." A lot of decisions and choices people make are because it is the "right" thing to do, or a fight with a friend takes a turn for the worse because they so want to be right. Can the two co-exist? Is it too early in the day to get introspective and if so, since when did 1:00 PM become too early in the day?

My friend Annabelle from San Francisco recently walked from an unsteady relationship with someone she cared a lot about, and asked me today if it was fair to the guy. I asked her if she was happier. She said yes. I said, then don't waste my minutes bitch, and don't ever call before noon. Click. That's me hanging up the phone. And I felt bad, because talking her through it would be the right thing to do, but I'm happier I got that extra hour of sleep.

Okay, so maybe there is something to be said about doing the right thing. I've sort of been seeing this guy, Andrew. I never made a move when he had a girlfriend- right thing to do. I really like him a lot though, and it frightens me. First of all, we can't have sex, because I'm taking this contract my friends made me sign seriously. He says he understands, but we almost slipped the other night. I wonder if there is a loophole for lovemaking. I'll have to ask Jean. I also don't want to screw this up. I'm kind of falling for him. Shut up, Bloggie, I know how I sound.

So Bonnie still doesn't know who the baby's father is. I'll tell you, this is borderline ridiculous. Greg called me the other day to ask my advice on something. He wanted to know if Bonnie would think naming the baby after his grandmother was stupid. Something about Jewish tradition. I said, "Sure... depends on who the grandmother is." It just slipped. Luckily he said, "Oh, my father's side". Whew. Unfortunately her name is Ethel. I wonder what Richard's grandmother's name is? Probably something beautiful, like Rose. That's a good name.

Jean is tripping on the fact that Nathan might be the one. Like, the real one. Some psychic said something to her about it. I told her, look, it's like butter versus processed dairy spread. You know the real from the fake. If you take two hot pieces of toast and put butter on one and processed dairy spread on the other, the butter melts. Jean's been melting for weeks. I often accept toast with the other stuff and pretend it's butter. F@#k that, I want some real butter, goddamnit. And not even that Hotel Bar Butter bullshit, I'm talking real, old school, comes straight from an udder and skimmed off the top from some hot farm hand in overalls, churned by a Quaker, straight to the bowl with a little spoon of sea salt, Euro style. And I also want some fresh bread. Okay, it occurred to me I forgot to eat breakfast.

Later, Bloggie.

My Big Fat Gay Crush

Why is it I always have crushes on gay men? I am a recent cable addict and I am in love with Daniel V. on Project Runway. I almost cried when he told the group he was gay. Like I didn't already know. I mean, what is it about effeminate unavailable men? Is it that they're sensitive, hot and fashion conscious and never in my life will I have a chance with them so that makes them more attractive? It seems I have a problem with unavailable men, emotionally or otherwise. It makes me want them more. I'm not a shrink, but I think that is what is called "unhealthy".

Take Andrew for example. We had that awkward sit down yesterday where he told me he has feelings for me (duh) but he sorta has a girlfriend. What the f@#k is "sorta"? I'll tell you what it is. It's I-like-you-but-I'm-scared-to-leave-my-comfortable-situation. There's two different kinds of guys in this city: Those that can't settle down because they want to get laid and those that do settle down because they want to get laid. I don't care what he says; He kissed me in the cab the other night. I told him, "Don't worry! I understand." But now I want him more. Again, unavailable=more attractive. Or maybe I'm just having a hard time admitting that I actually for the first time like someone.

The last two guys I "dated", if you want to call them that, were the 18 year old and the Belizian. The 18 year old was fun for company and narrative value, and the fact that he worshipped me was nice too. The Belizian was just reinacting a fantasy of mine to have a secret Latin lover. Mission accomplished on both ends but I don't miss them now that they're gone. But Andrew, damn. Now we're just "friends". Friends with sexual tension but no benefits. It's okay, the thought of having a relationship makes me want to vomit anyway.

Speaking of vomiting, I reviewed this new art piece down in SOHO where this ex-bulemic recreated vomit-like substances in jars and displayed them. It was "Instillation Art As Healing Process". Jean called it "a load of cowpie". I actually thought it was pretty interesting and the only reason I brought Jean along is because I know about her strict "Won't hold your hair back while you vomit" policy and I love watching her discomfort. One day she'll understand the most secret code of womanhood where ties are strengthened upon the ritual holding of the hair. It's a beautiful thing.

Well bloggie, off to start my day. Sophie and Bonnie are shopping for "baby things" and I said I'd meet up with them later. Jean says she might join us after she drops these dogs off she's been watching. I guess one of them peed on her couch thrice and she has to clean the cushions. I don't get how dog pee is game but your own friend's stomach lining is not.

See you, Bloggie

My Baby Sugardaddy

This week has been intense. My horoscope said it would be but I usually choose only to listen to the good horoscopes. Well, my week has been bad and good-and-weird. I'll start with the bad. Bonnie told us she's not sure who her baby's daddy is. No, I won't repeat that Bloggie, you'll just have to re-read that yourself. What? I know, I felt the same way. I mean, she swore up and down that it was Greg's. Was she just lying to us or did she really not do the math? I'm not mad at her, I'm just a little upset. I mean, Greg and I are pretty close and half of me just wants to tell him but the other half is beholden to Bonnie, obviously. I guess we'll just have to put up a good face until Bonnie gets the results. I won't say anything Bonnie, I just wanted to let you know how I feel.

Okay, the good-and-weird part. After my "We Both Hate Valentine's Day So Be My Non-Date" date with Andrew, we went out to dinner on Thursday. It turned into a fun night and in the cab on the way home before he got out he kissed me. On the lips, but in a quick, maybe we're just friends kiss. I have not replayed a moment in my head so many times since the three way kiss in that movie "Y Tu Mama Tambien". Which was also a pleasant reminder of my first threesome. I still replay that moment in my head sometimes, but maybe it's because I haven't had sex in weeks.

Which brings me to this darned falutin' sex contract. The girls say if I break it I have to pay $840. But if things progress at ALL with Andrew I would pay double. But waiting has gotten me this far so who knows. At the same time, if I would have broken it for anyone it would be the time I almost had sex with Andy Samberg from SNL and because of the contract I pawned him off on Sophie who now is having great sex with Andy Samberg from SNL. He could mack on my cupcake any day.

Jean and Nathan are screwing like bunnies but she won't give details. That kind of makes her look classier. No wonder she's dating a millionaire.

I can't wrap my head around all of this so I might go take a nap before work. Jean said she can't come by because she's "dog sitting" but I know that's a euphemism for choosing men over friends. I had a dog once and he was lucky if anyone ever came home. Dogs are resilient that way. Men aren't.

I'll keep you posted, Bloggie.

Dramarama

There is so much ridiculous teenage drama at my bar that I am about to lose my mind. There's bartenders sleeping with other bartenders, and same said bartender also sleeping with the barback's friend on the side, neither girls nor barback knows about said bartender sleeping with other bartender, everyone looks like a fool. I am so glad I'm not a part of that anymore. I used to be, but now I'm seeing things a lot more clearly. I think having this other job has helped. I'm sick of deception; secrets make the baby Jesus cry.

It's been great at my writing gig. I reviewed my first visual art show and the Editor-in-Chief loved it. He says he might want to give me a bigger workload. I swear bloggie, if I could write full time I think I might actually be happy for even one second. I'd still have my monumental financial and emotional problems weighing me down, but at least I'd have a job doing what I loved.

Okay, remember when I said secrets make the baby Jesus cry? I do have a secret and I have as a result lied. Secret: I have a crush on Andrew at work. A REALLY big one. Lie: I told him I liked Dave Matthews Band because he mentioned he liked one of their songs. I was like, "I LOVE Dave Matthews Band!" The second the lie came out of my mouth I realized I really must like him. You know when you are trying to impress someone and you start lying about random movies no one has seen, just because you want them to think you're as worldly as them, like, you and Werner Herzog may as well be best friends. I hear people do it all the time at my bar on first dates, "I LOVE Death Cab for Cutie!" Bullshit, you just saw them featured on the cover of Hipster Weekly. But I mean Dave Matthews Band? That's bad.

Sophie figured out I had a crush because she noted it took me an extra half hour to get ready this morning. It would be fine if she just mentioned it but instead she threw her arms in the air, screamed at the top of her lungs and ran around the apartment waving a mauve scarf in celebration. "Sara likes a boy!" I'm seriously going to change the locks when she goes to yoga class today.

Jean came by my bar last night and managed to keep her top on. We had one of those discussions that friends have when they are so exhausted with their lives they just talk- about something and nothing in particular. I guess things are going well with Nathan. It's good to see her... happy?

Bonnie has been "phasing out" her casting work but is still waiting for the Dave Chapelle account so when she's not pacing the floor she's furiously unpacking and mumbling. I overheard her swearing into a box yesterday, "Who goes to Africa when they want peace and quiet? You have $52 million dollars, you can BUY peace and quiet..." I hope she is not too stressed out.

Well, tonight I don't have any plans. Just sit around, maybe. No, I'm not waiting for Andrew to call, we're just friends and besides, someone like him probably has a million plans on a Saturday night. So I'll rent a movie. I'll rent a movie about two co-workers who get it on. That narrows it down to Jungle Fever, What Women Want, Working Girl, Jerry Maguire, Secretary, Anchorman, Barbershop, Love Actually, The American President, Barbershop 2: Back in Business, The Good Girl, Laws of Attraction, Broadcast News, Intern, Pretty Woman and Big. Or maybe I'll just rent a horror flick.

17 Again

Oh no oh no oh no I think I have a crush. Wait, hear me out, I have been quite sexually promiscuous since my break up with Paul. Two and a half years of being with one person will do that to you, and fooling around with your gay best friend during that time does not count as cheating, thank you. So when my friends hear the word crush they probably think I'm talking about another guy I want to bang. It makes sense especially because they forced me to be celibate for a while. But this is different... I haven't had a crush in years. I'm talking about the kind of crush that gives you little butterflies in your stomach and you feel like everything you do is stupid.

Well, I have a schoolgirl crush and it scares the crap out of me. I noticed it two days ago when I went to my internet writing job and I caught my co-worker/new friend Andrew looking at me during a staff meeting. The boss was talking and I looked over and caught him staring at me. And we held the stare for a bit too long. And then he did it- he looked away quickly. Holy shit, did I feel nauseous. We avoided each other for the rest of the day.

Now, I take extra pains to look good in the morning, and I look forward to seeing him. But I also don't know how to act in front of him. I think he feels the same way; now when we joke we're all nervous about it- at least I know I am. He made some dumb joke, and then I laughed too hard, and then he was like, "It wasn't that funny" but he looked embarrassed. I can only describe it as that strange feeling you get when someone catches you masturbating or vice versa- you just pretend nothing happened but you both know. That's only happened to me twice but I tell ya, it seals a relationship.

The girls are doing great. Jean's been going crazy about this boy, Nathan. I think she's just glowing in the fact that she found this guy, he happens to be a millionaire and then she really hit it big, literally. He has a huge penis. I think she's just freaked out that there is currently nothing wrong with him. I hate her.

Sophie has an actual date with that actor from Saturday Night Live. I am trying not to act jealous but hot-damn is she ever lucky.

Bonnie and I had our first disagreement in a long time. I told her she was torn between being a rich person but wanting to look spiritually grounded like a poor one. I told her, you're still salt of the earth but embrace the fact that the salty taste comes from a fine caviar. I think I could be a life coach. She should stop paying that quack of hers and give me free food for my advice. I'm hungry.

Okay, off to bed. I can't believe it's because I want to look good for work tomorrow. I hate crushes.

Threads are Twine

I haven't blogged in a while because... everyone sit down... I've actually been busy. Working! Like, at a real job. This arts review website gig is awesome! They're sending me out on my first real assignment today- some art show somewhere. I know it's a big deal because the head guy had it but he got sick and it was like Peter Parker at the Daily Bugle, when he gets his first Spider Man photo job and the guy with the mustache is like, "This is your big chance, kid". Except the person who gave me the assignment was a woman and she didn't have a mustache. I'm really excited.

I like my new co-workers, too. So much better than at the bar because these people are really doing what they love and they're not alcoholics. I doubt there will ever be an occasion to make out with any of these guys in the office bathroom and if that were the case I could actually sue for sexual harassment. This one guy who's also new, Andrew, is hilarious. We spent all day yesterday just joking around, sloppily speed-writing paragraphs and then letting the computer do an automatic spell check. My favorite one was "Threads are twine when I see the light poof day angled I love it". Awesome. Andrew is cool because I haven't had a guy friend in a while that I haven't had sex with. We went out for lunch a few days ago and just talked about nothing in particular. I even told him about the "No Sex for 3 Months" contract the girls made me sign and he thought it was hilarious. There's something about the contract I like because now the pressure of the flirt game is off and I can just be myself. I just reread that and I can't believe those words just escaped my fingers.

Oh, Jean came to the bar on Friday, ended up drunk and sans bra, and then acted all shocked about it the next day. I'm like, Jean, that's what happens when you come to my bar. Quite frankly, it sounds pretty tame to me. She's just embarrassed because she released a little bit of her inner slut. Everyone's got one. Jean's now reading this and going, "And the inner slut has teeny-tiny stilettos, and a little red dress..." I know how you think Jean. Embrace your inner slut. Just not too tight cuz she'll get the wrong idea.

I haven't seen Bonnie in days. I called her and she was "re-tiling". I was like, "Are YOU re-tiling or are you overseeing some Mexican guy while he does it?" She hung up on me.

Oh, I guess Sophie is having lunch with that guy from SNL. She better just talk about how great I am; she's already into this other guy, Zach. I hate it when your friends are in love. Everything is so happy all the time.

I have to officially cut things off with the 18 year old. Being a total bitch to him doesn't seem to be working. I'm a little discombobulated around him though because he seems like a different person to me all of a sudden. And not in a good way. Now when I see him it feels like every time he opens his mouth a lie falls out. It's worse than having lettuce in your teeth and there are no threads of twine big enough to floss that motherfucker out. So I guess I'll just keep avoiding him. I'm really good at that.

Well, off to this show, Bloggie. I'll keep you posted.

I Quit...You.

Okay, so I hung out with the girls last night, but after an already event filled evening they wanted to go bowling, and I just went home. I wanted to be alone and plus, my friend from the SAG committee has a DVD of Brokeback Mountain and I thought I'd go home and watch it. Great movie- not enough sex, but I liked it a lot. The problem with those "For Your Consideration" SAG DVD's is that every 30 minutes or so there's a crawl along the screen reminding you that this video is for authorized viewers only, so it ruins the moment to remind you that what you are doing is illegal. Luckily it was only during the dead-air space in the movie where they are just riding horses, but still. Great movie.

The part that wasn't great was when the 18 year old called and wanted to come over to "talk". I have been avoiding him for a few days because I told him I wanted to explore our relationship past sex, like, do we have anything in common? I just used that line because I can't tell him my friends made me sign that contract saying I wouldn't have sex for three months, but I guess this is part of the "learning" process; Sleeping with someone who I would also consider a "friend" or something. Guess what I found. The second I cut off the sex his ego went into a tailspin and he started acting like an asshole. So he came over and watched the movie with me. Of course he tried to have sex with me and I told him no. And then I had an epiphany- I really did just like him because the sex made me feel special. And now, he didn't make me feel so good. So I just turned to him and said, "It's like I'm Heath. Get it? I quit." I was kind of hoping he'd quote Jake and be like, "I wish I knew how to quit you." I think if he had said that I would have caved in and had sex with him. But he didn't. He cried a bit but I don't care. He's too young to understand. Wow, did I just say that? Does that make me old enough to?

Last night Jean had a date with like, a trillionaire, and it went really well. I am so jealous. Where can I find one of those? I tried to give her some advice but she got all huffy with me and was like, "I don't want your help" but later I know she took it because the date went great and my pointers are foolproof. Touch the hair + slow lean in x hand on thigh = I'm interested. Good for her; did I mention I was jealous?

Okay, so Sophie had a stupid corporate art show at Chase Manhattan, and that guy from SNL I met at that party was there! Oh, I worked that angle. I was like, "Hey, [You]" (I won't use his real name), "Remember me? This is my friend's work. You should buy it", and he did! Then he asked me to come back to his place and I had to say no... This contract is killing me. Then Sophie got his number. She better give me a commission on that photograph.

Bonnie is doing great but the move wrecked her. The apartment is so stupid it's retarded. I have got to stop using that word around her because she's pregnant and it is a very sensitive subject. I ran into Greg yesterday too, and he is just glowing. There's something about some men and babies. Like, there's guys who care and guys who don't. The guys who do are so into it you'd think they'd be willing to have the baby inside of them for 9 months. Then again most guys don't mind having beer bellies; it's a status thing. He was so happy but also kind of looked like a protective lion, ready to pounce if anyone got near his lioness and cubs. It's so feral.

Well, off to job #2. Did I mention I have my first assignment with the arts review website? I'm going to see this off-off-off Broadway play about these two guys. I hope they are cowboys.

See you, Bloggie

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