My Thumps

Mwahweed? Yeah, Mwahweed.

2011-01-21T23:37:00.000-05:00

A Wedding Story: Saryn + David at the Guilford Yacht Club, Guilford Connecticut

Chick Chat with Teri Hatcher, Wonderwall/People's Choice Awards "Favorite Web Celeb" Contender

2010-06-22T14:05:00.000-04:00

<a href="http://video.msn.com?mkt=en-us&playlist=videoByUuids:uuids:22a46325-cb3e-4117-b1d5-23c0aa1140b5&showPlaylist=true&from=IV2_en-us_wonderwall" target="_new" title="Web Celeb Nominee Teri Hatcher">Video: Web Celeb Nominee Teri Hatcher</a>

Bringing Androgyny Back

2009-03-21T06:28:00.002-04:00

Is Androgyny making a comeback in Celebrity Land?

Gender Neutral

Wonderwall | Gallery | Casting the New

2009-02-27T18:23:00.001-05:00

Awesome news '80s movie fans: CLUE is getting a remake! That's right, your favorite childhood "whodunnit" will be casting new suspects soon. What do you think of our choices? Tell me now...before I kill you, in the library, with a wrench.

read more | digg story

Wonderwall

2009-02-09T05:20:00.005-05:00

Hi guys. Come check out my new writing residence:

Wonderwall.com

Product Fiend Forever

2009-02-09T05:10:00.004-05:00

Sadly, I just discovered that the beauty and skin care products site I once contributed to has gone to the big discount pharmacy in the sky. Before all my hard beauty reporting work is lost forever, I bring to you one of the more important questions of the new millenium: What kind of lip balm do YOU use?

See more here:

Madonna Facial

Space NK Apothecary

Saved Tattoo

Beauty Ambush

Face Off!

I Was An Elementary School Slut

2008-11-22T05:30:00.004-05:00

I was four-years-old back in '82 when my parents took me and my brothers (seven and nine, respectively) to see "Porky's." I distinctly remember a young Kim Cattrall howling like a she-wolf in heat while getting boned by the assistant coach. I made a mental note to learn some animal mating calls for future "make believe" purposes. Seriously, why did my parents bring three little kids to see an R-rated sex comedy?

Dad: "We thought it was a Porky Pig movie!"

Mom: "Your father wanted to see it and you refused to leave! What could I do?"

Pass the popcorn, Mom. This sexy sneak preview to a post-pubescent future was the likely root of my hyper-sexuality, and here's what followed...

I Was An Elementary School Slut

The "Real" Best in Show: Worldwide Fido Awards 2008

2008-11-17T12:54:00.006-05:00

I yelped like an excited puppy at my invitation to Nick at Nite’s star-studded Worldwide Fido Awards. My friends and family know me best as a cat lover, but truthfully I am "bi-petual." A blues-singing beagle, jump-roping Jack Russell and bikini-wearing boxer were among the canine creme-de-la-creme competing for the coveted title of Worldwide Fido Winner...

Check out the full story here:

Hot Dogs: My Peek Inside Pooch Pageantry

Revenge of the Babysat

2008-10-08T03:36:00.011-04:00

Over the years, young-ish boys have tended to get randy with me and I'm not entirely sure why. I don't sit on park benches and offer them candy bars post-soccer practice, nor have I ever supplied alcohol for a junior prom after-party. (Also my tits really aren't that big.) Did I just somehow veer off my Mary Kay LeTourneau path of destiny?

Either way, I am unwittingly a cougar way before my time.

At age 14, I was sexually harassed by an 8-year-old who I was being paid to babysit. Rowen demanded we watch "Drop Dead Fred," an early '90s Phoebe Cates flick (sorry fellas, no bikini dream sequence here) where her childhood imaginary friend returns to wreak havoc upon her life.

Much like Fred, the Freudian representation of his sweet-but-meek owner's id, Rowen similarly tormented me and toyed with our power dynamic. He whined until I let him sit on my lap, and mere minutes into the movie, I felt his goblin hands grab my "bad touch" zone.

"Don't do that!" I scolded.

Rowen peered up at me mock-innocently. He may've been 8, but this little dude knew exactly what he was doing. (Admit it guys, some of you little pervs did.)

Even though I was getting the same uncomfortable vibes usually reserved for my best friend's Uncle Fester, I said to myself, "Self, he's just a kid. Don't make a mountain out of this weird little mole hill." But sure enough, moments later, Rowen was rubbing his face up against my shirt trying to motorboat me. I reprimanded him again and scooted the little molester off my lap for good. He grinned and giggled, turning his attentions back to the TV. This kid was a total deviant, and I was stuck with him for the next six hours. And like most abuse victims, I was too worried and embarrassed to tell to his parents what happened.

But years down the line, I realized it wasn't about age - it was about the particular boy. For instance, there was my 16-year-old intern, Kevin at my first job out of college. Kevin was tall and very cute and definitely "mature" for his age - it was hard to resist this smooth character's brand of mock-innocent flirting. It was also hard to tell him what to do, because he'd bat those big puppy dog eyes and IM me that I "looked sexy today." One day, Kevin swore me to secrecy over IM, then confessed ... he was having an affair with his female homeroom teacher. She was two years older than me. I wasn't surprised. In fact, I was sort of jealous.

Years later, I bumped into Kevin hanging out in a park with some of his soccer buddies . Alas, I was with some unmemorable boyfriend at the time and couldn't seize this finally-of-age moment with my former intern. It just wasn't meant to be for us.

BUT one summer when I was in my late 20s, I finally tested these wannabe cougar claws: Magnus was 19, the lead guitarist in a Swedish indie-rock-metal band. I could've been his babysitter, his camp counselor, his teacher, his manager - and manage we did. In the morning, I gave him a granola bar and sent him on his way back to Stockholm...

After that, I started getting it on with young dudes from all over the Tri-State, 'cuz we have the cutest frat guys in the world!

I hope this doesn't land me on some neighborhood watch list.

Confessions of a Celebrity Gossip Girl

2008-09-17T03:59:00.003-04:00

(The Reno she-cops and I want to help Britney!)

An essay I wrote about my former life as celebrity magazine/blog/web site reporter was recently published on Orato.com, and I'm relieved to finally share all my inner angst with everyone. I may be an eavesdropping namedropper, but at the very least, I do have a conscience!

Confessions of a Celebrity Gossip Girl

Exorcising the demons, forgive the regretfully earnest tone.

FACE THE FUTURE: SMOOTHMED

2008-07-30T15:18:00.005-04:00

The one where I take a little trip to a "drive thru" Botox clinic:

Botox on the Go

And yeah, needles and fillers totally freak me out! Is it written all over my face? (Yes, it is.)

Enjoy -- but beware -- this one isn't for the faint of heart.

Product Fiend: Lip Therapy

2008-04-10T16:17:00.003-04:00

Introducing "Beauty Ambush", where hostess Saryn Chorney (c'est moi) and aesthetician Nathalie DiNoia (une *fierce* French femme) prowl the streets for unsuspecting victims. This week: Lip Therapy

'Cuz your smoocher oughta be soft, always.

Sociopath Walks into A Bar

2008-04-04T01:07:00.021-04:00

My girl friends are always complaining about how hard it is to meet a decent guy. But I say, why not give an indecent guy a try?

I have a thing for sociopaths. Beyond all the neat con-artist tricks of the trade (free dinners, swindled concert tickets, credit card scams), there's just something oddly compelling about a dude who has zero ability to empathize with others. I'm not trying to change these emotionally-challenged freaks of nature, I just want to understand how their vacant hearts and scheming minds operate.

I met Andrew at a bar in New York City called "Heathers," named after the 1989 film starring Winona Ryder and Christian Slater (as a teen heartthrob-turned-sociopath, coincidentally).

Andrew was attractive and low key, probably in his late thirties. My friend Kathy said he looked like George Clooney in a sweatshirt, but I kept envisioning Christian Bale, the "American Psycho" himself. Yum.

Andrew overheard me mention one of my sociopath ex-boyfriends (I have at least two, maybe three) and perked up. He challenged my definition of the word, then agreed to be interviewed regarding his self-professed anti-social personality disorder.

Me: Do you have a job?

Socio-Andrew: I skate by.

Me: What do you do all day?

Socio-Andrew: Nothing.

Me: Nothing at all?

Socio-Andrew: I go to therapy.

Me: Why?

Socio-Andrew: I try to break the therapist. This guy I'm seeing now, he's tough, but I think I'm close.

Me: How do you afford therapy if you don't have a job?

Socio-Andrew: I'm not a trust funder.

Me: Well what do you do for money?

Socio-Andrew: I stock the aisles at Trader Joes.

Me: Is that true?

Socio-Andrew: Maybe.

Clearly I was having a hard time getting a straight answer from my new crush. It was time to get specific.

Me: What are your favorite books?

Socio-Andrew: Philip K. Dick, "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" Susan Sontag, "The Dummy." Isaac Asimov, "I, Robot." Artificially intelligent life forms want to live, but people like me, we want to die.

Me: Do you have any hobbies?

Socio-Andrew: My own demise.

Me: What does that mean?

Socio-Andrew: I dream of new ways to kill myself.

Me: Do you daydream or actually dream at night about it?

Socio-Andrew: Both. Jung once dreamt he took a crap on the church. You should read his autobiography, "Memories, Dreams and Reflections."

Me: You seem to like reading. Does it make you happy?

Socio-Andrew: It's not about wanting or not wanting to be happy. I only mimic.

Me: Mimic who, or what?

Socio-Andrew: Emotions. I'm not an actor; I'm a channeler. I could read anyone in this bar. But mainly, I want to kill myself.

I looked him dead in the eye.

Me: So why don't you just do it already?

Andrew didn't respond, but he did crack a smile. Had I finally succeed in making him happy -- or was he merely mimicking my own inner glee at the thought of such an accomplishment? I'll never know. My friend decided she was officially creeped out and declared it time for us to go.

As I left the bar, Andrew called out my name. I felt that old familiar urge to return and continue our disturbing banter. What if I was his only hope for human connection? But even a magically sympathetic princess like myself knows when it's time to stop kissing frogs.

So, I bid my sociopathic prince adieu: Sweet dreams, Andrew. If you ever need help writing a suicide note, I'm your girl.

Skin Scoop: Favorite Facial Masks

2008-03-17T21:29:00.004-04:00

Hello Mythumpers! I have some news...you can now watch me stalk women on the streets of New York City, discovering the secrets of beautiful skin care. The blog is called Product Fiend, and it's produced by Conde Nast & Sebastian's Factory. Check it out ladies & metrosexuals:

In My Skin

2008-03-02T15:32:00.013-05:00

As you'll soon see, I've been hosting the videos for a new skin-focused web site called Product Fiend. Thus, I thought I'd take a moment to discuss my own epidermal history.

I'm of Eastern European (Russian, Romanian, German, Polish) and Jewish heritage, so my olive-toned skin is fairly tan year-round, and definitely dark in the summer. If you didn't know me, you might guess I was of Latina, Middle Eastern or Mediterranean descent. Thus, I tend to classify my skin tone as "ethnically ambiguous." And because the exotic look is currently in vogue (think: Eva Mendes, Eva Longoria, Jessica Alba), I feel fairly confident in my own skin these days. But that was not always the case...

I first became aware of my skin’s "other" status while growing up in a small, WASP-y Connecticut town. Throughout the '80s and '90s, the girls that were considered the prettiest were blond, usually light-eyed, and had fair complexions. For the most part, that image was reflected in the media as well (Christie Brinkley, Michelle Pfeiffer, and, um, Debbie Gibson).

I remember when I was 11 or 12 years old, I had a discussion with my mother about a boy I liked and how he had a crush on another, "fairer" girl than I. She promised that I had an "interesting" look and predicted that when I was older, my dark beauty would eventually be appreciated. (Thanks Mom!) Unfortunately, the fact that I also had caterpillar eyebrows and acne-prone skin only made matters worse. Throughout middle school, I woke up two hours early in order to apply layers of pimple-fighting creams, foundation and cover-up to hide my zits. It didn't help that I was an obsessive compulsive picker and pimple-popper, either. So, I mainly tried to hide my complexion behind my mane of thick, dark hair.

Eventually I became a guinea pig for a new acne-fighting medication called Accutane. Despite some weird side effects, it worked. My skin cleared up just in time for high school. I distinctly remember a popular blond friend one day turning to me at the lunch table and announcing, "You have perfect skin!" All the girls looked at me and nodded their heads in agreement. I was shocked. I had never heard that before, and certainly not in any public forum. This was the beginning of my newfound "skin-esteem."

From time to time I still struggle with skin-related issues. I have the occasional acne outbreak or pimple that just won’t quit. I have little red bumps on the back of my upper arms that I detest. I have cellulite, stretch marks and the slight beginning of varicose veins. Luckily, I don't have many wrinkles yet, nor any scary moles to speak of. Hallelujah!

However, I am an obsessive facial and body hair tweezer. After a few years of waxing and a bout with laser-hair removal, I've finally reverted back to shaving, bleaching and threading (not too painful or expensive). I decided the ends didn’t justify the means – just to meet some imaginary ideal of "pretty?" Pretty impossible is more like it.

Collagen lip injections, Botox, chemical peels and plastic surgery will likely never be options for me. Nowadays, I simply believe my skin requires a healthy diet, some moisturizing-care and rest. Approaching 30 and becoming increasingly comfortable in my own skin means a low-maintenance, self-accepting attitude towards skincare, not the other way around.

Catnapped

2008-02-14T18:24:00.017-05:00

The video above was filmed in happier times, with my exboyfriend (*I'll call him Patrick*) and "our" cat Tijs during November 2004 at my brother's Vermont house. Sadly, Tijs only got to visit Vermont once or twice as my brother is deathly allergic. That's only the unlucky beginning to the tale of my misfortune regarding Tijs...today is his birthday actually (ok, it was appointed -- he was adopted, who knows really?!) and I'm missing him dearly.

Most of my friends and family know the sad story I am about to recount, but it's taken me a while to write down this saga or talk to strangers about it. Detailing my Tijs story, even in a diary, seems to make the loss realer somehow. I keep waiting for an amount of time to pass such that I'll be able to look back on my experience with some kind of wisdom or perspective. But being the eternal optimist and feline-o-phile I am, from the very start, I held out hope that my love for and connection with this particular cat would trump all obstacles. Currently, my main lesson learned is borrowed from Nietzsche: "A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything."

I know what you're thinking -- and yes, I am being rather melodramatic about A CAT. If all you dog-lovers or horse-lovers or whatever-lovers could put yourself in my shoes for a moment and remember what it's like to lose a beloved pet, I would be grateful for the understanding. Now, imagine your pet didn't pass away. Nope, this animal you adore simply lives a few blocks north with your ex's sister now. WTF? Indeed.

Patrick and I talked about adopting a cat together just a few months into our relationship. I had grown up with seven cats, read a million cat behavior books, and am generally known as a "cat lady," petting every single slinky feline that crosses my path. Some, including my ex, call me a cat whisperer.

My last cat, Pumpkin, had wandered off to kitty heaven while I was in college. My college roommates and I briefly co-owned a cat, Maverick, who went home with my friend Sarah after senior year. Many a late night living in New York City, I longed for a kitty companion. When Patrick mentioned that he was thinking about getting a pet, either a small dog or a cat, I heavily campaigned for the latter (I love dogs too, but isn't a cat just easier in NYC? You might be surprised...). My ex toyed with me, saying he'd get me a cat if I did this, or he'd get me a cat if I did that. Finally, I agreed to paint him four cats. (In the aftermath, at my request, he gave me this framed painting back... but not the flesh-and-furball that is Tijs. I wish.)

Meanwhile, adoption plans had to wait, because Patrick and I were taking a month-long trip to Europe and Turkey first! I quit my job to accompany my recent business school graduate boyfriend on a cross-cultural journey which ended in heartbreak: The night before flying from Prague to Istanbul, Patrick learned that his father had suddenly passed away from a heart attack. We packed our bags and flew for 24 hours, at least 4 connecting flights, to get to the funeral in Florida. We had been dating less than 5 months, so the only time I ever saw his father was in that open casket. I spent a week getting to know Patrick's extended family and helping him grieve.

Upon returning to New York, Patrick was quite depressed. I suggested we go to the ASPCA and pick out a cat to help cheer him up. Being the cat expert I am, I knew the qualities to look for when choosing a kitten or young cat as a pet. Friendly, playful, a licker...it came down to two cats, a girl and a boy. Ultimately, Patrick chose the boy, whose cage was posted with a sign that read, "Pick of the litter." We were smitten.

The next day, we went back to formally adopt him. When the agent pushed the papers our way, Patrick snatched them away and signed, just himself. I wanted to sign them too, but he ignored my pleas, and I let it go thinking, "I'm going to marry him one day. It will be fine." Stupid? Sure, but at the time, I was twenty-five and really believed we would be together always and live happily ever after... with our cat. I let him pay the $60 adoption fee, since he uncharacteristically ignored the wallet I pulled out as well. The cat was a gift for me, I rationalized. Wrong.

This is the day that we found you!

Add to My Profile | More Videos

When we brought our sixth month old home, I was in charge of naming him. Linus was a thought...but then I offered, "How about T.J.?" It was a joke between us that all the men in Patrick's family were either named "Tommy" or "Joey." T.J. didn't seem quite right, but I did a little research... Patrick's favorite DJ was Tiesto, whose real name was "Tijs" (that's Dutch for "Matthew," basically). We had a winner, even if others would have problems pronouncing it down the line. (FYI: NBC anchor Matt Lauer's son is also named Tijs, but that was years later.)

Matt Lauers Wife Gives Birth

Unfortunately, we only had Tijs a week before he started showing symptoms of illness. Our little man was not eating or drinking and became increasingly lethargic. The first visit to the vet informed us he had a typical upper respiratory infection. After a few days on meds, he was only getting worse... we brought him to the vet hospital where he was diagnosed with Feline Panleukopenia. This disease is very similar to distemper or Pardo in dogs, i.e., it involves a critical loss of white blood cells which makes the animal extremely vulnerable to other diseases as well.

As the vet bills mounted into the the thousands, Patrick tried to nickel-and-dime every procedure, every medication, every day of care with the doctors. After a week of visiting our dying kitten each evening in isolation at the hospital, a vet assigned to the case finally told us very frankly that we either had to commit to paying any amount of money possible to try to save the cat (with no guarantee of survival) or pay another $500 to have him put to sleep (the "humane" thing to do). We were caught between a rock and a hard place. We had already connected with this animal. When we came to visit, I would look into his eyes and cry my own eyes out. Even in his weakened state, he would try to stand up, try to meow at us. I am very serious when I say that I knew this cat was special, and I could not let him go without a fight. However, I also knew the anguish Patrick had already been through only weeks ago over his Dad. It felt impossibly unfair to now put him through this. As we deliberated over what to do (Patrick almost agreed to have him put down, but I wouldn't have it), a vet came in and relieved us: The special care vet at the hospital had grown attached to Tijs, and she offered to take over his medical bills if we signed away our rights to him. Losing custody of him wasn't the best option, but it felt like a small miracle at the time.

And what a miracle it was: Two and a half weeks (and a near break-up) later, we got the call that Tijs was alive and well. After six (or was it eight?) blood transfusions and a quote from the doctor, "Tijs was as sick as an animal could possibly be -- he's literally been to hell and back" -- our little champ was alive and slowly but surely made a swift, spirited recovery. He was a weakling when he finally came home, but had the loudest, strongest purr ever that day. (Aside: The $3,000+ in vet bills were passed back to us at that point. My ex did some shady dealings and to this day, I am unsure whether these bills were ever fully paid for... I suspect not. To be fair, Patrick was a good parent otherwise, paying for future vet check-up bills. To be fairer, I paid for a few along the way too.)

Weeks, months, years (nearly two) passed along, and Tijs grew up to be pretty much the coolest cat ever. I used to say he was like a dog, but he was even cooler than most dogs. Super affectionate, Tijs would lick me for like 10 minutes straight when I got home, holding my face between his paws. Patrick taught him (and encouraged me to help train, which I did) numerous doggy tricks, like sit, fetch, roll-over, etc. He liked to pull out these "party tricks" for friends, and liked to think these things made Tijs an even more valuable commodity/companion, but personally, they were mere side notes of coolness in my book. The best things about Tijs are his genuine affection, playfulness and human-meets-cat instincts.

As things began to deteriorate in my relationship with Patrick, I often thought about how hard it would be to break up because of Tijs. I didn't trust him to just give me the cat without some sort of condition attached, but I did truly believe that when all was said and done, Patrick would not take this pet away from me entirely. He often said that he knew Tijs loved me more (I won't dispute that!), and he also joked that I'd never leave him because of our cat. In the final analysis, I knew our relationship was unhealthy and damaging to my self-esteem (I really hate talking/writing about such a personal issue, but it seems I must on this occasion). I could no longer subject myself to my ex's manipulations and various sociopathic behaviors. The day I broke up with him, I sat holding Tijs, crying my eyes out again on the behalf of this furry creature I'd cherished above all other pets. Patrick sat there watching us, silently crying too. I'm not quite sure why, honestly...

During the months -- actually a year and a half to be exact -- that followed, Patrick and I attempted a hesitant friendship that pretty much revolved around Tijs. We had a shaky co-custody that consisted of traveling the mile-plus between our apartments and caring for Tijs separately about every 2 weeks or so. While Patrick's apartment was his original home base, Tijs became quite accustomed and happy in my apartment which had more nooks and crannies and sunny windows than Patrick's place. As a freelance writer, I was also home more often than Patrick, so Tijs and I spent much quality time together.

At this point, Patrick had already begun talking about moving out of the country - South America, India - but I didn't take him entirely seriously. I secretly practiced a motto of "Kill 'em with kindness" and tried my hardest to appeal to Patrick's sensitive side. One evening, I invited him and his sister to a concert in Central Park. There, Patrick told me that he intended to move to Argentina within the next year, and when he did, he said he would give Tijs to me. I remember his exact words: "I know how much it would hurt me to be away from Tijs, and I couldn't put you through that." I was touched, thanked him from the bottom of my heart and even discussed this with his sister, shocked by his apparent selflessness. A few months later, we were out for brunch with a mutual friend. When he announced he was moving out of the country once more, our friend asked what we'd do with Tijs? Patrick hesitated, looked me in the eye, and declared, "I'm bringing him with me." Of course I flew off the handle. Hadn't he just told me a few weeks earlier that he'd give him to me? At first he lied and denied the conversation. Finally he acquiesced, admitting that when he discovered there are no animal quarantine laws in Argentina, he no longer planned on giving the cat to me for good.

I didn't speak to him in a friendly way for months. We continued to share custody, but I was massively distrustful. However, I could not bare the thought of Tijs being gone for good. So, I returned to my initial plan of befriending the enemy, hoping that some sliver of kindness or fortunate opportunity would place my cat back in my lap once and for all. Alas, this was not to be.

About six months ago, Patrick and I got into our last fight. The details why are unimportant, as they relate to reasons why we broke up in the first place, but I knew at that moment that he and I could never have a true friendship. We each wanted something from the other...I wanted my cat back, and he wanted to continue to have that control and influence over my life. As long as he had Tijs, he'd always have me and he knew it, and took advantage of it. I couldn't stand the situation any longer. So I told him to keep Tijs, to go fuck himself, and to begone from my life forever.

That almost happened. There were a few more instances of nasty email exchanges, one run-in while jogging and another at a concert. We were pleasant to each other, but I did my best to remain distant. It was too emotionally taxing to re-involve myself in that catastrophe (pun intended). I even decided to adopt a new cat. Haruka aka Ruki is the little sister I imagine Tijs never had. Call me crazy, but I have daydreams of these two meeting and playing and generally adoring each other. I love her, but she didn't replace him in my heart. In fact, I had a nightmare recently that he had taken Ruki and wouldn't give her back either. Even my subconscious is deeply unsettled, no meows about it.

Just before Patrick moved to India (to travel for a year or so, then he plans to move to South America...don't ask), I sent him and his sister, who he had appointed Tijs's guardian, a note letting them both know how much I still wanted Tijs. I thought maybe, just maybe, his sister didn't know that I was willing to take over ownership of Tijs. She and I had been close; she was a cat-owner too. No matter; no reply. Patrick wrote me back and said he'd let me care for Tijs during the time he was away, however long that may be, but he'd certainly come back for him. I knew I couldn't bare to deal with losing Tijs AGAIN, so I backed down. Besides, there were too many variables involved: Would Tijs and Ruki get along? Would Patrick pay me for my catsitter status? Should I just go along with it and then catnap Tijs in his absence? And if I did, would I ever truly be rid of Patrick? At the end of the day, and with much advice from friends and family, I reluctantly withdrew from my adored animal once more.

Patrick's off gallivanting across India and Asia now, and Tijs lives with his sister and her cat. I'm grateful he has a home, and his "cat cousin" there, but I am ever-distraught by the reality of my situation. She no longer speaks to me, but we are still "friends" on Facebook and other social networking sites. Every now and again, she'll post photos of my cat playing with her friends. I don't know how to explain the bitter sadness and even jealousy I feel looking at those pictures. He's usually perched on someone's shoulders, and I think about what fun they must be having with him, and that's great and all, but at who's expense? They may try to forget me, but I truly believe that cat never will...

I even saw one of Patrick's oldest and best friends at a party recently, who apologized for what he knew I'd been through regarding Tijs. He told me tried to talk Patrick into giving me the cat, but clearly to no avail. I appreciated the thought, even if it failed to count.

I just want my Tijs, back in my lap, happily purring where he belongs. Because I was too kind (or too weak?) to take Tijs from him/them, I am the one who will forever feel catnapped. This was my one and only dance with martyrdom, kitties, and it was a doozie. May I never deal with a real divorce, with "real" kids. That -- and never get a pet with anyone you're not married to (even then, I'm not convinced anymore!) -- are my hardknock lessons earned and learned. Hisssss.

My last video of Tijs:

Channeling Chuck Woolery

2008-01-26T03:22:00.000-05:00

I recently started a new gig as a dating columnist for a New York City newspaper. Although I never would have predicted taking a job quite like this, it's turned out to be a good match (pun intended) thus far, fortuitously bringing to the forefront one of my lesser-known skills: matchmaking. As a couple of my closest girl friends have noted in the past, I am something of a "sexual instigator." Basically, I like helping people get their groove on with like-minded individuals. Love makes the world go round, i.e. sex keeps us mentally and physically stimulated -- specifically, sex with another person, not surfing YouPorn (although that's a close second).

You see, I'm a natural in this position due to a certain saucy "joie de vivre" I possess. At times, my presence seems to inspire full-moon-like behavior amongst the menfolk. I am frequently approached by dudes -- at the gym, on the subway, on the street, in the bar, etc. Sadly, I must admit their quality is nothing to brag about; it's their quantity. I may just be the pied-piper of plebeian pollywogs! Let's put it this way: the Millionaire Matchmaker probably wouldn't touch my Tenderonnies with a ten foot pole.

Nowadays, freak shows not only harass me in real life, but they've found me here on the internet, too. More and more frequently, I become acquainted with the cyber-eyes of sybaritic guys through social networking services like Myspace, Friendster and Facebook. From dwarves to dragonslayers (I'm not kidding), my male admirers are nothing if not diverse. Below, you'll find examples of three bachelors who have recently reached out to me. That's right -- it's time to turn the tables on your hostess and play Love Connection!

Bachelor Number One: Barry

Barry sent me an intriguing message over Myspace that read, "I'm an actor and musician. I own a talent agency in New York for actors and models. Would like to talk to you. Call me at 212-***-****. Barry"

As you can see by his photos, Barry resembles Billy Idol on crystal meth. Call me crazy, but I had to know more. So, I checked out his profile...

About me:

Sexy great body, funny open minded, athletic, insatiable, incredible in bed, and I'm an actor/singer and I own a talent agency. If you're lucky enough to meet me, you will be in for the thrill of your life.

Who I'd like to meet:

I'd like to meet the sexy girl version of myself. If you're out there, don't even think about getting back to me - just do it!

While Barry's virtual casting couch was tempting, I was soon bowled over by...

Bachelor Number Two: Peter Chimpanzee

Like many of our ancestors at Ellis Island, my Nigerian prince had to have his real last name Americanized and changed into the more easily pronounceable "Chimpanzee." But as you can see, his note via Friendster proves that Peter is fluent in the International Language, if not the fine art of punctuation.

Subject: Hi Angel

Message:

Hello Dear,
Impressing is what I describe your profile as...a near perfect description of what I desire in a (woman), even your pics go a long way in describing the quintessential, underlying beauty any would seek for in a (partner)... I know I like you from the moment that I have laid my eyes on your profile...I know I like you but all that matters is to know that real friendship and love relationships begin on a basic foundation of friendship and that is something that (depends on) communication. I am Peter (Chimpanzee) by name and I am from Nigeria, I am searching through singles profiles looking for a serious partner in my life, when I get hooked to your cute and gorgeous picture, it was a surprise for me that someone very beautiful and lovely like you can be found by me, because it is all I have been praying for all of my life, your profile also drive me crazily and get my heart nurtured. Well I am a religious and God fearing (man) looking for a woman who is going to be my everything in life, my life, my soul and my successor, someone who is ready to be loved, someone who is ready for a strong and long-time relationship that is never going to end but will be everlasting through eternity, someone sweet and very fantastic, someone to blow (kisses) and spell the word love in my mind, my motive is to love and be loved returned as life is so much (to ponder). I (would) love to get to know you more better and yes you can reach me on here through email "chimpazee@yahoo.com" or through my number +234**********.

Sweet and very fantastic? I'll take that. But I must admit, while it's cute at first, eventually it becomes a chore to constantly have to translate your soul mate's broken English. Call me a snob, but I need a man who can write a good game. And that's why I was so intrigued by...

Bachelor Number Three: The Alchemist

Dr. Alchemy is actually someone I've met a handful of times in reality. While he seemed a little odd/overly attentive, I didn't quite understand the depth of his feelings until I received this email on Myspace:

Subject: Lights, camera, ACTION!!!

Take 2 of scene, "The Alchemist"'s Myspace Friend Request to the mystically beautiful, Saryn.

Indoor: Bedroom painted in a pastel-like baby blue with touches of sand like texture all around the mid-to-bottom part of the wall. Saryn lounges by her bed in her pj's with her kitty kat to her left and her lap top by the headboard, which resembles a sculpture created by Rodin, something along the gates of hell. The sun is gleaming ever so smoothly through her Morrocan-style window. Her Turkish silk curtains are flowing with the help of the breeze from the Mediterranean sea. She is checking her Myspace page and realizes she has received another friend request from this persistent character named "The Alchemist." Saryn has this facial expression which asks, "Who is this Kat?"... If you read this e-mail, then tradition has it that you should continue to develop the rest of this story.

Interestingly enough, these men exemplify three of my basic boyfriend types: the arrogant business man, the romantic foreigner, and the creative counterpart. Keeping that in mind, I leave it to you, dear audience, to decide which fine gentleman deserves a shot at destiny with Saryndipity (that's me). Who should it be: Barry, Peter or The Alchemist? Vote now!

I'll be back in two-and-two ;)

The Primate Memorial Project & Investigative Report

2008-01-18T13:04:00.000-05:00

After many full moons, my hard-hitting documentary of deep journalistic integrity has finally achieved a world premiere on youtube. Please support this fine piece of furry filmmaking:

*Rest in peace, sweet simians, we will not forget you*

Lamda Epsilon Zeta

2007-12-18T02:09:00.000-05:00

Starring: Ashley, Melanie & Lisa

(OPEN ON: SORORITY HOUSE BEDROOM. THREE BEDS. MELANIE PAINTS HER TOE NAILS. ASHLEY SITS AT A DESK IN FRONT OF LISA’S COMPUTER. LISA IS NOT THERE YET.)

ASHLEY
Do you remember that picture Lisa took of me at the winter semi-formal?

Ashley scans though Lisa’s computer files.

MELANIE
You mean the one of you giving Danimal head in the back of the bus?

Ashley rolls her eyes.

ASHLEY
I just want to post it on his Facebook page.

MELANIE
That’s sweet.

Ashley suddenly shrieks.

MELANIE
Goddamnit Ash, you just made me spill all over my brand new Isaac Mizrahi Target designer pillow sham. What is your fucking malfunction?

ASHLEY
Lisa. Is. A. Lesbian.

MELANIE
Twat the fuck are you talking about?

Melanie sidles up beside Ashley at the computer. Ash clicks on a file marked “XXX,”
revealing numerous porn shots of girls getting it on with each other –twosomes, threesomes, foursomes – as well as some video porn files. Melanie pushes Ashley aside and clicks on a video. Two girls fellate a hot pink dildo.

MELANIE & ASHLEY
(screaming)
Ewwww! Ewwww! Ewwwww!

The girls look at each other in horror, then both look at the bed in the middle of the room. Lisa’s bed. Melanie immediately starts tearing apart her nightstand while Ashley drops to her knees and hunts under the dust ruffle.

MELANIE
(holding up a book)
Jenna Jameson: How to Make Love Like a Pornstar!

ASHLEY
(holding up a box)
A vibrator signed by Ellen Degeneres!

They gasp. At that moment, the door swings open. It’s Lisa. She’s on her cellie.

LISA
…So I told that slut to lick my left tit!

Melanie and Ashley look at each other knowingly. Lisa sees all her belongings strewn about the room.

LISA
What the fuck!

She snaps the phone shut.

ASHLEY
Lisa, we know.

LISA
Know what?

MELANIE
Don’t play dumb. You like to chow box.

LISA
I like chow mein...

ASHLEY
How do you explain this?

She tosses over a copy of BUST magazine.

LISA
So what? I subscribe to it for my Gender Relations class.

Melanie clucks her tongue and holds up a DVD. It’s "Kissing Jessica Stein."

LISA
C’mon. We all watched that together.

ASHLEY
Yeah, before we knew you were a LESBIAN.

MELANIE
Just admit it Lisa.

LISA
I am not a lesbian.

Both Ashley and Melanie cross their arms across their chests, scowling.

ASHLEY
Look. We found the porn on your computer.

Lisa sighs.

LISA
Watching lesbian porn does not make me a lesbian.

MELANIE
Well what does it make you -- BI?

LISA
No. I just like to watch lesbian porn.

ASHLEY
Why?

LISA
I don’t know. It's kinda hot.

MELANIE
And that's why you are a lesbian!

LISA
But I’ve never even kissed a girl. I can’t be a lesbian.

ASHLEY
But you want to kiss a girl?

LISA
No. I just like to watch.

MELANIE
Do you play with yourself while you watch?

LISA
Ummm, sometimes?

ASHLEY
Lesbian!

LISA
Not true. I’ve only ever been in love guys. There are lots of girls like me. You can ask my Womens Studies professor all about it. Now I’m late for cheerleading practice.

Lisa grabs a small duffle bag and her poms-poms and exits the room. The girls look really confused.

ASHLEY
I thought for sure she was a lesbo.

MELANIE
Me too. Who knows. Forget it. I need to take a shower anyway.

ASHLEY
Oh, do you want help shaving your bikini line again?

MELANIE
Sure. And can you deep condition my pubes with Pantene this time?

The girls smile and head for the bathroom...

THE END

The Casual Catcaller (still sketchy!)

2007-11-08T20:27:00.000-05:00

OPEN ON: BRANDON AND SUZY, TWO CLEAN-CUT TWENTYSOMETHINGS. THEY SIT ACROSS FROM EACH OTHER AT A TABLE INSIDE AN INTIMATE RESTAURANT, SMILING DREAMILY AT ONE ANOTHER ON THEIR FIRST DATE.

SUZY: I’m so glad you found me Brandon.

BRANDON: I don’t usually meet girls online, but you seemed different.

SUZY: What was it about me that caught your eye?

BRANDON: Your hot pic of course! But also your caption.

SUZY: Hollaback Girl?

BRANDON: I was intrigued.

SUZY: Don't tell me you're a Gwen Stefani fan too!

Brandon reaches across the table and delicately puts a finger across her lips.

BRANDON: Shhh. Don’t speak.

Suzy smiles in anticipation.

BRANDON: I’m looking for a girl who’s a good listener, but has something thoughtful to say in return. Someone who’s outdoorsy, but not a tomboy, who isn’t afraid to flaunt her God-given gifts. Someone who isn't pre-packaged. And a nice pair of legs certainly doesn’t hurt. You seem like the real deal, Suzy.

Suzy beams with joy.

SUZY: Oh Brandon, I’ve never met a guy who was so comfortable expressing his true feelings. You’re different. Special.

The waiter comes and hands Brandon the bill. He pays, then gets up, pulls out her chair for her, helps her with her jacket, holds open the door and walks her out. The valet pulls up with his car, they get in.

BRANDON: It’s such a beautiful night. Let's go for a drive.

SUZY: I'd like that.

Brandon grins, rolls down the windows and blasts the stereo playing “Ain’t No Fun” by Snoop Dog: “When I met you last night baby/Before you opened up your gap/I had respect for you lady/Now I take it all back”

Brandon sings along and unbuttons his collared shirt revealing a white wife beater, chest hair and a gold medallion. Suzy looks perturbed.

BRANDON (singing):Cause you gave me all your pussy/And you even licked my balls/Leave your number on the cabinet/And I promised baby/I’d give you a call!

He busts open a forty, spraying it on her blouse as he does.

BRANDON: You like St. Ides, beh-beh?

Suzy wipes her shirt off, annoyed. She doesn’t say anything, just glares at him in disbelief.

BRANDON: Aight shorty. Yo' ass is too good for the malt shit? Next time I git da Cristal! You want some endo, mami?

He lights a blunt.

SUZY: No. And just so you know, the rappers boycotted Cristal in favor of Dom Perignon.

Brandon cuts her off, sticking his head out the window, hollering at a group of girls. His car slowly bumps along following them.

BRANDON: Which of youz fineass biznatches need a ride?

The girls flick him off.

BIZNATCH #1: Get a life Brando!

BRANDON: You frontin’ hizzo!

He throws the forty out the window at the girl, but it misses. She ducks into a pizza parlor. He puts his pedal to the metal.

BRANDON: Trickass bitch!

SUZY: Brando? Is that who you really are? You’re not the same guy I met over Craigslist. Let me out of this car right now!

BRANDON: Well I do-not-know? Maybe there be two of us!

She rolls her eyes in disgust. He stops the car and she gets out and slams the door. As she starts walking away, he slowly trails her.

BRANDON: I'll text you beh-beh.

She ignores him.

BRANDON: You know I already be missin' that sweet ass of yours.

She keeps on walking – it’s almost a strut now.

BRANDON: I wanna lick you.

Suzy stops and turns around. She squeezes her crotch a la Michael Jackson or Madonna.

SUZY: Just do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now! Lick it good suck this pussy, just like you should. Right now, Lick it good. Suck this pussy just like you should. My Neck, my back. Lick my pussy and my crack!

Brandon starts honking his horn & bumping the car along.

FADE TO: Decades later. The Senior Citizen version of Brandon and Suzy sit on a couch talking to the camera, documentary-style.

OLD SUZY: We met on Criagslist-

OLD BRANDON: It was the Casual Encounters section-

OLD SUZY: I gave him something to rant & rave about-

OLD BRANDON: And two weeks later we were married and it's over fifty years later and we are still married.

OLD SUZY: I love you.

OLD BRANDON: I love you too, ho.

They peck each other on the lips.

THE END

EDDIE’S MOM (A Sketch of Mythical Proportions)

2007-08-27T00:50:00.000-04:00

INT. ANCIENT GREEK CASTLE – NIGHT

A beautiful queen in a skimpy toga tucks her son, 7, into bed.

MOMMY

OK Eddie, now it’s time to say our bedtime prayers.

Eddie and Mommy clasp their hands together.

EDDIE

Dear Zeus, thank you for giving me the best Mommy. She is the prettiest Queen in Thebes.

MOMMY

I’m the only Queen in Thebes, but that was very sweet of you.

EDDIE

Even the prophet Teirisias says you’re a MILF.

The Queen looks annoyed.

MOMMY

That blind old fool -- he doesn’t know what I look like! Now it’s time for you to get under the covers.

Eddie smiles as his mother pulls the sheep’s wool blanket over his chest. He snuggles against her.

EDDIE

Good night mommy...I love you.

MOMMY

I know you do.

EDDIE

Do you love me?

MOMMY

(sighs, exasperated)

We’ve been through this before, Eddie.

EDDIE

(early stages of a temper tantrum)

But why can’t you just say it back?

MOMMY

I don’t want to say it if I don’t mean it. I like you a lot. I just need time.

EDDIE

But it’s been seven years!

MOMMY

Eight if you count pregnancy...Look Eddie, you mean a lot to me.

We’ve had some good times: playing Hungry Hippopotamus, hanging out at Goat Stone Creamery, breast-feeding. But I’m more than just “Mommy.” I used to be somebody else.

EDDIE

Who?

MOMMY

My real name isn’t Mommy. It’s Jocasta.

EDDIE

What kind of name is that?

MOMMY
(rolls her eyes)

It’s Greek, like us. That’s why we eat souvlaki every Sunday.

EDDIE

Oh yeah. The salty meat and yogurt dip.

MOMMY

Exactly. Before you were born - before I became Queen - I was a waitress at a diner. A psychic customer warned me my first born son would kill his own father.

EDDIE
(whimpers)

But, why did you have me then?

MOMMY

Damn lambskin condom broke! What can I say? I’m just not the mother-son relationship type. I’m sorry. Now go to sleep -- and you better not try to sneak into my bed again tonight, the Oracle says it ain’t normal.

Eddie begins to WAIL.

MOMMY (CONT’D)

Oedipus Timothy Rex, crying your eyeballs out isn’t going to help matters! Go to bed.

Mommy blows out the oil lamp and leaves the room. Eddie holds his Sphinx and looks intently at its face.

EDDIE

Sphinxy, will Mommy ever love me like I love her?

SPHINXY

Not while Daddy’s still around...

THE END

All About My Mother

2007-06-07T02:23:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: I don't usually take requests, but in this case I had to make an exception. My mother inquired a while back why I had not written about her yet. While I have most certainly mentioned mi madre here and there, it's true that my dad got his very own special blog post - mainly because he's an easy target! - but alas, she deserves one too. (Much like how my brothers and I must always check in about Thanksgiving and birthday plans, I'm trying to be fair here -- goddamn children-of-divorce syndrome!) I actually meant to write this in time for her April birthday, and then I procrastinated it to Mother's Day in May... but I was kinda, like, busy quitting my job and stuff then...so forgive me Mom, but here is your long overdue entry. Now don't hold it against me -- you asked for it!

Growing up, my immediate family (party of five) skewed male. We often had female pets, but that didn't exactly make up for the testosterone vs. estrogen imbalance. When I was little, my mom and I stuck together (no need to delve into the teenage dark years just yet...) And now, seven sweet memories of me 'n mom:

1. "Sisterhood is Powerful"
As a child, I was always forced by my brothers to sit in the middle of the backseat. They would take great joy in squeezing and pushing me back and forth between them, often to the point where I would become irate and end up lashing out in a crazed scratching-and-biting frenzy (yes I was a little heathen...and I admit, sometimes, when I'm mad, I still feel an urge to bite -- so keep your f'n distance)! Years later, my mom confided in me that the reason she never punished me for reacting violently was because she knew my brothers deserved it. Gotta love that early form of undercover feminist training! Anyway, I was also car sick quite often as a child and puked all over my bros at least 25% of the time we were in transit. I wonder, did she think they deserved that too? Probably, considering that at least 50% of the time my brothers or father farted in the car they blamed it on my mom. She would get all huffy and pissed off while they laughed their gassy asses off. I would've come to her defense, but sadly, I was just glad the attention was off of me in those instances. Clearly my poor mother and I were vehicularly abused throughout most of the 1980s.

2. "If You Don't Look Good, We Don't Look Good"
Speaking of the '80s, my mother was big into aerobics back then. I have fond memories of us dressed in near-matching leotards stretching it out to the Jane Fonda workout on VHS.

In fact, I was pretty much obsessed with being just like Mommy when I was a little girl. This desire manifested itself in near-daily dress up sessions inside my mom's closet. During the after school "I Dream of Jeannie"/"Bewitched" power hour, I would try on my mom's clothes (years later I would come to inherit many of these fabulous items, particularly the infamous - now lost, booohooo - "bird shirt").

But it wouldn't stop there -- I'd paint my face using all her makeup and put my hair in big hot curlers. Basically, I ended up looking like an adolescent streetwalker... but what else is new? For better or worse, my mom was either cool with me rifling through her stuff or maybe she just never noticed? Either way, hands down, our favorite mother-daughter weekend activity was bargain shopping at the local T.J.Maxx, Loehmann's, Filene's, etc. In high school, she actually encouraged me to pick a pink and red and purple rose patterned Betsey Johnson babydoll dress for the Junior Prom -- which I then saw fit to embellish with hot pink tights, black platform heels, long black gloves and flowers in my hair. Years later, I showed the photos to my (then) boyfriend's mother who exclaimed, "Oh Saryn -- You look like a Puerto Rican hooker!" Sadly, she was right. Mom, why didn't you stop me?! Just this past Spring I ran into my former high school English teacher who introduced me to her companion saying, "Saryn used to dress like Madonna. She was one of our girls who had a lot of flair." Ah well, I guess I could be remembered for worse things...

3."Just Eat It"
When we were little, Mom insisted on a "healthy kitchen." This meant lots of Wheat Germ, no sugar cereals (except on vacation), and a steady insistence on feeding us peas & lima beans & this horrible French/vegetarian dish called "ratatouille." No surprise, my brothers and I spent many a late night sitting at the dinner table refusing to eat our veggies...and eventually either feeding them to the dog, tossing the peas randomly to far corners of the kitchen, or hiding it all in the back of our cheeks and then sneaking off to the bathroom and spitting it all out into the toilet! (Thank god for my Dad's many late night pizza binges!) I guess my mom just gave up somewhere down the line, because around '86/'87 she began buying stuff like Doritos and Fruity Pebbles for us without blinking an eye. On the bright side, I did however inherit an affinity towards baking, and a knack for salads, seasonings & side dishes -- as well as a near magical talent for whipping up a decent meal with seemingly *nothing* in the fridge/cupboards.

4."Getting Away With It (All My Life)"
My mom pretty much had a laissez-faire attitude towards almost every hobby/extracurricular activity I ever tried (ballet, tap, the violin, field hockey, etc.), but she was nothing if not supportive regarding my love of animals. My brother Peter & my Dad both claimed to be allergic to cats (to be fair, Pete really is - but my Dad? Questionable.) I'll never forget New Year's Eve 1989...I was home alone watching Dick Clark's countdown in my parents' room with my cat Pumpkin. At about ten minutes to midnight, I suddenly smelled something stiiiinky. Turns out Pumpy had taken a big poopy right on top of my Dad's pillow! (They had a mutual hate-hate relationship.) I frantically threw the sheets in the washing machine and switched in a new pillow, but nothing could get that stench out of the air -- and my parents were due home any moment. Luckily, my mom arrived home before my dad and quickly helped her hysterically crying ten-year-old cover up all evidence of cat shit. Oh, did I mention I only owned "outdoor" cats? Yeah, they weren't exactly supposed to be inside -- especially not in my parents' bedroom! Lucky for me, my Dad never suspected a thing. I still owe my Mom BIGTIME for saving my 'lil ass that night.

5. "Sexytime!"
One thing about my Mom that I've always told people with pride was that back in the day, she started up a satellite planned parenthood clinic and consciousness raising group for teenage girls. Of course, when I was younger, I didn't exactly understand what that meant, so I'd just tell my friends that my Mom was a Sex Ed Teacher. Considering all the sexuality books we had around my house growing up (which I eagerly perused, and showed all my friends...no wonder everyone's parents considered me "precocious"), I ended up fairly normal despite my occasional nymphette tendencies. In good times and bad, I could always tell my mom anything. Unfortunately, that sentiment did not exactly work in the reverse. Once my parents were divorced and my mom started dating, she would sometimes treat me more like a sister and tell me stuff I really did not care to ponder/envision. I think I blocked most of those discussions out of my memory by now, but I do have a recollection of a lipstick shaped like a penis that my mom took great delight in showing me! And again, as much as I was uncomfortable with it all back then, I must commend my mom in particular for that one cute younger dude she dated -- in today's terms, she was most definitely a cougar/MILF.

6."You're the Inspiration"
Besides my affinity towards the subjects of sexuality/women's issues mentioned above, I also inherited many creative inclinations from my mom. As a former art teacher (she really was!), my mother absolutely encouraged all my artistic and writing endeavors...I was quite the little award winner way back when, if I do brag so myself! But anyway, while my mom was busy painting water colors of naked women and Nantucket beaches, I was furiously cartooning away in my notepad...or scribbling in my diary ...or watching some over-my-head art house film like "Kiss of the Spider Woman" that my mom had rented. On a musical note, I also have many a recollection of my mother singing along to songs on the radio in the car (that is, when she wasn't listening to comedy cassettes of Judy Tenuta and Rita Rudner). I'm pretty sure I picked up my love of Peter Cetera/Chicago, Sting, Phil Collins, Reo Speedwagon, Carly Simon and more from my Mom.

7. "The Mothership Dream"
The craziest, scariest, most vivid and perhaps most personally meaningful dream I ever had was about my mother. I will attempt to recount it here: Basically, I am standing on a deserted street in front of my old office. I'm supposed to be meeting my mother, but instead a strange woman shows up -- it turns out this woman is my Aunt Rita (in real life, Rita is a lost soul that nobody knows how to contact anymore, though I've bumped into her in the city twice). Aunt Rita gives me an envelope that she says is from my mother, and leads me inside the building. Inside, the scene is like something out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting meets Dante's Inferno crossed with a modern night club...for instance...let's just say Marquee.

People are naked and dancing and it's dark and music is blaring -- and there's a giant, ominous, spiral staircase in the middle of the room that seems to go infinitely upwards and infinitely downwards. My Aunt then hands me off to my brother Peter and my sister (except I don't really have a sister, so it's unclear who this girl is) who take me out of the club area and in through a doorway that leads to a long, dull greenish- gray hallway. They bring me to an empty room with just a single bed and a small window. I realize I am in some sort of hospital/asylum now, just as my brother tells me it's time to open the envelope. They leave me in the room alone. I open the envelope and inside, I find my birth certificate. It turns out that my mother is NOT my real mother, rather my Aunt Rita is. Holy shit! Right as I begin to bug out in my dream...I wake up. Thank God. Despite all the ups & downs we've had, I certainly would be devastated if my Mom was not "My Mom." The aftermath of that dream provided a certain moment of clarity. Years later, I wrote a poem about that dream which was published in an inter-collegiate magazine called Spires (feel free to Google it), and a few years after that, I painted/illustrated a little picture of that dreaming/writing process. Once again, my mother was a source of creative inspiration.

In conclusion, many girls/women worry they'll turn into their mothers one day. And I admit, I've spent a lot of my "adult" life worrying about not making the same mistakes my mom made (particularly regarding relationships), but at the same time, I'm proud of her many accomplishments and hope to carry on her legacy in some shape or form through my own career endeavors. Anyway, I don't want to get too sappy, but my most missed childhood memory is probably all the nights I would crawl into bed with her and watch TV together, usually some movie/miniseries of the week (and especially the Academy Awards). Inevitably I'd pass out, and inexplicably wake up in my own bed in the morning (my Dad might've had something to do with that). I truly do miss that mother-daughter intimacy of my childhood. I look forward to *not* taking such moments for granted when I am a mother one day.

Nowadays, I think that my parents were still basically kids themselves when they got married (and when they started having their own kids). I'm glad I've gotten *most* of my immaturity out of my system at this point, because when my biological clock starts ticking forreals, I may actually be ready for that life phase. However, as much as I want a little girl to dress up and buy Barbies for, I realize that daughters can be a real pain in the ass. What can I say? I was a tough cookie. But deep down, I'm pretty positive my mom wouldn't have it any other way.

The Urchin

2007-05-22T10:50:00.000-04:00

The seer, the seer
She swam in the sea
Fed up on blue algae
But the otters stole me

The seer, the seer
She dwelled in a tree
Put hexes on squirrels
But vexed over me

The seer, the seer
Her spirit is glee
Portends to be spiny
But she wouldn't spike me

The seer, the seer
Locksmithed a chance key
It cost her a penny
But the latch set me free

It's All About Benjamin Franklin

2007-04-09T22:25:00.000-04:00

When I was 16, I wrote an essay about a selected reading by Benjamin Franklin. Coincidentally, Franklin founded the college (University of Pennsylvania) where I later studied. (I must admit, Penn was not my first choice school -- Brown was, though maybe only for the arbitrary reason that my cousin Franny went there. In retrospect, I think Philadelphia was a much better choice than Providence, but I do wish I could've taken some art classes at RISD.) ANYWAY, the point is, although B.Frank was never a president, he is still one of the most memorable and important men in American history.

Not only was he a genius scientist, inventor, author and beloved statesman, he also had great respect for women and a nearly unprecedented (especially for his time) vision regarding intimate male-female relationships... as evidenced by this essay I wrote for Mr. Heifetz's 11th grade English class. Learn, reflect, enjoy:

"Advising a Young Man as to the Selection of a Mistress" is an essay (in the form of a letter) written by Benjamin Franklin, which is characteristic of the author's attitude and style. This piece was not written for publication, yet rather for the amusement of Franklin, whose humor and wit are apparent throughout. At first glance, it may appear to be a mere "fluff" piece, but upon deeper analysis, one finds the essay contains some surprising truths, revealing much about Franklin as well as his sense of humour. Furthermore, he includes cleverness, logical thinking, goals of balance and order, and perfection of his moral self as main concerns. Aside from insights into Franklin's character, "Advising a Young Man as to the Selection of a Mistress" is a revelatory commentary on relationships between the sexes.

Foremost, the idea that it is better for a man to marry a woman of mature age and mindset prevails throughout Franklin's piece. He gives many reasons why this is the best choice. For example, that they will be less dependent because, "they are already knowledgeable of the world," and thus, less demanding. Franklin is often described as having the great American qualities of "self-reliance" and "independence," so it is natural he would declare a woman who possessed those characteristics as desirable in return. Such a woman would in turn allow her husband to cultivate his own sense of self-reliance, independence and his overall utmost potential. Franklin's observation, "When women cease to be handsome they study to be good," may be somewhat politically incorrect nowadays, but the sentiment behind it prevails: A mature woman focuses on building her character, intellect and creative pursuits.

(Benjamin Franklin checking out my ass.)

Aside from insights into Franklin's belief system, this essay has much to say about human nature, particularly partner selection. In Franklin's eyes, older women are more appealing because they've cultivated qualities that we all should hope for in a mate: intelligence, confidence, self-reliance, generosity, tenderness, honesty and compassion. If these qualities are evident in both persons involved in a relationship, there is a better chance for lasting balance and harmony between them. Franklin believes that outer beauty and lust will fade with time, but friendship, respect, companionship and love will result in lasting happiness and connection.

In fact, Franklin goes against the modern man's ideal: a young, fresh, beautiful, virginal girl for a wife ("...debauching a virgin may be her ruin, and make her unhappy for life.") On the contrary, he believes that an older person who is already formed as an individual and has experienced life is more stable, as compared to a flighty youngster whose personality, attitudes and life are still destined to go through many changes.

Unfortunately I only have pages 1 & 3 of that 4 page essay available (the dog ate it?), but let's just say if Franky B. were alive today, he'd be one dope dude to date, and I'm not just saying that because he was my college mascot, or because my first boyfriend's name is (was?) Ben, nor because he'd likely have a shiteload of namesake bills on him. I'm saying it because he was fluent in five languages, rocked a mulleted bald head like a 1780s style studmuffin and invented the lightning rod to boot. Oh, and he wore bifocals ;) Sadly, his common law wife (they were the Susan Sarandon & Tim Robbins of their era) Deborah Read was afraid of the sea and refused to accompany him on his many sojourns to Europe. But me, I love the sea and trips to Europe! Curses, born too late! (I love this song by the French band Phoenix... keep watching until you get to the dance sequence at the end. Fun fact: Benny Boy was also the Ambassador to France.)

In conclusion, Benjamin Franklin was a Revolutionary Renaissance Man with a Feminist Soul. If he were alive today, I'm pretty certain this country would be a better place. That's why I'm all about Mr. Benjamin Franklin, baby.

The Britney Culture Crisis (I'm Serious)

2007-03-19T23:34:00.000-04:00

Aside from all the prurient interest, myself and many other young-ish females I know felt in some strange way personally affected by Britney's recent downward spiral. It wasn't just a sinister gossipy interest, it was a true concern for her and a sinking, sick feeling about what our society has become...as we document her every move, and she lets us.

In Madonna's early '90s documentary "Truth or Dare," Warren Beatty noted that the superstar did not want to live off camera. Narcissism may have been in Madonna's blood, but at least she was in her mid-20s when she first became famous. There's no doubt Britney lives for the cameras, for that 1st category of adoring eyes (as described by Milan Kundera in The Unbearable Lightness of Being) of an unknown public. Hell, it's probably what every creative person desires -- myself included -- for our work to be looked at, to be highly regarded. With actors and performers (Brit may have pumped out some anthemic songs, but she is neither a true songwriter nor a sparrow), it is as much or even moreso about image as it is about craft.

Not for nothin', let's at least keep in mind Britney was 16 - not nearly a mature adult yet - when she became mega-famous, a cultural icon in fact. Self-consciousness is not the same as self-awareness. Imagine if everyone really *was* staring at you as a teenager? It would warp your head too. And who knows what her actual intellectual capacity really is, I mean, it's not like she went to college or even a real high school. This relatively daft, pretty cheerleader-type from Louisiana was set on the "fame" treadmill/pedestal that skyrocketed her to international stardom. I can't even fathom the many ways that would fuck a person up. Now I'm not saying this as an excuse, I just think there are a plethora of reasons why Britney has become such a goddamn mess and why so many people care. Call me a a baby feminist , but I hope people are starting to catch onto how impressionable and vulnerable girls are to the messages in the media. Images are powerful, and contradictions are confusing (to both sexes, surely).

I'm all for freedom of choice and expression, and yet, children do need to be protected. In many ways, kids seem to know more than their parents these days -- as New York Magazine recently pointed out, there currently exists a major generation gap in terms of computers/the internet and values regarding privacy and sexual morality. Self-objectification and our "youth is sexy" coda have intermingled to reveal a disturbing trend towards the fetishization of what is, essentially, pedophilia. But is this "Lolitization" (for lack of a better word) new? Not really. Long before there were bizarre Mormon sects and Jerry Lee Lewis and organizations that saved Thai child prostitutes, men were having sex with and/or marrying pre-teen and teenage girls. So now that we Westerners know it's "wrong," now what? We watch "Girls Gone Wild" and barely legal porn and Antonella Barba on American Idol, or rather, the internet.

Here are 3 interesting articles/talking points regarding the public downward spiral of America's (former) favorite pop princess. Also included are some telling excerpts:

A local perspective

http://www.popmatters.com/pm/blogs/marginalutility_post/11556/britneys-breakdown-in-tarzana

Britney's breakdown in Tarzana
By Rob Horning

"I don't think too many gossip consumers are disappointed or surprised by the idea that too much fame can push you over the edge. In fact, it serves the supreme ideological function of dignifying our obscurity—we ordinary Tarzanans are much better off, away from the soul-sucking media glare. But we are that media glare; we are doing the soul sucking. To then gloat over the misery we've caused her seems impolitic..."

A Female Perspective

http://www.smh.com.au/news/opinion/losers-of-the-sexual-revolution/2007/02/21/1171733846228.html

Losers of the sexual revolution
By Miranda Devine

"As other celebrity car crashes - Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie, Paris Hilton and Anna Nicole Smith - pile up, it is clear something is terribly wrong with the fairer sex...Spears inhabits the same space, her increasingly desperate exhibitionism, non-stop inebriation and casual couplings with numerous forgettable men chronicled in lascivious detail by gossip websites and magazines. We have so normalised self-destructive slutty behaviour that Spears's antics were considered the natural reaction of a young woman letting down her hair after a marriage breakdown...
In a world saturated with pornography, when women treat themselves like sluts, why would men treat them any differently? Mutual respect between the sexes, romance and a legacy of chivalry by men entranced by the feminine mystique have been trashed in the name of female equality and sexual liberation."

A Political Perspective

http://www.alternet.org/story/48278/

Matt Taibbi: Maybe We Deserve to Be Ripped Off By Bush's Billionaires
Rolling Stone and AlterNet

"I'm not one of those curmudgeons who freaks out every time that Bradgelina moves the war off the front page of the Post, or Katie Couric decides to usher in a whole new era of network news with photos of the imbecile demon-spawn of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. I understand that we live in a demand-based economy and that there is far more demand for brainless celebrity bullshit than there is, say, for the fine print of the Health and Human Services budget....

But that was before this week. I awoke this morning in New York City to find Britney Spears plastered all over the cover of two gigantic daily newspapers, simply because she cut her hair off over the weekend. To me, this crosses a line... Britney Spears cutting her hair off is the least-worthy front page news story in the history of humanity...

Here's the thing about the system of news coverage we have today. If the Walton family, or Lee Raymond, or the heirs to the Mars fortune actually needed the news media to work better than it does now, believe me, it would work better. But they have no such need, because the system is working just fine for them as is. The people it's failing are the rest of us, and most of the rest of us, apparently, would rather sniff Anna Nicole Smith's corpse or watch Britney Spears hump a fire hydrant than find out what our tax dollars are actually paying for."

It's interesting to note that the author of this article is a writer for Rolling Stone, which is owned by Wenner Media, which also owns Us Weekly...I write for this publication's web site...so you see, even the media is a bit confused. And we're the ones sending the messages and photos and video footage out into the world! Talk about a catch-22.

That said, I feel implicated just working where I do, even though I know realistically I (personally) have nothing to do with her family/marital woes. In fact, as a Madonna fan - particularly in my youth - I'm something of an older sister to the Britney wannabes (well, nobody wants to be her now). And as far as politics goes, Barack Obama certainly does look good in his swimming trunks! Both People & Us Weekly ran those shots. Forget Hilary Clinton -- Pam Anderson should run for president on the "SEX SELLS" ticket. Don't be shocked if/when it happens.

But don't worry, 'cause she won't win either... and perhaps that's the message we ought to be reinforcing to young, impressionable girls in classrooms across America instead.

Cupid's Choice a.k.a. Celluloid Wishes & Romantic Dreams, Part II

2007-02-15T18:43:00.000-05:00

6. Before Sunrise (1995)/Before Sunset (2004)
Isn't it fascinating how time and space and chance can conspire both for and against a pair of lovers? The best thing about this pair of films is that the second one was even made -- thus granting the audience a rare glimpse into the future. Does the couple actually live happily ever after? Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) have finally found each other, and are allowed to continue their mutually introspective, intimate journey through yet another lovely European city (first Vienna, now Paris). Even if these particular soul mates only exist on film, only exist in an old woman's dream (see Waking Life), transforming encounters with strangers and/or lost loves do happen. Ah, the fleeting nature of passionate connections... as Celine says "the answer must be in the attempt." Linklater's "bookend" films are unique, enchanting, and touching in their depiction of an eternal flame.

7. Magnolia (1999)
Most people think of raining frogs or Tom Cruise's evil womanizer, but for me, the oddball romance between Melora Walters (Claudia) and John C. Reilly (Jim) is one of the core elements of the film. Added bonus -- it's played pitch perfectly to Aimee Mann's heartbreaking score. In one of many plot lines, a kind, honest albeit dopey cop falls for a drug addicted, emotionally-wounded young woman. She knows she's bound to fuck it up, yet falls for his bumbling savior nature anyway. We should all be so lucky to find a compassionate, non-judgmental listener who just wants to be there for us, in whatever troubled state we may be. To quote Mann's song lyrics: "Do you think you could save me... from the ranks, of the freaks, who suspect, they could never love anyone?" I think that Claudia -- and myself -- could believe in a heroic prince like the Good Officer Jim, especially after all those frogs fell from the sky! (Then again, I'm pretty gullible. You wouldn't think so, but I am.)

8. Wet Hot American Summer (2001)
Oh Gerald Cooperberg (Michael Showalter)! How could Katie (Marguerite Moreau) resist you? Goofy, gangly, awkward yet still so charmingly endearing -- Coop, you had us from "I want you inside me." Basically, Coop has a crush on Katie and she knows it. Katie's boyfriend Andy (Paul Rudd) is a total jerk who treats her badly, thus she flirts with/turns to Coop for attention/affection. Look, I'm not saying it's right, it's just something us girls tend to do with the nice-guy-next-door types. But if you pull a few power moves (Coop's "training" montage is priceless), you might just have us eating out of your hand... until our demeaning/neglectful/cheating BF returns and unfairly sweeps us away again. Sorry! But we're sure all the brooding you do in the wake of losing us will intrigue a new, sweeter girlfriend who will appreciate you in all the ways we could not. And now, behold my favorite Katie quote:

"Listen, Coop. Last night was really great. You were incredibly romantic and heroic, no doubt about it. And that's great. But I've thought about it, and my thing is this. Andy is really hot. And don't get me wrong, you're cute too, but Andy is like, cut. From marble. He's gorgeous. He has this beautiful face and this incredible body, and I genuinely don't care that he's kinda lame. I don't even care that he cheats on me. And I like you more than I like Andy, Coop, but I'm 16. And maybe it'll be a different story when I'm ready to get married, but right now, I am entirely about sex. I just wanna get laid. I just wanna take him and grab him and fuck his brains out, ya know? So that's where my priorities are right now. Sex. Specifically with Andy and not with you."

9. Secretary (2002)
I've confessed my attraction for James Spader numerous times before on this blog, so instead I will take a moment to discuss the cool, quirky beauty of Maggie Gyllenhaal (in the title role). Leigh transforms from a shirking, shrinking wallflower into the most seductively obedient rose under new boss E. Edward Grey's tutelage. She finds an unlikely sense of self-empowerment and satisfaction through their weirdly erotic rituals, giving the audience an unusually sympathetic understanding of a sadomasochistic relationship. Then again, who hasn't mistaken pain for pleasure at some point in their romantic history? (And I'm not just talking about a good spanking, although I very well could be.) Leigh eventually goes "on strike" to prove her love. It's this act of self-punishment and depravity that Grey ultimately cannot resist. Awww.

10.Lost in Translation (2003)

Ever had an inexplicable, unspoken, undeniably intense bond with someone even though he or she didn't "fit" into your life anywhere but in that exact present moment? Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) and Bob (Bill Murray) are two jetlagged American tourists passing through Tokyo in the night. Despite the chic, modern setting, it's a timeless tale: lost lady meets stray hang-dog guy, they secretly fall devastatingly in love and the rest is...well, a history that never quite happens beyond a quiet, mutual agreement that it did in fact exist. This kind of love is more like a terrible longing, an acceptance of the sad knowledge that what you have will never be more than it currently is -- and approaching that wisdom affectionately -- just caring for a beautiful stranger anyway, understanding someone else's peculiar sense of loneliness in the world -- then parting, maybe forever. God, now I need a tissue. *teardrop, sniffle*

And that my loyal readers (if I have loyal readers) is about as sentimental as I get, ya know, like in public. Won't you stay mine? xoxo

Cupid's Choice a.k.a. Celluloid Wishes & Romantic Dreams, Part I

2007-02-14T19:02:00.000-05:00

In honor of Valentine's Day (my second favorite manufactured holiday after Halloween) I'm posting a top ten list of my favorite cinematic love stories, couples and crushes. It was tough to narrow it down - I know I'm crass sometimes but truly I'm pretty sappy at heart - so I wanted to stay true to myself and the films that are registered in my personal romantic memory, not just say "When Harry Met Sally" because it's popular, or "Gone With The Wind" because it's a classic, or even "Amalie" because it's foreign. Those movies are great, but these movies are particular to moi. And guess who is playing Cupid today? Arrow through the heart! Purrrr...

1. Sixteen Candles (1984)
Samantha Baker (Molly Ringwald) has a severe sophomore girl crush on perfect senior hunk Jake Ryan (Michael Shoeffling - where did you go? come back!), and she's convinced he does not even know she exists. What girl hasn't had a fantasy crush like this? The miraculous part of this silly teen confection is that Jake eventually becomes aware of Samantha, and begins to nervously crush on her back. After a series of failed attempts at communication, the pair end up celebrating her birthday together - to the sweet, new wave stylings of "If You Were Here" by the Thompson Twins. Check out one the most girlie, sigh-inducing fairy tale endings of all time:

2. Some Kind of Wonderful (1987)
I'm a sucker for John Hughes movies. And Mary Stuart Masterson just wins my heart here, way more than Molly Ringwald ever did. I can totally relate to the unrequited "best friend" crush. Tough-talking tomboy Watts (MSM) secretly pines for the outcast, sensitive artist boy next door Keith (Eric Stoltz). But stupid Keith - along with every other guy in school - has the hots for head cheerleader-type Amanda Jones (Lea Thompson). I'll give it to Miss Jones, as far as popular girls go, she's one of the kindest, least stereotypical portrayals out there - and yet the prize diamond earrings end up on pixie-drummer Watts. (Watch it, you'll see.) Kissing lessons is one of my all-time favorite love scenes - the tune is "She Loves Me" by Stephen Duffy, and yes, I own the soundtrack. pffffft!

3. Peggy Sue Got Married (1986)

What if you could go back to a romantic fork in the road of your past and do it all over again, but differently? Talk about wish fulfillment fantasies! Kathleen Turner stars as the title character, Peggy Sue, in this lesser known time travel sub-genre film by Francis Ford Coppola (Sofia Coppola has a cameo, as do a young Jim Carrey and Joan Allen). When Peggy Sue passes out at her 25 year high school reunion, she wakes up in 1960, with the choice to remain attached to her then-sweetheart/now-philandering husband Charlie (Nicolas Cage - so adorable singing Dion & The Belmonts!):

Or to pursue a romance with mysterious, sexy English Lit. class beatnik Michael Fitzsimmons:

The themes behind this film get me every time. In the end Peggy Sue accepts her bittersweet romantic destiny, but gets to have that one special starry night too. Was it all a dream? Doesn't matter. In the magical words of Disney: A dream is a wish your heart makes.

4. Sex, Lies, and Videotape (1989)

I seriously dig this movie not only for James Spader (my all-time fave "older man" crush), but for the concept of finding love through the act/art of confession. The dynamics between straight-laced Anne (Andie MacDowell) and the enigmatic Graham (Spader) set the stage for a sexy and edgy, yet surprisingly sympathetic and sensitive portrayal of two opposite but equally lost souls who strangely bring out the best in one another. Spader's camera finds and frees the sexual being inside of MacDowell, and in return she manages to restore both his humanity and his manhood. Less shocking, more sweet than you'd expect.

5. Heathers (1989)

If you've ever fallen for a sociopath...ummmm...you'll empathize with Veronica (Winona Ryder)and her criminally intense attraction for JD (Christian Slater, at his teenage Jack Nicholson finest). It's an age old story: Bad boy encourages rebellious spirit in good girl, good girl gets caught up in bad boy's malevolent schemes. JD slurpies ("Coke or Cherry? Cherry!") his way into Veronica's life, leaving a trail of dead, popular bitches and jerks in their wake. One of my all-time favorite movie lines: "Are we going to prom, or are we going to hell?"

***Tune in tomorrow for Cupid's Choice, Part II where I further discuss my obsession with James Spader and wax poetic about the absurdist summer camp comedy Wet Hot American Summer once again!

The Banana Peel

2007-01-18T13:28:00.000-05:00

When I was a little girl, I had a favorite sweater. It was kinda bulky and woolly -- a bright red, blue and yellow cityscape -- with a big dark brown patch of gorilla clutching a building on the sleeve. I loved my King Kong sweater, probably because I fancied myself a young Fay Wray. If a giant crazed ape captured me, he'd definitely fall smitten. I'm certain I could've been Jane Goodall or Diane Fossey in another life/lifetime. Some people are just born animal tamers, whisperers if you will. It's a magical quality in a person, if I do say so myself. But back to that sweater.

Years down the line, my friend Steph and I were stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-95 in Connecticut one summer. As fate would have it, the car next to us contained two dirty-cute boys. We were around 19 years old...the kind of girls who put "Honk if you think we're Hot!" signs on our car's back window...but we were also honor students. Regardless/thus we were sometimes open-minded to flirting with 'stached, greasy guys from the 'Stavens (East Haven or West Haven? West was better than East), just beyond the borders of our little upper middle class CT shoreline enclave. Alright that's a half-truth. Neither of us were into 'staches, but skaters and other "slummin' it" types? Perhaps.

So anyway, Frank's car was stuck beside Steph's car and little Joey (a Jordan Knight-meets-Bailey from-"Party of Five"-type) hops out, runs over and hands me a business card. On the front? An image of himself wearing black leather pants and a black leather vest revealing a slick six-pack. On the back? His beeper number with a list of services. One of them was called the "Banana Peel."

What is a "Banana Peel", you ask? I was perplexed as well. 5 years of wondering passed, until one day, I showed the card to a coworker who knew about these kind of things (thanks Queenie). A few Google searches later, I had my answer: A Banana Peel, while more often a sort of singing telegram, can also be an act performed by a male exotic dancer. Basically, he strips out of an ape costume. D'Oh! Alas, it wasn't until I strolled into a bar this past fall and confronted a guy in a gorilla suit that I truly understood the appeal of the Banana Peel! It's ridiculous, but it's also kinda sexy, see:

C'mon, hear me out: Even if this particular gorilla-man wasn't wearing that skimpy tropical bikini, I would've dug him. You know why? Because women have "Beauty and the Beast" fantasies. I'm not saying all women do, but the phenomenon exists -- and not just in Disney movies -- in classical literature, mythology and music videos too.

If you don't believe me, ask Wonder Woman.

On that note, I hope all my future bridesmaids have been paying attention. One day, before I settle down with a husband (who will surely be a beast in bed!) I want a bachelorette party thrown in a zoo. Fine, how about just a few party animals -- even furries would suffice -- to be imported special for the occasion?

And when the time comes, my maid of honor will say "Knock, knock" and I will say "Who's there?" and she will answer "Banana"... But there won't be any "Banana who?" because I'll know exactly what's going oooh-oooh-oooh, ah-ah-ah-ah-awn...PEEL IT OFF! PEEL IT OFF! PEEL IT OFF!

Sushi Eyes

2006-12-13T01:13:00.000-05:00

OPEN ON: MIKO AND SUKI FEED EACH
OTHER TAKE OUT SUSHI.

THEIR CAT AYUMI GLARES AT THEM.

MIKO & SUKI
(Sung to the tune of "Private Eyes" by Hall & Oates)
Sushi Eyes
Are Watching Food
Thinking You’re Very Rude
Sushi Eyes
They’re Watching Food
Sushi Eyes
Coveting Tama-Iku, Unakyu, Futomatsu

AYUMI
Science Diet? Ain’t gonna try it.
Fancy Feast? More like wildebeest.
Purina? Might as well send me to
Bosnia or Herzegovina.

ANNOUNCER
Is your cat grumpy? Does he prefer
Unagi to Eukanuba? Who can blame him?
Grade A tuna just tastes better.

AYUMI CATNAPS IN HIS BASKET. DREAM
SEQUENCE: MIKO AND SUKI HEAP PIECES
OF TUNA TATAKI, SABA SASHIMI, UNAGI-MAKI
AND MORE INTO HIS BOWL. AYUMI DEVOURS IT.
MIKO AND SUKI REJOICE AND MAKE OUT.

ANNOUNCER
Introducing Sushi Eyes
Raw Cat Food Regimen, the
feline culinary sensation
that's sweeping the nation.

AYUMI
(awakes from his reverie)
Dry cat food is a fucking joke.
Can you really blame us for ignoring you
and licking our assholes instead?
We deserve more. President Bush doesn’t
care about cats. Socks in ’08!

MIKO, SUKI & AYUMI
(in unison)
Sushi Eyes Raw Cat Food
Thank God for You!

ANNOUNCER
(very speedy)
Do not be alarmed if your cat vomits
after eating Sushi Eyes. He will lick that right up.
It goes down smoother the second time ‘round.
Sushi Eyes is available at Whole Foods, Trader Joes,
and a Petco near you!

I Used To Suck

2006-12-03T23:34:00.000-05:00

(Note to reader: This item was previously published on my Myspace blog, but it's new to MyThumps. Plus I added some nice pictures. With the holidays and all, it's hard to find time...etc, etc...still, I hope you enjoy my reusable goods.)

When I was a little girl, I sucked my fingers. It was my right hand -- my middle and ring fingers. My pinky would rest by the side of my mouth and my index finger by the side of my nose, or sometimes I'd actually press down on my nose with it and my family would tease me that Id have a big, flat nose when I grew up. I was also told that sucking my fingers would mess up my mouth, and that Id end up with buck teeth and need a retainer, and probably braces. These unfortunate possibilities were in the back of my head the whole time, yet I continued to suck. It turns out I'm one of the lucky ones. I never did need any dental gear, and my nose turned out just fine, small even. Maybe I stopped just in the nick of time.

Sometimes, when my mom took us clothes shopping at, say, T.J. Maxx, I'd walk through the pants section and shimmy up against the jeans to suck and rub my fingers against the soft denim. Really weird and fetish-y, I know. But it felt so nice and comfortable... even more so was the feeling, right as I tried to fall asleep, of rubbing my finger against the cozy cotton pillows. As long as I was sucking and rubbing, I had no problem falling asleep.

As I grew older, I became embarrassed by this habit, and my family started to taunt me about being too old for it. When I was nine years old, I headed off to sleep away camp for the first time. That first summer, I successfully hid my finger-sucking addiction from the other campers, and possibly (hopefully) from my counselors as well. Despite hot, stuffy bunk nights, I would hide underneath my heavy polyester blanket and suck it! I mean, them.

The next summer, as I prepared for sleepaway camp, I decided I would no longer suck my fingers. I still remember that last evening before I left, sucking away, relishing that last night of oral fixation bliss.

The next night, I said goodnight to my bunkmates, laid down on my back, threw both arms up above my head, and shoved my hands underneath my pillow. No sucking allowed! It was tough, but I eventually fell asleep. Each night thereafter, it became increasingly easier to fall asleep without sucking. By the end of the month, I didnt even need to sleep on my back with my hands under my pillow anymore. Still, that last night of camp, I fantasized about sleeping in my own bed, in my own private room, and being able to suck again. I was really looking forward to it.

But when I got home, things were different. I eagerly put my fingers in my mouth... but lo and behold, it suddenly no longer felt comfortable to suck! I'm not sure what exactly had changed in that month period. Had my teeth realigned themselves? Had my fingers grown longer? I looked down at them, and sure enough, the two little bumps where my two front teeth used to rest had begun to disappear. Was that why it no longer felt right? I had no idea. Disappointed, I fell asleep with my hands at my side. I never sucked again.

But thats not to say I didnt still *think* about sucking. I can only relate it to the sensation of phantom pain that people who have lost limbs claim to experience. Sometimes, I'm just overcome by this deep yearning to suck my fingers, to feel that peaceful relaxation of my childhood. From time to time I'll even put my fingers in my mouth and try to suck them again. To no avail. Sometimes I let my cat suck them instead. (Just kidding, Tijs is not a sucker.)

I wonder if kicking my habit was a good or bad thing. If I still sucked my fingers, would I have an easier time falling asleep at night? Would I find quicker solace when I was upset or stressed? Or would I be an adult finger-sucking freak? I suppose quitting was for the best. I mean, I was totally anxiety-ridden about people knowing, and increasingly ashamed of myself. Luckily, around the age of 15 I found a fantastic placebo...If I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't have worried so much.

*Cue Kelis' Milkshake song here*

Early Influences: The Video Vixens

2006-11-08T23:02:00.000-05:00

1. Madonna - This is a given. It's just one of those things that people know about me, right up there with my love of all things feline. My earliest Madonna memories include being entranced by her "Like a Virgin" video where she romances a Lion-Man through the canals of Venice, as well as dancing in front of my mirror to "Dress You Up" when I was 7-years-old. I could go on & on about the psychological and societal implications of Madonna's stardom upon women of a certain age (that would be my age), but I will save that discussion for the pop culture essays book I intend to write one day.

2. Belinda Carlisle - I'm not talking about her chubby Go-Go's phase. I'm talking about the sleek, black cat-suited, HOT Belinda of "Heaven is a Place on Earth" and "I Get Weak." I have to admit, I had a bit of a girl crush on Belinda. I'd stare at the photos of her in the cassette tape booklet and wish I looked like her. She was sort of like the seductress next door, which is certainly an image for a 4th grader to aspire towards, if there ever was one!

3. Debbie Gibson - Debbie was actually the antithesis of an influence. She was more like who I DID NOT want to be. She was cute and blonde and wrote her own music in her bedroom, but she wasn't cool. I'm not saying Tiffany was either - that girl had trailer trash written all over her Mall Tour - but Debbie was boring, even though I did like some of her songs. C'mon, "Shake Your Love"? "Out of the Blue"? "Lost in Your Eyes"? That shit was deep man. OK, fine. The real reason I didn't like her was because the boy I liked in 5th grade thought she was pretty. Bitch! Keep your black bowler hat and big schnoz away from my man.

4. Paula Abdul - Before the horror of her balladeer voice ("Rush Rush") and the pill-popping American Idol days, Paula was pretty damn cool. These boys on my bus in 6th grade took to calling me Paula, and I must say, I was incredibly flattered at the time. This is coming off the dancing heels of "Straight Up," "Cold-Hearted Snake", "Forever Your Girl" and "Opposites Attract" (myself and aforementioned crush skat-catted to the latter at the Spring Fling Dance, *sigh*). For a brief moment in pop music history, Paula Abdul was hot shit and I wanted to be/dance just like her. And in my mind, I was and I did.

5. Gloria Estefan - It wasn't quite as cool as being compared to Paula, but one of my 6th grade teachers nincknamed me "Gloria" after the singer. I think it mainly had to do with my fashion choices at the time (big, curly hair Sun-In'd into a funky shade of red, ruffled short skirts, etc.), but as I've mentioned before, with my vaguely Latina and/or Middle Eastern features (I'm neither, but still...) I was the closest thing to exotic in Madison, CT's Robert H. Brown Middle School. I really loved her early sexy tunes like "Bad Boys" (more cat-men!), "The Rhythm is Going to Get You" and "The Conga," but it was the love ballads later in her career - "Don't Want to Lose You Now", "Anything For You" - that really struck me to my core. And remember that bus accident she got into back in the early '90s? Gloria is a goddamn survivor and she deserves more respect! Without her, J.Lo would not exist and that's the truth.

6. Samantha Fox - This little British hussy pretty much created what can only be referred to as "Slut Pop." People like to make the Madonna vs. Kylie Minogue comparison ("The Locomotion" was a great song), but truly, Samantha gave Madonna the real run for her money back in '86/'87. "Naughty Girls Need Love Too", "I Wanna Have Some Fun' - there was nothing metaphorical about it, Samantha was a porno-style pin-up pop-tart who belonged on a poster on your brother's bedroom wall. Attention wankers: According to MySpace she's out with a new album!

7. Lita Ford - If Samantha was responsible for "Slut Pop," Lita was the reigning queen of "Slut Rock" in the late '80s. While chicks like Pat Benatar and Joan Jett were similarly tough, they didn't hold a sexy candle to Lita. She was the rockstar and the video bimbo all rolled into one. I mean, who needs Tawny Kitean doing splits on the hood of a car when you've got Lita Ford working the pole? Seriously! "Kiss Me Deadly" was an anthem if my 10-year-old ears ever heard one.

8. Blondie (Debbie Harry) - Have I mentioned before that I have a secret fantasy where I am the female lead singer of an all-male band? Well, the cat's out of the bag now. Blondie was the coolest. First of all, she was a punk -- but she was also hot, platinum blonde, sexy, stylish, smart and sassy. Without her, there'd be no Gwen Stefani or Alison Goldfrapp...and that would be a damn shame. There might be a Fergie though, because her predecessor was obviously Taylor Dayne. Oh the horror! The horror! By the way, my earliest memory of a favorite song was "The Tide is High" when I was 4-years-old. And is that Darth Vader spying on her from a galaxy far, far away in this video? I told ya -- Coolness.

9. Tina Turner - I was too young to know the "Rolling On a River"/Ike-era of Tina, but my 6-year-old self often pondered the meaning behind hits like "What's Love Got to Do With it?" and "Private Dancer." Tina was a goddess. And nothing better examplified it than her role as Aunt Entity in "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome." She may have been a baddie, but her theme song "We Don't Need Another Hero..." still gives me chills. OK, that's a little dramatic. Let's just say, she's simply the best. Pun intended, of course.

10. Cyndi Lauper - Cyndi taught girls everywhere that is was OK to be a little bit of a freak. She had bizarre fashion sense and crazy hair, but she had charisma and didn't flaunt her sexuality, yet did write naughty songs like "She-Bop" (guess what that really means!) in addition to beautiful ballads like "True Colors" and all-time great movie theme songs like "Superstition" (The Goonies). And let us not forget the number one girl power song of all time, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." Captain Lou Albano played her dad in that video! Sorry Madonna, but that's just a little bit cooler than Danny Aiello in "Papa Don't Preach." By the way, if you really think about it, girls do just want to have fun. And by girls, I mean me, but I think my friends would agree. We just wanna, we just wanna...

***And finally, a special shout-out to Sheila E. The only hit this Prince protege had was "The Glamorous Life," however, she was also a badass drummer. I'll now let you in on another secret musical fantasy -- if I was in an all- chick band like The Bangles or Vixen, I'd want to be the drummer. P.S. I love the story these lyrics tell:

She wears a long fur coat of mink
Even in the summer time
Everybody knows from her coy little wink
The girl's got a lot on her mind

She's got big thoughts, big dreams
And a big brown Mercedes sedan
What I think this girl
She really wants
Is to be in love with a man

She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
She don't need a man's touch
She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
Without love
It ain't much

She saw him standing in the section marked
If you have to ask you can't afford it lingerie
She threw him bread and said make me scream
In the dark what could he say

Boys with small talk and small minds
Really don't impress me in bed
She said, I need a man's man, baby
Diamonds and furs
Love would only conquer my head

She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
She don't need a man's touch
She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
Without love
It ain't much

They made haste in the brown sedan
They drove to 55 Secret street
They made love and by the seventh wave
She knew she had a problem
She thought real love is real scary
Money only pays the rent
Love is forever
That's all your life
Love is heaven sent
It's glamorous

She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
She don't need a man's touch
She wants to lead the Glamorous Life
Without love
It ain't much
It ain't much

FADE TO BLACK

It Stoned Me (to My Soul)

2006-11-02T21:09:00.000-05:00

But this blog isn't about Van Morrison, it's about Bob Dylan and me. It took us a little while to appreciate each other... I got into his lyrics before I actually got into his music, besides a few "popular" songs (including the one playing below). I'd heard this tune about a million times and - surprisingly - never really paid much attention to the lyrics, probably for the very fact that it was so popular. It's hard to hear something with new ears, ya know?

But sometimes it's a random Thursday morning and you're on your way to some fancy hotel to interview a certain ladies man young actor, and you're so tired even though you got an unusual full 8 hours of sleep the night before, but you still woke up an hour late and had no time to blow-dry your hair and the heels you're walking in are really uncomfortable and you know aforementioned actor won't want to answer any of the tabloidy questions you have for him anyway because he's currently in a movie of "great social importance" even though his new TV project couldn't be more crass and you're wondering why anyone even cares about this guy besides the fact that he used to bone some redheaded starlet who you also find inexplicably ubiquitous, yet have been assigned to not-quite-literally-but-close-enough stalk her in the past for your job which seems so ridiculous most of the time these days but "everyone else" thinks it's so cool, and sometimes even you have to admit it's fun, but still...and then suddenly this song blasts onto your iPod Nano with its raucous harmonica and you experience a startling moment of clarity!

Oh, Bob, how did you know? Alas, I only wish I'd been walking down 4th Street and not 63rd and Lex when it happened. *Sigh*

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

I just wrote a really personal, meaningful blog. Almost.

2006-10-26T23:47:00.000-04:00

Seriously, I cried after I wrote it and everything. I named it "Personally" and I went off about the subjects of love and children and family. It was like a personal manifesto, and then I accidentally closed THE FUCKING BROWSER right while I was previewing it to post. SHiT! And I got really pissed for a second, but then I asked, "God, was I not meant to share these observations with the world?" And after that I thought, "Why are these the only times that I even think about God?" And so now I wonder, what if God was one of us, just a slob like one of us...

All hail the Lilith Fair!

Good News: On a personal note, my brother Pete and Kim, his wife, have a beautiful newborn baby boy, Aden!

They already had an amazing little man named Noah.

And the hamster wheel inside my head suddenly has baby hamsters running around in it too...

P.S. Please God, make it not be rainy, cold or windy on Halloween night - either Sat. or Tues. nights... This is another example of my conversations with God. Christ, am I unholy or what? But if it were ever the time of year for being immature, evil, scandalous, decidely scantily clad and eating chocolate late at night, it's now.

Trick or Treat!

xoxo, Thumper

That's My Name, Don't Wear it Out!

2006-10-15T20:37:00.000-04:00

*disclaimer: Pee-Wee Herman's Big Adventure is one of the most twistedly brilliant films of my generation. Thus, I am unabashedly unsarcastic and thoroughly sincere regarding the title of this piece. Sort of.

**addendum to disclaimer: My last name is Chorney, spelled with a "ch", as in "China" (or "chalupa") vs. "ch" as in "Christmas." Please pronounce that sound as "chuh" instead of "kuh." Yeah telemarketers, I'm talking to you! You too substitute teachers! And all the rest of the fucking idiots who can't read and say shit right. Goddamnit, my name is not Miss Corny! It's Saryn, Ms. Chorney if you're NASTY.

(But my dad did once recieve a piece of mail addressed to "Dick C. Horney" which I must admit was pretty amusing.)

OK, I've been meaning to write this blog for a while. It was supposed to be a response to all the lame guys in bars who think they're extra witty when I say my name and they reply, "Like the poisonous gas?" or some such variation on that pick-up line. No, not like the poisonous gas, Casanova. I spell it with a "Y" - SARYN not SARIN - thanks, now run along before I roll my eyes at you and you accuse me of having an attitude and I try to politely explain that this comment is a dealbreaker for me but you can't seem to take the hint.

As I was saying, I had this blog in my head for a while, but never worked up enough motivation to actually write it. Then, on Friday night, a ridiculous bit of gossip inspired me. As some of you may know, I write/report for a celeb gossip mag/web site. I am not going to defend myself, except to say that I am young and I need the money and yes I have loftier goals but right now I'm having a bit of vapid fun. Anyhow, *most* of the people I've met in this business are surprisingly cool. And no, we're not "paparazzi" - one day I will explain the "pelican paparazzi" photo below-

-but I digress. Apparently an associate of mine at another magazine has been spreading a tall tale about me. She recently informed a new friend of mine at a party, "You know Saryn? That's not her real name. I think it's made up. I think her real name is actually Sarah."

Um, what?! It just doesn't get more absurd than that my dears, for a few reasons... When I was little, I could barely even pronounce my name because I had a lisp. "S" "Sh" "Ch" "Z" were just a few of the sounds that I had difficulties with. When I was around 3 or 4, I wore a little bracelet with my name on it which I would show people when they couldn't quite understand what I was saying. I even went to a speech counselor in elementary school. I obviously did not choose this name myself. Here is the official story: My parents wanted to name me after my great aunt Sarah who had passed away, but they wanted to name me something a bit different. My mom's sister had met a Hungarian girl friend named Saryn (or something equivalent like Szeren, more likely) and my parents dug it. Although I am not Hungarian, I do have Eastern European roots (Russia, Romania, Germany, Poland) so it's nice there's a little connection.

I wouldn't say I hated my name when I was little, but I did wish it was something else...like my middle name Lisa, or any of the names I chose for my Barbies, like Cindy, Samanatha, Sabrina, Sandy, and later, Veronica (my French class name was Veronique). People always comment about what a pretty name Saryn is, but it's hard for me to hear it with new ears. I've been hearing it for 28 years. I think it would be interesting to meet someone else with my name, to call someone else by it (most normal people deal with this easily & regularly, for me it would be exceedingly strange). Unfortunately, it has yet to happen. But, there ARE other people (and even places) called Saryn...For instance, the female bodybuilder Saryn Muldrow. Imagine if I looked like this? I could kick some serious ass. Not that I couldn't now, but you know:

And then there's Saryn Hooks, a spelling bee winner. Yay, there's another nerdy little Saryn in the world besides me!

Also, this chick named Saryn Angel who does pinup, S&M and goth girl photography that's interesting to say the least:

There's even an online role-playing character with my name: "Saryn currently has nothing to live for. She is working for a most dishonorable employer, and finds herself constantly wishing she were dead rather than carry out his will. However, she doesn't plan on staying a prisoner for long... Saryn is a very strong-willed woman who will not allow herself to be counted out of any fight until there is no fight left in her. Giving up is not the way to win a war, and she's in for the battle of a lifetime."

And, finally, a town in Borat's homeland of Khazakistan is called Saryn. Very nice!

Saryn, Kazakhstan

Say my name now, bitches!

Coincidence? I think not!

2006-10-12T00:47:00.000-04:00

Remember this? (Britney, Madonna, Xtina)

It immediately reminded me of this (Jeanette, Eleanor, Brittany)

I specifically remember a Chipettes episode (they did not have their own series, only a few random spinoff episodes, FYI) where Brittany covers Madonna's "Material Girl." So when Britney Spears appeared on the pop scene some 15 years later, ripe for dethroning Madonna, I instantly thought of Brittany from the Chipettes. And then there was this episode where the girls are taming snakes singing about "getting lucky."

It's just like that other Britney MTV Awards moment where she performs with a python! Could all these references be intentional? Afterall, Brit got her start on the Mickey Mouse Club, home of the Mousketeers. Christina Aguilera started there too. Check em out in the bottom right corner. More chipmunky than mousey, even!

Now what I'm wondering is, if the real Chipettes threeway lesbian kissed in the middle of a performance, would that be considered hot or sexy -- you know, like in that Fritz the Cat sort of way? I'm not sure, but I bet it would be more shocking than that choreographed kiss was. Interestingly enough, Brokeback Mountain's Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal won for "Best Kiss" at MTV's Movie Awards this past year.

The relationship between Ennis and Jack is vaguely reminscent of that between Ernie and Bert. Like Bert, Ennis is stoic and gruff. Meanwhile, Ernie and Jack are both expressive and cuddley.

My point is: there is no point. I was merely making a few pop cultural observations. Goodnigh...oh wait, I was about to make some snarky Mr. Rogers remark, but then I found these quotes from the man himself and I got all into sentimental/respectful mode:

"I don't believe that children can develop in a healthy way unless they feel that they have value apart from anything they own or any skill that they learn. They need to feel they enhance the life of someone else, that they are needed. Who, better than parents, can let them know that?"

"Parents who expect change in themselves as well as in their children, who accept it and find in it the joy as well as the pains of growth, are likely to be the happiest and most confident parents."

"For a couple with young children, divorce seldom comes as a 'solution' to stress, only as a way to end one form of pain and accept another."

"Everybody longs to be loved. And the greatest thing we can do is let somebody know that they are loved and capable of loving."

Gosh darn, Fred Rogers was a wise man! Still, his sweater *was* kind of "Chester the Molester," ya gotta admit.

And I also happen to think that Liz Hurley resembles Lady Elaine Fairchild.

I rest my case. (No cookies in bed!)

Sleepless in Barcelona

2006-09-23T00:27:00.000-04:00

*Note to reader: A friend once advised me to keep certain personal/relationship issues private/separate from my comedy/writing. However, we all know that "the personal", i.e. sex and relationships, supply some of our best material. So, I decided 5-10 years post-relationship it might be ok for me to discuss specific people. You know, when it really no longer holds any emotional ties or link to my current life. Then again, despite the fact that I tend to bond easily, I do not forget people easily. What can I say, I'm not an easy-comer, easy-goer. If ya ain't careful, ya might be stuck with me for life!*

It was the summer of 2001, I was 23, and my long lost faith in "love at first sight" was restored the moment I laid eyes on him that first night in Spain...

Let me back track a moment and explain: I had previously been awaiting another boy to return from a 3-month sojourn overseas. We'd been writing "intense" emails all summer...

...quick interjection: Back in the day, a guy had to really like you to write a real letter. Nowadays, the instant gratification and fleeting-flirty nature of e-mail & texting renders the act of meaningful communication nearly null and void, but I digress...

...and I was hoping that upon his return, we would finally have a chance to truly date. Unfortunately, he had other plans, which involved an older girlfriend he'd been traveling with (I naively believed they were "just friends") as well as moving to another city. Obviously our reunion was a major let down, but luckily I had a trip to Europe planned the very next day. As I boarded the plane that evening, my two friends, Debbie ("the good girl") and Jamie ("the bad girl"), reassured me that I'd have much more fun on our Mediterranean adventure without a boyfriend. I mean, we were headed to Ibiza. What party girl in her right mind wants boyfriend baggage on Fantasy Island? For once, the devil and the angel on my shoulders agreed -- it was time to score some much-deserved, hot foreign ass.

We spent our first jet-lagged day touring around Barcelona. I instantly fell in love with the city's unusual architecture and perfect seaside location. We took power naps that afternoon, then awoke with just enough time to get dolled up, eat some tapas, and explore the nightlife. Jamie, who had previously spent a summer in Spain, suggested a cavernous, underground tavern, the name of which escapes me. We sat down and ordered a pitcher of – what else – Sangria, and that's when I saw him. He was a gorgeous, mysterious, and slightly sketchy raver with ice blue eyes, wild peroxide-blond hair (including blond chin fuzz), wearing silver sunglasses on his head and a t-shirt that said "Brain Drain." Oh yes, this was the man for me! We made eyes at each other from across the room, and I pointed him out to my friends. "He looks like Spike from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer!" I purred. And since the only requirement I ever had was that each boy be different from the one before him, this vampirish stud looked like fresh blood. Jaroslaw Domgala – nickname, Jarek – was nothing if not unique.

Jarek, who was alone, approached us and introduced himself to me first, asking for my name in Spanish. Jamie played translator, and I soon found out that Jarek was 24, Polish, and working in Barcelona as an "alicatador." That's a very eloquent way of saying he was a construction worker, though Jamie and I later wondered if he was actually a drug dealer. But he gave me a business card, so I believed him. He was so damn cute, I would've believed anything he said – if I could understand him. With his broken English, my bits of French, and Jamie translating the Spanish parts, Jarek explained that his name was Polish for "Jeremy." He said he was in exile from Poland because he'd dodged the draft. (Was there a war in Poland in the early 2000s that I was not aware of? Perhaps.). He claimed he could only return to his country to see his family by sneaking past the border in the middle of the night. Mmmmm, me-likey a dangerous man on the lam! Plus, he complimented my beauty, saying he originally thought I was Spanish because I looked like an Andalusian girl. (Do you recall the scene in "Back to School" where Rodney Dangerfield and Sally Kellerman recite the poem about the Andalusian girls with the flowers in their hair? That's my favorite part!) Needless to say, I was a goner.

Jarek became our tour guide that night, leading us around to various bars and parties. Despite his shadiness, Jamie and Debbie agreed that he was very sweet and very into me. In fact, as we made out on a park bench at 4 in the morning, Jarek expressed many romantic sentiments to me, claiming that I made him "so happy," apparently believing that I "understood him" (ummm…) and that I was "the one" for him. In between passionate kisses and the equivalent of "wow" in four different languages, Jarek promised to visit me in New York and maybe even move there. All this from a guy I'd known for less than 6 hours. But, I was not scared...I was smitten! It was soooo romantic.

Obviously I invited him back to my hotel room. Jamie and an American dude she met somewhere along the way were hooking up in the bathroom, Debbie slept in one bed, and Jarek and I fell into the other bed. We made sweet, sweet almost-love to each other. I had a strict "No One Night Stands" rule regarding sex – even out of the country. He was cool with that, since he was moving to America soon anyway. I needed to write letters to both the U.S. and Polish governments first, but other than that, it seemed like a done deal. As we parted ways at 9am (poor Jarek had to go directly to a construction site), I cried my eyes out. Was I crazy or just crazy-in-love? Definitely a little of both.

The next night in Ibiza I met a hot Portuguese-born guy who I spent the next four days with, but I could never quite muster up the emotion for Paul that I felt for Jarek. It was actually quite frustrating because Paul lived in NJ, and we even dated once I got back to New York, but Jarek was "the one who got away". A day or two after September 11th, Jarek even called me. He wanted to make sure I was OK. We talked for all of ten minutes and could barely understand each other, but it didn't matter. I was blissed out. A few weeks after that, I received a post card in the mail that read "Muchos besos y carinos, Jarek." My roommate translated it for me – "Many kisses and lots of love."

[Above: The art of scrapbooking is lost in the digital age.]

That was the last time I ever heard from Jarek. About a year later, I sort of tried to recreate the magic of that night by dating another foreign guy. That relationship eventually made me see the long-term realities of "international" dating. I still get pangs every now and again for those sexy Euros, but nowadays I know better. As it turns out, the "language of love" is not enough to sustain a relationship with a writer who cringes upon reading grammatically incorrect e-mails...which I know is completely ridiculous & hypocritical seeeing as how I only speak a bit of one second language while they spoke 2 or 3 pretty damn well. Ugh, I hate that I was such a condescending cuntrag...but so it goes...Adios Jarek, we'll always have Barcelona. *Sigh*

The Nine Best Insults of My Life (Thus Far)

2006-09-21T00:07:00.000-04:00

It's fairly easy to make fun of other people, and sort of "cool" to make fun of yourself these days. I mean, according to Entertainment Weekly my generation is caught between self-seriousness and self-deprecation. Maybe that's true. In which case, I'd like to earnestly say that the following disparaging remarks made by friends, family, acquaintances, lovers and strangers throughout the years were quite hurtful and/or shocking at the time, but I am over most of it, mostly. "Stuff that doesn't kill you makes you stronger, yada yada yada..." The thing is, I can put on a decent poker face when I want to...but please remember, deep down, I am fragile, vulnerable and sensitive, not to mention rather naive. No, really!

And now, in no particular order...

2006 - A drunk British man in a bar approaches me. I can only make out half of what he says, but eventually I understand (kinda) when he tells me, "I have a girlfriend who works in fashion in Tokyo." OK, so I guess he isn't hitting on me then...I'm not sure what to say really, so I just casually remark, "And how's that working out for you?" To which he replies, "How do you think, You daft twat?" Wow. That was so rude and uncalled for. I can't decide whether to laugh or slap him, and thus, I calmly turn and walk away. By the way, I really like the French electro-disco band Daft Punk. Anime videos are so fun!

2000 - A drunk (American) guy in a bar approaches me and my friend Erin. He will not leave us alone, despite numerous requests on our part for him to do so. When I tell him to go away for the last time, he replies, "You're a robobitch!" Alas, it was an exceedingly lame comment, but I was less level-headed in my youth. I responded by dumping a pint glass of beer on his head. Then he grabbed my neck, so I punched him in the face. Or I smacked him in the face. I think I sort of bitch-slapped him a few times on both sides of his face, actually. Regardless, his glasses fell off, he dropped to the ground to find them, and I ran...all the way across the street to my apartment. I may be a robobitch, but I only fight on my own turf!

2001 - Two friends and I walk down a New York City street one night, and as a homeless/vagrant man passes us, he announces, "I'll take the double quarter pounder with cheese in the middle!" That would be me. Or my ass. Either way, I think he actually meant it as a compliment. But you know, still.

1989 - My brother Ivan used to tease me about having hair right above my upper lip. This was in 5th grade, right as I went through puberty. My mom finally bought me special bleach for my "peach fuzz," and I thought I'd fixed the problem. But then Ivan chided, "Now you look like a cowboy with a blond moustache!" I don't remember exactly now, but I probably freaked out and bit him after that.

2006 - Upon receiving an email detailing the good news that I'd recently been hired by a new magazine/web site, my ex-boyfriend - we'll call him Mr. Burns - quickly replies, "Whose dick did you have to suck to get that job?" Classic!

2002 - My former editor tells me her web-dev boyfriend (now husband) used to not-so-secretly refer to me as "Memento." Why you ask? Because I was pretty technologically challenged back in the day (still?). Apparently he liked to jest that I "kept polaroid pictures of my computer with instructions written on the white parts in the top hand drawer of my desk." It isn't true...but only because I never thought to do so - would've been a huge help actually!

1992 - When I was in middle school, say 7th and 8th grade, I had pretty pimply skin. Not only that, but I would pick at them zits, thereby making my face look even worse, and then I'd try to "cover up" the damage with make-up. Yikes. One night, my best friend Jamie called up this boy Joey to find out if he liked me. When she asked him if he thought I was pretty, he said, "Yeah kinda, but why does she have, like, burn marks all over her face?" Eeek. That was way harsh -- and I heard it with my own ears over 3-way calling, too. Poor me, I felt like the Elephant Man's twin sister after that phone call.

2000 - I had to delete the original entry here. It's a long story to describe why, but let's just say, all's forgiven. Instead, I will include here one of the funniest insults I've ever heard: "Pillhead." It wasn't directed at me, rather, it was a derogatory term heard repeatedly in the very first episode I ever saw of the reality show "Cheaters." A Southern black woman had the cameras follow around her cheating husband -- turned out he was boinging her sister behind the garage on Easter! My wonderful, hilarious friend Jesse watched the whole thing with me, and to this day, we still refer to each other as pillheads -- and it has nothing to do with drugs!

1984 - Finally, my brother Ivan once again takes the insult cake! One day when I used the old rickety bathroom (it wasn't even #2, I swear!) at my grandparents house, the toilet bowl got clogged. For the next, oh, maybe 5 years, whenever my brother really wanted to get my goat, he'd start to taunt me with this rhyme: "You're the toad who laid the load at grandma's house that overflowed!" He still calls me "Toad" to this day, and I must admit, it's become a term of endearment. Awww.

Got something insulting to say about me? Go ahead -- make...my...day!

Daniel Hand “Hollywood” High School

2006-09-16T02:27:00.000-04:00

People are always comparing Hollywood to high school, and you know what, it’s true! Well, I suppose it depends how big your high school was… my home town is pretty small; my high school was under 1000 kids. In the grade below me, there a was even a clique of popular girls all named Heather - just like the movie! How crazy is that?

Some brilliant kid in the 11th grade labeled them “Voltron”…

since separate they were merely robotic panthers, but together they formed a monster! Kinda like the Pussycat Dolls.

But anyway, as a so-called "entertainment journalist", this is the breakdown in my head of how I relate to my subjects…

Britney Spears – She is in her own universe. All the other girls used to worship her, but she has fallen as her craziness & trashiness has been revealed. She’s like this girl KD I was friends with over the years. The prettiest blonde in my grade, and rather funny with a genuine sweet side, but also just on her own planet & self-absorbed which, as we got older, didn’t fly with the girls who used to flutter around her. She got kicked to the curb by the cool clique, but she had been cool for a long while before that & the guys all still thought she was hot, so it didn’t matter. She was a child model and there were always all these rumors about her having a recording contract or being on a soap opera…now she’s a former kindergarten teacher who is married with two kids, which, come to think of it, would’ve been a likely fate for Britney if the whole superstar thing hadn’t worked out.

Paris Hilton – She is an evil beeyotch. All the other girls are scared of her because she’s basically a narcissistic sociopath and will trash you, to your face, at the drop of a hat. As they say, "With friends like these.." She reminds me of TV, an older gorgeous blonde who was a senior when I was a junior. TV terrorized one of my best friends when she discovered that her on-again/off-again boyfriend hooked up with EB. We’re talking a vandalized car, crank calls, threatening notes, etc. I think Paris would just sic one of her jerky guy friends (Brandon Davis, ahem) on someone, but it’s the same idea. However, I do think Paris has ONE redeeming quality – she’s a huge animal lover. We could totally bond on a date at the zoo. Hmmm, maybe I will pitch that piece!

Lindsay Lohan – She is a messed up little girl trying to play grown up with a mom who lives vicariously through her. Reminds me of XX, who also kinda resembled LiLo when we were young. As a child, XX was pushed into pageants by her mom, and later took modeling classes and such. But XX was cooler than LL in the sense that she always stood apart from the popular crowd. Whether by choice or sheer inability to fit in, XX was kind of a loner. This one time at the “cool” freshman girls lunch table, she insinuated that this kiss-ass HB was a KD-wannabe (aka “Britney” from above)right to her face, right in front of KD. HB got all insulted and the whole table fell silent, it was great teenybopper drama, let me tell you. I loved XX for that – she just said whatever the fuck was on her mind. Last I heard she was in the military – which gives me an idea – La Lohan in a remake of “Private Benjamin”!

Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen – I’m tempted to treat them as one person since I can never get a clear picture of their separate identities. Ashley is like semi-normal and put together, a representative for “the team.” Whereas Mary Kate is the wild card, although she usually just keeps quiet and dances on banquettes or roams around town in her designer homeless gear. Together, they remind me of AL, who had been a seemingly innocent girl in middle school (kinda like the twins in their “Full House’ days), but then matured to “hot” status in high school. She was voted “Best Personality” in the yearbook, which always baffled me because I never got a sense of her personality, period. I mean, I can usually connect with someone on some level, but AL and I never clicked. Not at all. Nothing to say. Maybe it was me? I don’t know. But then I randomly bumped into her in a bar in NYC years later, and I still found her to be rather strange and sour. Oh yeah, and AL became attached at the hip - Olsen style - to HB, the kiss ass mentioned earlier.

Jessica & Ashlee Simpson – Also see Hilary & Haylie Duff (but in reverse). There were always a bunch of cases like this: A pair of sisters where one was hot and the other just rode on the cooler one’s coat-tails. It’s like popularity is inherited. There were so many cases I don’t even know where to begin… but let me just say, it didn’t quite work the same way if you had a hot brother. Because I did, and nobody wanted to date me because of it. Some of the girls were nicer to me, sure (aforementioned HB, KD, etc), but it wasn’t exactly my ticket to Prom Queen status. But back to Jessica – or rather, let’s do Nick Lachey instead: 100% my friend TK. All the girls had crushes on TK, but he was just a sporty meathead who – as we all knew from his Richard Marx solo chorus performance ("Right Here Waiting”) in 7th grade– could also carry a tune. Extra cute points! Pretty sure he’s got a beer belly and drives a truck now.

Nicole Richie – I love the story of an underdog/sidekick who rises above her bitchy friend. It’s a pretty hard thing to pull off in high school, and I don’t have any good examples. However, there are two girls, SS & KM, who come kinda close. Both were rather shy wallflowers that nobody particularly cared about, and then suddenly in 9th grade (KM) and 11th grade (SS), Poof! They were hot & cool. No one really knew how it happened. I mean, KM lost her baby fat, dyed her hair blonde and got contacts – fine. That makes sense. But SS went through this total personality transformation. She became funny and flirty and bitchy and wore great clothes suddenly... it was as if she sold her soul to the Devil! Like Ms. Richie, she was exceedingly thin and came from a wealthy family. Plus she had numerous falling outs with friends (like the Paris thing) along the way. Par for the course.

Christina Aguilera – The skanky one, who try as she might, will never quite lose that rep. She reminds me of my friend MS, who was the slut of my grade. (Of course we were friends, duh! I love sluts!) MS was also best friends with SS (Nicole Richie type above) but they had some falling out which was exacerbated by the fact that they were next door neighbors and their moms were best friends. Yikes. MS also had a major enemy in KD (“Britney” – how fitting!), as they had dated the same guy. I’m pretty sure he cheated on KD with MS – sort of shocking since KD was so “hot” but I think MS had some skillz, ya know what I’m sayin’? In fact, MS was involved in this one major school-wide scandal... the best sex scandal to ever rock the D.H.H.S. halls! MS got mad at aforementioned ex-boyfriend, JR, and brought in a photo of him naked on all fours wearing a dog collar and passed it around the school. They were both called into the principal’s office, along with the school psychologist, to discuss the incident. At JR’s graduation, the whole audience barked when his name was called. Talk about humiliation. MS sure had a lot of moxie!

Pink – The tough girl. KH was the tough girl in my grade. She was friends with all the guys and I was never friends with her because I was way too intimidated. She would diss all the cool girls when she hung with the guys, but all the cool girls knew she was in with the guys, so she was sort of revered. I always wanted to be friends with a chick like this. But I’m way too girly. I don’t play video games. I can’t talk sports. Or finance. Or politics (well not much, but I am working on that one). But I do like nature, and I can talk music and porn and gross-out humor and nerdy (not tech, but like, space and science and stuff). Anyway, KH could hang with all the guys and I guess I was jealous. She also happened to be a blonde with big boobs and a very pretty face. She could’ve been playing Barbies with the high school Betties, but instead she played the saxophone or something. I wonder what she’s doing now. I should probably make a point of saying hi to her at my high school reunion in November. Yes, I’m going – you better believe it. As my hilarious friend Sara Schaefer recently declared, “When you’re a comedian, you go to that shit!”

Mischa Barton – Who didn’t know a pretty, personality-challenged popular girl? GM was a perfect example… blonde, thin, harmless, but not particularly smart or funny or interesting. GM was mousy really, but the cool girls took her under their wing when she moved to town in 8th grade. She became a cheerleader, dated cute boys and was voted “Best Dressed” inexplicably in the yearbook. Did I mention that the kids in my town only wore J. Crew, Gap, and Abercrombie & Fitch? When I went to college, all the black pants and Burberry scarves and Kate Spade and Prada bags completely overwhelmed me. I wonder where GM went to college? Or was she killed off after high school? I guess I’ll find out at the reunion… HOLY SHIT! I just remembered as I wrote that: GM was held hostage by some psychopath kid during her freshman year of college. Then she transferred. Crikey. Now I really need to talk to her!

Natalie Portman – My friend EB (we’re no longer friends, long catty girl story, but I am interested to catch up with her at the reunion too) was the Natalie Portman of our town. Smart, beautiful, Jewish and worshipped by the guys, as well as the teachers. It really wasn’t fair. She was pretty even as a little girl, and much like Ms. Portman, she had an easy rapport with her elders, including upperclassmen. She also won all the achievement awards every year. And like Nat’s sexy performance in “Closer,” EB had a secret dark side…let’s just say she wasn’t that innocent. And despite our falling out, I’m not gonna gossip about her, even though I really, really want to. Sometimes ya gotta know when it's enough to just insinuate. Well, I hear she’s married and a successful lawyer now. No surprise there. *Yawn.*

Beyonce – I don’t want it to seem purposeful or racist when I only include one black girl on this list, but I wanted to be true to my high school. There was only one black girl in my grade, as well as in the grade above me. Listen, I’m from WASP-ville, Connecticut. *I* was the most exotic girl around! Anyway, like the Bootylicious one, both MP and NW were musically gifted. Neither of them dated rappers as far as I know, but MP is living the glamorous life as a stylist in NYC now. Her mom used to be the make-up artist for all the school plays and I remember thinking that was really cool. See, they kinda were like Beyonce and Tina Knowles, all fashionista-y! House of Dereon is way classier than Baby Phat, I’ll give ’em that much. Though I must say, Kimora Lee was pretty cool when I met her. A diva, yes, but not as bad as you’d expect. I think her (ex)-hubby is a jerk though. It’s a long story, and I don’t want to name drop too much (uh, too late I guess! haha), but Russell once commented to a friend of mine that I was “too short” to be considered attractive. I love being dissed by celebrities, I mean, it’s a compliment they'd even think of me, really!

Finally, let’s all ask ourselves this: Why can’t Eva Longoria & Eva Mendes just get along? Neither actress will ever be J.Lo –

so please chicas, get over the drama. Don’t make me sic Michelle Rodriguez on your skinny asses!

(OK, you got me. I made that one up. It’s my job! Haha…kidding, kidding. Sorta.)

Films That Crack My Dad’s Shit Up

2006-09-11T21:24:00.000-04:00

It’s my Dad’s birthday today – 65, going on 56 (oh well, I tried) – so this one goes out to him! Plus, he was annoyed about my “Films That F’kd Me Up” blogs, so I want to make it up to him. Sorry dad. I love you. But I still think you should admit parental responsibility for taking your elementary school-age children to see an R-rated teen sex romp, aka PORKYS. In retrospect, we’re glad you did. (In the moment it was fun too!)

Slapshot (1977)- I know this movie is supposed to be very funny, but I only recall three things about it: Paul Newman, the “Handsome Brothers,” and hockey. My dad’s a huge hockey fanatic. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a specific favorite team (maybe the Rangers though? Hmmm), he just appreciates a good game. Moreso than that, he appreciates a good fight. He’s been known to record hockey games then edit together a tape of *just fights.* When I date a guy, he always makes a point of asking if he likes hockey. Anyway, there aren’t all that many hockey movies – though I do recall thinking Rob Lowe was hot in YOUNGBLOOD back in the days before he banged a sixteen year old girl and it was caught on video. Remember that scandal? In the age of Paris Hilton, nobody does, so it’s fine. But I digress. Hockey rules, and so does this movie, according to my Dad.

Animal House (1978) – Alright, this one’s an obvious classic. John Belushi is definitely my dad’s favorite part of this film. He’d always crack up at the part where Bluto is on line in the cafeteria filling his tray with *everything* in sight. That is SO my Dad! He was also quite fond of saying that my brother Ivan’s college fraternity house was just like the Delta House. (Honestly, having stayed there once, I’d say Ivan's frat - including the brotherhood - were ten times more foul.) Me personally, my favorite scenes are Larry’s good/evil conscience advising him on what to do with the underage girl passed out naked in front of him, as well as the scene where Mandy Pepperidge is giving her dickhead boyfriend a hand job wearing a plastic glove. Hilarious!

Risky Business (1983) – I’m not exactly sure why my dad loves this movie so much, but I have two guesses: the “Old Time Rock ‘n Roll” dance scene (it’s not Tom's underwear - Dad’s a big Bob Seeger fan) and just the whole brothel plot line, in general. I suppose that’s every man’s fantasy to some degree, and my dad’s got a particularly pervy sense of humor. I mean, duh, I had to get it from somewhere! (Then again, my mom’s a bit of an undercover sexpot herself). Recently, my Dad told me he caught another movie, THE GIRL NEXT DOOR, on HBO late night and kinda liked it. No surprise there.

Back to School (1986) – I think my Dad has always loved Rodney Dangerfield. I definitely remember seeing EASY MONEY at a very young age, too. Rodney, aka Thornton Mellon, is like my Dad’s Id personified. If I remember correctly, his favorite scene is the one where Thorton tells off Kurt Vonnegut when he gets an “F” on a report Vonnegut himself wrote: “Fuck me? Hey, Kurt, can you read lips, fuck you! Next time I'll call Robert Ludlum!” Hmmm. I could be wrong about that. He also really liked the part where Sam Kinison as a History teacher freaks the fuck out. R.I.P. guys, this in one funny ass scene:

As Good As It Gets (1997) – Jack Nicholson is another of my Dad’s favorites. In fact, if I were to ever cast an actor as my Dad in the movie version of his life, I would probably go with good ol’ Jack. In this movie, he plays a man named Melvin Udall who is exceedingly cantankerous and completely obsessive-compulsive. I wouldn’t say my Dad’s nearly as misanthropic as this character, however, he’s close in the O.C.D. department! Also, you may remember that Melvin begrudgingly comes to care for an ugly lap dog named Verdell. In his “old” age, my Dad has also become more affectionate/accepting towards animals. I used to resent him for kicking my pregnant cat which caused her to miscarry a kitten (to be fair, we did not know she was pregnant, and she had eaten his steak that was thawing on the counter). Nowadays he looks forward to me bringing my cat Tijs home for visits, and claims to “really like” his girlfriend’s little dog – even lets it sleep in his bed. The lesson, of course: You *can* teach some old dogs new tricks.

Happy B-day, Daddy-o! XOXO

8th Grade Dream

2006-09-07T13:01:00.000-04:00

So, I've always been big into dream interpretation. Ever since I was a pre-tween, I've read tons of books on the topic, from basically silly dream dictionaries to overly serious Freud. Sometimes my friends tell me their dreams and I help them figure out what it might be about in "real life." Recounting my own dreams to my former therapist (no longer crazy! woohoo!), as well as my former editor TS (he wrote a dream column for teen girls on Alloy.com) was always a highlight. Back in the day, I used to write them down first thing in the morning when I woke up. Here's a little accompanying illustration of me doing just that:

Now for some great dream-inspired nostalgia -- I recently found one I'd written down back in 8th grade. Those were the days...NOT! Haha, remember that one? It was the best comeback, second only to:

Alright, now close your eyes with me and pretend you're fourteen again...

"Our whole grade is on a field trip to see a play and we're on a train. I'm the student council treasurer, or at least the principal and other teachers and chaperones think I am. Erica is the president. Erin and Jenny sit next to me on the train as if we're still friends. Then the whole scene changes and I'm on a dock with Danny where we're watching Bobby Brown's "Good Enough" video.

Danny's coming onto me and I'm really noticing it. Then the scene switches again and we're on my bed. I'm on top of him and we're kissing, but suddenly I say, "Wait! Do you have a condom?" He says,"Yeah." But I say, "I'm sorry, but I can't do this. Condoms are not 100% effective. I could get pregnant! I'd just die if I got pregnant!" So we stop, and he leaves. Then I notice all these trophies in my closet.

My mom, dad and brothers come in my room to talk to me about sex, but I tell them to leave. Instead I call Erin, but I meant to call Jamie. Erin and Jenny come over to talk to me about almost having sex with Danny, but then I suddenly wake up - but I'm still dreaming. I begin to wonder if my experience with him was real or just a dream. I'm looking forward to seeing him in English class, just to know if it really happened or not. But him, Bobby and Matt have all gone skiing, so I can't find out. Then I go to gym class and I'm running around the track, but there are a bunch of little kids there too.

I run into the locker room, and then into the hallway where I find Danny. He takes me into the cafeteria and tells me he's been having dreams about me all week too. But I fall asleep at the table and start dreaming that I'm inside Danny's dreams with him. We're underwater, and I'm a mermaid.

As I try to come up for air, I can't quite reach the top of the ocean, and I'm having difficulty breathing. Then I wake up in the cafeteria alone, feel like a dork for having fallen asleep there, and the bell/alarm clock rings. Dream over!"

Now tell me, what do YOU think it means?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?

Wet Hot Connecticut Summers, Part 2

2006-08-27T18:17:00.000-04:00

I'd like to begin this post with an excerpt from a brilliant poem I still remember by heart because I read it on the bathroom wall every day for an entire summer:

Eva Price is Awesome
Eva Price is Great
Eva Price has been here since 1988
In 1989, she came to Girls Bunk 10
With nothing on her mind
But horny little men

91: OK this summer kinda sucked. I had conveniently gotten a haircut a month before camp which rendered me a frizzy poofball. Not to mention the acne and added padding of puberty. However, luckily enough, typical school rules didn't neccessarily pertain to summer camp. I could look like this and still be considered "cool." At camp, a nerd or outcast might have a whole new chance at popularity. Nerdy kids in particular could prevail at camp, though outcasts did have tougher odds. For instance, there was this kid JE who was the butt of all the cool boys' jokes, but he was still one of them. Verdict: School nerd. There was another kid, MC, who the boys ostracized (possibly because he was effeminate and probably gay or bi-curious). Verdict: School outcast. And then there was a giant kid called "Earth" by the entire camp. Most likely a school outcast who was "cool" at camp just as a known entity. In the girl world it's a little bit different - much more complex - but I have neither the time nor the wherewithall to lay out the intricacies of female hierarchies. Suffice it to say, popularity was a big deal in between the summers of 7th and 8th grade. And that popularity had a lot to do with your relationship to the cool boys. And I was not going out with any cool boys. So I forged a "just-friendship" with some dorky new boy and crushed on him. His name was Ian Something-or-other, but I can't remember much besides watching "Beverly Hills 90210" as an evening activity that summer.

92: Once again, I got no ass this summer - there was a new, big crush though. I had it bad for JP, a cool "Aryan" Jew. Now that I think of it, JP was my first blond lust object. In years to follow there would be plenty more towheads to obsess over…but JP was the original golden boy. Unfortunately, to JP, I was that girl_space_friend who listened to him talk about other girls. He told me about his girlfriend from home, and how he promised not to cheat on her, but did I think VK or LM might be into him? On the last night of camp, even though I made myself fully available, he hooked up with big-boobed DB instead. I was devastated. Still, we continued to talk on the phone after camp, which eventually evolved into genuine flirting. He asked me to come visit for a weekend, but my grandfather passed away, so obviously I cancelled. We didn't talk again for a very long time… until I bumped into him in the Lower East Side one night about 8 years later. He wasn't nearly as cute, but doubly as arrogant. I guess he thought it was weird I remembered him, but he should not feel special since I have total "facial" recall.

95: The summer of 1995 saved my life. I was smack in the middle of the biggest depression of my teenage life. My parents were newly divorced and my boyfriend of two years had just dumped me. Talk about a double whammy! I needed out of my house/bedroom/self-imposed jail cell. ASAP. So, I accepted a job as a C.I.T. at my beloved summer camp. Two of my closest camp friends, GG & VK, were also working there, and I became best friends with not only my co-counselor SS, but also one of my campers, RB. She may have been 10 years old, but RB was like the little sister I never had! I told her *everything* about my cute, new British boyfriend Knob. (His real name was Richard, but everyone knows the slang term for dick is "knob" in England.) He worked in the kitchen and told me my lips reminded him of the Rolling Stones emblem in an adorable Newcastle accent. Awww. (We're still friends to this day!) And even though RB and I were BFFs, the other campers didn't seem to mind that she was my obvious favorite because I was still pretty cool with all of them too. In fact, I never made 'em do anything - besides listen to the movie "Heathers" on cassette tape. Yes, by the end of the summer, my girls were reciting lines like "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw!" and "Did you eat a brain tumor for breakfast?" And yet I still got the biggest tips from their parents. Can you say best counselor ever?

P.S. RB is now 22 with a DD chest! She learned "I must, I must, I must increase my bust!" from me (although I had less success it seems).

P.S.S. You needn't tell me how hot I was at 16. Trust me, I know.

Wet Hot Connecticut Summers, Part 1

2006-08-22T17:00:00.000-04:00

"It was the last day of summer camp. It was the first day of the third week in August." - Wet Hot American Summer (The greatest camp movie ever made!)

Around this time of year, I always get a little wistful thinking of my 7 summers spent at Camp Laurelwood in Madison, CT. Oddly, I also *lived* in Madison, CT, making me both a camper and a townie. (This could be the root of my fractured personality disorder.) Despite its downtrodden appearance and half-ass activities, I loved my little Jewish camp. In fact, some of my best childhood/teenage memories happened at 463 Summerhill Road...

1987: On the first day of camp, VK lets me read her diary. It's all about her crushes on much older male counselors. This worries me, even at the tender age of 9. I also forge a best friendship with KW. She and I bond over many late nights playing "Go Fish" and "Spit." Late in the summer, KW (in pink feet pajamas) and VK (in blue feet pajamas) brawl over some stolen "junk trunk" treats. To this day, I believe the battle was really over my best friendship. VK was also the clear favorite of our counselor Lori, who held my 1st ever group therapy session to ask why we all hated her. When we explained why, she claimed VK was just the "most affectionate" camper. What a bitch! Secretly, Bunk 2 is jealous of VK's avant garde Elvis Presley impersonation in the talent show.

1988: "Dirty Dancing" fever takes Laurelwood by storm! This time, KW is the favorite camper, which is OK by me since we are best friends. Our counselor Mona is the coolest -- a hot blonde with big boobs from Philly. Mona refers to KW's under-developed chest as "tick bites." We all love this. KW gets felt up by an older boy, RS, at the camp social to the strains of "I've Had the Time of My Life." Bunk 6 is very jealous, but I secretly hate RS because he's mean to me whenever KW is not around. I also wear an AA bra for the first time. Yay, boobies!

1989: The *cool* Inter division girls (yup, that includes moi) do a dance in the talent show to "Cold-Hearted Snake" by Paula Abdul. I am Paula, naturally. My brother Ivan moons the whole camp in the middle of the show and almost gets kicked out. I get asked to the 2nd social by AB who confesses that he wanted to ask me to the 1st too but MR bribed him with a six-pack of Coke to ask another girl instead. Scandalous! AB and I have a torrid love affair which involves lots of french-kissing behind the Mess Hall. Bunk 7 is very jealous, but I dump AB "just because." Regardless, I secretly cry whenever I hear Richard Marx's "Hold Onto the Nights" on the radio. It was our song.

1990: French-braids, "Ghost" and Roxette are all the rage. Once again, KW, IL, AE and I are the cool girls in Bunk 13, and we take great pleasure in ostracizing CO. (She would later show us - by going to Yale and appearing on College Jeopardy.) Our counselors hate us because we fight all the time. Who cares! My boyfriend AR won't talk to me even though we're "going out." He is very cute, but shy - and walks into a tree one day while looking at me. Awww, just like "Wayne's World." We are soon french-kissing behind the Mess Hall. But one fateful day, my ex-boyfriend AB convinces AR to dump me. I am heartbroken. KW then kicks him in the balls in front of everyone! Adding insult to injury, I demand he give back the friendship bracelet I made him. I secretly cry whenever I hear "Open Arms" by Journey. It was our song.

Stay tuned for the summers of '91, '92 and '95 (my naughty counselor year)...

Desperately Seeking Saryn

2006-08-16T10:13:00.000-04:00

A weird thing happened yesterday, weird in that "this is meaningful to me but no one else will possibly understand the significance" kind of way. Once again I was out jogging along the West Side Highway Park. (I no longer run down my once-favorite pier due to that crack attack, *sniff sniff*, too much trauma associated...) As I trotted along, this man came walking his dog right up beside me:

For those who don't know him, it was actor Will Patton. He's played a long list of creepers, drifters and generally bad men in movies throughout the years (you might also recognize him from "Armageddon" or "Remember the Titans"). But mostly, his villainous visage remains indelibly etched upon my memory due to his role as the stalker/hit man in the 1985 film "Desperately Seeking Susan" starring Madonna and Rosanna Arquette.

Ok, so here's the thing: In that movie, Susan (Madonna) is always hanging out along the West Side Highway piers. It's where she meets her travelling musician boyfriend for quickie, sporadic makeout sessions. Meanwhile, Roberta (Arquette) is obsessed with Susan, and follows her little love sagas in "The Personals" (today she'd be trolling Craigslist). I won't get all into the mistaken identity dramedy that ensues, but let me just point out how bizarre it was to feel - even just for a moment - like I was a character in one of my favorite movies of all time.

Did I say bizarre? Excuse me, I'm always trying to play it cool. What I meant was FUCKING AWESOME! I love Madonna. Always have, always will. Even when she makes a shitty album like "American Life" or puts out an awful movie like "The Next Best Thing"...even when she talks in that fakety Brit accent and prays to the Kabbalah G-d of red string bracelets...it just doesn't matter. I *cherish* her! She's my *lucky star*! I'm *hung up*! Madonna is my Icon of choice, and this movie sealed the deal...yup, all the way back in first grade. And her influence lives on. Want proof?

1. I am often spotted sauntering down the streets of Greenwich Village eating Cheetos straight out of the bag.

2. I'm obessed with restroom air dryers. Whenever I'm alone, I lift my arm so that intense, hot compressed wind will blow straight into my armpit. Mmmmmm. Niiiiiice. Just like Madonna!

3. I too love taking polaroid snapshots of myself lying around in strange hotel rooms.

4. I prefer to wear white wife beaters, men's boxers and thigh-high lace stockings attached to a garter belt. I can't show you right now, but I do have this cool doll collection from the movie. Some days I dress up myself and my Madonna figurines in matching outfits!

In fact, I've been dressing this way for years. Check out my "Desperately Seeking Susan"-inspired outfit, circa 1998.

Get into the Groove, indeed.

P.S. I (HEART) you Aidan Quinn! I'd draw a little heart around your beautiful face in purple magic marker if I could. Rosanna Arquette is lame..."all I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your eyes, Rosanna, Rosanna"...ARGHShuttup! She does not deserve you! I have even vowed to name my first son "Dez" after your movie projectionist/hero. No, really.

Dirty DUI(ing): A Love Story

2006-08-10T21:58:00.001-04:00

"We're supposed to do the show in two days, you won't show me the lift, I'm not sure of the turns I'm doing all this to save your ass when what I really want to do is drop you on it!"

"I could never do anything like that. That was somethin'. The reason people treat me like I'm nothin' is 'cause I'm nothing."

"I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw, I'm scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you."

"Nobody puts Gibby in a corner!"

"Brokeback got us good, don't it?"

Insects 'N Sex

2006-08-08T21:43:00.000-04:00

"When Animals Mate" is quite possibly one of my favorite subjects. I love those National Geographic documentaries that show lions and tigers and bears (oh my!) getting it on. And no, I'm not into bestiality - hush - I just find our four-legged, furry, feathered and/or flying friends' mating habits to be both fascinating and informative -- especially in comparison to human behavior. For instance, did you know that male zebras "woo" by kidnapping and raping female zebras from opposing herds? Jesus! Where'd they learn that...Duke? Then again, the females of the species aren't always so innocent. You've probably heard how the lady praying mantis bites off her lover's head after copulation. Indeed, the PM's are the Lorena Bobbitts of the animal world. I could really go on and on about this topic (my dream job is to be a zoologist), but I'll spare you for now and get straight to the goodies. Check out this home video I secretly captured of butt sex - I mean butterfly sex! - this past weekend:

It was beautiful. They were really in love. *Sigh*

Twins

2006-08-03T19:58:00.000-04:00

Has anyone ever told you that you look *just like* someone else they know? I get this a lot. I'm not sure why, because like everyone else, I like to imagine I'm pretty unique. But honestly, I'm not complaining. Sometimes this lookalike situation thing really works out in my favor. For instance, my best friend from college's best friend from high school was my goodamn spitting image! For reals. Turning 21 was no biggie because I'd been using this girl's real Pennsylvania liscense for a year and half already - it was so good, it might as well have been me. Proof: Me and Lauren (my fake i.d.)

When I finally met Lauren, I definitely saw the resemblance, but it wasn't quite as overwhelming in person. HOWEVER, the long lost twin I met last weekend truly takes the "clone cake". Meet Cracker, my doggy double:

And to prove that this shot is no fluke, consider these facsimile faces of myself and Cracker.

Smiley:

Wistful:

Cocksure:

Did I mention the fact that when Cracker has a flea bite on his ass, I scratch my own ass too? Twins are pretty freaky! I'm so glad I found mine.

Guess My Job

2006-07-25T22:34:00.000-04:00

I've been interviewing for some interesting part-time jobs this summer. I was finally hired today! Hmmm, what could I be doing now...

OK, here are a few choices:

1. Celebrity Pet Reporter

2. Bionic Bounty Hunter

3. Belly Dancer

4. Paranormal Psychologist

5. Ancient Tribal Oracle

6. Phone Sex Operator

7. A Spy in the House of Love

8. Lesbian Chanteuse

9. Hair Model

10. Tambourinist for the Band

The person who guesses right can have my first born child. Good luck!

The Crack Attack

2006-07-23T17:07:00.000-04:00

The following is a true story. It happened to me -- yesterday. Crazy shit is always happening to me, but this is definitely crazier than usual. Feel free to laugh, but do note it would not have been funny if I were truly hurt, mugged, maimed, raped or left for dead in the Hudson River. I hope that telling my tale will prove therapeutic, as I am still quite shocked.

First of all, let me just say that I’ve always found Pimps ‘n Hos to be a “funny” topic. It’s also a popular Halloween costume, a fun Vegas party theme, a lifestyle that’s been glamorized in hip hop circles, an embarrassingly watchable late night documentary series on HBO, the subject of numerous movies (HUSTLE & FLOW most recently) and an Oscar winning song (congrats Three 6 Mafia). In fact, the funniest thing to me about pimps is that I’ve crossed paths with the most famous/successful one – The Bishop Don “Magic” Juan – three times in my life. (He’s Snoop Dog’s best friend, even appears alongside him in OLD SCHOOL.) The first time he gave me a helping hand at a press conference. The second time we were on a flight to LA together. The third time we were at an MTV party and he invited me back to Snoop’s suite at the W on New Year’s Eve. I couldn’t go because I was with a boyfriend at the time – and it would’ve been a questionable move regardless. Anyway, I used to kid that he saw my “ho potential.” Ha-ha-ha.

But then I was involved in an altercation with a crack ho and her pimp yesterday, and now I’m no longer laughing! OK, I’m still nervously giggling, but as Tami from "The Real World: Los Angeles" once declared (before she got David kicked off the show), “It isn’t not funny!” Or something slightly incoherent like that.

So, this is what happened: The time is 3pm. It has finally stopped raining in Manhattan. I think, “Hmmm, should I go to the gym or should I go for a jog outside now?” I choose outside. Everything starts off as normal. I head down to the West Side Highway Park. I love running by the water, especially up and down the piers. I do this pretty regularly. So it’s just like any other day until I come across these two crackies. They are walking towards me on a rather narrow path on the pier. Since there’s no room on either side of them, I just motor right along in between them. Suddenly I am wailed on the back by the shorter lady crackhead. I stumble a bit, then turn around in a daze. The male crackhead is screaming at me, but I can’t hear him because I still have my headphones on (“Circuit Breaker” by Royksopp. I really love this song and hope the experience hasn’t completely ruined it for me).

Anyway, I don’t stick around to rationalize with these folks. I ran straight up to a park security guard and told him what happened. He calls the police who come and apprehend my assailants. I stay a few hundred yards away, wary of facing them again. One of the cops tells me I should press charges, saying they could do this to others if I don’t, but I’ll need to appear in court if I do, yada-yada-yada. I’m just thinking, “Fucking hell, I don’t need this drama!” So the cop says at the very least they should be made to apologize to me. Again, this doesn’t sound like a great idea -- if they get a good long look at me, they’ll probably inflict a whole lot more damage upon me next time. Did I mention I’ve seen this pair before? Yeah, well, they seem to frequent this particular area so I’m shit out of luck either way. As I hesitate, trying to decide the best course of action, the dude suddenly lashes out and attacks (bites!) one of the officers then runs. Now there’s a whole chase scene that occurs...all because of little innocent jogging me. The cops all run after the guy, leaving me and the little crack lady who originally hit me in the first place to get to know each other better. Fabulous!

At that point I decided to get the funk out of there. I leave my name and information with another security personnel. Soon an ambulance has arrived and the EMTs explain that they must check me out before I go. I say I’m fine, that I have a family party that I’m now late for (this is true). The two EMT guys ask if they can come. Oh, sure -- just what I feel like doing right now boys, flirting. Jeezus. As I agree to get in the ambulance (as long as they will give me a lift home), one of the officers who chased the bad guy returns. She explains that the man was a pimp and the woman who hit me was his ho. Apparently when they told him he was responsible for her actions, he went berserk. Ahhh, now it all makes sense. It’s hard out there for a pimp, indeed.

Well, after this hour-long ordeal I finally made it home in one piece. I cried, took a shower, and popped half a Xanax. Today I’m going to the gym instead and buying myself a Swiss Army knife to attach to my key chain. To paraphrase my favorite gang movie of all time THE WARRIORS: “Crackheads, come out to play-i-ay!” (That's me in the red beret in front.)

Films that F'kd Me Up, Part 2

2006-07-20T12:57:00.001-04:00

I know you've all been holding your breath for this next blog post, so without further ado...

I saw the movie ANGEL for the first time on HBO when I was six or seven. How’s this for a tagline: “High School Honor Student by Day. Hollywood Hooker by Night.” Man, I wish they would remake this movie, as well as its sequels AVENGING ANGEL and ANGEL III. It could be a sexy star vehicle for Lindsay Lohan, who definitely has the gritty toughness and little girl lost quality that the role of “Angel” demands. Anyway, this movie really captured my young imagination. I wanted to live a glamorous double life as a streetwalker. I didn’t want to be stalked by a serial killer though, so that really made me rethink my career aspirations. Still, I’ve always had a place in my heart for “Lolita” movies, like POISON IVY and THE CRUSH. What can I say? I identify.

OK, I’m not saying that WEIRD SCIENCE fucked me up per se, it’s just that high school boys building a better woman was a slightly troubling concept for us girls. Remember that scene where Hilly & Deb discuss how perfect Lisa is? There’s a scene like that in SIXTEEN CANDLES too, when the most popular girl in school showers naked. Molly Ringwald and her friend watch hopelessly, enviously. What girl hasn’t coveted another’s body, wished it was her own? *Sigh* Yup, Kelly LeBrock was utterly stunning (that bod, those boobs, that sexy accent and her lips rival Angelina Jolie’s), but she was also kind of a mother hen figure to Gary and Wyatt. Now I’m no Mary Kay Letourneau, but I do sometimes think younger guys are pretty cute. I once had this 16-year-old intern, K, and damn was he fine! If it weren’t for the fact that it was totally wrong and illegal (I was 22 at the time), I would’ve made out with him. He ended up confiding in me that he was having an affair with one of his teachers at school. Can I sniff ‘em out or what? 100 per cent pure Lolito.

I should really just devote this paragraph to James Spader admiration in general. PRETTY IN PINK, SEX LIES & VIDEOTAPE and SECRETARY may be entirely to blame for a past predilection towards smarmy “bad” boys. I put bad in quotes because they’re usually way more pussy than tough. Yet their arrogance, intelligence, repression and general demeaning attitude towards women sometimes prove perversely irresistible. Guys like Spader are a challenge. But they’ll also make you feel like shit. They are the antithesis of John Cusack’s characters, of whom I and every other woman my age and older adores, of course. Check out the "Spader, baby." post on my old MySpace blog.(I tried to link to it here, but it didn't work. Sorry.)

And then there’s Brad Pitt. I remember seeing THELMA & LOUISE in the theater as if it were yesterday. Geena Davis begs Susan Sarandon to pick up Pitt’s charming hitchhiker/hustler. Of course he rocks Thelma’s world. That scene where they get it on and he literally throws her all over the damn motel room, finally culminating in her first ever orgasm? Be still my beating 13-year-old heart! I mean, I’d felt love thumps before for Fred Savage during the “The Wonder Years,” but never had I ever experienced lust thumps for a real man. Brad Pitt was my first. Even when he steals their money and completely fucks them over, he was still my golden boy. When he chides“I like your wife” to Thelma’s bonehead husband and then gyrates his hips? Total meltage. Stick a fork in me Brad – stick anything in me Brad! – I’m done. I’m yours. Forever. Always. In fact, I met/interviewed him for TROY a few years back, and let’s just say he did not disappoint…everything I ever hoped Brad Pitt would be and more. Beautiful. Funny. Smart. Sexy. Charismatic. Perfection!

Finally, let’s end this on a freaky note, shall we? I spent an entire week during the summer of 1987 with a fever (head flu and stomach virus double feature) watching a horror movie marathon on the USA channel. I watched something like 30+ horror and gore flicks that week, both scared out of my mind and sick out of my gourd. HALLOWEEN, PSYCHO, CHILDREN OF THE CORN, TERROR TRAIN, PROM NIGHT, CARRIE, FRIDAY THE 13TH (parts I to VI), NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, CUJO, THE SHINING, THE EXORCIST, MONKEY SHINES, CHILD’S PLAY…the sick ‘n twisted list goes on and on. No surprise, I could not sleep that week. I’d crawl into my parents’ bed every night looking for some sense of reprieve from the demons that haunted me. One night, while my parents were out cold, I watched an even scarier 20/20 special on teen runaways…which brings me back full circle to those aforementioned ANGEL movies. Kinda neat when that happens, right?

In conclusion, despite my sex and horror and violence childhood (I have not even mentioned all the Sylvester Stallone, Chuck Norris and Ah-nuld movies my brothers and dad made me watch), I turned out COMPLETELY NORMAL. Can’t you tell? Take that Tipper Gore! Oh. What’s that you say? She only combatted against crude music/music videos? Well, that’s a whole other blog…

Films that F'kd Me Up, Part 1

2006-07-18T21:20:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned earlier in this blog, I was a precocious little girl. How precocious dare you ask? Well, one of the first movies my parents took me to see in the theater was PORKY'S when I was three (more about that later), I had two older brothers who taught me how to illegally steal the Playboy Channel when I was seven (I then passed the trick on to my friends' older brothers), and by nine years old, I'd secretly viewed most of my dad's porn collection. Despite these "questionable" formative experiences, I went on to become a relatively well-adjusted, high-honors student. OK, I did go through a short "elementary school slut" phase where I'd show the boys my non-boobies, but luckily we moved to a new town before things really got out of hand. In my new school, I was a Grade-A nerd. And I didn't care, because I was more than happy just sitting home watching cable. But I'll tell you what -- all the inappropriate/sexy movies I saw as a youngster paid off in the end. I received two A+'s in college: Writing About Violence & Horror in Film and Human Sexuality. Check out some of the movies that influenced my young mind...

Yes, it's true: My parents took me (3) and my brothers (6 & 8) to see PORKY's in the theater. When we asked my mom about this questionable parenting decision years later, she explained, "We thought it was a Porky Pig movie!" Sorry mom, but that answer doesn't quite cut it. PORKY's was Rated R. Helloooo. Then she offered, "Your father wanted to see it, and you and your brothers didn't want to leave." My parents should just admit they were very, very stoned that day. But anyway...scenes that still stick out in my mind are a young Kim Cattrall howling like a shewolf in heat while she gets boned by the male assistant phys. ed teacher in the office above the gymnasium, and of course, the scene where Pee Wee sticks his peepee through the hole in the girls' showers and the giant, scary female gym teacher grabs it and yanks, hard. Classic!

The scene above is where Stacy (Jennifer Jason Leigh) loses her virginity in FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH. Most guys remember this movie because of that whole Phoebe Cates getting out of the pool, unleashing her big wet tits thing. Sure, that was hot, but it was merely Judge Reinhold's masturbatory fantasy. JJL getting her cherry popped by some older dude she met at a mall to the strains of "Somebody's Baby" by Jackson Browne hit home *for reals*. I mean, my experience was obviously different. I lost it to my high school boyfriend and we were in love, yada yada, BUT I remember how badly I wanted to just get it over with, too. Then that sleazeball Damone banged Stacey in the pool house, ended up knocking her up, and she had to get an abortion. (That part did not happen to me.) Finally she ends up with that sweet nerdy guy who liked her all along. Awww. Oh yeah, and Sean Penn's surfer dude was adorably fuckable. Aloha Spicoli!

That there is Tom Cruise undressing Lea Thompson in ALL THE RIGHT MOVES. This is one of Tomkat's lesser known teen flicks, but the sex scenes make it a hidden treasure. For instance, there's this part early on in the movie where Tommy & Lea make out in a car, and the camera pans close-up on Tom's hand as he unzips Lea's fly, works his way inside her panties, and starts thrusting his fingers in & out. Damn! Later on in the movie, Lea comes over Tom's house wearing her marching band uniform. Yup, she was the hot version of the band camp girl. Anyway, he takes off her uniform and she's wearing *long johns* underneath. Only in the '80s man! Then they both get buck-nekkid and DO IT. Nice. By the way, my dad had both this one and RISKY BUSINESS on VHS. Which reminds me, I also loved the scene in RB where Tom scores with Rebecca DeMornay on a train/subway. Kinda became a little fantasy of mine; way hotter than the mile high club if you ask me. (I just want to note here that I am not and have never been attracted to Tom Cruise. But I was once gang-audited by a group of Scientologists in college... and I liked it, OK?!?!?!?)

Alright, I know this is a silly one, but GREASE 2 really captured my horny, pre-teen imagination. The song "Reproduction" was naughtier than anything in the original GREASE. And if you ask me, Michelle Pfieffer and Matthew Caulfield (haven't seen him again since EMPIRE RECORDS, remember: "Oh Rexy! You so sexy!") were totally hotter than Olivia Newton John and John Travolta. Just a personal preference. Anyway, "Stephanie" and "Michael" make out on the back of a motorcycle (biker sex), a T-Bird seduces a Pink Lady by tricking her into thinking World War III has begun (foreshadows post 9-11 sex) and the movie features a song called "Score Tonight." Plus, Ms. Pfeiffer straddling the top of a ladder singing "Cool Rider"? Check out these sex kitten lyrics:

I don't want no ordinary guys/Coming on strong to me/They don't know what I'm looking for/They don't know what I need/They're gonna know when he gets here/ Cause the crowd will be shaking/ I'll do anything to let him know/ That I'm his, his for the taking

Finally, an indie art house film. Once again, I don't know what my parents - specifically my mom - was thinking. We were on a family vacation in Nantucket and she decides to rent an old French lesbian schoolgirl film, ISABELLE AND THERESA. So I'm sitting there on the floor, drawing with my markers and pad, meanwhile my mom is in the midst of a sapphic film fest. WTF?! Later that night when my parents went out on the town, I told my brothers about the movie. They shut me out of the room and popped it back in the VCR. That was one of the few times that they appreciated their "narc" little sister ;)

*Keep an eye out for Films that F'kd Me Up, Part II, coming soon...

The Girl Next Door

2006-07-17T00:09:00.001-04:00

The other night I was out with my friend M who said she thought of me as a "girl next door" type. I must say, I was surprised by that comment. I more often get the whole "exotic" thing, and every now and then "creative" -- or, as a dude in a bar recently told me "You look like a medieval artist" -- whatever the hell that means. Anyway, I've always thought of my sweet lovely roommate as a better example of the girl next door. I pointed that out to M. She agreed, but then declared, "Ok, you're like the Playboy girl next door!" Now there's a compliment.

But you know what? When I started to think about it, I've been compared to quite a few celeb/pseudo-celeb "girls next door" over the years. One interesting/mysterious example is Elisabeth Shue. You know, from KARATE KID and ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING? I know what you're thinking -- we look nothing alike. I completely agree. But, *three* ex-boyfriends told me I reminded them of her. Apparently it's my voice. Weird, right? Here's Elisabeth in GND-mode, and then again in PGND-mode. [GND=Girl Next Door; PGND=Playboy Girl Next Door]

In high school, this boy I liked told me I reminded him of Six from the TV show "Blossom". I guess I should've been offended, but at the time I thought Jenna Von Oy was cute (way cuter than Mayim Bialik, hello!) and loved her outfits. Once again, the comparison was mostly due to a vocal reason -- I used to be quite the chatterbox when I was younger. Unlike today of course. Ha. But you gotta check out Jenna then and now. Yowza!

Remember that show "Boy Meets World"? Remember Ben Savage's girlfriend Topanga? Yeah, I used to get her too. What the hell happened to Danielle Fishel anyway? I'm pretty sure she got fat, but I did find a somewhat recent bondage-style shot of her. Whoa.

And then there were all those "That '70s Show" girl comparisons to Mila Kunis. Long dark hair. Check! Carefully manicured eyebrows. Check! Dating Macauley Culkin...no check. Anyway, I can see the similiarity to Jackie. She's a Ruskie, too. (I'm like 1/2 Russian.)Oh yeah, she also starred in the straight-to-video classic AMERICAN PSYCHO 2: ALL AMERICAN GIRL where she seduces William Shatner! Hot hot hot.

Finally, we're gonna take it way back to the actual 1970s with the girl next door from "One Day at a Time." No, not that bad apple Mackenzie Phillips. I'm talking about sweet younger daughter Barbara Cooper. When Valerie Bertinelli married Eddie Van Halen back in '81, she blew her good girl cover. Too bad she never starred in any of their videos a la Whitesnake's David Coverdale & Tawny Kitean. I'm sad to say that Valerie & Van Halen have since divorced, but must also tell you that my mom's boyfriend thinks *my mom* looks like Valerie Bertinelli now. It all makes sense right?

So you see, it's like a rite of passage to be a girl-next-door-turned-bad, or not really bad, but you know, turned Playboy Centerfold. Even if they are only on the cover of Stuff Magazine like Ms. Kunis, or in a King Magazine photo spread like Ms. Von Oy. And let us not forget Ms. Shue's Oscar nomination for playing a hooker (with a heart of gold, obviously) in LEAVING LAS VEGAS. Don't worry Topanga, there's hope for you yet!

Cat Whispers

2006-07-15T11:13:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time when I was a regular on Friendster, I started a photo blog called "Cat Whispers." It was all about my casual feline encounters all over the world. I loved that blog! And one day I accidentally deleted it. Catastrophe! I am gonna attempt to reassemble a facsimile of it here now:

This is Gremlin. I met him on Mykonos, a Greek "party" island. It was also a pretty "gay" place. Gremlin, however, was not getting much love from either sex. Not with that ugly mug! I easily decided he was the ugliest cat I'd ever seen, possibly the ugliest cat in the whole entire world! Sometimes I think ugly things are really cute, but he was a drooler too and definitely mental. I didn't have love for Gremlin, I pitied him. And then he tried to attack my friend. Being ugly will do that to a cat.

This here is an example of a gorgeous cat. His name is Tijs, and he is my cat-child. But as you can see, it is not merely a question of good genes (I gave birth to Tijs by immaculate catception), he also has poise and that certain "je ne sais quoi" which make him so handsome. If Tijs went to high school, this would be his yearbook photo.

Check out those Mediterranean thighs! OK, I must admit that I typically prefer a sleek cat over a fatty -- I'm just talking on a purely visual level. But, chunky fluffers like this guy can really win me over too! Santorini (the "breathtaking" and "ritzy" Greek island) had some stunning kitties, way more attractive and well-kept than the ones on Mykonos. Here's another beauty, I called her Calypso:

I definitely cheated on Tijs with Calypso. I visited Calypso in her garden everyday. We had a torrid 3 day love affair where I seriously considered catnapping her home with me to New York. Alas, though Manhattan is surely an island of hidden pleasures, it could never match the paradise that is Santorini. It just wouldn't have been fair. And so I bid her adieu and promised to return one day...

Finally, we have a representative from the St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands Marriott. He was a scaredy cat at first, but after I delivered the entire family an old room service tray, they all warmed up to me. In fact, this guy became so enamored he kitty-came all over my skirt! I was equally flattered and disgusted. Lucky he was so cute or I would've slapped him. Anyway, it's not his fault. He was a stray. As Bob Barker used to say, have your pet spayed or neutered. Meeeroow!

Not My Space, My Thumps

2006-07-15T03:10:00.000-04:00

Because this is my first post, I have to get a few things out of the way from the get-go. First of all, MySpace is like Internet crack for me right now and I am worried. I feel like I am way too attached to my page, as well as addicted to browsing others -- and for what? That damn site is sucking the life out of me. As Susan Powter said back in 1994, "Stop the insanity!"

So, here's what I'm gonna do. I'm not blogging on Myspace anymore. If you want to read my random essays and updates, ya gotta find me on Blogger from here on out. But here is the link to my archives, just in case:

Saryndipity

If you'd like to know more about me before you commit to reading my non-MySpace blog, here are my online network "about me" sections:

MySpace:
In France, they would call me la renard and I would be hunted with only my cunning to protect me! Actually, I am more kitten than fox. I wish I lived in ancient Egypt where I could be worshipped like the lovely, pedigreed housecat/jungle kitty that I am. I'd sleep a lot and frequently groom myself and stalk prey for fun. Right now, I want to travel the world and paint and write about all the interesting characters I meet. Maybe make a real movie one day, too. (Or maybe just write a porn screenplay, like, 1970s style.) I need to sleep more and ponder less. Plus, I'm a Gemini, so I embody many contradictory traits, and multiple personalities. Some other words to describe me include: intuitive-yet-impulsive,chatty-yet-thoughtful,safely- adventurous,seriously-goofy,knowing-yet-curious,obsessive-and-excessive,optimistic-yet-hopeless, suspicious-yet- gullible, flirty-yet-sincere,tricky-yet genuine,intellectual-yet-absurd,self aware-yet spacey,ambitious-yet-procrastinator,uninhibited-yet-old-fashioned, wise-yet-naive, cool-but-quirky,nymphet-yet- sweetheart,hot-tempered-yet-calm,passionate-yet-tender,a great friend,a cute lil sister,a good time...and verbose!

Friendster:
I was a precocious little girl. Mostly a straight-A student, so a nerd but with a quirky, independent, creative, dreamy side. intuitive. optimistic yet realistic. I'm a good friend and those who come into my life tend to stick around, or I keep in pretty close contact with those I care about. I care about a lot of people, but especially my family, best friends and pets. I love my cat, have a strong affinity towards animals and appreciate nature (especially living in NYC, I tend to seek beauty out where I can find it). This is becoming quite personally introspective, so I should also say that I have an intimately funny sense of humor that is somewhat sexually explicit, sometimes gross, and not very pc. yet i manage to be non-offensive most of the time. it might partially be due to my laugh, which is ever-ready. i'm naughty and goofy and tough and sweet all at the same time. i'm open-minded, enjoy surprises and adventures. travel is a drug. not afraid to dance. feminine yet undercover boyish. i want to make my mark on this world. i'm stimulated by change and motion, but can also be afraid of those things. i'm working on it, all of it.

So that's me in two nutshells. I myself am a nut, but my shell is not hard to crack, and I very much enjoy cracking others. I will crack you!

Finally, I want you to know this is not a diary. I already have one of those. I started writing it in 4th grade (the year I became self-aware/self-reflexive/self-reflective; 5th grade was the year I got my period) and do not ever plan to stop. This blog is for everything else that comes to mind that is not exceedingly personal or creatively attached to some other writing or work project of mine. I'm as self-absorbed as the next girl, but I have honest literary-esque aspirations here. And please post some comments, yo! Hearing back from you guys makes it all worthwhile to me. I need an audience who cares, and listens, and maybe even holds me after. As TLC once sang, "I ain't too proud to beg." Write me!

XOXO, Saryn