Read in the paper this morning that Giuliani evoked 9/11, stating this administration will continue the war on terror. Really? Is that why the convention's in the city with the highest terror alert? As if daring them to fuck with us?

But there's a cop every fifty feet or so. And a gaggle? pack? murder? of them on each corner. And they're not called New York City's Finest for nothing, let me tell you! aaaaarrrrrOOOOOO-gah!!!

Along that vane, today I decided to wear a thin shirt, no bra and put a little extra hitch in my giddyap for the walk to and from work. Just my way of saying thank you for standing around 12 hours at a stretch, encumbered with the heavy artillery and looking utterly delicious while doing so.

Oh, yeah: If you liked Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, you'll love Hero. Go while it's in theatres otherwise you'll be kicking yourself during viewing on an incomparable twenty-seven inch.

It's Eeeen the Cards....

After our date Saturday night, I took New Guy home and fucked his brains out.

I know what you're thinking- I jump PNY's shit, accusing him of treating me like a piece of ass and then I go and do this. Welp, here's the difference:

New Guy behaved like a total gentlemen i.e. not trying to grab my twat at the restaurant. And he didn't kiss me until we were alone, sitting on the dock of the bay. How romantical.

He's a Pisces. I've had two previous Pisces lovers (one and three years respectively) and the sex was mind blowing every single time.

He plays basketball five times a week so I knew he has the stamina to keep up with me. And an ass you could bounce a quarter off of -Holy Mary Mother of God!

So basically, we had an instant attraction/chemistry that was altogether lacking with PNY which made his advances vulgar.

Plus, with all those factors working, I figured what the hell? You only go round once, right?

Barring an email Wednesday morning, I've not seen hide nor hair of PNY.

The date was going well. So well that he asked me to think about spending Labor Day weekend with him in Atlantic City.

Too many drinks later, he tries to cop several feels (and succeeded once or twice). I playfully blew it off.

After that, we went to grab a bite. Under the table, he puts his hand on my inner thigh and moves it up. My first instinct was to close them on his hand. And not in a sexy way- I snapped those honeys shut like a spring-loaded trap to prevent any sneak previews of the Golden Palace of the Himalayas.

So I launch into an, "Am-I-just-a-piece-of-ass-to-you?" line of questioning. Well obviously, but since we'd been drinking from 5:30 to 11:30 (with no dinner up until this point), my brain exceeded the capacity for rational thought. He dismissed my claims, as any man (regardless of intentions) would. I conceded, he suggested we forget the whole thing happened.

Which was fine by me. Now I believe he meant the entire date.

In his email on Wednesday morning, he infact mentioned that when we go out again, we have to set a school night curfew, blah, blah, blah...

But again, since then- bubkis: no calls, no emails. And you know what- I'm not even going to try to analyze this. It's a game of show and tell. He's telling me nothing but showing me everything, as Don Coccotti said.

So whatev. I already have another date for Saturday night.

Yesterday would have been my grandmother's 94th birthday and today is my niece's third. She could've been born yesterday had it not been for my sister's jerk-off first baby daddy- but that's another story entirely.

My first thoughts about Nanny (as we called her) yesterday was how she always queried if we would cry when she dies. Didn't think anything of it at the time, but now strikes me as an oddly morbid question to ask a child. But she did it with a smile cause the answer was always a resounding yes.

As a teen-ager, sometimes she made me so mad (again, a different story). But now I can only remember how much I wanted to stay with her when we were kids. Listening to PopPops (what we called our grandfather) sing "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" along with the ceramic Blue Jay music box. They also had a Cardinal, but the tune escapes me. And how Nanny called him "Daddy" from the kitchen, the smell of fried chicken cutlets hanging in the air. Pokeno and pound cake. The clack of her necklaces hitting the back of the bedroom door. Five different candy dishes on the white marble coffee table. The velvet Valentino hanging in the den. Riding in her ragtop '74 bronze Impala, ever-vigilant Saint Christopher on the dash. And in the morning how she'd tell us the disheveled bed looked like, "Who did it and ran?" I use that phrase often and it never fails to gets a laugh. And in the back of my mind I thank her for giving me that little gem.

Movie Review

Was the title of my girl's email. She attended a showing last evening. Something I wanted to see, against my better judgement. I don't have a good track record with horror. No sleep for three days after The Ring.

The body of the text contained three words:

"Worst Exorcist Ever"

That's a shame. Even though I can't imagine anything stinking up the joint worse than Exorcist II: The Heretic. Maybe I'll just read the book again.

Completely exhausted after work, I fell asleep before the bus left Port Authority.

Forty minutes later, I awake to find we haven't even reached the toll plaza to the Turnpike and being re-routed to hook around past the Meadowlands. Great. That always adds at least another half hour to the trip. In less than sixteen hours, an extra two have been added to my commute. Then the batteries in the disk player went dead.

Anyone who knows me at all can imagine how hopping mad I am at this point. My ass is numb, the lady next to me has denture breath and the AC is cranked so high, my extremities will be good for 6-8 weeks without freezer burn.

So I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths and alternately flex my glutei maximi to regain sensation.

As we reconvene with the Turnpike, I look out the window at the oncoming traffic, now exiting- on their way home. Lucky bastards. I happen to glance down and notice something in the middle of the road. As the bus approaches, it becomes obvious someone haphazardly discarded a penis-shaped dildo before reaching the tollbooth (I knew I should have bought that camera phone). Were they fishing for change, received an unexpected surprise and hastily tossed it out the window? Took a vow of celibacy and decided right then and there to cast off the shackles? In the midst of a lover's spat and wanted to spite their partner? My mind raced with possibilities. Funny (funny strange, not funny ha-ha) how a piece of silicone rubber can melt the vexatiousness around me....

I liked to romance those sexy little things. I used to make love to my Twinkies. I would slowly bite the round, bulbous end, exposing a dime-sized, cream-filled hole in the middle, then languidly loll the golden baked perfection around in my mouth, sending my taste buds into a sensual nirvana, before gulping the first bit down.

Then I would turn to my half-naked Twinkie, beckoning me with her white creamy insides wide open, begging me to have my way with her.

And have my way I would.

...And it goes on like that. This is a man after my own heart.

Sesame chicken combo plate then a quick snooze with Kid A on the headphones does wonders.

Ladies, check this out: The Body Shop's Papaya Dry Oil Mist. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking some up. Luscious can't even begin to describe how you'll smell.

Now I'm trying to find a way to scam out of work early. Probably not going to happen since half the office is on vacation. So I'll have to lock myself in the conference room during lunch and cop a quick snooze.

Stick your head in gravy....

Russia plans to protest over many gymnastics scores at the Athens Games to the president of the International Olympic Committee.

Simply put, Russia is unhappy with the scores for Nemov — who did not receive a medal Monday — and for women's all-around silver medalist Svetlana Khorkina.

"I knew well in advance, even before I stepped on the stage for my first event, that I was going to lose," she reportedly told the Russian media. "I practically did everything right, still they just set me up and fleeced me," she said. "These competitions have shown the sport needs a lot of changes."

Sorry, honey, the words "practically did everything right" and "Olympic Gold" are never found in the same sentence. Unless "and didn't win" comes between them.

Random Ruby Thoughts:

Has pulling a door into the frame and releasing the handle instead of letting momentum slam it shut gone the way of covering your mouth when you cough?

Guy at the bar in Maine mentions to me that at age seven, he and his mother visited NYC and some guy called them "White Devils" and it really, really hurt. Yeah- Welcome to New York. Now go home. Then practically in the same breath says he has no use for white people.

Does this guy ever work?

I, on the other hand, am in negotiation for a position change at work which will, in essence, be a promotion.

Tonight I have a date (the first) with PNY.

According to The Post's stupid bloropope, I'm going to make an ally and an enemy today. What the fuck is up with that?!

Have I mentioned that Maine is stupid? Well, it is. New Hampshire, on the other hand, FUCKIN' ROCKS!!! They're short, sweet and to the point: Liquor stores are state owned, so the booze is wicked cheap wherever you go and there's no tax. If you have the means, I highly suggest a day trip to (if anything else) stock your bar. Wooo! Cocktails at my place!

If loving you is wrong....

Maine is stupid except for one thing: Blueberry Ale.

Since I'll go into anaphylactic shock if I so much as look at shellfish, this is will be me ordering at every restaurant this weekend, " *Sigh* I guess I'll have the Maine Beef Wellington...." Cripes, how lame. But I'll make up for it in other ways, "Do your martinis have much shrimp?"

I'll be back Monday with a plethory of whacky stories, I'm sure. But if you start pawing for tales of the deliciously absurd beforehand- check out Chris D's story SCUG. Chris Finn's What Your Favorite Album Says About You. And Functional Ambivalent now posts Sex Day on Saturdays because he's been too busy on Friday. Which sounds like an excuse to me...

Olamepics

Okay, so you know you're watching too much coverage when you dream Michael Phelps is in your office, showing off his gold medals. And you sit together at your desk and cry patriotic tears of joy.

But I can't stop now- tonight is the Men's Gymnastics all around finals. I'll take a break this weekend in Maine and charm some Scots.

By the way, am I the only person on this coast watching the games?! Seriously. All my conversations start with, "Oh man, did you see such-and-such?" And back comes the schnook response, "No, I was watching Everybody Loves Raymond."

If you're one of the people reading me from Singapore, Australia (in love with Thorpe, by the way) or even Boise -Gimme a shout! (Click left on Chala!). As you may have already deduced by the content, I adore making new friends.

Man, I'd sure like some Hamm spindle action all over my pommels.... What the fuck did I just say?

I don't know what that means, exactly. And it'd probably sound dirtier coming from a guy. But anyway- nothing like Men's Gymnastics to make you feel physically inadequate, no? It's terrific USA won a medal because after watching them fuck up left and right during the qualifying rounds, I didn't think they had shot. However, the Japanese team captivated me. They flittered all over the pommel horse like hummingbirds. And their high bar routines included extremely difficult releases which were executed flawlessly. Kudos! But my favorite individual gymnast had to be the Romanian Jeff Gillooly. Like his American counterpart- he got the job done!

But enough of that shit. Last night, my belief that married men will cheat given the right circumstances was reinforced yet again. Now, I have no doubt he loves his wife and wants to spend the rest of his life with her. Unfortunately (for us women), that has nothing to do with monogamy.

I just hope my future husband is savvy enough to keep it well hidden from me. I have no problems cuttin' a bitch.

Man, Friday night was a blast! The Cuz and I enjoyed many, many beverages at some joint on 9th Avenue since it poured for a good portion of the evening. Yet, we still sat outside, protected by the canopy since New Yorkers are so much fun to watch. But with engaging conversation and lots of booze, everything else tends to fade out. That's why we were blindsided by some lady off the street that sat down next to us and introduced herself by saying that I was an old soul in a new body. Cripes, woman. Go sell that shit to the tourists cause I ain't buyin. I used to work for a phychic hotline so there's nothin you can tell me I ain't already fed to some other schmuck.

However, the Miller Girls were most welcome at our table. They invited us to take the Rock Trivia Challenge and we gladly accepted. For the life of me, I could not remember the title to Buffalo Springfields, "For What It's Worth." Hey, I was a few beers in at that point. But we did well considering and were rewarded with a bunch a swag- visor (my favorite Summer accessory), t-shirt, free MP3 downloads and a couple of tall, cold ones. Glorious!

It's a good thing that earlier, as a sign of solidarity, I deleted the Ex's phone numbers from the celly infront of Cuz cause the ride home became drunk dialing time. And I really wanted to talk to him. But it wouldn't have pretty. It's been a while, so I'm in pissed-off mode and the conversation would have subconsciencely gone that route. And I probably would have thrown out some shit to hurt him with the ultimate slap, "I cheated on you. A lot. With your friends." Which, natch, isn't true. But he's so insecure, he would have believed it.

So, again, good thing I deleted the number.

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

Matt Damon has confessed he wants to star in a porn movie.

The heartthrob actor said: "What I want to do is make a character-driven porn movie. It's all going to be about the character and the porn's going to grow out of the characters."

Soooooo....I'd be called "Good Will Humping?" "All the Pretty Whores'?" "Legend of Tea-Bagger Vance?" "Stuck on You?" What?

I love living in New Jersey. Never a dull moment.

Between cocktail outtings and late night confidential conversations, my total sleep hours for the week is up to a whopping eighteen! I need to be saved from myself. But since I feel alright and don't look as haggard as one would suspect, tonight will be spent atop The Met enjoying drinks, the view and heady exchanges with my girl. Provided the predicted torrential downpours have subsided by then, naturally.

Which means I'll miss the opening ceremony of the Olympics. But the Post has an insert listing all events, times and stations. So I'll be able to get my fill this weekend. (huh, huh..insert..fill). I'm beside myself with excitement to see Li Xiaopeng in action again. And it's not solely because I relish opportunities to say his name.

No-effin-way:

McGreevey Resigns

Thursday, August 12, 2004

Rumor Patrol
We're receving a flood of e-mail from people who have heard the same rumors we've been hearing all day. In short, the rumor is that the governor is stepping down because he is facing an accusation of sexual misconduct involving another man. There, we said it.

Via NYC Tales, I received an email about a Craig's List post:

813Casting is looking for groups of (up to) three outgoing, fun and adventurous people who want to compete in organized scavenger hunts that will air on TV as a series of self-contained reality programs. Teams will race against the clock,perform a set of tasks and reach a final location. Group with the fastest time
will receive a grand prize.

And all I could think, "Been there. Done that." They should've had the cameras on us, cause it'd be a hellava lot more interesting than anything a bunch of TV writers could come up with.

And then do follow up interviews. Because a month later, as I discussed last evening with a fellow XSHunter, our lives are still effected by it. I'm walking around flashing people at the drop of a hat. One of the Hunters recently served some jail time as a direct result. And apparently, illegitimate son of John Holmes is still pissed he didn't win "Biggest Dick: Exposed."

Too much, too much. Last night I drank too much....

Just found out that we'll have regular business hours during the Republican Convention. But they'll take into consideration tardiness due to security delays. Gee, thanks.

And now the NYPD and FDNY are threatening a strike because the want more money. With all due respect: Fuck you. How dare you use a matter of citywide security as leverage to further your own agenda. Hey, you absolutely deserve more money, no question. But these manipulation tactics are gauche.

World's First Bigfoot Hooker

"She is more woman than most men can handle. When she wraps her paws around you it's like wearing a luxurious mink coat you never want to take off," says exhausted john.

Local pimp Francois T. Francois says Helen is a dream come true for him. "I've got the best car in town now," says Francois proudly. "Helen is a work horse."

Awww, yeah! For KellyGirl's birthday, we've booked rooms for the Maine Highland Games.

It's Ewan McGregor's fault for making that accent so damn sexy.

After work last night, I indulged in a couple of Genny Creams (on tap) with my ex, Travis. We talked about days past and shared perspectives on the demise our relationship (which we chalked up to youthful impetuousness). Even now, I have nothing but love for this man.

Too tipsy to cook, I decided to keep drinking. Then got on the horn with a potential yummy until 2:30am. Believe you me, I'm paying for it now. I feel like five pounds of crap in a three pound sack.

Big circles under my bloodshot eyes, blotchy face, beads of sweat on my forehead- extremely alluring. While trying to assuage this fright with powdered concealer, the HR nightmare of a co-worker I call Archie Bunker walks over to me. "What's the matter with your face?" He asks. "I don't know," I lied, "My skin has been whacky." So he says, "Maybe you're ovulating."

And my brain just stopped.

"No! No!" He insists, "That's what happens to Joanie (his wife) when she..."

Before he could finish the sentence, I threw up my hands and expounded incoherent protests, "Dah, bit, epp! Just cut your losses with this conversation, huh?"

I don't have the energy to deal with this today.

Not much went down on the home front this weekend. Unless you count Jay's impromptu photo session with DogGirl which included (but not limited to) her dog, Bacardi, and various bodily functions.

Don't ask for details. I cringed at what little few (unsolicited, I might add) he gave me.

Cruising past my brother's door when I got home last night, I heard two other voices. It sounded like his best friend and girlfriend, who visit frequently.

It was late and I had to turn on the kitchen light. So, I'm pulling produce out of the refrigerator and I hear my brother's door open..... then shut..... then open again. I'm thinking, "Mmmmm'kay?" when DogGirl flies by in just a towel to use the bathroom.

While I'm thrilled my brother's doing a little double-team action, I just wish it was with someone a little less skanky. I'm running out of Lysol™.

Ever since we started having 100% humidity, my phone's been all jacked up. In order to see the LCD screen, turning the damn thing off then back on became a requirement. And while copying my address book onto paper last night, it went kaputz.

So after work, I went down to the Sprint store and an hour later, I purchased a new phone. I was this close to picking up a picture/video phone didn't feel like putting up the three bills for it (even though I'd eventually get back $150). I switched to an LG make since Samsung has been nothing but trouble.

While standing on line, the guy next to me pulled the old, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" and oddly, he did look familiar but I couldn't place him. Anyway, he had the same phone and experienced the same problems so was there for the same reason.

And as we're talking, HFG walks by outside, sees me and waves.

I've randomly run into him thrice this week. The first time was very, "Hello. How are you? Fine? Me too," bologna chit-chat. Since the minutes ticked down before my bus left, I cut the conversation short.

"You're still mad at me, aren't you?" What a fucking egomaniac. I was never mad nor gave him any indication as such. Secondly, that would denote I actually give a shit.

With a smug smile came the reply, "If that were true, I wouldn't stop to talk to you." Deek.

I need some inspiration. Rob?

A Taoist parable tells of a poor farmer who owned a single horse. One night it ran away. The neighbors came to offer condolences. "What bad luck!" they said. "Maybe," the farmer replied. "Maybe not." A week later, the fugitive horse returned, accompanied by six wild horses. The farmer and his son corralled them. "Lucky you!" the neighbors cried. "Maybe," the farmer said. "Maybe not." Soon the son tried taming the new arrivals. A stallion threw him to the ground, breaking his leg. "Terrible luck!" the neighbors wailed. "Maybe," said the farmer. "Maybe not." The next day, soldiers visited the village. Strife had broken out between two warlords, and one had decided to conscript the local young men. Though every other son was taken, the farmer's boy was spared because of his injury. "What fantastic luck!" the neighbors said. I think this story captures the essence of your coming week pretty well, Scorpio.

Um, that doesn't help.

CIA Asks Bush To Discontinue Blog

According to McLaughlin, several recent entries on PrezGeorgeW. typepad.com have compromised military operations, while other posts may have seriously undercut the PR efforts of White House press secretary Scott McClellan.

July 25, 2004
Condie came over all worked up today because of some Al Qaeda chater about Boston last week. I told her to CALM DOWN. I love her, of course, but she's really high-strung sometimes, you know? Chill out, sister.

I keep a bowl of candy on my desk, available to anyone who wants a piece (I'm going for a younger demographic since guys my age have these pesky quirks like priorities, responsibilities and goals). Anyway, a co-worker is rifling through, picks up an orange lollipop and in all seriousness asks, "What flavor is this?" .......Um, butternut squash.

That's almost as good as the guy that didn't think Coffee Mate™ goes in tea.

Dracula: The Musical!

No, that's not a carry-over from my post about sequels. I acquired some comp tickets for a preview last night at The Belasco. Imagine the Coppola movie Bram Stoker's Dracula, only with singing every two to five minutes.

The costumes, scenery and music created a wonderfully macabre mood. And they did a supreme job of capturing Dracula's gliding gait, the ability to disappear and reappear an inch from your face and gift of flight. Obviously, a lot of work went into choreographing such feats but the illusion would have been more sustainable if I wasn't in the mezzanine and saw every trap door, moving floorboard and fishing line.

And I think somebody forgot to tell the crew the golden backstage rule, "If you can see the audience, the audience can see you." Also not to wear khakis.

Tom Waits remains the best Renfield, evah. But this Mina showed more tit than that uptight Winona ever would.

Ken The Impaler, as he would now like to be called, didn't know the story and couldn't figure out why Dracula haunted Mina so, especially since he already had hot-ass Lucy and three other chicks at home. That plot point was merely implied once or twice and would not be distinguishable to an unacquainted audience.

But here's what I don't get: I took Ken to dinner and a show and he didn't even give me anal! Just the promise of anal, "Next time," he says, "And you have to get yourself drunk." What the hell, people?!

Functional Ambivalent poses a rational answer to my lamentations on golf:

Marietta's is a meaningless question when, clearly, it's possible to have both.

What can I say? Self-control is not my strong suit.

And so the story goes....

Holy crap, I'm swamped today. Which seems odd since there's been very little client contact. Yesterday was a friggin ghost town. Admittedly, I'm a bit nervous and cops walking around with anti-aircraft devices doesn't help.

So I'm going to take a moment to be silly.

Is it me, or are movie sequels the new black? How many are out this Summer, twelve? Although I've yet to indulge in a blockbuster, the anticipation for The Exorcist prequel makes me nervous and excited.

Along those lines, here's my list of great movie sequels:

Godfather II
The Road Warrior
Airplane II: The Sequel
T2
Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
The Empire Strikes Back
The Great Muppet Caper
and of course: Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights

Although Evil Dead 2 is technically a remake, it's still worthy of note. And then I got to thinking about sequels that'd be as silly as The Two Jakes or Attack of the Clones:

From Justin to Kelly II: We Swear It Won't Suck
Bonnie and Clyde and Ted and Alice
Texas Chainsaw Tea Party
Braveheart II: O Mio Babbino Caro
Soilent Green 2! Now with more people!

Eh, that's all I got. Wanna help me out here?

So, uh, tell me: Is, "I have an early tee time," the male counterpart to, "I'm washing my hair?" Or is golf better than sex?

Things I vaguely remember from the Yankee Game:

*The name of the cutie Latina girl that snuck us $5 beer refills

*Making random phone calls

*Shots at the bar across the street

*The Score

*Some yummy licking the beer he spilled off my arm

*Calling this lady on the train a "withered old clam" because she insulted my friend

*Flashing the guy I was talking to at a bar in Yonkers