Resolutions

I'm not a dieter.

I generally try to eat healthy, but if I have a craving for a two cheeseburger meal from McDonald's, I'll eat it. If Doritos makes a delicious new flavor like guacamole, I'll pick up a bag. I've never been a big sweets or dessert person, so that's not an issue. I indulge, but I don't overindulge.

Now, since The Breakup, I've indulged. A lot. Enough, in fact, to have put on 10 pounds in one month. Yep, I'm a big fatty. And since I have a date with Potential Rebound Boy #1 next week, drastic measures must be taken. So I'm on the South Beach Diet. Aside from decreasing my big fat ass, other resolutions include:

More: exercise, writing, fun

Less: booze, cigarettes, ex-boyfriend

Just like the Energizer bunny

In case y'all wanted an update, the Longest Breakup in the History of the World is still going strong. For two people who don't want to get back together and share no property or children, this is certainly very complicated.

Missing people sucks

I had a good friend once who I made the mistake of getting involved with. We had a great road trip, two weeks of bliss, and then I lost my friend forever. I don't think about him often, but sometimes, like when I need someone to appreciate my Buffy theme song ringtone, or when I'm eagerly anticipating an Old Navy trip, I wish I still had him, as a friend, to snark at the world with.

In other news, I showed Mom my Nerve Personals profile on Christmas Eve and she said, "You look like a porn star in that picture! You'll attract very weirdo in New York!"

"Every weirdo in New York" is a big thing with Moms.

All I got for Christmas was Spooge

A letter to the male of the species who spooged all over the elevator keys in my building

I'm sure you have no idea what kind of commute I had today. The train from Saratoga was one hour late, hung out for an hour in Albany and then had a battery failure right outside of Yonkers. My three hour trip took a not-fun five and a half hours. I didn't complain, mind you, although I did tell one complaining passenger to "shut the fuck up" (if you only knew my sweet, innocent face). Then, much to my delight, I got a cab immediately upon exiting Penn Station to take me home.

Upon walking into my buillding, I picked up the mail and then got into the elevator.

Is that ice cream all over the floor buttons? I asked myself, until the pink (!) condom resting over the top of the button module, dripping spooge, told me otherwise.

Listen, I'm all for sex in elevators. We've all done it. But at the very least, clean up the spooge. If you used a condom, there's no reason for mess. Really. No one wants to walk up five flights of stairs with heavy bags.

While I'm glad perverts are being careful these days, don't do it on the 5th floor button please.

How big is your uterus?

December 2003 search engine terms that have brought the searching public to me:

4: small uterus
2: cavefish
2: blindcavefish
1: drooling over scott speedman
1: scott speedman telephone
1: michelle williams december 2003 -aida -destiny's child
1: uterus large
1: all about uterus
1: jess
1: uterus sprinkle
1: little assholes
1: in the uterus of love we are all blind cave fish
1: ingrown eyebrow
1: what is a small uterus
1: blind cavefish
1: no response to percoset

On holiday dating

A few years ago, I learned that I'm not cut out for dating different boys simultaneously. Consecutively, sure. I decided to take a second shitty job to supplement my meager income from my first shitty job. First job was in the merchandising department of an evil, near-monopoly media distributer. The second was manning a blown glass kiosk in the mall. It was at the latter that I met Ray and Joe.

Ray was a sweet, young ex-convict who had done 18 months for armed robbery. He was pretty damn adorable while he washed dishes at Friendly's, and routinely brought me free milkshakes.

Joe was a cop-in-training who worked at Cellular One. He asked me out several times before I finally said yes. He did not give me free cellphones, but he did buy me gifts that, had he ever listened to a word I said, he would have realized I would never possibly like them.

I dated them both for about a month. When Ray snuck over to talk to me, Joe would peek out of the Cellular One window. One would be over and the other would call. It was getting bad, and I knew I either had to fess up or choose one. I decided Joe, while not as cute, didn't have a record and was probably the more logical choice (although I suspected him to be a Republican). Ray was a little sad, but said he'd understood.

Ironically, once I finally broke it off with The Republican Cop-in-Training (how weird is that?), he was the one who turned out to be a crazed stalker.

On second thought, maybe I don't want to start dating again.

Rebounding girls have more fun

Why girls on the rebound make great dates:

1. They will do everything sexual with you that they wouldn't do with the ex, out of spite.
2. You don't have to work hard to impress them. "Not the ex" will suffice.
3. They are far too self-absorbed to waste any precious time overanalyzing you. They don't care about your Mommy issues.
4. They are determined to look hot all the time, because they want male attention AND they might run into the ex.

If I think of more, I'll add to the list. On that note, I met a delightful Rebound Boy Possibility, and we have a tentative date scheduled post-New Year. I'll keep you posted on that front.

Strange days

I had a nearly pornographic dream last night, about a former coworker I was never particularly attracted to. And then I woke up with Sister Christian stuck in my head.

I have a feeling this is going to be a very strange week.

C'mon, you can tape The Simple Life and watch it later

On Tuesday nights in January, I will be making the world a better place nights. If I wasn't, I would most definitely sign up for The Juicy Details, a dating/improv show that Pete is working on. Free dinner and a funny show - that's a great deal, single New Yorkers! So sign up now.

Holiday fun

Had a lovely evening yesterday. First, a fancy schmancy holiday party at the Essex house. Much like my last job, the sales people were first on the dance floor. Much unlike my old job, there was no making out outside the venue, no ecstasy being handed out, and no one getting banned for life from the venue.

After sharing a delightful few hours with my coworkers, I headed over to Joe's Pub to see the always entertaining international pop stars Rene Risque and the Art Lovers. If you've never seen them, I highly recommend it. If not for the lovely music or the sexually-charged stage show, then for Ms. Luffa Barre, who is so hot it hurts to look at her. Seriously. I don't dig chicks, but when I see her, my mind goes to a very, very dirty place. The woman IS sex.

Meet Lex!

Ok, I don't often get excited about babies (or ever, really) but how can I not get a little bit excited when it's my nephew?

Who knew I was such a softie? I'm still not holding him, though.

Never underestimate the power of Craig's List

I posted this on Missed Connections last week:

MC with my favorite bartender (Double Happiness)

There I was, looking forward to a night of flirting outrageously with my favorite bartender in my second-favorite bar last night, only to find out you don't work there anymore. Looks like I'll have to find a new second-favorite bar now.

And today I had this email exchange:

Any chance he was tall, dark, sort of bald?

That's the one. Anthony.

That's funny. He's a friend of mine and I told him about the post...

Ha, that is funny. Well, if you happen to talk to him, feel free to tell him Jessica misses his gin and tonics :)

Can I give him your email?

Sure!

It really does work. Who knew?

Need a last-minute gift for that special lady in your life?

If you don't want to buy your special lady friend jewelry, then you should pick up this book that my writer extraordinaire friend Lissa co-authored.

My heart bleeds just like yours

It's not that I don't agree wholeheartedly with nearly every opinion Michael Moore expresses. I just don't know that I want him as our spokesperson.

Can we have Al Franken?

Sing, sing out loud

In anticipation of sneaking forties into Sing Sing (or another fine karaoke establishment in this here town) when Yael gets to the mainland, a set list.

Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin (solo)
The entire Britney Spears collection (backup)
Kiss Me Deadly - Lita Ford (backup)
Just Like a Pill - Pink (solo)
I got you, Babe - Sonny & Cher (duet)
Love Shack - B-52's (ensemble performance)
Whatta Man - Salt n' Pepa and En Vogue (just the girls)

It's karaoke, folks. It's not supposed to be good.

Rainy days and Mondays don't always get me down

This is the first official day I have not felt compelled to cry at my desk, and I don't foresee it happening in the last 2.5 hours of my day, either.

Yee haw.

On raising well-behaved cats

I have accepted many of my cats' horrific behaviors.

Mulder likes to eat the toilet paper? Fine, I'll just keep it under the sink. He also likes to find a well-populated area of a tabletop, spread his fat ass out for a nap and knock everything onto the floor. I adjusted. I know that my bathroom sink will forever be full of cat hair due to his incessant lounging there. I don't complain.

On to you, John Brown. You opened up the fridge and pulled out every piece of meat you can get your little paws on. I shook my head and dutifully strung up some bungee cords to keep you out. You urinated on my futon. Again and again and again. After trying medication, sprays and punishment, I now take off the cloth cover and simply let you do your business on the plastic cover below, and wash when appropriate.

So imagine my surprise Saturday morning when I woke on the futon (I've been sleeping there until the ex moves his stuff out of the bedroom) to discover that, while I slept, John Brown had, in fact, peed on me. After all of my I-love-you-just-the-way-you-are Mommishness. I'm plotting my revenge as I speak.

On Saddam

That Dubya is one lucky motherfucker. And that's all I'm going to say on that.

Regarding my boys

What's the protocol on post-breakup pet visitation?

All that gin...for nothing

I went to Double Happiness, my second-favorite bar last night to flirt outrageously with my favorite bartender. It's been a few months since I've been in, and I was horrified to see a strange boy behind the bar. Even more horrified to find out that he just didn't switch nights, he left his job. For three years I've gone to that bar and swooned over him. And now he's gone, with no forwarding address.

Anthony, I'll miss you.

Because everyone needs a hug

Because work seems so pointless on a Friday afternoon, I've been reading other people's dirty little secrets. Check them out and try not to get addicted. I dare you.

Hail to the Queen

You may not know this, but there is a secret society of ex girlfriends who, when it is after midnight and more than four drinks have been consumed, call their most recent exes to berate them for every wrong they have ever committed.

They are known as the Drunk Dialazons, and I am their Queen.

Boy toy wanted

Newly single girl seeks boy toy to join team. Responsibilities including, but not limited to; sexual tasks TBD based on ability, drinking copious amounts of red wine, eating takeout in bed. Potential for conversation and reality television watching. Ideal candidate is cute, single and articulate with no sexual hangups, no attachment issues and some boy toy experience. Competitive compensation and full benefits available for the right candidate. Smokers OK.

Please note: This is an on-call, temporary position.

Pant...pant...pant...

It is, quite literally, six billion degrees in my office today. I can't decide whether to fall asleep on my desk, throw up or get naked. One thing I know for sure, there will be no working. Not even my Hole CD can perk me up right now.

Barely legal

I've never been a big fan of Internet porn, but boy does this get me hot.

Holly's 15 seconds

So Holly, hottie librarian, slut and potty mouth extraordinaire has been longing to have me quote her. She has gone so far as to email me jokes she told that amused her, point out her funny quips over IM, etc. Today she made it! She's afraid to buy sex toys in her town because she fears she'll be walking down the street with a bag bearing the name of the store and people will say, "Look, the librarian bought sex toys!" To illustrate her point, she told me about last evening's bar antics that were observed by a library visitor.

There was this dude we met there. And of course I was smoking, drinking, lighting matches on my crotch zipper, etc...

Of course you were, Holly. And that's why I love you.

Getting over him

So I was bored at work one day last week - not because I didn't have anything to do, mind you - but because my work is so. boring. I. want. to. die and would usually rather be doing something else. I started doing Google searches for some insight into getting over a serious relationship. While most of the suggestions were quite pedestrian (hang out with your girlfriends, take bubble baths, seduce the hot bartender you've always had a thing for -- kidding on that last one), one of them struck me as fantastic. Set a reasonable date to end your greiving and stick to it.

It's been fantastic. I don't feel guilty about not doing the dishes. I don't get embarrased when I cry over Lifetime movies. If I want to lay on the couch for an entire weekend and watch a Punk'd marathon, then goddammit I will. Showering? Optional. Shaving my legs? Whatever for! Manicure? Nah. And this is my last night to do just that.

Other noteable dates I've set in this process:
This past Sunday: Stop sending the ex evil text messages whenever I feel the urge
Friday, 12/12: Start sleeping in my bed again. The middle of it. Not just my side
Monday, 12/15: Get my lazy ass back to the gym and start eating healthy

There will surely be more dates to come. Now, about that bartender...

I need tweezers, pronto

Oh my God I have this ingrown eyebrow hair it's thick and peeking out just a little bit and I just cut all my nails off and I can't get it and no one has tweezers and I keep trying to pull it and I've been doing it for about an hour and my eyebrow is all red and puffy now but I still can't stop until I get it or go crazy whichever happens first.

Lord of the geeks

I am so horribly disappointed that my office holiday party is on the same night as the Lord of the Rings opening.

I am such a geek.

On being a good host

The girls came over last night to watch Angels in America last night (which I like much better now that I know it's a two-parter and yes, I feel like a dumbass thank you very much) and eat my delectable pork chops with sage and prosciutto cooked in a buttery white wine sauce. A little back story - the roommate and I lack a certain coordination that most normal people have. We break things, we spill things - at least 15 wine glasses have met their end in the past year or so.

Last night there was a shoe polish accident, several stubbed toes and for the grand finale, I launched a half-full (optimist!) glass of red wine right at Alyssa, staining not only the Christmas-themed tablecloth, but her brand new powder-blue corduroys. Thank God she still loves me, and even agreed to be my date for New Year's.

The Christmas tree has been up for about 24 hours. Place your bets now on when the first metallic Martha Stewart ornament shatters to bits, and whether myself, the roommate, or diabolical cats Mulder and John Brown will be responsible.

Just call me a pear and eat me

I get a lot of hand-me-downs from the roommate, which is nice as her taste in clothing is lovely. It works like this - anything that's too small on top and/or too large on the bottom goes to me.

While I'm perfectly happy with my average breasts and my J.Lo ass, I have to say it's a little depressing.

The exact conversation I would have with my therapist if I decided to go back for assistance in dealing with the breakup

Doc: Do you think this is a pattern?

Me: What?

Doc: Falling in love with guys that can't love.

Me: Maybe. Do you think it is?

Doc: It doesn't matter what I think.

Me: What did you just write down?

Doc: Let's take a look at your past relationships. It's important for you to come to these conclusions yourself.

Me: But if you could just tell me what's wrong with me, we could just skip a whole step and I'd be better that much faster, right?

Doc: Let's take a look at your past relationships.

Me: [cringe] No, it is a pattern.

Doc: And why do you think you seek out these types of relationships-

Me: I don't seek them out. I have no way of possibly knowing-

Doc looks down her nose at me.

Me: [eyes rolling] Because deep down, I think I don't deserve love.

Doc: And why is that?

Me: I don't know. What do you think?

Doc: Jessica…

Me: What did you just write down?

I think I'll skip the 20th reunion

I am comforted by the fact that even I cannot finish a double-sized bottle of wine in one sitting. Not so comforted by the fact that I saw the high school reunion photos and don't remember a single one being taken. Nor do I remember the identity of the boy I'm so blatantly flirting with in them.

Manners Schmanners

I don't understand why people in midtown don't say "thank you" when you hold doors for them. It doesn't happen elsewhere.

Nicole who?

Say what you will about Paris Hilton, but I wouldn't pluck the feathers off of a dead chicken either. I don't even eat chicken, I certainly wouldn't dismember one. My favorite line from The Simple Life?

I'd go without food for six weeks before I'd go without my cell phone!

Seriously, I love this show. Love it. It's like Paris and Nicole are aliens who were just dropped on Earth and are trying to figure it all out. Paris doesn't know what Wal-Mart is. She asks if you buy walls there. She also doesn't know what "generic" products are. Not that she'd have to. It makes for some damn good television.

Tie me up and spank me...or something.

In an effort to pimp me out for some rebound fun, Jake let me (and the rest of the blog-reading world) in on a little secret. Apparently, I look exactly like Babydoll, a bondage porn star. I was skeptical at first, but on further examination, I had to admit I really do. Only I don't wear as much makeup. Or bondage gear.

Not in public, anyway.

A reprieve from my currently complicated one

I am so excited about The Simple Life tonight, I really cannot contain myself.

The breakup diet

I really think this one could take off. Look out, South Beach.

Exactly four bites of any meal, three times a day.
Snack liberally on swigs of Pepto-Bismol.
After 7:00pm, drink all the booze you can before passing out (cigarettes with booze optional).

On getting older

I was late for work today because I found a grey hair in my right eyebrow, couldn't find my tweezers and refused to leave the house until I did.

Some things I learned at my 10-year high school reunion

• People change a LOT in 10 years.
• Guys put on weight earlier in life than girls.
• If I can't walk in heels when I'm sober, I really can't walk in heels when I'm drunk.
• "hors d'oeuvres served" means "eat dinner before you go, otherwise you will get sloppy drunk."
• No one notices the 10 pounds you've put on since high school if you show enough cleavage.
• It's not really a "shortcut" if you have to walk through a pond.
• Assholes sometimes get better with age.
• You really can ease the trauma and bitterness of high school by sitting in a room with all the people who made your life miserable for a couple of hours.