The Daily Smack

My Fare Homo

2009-05-29T13:44:00.000-07:00

PR guru Ms. R directed me to a brilliant article in NYMag (i.e. the Holy Bible) about the city's new proposal to share cabs and split fares. The author describes an encounter a Newark airport in which he narrowly missed the opportunity to split a cab with his Prince Charming. After reading the article I began to strongly support this cab sharing proposal. I was ready to march on city hall demanding that cab sharing become mandatory immediately. However, after some thinking I realized that the chances of me getting into a cab with a handsome, intelligent stranger who wants to date me are about the same as me owning a zebra as a house pet.

At the end of a hard night (either working or drinking) I enjoy being able to sit in the back of a cab and pseudo-doze off or send a text message about how much fun I had to my fellow drinking buddy or document reviewer. This task will become immeasurably more difficult when I'm sitting inbetween a gaggle of tipsy tourists talking about how "magical" it was to visit ground zero (editor's note: I truly did once hear a tourist refer to ground zero as magical...someone should have clued her in that Chris Angel had nothing to do with making the WTC disappear).

Besides we all know that Prince Charming would turn out to be married, a serial killer, or NYC's first carrier of a new strain of syphilis. Either way unless the cab is taking you to the free clinic or divorce court, your ride with Prince Charming is not going far.

We all know that Prop 8 recently passed to protect "the sancity of marriage" (don't get me started on this one). Well I propose NY Prop 1 to protect the sancity of my cab ride. One man (or lady) one cabbie.

Too Sexy

2009-05-29T13:16:00.001-07:00

Work, life and other useless distractions had kept me from blogging. Luckily I've stopped caring about working, so that's really opened up a lot of free time.

There are many wonderful things that come along with gay dating, however, body consciousness is not one of them. When you're dating another guy he always has a fully accessible frame of reference with which he can compare body types. He can look at my skinny, nondefined upper arm then back at his toned muscular bicep and then rest assured that all our mutual friends are saying "How did TDS manage that?!?". Furthermore, so many gay men spend hours upon hours in the gym and have amazing bodies. For a short time I thought I could become one of these men. I vowed to give up bread and booze (two of my favorite food groups), spend hours in the gym each day and drink more water (I feel as if drinking more water is the panacea to almost any problem). After about a month I realized this was a lost cause. It's like when you walk past a Honda Civic with a Mercedes Benz emblem on the hood. Nice try. You're not fooling anyone. At best I became a used Audi with one of the hub caps missing.

I bring this up because I am faced with this problem once again. Now before you throw your ashtray at my head and tell me to "fuck off" for boo-hooing about having to date someone who's attractive: hear me out. It's not the attractive factor, it's the fitness factor that worries me. This dude, only days into knowing me, is already suggesting we bike, hike, run and do other strenuous activities together. Doesn't he know it's summer?!? Summer is a time for sangria and suntan lotion and beach blankets. The most physical activity I should be doing is turning the pages of US Weekly pool side while I try to decide whether Kate Gosslin is a "mom turned monster" or "greedy bitch". Personally I'm leaning towards greedy bitch but I will reserve judgment.

When you're single or dating someone who's favorite sport is Foosball at the bar, you are blissfully unaware of how out of shape you are. As soon as you invite some fitness loony into your life you start to feel bad about how "unhealthy you are". I'll start to feel guilty turning down his invites to bike up bear mountain in favor sitting at home with dark chocolate a glass of Merlot and the real housemafia of new jersey. I'll feel shamed when I tell him I don't feel like running because I'm too busy concocting a plan to gain access to the neighboring building's sun deck.

The point of this rant is summer is for tanning, gossiping and drinking. An occasional visit to the gym under the guise of "wanting to look better in my bathing suit" is admirable anything more than that is best kept for winter when you can use the excuse "I would go for that hike if only it were warmer."

Let's Reenact the Ides of March on the 7th

2009-02-25T17:36:00.000-08:00

Et tu Chris 1.0?

As most Smack readers know, last year I had a real thing for Bellevue escapees named Chris. If you made ear chopping, turpentine drinkin' Vincent Van Gogh look well adjusted and your name was Chris chances are we had a romantic encounter in 2008. Having decided that a turpentintini wasn't my drink and broke ass bitches were not really a treat, I vowed to end this streak in 2009. So far: success. However, crazy like a diamond and that scar I got when I decided I could do a drunk handstand, are forever. Recently, Chris 1.0 and 2.0 have contacted me both posturing for a room and sex. Now I know that Chris 1.0 just came back from Las Vegas so perhaps he crossed my line with a local Las Vegas bordello, but last time I checked I don't rent rooms or myself. As noted in an earlier post for anything less than a million dollars (read 20,000) I am going to pretend that I am morally above prostitution. And although I am rather proud of my scone recipe and I do remind people not to flush condoms down my toilet, that is where the similarities between myself and a Bed and Breakfast end.

First, a few weeks ago a text message from Chris 2.0:

C2.0: "Hey I was thinking I would come over"
TDS: "I don't really think so, is something going on at your apartment?"
C2.0: "No, I just want to have sex with you."

Wow. I've never experienced romance quite like that before. Light the candles and pull down the shades I'm powerless against your charm. One Smack reader applauded Chris 2.0 for "being upfront." I can understand how this dear reader might have interpreted that text as an attempt to put aside the small talk and get to the point. Or an honest request. However, having dated Chris 2.0 I can assure all readers that the pretext was left out only because he was too lazy to type up four more texts. Frankly I was surprised the message didn't read "f.u. 2nite?" I think the use of capital letters and a period was an attempt to butter me up.

The same smack reader who applauded this "upfront" tactic was surprised (for serious) to learn that I turned Chris 2.0 down. Stating "it could be fun if you had an understanding." Yes I think the understanding would go something like this: I, the TDS, agree to let you have my last tiny shread of dignity (read that bitch left years ago) so long as you agree to come over here with plenty of booze and leave my apartment before I wake up the next day so I can assure myself that you coming over was nothing more than a very realistic night terror.

Second, a BlackBerry message today from Chris 1.0:

C1.0: I'm sleeping at your place on the 7th
TDS: Are you kidding?
C1.0: No
TDS: I doubt I'll be home
C1.0: Look just be there, OK?
TDS: (stunned radio silence)

My BlackBerry has been very slow recently, so at first I assumed that perhaps this conversation was stored from 9 months ago and was just now being relayed to my Berry. This type of snippy conversation about spending the night could have taken place while we were together. That's it BlackBerry dealy. However, within seconds I was snapped back into reality, 9 months ago I didn't have a BlackBerry. And perhaps more importantly I was answering in real time. So unless I was speaking with the memory of Chris 1.0 (in which case someone should contact A&E's ghost hunters or at least Vivica A Fox and her psychic friends) this insane conversation was actually happening TODAY, months after we broke up. I am not sure which surprises me more: the request itself OR the annoyed tone of BBM with which I'm being addressed.

"Just be there." Yes I will thank you, I live there, you however, do not and consequently will not be there. I considered making an excuse "oh I have a party that night", "oh I'll probably be working", "oh I'm going in for my gender reassignment surgery that night". But then I decided I don't have to make an excuse for why I do not feel the need to house and/or sleep with my exboyfriend (and really I mean AND because let's face it, if he's in the same place as my wine rack I'm bound to do something I'll live to regret). I decided to just say no and so that's the last message I sent him. Now most Smack readers may assume that means case closed. But I know Chris 1.0, there is a 50/50 chance he shows up on March 7th. If you find yourself in the Hoboken area with nothing to do on March 7th and you've always wanted to see me hurl an overnight bag at another human being then please feel free to head over to my place. Afterwards we can toast to Caesar, exboyfriends, leprechauns and light weight carry on bags. And if all else fails bring your toga, a butter knife and your lawyer's telephone number.

xoxo

tds

"It's Been A While But I'm Glad You Came"--Brit Spears Post Crazy Pre Circus

2009-02-25T17:27:00.001-08:00

I apologize for my extended absence, recently my job has really cut into my personal/blogging time. This is compounded by the fact that last week the universe gave me the beautiful gift of the flu. To repay the universe I am busily researching organizations that contribute to space debris and hope to make a large donation to the largest space polluter.

In a last ditch effort to make it up to me the universe passed along this beautiful creation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iM0jswbZhIM&feature=related. A Brit Spears song, written by Lady Gaga and sung in the style of Gwen Steffani. My gayness is blowin' up.

Downtown Editor Ms. H suggested making a list of events that blow up my gayness.

List of Things that Blow up My Gayness

1) Amnesia by Brit Brit
2) Puppy Cams
3) Giraffes, obviously

The Smack is interested in knowing what blows up your gayness???

Friends without Benefits

2009-01-30T12:06:00.000-08:00

Now as many Smack readers may know, I like to get involved in the craziest relationships. But it's 2009 and I have decided to STOP getting into crazy relationships and instead get involved in really unworkable ones. Much Better. Quick back story I have been chatting with someone from LA for the last two months, let's call him Mr. LA (more clever nicknames welcomed). Now Mr. LA and I spend a lot of time talking on the phone (about 1 1/2 each night) and from what I can tell he's smart, funny and sweet (obvi not my type) with an incredibly anxious streak and a touch of OCD (there we go--there's my guy). I am actually quite enamoured with him despite the fact that this seems like a bad idea (read I do not live anywhere near LA--at all. The closest I am to an LA recently was when I went to visit stylista Ms. W on Lexington Avenue).

Anywho, Mr. LA told me that his best friend recently moved to NYC and that he really wanted us to meet. Now impressing friends is always one of those tasks that are dreaded relationship obligations bested only by meeting family. Not only is this impressing a friend but a best friend. NOT GOOD. Best friends have the most sway. If my date met my two best friends and either of them had anything negative to say that would be a major disappointment. To make matters worse Mr. LA will obviously not be there to supervise. Usually you can rely on your date to steer your towards pleasant topics and away from negative ones. For example your date can indicate to you jokes about Shark Week will not be well received by their peg legged friend. Also what is the expectation here, will we have to make regular dates with one anohter? Worse yet what if at the end of our friend evaluation I get the "don't call me I'll call you"? Obviously I will need to conduct this meeting at a bar so that if things start going sour I can have a few drinks. After about 2 martinis no matter how the evaluation is going, in my mind it will be AH-mazing. I will think to myself "you are being so funny and I bet you look amazing" never mind that I am really sweating bullets and am barely speaking English.

Frankly I am also bothered by the fact that things are getting so serious without other benefits. Who meets people's friends without first having had sex? I feel cheated. I haven't even got a kiss out of this and I have to meet your friends? Not right. I don't see a hall of mirrors or a Pennsylvania horse, this isn't 18th Century France or Amish country, if I'm meeting friends I better at least get some encouraging kisses beforehand and listening to smooching noises over the phone so does NOT count. Ali G. Bell is giving you some major side eye. On the other hand not knowing anything about this skill set opens up a whole new line of dialogue with the friend:

Me: (uggg look at this mess) Oh hi nice to meet you!
Ms. NYC by way of LA: (gross...check out this trick) Hi!
Me: So I don't want to waste your time, I'll get right to it. On a scale from 1 to 10. 1 being John Wayne Bobbit circa 1994 and 10 being I thought they could only do that in the movies, how's Mr. LA in bed. You're the bff I'm sure you've heard stories
Ms. NYC by way of LA: ...

Oh the other hand this might be a topic best left with Shark Week. Any friend meeting tips from sexy Smack readers would be greatly appreciated!

xoxo

tds

A Ho By Any Other Name

2009-01-30T11:42:00.000-08:00

First of I apologize for being MIA for so long, first I was actually in MIA and then I arrived home to find myself staffed on five projects...RUDE. That really cuts into my posting time, luckily because it is Friday and 1/2 the office is phoning it in, I feel that it's safe to take a posting break.

Food and Wine (Read Margarita) Editor Ms. P and Beauty Editor/Law Enforcer Ms. H recently brought this lovely blog http://www.dabagirls.com/ to my attention. I assume that most sexy Smack readers have already read the NY Times article, spent about 25 mins reading the blog itself (during work obvi) and then hating on these hos for getting a book deal. So I won't waste too much time on these "ladies" or as practitioner of senseless acts of beauty Mr. S called them "busted bitches", other than to point out that they really are high class whores (economically speaking only, in terms of actual class these busted bitches have less class than I do, and I'm a used up Jersey hobag). Move over Ashlee Dupree (add on the last e for elegant) there's competition in town (albeit it a different borough). The real trouble is that in an attempt to fight the whore, they tell the NYTimes that "it's all done in tongue and cheek".

Well sorry "ladies" but I don't believe that for one second. What I do believe is that you are a bunch of sorry gold diggers. And look I have nothing against gold diggers, I often wish I was more attractive so that I could work that angle . And frankly, gold diggers DO NOT have it easy; you really have to work for that money. J. Howard Marshall. Case closed. My problem with the "ladies" is two fold. First and foremost gold digging is difficult complaining about having to listen to your depressed boyfriend is pathetic. A true gold digger knows that's just the tip of the iceberg. When you're dressed up in a sexy bear costume dancing on a stripper pole for your 104 year old partner then feel free to start a support group. Listening to someone whine hardly qualifies as difficult gold digging ; call up either Donald or Ivana Trump's current 20-something lover and ask them about needing support (in every sense of the word). Two I am a firm believer in working with what you got. From what I can tell these "ladies" are actually intelligent people. ANS (Poseidon rest her soul) was working with big boobs and a VIP card at the CVS prescription window and not much else. She had two choices Roy Rogers in TX or 104 year old sex. She worked with what she had. These "ladies" need to drop the Scarlett O'Hara act and get a J-O-B. And while we're on the subject, these "ladies" need to get in touch with a mirror. As I said earlier I am not in the gold digging market because what I got is not going to pull in much cash; a reverse self esteem class is in order for the DABA girls. They are not cute enough to be getting by on their looks. They're trying to pull in the Bentleys they are Volkswagen Cabriolets cute. Alright I'm over these brass diggers.

xoxo

tds

New Section: Start Using It

2009-01-20T13:41:00.000-08:00

This section will present readers with great new sayings to spice up their everyday vocabulary.

Today's "start using it" comes from Boozebreath survivor and all American hero, Ms. A: Poseidon's Ghost.

First of all using the names of Greek and Roman gods is always in good taste. Jesus is tired. His name gets flung around all the damned time. Using other religious figures such as Moses or Holy Spirit sounds like you're dubbing over an episode of the Sopranos so that it can be shown on A&E (e.g. "oh Holy Moses you shot me!"). Therefore, let's reach into the way back machine and pull out some gods that haven't had any action for 1000s of years! Hera, Zeus, Apollo and Poseidon are waiting to hear your hopes, prayers and curses for mortal enemies. It's like when you're at Target and you find yourself in the longest line. You see that other cashier and no one is in line, but you can't tell if her light is switched on or off and if you move you're going to lose your spot! Well life's about taking chances and guess what Zeus' light is on and Cashier Jesus has 10 people in front of you and the old lady's got coupons! So come on down to register four.

Sloganaire: Ms. A
Usage: to express shock, dismay
Example: You're not drinking tonight!?!? Poseidon's ghost!

"Have You Ever Been Laid Out Under the Sun?"

2009-01-20T13:07:00.001-08:00

For the sake of tradition this post begins with an unrelated quote. Education editor and children mind molder, Ms. J, will sometimes amuse other Smack editors over brunch by pulling out some choice quotes from her high school students. While writing a practice essay for the Regents Exam re: sun damage, one particular student began a paragraph by asking: "Have you ever been laid out under the sun?" Clearly this student deserves an A (or whatever the hell constitutes a good grade on the High School Regents). Enough about sun damage to the skin (skin cancer is soooo 20th century) let's talk about the real trouble with the sun at beach. When you get laid out at the beach you expose yourself to all sorts of problems: sand in places where sand does not belong, sunburned areas that usually must be covered and nosy life guards and police officers telling you to get a room! So thank you Ms. J's student for shining a spotlight on getting laid out under the sun, I hope your grader is as dirty a trick as this blogger!

It is January 20th so I don't think this post should go any further before we all stop, pause and acknowledge something very important. It is my birthday month. What kind of present have you purchased for me?
OK enough reflection, today's post is brought to us by European style guru Ms. P. Two years ago watching people frantically apply for clerkships, I sat back and thought to myself "hell no!" Law school had already tricked me into doing all sorts of things I didn't want to do: 1) attending law school, 2) joining a journal, 3) coming back for the second year, 4) early interview week and 5) paying them money. They had my money and the wrinkle free skin I came into law school with they were not going to trick me into handing over another month of my time buttering up judges who haven't written an opinion in over 40 years. Side bar: What a sweet ass job. Can you imagine??? Have a bunch of people fight in front of you all day long and if anyone of them says anything nasty you just throw their ass in jail. Then after half listening to all of it you turn to a "law clerk" (i.e. a graduate with a law degree and a 4.0 GPA) and tell them the answer is YES and then instruct them to write an opinion that proves that the answer's yes. Then go home and...

Well this is a nice segue into the main point of the post...and...GET SHIT FACED. Apparently there is a judge in the UK who recently decided to represent her cousin in a dangerous dog case. Well this judge apparently decided the best defense for Fluffy was to distract and deflect. She came to Court totes wasted then proceeded to call one prosecutor a "fuckwit" and then mouth kiss the other prosecutor. Look, we've all been there. You're drunk, one minute you can't stand the dirty bitch next to you and you just want to tell him/her that's he/she's mopey, dopey and and a sloppy bitch. Then you take your next shot and you realize, hey you like mopey bitches. This mopey bitch is kinda hot if you squint. The next thing you know you're making out with this trick in the back of a NYC cab getting major side eye from the taxi driver. Anywho, rather than admitting that this behavior was booze induced. This judge broke out the best legal defense since the Twinkie Insanity...a medical condition. What's so new about a medical defense, you ask? Now wait, wait Clarence Darrow, she's not done yet. She has a medical condition that makes her breath smell like booze!!!!!!

Ding ding ding we have a winner. We all need to form a support group. Ms. A can attest to the fact that just this weekend I suffered from this affliction. After dining with her and Ms. H post my faux date (save that mess for another post) I my "condition" began acting up. Soon my boozebreathitis and my lackofimpulsecontrolosis were causing me to do and say things that I really wanted to do and really wanted to say BUT needed an excuse to say or do! Both Ms. A and Ms. H watched as I bravely battled my illness but sadly they were powerless to stop it. More tragically, towards the end of the evening the highly contagious boozebreathitis had spread and I could tell Ms. A was coming down with a slight case of her own. She and I will be forming a support group, we'll meet in the basement of the Copper Door Tavern. At the next meeting we will be discussing T-Shirt designs and slogans: "This is the face of someone who's breath smells like booze" and "Lindsay Lohan Partner in Courage" are just two of the potential slogans on the table.

So dear readers in conclusion I am giving up vying for the coveted Judge Judy clerkship so that I can focus full time on my Boozebreath Foundation and clerking for the Honorable Judge Drunky.

xoxo

tds

Tricky Dick

2009-01-20T08:36:00.000-08:00

Cheney faked his injury so he wouldn't have to stand for Obama, right? Goodbye Dick you will not be missed.

CRAP

2009-01-16T08:38:00.000-08:00

What could be more self-important than writing a blog about your drunken exploits, one night stands, and general rants about life? Writing a blog that told other people not to have drunken exploits, one night stands, and that aimed to help friends when they call and ask "I am redoing this bathroom, and I want a sink that looks midcentury, but a contemporary version of a midcentury. Where should I go?" (Editor's Note: If any of you ever call me up and ask me this question I will never speak to you again. Also I will probably crack a rib from laughing so hard into the telephone). Leave it to Gwennie P. to creat such a blog. Now clearly Gwennie and I run in different circles, her friends ask her about modern midcentury bathroom fixtures my friends ask me for advice on how to make a martini using only pimentos, cvs rubbing alcohol, and tap water (that recipe coming soon--PS you totally know that Sandra Lee has already made something similar except she added in Strawberry Schnapps and Cool-Whip).

Editrix and world famous model Ms. P first brought this fountain of wisdom to my attention and suggested that it might be a great site to talk shit about. When she's right, she's right! Now really there are only two things that kill me about this site.

1) Its existence. Look I admit, there is no reason on planet earth for me to have a blog. As I said in the email I sent around if you really wanted to read about the comings and goings of a drunk messy whore, you could curl up on your couch with the police blotter. Sometimes there are even pictures so clearly the entertainment value of the blotter far exceeds this blog. That said, I make no representations about the advice given in this blog. If you aspire to have the life of a pseudo-lawyer with the attention span of a goldfish who dates Bellevue escapees then I suggest that this blog act as your Bible. If however, you're enjoying your life as an amazing professional who sips vodka tonics as you fend off suitors then I suggest you read this blog laugh and then curl up next to one of your suitors and say "ooooh how tragic" as you throw back your head. Gwennie, however, seems to believe that we are ALL DYING to know how she makes a macro-vegan-raw food meatloaf. If anything I'd like to know why if you're a vegan you want to eat something with the word MEAT right in it the name. Now that's an entry I would read. What's more scary is that she thinks that there are more people than just her friends that are searching the world for midcentury sinks that look modern. First of all, how does something from the 50s look modern? Isn't that just called updated? And if so isn't it no longer midcentury? Second of all, her passing around this blog to the general population during a recession is beyond the beyond. It would be like me targeting AA meetings and the nunnery with my blog. Not the audience who cares.

2) This is really my biggest complaint with GOOP: the travel section. So far Gwennie has given us travel sections for NYC, LA, and London. OK does this bitch travel because last time I checked she lives in all three places. That's like me talking about my travels in Hoboken. Granted some days the thought of leaving my apt might as well be the equivalent of me going and hiking the Andes, but in reality, going to places in the town in which you live is not traveling, it's called running errands. I guess entitling the section "Here's where I buy my toilet paper, bagels and take my dry cleaning" just didn't sound as self important (editor's note perhaps this should be a new section for the Smack). But my favorite part is that each of these entries starts with a section on favorite hotels. No no, no need to stop drinking your espresso martini. You're not that drunk yet, you read that correctly: HOTELS. A hotel section on hotels in the place you live. At first I assumed friends told her about their favorite hotels in between discussing midcentury sinks and which ethnicity makes the best au pair, however, I was even more shocked to find out that this bitch has stayed at all of these hotels. WTF!!! Recently, Ms. L and I discussed what we would do if we had unlimited funds. Not once did either of us say "ohhhh you know what I would do if I were really rich, I'd stay at hotels instead of my own house". Who the fuck is this bitch Eloise!?!? Someone call her up and tell her The Plaza is a bunch of condos. Eloise bought a two bedroom and is on the co-op board. Now look I get it, maybe one night you and your real doll decide to hit the town and you think it would be cute and romantical to stay in a hotel. Maybe. And maybe once. But 10 different hotels!!!! AND those 10 are only the favorite ones!!! This means that there is probably a longer list of less favored hotels. I mean is she having some sort of insane series of affiars??? She can't be at her home and she's with so many diffrent men she can't take them all back to the same hotel??? Again there's a blog entry I would read about. I'd be hanging on every word, taking notes and thinking to myself, hey maybe that Oscar wasn't a mistake this trick can ACT!!!! But I doubt that is the case which leaves me with the question: what's the point of having a home in a town if you just plan on staying in a hotel(S)while you're there!?!? At least Eloise committed to the Plaza, even she's giving Gwennie the side eye. I would hope, HOPE that one of you dear readers would have the good sense to slap me if I ever did such a thing.

Pretend Conversation
Hot reader: Hey where are you? I was just at your apt but you're not there
tds: Hello! Sorry I was just reading some news on goop.com over here in my suite.
HR: Oh I didn't know you were out of town.
tds: Oh I'm not I'm at the W Hoboken...you know I just need a change. I thought a hotel bathroom might inspire me. I'm looking for a 1970s toilet with a 1980s fur seat cover BUT modern and updated, but vintage too. You know a modern vintage, tribute to the 1920s with 1980s tones, but done in a futuristic style. Think Metropolis meets Alien v. Predator meets Casablanca, if they were all shot in the 1980s and directed by Fellini.
HR: Pack your room service the contents of the minibar and get the fuck back over here before I have to put down my wine glass and drag you back to your apt.
tds: Thank you hot reader for saving me from being even more of a pretentious mess!

I just wish that Gwennie had a real friend. A friend that would say "look bitch. I don't care about your bathroom soaps from Paris or what hotels you like to stay in when you're 4 blocks from your damned house or how to make meals that don't require any cooking...because, 1) who the fuck uses guest soaps aside from hotels, 2) maybe if you weren't staying in so many goddamn hotels you would realize no one has guest soaps in their home 3) it's called a salad google it bitch!" Instead she must surround herself with the biggest bunch of fakers that ever faked, because these hos didn't even tell her how ridic the name of her blog is GOOP. I mean honestly what she spews is goop, but clearly she doesn't think so. I mean goop is one step down from calling your blog: crap, daily bullshit, or cockgobbler. Supposedly goop is her nickname (you know those "friends" are having the biggest laugh behind her back with that one--"oh hey goop you look so good today. is that dress midcentury modern?" then covering their mouths with napkins before there is even food on the table to conceal the Jokeresque smiles on their faces). Seriously, so what if it's your nickname, you don't see me naming this blog "that bitch". Ugggg. Well Gwennie's got competition because next month I will totally be launching cockgobbler. First entry "my ten favorite hand made chapsticks to wear while sipping hot vegan rawfood coco in vail with european royalty".

xoxo

tds

UPDATE: Editor Ms. M informed me that a google search of "Gwennie P. goop"...brings up the Daily Smack as a search result. I'm sure that Gwennie runs a search of herself at least 10-15 times a day and consequently I hope she reads the last paragraph of this entry, 1) because she needs some real talk in her life, 2) so she can start thinking of an entry more obnoxious than "my ten favorite hand made..." Come on Gwennie I know you can do it! I'm sipping on my vegan raw foods coco in anticipation!
PS This is pretty sad that this blog is actually a hit in google, I think we have three readers including me and my office plant. Gwennie you need more fans.

A Fish Called Wanda

2009-01-13T15:54:00.000-08:00

Back story: for the few readers that may not be aware Cody was my first boyfriend and the person with whom I lost my virginity (reader's note, don't worry this post does not get any more graphic so you can continue reading without fear of having to claw out your own eyeballs. Also on a side note if you ever want to hear a story that is sure to make you feel good about your day or your own situation in life please feel free to ask me how this relationship ended. Bitter side bar ovah).

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/4222155/Student-auctions-off-virginity-for-offers-of-more-than-2.5-million.html . Now my v-card was lost on an extra-long twin mattress after watching "A Fish Called Wanda" because nothing says sexy quite like "A Fish Called Wanda". Also to this day anytime someone mentions "A Fish Called Wanda" I feel slightly uncomfortable. Point being, at no point either before during or after "A Fish Called Wanda" did Cody pay me 2.5 million dollars, 25 dollars, or 25 cents. 2.5 million dollars?!?!?! Even if the sex was bad, you would have a good 35 years of lounging on a beach in PR sipping umbrella drinks, having sex with the hottest people alive to cleanse your memory. You'd get over it. You could wipe away your tears with 100 dollar bills. You could buy every copy of "A Fish Called Wanda" from Blockbuster so you'd never have to see it! But I'm guessing you readers like myself gave it away for free!!! Now I know what you all are thinking and yes I probably would have sold for 5.37 dollars and a trip to Wendy's. But you know what I love Frostys; they are delicious. And I could have savored one after my first time. That and I'd be able to watch "A Fish Called Wanda" without waiting for some sort of happy ending.

xoxo

tds

FCUK You

2009-01-13T15:25:00.000-08:00

If you're going to do something, make sure you do it to the best of your ability. This motto applies to everyone in almost every situation.

Recently legal contributor and noted fashion photographer Ms. M, alerted TDS to several disturbing facebook status messages from a long lost "friend". Our "favorite" (sorry for the excessive use of sarcastic quotes) was "I like it really hard and I like it really deep." Now the average person would be offended by this post because of what it suggests, however, TDS is offended by what this trick doesn't say. This falls into the category of the FCUK wear or Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl". BRING A BOOK! Yawnzo. Maybe I've been living in New York for too long but after you've seen a man pull a live alligator out of a roll on suit case or a broke ass tranny's cockadoodle doo hanging out of their micro-mini or someone jerking it on the subway, kissing a girl, almost spelling fuck and suggesting that you like "it" hard and deep just don't have the shock value they do elsewhere. In fact, they just make me angry.

These people are not doing "it" to the best of their ability. They're wasting their talents.

New Section: Open Letters

Dear Ms. M's Long Lost Frienemy:

Hello! We hear that you are the whore of DC. Good for you. Remember to be safe and use protection and you should never sign a prenup.
We all know what you mean by "it" in fact seeing your profile picture and reading your status message is enough to get an incredibly graphic idea of "it". So, just put IT out THERE and tell us what we all know.

tds

Dear Katy Perry:

Hello! How's LA? Warm? TDS is thinking of moving out there but before we commit to being your fellow Angeleno we have to get something off our chest: we HATE your song. You kissed a girl...uggggg...we bet you didn't even. It was probably one of those fakey Madonna/Britney kisses and you didn't even use tongue. Angelina Jolie is probably more sexy with her brother. And you know what else even if you did? Who cares? You went down on a girl, now that sounds more interesting. That's the kind of a story you tell friends over brunch. You kissed a girl, they'll be asleep in their mimosa before you even get half way through the story. So, Katy if you want to try bisexuality GO FOR IT. But Jill Sobule did it better and sexier than you 10 years ago. Google it bitch!

tds

Dear FCUK:

No hello for you! You started this fuckery. The only person who thinks you're offensive or daring is some suburban mom/dad of the 14 year old who just bought your shirt at the mall. Shut down, pack up, and go back to France or the UK or which ever connection you FUCKING like.

xoxo

tds

"A Giraffe is a Beautiful Thing Baby Girl"

2009-01-13T09:17:00.000-08:00

Once again the title of the post has absolutely nothing to do with the content of the post itself. This gem came from another MTV series "Daddy's Girls". One of daddy's girls, Angela, decided that a lovely compliment for her cousin's new hairdo would be to tell her "You look just like a giraffe." Now look, giraffes do have nice long necks and slender legs, but stylish do's, they do not have. They have tiny horns, matted hair and they lick their face fur with their over sized tongues. Not exactly the "a face that launched 1000 ships" kind of feel good factor. After getting some major side eye Angela finally realized that licking your own face fur isn't really a skill many people aspire to have (although fun party trick, ask me the next time you see me!) and tries to back peddle. Now being a daddy's girl (read rich whore) the best she can muster up is "A giraffe is a beautiful thing baby girl!" WOW. WOW. Now while looking up giraffes on wiki in an attempt to make a very special ecard for Mr. S, I found out that male giraffes get off with each other ALL the time. And they call it necking. How GAY! Anywho after finding out that giraffes are total queens, I could not agree more that a giraffe is a beautiful thing baby girl. I totally misjudged Angela Simmons. Plus double points because I am 100000% convinced her cousin is a les-be-on (to be said in a very french accent), and here Angela is comparing her lesbian beauty to the gayest and most beautiful creature in the animal kingdom. So please, this week be sure to tell your favorite gay "A giraffe is a beautiful thing baby girl!"

Alright side bar over, gay pride done, Angela Simmons quote dissected, on to the main point of this post. Winter. Winter is the damned devil, which is ironic because it's as cold as a witch's tit (ALERT: new tds trend include old timey sayings make no sense. how the eff do we know a witch's tit is so cold??? why would it be???). The sun in the northeast as per usual is failing to do half it's job. A lot like Santa the NY sun prefers to take most of the year off. It barely lights up the sky and it certainly provides no heat during these months. Consequently, the temperature dips down to a comfortable 10 degrees and the wind rushes by at about 10000 mph. This makes leaving my bed let alone my house seem more daunting than trying to cross the Atlantic Ocean with nothing but swimmies and half finished bottle of Dasani. It also leads to what I like to call my Uggification.

Each year my summer tan fades and reveals a new age spot, wrinkle, or red spot that was not there the previous winter and was hidden by my healthy (read sometimes unhealthy) summer glow. The dark circles once concealed now provide a stark contrast to my other wise whiter than white face. A raccoon (http://www.saynotocrack.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/raccoon.jpg) is NOT a beautiful thing baby girl. Paul M and Stevie W. please note ebony and ivory do not live together in perfect harmony when they both occur on your face. In addition, to the pale skin and dark circles, my wardrobe changes from some what tight clothing to a more baggy ensemble of sweaters and large coats. I use this opportunity to fill OUT these clothes. Now I know some of you just gave me the side eye and said "trick please. you should really not be wearing those tight clothes in the summer, so spare us." however, those tight clothes become impossible clothes in the winter. I look like I'm trying to squeeze into a shirt from the baby gap. NOT pretty.

Now every year this prompts the tds "i quit this bitch. i'm moving to la." speech. Those of you that have known me for more than a year are probably rolling your eyes and throwing your celery stick from your 2nd bloody mary at the computer screen (and yes we all know you licked off the residual booze before you threw that stick). This year however, it's serious! Don't start on me about how sprawling it is out there and how I'll need a car and how your cousin from LA is such a dumb plastic ho. I'm a sprawling mess and a dumb ho so LA and I are practically made for one another. And you know what else LA is? W.A.R.M. Not cold. Its witch's tit is red hot, because it just came out of surgery to enlarge it to an E cup. Of course of all the reasons people have thrown at me not to move next year the MOST laughable came from a former flame (Chris 1.0) who actually had the balls to tell me "you won't like the guys out there. they're really flaky." I would have LOLed if it wasn't so damned sad. That's like being at the garbage dump and being told that you shouldn't go to the park because in some places it smells like dog shit. Well guess what I'm at the dump, it smells like shit all over this place and to make matters worse it's 12 degrees. So dear readers pack up your bags (note earlier post and read sharpie marker, gallo wine and sweatshirt you stole from your ex) and move out West with me or at the very least let's plan a vacay to somewhere warm, sunny and with a well stocked bar.

xoxo

tds

Good Vibes for Monday

2009-01-11T22:18:00.000-08:00

NEW SECTION! Good Vibe for the day

Some days you need a pick me up and drinking before noon really isn't an option and you don't live in Amsterdam so TDS is happy to provide you with a "healthier" alternative. This weekend seemed outrageously short and the next week looms large, with that in mind I present the first Good Vibe for the day.

Remember Dionne Farris? Neither did I!!!! But according to wikipedia and my i-pod "in 1995 she had a solo hit called "I Know"." Google that shit! It was a true 90s classic and the video is AH-mazing. It was filmed in a men's room and Dionne is wearing ripped acid washed jeans and at some point sings to a sunflower. What is that all supposed to mean??? I have no clue. But I'm sure it is very empowering. So tomorrow wear your best pair of acid wash jeans...or at the very least answer your phone by saying "I know what you're doing yeah yeah, I know why you dialed my number." Trust this...Dionne is going to make Monday 100000 times more palatable.

xoxo

tds

"Ummm Actually Can We Go to the Liquor Store First?"

2009-01-11T20:53:00.001-08:00

OK so this post has absolutely nothing to do with going to the liquor store but that amazing quote was spoken by Mr. S at brunch this morning and nearly caused an entire cup of coffee to be expelled through my nose. Explaining how I got 3rd degree burns in my nasal cavity was going to be very embarrassing at work tomorrow. Also for future reference if you ever find yourself in my company and you're wondering whether "we can go to the liquor store first?" the answer is always yes. Don't waste your breath. Even if we're headed to the ER, to get that buried treasure, or my wedding (stop laughing! You never know it could happen...they cloned a sheep for Zeus' sake) we can always stop at the liquor store first!

Alright onto the main point of this post. Ms. M and I recently discussed the timing of breakups and whether you break it off too soon or you linger too long. We've all been or been with the too soon breaker uper. Your date is five minutes late to the second date and you decide that this is now a cardinal sin that cannot be forgiven. It doesn't matter that he or she is drop dead gorgeous, gainfully employed, politically active and was late because he or she was helping an old lady across the street. You've decided that in this relationship it's all about promptness and you will not tolerate any less. That old woman isn't going to sleep with him at the end of the night (well neither were you BUT you may have, he or she didn't know that!) and therefore you come first. Of course months later you silently weep into your bloody mary and frittata when you read his or her NY Times wedding announcements and think about the fact that the last date you went on was to TGI Fridays in Times Square and your date made you pretend it was your birthday because of that "cool song they sing". The night ended at around 930 when in the middle of Times Square your date tried to kiss you (read eat your face) because it's such a "romantic spot".

Although breaking up too soon can cause NY Times wedding announcement anxiety, it's counter part lingering too long can be equally traumatic. I could write several books on the art of staying too long; in fact it's one of the things I do best. The steps to staying on too long are as follows:

1) Hook yourself up to someone who seems really unstable: You're out and about dating several people, two of the three are funny, smart, witty, and good looking. The third is Quasimodo with bipolar disorder and the ability to be very persistent. You will mistake this persistence for interest and quickly jettison the two more appealing prospects (and yes I've done this more than once, obviously). Friends will give you the side eye and try to warn you but you will chalk it up to them "not seeing the real (fill in this trick's name)".

2) Act surprised when Prince Charming (or Cinderella) turns out to be Attila the Hun (Ann Coulter).

3) Insist that this behavior is only temporary. They're having an off, day, week, month, quarter (sweet Zeus if you get to this point please recite the following mantra "only corporations have bad quarters NOT people."). This reminds me of a girl who I went to high school with. Every day she would bitch out at least one person and then around 8th period have the common sense to realized she was going to either get shit talked or beat down if she didn't apologize. She would always blame it on her PMS. But frankly you cannot have PMS for 358 (she took some time off) days of the year. That's not PMS, you're just a bitch. Similarly the person you're dating cannot have 358 off days, if you're only "on" for one week of the year, it's time to start a serious medication regimen and some electroshock therapy.

4) (NB: This is only for the serious hangers) Wounded deer. Hang on for so long that eventually Quasi calls you up and breaks it off. After being maligned and mistreated by Quasimodo you begin to resemble a wounded deer, following the hunter around with three bullets in your side saying things like "it's cool I didn't even need this leg" or "that third bullet was really not your fault". Eventually Quasi has the decency to finish you off old Yeller style.

I'm sure if this post was written by someone with talent or a large brain they would have some sort of insight about when one should break things off or some line about "there never being a perfect time for breaking up" but this blog is written by me. Consequently it will end with a pseudo slam poem.

He will change!

Change

Even Obama bumper stickers are giving you

the side eye

Change

wouldn't trust this idiot to make change for a dollar

give you eight dimes and then ask

to borrow a ten

borrowed time with this one

but he told you over the phone

one more chance please

oh hold on a unicorn is on the other line

he needs to talk with you about

fantasy

sad times

your fantasy went from hot men in hawaii

to splitting the bill at Applebees

splitting is what you need to do

but we all know you will stay

stay in this mess

stay with this clown

stay on the phone with the rest of us talking about how bad things get

everyone loves a clown

but not the one from the Stephen King

Novel

Here's a novel idea

skip the night terrors

and get the

FUCK out!

xoxo

tds

Trickery and Fuckery

2009-01-09T07:45:00.001-08:00

Beauty editor, Ms. A just brought this most disturbing article http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/28527841/ to my attention and consequently the attention of Smack readers.

Mantyhose!?!??! Mantyhose?!?! Now first of all let's just discuss the fact that with dudes you never know exactly what kind of package you will be getting. It's a lot like Christmas, you see a big box with all sorts of shiny wrapping paper and you KNOW you just KNOW that Santa finally came through with that Sega (yes I'm dating myself) that you've been wanting. HAHA! You'll show Cynthia from down the street, she won't be the only bitch in town with a Sega in her house. Then you open up the box and what do you find...socks...motherfucking socks..."For baseball" my parents tell me. Great not even socks for dancing around to Whitney Houston in my bedroom (and yeah at 8 I was doing that...don't spit out your coffee from laughing too hard...RUDE) but for effing BASEBALL. Cynthia wins again. Based on a great deal of research, hand, foot, shoe and other various "sizes" are not at all an accurate measure of what you will actually end up with. This type of trickery is a danger of dating men. Caveat Emptor dear reader, which is Latin for "if you like the dude and it's tiny you're going to have to deal with it." Sweet Zeus those Romans could fit in so much meaning is so few words. OK enough about Caesar--let's get back to the point at hand "Et tu Mantyhose maker"?!?!

Why are corporations adding to the potential date trickery!?!? Now you've opened up the package and found out that it wasn't a Sega but it was socks. The mantyhose holding back the beer gut is like the double punch of finding out that the socks are for baseball. So now this guy with a flat stomach turns out to be John Goodman's long lost twin. NOT RIGHT. Making matters even worse is that now I feel like I have to make a point of showing my (not so in shape stomach) to potential dates to prove to them I'm not wearing my manties. I don't want them assuming I have some extra strength nylon holding me in. And I am not nearly in the kind of shape where exposing my stomach will act as some irresistible man magnet. Instead it is more likely to get a resounding "you can put that away. thank you very much." So now I'm damned if I do damned if I don't. Dammit!

xoxo

tds

Not Your Father's Facebook...No Seriously Facebook Isn't For Your Dad, Tell Him to Get the Hell Off

2009-01-09T06:58:00.001-08:00

Remember when Facebook was only for college students. Well those days are gone. In some ways this is a good thing because let's face it no one who reads this blog is in college and the closest encounter I've had with a classroom is when I went to a Pilates "class" two weeks ago. That said, there has to be some sort of barometer as to what is an appropriate age range for the Facebook, as way uptown Social, Ms. L, can attest no one wants to see their 12 year old cousin looking like she's ready to pose for the cover of Maxim, on the other end of the spectrum no one wants their grandparents to start a fan page for Frank Sinatra. I don't think setting a maximum age range is really appropriate instead there should be some sort of technology "test" to decide whether you're ready for Facebook. Take my father for example. I love the man dearly, however, recently he was making noises about "setting up one of those Facebook pages." Now this man needs a one hour tutorial on how to upload songs to an i-pod. It should never take 45 minutes to upload songs to your i-pod unless of course you're having an existential crisis over whether you should delete Nina Simone to make room for JoJo's new album (don't give me your side eye! I know it's been six months since you listened to "Mississippi Goddamn" and about two hours since you cranked up "Leave! (Get Out)"). If you can't upload songs to your own i-pod without calling six friends to help then you should probably not be on Facebook; it's not a judgment it's just a fact.

Perhaps even more troubling than family on the Facebook, is bosses on the Facebook. Now I know Facebook sells itself as a "Networking" site, but that is only because "A site where you can look at photos of your ex-lovers to see if they got fat (and because I love all you readers I hope to Zeus they did--and not just kinda fat but REALLY fat) and check to see if that girl you went to high school with had any more kids without actually having to speak to or see these individuals" wasn't really bringing in the advertising dollars. Nevertheless, some bosses have interpreted the "Networking" to mean that they should make it a point to become Facebook BFFs with all their employees.

Now perhaps your boss is a hip 30 something with a great sense of style and great politics and you just can't wait to look through all of his/her photos of their fabulous vacations, political protests and amazing cocktail parties. However, more likely your boss' Facebook picture includes a spouse, a few kids, and was taken at the Sear's portrait studio. And the most risky/controversial group he or she belongs to is "Westchester Mom/Dad Carpoolers Unite". Danger Will Robinson, danger! You are NOT Facebook compatible. Now maybe your Facebook page is different than my Facebook page. Maybe yours is a tribute to moderation, good taste, class and understated elegance. Mine on the other hand is a tribute to bad hair, crass jokes, the word beyotch and a public service announcement concerning the dangers of drinking. All of these things I generally try to avoid while at work. I like to reserve them for "me time", outside of the work place and generally blocks away from where I think my boss might see me. That said Boss Friending is a problem that is plaguing our readers. The most recent victim is our West Coast Beauty Editor Ms. H. So what to do when your boss friends you? Well, frankly we all know this is the ultimate hobson's choice. You ain't got one. But for the sake of pretending you do:

1) Reject this ho and reject him/her hard: Now I understand the term "friend" is used loosely on facebook. The fact that you are still "friends" with your ex, that person you met for 30 seconds in 2004, and that dude/lady who friended you because you have the same last name clearly indicates that being Facebook friends is not a good litmus test as to whether you actually know or care about this person. That said, if you are afraid of the person friending you or your last interaction involved some passive aggressive barbs, even Facebook won't permit that kind of "friendship". Still, if your boss finds out about the rejection you'll have to work to spin this one hard (thanks downtown editor at large Mr. S for this great new phrase). And frankly, if you're anything like me, you are NOT a good enough actor or actress to pull this one off. Within two seconds of your boss asking the question you'll be tearly confessing the rejection saying things like "I wasn't thinking clearly!!! That wasn't me rejecting you, I wasn't myself. I had the flu I had just taken NyQuil and you know how that interacts with my Xanax!!!" This is NOT the best solution.

2) Accept your boss as your friend with no restrictions: If you do this I want to reach through my computer screen and bitch slap you. Are you crazy!?!!? The most outrageous picture on your boss' page is one of his 9 year old have hot chocolate after 8pm. Some of your Facebook photos and the comments on your wall would make Larry Flint blush. Put down your Irish coffee and think clearly for a moment. This is a truly terrible idea.

3) Accept your boss as your friend with restrictions: Ding. Ding. Ding. Now obviously don't go too crazy with the privacy settings. Your boss may get suspicious when they check out your facebook page only to find that you only have one profile picture and it's your 4th grade class photo and that the only information you've provided is your gender, the high school you attended and that you belong to the NY, NY network (or for our west coast readers the LA or SF, CA network).

4) Accept your boss as your friend but before you do "clean up" your Facebook. First of all let me just begin by saying this is the worst idea ever. This reminds me of my 1st grade experience, when one kid would act all cray cray the entire class would have to sit in their chairs with their heads on their desk for 20 minutes and my teacher would say "Don't blame me, blame Billy." (and yes consequently the only thing I learned in first grade was how to sit quietly and obviously I've since forgotten that skill). Don't let your boss be Billy and ruin it for the rest of us!!! Second of all, if your Facebook is anything like mine it would be easier to clean up Love Canal than it would be to clean up your page. Plus, no one wants to receive some condescending message from a friend saying something like "hey guys, i'm friends with my boss now so let's keep the wall comments toned down." Toned down!??!! If anything that makes me want to tone them up (e.g. "OMG! Thanks so much for helping me dispose of that body. TTYL!!!"). Third of all, your friends want to see you acting like a drunk fool, cavorting in a bathing suit on your vacation, attending your political protests, and writing things on other people's walls that introduce new swear words to the English language. Send Billy to his desk but I won't be putting my head down anymore (unless it's to take a nap at work and I wait until after 3pm to do that).

xoxo

tds

I'll Bring the Giant Sunglasses, You Bring the Gun

2009-01-08T12:17:00.000-08:00

NEW Section! Life Advice, From Someone with No Life

Break ups are bad enough when they happen: the yelling, the crying, the need to figure out how to get your shit back, the need to figure out how to pretend you never saw that oversized sweatshirt you don't want to give back, etc. etc. And the aftermath can be just as obnoxious: deleting his/her number, texts, emails, gchats, throwing away pictures, postcards, being careful not to wear that oversized sweatshirt near their workplace, and buying a new box of condoms so the next person you sleep with doesn't have to watch you dig around your nightstand while you say things like "I swear I thought I had at least one left here somewhere."

But perhaps one of the worst things in the wake of the breakup is the neighborhood quarantine. Yes I know some of you are giving me the side eye thinking "hmmmm! I'm a modern lady/gay and if I want to go somewhere and it just so happens to be near my ex's apartment then why shouldn't I??" Modern lady/gay...please!!! The reason you shouldn't/wouldn't is because you know that if rolls were reversed and you saw your ex moseying around your block you wouldn't wait 2.2 seconds before texting/calling/emailing/iming/smoke signaling everyone you knew saying things like "UGGG! I just saw that modern lady/gay right around the corner from my apt!!! Can you believe him/her??? Is he/she so desperate just to get a glimpse of my face??" And you know you would say this EVEN if your ex was having sex with someone else in the middle of the damned street. "Ohhhh. That is such a desperate ploy to make me jealous." you'd smoke signal your bff. And I for one will not be labeled desperate and clingy (read more desperate and super clingy) by an ex. NO! That's why I make a point of avoiding neighborhoods where my exs, both live and work (or usually in my case their parents' house and the unemployment line).

So, how long must this quarantine go on for? Well obvi depends on how long the relationship was and how serious you were.
1) Partner--you were married or civil unionized (not in Vegas) and/or were with this trick for more than 2 years = find a new coffee shop you ain't going back until this bitch moves (preferably out of the country)
2) Lover--you were really close and/or spent a year with this foolio = take a six month break from the bagel shop, you don't even like bagels!
3) Trick--you spent under a year but more than 6 months with this cold hearted wench = tricky, you knew this douche well but it wasn't quite love--three months away from your favorite liquor store seems like more than enough time.
4) Dime Store Hooker-- you spent (read wasted) between 2 and 6 months with this dime store disaster = one month away from that pizza shop is appropriate
5) For Real--you spent less than 2 months with this person = if were any sort of actor/actress you could probably pretend you don't even remember this idiot and get away with it.

BUT...what if you "have to" (read someone asks you to do something you actually want to do) go to the danger zone. I am faced with this situation this upcoming weekend. I will be mere FEET from the abode of Chris 2.0 with legal contributor Ms. M. So what to do?

1) The best move is to avoid any potential contact. To accomplish this you should wear baggy clothes (but not the ones you stole from your ex--that's a dead give away). Big sunglasses (yes even at night, even if you're in a bar). and maybe a wig (please consult Kim from Real Housewives for details about how to make your own at home with yarn and wax paper). Perhaps now is the time to pick up a foreign language or at least a few key phrase like "I don't speak English" or "I'm just visiting from out of town." If you really thought ahead you probably told your ex (while you were still together) that you have an estranged twin named Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa (and yes Lisa Bonet actually named her child that). Just ask your companion to call you Nakoa-Wolf all night.

2) If you have the misforture of running into your ex (read: your attempt at a yarn wig failed) then have some lines prepared: "Oh do you live around here. It's just I sleep with so many hot modern ladies/gays in some many different neighborhoods, it's hard for me to keep track!" OR "Have we met?" OR "After dating you I decided I wasn't really that into men/women."

3) If all else fails do some arm stretches, grab some rocks, and aim for the bedroom window.

xoxo

tds

This Blog has Already Lost Its Edge

2009-01-08T11:28:00.001-08:00

Sooooo. I know this is old news and in fact has been my gchat status for days, however, I'd like to revisit amNew Yorkgate. This tragic tale was first brought to my attention by our "Downtown" (read Grammercy) Editor Ms. B. amNew York conducted some cutting edge research which yeilded these shocking results: drunk people hook up with more people than sober people do. What?!?!?!?! Booze leads to sex!?!?! Where was the New York Times on this?? Actually the only thing shocking about this story was that "a lot" of sexual partners was being defined as between 2-5 per year. 2?!?!?! 2?!?!!? 2 per year. Now call me the whore of hoboken (and if you already call me that think of something that suggests even greater promiscuity) BUT 2 people per year isn't exactly something out of Marquis de Sade's diary. I mean maybe if these 2 partners happened at the same time, you'd raise an eyebrow but two different people over 365 days!!!? I mean maybe if this article appeared in amBibleBelt I could understand the outrage over "drunken harpies cavorting with more than two menfolk" but NY!?! In this city knowing the full name of the person you're sleeping with practically gets you an award for outstanding moral character (seriously--I know 95% of you had to think for at least two mins if you knew the middle name of the person you are currently calling your partner, lover, roommate, "close" friend, booty call, gold digger or real doll (do NOT google this if you are at work)).

xoxo

tds

America's Got Talent...

2009-01-08T10:48:00.000-08:00

It's ashame I gots none. That said, I decided that I should spread my no talentness around the internets and get myself a blog (read: I'm apparently too lazy to send out emails). This blog will likely chronicle my adventures in dating, drinking, clapping while laughing, and dlisted reading. It will chronicle these things because these are the only things I do well. It will very rarely touch upon work, heavy lifting, and impulse control as those are things I know NOTHING about, and consequently would produce short boring entries.

xoxo

tds