I Am Fabulous, But Not Because I Am Single

"I've been dating since I was 15. I'm exhausted! Where is he?"
~Charlotte York, Sex & The City

Two days after my Alma Mater gave away their conference title like warm blankets at Christmas to homeless people my mom inquired as to if they could win their bowl game.  My response was, "who knows?"  What can I say?  I was highly frustrated.  It was a sense of frustration that vodka couldn't even cure.  Black tar heroin may have been able to do the trick, but I am not that kind of girl.  I repeat, I am not that kind of girl.  No team wins when they allow 90% of 3rd downs to be completed by their opponent.  They looked like Whitney Houston during her Barbara Walter's interview in 1993...All shaken up about crack.  I should have known my team would struggle, since a few of their wins were somewhat suspect.  That afternoon my mom emailed me and asked me if everything was okay.  That evening she called and asked if everything was okay.  Obviously, she assumed that all was not well in my world due to my response.  If I didn't assure her that everything was okay, I am sure that she would have resorted to cross stitching the question on a pillow.  I told her that nothing unusual was bothering me.  The "usual" being the fact that once again, I didn't wake up in the morning next to my hot Italian husband who has a sense of humor to match mine.  Yes, I have a thing for men of slight color.  I love, love, love Italian men, however, I have been known to confuse/substitute them with a tamale roller or drug dealer or two.

A couple of years after a high school, I started dating a guy that I stayed with for 8 years.  Man, was he a loser and I knew it!  My parents knew it too.  Up until about a year ago, my mom would sporadically remind me that it would not be a good idea for me to ever get back together with him.  I did not need a reminder.  My bad memories served me well.

A few years ago, he contacted me via a social networking site and like a dumbass I gave him my number.  I must have been in an advanced stage of drinking that evening.  He said he wanted to be friends.  I was okay with being friends until he asked me what color panties I was wearing one night.  Either, we had different definitions of what friends meant or he was lying about his intentions.  I will go with the latter, since he was a big, fat liar to begin with!  He put the final nail in his coffin with that comment.  He really crossed the line and once he did that I drew my line with black tar.  My line basically said. "Go play in traffic!"  I should have shanked him in the kidney years ago.

After I suffered through an 8 year relationship with him, it was time to play, be free, and discover who I really was.  Who was I?  I was Diane and I had the nameplate necklace specially ordered from Patricia Field in NYC to prove it.  Unfortunately, that necklace became a victim of a vacuum cleaner one day.  I was a true player AND I crushed a lot.  I was single and fabulous.  My signature move seemed to be smoking Cuban cigars out of my front stoop in my see-thru pj's.  Guys always seemed to love that look.  Ironically, I did not plan that.  I just did it.  I never do anything on purpose to attract attention.  I just do what I do.  Everything is an accident.  When I looked in the mirror, I saw somebody who was confident and molten-lava hot.  I was the belle of the ball at every bar I frequented.  I traveled a lot and I seemed to have a knack for choosing guys that I wouldn't have to commit to i.e. out-of-towners or the guy in the military being shipped off to Afghanistan.  I wasn't sure what I wanted.  All I know is that I was in some sort of downward spiral with the letters "L-O-V-E" wrapped around it and I took a lot of hearts down with me.

So here we are 10 years later.  I am still single and I am fabulous, yet I am not single and fabulous.  Nor am I desperate, however, I crave a solid relationship with somebody who is stable and who is my biggest fan.  I now feel as though I want what I used to fear.  I want the guy who I never thought I wanted.  I don't want a rock star.  Instead, I want somebody who stars in the sitcom titled "Reliable and Stable".  I always went after the jerk/junkie.  It was as if I organized a line-up of the ten biggest losers and said, "Look mommy. I want that one!"  I would always kick and scream until I landed the biggest jerk.  And where did that land me?  In the land of cooking for one, because losers have a shelf life.  And, leftovers only last so long before they start to decompose like roadkill.

So now all I can do is wait.  My only other option would be to start serving samples of my delicious cooking on the frozen food aisle at Kroger while handing out cards to eligible men that have my airbrushed picture on the front of the card and my phone number on the back of the card just in case they need the recipe.  What's the big rush?  I want a live-in that I can "hug the HELL out of lying down" whenever I want.

BTW, I am okay.  I am never alone.  I have an awesome cat and I have a great family and circle of friends, as well, as a nifty crew of colorful acquaintances and if that ends up not being enough I can always get lost in my own brain which is a pretty interesting place to vacation.  And, if you are wondering what happened to all of the hearts I broke...They all got married so I am guessing they are just fine.  They may be bored, but they are okay.

Fear & Loathing In The Deep Fried Snickers Bar

DISCLAIMER Part 1: I am by no means picking on the person who used to be the fat kid. You can't prevent genetics, however, you can prevent laziness.

DISCLAIMER Part 2: Prepare to be offended if you are lazy. I make no apologies.

I compare health and fitness to college. I once had a charming asshole tell me that college was not about getting a degree and a job in a relevant field, but that it was about being disciplined and becoming polished. That might have been the only credible thing he ever said or did. I have to agree. It takes a lot of discipline to get up and go to class after a night of partying. Even if you decide to not go, you are still responsible for making a huge decision. The same goes for exercising. Does anybody really want to get out of bed early to workout? I don't, but I do it anyway. Life is not always fair. If I stay in bed that extra 15 minutes that I could be doing crunches will I have a better day? No. If I get out of bed 15 minutes early and do crunches will I have a better day? Maybe not, but I will feel better about myself.

There are two kinds of people. There are people who decide to make healthy choices when it comes to eating and exercise and there are those who say "screw it, my metabolism isn't as fast as it used to be so I am just going to be fat and happy." Why do I care? Why is is my business? Because I have to look at their fat asses and sit next to them on airplanes. On a bad day, there is nothing like some major arm fat to piss me off. I know, I know...It's really something going on inside of me and it has nothing to do with them, however, their fat is the catalyst. I can just as easily get annoyed with the person who talks about their daily gym trips, but not as much. For those who brag about how much they exercise, I get it. Trust me I get it, but please put your pom-poms down. On the other hand, I guess we all need something to brag about. I choose to brag about cocktail hour.

We all know those annoying people who check into restaurants with no healthy choices on foursquare all day long. How cute is it to envision someone who is saying "yummm, Starbucks frappuccino" and then 2 hours later "yummm, Hooters chicken wings"? Not cute when you envision them going back to work and plugging their ass with doughnuts in order to pad their desk chair. These are the same people who complain all day long. These people are not "fat and happy". Sure I get aggravated throughout the day, but it is hardly ladylike to broadcast it to the universe.

Sure there are days where I think I might trade my right arm for a chicken finger pizza, however, when I see that chocolate cake in Kroger I do not take it home like a prom date.

There are ways to make it somewhat entertaining. My best co-worker and I track our weight weekly on a chart. She goes by Lil' Court and I go by Diane Smalls. If you don't understand the reference then I suggest you brush up on your gangsta rap. Think Junior Mafia circa the early 90's.

A lot of people eat because they are bored. Not hungry, but bored to tears. This happens to me quite frequently at work. Instead of stuffing my face with Twizzlers, I make a cup of hot tea. Contrary to popular belief, Twizzlers are not good for you and they do not represent one of the major food groups. If that were the case candy corn could be classified as a vegetable. Low-fat candy. Really?

Before anyone calls me on it, because I know somebody will, oh yes I do, I know a segment of the population has health problems which prevent them from being super skinny bitches, however, I know several of these people and they work hard at being healthy and it shows.

Do I get an A+ in P.E. every single day? Not no, but Hell no! If I did, I would be cascading down a runway in a bra and panties with giant angel wings strapped to my back. I do, however, get an A+ with extra credit in the creative department every single day. When I am craving nachos I do not consort with the nearest Mexican cartel in order to feed my desires. I make them myself minus the chips. This way I know what ingredients are being added and they are healthier. I guess technically without the chips they are not nachos, but whatever. I use grilled chicken and black beans along with sour cream and cheese which I use sparingly. Dr. Atkins thought it was okay to take a bath in cheese and ranch dressing, but I think he might have been a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

Ultimately, it is someone's personal choice if they want to take care of themselves and it is none of my business, however, I think that people are really selling themselves short if they don't take care of themselves.

The most important person to look good for and be healthy for is yourself, however, it is nice to be easy on the eyes for other people.

I don't just want a man to open the door for me. I want a man to pick me up and carry me through that door and how is he going to be able to do that if my ass is too heavy to lift or too fat to fit through a door?

And, men want to be with the girl that when everyone sees her they say, "He must get down on his knees every night and thank God that he is with her."  They definitely do not want to hear, " Awww, poor thing.  They must have been high school sweethearts."

The College Experiment In Hasty Judgement: The Walk Of Shame Hall of Fame

Welcome to college ladies. The standard college acceptance letter should state that you cannot graduate until you have spent the night in a frat house.  Face it ladies.  At some point in college we all wore our panties to keep our ankles warm.

Frat guys know all the tricks to get a girl to hug them lying down.  The one that usually works is to give her another beer.  Enough beers and she will be screaming her mating call out at the top of her lungs.  It goes a little like this.  "I'm sooooooo drunk, I'm sooooooo drunk."

Praise anyone that you can think of that I only had one of those experiences.  I did pretty good considering Florida State was voted the ultimate party school.  When I attended the motto was that you could always retake a class, however, you could never relive a party.

Sooo here we go.  I went to a party one night with my friends at the Pi Kappa Phi house.  It is amazing that I still remember that detail.  I was drinking and doing my thing and then out of the blue some guy just plants one on me, and to this day it may have been the best kiss ever.  Sad, but true.  A week later I found out that his name was "Clay", because I was friends with one of his frat brothers and he was asking about me.  My friend, whose name I don't even remember escorted me to meet "Clay" at around, let's say an inappropriate hour.  We met at the Westcott Fountain which was centrally located between my dorm and his frat house.  We played in the fountain, I fell off the top of the fountain and well you know the rest.  A few days later was parent's weekend and I had a lovely bruise which scaled my entire thigh to show off to my parents.  I kept in classy in Tallahassee for sure.

So about a week later my friend told me that "Clay" had a note on his door with simply a broken heart drawn on it.  He wanted to know if it was me.  Are you kidding me?!  Some girls may be unlike toilets in the sense that a toilet doesn't follow you around for a week after you use it, but not me!  It was a totally unforgettable experience and I wouldn't have left a note on his door even if I was sleepwalking. 

One night I had a dream that my father said these words to me before I left for college.

You can date each and every KA, but bring home a SigEp for a husband.

You can party with the Delts, and it's fine to date a Lambda, but when it's time to marry, be sure to find a SigEp.  Pi Kapp's can be on your agenda, and ATO's are fun for a date, but never, ever forget that you'll want a SigEp as your mate.

We want you to enjoy your college years and give all the fraternities a spin, but never accept a ring unless Sigma Phi Epsilon is on his pin.

During your four years of college, you'll go from one house to another, but take the advice of your smiling ole dad and bring home a SigEp to your mother.

MY ONE ROMP WITH A PI KAPP MUST BE THE REASON WHY I NEVER MARRIED. : )

The Key To Happiness Is Running Over People Who Are Losers And Turning Them Into Speed Bumps

We have all made the mistake of giving energy to a situation that reeks of failure like a mayonnaise and Swiss cheese sandwich that has been in the trunk of your car for a week.  Some of us learn from that mistake and some of us just keep repeating it.

Not only are you allowing someone to rent space for free in your head, but you are letting them occupy a luxury suite at the St. Regis why you are sitting at home eating Ramen noodles.

This does not necessarily apply to relationships with people of the opposite sex or the same sex if you like Cher and lots of glitter.  It can apply to a family member, co-worker, the mail carrier, etc.

Think.  Think about the negatives.  There's no point in losing your sleep over an individual that you know you won't be able to maintain a healthy relationship with.  It's not going to happen, it's not worth it, you're wasting your time.  End of story.  Cry a river, build a bridge and get over it, because chances are that UPS guy that stops in your office everyday that you slobber all over will get a new route and you can focus your attention on the next one.  If you are lucky, FedEx will make frequent stops too.  I wouldn't know because my UPS guy is a fluffy bald guy and FedEx is represented by a 60 year old woman who looks like she has alot of experience with women.

This doesn't mean that you have to cease all contact with this person.  There is no need to delete their number or defriend them on facebook.  Hopefully, you stop melting underneath them before you start building real resentments.  When you hold resentment toward someone, you are building an unwanted emotional connection with them that is stronger than cement.  You can color on that cement with fluorescent chalk and try to make it appear different, but it isn't going to change things.  It is still cement that people have publicly urinated on and a cracked foundation at that.

These relationships are like a night celebratory drinking.  You  feed on them again and again, and while they hurt you like a massive hangover each time, you just can't let go of it.  However, if you want to be happy, YOU HAVE TO LET GO. 

Moral Of The Story: If you plant flower seeds in a weed garden, flowers will not sprout.  Weeds will.  Someone once drew me a picture of a flower and told me that I was a pretty flower, therefore, I choose not to hang out with weeds.

Manthers VS. Cougars ~ The Battle Of The Sexes & Age Disparity

"There Is Always A 20 Year Old Out There Looking To Hook Up With Mrs. Robinson."
~Me, As I Approached 30.

I can't remember the last time I went out with someone my age or older than me.  To determine the youngest person you should date, take one half of your age, and add seven years.  You shouldn’t date anyone younger than that.  I am no math scholar, however, I have faith in my calculator and it states that I could still get away with dating/bedding  a college student in an MBA program.  Men should take their age, divide by two and add seven.  Apparently, men are supposed to date younger women and women can "get away with" dating younger men.  As usual, there appears to be a double standard.  Shocking!

They say that men mature slower than women.  Personally, I think that when men reach their 40's they just start to digress and need their bananas mashed up.  They also need to be the center of attention and are frequently selfish. However, all charming people are spoiled.  Trust me, I should know.  They get hormonal too.  I can't decide if I should ask them if they need a diaper or a tampon.  They appear to be menopausal hence the prefix "men".  There are easier things in life then dating men like this like nailing jelly to a tree for example.  And if I do come across single men my age or older they resemble a pumpkin who has had everything scraped out of his head with a spoon.

Ultimately, I would like to spend my life with someone my age.  Someone who remembers Jiffy Pop, Atari, the invention of the microwave and so on, but if I was meant to be with someone my age I think he already got hit by a truck.  For now, I think I will just THOROUGHLY enjoy dating younger men.  It was fun when I did it before.  I actually started perfecting the art of being a goddess to younger men when I was 28.  I had just exited an 8 year relationship with a complete bottom feeder who was beneath me and might I add did not know how to get beneath me in the right way.  I was free and I was ready to see the free world.  I lived in a college town so I was swimming in a sea of Freshmen.  My only hang up at the time was that I felt I had to compete with every younger guys crush on Britney Spears, but nobody wants to even hear about that train wreck now so I am in business.  It's Britney Bitch!

Eluding The Fashion Police: Love, Honor & Obey Lady Laws

"A women who doesn't wear perfume has no future."
Coco Chanel

Back in the 1970's when I was a little lady and didn't know any better, I would flip through my grandmother's Good Housekeeping and Ladies Home Journal magazines and daydream about all the layers of fried chicken that I would create for my family one day, but never ever ever did I thumb through her copies of Harper's Bazaar and aspire to be on the worst dressed list.

There are rules of being a lady.

Rule#1: Make your own rules.

Rule #2: Break all of the rules.

Rule#3: You can only follow rules #1 & #2 if you are a woman of my caliber and my ranking. Why do I consider myself special? I come from a long line of glamorous, classy women so I am just lucky like that.

Unfortunately, some most unfortunate women were raised in pop-up camper parks by mixed breed coyotes, therefore, they don't know any better, but have no fear misfits, I am here to dispense advice.

Sequins have a curfew. You will never catch me in sequins after 3 am. Why have I chosen this time? Because at this point most of the bars have closed and you and your friends have made it to some one's house for some after hours pleasure. Also, you will never catch me running around with my shoes dangling from my dainty fingertips like a clutch. I had to learn that lesson the hard way. There I was, New Orleans, Mardi Gras 2000. My feet were covered in blisters because I decided to devour beads in 5 inch wedges from dusk until dawn. I felt like I could not go on so until I stumbled into a store and bought some flats I walked around barefoot. On Bourbon Street. I am amazed that I still have 2 feet. Walking barefoot publicly, just screams that you are fat, hungry and wasted. I'm not fat and when I do get wasted I tend to carry myself rather well, except for one recent weekend when I knocked a bunch of shit over. The only time your bare feet should touch a public surface is when you are standing on your star on Hollywood Boulevard and even I don't have one of those...Yet. These two rules are the reason why you should ALWAYS pack an overnight bag. You should always be armed with a change of cute, but comfy clothes and a pair of comfortable flats or flops. AND, another reason to pack a "I might not be coming home" bag dates back to NYE 2010 which can be referenced in this post:

http://peachyinthecity.blogspot.com/2010/01/self-awareness-and-one-night-standa.html.
It was fun, though. : )

On a what not to wear and what to bring along note, you should always have a few staple pieces in your closet/possession. For me, staple pieces are items that you spend a little bit more money on that really stand out and add some "pop" to that little black dress that isn't so exciting anymore, mainly because it has been hanging in your closet for awhile and it no longer provides you with that "feels brand new" high. Some of my staple pieces include, a nude faux (of course) crocodile handbag, a pair of hot pink ruffled suede ankle booties and my newest favorite addition which is a leopard print scarf with a hint of green in it. I love scarves. If you start to feel like a disintegrating Cinderella and you want to take it off you can always tie it around your purse handles and let it hang to the side.

Don't ever wear designer knock-offs. That is a criminal act which should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you can't afford a plethora of your favorite designer pieces then save your money to purchase at least one of your dream items. Tuck your savings away in a "shit I can't afford" jar. Don't worry too much, I have owned everything from Gucci and Chanel to Louis Vuitton and Prada, however, I think designer overkill is tacky. Yes, I am referring to Gucci and Louis Vuitton imprinted birthday cakes. I mean, really? I prefer cupcakes anyway. Cupcakes drenched in hard liquor. I am down with the old school barbie doll cake too. You know the one. The cake that is built around the base of the doll. Damn, some great ideas sprung from the 80's.

Be CREATIVE. Don't ever compose the polite gesture of thanking someone via email or text message. Text messages are for touching base, confirming plans and most importantly breaking up. Yes, I am guilty of breaking up via text message, so if you are reading this and have an interest in me then consider yourself warned. I apologize in advance. Wait a second, I take that back. I make no apologies for myself. It is what it is. I am who I am. To know me is to love me. You get the point. So, stationary is so very important. You don't even have to go out and buy it. You can craft it yourself. It is not about the expense, because many times the materials used to hand make items usually totals more than the actual item on the shelf. It is all about personal touch. A note or a gift doesn't mean as much if thought has not been put into it. Speaking of gifts...Buy people gifts. Be kind and generous. Generous does not have to equal expensive. It truly is the thought that counts unless of course we are talking about the guy who thought he could have sex with you, but was too drunk to make it happen. That thought doesn't count. That person doesn't count.

Speaking of physical pleasure, DO NOT refer to your "special place" as a va jay jay. I don't care what Oprah says. In the past, I have referenced it as my Mary Poppins. I have no idea why. Maybe it is because it takes care of people (men)? Or maybe it is because it is like a spoonful of sugar? Who knows. Most recently, she has taken on the term "Cookie". Either way it is couture. It is like Saks Fifth Avenue. Not everyone can shop there.

The most important law revolves around CONFIDENCE. You must exude confidence in order to succeed. If you lack confidence, start hanging out with me. I am steering a yacht full of confidence and I would love to have you on deck so get on board!

Last but not least, you should always carry gum. I love the positive affirmations I get from carrying gum, because nobody else carries it and they always want it. AND, always, always SMILE. It costs nothing to smile! : )

**These laws and rules are DIANE tested and approved**

Family Vacation Stress Syndrome And Adventurous Adventures

"I think you're all fucked in the head. We're ten hours from the fucking fun park and you want to bail out. Well I'll tell you something. This is no longer a vacation. It's a quest. It's a quest for fun. I'm gonna have fun and you're gonna have fun. We're all gonna have so much fucking fun we'll need plastic surgery to remove our god damn smiles. You'll be whistling 'Zip-A-Dee Doo-Dah' out of you're assholes! I gotta be crazy! I'm on a pilgrimage to see a moose. Praise Marty Moose! Holy Shit!"

~Clark Griswold in Vacation

Family vacations...They begin in a mystery and end in a mystery. Some of my favorite memories consist of past family vacations. The funny incidents, the little mishaps, etc. And whenever I want to revisit those memories and go off the rails on a crazy train, I'll just shut my eyes and I'm in Heaven/Hell/The Comedy Store once again...

Whenever most people travel with family they find out whether they like someone or hate them. Not in my family. There is no time for emotions when you are dealing with a medical crisis. And by medical crisis I mean watching the car in front of you running into a mountain or having the whole world watch you fall in the street.

Oh where oh where do I begin?  The funny stuff or the events that led to scrapes and bruises?  I will start with the funny stuff, because the escapades in injury turned out to be humorous as well.

Those that say you can't take it with you never saw a car packed for a vacation trip.  I have flown so much in my life that I don't care about the window seat anymore, however, my family unit and I didn't fly that much to our vacation destinations.  Apparently, my father thought it would be a much better idea to torpedo us into the car and send us on our way.  Trust me when I say that hours and hours on the open road bring out some murderous tendencies in you.  I once walked into my gynecologists office and told the nurse that I was a homicidal maniac because I was hormonal.  LIE!  I think it was a pre-existing condition brought on by family vacations.  I am claustrophobic.  What can I say.  You can't confine me in a small space with anybody for a significant period of time.  Not even Brad Pitt.

I am sure we have all had somebody bang on our front door in the middle of the morning.  Well at least you have if you are a desirable female.  That middle of the morning nuisance was taken to a whole different level on one of my family vacations.  Some family crazier than mine woke us up by banging on our tent.  It was a case of mistaken identity, because we were not who they were looking for.  My family was crazy, but they were also proper.  We met other families for dinner, not for campground trips.  The intruders were very apologetic.  I am not sure what it was that made them want to invite us to a kumbayah sing-a-long around the campfire the next night.  It could have been the sheer terror they felt when my eyes spit nails because I had awoken from a deep slumber infused with visions of the Hardy Boys or maybe they just felt like complete morons in general.  Needless to say I didn't make it to the campground choir rehearsal even though the invite was pretty much received as they were down on their knees begging for mercy.  I had a dinner date with the ducks which entailed me feeding them bread and Honeycomb cereal.  Actually that was the only time I was allowed to eat sugary food that was bad for me.  My grandmother was the one who packed the cereal for us.  I shared some with the ducks, but I sneaked the rest.  I thought I had hit the effin' jackpot!  Speaking of food, I got in big trouble over food on one of our vacations.  I believe we were somewhere between Illinois and Hell.  We had stopped off at a Wendy's and I pitched a fit because I ordered a hamburger without ketchup and what did I receive?  A hamburger with ketchup.  I am okay with ketchup with fries, but I don't like it touching my meat or my bun.  It just reminds me of something highly inappropriate.  My father was highly annoyed so he banned me from going to the hotel pool after dinner.  I was devastated.  I cried and cried as if somebody had kidnapped my grandmother.  To this day I don't know what my damage entailed.  While I didn't have a pool in my backyard, I had access to many pools and usually complained because I was tired of being in them.  I had my choice of the YMCA, the yacht club and the country club pools on any given day.  My mother would drop me off at swimming lessons and I would catch a ride home with every kid I knew who magically got an ear infection just to have my mother take me right back.  She pulled that with bible school too.  If there were 2 things she wanted for me it was for me to know how to swim and know the bible.  Did she want me to be a christian athlete or be saved when I drowned?  Maybe both.  As far as the hotel cess pool went I must have just had this strong urge to mix and mingle and do underwater handstands with trailer trash from the 50 different states.

Enough fun.  Bring on the physical pain!  There we were.  Cruising along in the car in the Tennessee mountains.  My sister and I were singing at top of our lungs to the radio.  "Don't Go Away Mad" by Motley Crue was playing.  Imagine Ralphie and Randy singing on the way to pick out a Christmas tree in "A Christmas Story".  Our singing was like most heavy metal.  It was loud and obnoxious, but we were so proud.  I overheard my father say, "that guy has lost it".  I had no idea what he was talking about, nor did I care.  I was in the middle of the best karaoke performance of my life!  Whether I liked it or not, I very quickly found out what my father was talking about.  The car ahead of us, veered off into the median and then came back and shot right in front of us and hit the side of the mountain.  Of course, we stopped to help.  Everyone was okay, however, I think one of the boys broke his glasses and lost a few teeth.  I remember telling the kid that I had a good orthodontist he could use.  I spent so much time with that orthodontist that it is amazing that my parents could still send me to college since my father paid for all of his kids to go to college.  And not just any college.  He paid for them to go to Harvard and Yale.  I just got to go to Florida State, however, now that I think about it that had nothing to do with money.  Could have been my grades.  To this day, nobody believes that story.  I told that story when I was 19 outside of a nightclub to a bunch of my friends who had just dropped a bunch of acid and apparently it sent them on the worst trip of their life.

My life would not be complete without having to make a trip to the hospital on vacation.  In my early 30's my parental units invited me to go to Chicago with them.  I was "rushing" on Rush Street during rush hour.  Literally.  I was walking really fast, because I was in a hurry to meet my parents for dinner.  I tripped and fell over a curb and there I went.  Of course everyone was gasping in horror, however, I picked myself up, exclaimed that I was okay and kept on going.  Once I reached the restaurant, I ordered 3 vodka concoctions and when that didn't work I had to go to the hospital/emergency room.  There is nothing like hobbling down Michigan Avenue at 1 a.m. to pick up your Vicodin prescription at the pharmacy.  When we left a few days later I decided to go to a nearby florist and pick out some flowers for myself to take on the airplane with me.  As I drug myself through the airport with a sling on one arm and a bouquet of flowers hanging out of the other my mother told me that I resembled a tore down homecoming queen/Elizabeth Taylor.  I am guessing that refusing to take off my newest pair of Christian Dior shades helped me achieve haggard and worn out celebrity status in my mother's eyes.  The plane ride home was the cake topper.  I had finished off my Vicodin the night before, because I needed something to ease the pain of my father's  incessant snoring.  I should have stomached the snoring, because I definitely couldn't stomach anything else the next day.  I kept puking in that bag on the plane and my mother told me I couldn't have anymore to eat.  She went even further by telling the airline attendant that I could not have anymore snacks.  What was I?  12?  This is precisely why I now agree with the person that said you should not vacate with your parents as an adult child.  In my mind I yanked her by the hair, grabbed her by the throat and drug her down the aisle while screaming that no matter what I would be puking so I might as well have something to puke up.  During a layover, my father grabbed a hot dog.  It wasn't just any hot dog.  It was smothered in onions.  I wanted to kill him and I almost did.  If looks could kill I would have received my inheritance a long time ago.  Once we were almost home, I told my parents I wanted to die.  At that point they were happy to oblige.  My mother said they could tie me to a tree in the back yard and shoot me.  She ended up feeding me salty crackers and ginger ale and put "Clueless" in the DVD player.  Somehow, that was the cure I needed.

It actually took me several years to get over that injury.  My doctor told me that at my age people are not meant to throw themselves down on the pavement in front of moving cars.  With another family vacation approaching, I am hoping and praying that I come back unscathed.  We are going to the mountains in Tennessee and taking a trip to Dollywood.  Since my 16 month old nephew is involved, apparently Dollywood is a test run for Disney World.  I can only hope that I will find a float so I can rest between Dolly's voluptuousness.  I have a feeling though that I will be walking away needing a vacation because I just had one.

Bad Decisions Make Good Stories

I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with shots of tequila than Kay.  Maybe Kay and Jack Daniels should hook up. This is precisely why I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.  I have the blurriest beer goggles ever.  I can think of many games of "slap and tickle" that I have played that I would like to shelve and accumulate so much dust that they disappear.

My quest to make a complete fool out of myself began in high school.  Two bottles of Boone's Farm all to myself every Friday night was enough to get any party started...The kind of party you would like to forget.  The kind of party that ended up with remnants of Krispy Kreme doughnuts all over your bedroom wall. My life would not have been complete if I had not carried the tradition on throughout college so I did. I carried it like an Olympic torch.  There were several nights where drinking was my name and fraternity houses were my game.  The night always began with a dance to the Garth Brooks classic, "Friends In Low Places" at a fraternity party.  The walk of shame the next day was a pretty low place, but a braggable right at the same time.

Most of us have absorbed way too many shots and made bad decisions on more than one occasion. It's always one of those nights when your pores are screaming at you to pour something strong and sticky into them. These bad decisions usually fester into some of the worst sexual experiences of your life. And you usually wake up with a mind bending headache which as it produces optical illusions you find yourself saying, "I think I have a tumor!" I actually I have one of those headaches right now, however, I did not seize the opportunity the make any bad decisions last night. I opted to have a major meltdown instead.  It wasn't my best work and it was hardly entertaining, but I needed the release.

Sure, there are some nights that I still drink like I am on Bourbon Street, however, I don't indulge in bad decisions anymore. How and Why?

How? As you age you gain wisdom and enough good credit to purchase that truckload of self-respect.

Why? I don't need anymore stories. I have far too many!

High School Skinny

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." ~ Kate Moss

It's like a recurring nightmare.  The refrigerator is calling your name and the rants are long and drawn out moans as if coming from the talking trees in The Wizard Of Oz.  You get up and open the door and that chocolate pie jumps out at you and hits you in the face.  It is like a pie throwing contest not in your favor.  It is gone within 5 minutes and as you are licking the whipped topping off your face you think about how epic the cigarette will be.

I never thought I would want to lose weight.  I was super thin well into my 20's.  I was a pencil thin teen model.  I didn't walk the runways in Paris and Milan, but I certainly wore out the carpet in the Mary Lou's Models office.  While I always knew I could handle putting on a few pounds, I didn't want to put on too much.  I was super stoked when I put on 20, but once I put on 40 I wasn't so thrilled and then there was 60 and then I was so not fond of the days when I drank weight gainer.

So here we have what has been my emotional food roller coaster for the last 6 months.

There is a skinny bitch inside of me and she is dying to get out.  She is pushing, kicking, screaming, etc. Every time I hear her blood curdling scream I feed her a cookie so she will shut up.  No more!  From now on she gets a tic-tac and a bottle of water.  Maybe she will have her choice between a tic-tac and a skittle if I am in a good mood.  BUT, under no circumstances is she to have a chewy spree, even if she has been on her best behavior.

Now that I have started to relinquish the pounds I am starting to feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders as well as the muffin off my waistline.  Now, when I eat a bland salad it tastes so much better, because I know I will look so much better in that garter belt. I will also be more comfortable during a night full of spontaneous activities like streaking while toilet papering houses.  Of course, if I am participating in that kind of random play that means that I am probably highly inebriated and I don't really care at that point.  Also, every time I am dying on the stair climber I just look for that light at the end of the tunnel.  I see "trophy wife" in bright lights and it gets me through my workout every time.

It's official!  I am about to give birth to this food and alcohol baby of mine and will be giving it up for adoption to anyone else who wants to feel undesirable for the time being.  Remember to take care of him/her and feed them plenty of bon bons.  Thanks!

Single Land: Welcome To The Garden Of You Can Do Whatever You Want When You Want. I Will Be Your Cruise Director.

"I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating. I don't like the feeling. You're sitting there, you're wondering do I have food on my face, am I eating, am I talking too much, are they talking enough, am I interested I'm not really interested, should I play like I'm interested but I'm not that interested but I think she might be interested but do I want to be interested but now she's not interested? So all of the sudden I'm getting, I'm starting to get interested... And when am I supposed to kiss her? Do I have to wait for the door cause then it's awkward, it's like well goodnight. Do you do like that ass-out hug? Where you like, you hug each other like this and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to get too close or do you just go right in and kiss them on the lips or don't kiss them at all? It's very difficult trying to read the situation. And all the while you're just really wondering are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions?"

- Jeremy Grey in Wedding Crashers

Recently, an inquiring mind asked me if I thought I could ever commit to one person...Forever (according to Prince, that's a mighty long time)?  Why on earth would somebody target me for a question like that?  Does my mere presence scream commitaphobe.  I am not a hooker.  Anyone who follows me on foursquare knows that I am frequently checking into bars and clothing boutiques and not street corners. Oh yeah, I am 38 and happily have never been married.  I am sure there is a very good reason for that, however, I have no idea what it is. I repeatedly say that I wouldn't mind settling down if the right guy found me, however, my actions speak louder than a stadium full of vuvuzelas.  I can admit that I have a tendency to kiss and run.  I push people away and we are not talking about a slight nudge.  I push people to the edge of a cliff and then kick them over the river and through the woods with no remorse.  Is it a proud moment every time I realize that I have left a cross country trail of broken hearts and spinning heads?  NO, but it is what it is.  To know me is to love me and I think people have a pretty good idea of what they are signing up for when signing on with me. 

Maybe, just maybe, I don't have the bride gene.  Maybe, the doctor ripped it out of my heart right after I was born.  Am I going to hunt the doctor down that delivered me and sue him for malpractice, as well as, rip his arms off, beat him to death with them and then shove them down his throat?  No.  I have caught many bouquets in my lifetime, when I was too young to know better.  Were they meant for me?  I don't know.  All I know is that I have a good catching arm.  These days I just ignore them and they usually end up hitting me in the head as I look away.  Want to talk about severe head trauma.  I am guessing the next one might possibly cause a seizure.

Everyone has been single at some point in their life.  Everyone has also been in some sort of crazy relationship as well.  While to many being in a relationship is a better situation to be in, unfortunately it takes two people to be in a relationship so until the right person is mail-ordered to you, you're just going to have to put up with being single.  However, I see the silver lining in being single.


So this is me...I reside in Single Land. A land where flirting is encouraged. A land where my money is my own and I can spend a week's salary in Vegas if the spirit moves me. A land in which I can leave my clothes anywhere I want which means that I don't have to pick up anyone else's.


Relationships are all about compromise, being single is all about doing what you want, when you want.
Sure, I would like somebody to split the mortgage with, but there are perks to being single.  I can get up out of bed and go spontaneously buy milk in the middle of the night without somebody wondering if I am cheating on them.  I can sit on the sofa and eat Cheese Whiz out of a can and watch hours of General Hospital on TIVO without being judged.  I don't have to deal with somebody promising to take me out to a nice dinner, falling asleep and then when they wake up the only restaurant open is the McDonalds drive-thru (I am still pissed off about that). I also don't have to wait in line for the bathroom.

Perhaps, I am just jaded and my experiences are holding me back. All of my knights in shining armor have turned out to be losers in aluminum foil and eventually I want to run them over in a parking lot and turn them into speed bumps.

I guess I better change my thought process, because a vibrator will not send you flowers on Valentine's Day or split the mortgage with you. In fact, vibrators drain batteries which drain your bank account! I am sure going to miss those late night booty calls via email. I know. WTF?!  I guess rotary phones will be making a comeback as well.

A Childhood Scattered, Smothered, Covered & Threatened By The GULF Oil Spill

Growing up, I wanted my father to listen to me a lot like my friends did. I wanted my mother to listen to me, because there was so much to tell and the pain was coming through. I wanted my boyfriend to listen because life was closing in from everywhere. As graduation approached, there was so little time to show we cared and to say the words that showed in out hearts.

The GULF oil spill has prompted me to reflect. As oil washes ashore and booms are planted behind the houses we grew up in, I reminisce of better times. Times that seemed pure. As a senior in high school, I went to go see "Stealing Home" with my dear friend Shannon (O'Brien) Heller. To this day, it reminds me of HOME.

As Katie waltzed up the pier (we are all so familiar with fishing piers) she exclaimed, "All they did was drag this poor horse up to this platform and they pushed him off into a cold tank of water. Everyone laughed and they clapped. They thought it was funny. I cried. I thought it was mean. Let's go. See, that's all I want to do Billy-Boy. I want to leap of this pier and fly high in the air and hang with the wind and drift through the clouds, and at night, with the moon full and the sea wild, I'd meet my lover high on a cliff and we'd swoop down into the ocean and swim all the way touch the bottom up through the dark water and break the surface. Then we'd fly to Jamaica for Pina Coladas...God, I wish I could do that."

With this tragedy, I wonder where the time went. It is as if it has left us here alone. I am looking in the mirror and instead of the world getting clearer it is getting cloudier. I can't believe it might be over. Those moments seemed like yesterday. My friends and I could not wait to be older...

The oil spill is changing our lives tomorrow. I wish we could go back to high school and live in forever so we can hold on to those moments that we made as we shared our dreams together. Those were the best days of our lives.

Even though we left and went our separate ways we will never fade away.

For my friends along the Gulf that I have shared these wonderful memories with, I am in you and you are in me.

I will always remember those bonfires at the "third parking lot" at Pensacola Beach drinking Strawberry Hill and listening to Hendrix, U2 and REM. AND, I can't forget incessantly breaking curfew. In the words of 80's sensation Dan Hartman, "I can dream about you if I can't hold you tonight."

I'll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure. ~ Mae West

I had a lot of dates but I decided to stay home and dye my eyebrows. ~ Andy Warhol

You gotta risk it to get the biscuit.

Let The Music Play ~ Growing Pains Circa The 80's

Music is my religion. ~ Jimi Hendrix

My ex-fiancee' who I might add has been out of my life for 10 years recently approached me on facebook. He said that he missed me and that we would still be together if he would have treated me better. Um, think again buddy. I am okay without you. Trust me. I must also mention that he inquired about what kind of panties I was wearing. It is safe to say that I am wearing the kind that would spit nails and throw razor blades at him if he got within a state of me. Let's just say, he wasn't the right guy for me. My parents tried to tell me every day of our relationship. They hated him. Every time we went out for Chinese they came armed with their own fortune cookies. They were specially made and included messages about how I needed to dump my boyfriend. It took me 8 years to see the light. This prompted me to think of all of the reasons why I would never rekindle a relationship with him and also made me think of reasons why he should not want to marry me. I could only think of one. I am a terrible singer. I used to torture him by laying in bed late at night and singing 10 second clips of every 80's song known to the human race. It was a spurt of musical Attention Deficit Disorder. Secretly, he loved it and that is why he is begging for more. Not going to happen!

Music has always been my savior as I am sure it has been everyone else's as well.  Sometimes music is the only thing to get your mind off everything else.  As a child, I spent more time in the corner and locked in my room as I did anywhere else so I needed something to entertain me. I had a new favorite song every other day. What made me feel so entitled to scream, "that's my song, that's my song!"? I would sit by the radio for endless hours waiting for my favorite song to come on the radio so I could tape it. The 80's weren't that advanced, but they were FUN! You had to make sure you pressed the "orange" button to record. I had blisters from hitting that button. The worst part was that whatever was going on in the background was recorded as well. My mother would yell that it was time for dinner and there it was right smack dab in the middle of "You Dropped A Bomb On Me" by The Gap Band...DDDIIINNNEEERRR!!!

I had a wide range of musical influences as a child. My first 45 was "Heart Of Glass" by Blondie and my first album was "Back In Black" by AC/DC. I can't forget 8 tracks. I owned one 8 track tape and it was the "GREASE" soundtrack. My parents slid their influence in there once in awhile and when they did it was definitely entertaining. My sister and I would play their Kenny Rogers And The Fifth Edition album and put on quite the show. You haven't seen "Good Vibrations" performed until you have see 2 children jump off the fireplace hearth lip syncing.

The neighbors on each side of me put my music collection to shame. One had "Bad Girls" by Donna Summer and the "9 To 5" soundtrack. I found myself prancing around singing...
Some men find her sexy, some men disagree
But if she's not, it's not because she doesn't want to be
She wears a push-up bra from Frederick's, five inch high heel shoes
Maybelline and Rubinstein, and Avon's best perfume
She's a working girl

She's a working girl, she is single and free
She's a mother and wife and she's proud to be
A working girl

I was 10 years old and had no clue, but needless to say I have sported a push-up bra and many other items from Frederick's of Hollywood along with 5 inch high heeled shoes since then.

It's funny. I would sing all of these songs as a child and had no idea what the lyrics meant, however, I would soon find out and begin to act out the lyrics. For example, "She's a very kinky girl, the kind you don't take home to mother" or "Ticket to ride, white line highway, Tell all your friends, they can go my way, Pay your toll, sell your soul, Pound for pound costs more than gold, The longer you stay, the more you pay, My white lines go a long way, Either up your nose or through your vein, With nothin' to gain except killin' your brain". "White Lines" by Grandmaster Flash featuring Melle Mel was about cocaine, urging listeners not to do it while making the case that drug laws in the US are racist and unjust, since poor black kids tend to get much harsher penalties for drug offenses than white businessmen. It was the first hit rap song about drugs.


My other neighbor got "Freeze Frame" by J Geil's Band when it first came out. I would sit in her living room all afternoon after school and listen to that album. Listening to "Piss On The Wall" made me feel like a rebel at such a young age even though I had been putting sailors to shame since I was 6 years old. I learned all of the major descriptive words on the curb in front of my house. As soon as I heard them it was as if a whistle was blown and someone yelled "GO"! I made an Olympic sport out of cussing. I will never forget the day she let me borrow her Midnight Star "No Parking On The Dance Floor" cassette tape so I could make a copy. I was afraid to ask her, because she was much older than me, but I was thrilled when she let me borrow it, because there was to be absolutely no parking on the dance floor!

The invention of the "boom box" or "ghetto blaster" provided the imaginary friend that I never needed. I would sit in my front yard with my friends and listen to Run DMC and Rappin' Duke and wait for neighborhood hottie to come visit me. This was an everyday occurence. Every day, like clockwork, he would ride his bike by my house and stop and stay for hours. : )

And then there were videos. Yes, I was one of many who witnessed the first music video on MTV. You would have to be a complete moron to not know that it was "Video Killed The Radio Star" by The Buggles. I was hooked and I wanted my MTV! Before MTV, we would watch videos on a show called " Night Flight" on TBS. Every Friday night in the neighborhood there was a slumber party with young girls slobbering all over the television as Duran Duran videos played on and on.

I loved everything from "Moon River" by Henry Mancini to anything by Jimi Hendrix and The Rolling Stones to LL Cool J and Scritti Politti and even Metallica before they became mainstream.

And then the 90's creeped up on us and everything went to SHIT! The music of the 90's spewed messages about suicide, teen angst and cross colors. I preferred the music of the 60's, 70's and 80's with messages of peace, herbal refreshments, hot pink hair and dancing. The 80's weren't perfect though since we have to suffer through "Elvira" by The Oak Ridge Boys, but that era was pretty close. It's all good though, because last night a DJ saved me life. True story.

Welcome To The Third Grade: He Likes You, But Hasn't Asked You Out...How To Tell A Boy That You Like Him

Common dilemma: Your friends tell you he likes you. You like him too, but he has never asked you out. You start to wonder if he really does like you. Why wouldn't he? Everybody likes you. You are a well-liked socialite and you exude buttercups and butterflies at all times. Well most of the time. Of course he likes you!

You can tell if a guy likes you if he tells someone. If he speaks highly of you and tells your friends that he thinks "you are cool", he likes you. Extra points apply if he tells your best friend.

If he asks you questions about yourself, he wants to know more about so obviously, he likes you.

AND, if you write a blog and star on a talk show like me and he follows your writing and your episodes well then that is just fabulous, BECAUSE HE REALLY LIKES YOU!

So he likes you, but he hasn't asked you out. What could be the possible reasons and what do you do to change that? Maybe, just maybe, you intimidate him. Maybe he is terrified that you will reject him. This type of guy is so hard to read. This is the guy who has eaten too many bowls of "shyness" with a side of "social awkwardness" for breakfast. In the back of your mind you are thinking that he must be a complete moron if he can't see that you have a major school girl crush on him, but men can't read between the lines. They are wonderful, yet simple creatures and you must SIMPLIFY things for them. To them, just because you have shown them affection on a few occasions at 3 AM doesn't mean that you are into them. Sure they have been "in you", but to them that means that they were just another notch on your belt as opposed to the traditional vice versa scenario. If you have been casually intimate with a guy and you don't cling to him, you are automatically viewed as the "male" in the relationship and men are just not used to that. Although, they had better get used to it, because the women of today are more independent. So what do you do if you like the guy who is scared to tell you that he likes you? YOU HAVE TO TELL HIM! You can't expect him to sense your smoke signals, because unfortunately he just doesn't get it. Also, LADIES: Quit acting like a man! A little sweetness will go a long way. Stroke his ego if you may. As women, we want to be seen as equal to men. We want everybody to go with the flow and the change in times, but we also have to do our part. We have to realize that we are now the ones in power. We have the power, all of it I might add and we have to help these fragile creatures otherwise known as men along. They are not as strong as we think they are. Sure they can change a tire or tote our heavy suitcases, but their egos are fragile and they carry much more emotional baggage than we do. They need more than a little TLC.

If you would rather gargle with bong water than tell him how you feel and all else fails try a little spritz of pheromones. Pheromones work their magic on a subconscious level, and can be more powerful than a person's look or actions.

REMEMBER: ALWAYS BE YOURSELF!

What Women Want ~ Crash Confidence Building For Men

How many men out there would love to be a fly on the wall amongst a room full of women babbling about the way they feel about men?  Hello fly. Welcome to my wall.

Women want to be adored. They want you to turn into a smoldering ray of sunshine when you see them.  The kind of sunshine that projects such a high index of heat to where you can't tell the difference between pearls of sweat and tanning oil.  BTW, all I need is a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic and a cold Abita Light.  Women also want to be craved and found irresistible. We live in a post-sexual revolution era and believe it or not women love to have sex.  A lot.  All the time. Can't get enough.  Get the picture? Women want to be sought out for their company.  When you call us at 3 a.m. you are clearly not interested in our company. Women also want men who are playful and passionate.  Be creative.  PLEASE!

Women also want hot tea and long foot rubs. I prefer alcohol in my tea. Women also want your undivided attention even when you are too busy. Ever heard of sending a text while squatting on the toilet? Women also want balance and we want to re-negotiate the old rules about sex and money because those rules just don't apply today.  They didn't apply yesterday and they won't apply tomorrow either.


Women want a man who is confident. Not an arrogant asshole or a he-man who will threaten to blacken the eyes of every man that glances at you. Just somebody who can deal with it all...Somehow.  He comes in the form of a skilled hunter or a courageous protector.  He needs to have the willingness to face daily struggles and be competent in something, anything, whether it be in his job or in sports.


Although a woman likes to believe a man is willing to deal with a lot of things, what really counts is that he is able to deal with her, especially is she is a Scorpio. We don't want a man who would rather have dental work performed up his ass as opposed to being comfortable with our sexuality, intelligence and emotions.

Although men seem to think that women can't bear to hear the truth about some things, women would rather have a man tell them what is on his mind rather than save it for a rainy day or as backup ammunition for when they get into a fight. Women want men to have the confidence to tell them the truth.  Women want a man who will stand up to them with gloves on and ready to enter the ring.


Bottom line: Confidence with a woman is a social skill which must be learned if what you want is the greatest intimate relationship of your life.  If you would like to enroll in the University of Confidence give me a call.  Financial assistance is available.  You can pay in food and flattery.

He/She Loves Me, He/She Loves Me Not...Instead Of Plucking Flower Petals, Shake A Magic 8 Ball And Find Out

Does this scenario sound familiar?

There is somebody you drool over at school and they are super popular and you want to tell them you like them but you just can't because you are petrified that they might stone you publicly at the next pep rally. You sit by them in English class because that's your assigned seat and the two of you sit at a table alone and the two of you talk and laugh and it makes the puddle of your infatuation induced slobber resemble the contents of a kiddie pool. They are in a few of your other classes and whenever you get close to them you contract an army of butterflies. Butterflies that don't float, but sting like a bee. Sometimes out of the corner of your eyes you see them staring at you and you feel like you are about to require smelling salts. So what should you do?

There is a Greek proverb that says: “You can’t hide love or a cough.” True story. When you like somebody, you can’t hide it. However, most of us are very well trained in hiding our feelings. In fact, I have made a job out of it and worked many hours of overtime.

When it comes to expressing an interest in someone, we all make excuses. The timing always seems to be off, but the "perfect" time may never come. We would rather shove bamboo up our fingernails then give in. When there is a mutual interest, but neither person speaks up it is like "War of The Roses" getting someone to budge. I refer to it is the pride tug of war.

Think of a 12 step program. The first step is to admit it to yourself that you are interested in someone. Then, you just have to share it with them. Since you have to tell them one way or another, all you have to do is choose which way.

You can always call, blurt it out and then hang up or you can text them. Cuten their name...It implies that you like them. You could express your feelings in the form of word vomit and then claim that you dialed the wrong number. If you know multiple people with the same name then this tactic is actually believable. You can also write them a short note or draw them a picture. If these methods don't get you the result you hoped for, you can always try to escape humiliation, by saying that you were "drinking when you said that or when you went out of your way to make them a hand-crafted gift with thought the size of a third world country put into it". Trust me. It works every single time! You can also wait and make them tell you first. I wouldn't advise this if you are impatient.

If you are spunky and fun like me and don't mind getting busted for disorderly conduct, vandalism or trespassing you might write them a note and tie it to a rock and throw it at their window or you might toilet paper their yard with Valentine's Day themed toilet paper.

TRUST ME. IF YOU DON'T TELL THEM YOU WILL REGRET IT FOREVER and as Prince said in "Let's Go Crazy" circa 1984, it means forever and that's a mighty long time! Odds are, if they talk to you, it's because they want to, and if they are staring, it's because they like what they see when they look at you. The worst that can happen...They like you as a friend and while it hurts, you still get to be friends, right? BUT they could really like you and turn out to be the person that you hide behind that white picket fence with! If you don't take that leap of faith then you will never forget the moment that you knew you should have told them.

Spit it out! You won't look desperate if you tell someone you like them. You will only look stupid if they end up with somebody else who is less attractive than you and not as cool as you. While in the back of your mind you will be thinking that they could have had a better and bigger bag of chips in you, you are the one who didn't put them on the shelf for them to open.

A Man's Best Friend May Be A Dog, But A Girl's Best Friend Is A Gay Man

Jack:  Is that you God?

Cher:  Well, it depends on what bath house you pray at.

After a few decades of dating unsuccessfully, not to mention dating unsuccessful men I stumbled upon a different breed of men.  Yes, I am talking about a girl’s best friend…The gay man.  There he was.  Instead of a loser in aluminum foil he was a knight in shining armor.  Actually he was a knight in shiny Prada and glittery Dolce and Gabbana.  Okay, okay, the designer labels came later.  The first night I met him he was in only his underwear serving shots at a luau themed party at the local pansexual playground.

Throughout the years I have enjoyed many shopping trips to Pier 1 and Z Gallerie with him as well as some fabulous dinners.  He loved to play a little game that he coined as “left, right, left”.  Let’s just say the rules of the game involved those 3 little words prompting me to simulate Mardi Gras activities.  He also doubled as a stay at home DJ.  He made the best remix CD’s.  CD’s that would make the neighbors whom were of the senior citizen mentality complain to the neighborhood association as well as the police.  To this day one of my most prized possessions is a hot pink Madonna LP that he gave me.  Hot pink vinyl I tell you.  He knows Madonna better than she knows herself.

By far the best gift he ever gave me was escorting me into “bitchdom”.  He coached me into being a real bitch.  I was his break-out star.  He took all of my amazing qualities and exploited them.  He showed me and the rest of the world that I am truly a “gem”.  I attribute my abundance of self-confidence to him.  Without my gay BFF I would be, well I would be me and just a smidge less confident.  Just a smidge.

If you have not been blessed enough to find a gay best friend then what are you waiting for?  Go out and find one!

Self-Awareness And The One Night Stand~A Survival Kit

We women have all walked the walk of shame at least once in our lives and if we have done it once chances are we have done it on several occasions. Most of us are not afraid to admit it either. In college, we walked away from his fraternity house in his shirt and boxers, barefoot with a sense of pride. Our gesture exclaimed, “Look at me, look at me, look what I got!” Chances are if you didn’t use protection then your next walk of shame was to the gynecologist’s office to find out exactly “what you got.”

Women often question the fairness of the concept that men are considered heroes and women are considered sluts when it comes to sexual encounters that occur outside of committed relationships. This is a barbaric concept and should not apply especially when women enjoy sex and know that they need it occasionally if they are not in a relationship to prevent them from becoming a homicidal, hormonal maniac.

Like women, for some men, when they reach their mid-30’s they are looking for something different. They no longer want you to vanish in the morning. They want to keep you for days on end. If a man that I barely know plans on keeping me for days then it better be on a tropical island. Think about it. There you are stranded at his place. You are too broke to take a cab. All of your friends are too hung over or too busy to come get you. You are hungry and restless. And last, but certainly not least you start to smell like an expired dumpster.  After being stuck with him in his apartment for almost 48 hours, you don't need a lover, you need a caseworker.  The mind-blowing sex you had is an afterthought. It is like dust in the wind, because all you can focus on is how you want a shower and a cheeseburger.

With the rise in popularity of sleepovers that appear to be infinity-themed you must prepare and prepare well. Before going out you will need to pack a survival kit which should include, but not be limited to: A toothbrush (Thank God for WISPS which are mini, disposable toothbrushes), a change of clothes, snacks, cash, sleep aids, medicine, reading material, etc. Believe it or not you can be resourceful and survive in style. My favorite places to get over-sized handbags in Atlanta are at Bill Hallman, Fabrik and K-La.

So grab that over-sized handbag and always remember…He wants you and has the ability to convince you that you want him. As long as you are aware of the fact that you want "it" and need "it" then you have nothing to be ashamed of. At last, you can view the ultimate calorie burner as a pleasurable transaction between two consenting adults as opposed to a booty call or one night stand.

Take ownership and have fun, but be safe!