Thursday, September 30 2004
So last night I’m walking, and I’m deciding between heading to my friend Dave’s and heading to my friend Dave’s bar, the one where he works on Monday and Wednesday nights, before I officially call it an evening and crash on Dave’s mattress. Dave’s mattress: The one with no sheet, only one sleeping bag, which acts as a sheet and a blanket. But I am grateful for a friend with a bed who doesn’t mind sharing (we don’t share a bed). And as I am fighting with myself over just what to do at midnight on a Wednesday in the city, I walk past Mercury Lounge and see a sign for this band
washington social club
It’s this band that my friend Jared’s brother is in. Jared and I went to Prague together and we did have more than one chat about his little brother. The band had gone on at 11PM and I stopped to ask the not so friendly on the verge of rather grumpy door guy if they were still playing. He shook his head yes, in that scary Grandpa Cat from Cats sort of way, and asked for ID. At least I didn’t have to pay a cover charge.
They played two songs and I scanned the audience in search of my friend Jared who happens to live in North Carolina and if he got a teaching job, which I’m sure he did, would no way in hell be in New York on a Wednesday night and…I never found him. But I did go up to Evan after the show and ask him if he had a brother Jared. I was a good detective, asking the only one in the band who sort of, kind of, resembled this guy. And it was him!!! And it was really weird to be able to connect my life in Prague with my life in New York through the relative of a new friend.
The world is a small place.
Then today I had my second meeting with a potentially big deal job. And while this is exciting, I’ve lived in the world of entertainment disappointment to know nothing’s done until it’s over. I’m so jaded in this world, this small, small world.
Tell Me You Love Me
Wednesday, September 29 2004
Scott Muni R.I.P.
I’ve been a busy bee this morning.
First off, I have some really sad news, at least if you were or are a radio junkie..Scott Muni, a.k.a. Fats, died last night at a hospital in New York City. I worked with Fats briefly at WNEW, and he was really quite the character. Today is a sad day in radio history and his scratchy voice and sarcastic humor will be sorely missed by those who knew him.
Okay, so I hadn’t spoken to him in years, but still, it’s sad..
Next on the agenda…I sent out an evite to my bday party today. If you are my friend and did not receive this evite, this is not intentional, I probably just don’t have your email address..and trust me, there are A LOT of email addresses I don’t have. So please drop me a line, and tell me to screw myself for forgetting you, and then forgive me, and let me invite you to my party. Deal?
I slept on the Upper East Side last night. I hadn’t been there, done that, since 1998…which, in retrospect, is a long time ago. See, my ex used to live up here and after our 9 year relationship ended, the Upper East Side left a sour taste in my mouth. Now, I just prefer downtown, but it’s still bizarre to come up here. When you get to a place that used to be familiar, or remember a person who used to be alive, you get a weird feeling in your stomach. That’s how I felt last night. But it wasn’t bad, because after almost six years, well, actually after a few months, I knew I was over the relationship part of our relationship. I just wanted the friend. He couldn’t do it. Now we don’t talk. Now it doesn’t matter. Too much time. Too much has happened. And, shite, I’m turning 30 in less than a month!
Can you believe it?!
Tell Me You Love Me
Tuesday, September 28 2004
It turned into Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, only there was no Pee Wee and no Large Marge. It was my friend Gay Dave’s birthday and he was bartending downtown at the bar that he bartends at on Monday nights (obviously).
First it was just me and my friend, and then David’s sister and boyfriend showed up, and then the party got started. It seems Dave’s sister is way cooler than David could ever dream of being, even if he wears the greatest vintage clothing ever, and her and her “boyfriend” had some friends in a band. And this band happened to be playing a show last night at Irving Plaza with another band, and this other band happened to have at least one celebrity, or pseudo celebrity, in it.
So…at about 2AM, long after I should have called it a night, not because I was drinking but because I knew I was heading to my brother’s home to crash on his couch and I knew that he would be back by 9AM wanting to sleep and he’d be making sure that I either got the fuck out or shut the fuck up, Melissa walks in with this guy who looks more than vaguely familiar. It turns out to be James Iha a guitarist and sometimes keyboardist who you might remember from this tiny, unimportant band called the Smashing Pumpkins.
I didn’t talk to him, really what could I say, “Dude, who does your bleach job?,” but I had some really interesting conversations with members of that first band, Dave’s sister’s friends’ band…the Sun. Being able to talk to them at a time when they are on the verge of something big or something bad - Warner Brothers is releasing their debut album in February - was intense. They’re all struggling with living on the cusp. On the cusp of fame. On the cusp of making money. On the cusp of sucking up to the music industry.
I will be most interested to see where their lives lead them. All I know is that at 4:30AM, my life eventually led me home…well, to my brothers place at least.
Tell Me You Love Me
Monday, September 27 2004
What the f*** are they praying about on Stanton Street?
It’s been an incredible week. I don’t want to jinx things, but really, if all goes even close to plan, it’s been an incredible week. And unless I’m hit by lightning or stricken with some unexplainable ailment, I think things are on the up and up.
I went to see my parents Friday night for Yom Kippur dinner. I was such a bad Jew, I ate, sat in temple for an hour, and then took a train back to NYC. I was typing on the way and I found this little paragraph I wrote at the end of a story I was working on. I thought I’d share. It’s nothing really relevant though.
There’s a guy on the train whose talking to his friend and he thinks I haven’t heard what he says. He’s talking about some blonde he picked up last night, and his back is to me. I can’t decide if he’s cute, but from the tone of his conversation, he sounds sleazy. We make eye contact and he thinks I think he’s cute. He is cute, so I guess he’s not so off, but he doesn’t realize that I know that he has fucked some blonde who is now calling him on a regular basis. He hangs up the phone and I think he thinks I should look at him. Only I don’t because I’m afraid I’ll laugh or crack a smile. He’s got to talk to someone, anyone, so he picks up his phone.
I shared this “random train thought” with you because well, I wasn’t sure why else I typed it, so why not share what I’ve got. It also because it reminds me how funny this dating thing is. Here’s this girl, this blonde who thinks she’s found some really great guy, only he’s a slimy boy whose telling his friend about her, while referring to her as the blonde I picked up last night, and she’s probably calling her friends saying she’s in love.
Girls who deny that they have done this, are lying. I am not a boy so I don’t know if boys do this too, but even if they do, it’s a lot less often than the girls do. When a girl meets someone she likes, she often plans out small details, like who will sit with whom at the wedding, and what they’re child will wear to its first day of school. Boys think about the next time, or the first time, they’ll get laid. And even when they think about this, the girl that they just met, the one whose telling all her friends about him, isn’t necessarily the one they picture in bed. Guys like options. So do some girls, but guys really do.
Whatever. Boys and girls will always be boys and girls. While some of us exhibit crossover tendencies, others of us are extremely predictable. I guess that’s the point I wasn’t trying to make.
AND…straight out of random tangent land.
I had this “regression” today:
If I were cast in the Wizard of Oz, I’d play the part of Cindy, Dorothy’s little sister. While you may not have heard of Cindy, back in the day, when I was a young lady happily playing make believe at family parties, I got to play Cindy, a lesser known character that dies tragically in the MGM movie version of life, but I swear she came to me in more than a dream.
It’s true. My cousin got to play Dorothy and I got to play Cindy and it was fucked up because there ain’t no Cindy people. There ain’t no Cindy in the Wizard of Oz. But, according to my cousin, there couldn’t be two Dorothy’s and there was no way she got to play Dorothy without me. Well, actually she did, because I played Cindy. I hated Cindy because she was second best and I was supposed to be the star.
I’m still not over it. And with everything else going on, I don’t know if I ever will be. Okay, I will, I will..I’m not that crazy.
Tell Me You Love Me
Sunday, September 26 2004
I’ve sold more dildos and vibrators than you will ever sell in your lifetime, unless of course you happen to work with me, and you stay there longer than I do. But right now, with few exceptions in the New York Market, I’ve got you beat.
I sold dildos all weekend. Lots of sizes, although no one ever seems to be interested in the 13 inch long, 7 inch wide black silicone one that sits on the back shelf. I sell vibrators too. The most popular one, which is the question I most often get, is shut the fuck up. No really, shut the fuck up. I hate that question. Just because something’s popular doesn’t make it better, AND, didn’t you spend all of high school trying to be most popular, only to realize that it came along with the empty feeling that everybody loved you but nobody liked you. Haven’t you seen Mean Girls?
And there are other things, things besides dildos and vibrators. Today I sold two floggers. A flogger is something you use to whip another person. Generally on the backside. There are a variety of kinds of floggers out there. Leather. Rubber. Plastic. String. String Johnnies. Okay, now I’m making things up. There are really lots of floggers out there though.
Oh, there’s so much more I can tell you, but I have to meet a friend in less than an hour.
It’s just that I was thinking. I meet the most incredible people at my job. Really.
I sell sex so I guess I’m bound to meet those kinds of people all the time. After all, I am your neighborhood dildo pusher.
What’re you lookin’ for?
Tell Me You Love Me
Friday, September 24 2004
But I was having problems. So today’s post is full of lots of little “goodies.”
Today I had this only in New York moment. I went to get my lip waxed which sounds a lot better than saying I got my moustache ripped off..
okay, now I’m going to barf…
anyway, this salon was full of old ladies. They were swarming around like this was a garage sale. Really. All over the place as if the shop was actually an old lady manufacturing plant. All of them had curlers in their hair, or curlers being removed from their hair. The final product of which was one of those really big bouffants that make them look at least five feet tall, when you and I both know they stand at about 3’7″. So these Jewish bubbies (that’s the word for grandma) are getting all dolled up for their hot dates in front of the TV, and I’m waiting for this waxing. This young girl brings me to the back of the salon, but raises her finger to her lips as if to say follow me but shut up, I know you’re one of those loud girls.
She wheels the chair into this room and proceeds to wax my lip as I sit upright, next to some women whose getting a facial and her eyes happen to be forcibly closed by gauze, or lotion, or a combination of the two, so she has no idea I’m even there.
We both break out with laughter at some point, but quickly have to shut up before I am discovered. And within five minutes I am in and out, and that lady will most probably never know that I saw her with some crud on her eyes.
It was really funny. I promise.
From Jeff Laurie’s Sex News Daily I found this article.
ALBANY, N.Y. (September 20, 2021) — University at Albany researchers have found a significant association between the perceived attractiveness of a person’s voice and the sexual activity of the speaker. In addition, researchers discovered that judging a voice can predict certain aspects of the body type of the speaker.
Why do they have to try to write in such a boring style. Just fucking say that people with sexy voices get laid more..Say it dammit. Say it…
“When the phone rings,” said psychologist Gordon G. Gallup Jr., “even though you may not know the person at the other end of the line, as soon as they speak you usually know whether you are talking to a male or female, and a child or adult. In other words, the sound of a person’s voice conveys information about the biological status of the speaker. Our research shows that voice might be a medium that also conveys subtle information about sexual behavior and body configuration.”
In “Ratings of voice attractiveness predict sexual behavior and body configuration,” published in the September issue of Evolution and Human Behavior, published by Elsevier, Susan Hughes, Franco Dispenza, and Gordon Gallup of the University’s department of psychology tested 149 men and women by having them listen to recorded, neutral voices counting from 1 to 10. They were then asked to rate the anonymous voices on a scale from “very unattractive” to “very attractive.” The results were compared to surveys and morphological measurements taken among the speakers. Researchers discovered that people whose voices are judged to be attractive tend to have sexual intercourse at an earlier age, have more sexual partners than those with voices rated less attractive, and are more prone to sexual infidelity. They also have more sex partners among people involved in other relationships.
“In short,” Gallup said, “ratings of voice attractiveness are correlated with promiscuity in both men and women.”
In addition, the UAlbany researchers linked voice attractiveness to body features, including shoulder-to-hip ratio in men and waist-to-hip ratio in women. In the study, broad shoulders and narrow hips, which are related to testosterone and growth, can, like voice attractiveness, predict promiscuity in males. In women, voice attractiveness was linked to a narrow waist and broad hips, features also affected by hormones and growth and that predict female attractiveness and promiscuity.
This sort of sounds like me, no?
The authors also note in their report that there is growing evidence that a person’s voice might convey important information not usually associated with communication or sexual appeal. For instance, ratings of voice attractiveness also predict deviations from bilateral symmetry in both men and women. In comparing the length of the fingers on both hands, they noted that people with voices rated as attractive tend to have finger lengths on one hand that more closely match those on the other. As ratings of voice attractiveness decrease, the deviations between features on one side of the body and the other become greater — in other words, as the voice is rated less attractive, the body tends to be less symmetric.
I don’t really have a symmetrical body though.
The report’s authors conclude that the sound of a person’s voice can be used to predict features associated with reproductive success including sexual behavior, body configuration, and bilateral symmetry, and theorize that prior to the development of means of artificial lighting, at night people were more reliant on voice as a means of discerning valuable reproductive characteristics of others.
Even though I can’t sing, after this article, Do you want to have sex with me? If you’re related to me, don’t think about this question. If not, I’m waiting for your answer…
In the meantime..I was walking down the street the other day, and this came to me…
Attention (Certain) Construction Workers and other Slimy Men:
Don’t stare at me as I walk by
You PATHETIC MOTHERFUCKER(s)
I did not get dressed this morning for your personal satisfaction.
I am not here to please you and
I hate you for thinking that how you say “hey baby, now that’s what I’m talking about” is in any way original.
NEWSFLASH - it’s not.
What is it about the female form that makes you act so much more than stupid?
Were you deprived of a mother after birth?
Breasts and Ass will always be around, don’t gawk at them as if this is the first time you’ve realized this.
You are nothing more than a slobbering idiot, a blithering baboon, an excuse for human life. Don’t make me stoop to your level ever again.
Do you understand?
Oh, and I Found this attempt at humor on Craigslist yesterday:
So, times have been a bit tough lately and I’ve decided to talk to my apartment company, or at least the security guards, about renting one of the four sections of the revolving door (really, it’s swanky) at the lesser used entrance of the building. While there would need to be some care taken, you would only be gaining the ability to sleep in the portion of the door at night. You could shower in the apartment and keep your things in some closet space; however, due to the ease at which high gloss wood laminate stains I would not let you keep more than a suitcase or two which you would only have access to every other Friday. You will not be allowed overnight guests. NO SMOKING, DRINKING, PARTYING, DANCING, YOGA, or JUDO please. No pets.
You should be warned that there is a possibility of being spun a few times during the evening when the occasional person needs to use the entrance. I think it’s something that comes with the territory. Oh, and there’s a very loud club next door which may make sleeping a bit difficult at times (think 24 hour Macarana festival a few years ago, to give you an idea)
IF the above terms sound reasonable and you would like to arranged for a viewing, please resond.
Resond? WTF??? If you are going to try to be funny, at least be funny and have proper spelling. It’s the little things that are setting me off today. The little things.
Tell Me You Love Me
Wednesday, September 22 2004
It seems that everytime I sit down to write I log on to some other site, mainly the NY Times and Craigslist, looking for a place to live. I’m annoying myself by doing this, and once you’ve annoyed yourself, you can’t really stoop much lower.
I’ve always been the one to make myself laugh, and this I’ve thought of as healthy. I can laugh at myself just as well as I can laugh at someone else who trips and falls and almost cracks their skull open on the corner of 14th St. and 1st Ave. That’s where I’ve seen my favorite apartment to date. Only my bid was just a little too low and I’m not really in a place where I can negotiate much higher. See how annoying I am, always making references to apartment hunting?!
If I can make myself laugh and annoy myself and I talk to myself anyway, do a really need anyone else in my life? .
My friends tell me I want to live in Brooklyn, but I think I know me and I know that I want to live in NYC. Yes, I’ll pay more, but not much, and yes, if anyone was to a city and completely destroy it, it would most likely be Manhattan, but these are risks and debts I am willing to incur. Can you incur a risk? I just want to make sure I’m being sort of grammatically correct. As long as its sort of right, I feel good.
My horoscopes all point to today as being one of the BEST days of my life. So far I’m not feeling it, but I am on the verge of a number of crazy new endeavors. I’ve been talking to Playgirl TV and things are looking up. I’ve been asked to write something for a book (I will know more details next week), and I’ve still got my book and play to write.
But, I have no place to live. And while all of this makes me happy, that one small detail in life makes me sad, nervous and slightly nauseous all at once.
Like one of those spinning rides that eventually last ten seconds too long, I’m ready to get off the apartment trip.
Tell Me You Love Me
Tuesday, September 21 2004
My eyes are the heaviest weights I have lifted in a long time.
You might not believe in horoscopes but I do.
I am only flaky on certain occasions.
I am better than your average kisser.
Change doesn’t scare me. Neither do you.
I am looking for love (in all the wrong places)
I want a goose that lays golden eggs.
I used to be addicted to eggplant parmigiana.
I never felt guilty when I was the other woman.
My bark is equal to my bite.
My net worth is not as much as it should be.
Everytime I go to San Francisco, I get bit by some shnasty spider.
I currently own a red and a pink pair of eyeglasses. I hope to expand my collection.
I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way…
Tell Me You Love Me
The cat woke up at 5:20AM even though when we both went to bed, well after 1AM, she still had food in her bowl. Her meow is that of an 18 year old cat, old, whiny, persistant.
The cat moaned again at 8:20, a time when I needed to get up because I have an action packed day. But after having just fed her at 5:20, I didn’t understand why she needed me now.
I checked for puke, because this cat likes to tell me when she’s thrown up, but so far I’ve found none. Usually I step on it, unassumingly, as I’m heading somewhere else in the apartment. Hopefully I step on it before, not after, I’ve showered. It’s usually cold and mushy by the time my bare feet find it’s path. It gets all gross between my toes. I don’t fancy the fancy feast she eats, and I don’t get off on stepping in her vomit.
I’m awake now, just barely. Trying to write something intelligent when the truth is I have so much more to think about today. Meetings, Appointments, Searches. I am going to see 5 apartments in three hours and as I type this the cat is still moaning away. She’s not in pain, just crying out for attention. And she’s really cute, like Puss in Boots, only I imagine if she could do more than let out that pathetic meow, she’d speak some sort of Brooklynese.
Yeah. She’s going back to sleep. Maybe I should meow in her ear and step on her back, see how she likes it. Or maybe, I should let her sleep.
Tell Me You Love Me
Sunday, September 19 2004
Sounds like the punchline to some cheesy, not even funny, why is this guy even trying?, sort of joke, doesn’t it? Only it’s not actually a joke at all, at least not in New York City.
Walking down Bedford St. in the heart of what is the beginning of the West Village if you’re coming from downtown, this man bent down, as if too tie his shoe, but really that’s not what he was doing at all.
So this man just knelt down to pee. Right there in front of a car that I would bet, if I were a betting type of gal, wasn’t even his to begin with, he placed his two grocery bags down by his left side and unzipped his stanky fly. He even wore dark sunglasses and whistled as he worked, as if these were big enough distractions.
I was close enough to hear his stream. Close enough to make out that he was cusping his hand over his little brain and aiming for the gutter. I saw it all, and I know he saw me, even behind those plastic shades. He was a dirty man. And he must have had to pee real bad.
The pee lasted quite a while. I was way up the block when I noticed he was still squatting. Not shitting, just squatting. Only that reminds me of another story…one where I saw a man crap himself in the subway.
In summer I always thought the streets smelled like dog pee. Now, I’m not so sure of who’s pee I’m smelling. This - I’m not so happy about.
And the cat just puked on the rug again. Fuck.
Tell Me You Love Me