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I Love Shaq... So Much

The Stable Grows!

Two of my favorite people are featured in Time Out's "Date These New Yorkers":

Frank

DC

Interested? E-mail Time Out NY or crash my wedding.

Goals

Between Amy Poehler and M.I.A., I'm beginning to think that women who do not rap while nine and a half months pregnant are pussies. If rap still exists in 2049 when I change my mind about these kinds of things and become a Crazy Octuplet Mother, I'll know what to do.

All My Dreams Are Coming True

I'm on Nick's computer. Google saves past searches for autofill or whatever, which can be helpful.

Or telling.

One of Nick's recent searches:

He "can't remember" the origins of this inquiry, but I'm taking this search as an indication that I am STILL on the road to achieving all my dreams.

Marrying a gay dude? Mindblowingly beneficial to my solo act.

Bicycle Built For... One

It is a well-documented fact that my favorite activity is eavesdropping, rivaled only by peering into the windows of townhouses in the West Village and eating guacamole (although never simultaneously.) Last night, when exiting the subway, I was stuck behind a slow moving couple, although I hesitate labeling the duo as such because shit obviously wasn’t going well. The woman, who was about seven feet tall and could be described as “handsome,” was telling a very complicated story about the whereabouts of her bicycle to her male companion.

Even for a seasoned eavesdropper, like me, I had a hard time following the tale. In summation, this is the story:

This fall, the woman rode her bicycle to Bedford Avenue to go shopping. She locked it up outside a store.

She walked home.

In the days following, convinced her bicycle was stolen from her apartment’s storage unit, she filed a police report.

Three months later, she passed the store while shopping with her girlfriend. “That’s my bike!” she exclaimed. Her girlfriend, puzzled, asked if it was the one that had been “stolen.” “No! I must have left it here!” The woman then unlocked the bike and rode it home.

(The last bit of the story fascinates me- she kept the key to her missing bike ON HER PERSON for ninety days?)

Not surprisingly, the woman’s date did not enjoy the story. He looked terrified and she was too busy being “charming” to notice. As a person who loses her wallet on an annual basis (if not more), I am sympathetic to the bicyclist, but I know when I’m turning a man off with my blatant irresponsibility. Just weeks ago, I even hesitated telling Nick that I had I lost my wallet (albeit temporarily), until my buddy Caitlin said, “Good, start lying about money before you get married. Grease the wheels. I think you want to live in Mad Men!” I was so horrified by her statement (although, the clothes are tempting), I immediately told Nick about the wallet and tried to think of additional things I could “confess.”

I came up with nothing. But I've never been one to go on a bike ride.

Farewell, Old Friend

Over the years, I’ve had love affairs with a variety of different magazines—Entertainment Weekly, Time Out NY, New York, Vanity Fair, and much to my surprise, Prevention.

Yes, I am fully aware (now) that Prevention is an old lady magazine.

Last winter, my former co-worker, Aracelis, lent me an issue. (I have no idea why she bought it at the grocery store, considering she is 35.) That specific issue, full of universal health topics, misrepresented the magazine’s target audience (women in their 60s trying to get their shit together after a lifetime of sunbathing and eating carnival food.) But, since I was on a health kick, I blindly subscribed. Two months in, I realized the publication is aimed at women who haven’t seen a tampon in ten years and that it offers only two pieces of advice: 1. Sleep more. 2. Eat better. Regardless, I read every issue cover-to-cover (without changing any of my habits) but I didn’t take the opportunity to renew my subscription this year. I’m not losing sleep over it. (Rimshot!) I do have it penciled in for 2049, though, if paper still exists.

But no magazine (not even People, which I have read religiously for almost sixteen years!) can equal my love for Domino, the home décor mag. I have cradled every issue in my arms LIKE A MEWLING BABY for two years, and, in the words of Malaika, “I even use those freaking stickers they have in there to mark shit I can't afford!” And today, I learned that Domino is shuttering. Forever. And shutting down their awesome Web site. I know that companies everywhere are folding (including Talbots, which upsets my mother), but Domino was my go-to source for awesome apartment ideas. I’m sad that we threw out all my old issues when we moved last year (due to a possible infestation.) At least I got their book!

R.I.P.

When I mentioned this monumental loss to my friend Eugene, he responded, “If it was Prevention that had shuttered its lace curtains, I'd console you.”

Thanks, buddy.