F Peep Toes

It’s 2 o’clock in the morning and I just left one friend who was delighted with a recent set up. 

He liked her and she liked him, they were ordering another round. I could leave and not worry. 

I went with another friend to a bar where her old crush was with friends. A part of me wanted to go home. A massive part of me was done drinking Jack Daniels and I remembered that nothing good every happened after 2 am. 

I followed her to the next bar downtown. Because I’m always stupid enough to think what if. I’ll get to the bar and get another drink, maybe not Jack Daniels, but probably Jack Daniels. I’ll get lost in the our conversation for a few minutes and then turn to see someone whose giving me the green light. I give him the green light in return. Old timey french orchestrated music plays and we start to dance. His chest his big and wide and welcoming, I’m safe as I lean against him. 

This is what I picture happening as I pee in the bathroom stall. I imagine me slow dancing to this old timey music with someone whose tall and broad and keeps me safe and without doubts. 

Then I realize, I’m in the bathroom stall and it’s after 2am. 

I go to the mirror and push my hair behind my ears and straighten my eyeliner. I push a smile against my face. 

The dim lighting makes me look tired and sad. 

The guy I was supposed to be flirting with enters the shared space and I flash him a reassuring smile before leaving the mirror. 

I go back to my friend to tell her and her crush that I was heading out. She wasn’t surprised. 

I find a cab quickly and don’t cry. I take my shoes off as a enter my apartment and hear that my roommate is still up, talking with a guy in her bed. 

Well, at least one of us is getting laid. 

It stopped being about sex a long time ago,

A friend recently asked me- am I in the category of having fun and a rotation of guys or am I looking to settle down with Mr Right. 

I thought about it- and then told her, I don’t know why but I feel like I’m not in the game. I’m an observer, someone on the sidelines taking notes. 

I don’t have the optimism, faith or energy to gather up a rotation and I’m not sure Mr Right exists. 

Maybe I’m just here to help others find love. 

I’m here to correct the grammar of text messages, and make my friends less afraid, to push them towards love and be the ever permanent wing girl. 

I know what you’re thinking- this is what a lonely girl says before she finds her prince charming. 

But I think, prince charming got too drunk during happy hour with his bros and cancelled the meetup a long time ago. 

So I’m left, walking home alone in bare feet, 

cause my glass slippers were too damn uncomfortable and all those damn bobby pins gave me a headache. 

I’m left alone, to rally myself up for another day of solo cheerleading. This is a pity party I know. 

But what else does a twenty something year old need to do in this fucking city to get laid and/or love? I even pulled out my Jessica Simpson pink peep toe stilettoes tonight and I’m still left ordering eggs benedict at 3am solo. 

Well, at least True Blood is on tomorrow.

How to Get Hurt

I could write a book about how to get hurt. 
It would include how to be friends with people who constantly let you down, 
details of what job gives you the least amount of respect and how to get emotionally taken advantage of by your family. I'm a master at all three.
And then there would be a chapter about being brave enough to spend time with exes as they slowly move on to your 'positive people in my life' list.
Yes, I have one of those lists every now and then. It helps make things simpler and gets rid of the negative people pretty damn fast. Try it.


Of course there'd be a chapter about keeping your guard up with your ex at all times and then how sometimes (like tonight) no guard seems high enough or thick enough. 
And it just sucks. 
It was the second time he proposed us getting together. We had been texting, being our typical bantery selves. 
And I needed a positive friend night so I said yes to seeing him. 


Both of our end of work time was up in the air but we figured by 7:30 we'll be meeting up.


At 7:30 he called me and asked if I wanted to go to a coworkers going way party. He needed to stop by for a drink.
I told him I didn't want to see old coworkers and he understood. I'd hang out at the book store. He said he'd be 30-40 mins max. We figured we'd be sitting down to eat somewhere by 8:15pm.

And now, scene:

Him 830p: Boss just bought me a drink and then I'm on my way out.
Me: K.
Me 855:  Let's just reschedule. I need to eat something.
Him 905: I'm finishing up but understand if you want to leave.
Me: I'm going to head out.  We'll reschedule.
Him: I'm do sorry  
*note: he actually typed 'do' and not 'so'- more points lost.*
Him: When are you good next?
Him: Again sorry (sent with picture of a smiling pug dog)

I then walked over forty blocks back to my apartment in heels trying to figure out what happened.



Cynical cat lady won this round. Cinderalla can stick a glass slipper up her ass.

Everything Sounds Better With An Accent

Tonight my hairdresser told me the key to true love while making me more blonde. 

He added more gloss to my dark roots and in his thick Israeli accent said the key is being able to smell the other person’s mouth. I had him repeat it a few times just so I knew nothing was getting lost in translation. 

He laughed to himself and checked my foils. 

If you can stand the smell of the mouth no matter what, you’re meant to be together. Then, if you can stand the smell of the fart, you are all set. No problem. 

He goes on and tells me how the girls in his chair ask him for advice about guys all the time. They say they don’t know what to do, they don’t know what things mean, they don’t know where things are going. Standard Cosmo crisis.

He asks them 2 questions : what do you want? what does he want?

He’s better than any bartender, bouncer and therapist I’ve heard from on this arena so that’s the main reason I’ve been going to him for the last five years. It doesn’t hurt that his haircuts are amazing...and he gives me wine.

He also wears tight pants. 

Each time I sit in his chair every four months, he whispers in my ear the same thing: how is your Jewish boyfriend? 

I remind him I’ve never had a Jewish boyfriend. And he questions me some more until he’s assured that I don’t have a boyfriend. 

He ends the session by whispering close again and saying ‘You will meet a good Jewish boy’.

He’s worse than my mother in that sense which is why sometimes I just read a magazine.

I told him I was talking to my ex boyfriend again and he asked me his 2 questions. 

I blushed and giggled, unable to answer him with a straight face. 

My mind struggled between the plot lines of the Great Gatsby and 50 Shades. 

“I know what I want, but I don’t think it’s going to happen”

I shoved away the scenes of elevator and car hookups playing in my head. I may need to read less. When is True Blood back on? 

“I don’t know what he wants.” I said, just as the ex texted me asking if we were still on for drinks tomorrow night.

My hairdresser asked if I needed to get my phone and I shook my head, taking another gulp of wine. 

He leaned in close again and whispered. 

“Well, you figure it out tomorrow. In the meantime you’ll have sexy, beautiful hair. You have beautiful hair, did I tell you that?”