Romance Is Dead, But I Want a Boyfriend.

Friday, July 29, 2005

The Personal and The Political

Do you ever wish there could be sex without gender?

Thursday, July 28, 2005



Today I feel like everything you read on the side of a bottle of Robitussin. So here I am on my less than comfortable sofa watching the original Sabrina and praying that I'll feel better by the weekend.

Days like today make me wonder if I would rather have a boyfriend or perhaps live nearer to my mother. It can be easier to feel aloneness when sick. And it is more of a pain to let the dog out for a walk.

My neighbor JL makes great hot toddies, but I can't ask him for one right now. First of all, I slept with him recently, and so I must not appear too needy or demanding after the fact. Secondly, he's in an off-broadway musical that just started previews, and so I'm sure he will stay far away from my potentially career-ending germs. It's apparently harder to sing and dance while blowing your nose.

My buddy EV was staying with me during the heat wave, and he stocked my apartment with cookies and Diet Coke.

And JP will be back this evening after she finishes the New Jersey bar exam, and perhaps she will volunteer to walk my fur baby.

So...boyfriends aren't necessary when sick. Friends, yes.

As for the mother factor...maintaining a "safe" distance is of upmost importance. One phonecall during a three or four day illness is suffcient when your mom isn't your friend. She always says the same thing: Your dog is a good nurse. Get some Robitussin.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005



So why is is that baby fever starts so early? Or maybe it is the early realization that you are supposed to have baby fever and that the biological clock is ticking and the glass ceiling isn't taking care of itself. Time and time again I've told my friends that I should have had a baby when I was 15. I'd be done with grad school and kid would be in middle school, and by the time my career was really taking off, I wouldn't have to worry about the kid much at all. It would already be in college.

I might outgrow the desire to see how a kid of my own would turn out, given the type of nature and nurture that would go into the final product. It'd be interesting though. And I would sponser its first few years in therapy.

The other hope is that between plastic surgery, botox, etc., I could enter and leave to workforce for years to come without people realizing how long I'd been gone. Seriously. I wouldn't mind being like the guy recently forced out of AIG who was in his 80s and still holding tightly to the company reigns (perhaps too tightly, we'll see what Elliot Spitzer digs up). I believe his name is Hank Greenberg.

Seriously, though. Who is the oldest woman in business? I mean a woman who isn't in the pink collar ghetto, but one who perhaps found a crack in the glass ceiling and forced her way through?
The only names that come to mind as potential contestants would be Estee Lauder or Carolina Hererra, not exactly names that would quickly be linked with a Warren Buffet or a Hank Greenberg.

Well, I must get back to my busy day of sitting on my couch and sweltering. It's record hot in Brooklyn. It's got to be.

Sometime down the road I promise to expound on the connundrum of who should raise my hypothetical offspring. (It's a lot easier to think about that than the puzzle of who might father any of my potential offspring).

Maybe I should go adopt a second dog from the shelter.
So really, why not have a blog? All summer long I've been telling myself and my therapist that I wanted to write, and a novel is just too damn ambitious. (Or perhaps a little too tedius...).

I'm hesitant to frame myself as any sort of Carrie Bradshaw, but that has in many ways been the gist of my life the last two years. Well, not exactly. I'm much more of a feminist, and I reject men more quickly than any of the Sex and the City women.
I'd rather channel Dorothy Parker.

So I'm anxious to post anything, that way I can see what my baby blog will look like. Then when I am satisfied with the lovely rose colored template, I just may tell you about the infamous "Week of the Married Man."