City Suckers

I used to ramble on nonstop about the energy of city life, of being surrounded by endless opportunities….never knowing who I was about to meet or run into. So many things to do, the city that never sleeps, an adventure around every corner, blah, blah, blah. But my friends, “Always having something to do” is exhausting.

Sensing my mounting anxiety and stress the past month, J. booked a weekend getaway. Not to the beaches of Cabo San Lucas, but to the mountains of Pennsylvania, the Poconos. We’ve settled into a three bedroom cozy cabin on 80 acres of farmland where my newest acquaintances have been two donkeys covered in hay, a bunch of goats (a few of whom I’ve witnessed doing the dirty), and about thirteen deer that look like they’re in training for Santa.


An earlier drive wound us down the road to Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge which is no longer airy nor beautiful, but demolished and rebuilt into a smoky, senior-citizen filled casino stock full of 9,000 slot machines. Gone are the champagne glass filled tubs and in-room swimming pools. It now features a buffet, fake rock waterfall and wannabee call girls delivering alcoholic beverages to the wheelchair-bound.  The Walking Dead should drop by and grab some extras, no makeup required.

Back at the ranch, we’ve been playing in the snow, especially J. and Cosimo.  I’ve been doing more of a plodding about in my UGGs,  taking in the horizon and gunshots in the distance (must be hunting season) and wondering how I can talk J. into cooking dinner again.

Today, with the mountain sun on my face, I felt peaceful, and I would like to take this moment to apologize to anyone I ever made fun of for living in the “sticks.” Sorry cousins, aunt Jo, friends who married, procreated and moved out of town…all of you. I think you were on to something. But I have a confession: I still need my Starbucks!

After polishing off a bottle of wine, J. has gone to mingle with the goats, he’s trying to get them to reenact the Doritos SuperBowl commercial. Hope they don’t bite…

Love, Rainbow



Being Named “Rainbow”

Yesterday afternoon around 3pm EST, a slew of texts, emails and Facebook messages poured in, all asking the same question — “Did you go to school with Holly Madison?” Holly, who?

A quick Google search displayed the pretty platinum blonde that used to shack up with Hugh Hefner and Kendra in some reality show I watched when there was nothing else on. I could never quite grasp how Holly would want to share an Octogenerian with two other women, but perhaps that was the point…less duty in the bedroom.  The last I read Hugh dissed her marriage proposal and shipped her off to a Vegas burlesque show for the rest of her 30s.  Holly, who found true love with a nightclub promoter, just became a mom and named her daughter, “Rainbow Aurora.” She was inspired by a girl she had gone to school with when she was much younger. But no, it wasn’t me.


I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner. I thought for sure Gwyneth’s next offspring would be the Rainbow to complete the Apple and Moses circle, but no it was a former Playboy Playmate who took my name to the headlines.

So Holly, as someone who has lived with this name for a lifetime, I have some tips to share with you. “Rainbow Aurora” is certainly a mouthful, give your little one the nickname “Bow”. It’s cute, short, and sounds much less melancholy than “Rain”.

Prepare your daughter for the barrage of questions she will get every time she is introduced to someone: Are your parents hippies?  Where’s your pot of gold?  Do you hang with leprechauns? Are you a really happy person? I usually answer the last with a look that says, “Do I look like I’m f*&king overflowing with joy?!” and then smile, but that would be scary coming from a toddler.

Remind her that “Rainbow” is a name not likely to be forgotten, ever. This is good, and this is bad. For instance, when she’s hanging out at Caesars Palace and meets a group of boys when she gets older, her name will be the only one they remember as her gaggle of girlfriends walk away. Whenever she meets someone at a party or calls customer service, they will not ask her to repeat her name. The bad part. If she dates two boys from the strip and they both casually mention to one another that they’re “seeing a Rainbow”, game over. And last, no matter how much she denies it, people will always assume you were tripping on acid when you went into labor.

That said, I commend you on giving your daughter a different name. When I become a mother, I will do the same. But sorry, I’m not sharing those names to give you inspiration for the rest of your future clan.

Rainbow Aurora, reach out when you get older, I have plenty of “Rainbow” paraphernalia to share.


When Your BF’s Sis Gets Engaged

Screen Shot 2013-02-23 at 3.01.07 PMI heard shouting downstairs, and not the good kind of I-just-won-$1000-a-week-for-life-from-a-scratchoff-ticket shouting.

“What — what is it?!”  I asked as J. pounded up the stairs and flashed his iPhone in my face. Displayed on the screen was an extended hand with a pretty big diamond ring.

“Does this mean what I think it means?!” he asked, still in obvious denial.

“Um yeah, it appears your sister got engaged.”

Although text may not be the best way to share the news with your immediate family, she is of the Y Generation who thinks making a phone call is as strenuous as dialing on a rotary telephone.  My first thought was — about freakin’ time. Since I first met her two and a half years ago when she was barely 21, I remember marriage being a hot topic. A southern thing, I surmised.

In New York, getting married before 27 is rare, before 25 even rarer. It’s a different mindset here. People are busy launching and managing careers, traveling, exploring who they are…marriage isn’t on the priority list. I often refer to NYC as Peter Pan Land, a magical place where you never have to grow up. Here, you’re judged more by your shoes than your ring finger.

But J. was livid. Livid that the groom-to-be didn’t call him personally and ask his permission. Livid that he got a text with the news. Livid that his baby sister was no longer a baby, but soon to be a wife.

As an only child, I admittedly don’t get the whole sibling dynamic. I have watched my friends’ families from the bleachers — and each has their own DNA algorithm. What’s the norm for one family, is the complete opposite for another. And even though I do have a stepbrother, being 11 years apart and not growing up in the same house never fostered a sibling bond.

So what the hell was J. feeling? Left out? Jealous? I had no idea.

I  am happy for his sister. She moved five hours farther south to be near this guy, she has been faithful and she has been devoted. And although she could’ve moved into his house, she didn’t. She got her own apartment and paid her own bills. That was not the easy route, it was the smart route.  Her fiance is a good guy,  doesn’t drink, is religious, seems pretty straight-laced, and most importantly, he adores her and treats her with RESPECT. That’s the key ingredient to any successful relationship and marriage.

I am what they called on Shameless, “Ghetto Married”.  J. gets all the benefits of marriage, without the legal paperwork. But at the core that has more to do with me than him. I NEVER dreamed of my wedding day, I never lusted after my friend’s engagement rings, I didn’t buy bridal magazines and stuff them under my mattress…it just wasn’t something I fantasized about.

Do you remember that scene from Sex and the City when Carrie is engaged to Aidan and she’s trying on wedding dresses and has a complete panic attack and tears the dress off her body because she thinks it’s choking her? I totally relate to that.

Growing up the child of a divorced family, marriage and the dissolution of it didn’t seem like too much fun. The first time it really hit me was after the father-daughter dance when I was a sophomore in high school. At the end of the night, my friends hopped into cars with their dads and drove home together. I was instead dropped off at my mom’s in Staten Island and my father drove back to Queens by himself. I can still remember watching his car drive off down Hylan Blvd. without me. It had taken me years to realize my normal wasn’t normal.

In my teen years, after overhearing my mom and stepdad arguing, I repeatedly added my two cents, “And this is why I’m never getting married.”  I should’ve worn a t-shirt proclaiming this with an arrow (pointing at them). I said it that often.

My father never remarried, he said my mother was enough for him. And my mother and stepfather are still together…so no, I haven’t been traumatized by a mom who’s on her 6th marriage.

A few years ago, I connected with an ex on MySpace (ok, guess it was more than a few years), and he iterated he was just following “The Playbook of Life…you know MBA, townhouse in CT, get married, have a kid.” To me it just seemed very vanilla.

I’ve always been an outlier, I am three standard deviations from the norm (can you tell I’m taking Stats this semester?). So to each their own. I do want to have kids. But as far as the “I Do’s”… for now I Certainly Don’t.

Puppy Boo Boo

I’m the type of girl that is likely to faint from the sight of blood. My knees buckle, my palms get sweaty and I start looking for a spot to “land”.  Especially when it’s fresh blood, bright red,  dripping from someone I love. Someone like my puppy.

Last night upon spotting a red trail of paw prints on the hardwood floors of our apartment, I panicked. Upon further inspection, I saw a piece of Cosimo’s paw pad hanging. Instant nausea.

“J.!!!!!!!!!!!!! Come quick!! And bring a bandage!” I screamed down the stairs. You never realize how much you love someone until you see them in pain. Bandaging a 130 lb. Mastiff is a skill in itself. But he was a good sport. Meaning J. He didn’t buckle, he stayed calm, he washed, disinfected and acted as a one-man mastiff triage center.


Seems Cosi went a little wild in the park last night and took off into the woods, as children will do. Being the concerned parents, we scrambled to find the first aid kit and make sure he didn’t need to be rushed to the Vet. As someone who doesn’t have kids yet, I instantly sympathized with all my friends who do have mini-mes running around.  They have dealt with cuts, scrapes, stitches, broken limbs and far worse.

What materialized after the initial panic was immense, unconditional love. Love for my pup and love for my boyfriend who was the savior and who made everything OK. On this Valentine’s Day, I’m thankful that both my loves are healing and that they are in my life to heal me from my daily hurts, too.


Happy V Day to my man and my puppy boo boo.

With love,


Immobilized By Mobile

My Phone I look at the screen of my iPhone approx once every 10 minutes…more if I’m waiting for a response or if I’m lost on the Lower East Side, a regular occurrence even though I’ve lived in NYC my whole life.  And don’t ask Siri for directions, that bitch doesn’t know where she is either. When she responds, she’s usually in another state…like Indiana. Two words, one App: Google Maps.

So my digital professor asked us to track our mobile selves for three days — I chose the weekend, as the beginning of this week has been one I’d like to bury in a six foot ditch. Here goes:


Blogged about Tonik, the Human-faced dog to test WordPress SEO and see if I could glean on to some of his page views. He is adorable and it worked. Some silly souls who searched for “human face dog”, were driven to my blog post.

Facebook Posting: Contributed to the viral “Your year is” post, where a friend randomly picks an age, and asks what you were doing at that life phase. The age I was given was 22. I drove a Honda Accord, worked for the New York Jets and wanted to be financially independent. Life was good, oh, wait, I dated Aaron M….yeah, it wasn’t that good. I continued to spread it to another 1o friends.

Updated Business Facebook page: For 121 Fulton, the bar & restaurant I invested in. I hated the “empty bar” cover photo they had and replaced it with one from our One Year Anniversary Party and linked to an article on the men that run the Paige Group, our managing partners.

Facebook Mobile Chatted: Didn’t know I had this feature but heard my mobile “dinging”, and then saw a slew of messages from Felipe, an old Brasilian (I will spell it his way) friend who I once dated…unsuccessfully. And after writing a scathing essay, “Blame It On Felipe,” and a few years of telling him to “f*ck off”, we’re friends again and sharing work experiences. Appropriate since we first met at NYU when we were classmates in a sports certification program.

iPhone Nemo Shots: Like every other Northeasterner I took a sh*tload of pictures of the blizzard and um, everyone’s pics look kind of the same — white and blurry.

Ordered Flight from DirecTV. Not what I expected, but let’s just say if you go to AA meetings, you will relate to this movie.

Here’s a quick pictoral summary of FRiDaY:

TonikFacebook Viral Post121 Fulton Snow Night IMG_2900Flight


Woke up to the smell of pancakes, but stayed in bed scrolling through Facebook, seeing pics of everyone who has kids — with their kids in the snow. Prayed that no one would have a heart attack while shoveling.

Watched DVR’d episode of Shark Tank. Only memorable product pitch were the hoodie pillows by the same chick who had pitched Citti Kitty — toilet-training for your cat. Do they have that for dogs? I would love if Cosimo could just use our toilet like a urinal.

Pinterest Notification #68:  That someone “repinned” my HBO Girls pin, “Almost getting it…kind of together.” It’s not even my original pin, but I pinned it a few weeks back and now I get five notifications a day that someone else pinned it, too. Got it– none of us have it together.

Used Hopstop App: To find fastest (and warmest) route to Jamie’s Surprise Party downtown at Puck Fair.

Angry Birds Star Wars: So intriguing that J. played it the whole way down (from Upper West to Soho). I’m so not intrigued. Big deal — now the ANGRY birds shoot laser beams from their chests.

Pictures (non-snow): Handed J. my phone. Apparently he had one too many margaritas …

Angry Birds StarWarsSurprise Party @ Puck FairTequilaBaked by MelissaWag.comGirls Pin


Overslept, but still made it to church downtown at the River. J. who introduced me to the nondenominational church almost three years ago when we began dating, refused to come. So I put on my big-girl pants and went by myself. I like being surrounded by people with good energy and it’s rare to find a place with so many under the same roof.

Afterwards, I made an indulgent visit to Chipotle, my guilty pleasure. While I sat there scooping up my chicken burrito bowl, I scrolled a Facebook post that said something about being a better person by not indulging in comfort food. F*ck! Ah, whatever. Back to the photos of friends’ kids sledding down the hill. All the photos looked vaguely the same. Some parents admitted posting the “obligatory kid playing in snow photo” to keep up with the Joneses.

Google, Google, Google. Did a few hours of research for a startup company in its infancy stage. What did people do before Google — go to the library? Finished 10 page research document and forwarded it to the starter-upper leader. I signed an NDA, so my lips are sealed.

Asked J. if he noticed the incessant burping/belching/yawning of our male housemates. His response: “You wanted to live with all guys.”  Turned up Pandora on my phone. Bruno Mars tunes out burps. What are these guys eating?!

SO MUCH ON TV ON SUNDAYS —  Shameless (counted 10 sex scenes), Girls, Enlightened, The Walking Dead and the Grammys. THANK GOD FOR DVR!!

While I was watching Girls, I glanced at my mobile’s Facebook feed, and saw that I had missed Bruno Mars performing with — STING! Uuggggggh. Was so pissed. I Googled it, and found the clip already posted on Just Jared. Click on pic below to watch — absolutely amazing. Chills.

Sting and Bruno Mars

The only thing I found distracting — the markings under Rihanna’s boobs. Yes, she also came on-stage, but was completely lacking in energy. So WTF were those markings? New gifts from Chris Brown? Only one way to find out:

Rihanna Boob Marking Google Search

Ok, Chris Brown didn’t scar her, those were self-inflicted tattoos. FUGLY!

So what have I discovered this weekend? That I’m spoiled by Google, and that I keep track of what’s going on in the world via the Facebook newsfeed. Oh, and I’d love to have an App where I take a picture of my outfit, and Stacy London’s voice belts out, “Oh no you don’t, you wore that to the last birthday party you went to!” That would be so helpful. A Virtual Closet Inventory Keeper. That’s my App!

What’s your mobile world doing?

Our Dog Looks Human, Too!

This is Tonik, the “human-faced dog” whose manly features have captured the attention of the interwebs, making him a much in demand adoptee — over 350 applications and growing. He looks sad and in need of a doggy bath more than anything, so I’m happy he’ll soon find a home where he can lay his human eyes on other loving human eyes.

Yesterday morning as I attempted to reach over and hit snooze on my iPhone, I encountered another human-canine mug that telepathically communicated,”Oh, no you don’t lazy ass — get out of bed and take me for a doggy walk. Now.” Maybe all dog owners come to think of their fur hounds as like-minded humans, but take a look at this face, and tell me this isn’t a human expression– especially the raised eyebrow.

Human Eyes The only part where Cosimo, a Cane Corso, loses out to Tonik is when you get past his eyes and see his “Joe Camel-esque” beak. Unfortunately, Cosimo is not up for adoption, but he does welcome play dates, trips to the dog park (or any type of grassy patch on the sidewalk) and ravioli (he is Italian, after all). He does harbor an unnatural fear of vacuums, but so do most men.

How human is your best friend?

F*ck the Winter Blahs!

Happy light, vaseline, tissues, wine, blankets and lots of friends. These are the key ingredients for? NO, not that, you dirty little f*cker! This is what helps crush the winter blahs! Every January, I gleefully ‘X’ the days off the calendar, fantasizing about the arrival of spring. I also daydream about having that second home on the coast of La Jolla and private jet flown by Channing Tatum to whisk me off for the first quarter of the year…but I’m not quite there yet. So this year, I hosted my first annual “F*ck the January Blahs Party” and found many of my amigos were suffering from the same ailments (not all, some have wisely relocated to Miami, San Diego and Maui).

Last weekend, over 70 people made their way to our place on the upper, upper west side, armed with bottles of booze and obvious relief that there was something to do on a Friday night. I rolled out my childhood faves — Hungry, Hungry Hippos and Operation. And as I predicted, the more my guests imbibed, the more they wanted to play. Early in the evening, it began to snow lightly, and I worried I would be stood up, but no one bailed, and the place was pumping.

F*ck the Winter Blahs!IMG_2765IMG_2753Party People

J. got to show off all his custom painting and even Cozi was a party dog, setting his sights on our friend Michael and showing his affection by humping his leg. He never does that! The festivities began at 8pm and we kicked our last guest out the door at 5am — we still know how to throw a party!

Hungry, Hungry HipposThe Fulton GirlsKidnapping my Dog!

The next morning J. and I huddled under the covers with egg sandwiches, a bottle of Aleve and a bottle of water, looking at the pictures (the best part)…already trying to plan our next shindig. We’re all in this together (meaning, this sh*tty weather). So when possible, fight the urge to sleep in and watch the last season of Homeland. Be social.  Isolation will lead to nothing more than bags of empty Cheetos and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrappers scattered on your floor and another 10 lbs. on your ass!

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day, pray that little furry dude does not see his shadow!

Chubby Groundhog

Checking Out Someone Else

And by this, I mean checking out their blog. Grad school is back and cranking again, and I am so thankful I have something to distract me from this job search/life limbo/”who am I?” phase I’m swimming in. For my first assignment in Digital Marketing, my professor Joanne Borek, (who rocks an eyebrow ring, a tat on her inner arm, swears as much as I do, and insists agencies have more fun — I like her already) has asked us to first, start a blog (done), and second to critique someone else’s.  Since I’ve been critiqued so harshly (I imagine) during my interviews lately…I’ve decided to turn the tide and share some love for a blog I adore, “with love, Shmon”. See first screenshot below.


Shmon’s layout is super-clean and easy to read. Her writing is friendly, open and it’s obvious she’s passionate about whatever she writes, from beauty trends to seasonal fashion to skincare. I don’t read a lot of other blogs, but hers always catches my eye in the WordPress reader, because it’s vibrant and visual. Plus, she’s adorable and I’d love to grab a latte with her and go shopping in Soho if she ever visits NYC.

See below, for her personal picks for hot leather jackets. The girl has good taste.


And if I choose to indulge (buy), Shmon posts the links (better than Pinterest!). After looking at jacket #3 up above, I clicked on a link and it unfortunately directed me to an outlet I had never heard of — Danier. Ah, in Canada. So my Canadian blogger friend, do they ship to the U.S.? See below for her “Where to get them” details.


Shmon has definitely ponied up the money to WordPress to get a better template, to be able to serve ads (which I also may add soon, I could use the dough!), and to have a URL with just her blog name (without the in it. I’m sure she also gets free products to review for her blog, smart cookie! Nothing makes a girl feel better than a free bottle of $200 skin-lightening, exfoliating moisturizer with Vitamin D and baby shark placenta.

With love,


I’ve Become the Third Wheel

Mastiff takes over

If I get up to pee in the middle of the night, I usually come back to find an imposter’s massive head smooshed into my foam pillow. His snores sound like that of a 90-year-old man as he stretches his legs and gives me a sharp kick, not letting me back in. “Doggy bed, now!” I direct as he whimpers.  J. doesn’t even notice there’s been a change of guard and thinks it’s me spooning him, when it’s really Cosimo, our 130 lb. pup.

I can’t help feeling that I’ve become the third wheel. Cosi is real competition. He licks J’s elbows in the morning (not my thing), waits outside the door while he’s in the shower (I got things to do),  looks at him with big eyes like everything he says is fascinating (I’ve already heard that story a 100x), doesn’t fight with him over the remote (I hate Tosh. O!) and wags his tail like no other (I try shaking my bootie in response).

Cosimo is obsessed with my boyfriend. He paces when J’s not home, then practically knocks him down the stairs when he walks in. He reminds me of that matted stuffed animal that followed Mark Wahlberg around in TED. They sit on the couch together, watch the Simpsons, share chicken fingers, drink beers, dogcall at other hounds out the window. The testosterone is over-flowing in this apartment…and the bros are both constantly thumping their chests and smacking paws.

J. recently sent his whole family an email titled, “Me and My Best Friend”. Opening it, I expected to see some photos of us from Hawaii, the Catskills, but no,  it was J. and Cosi swimming in the pool, J. and Cosi rolling around in the grass…J. and Cosi both yawning. Waaat?? The beast has bested me.

I don’t get it. I don’t need to be taken out for walks. I don’t piss a gallon and then step in it, making doggie pee-pee prints for half a block. I don’t drool while J’s eating and then wipe my mouth on his pants. I don’t lick my balls.  I don’t shed making his black peacoat resemble a fur jacket and most importantly — I don’t clear out the room with my doggie bombs.

So Cosi, my Cane Corso rival, watch your furry butt, it’s on! I know your tricks and I have some of my own…

Hibernation May Lead to Temporary Insanity

When There's Nothing Else to Do -- Cuddle!

When There’s Nothing Else to Do — Cuddle!

I know I’m going to regret these words, but here goes. I am BORED out of my freakin’ mind! From having barely two hours of down time a week to now having lost track of what day of the week it is — because there are just TOO MANY days in the week. WTF is wrong with me?! It’s Winter Break, never one of my favorites even when I was an undergrad, because it takes Girl-with-the-Dragon-Tattoo-digging-herself-out-of-a-shallow-grave-type will power to get out of bed in the morning. And by the time I get going, it’s dark an hour later.

January sucks. And right now I’m in limbo. Grad school doesn’t start up again until the end of the month and I’m interviewing for a full-time position, which even though I’m in a relationship, reminds me of online dating.  I.e., Have an encouraging profile (LinkedIn), Wink (send your resume), Stalk (keep following up for that interview), First Date (the anticipation — oh will they like me?), and Second Date (ok, they kinda liked me), to the Offer (Will you stop texting that other dude and move in with me?). I know, I know. Patience. But it will always be a virtue I just don’t get.

To J.’s delight, our apartment has never been cleaner. I do the laundry EVERY DAY, I’ve been sorting the whites from the darks, scrubbing those tiny, hard-to-get surfaces in the tub with a toothbrush, going on long dog walks with Cosi and analyzing his doggie doo (too many eggs!). I have organized the contents of my drawers by color, shape and size. I’ve cooked two nights in a row. And I NEVER cook. I’m reading the mind-numbing Where We Belong by Emily Giffen, because I’ll feel guilty if I don’t finish it. I’ve become addicted to International House Hunters on HGTV and see flashes of exotic beaches, lanais, and thatch roofs appearing in my dreams at night. I wake up not to an alarm clock — but to a 130 lb. Mastiff enthusiastically licking my armpits, which should make any girl feel really good about herself.

J. is more stressed as he transacts and interacts with his real estate clients, and I add to it by annoying him constantly, let’s do something! And today, sensing I may pull a Shining moment — “Heeeere’s Raaaaainbooooow!” with my hair sticking up and a kitchen knife in hand, he rolled out my old red Trek covered in two inches of dust. Once he carried it down two flights of stairs and filled the flat tires, there was no backing out. I felt my thighs painfully contract as they struggled to make the wheels turn in the city streets. My inner eight-year-old woke up and yelled, “Hey lady, are you kidding me! Did you forget how to ride a bike?!” Slowly it came back, even though I tripped over a curb in Central Park while trying to change gears and almost fell into a grassy knoll. Way to make an impression as you enter the bike path.

J. and Cosi ran next to me and then, past me, even though I was the one on the bike. The cyclist pros of the park also sped by with their two thousand-dollar gliding machines and padded butt pants, gel packs and shiny helmets gleaming in the winter sun. I was donning a ski hat and black sunglasses, sans fanny pack and water bottle. The runners panted by, little dogs squeaked by, and even a wheelchair or two outdid me. But it’s cool, I can handle it, I was just happy to be riding something other than the subway.

Riding in Central Park North

Riding in Central Park North

I feel better now, even though I’m walking kind of funny. I just wish that global warming would subside a bit, so we could get some snowflakes and I would feel less guilty about my winter agoraphobia. But hey I just found my “Happy Light”, so that should crank the energy up a bit.  Thanks mom, for the gift and inference that I was suffering from SAD so many years ago. Ok, back to annoying the crap out of J., hopefully he has unearthed a board game or deck of cards or something…

P.S. When I’m insanely busy and blotchy with stress in a few weeks, please remind me of my winter doldrums…and how lucky I was to be able to sleep in!