Vomit

Alright, alright...

For those of you who I have been talking to on a constant basis, I THANK YOU and boy do you have a treat of delicious French macaroons from Laduree coming to you!

So if you don't want to continue reading (because I'm going to complain again, you can stop). The post is self-titled so I'm warning you that it's going to get gross.

I take the RER A every day to work. It's like being herded into a cattle car and it smells like one too. Actually the smell is the sour stench of human sweat. It's disgusting. The only way I get through the 5 min ride from Champs Elysee to La Defense is to douse my scarf with perfume and put it over my nose as I am trying to avoid my head from being in some dude's armpit.

Maybe you don't believe me, but trust me on this. I've imagined that this might be the transportation that hell provides to its newly condemned population.

Today, I got on the train. It was crowded as usual and I positioned my scarf in the usual way, but GOD ALMIGHTY there was a smell that could have stripped you naked and left you shivering. Not until most of the people got off at La Defense, did I get to see what the stench was. It was not the sweat of morning commuters, it was vomit---a lovely parting gift that had dried on to the inner door of the train.

At the very moment that my eye glanced upon it, I was flabbergasted. I hustled my way to the next car and thought, "My god - what kind of person would do that?' but moreover I thought of all those people sitting in the train and standing next to it like there was nothing wrong with it! 'What kind of people would accept this as a part of their daily lives?'

I decided to banish the thought and lock it away forever, but then it happened again. I saw more vomit on the platform at Champs Elysee on my commute home and then more on my way to see my friend.

What is going on with this country? Why do people just lean over and vomit? Why are people okay with it? France just seems to be one huge contradiction after the next. It has wonderful glorious museums and to-die-for baked goods but then there's dog shit and vomit everywhere. I just don't get it.

Expertly avoiding dog shit (and now vomit)
Your truly,
Susan

Where do I start?

First - I want to caveat this post by stating that I am not feeling any joie de vivre as of yet. I don't know when I'm going to hit that stride.

So if you want to read about how I rode down a quaint cobblestone street on my bicycle filled with baguettes, wine and cheese on my way to a picnic along the Seine, stop reading.

I am going to give you the real Paris from a New Yorker's point of view. I see a lot of shit, specifically dog shit, from my side. It comes in so many various colors here, I keep wondering what the hell they feed their dogs? In fact I stepped in some soggy dog shit my first week here. When I recount my story to French people, they ask me right away which foot it was. It was my right foot- apparently it's lucky if you step in it with your left. I say fuck it's not lucky ever, EVER--especially if you are wearing your cute mostly open patent leather black flats. Dog shit is such a part of a Parisian's every day life that they've made up a stupid thing to say to those unlucky enough to step in it.

Carefully avoiding all sorts of excrement...
Yours Truly,
Susan

Haiti is not a popularity contest

For Israelis, Mixed Feelings on Aid Effort
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/22/world/middleeast/22israel.html?em

I am disappointed by the position that Israel's leaders who feel they will be quickly forgotten for being the first to send help to Haiti. Isn't the point to actually provide aid and medical relief to Haiti's victims not to seek recognition for it?

I didn't realize that sending aid to Haiti was a popularity contest. It's like Miss America saying, 'I want to save all of Africa's babies' to the question 'What would you do if you were Miss America?'

Shame on you--- Israeli leaders!

As I was watching CNN's coverage on Haiti, it was heart warming to see that the first baby delivered after the disaster was at an Israeli medical center. The mother named her newborn Israel in honor of the country who was first to send medical aid and safely deliver her child among the devastation.

I applaud that Israel was one of the first countries to send medical help.
Disasters will never cease to arise and all countries should follow in its example. Perhaps Israel can be the nation to lead all other countries in first response disaster relief training and deployment so that countries that can help will provide it more quickly and effectively.

If it were up to me I'd give Israel 10 gold stars but then take half of them away because it was being a demanding brat.

Eww thet moob pic is so gross.

Here's a better one.....

MOOBS

Holy shit! When I came across this picture, I actually gagged. UGH - I'm still sort of dry heaving. Wait - hold on give me sec......

I know that this is a medical condition called gynecomastia. And yes, I can take the route of talking about how sad it is that there are men who go through the psychological and emotional torture of having to endure something like this. BUT COME ON! That's not why you are reading my blog. If the picture offends you, navigate away from this site immediately.

I think that most men have MOOBS because they are fat or were fat and out of shape. To these men, I say to get on a treadmill pronto and do some push ups. Your secret might be safe in the winter when you can cover yourself up with a thick sweater most likely knit by a close female relative, specifically grandmothers who love you no matter what.

I'm going to let you in on a secret. Women know. We know. And you know deep down that the reason why the same women who were calling you in the winter have suddenly disappeared or are too busy for you. That's right... warm weather. You can't hide your MOOBS. The double t-shirt thing just doesn't work. Go ahead put on three for all I care. Wearing t-shirts in the pool or in the ocean is even worse. Wet t-shirts have a way of clinging to your (ahem) curves.

I bet you are really nice and funny in your own way. I'm sure that there is a woman out there who is a 1 or even a 4 who might want to be with you because you are really nice and sweet.(http://uvtblog.com/2009/01/keeping-it-real-the-real-scale-of-1-10/)
Be forewarned that by procreating with them you are effectively removing any trace of yourselves from the gene pool. Do yourselves a favor and go to the gym. We want to see you out there with your shirt off proudly displaying your pecs not MOOBS, playing shirtless ultimate frisbee or basketball.

GOT MILK?

So the one thing about being slick is that you have to actually cover all your bases to actually pull off being slicker than thou. So I ask you now, "Got milk?"

So Slick Rick was dating a whole bunch of girls at the same time. (I don't mind this actually, we all need to to do this to optimize our free time in searching for Mr./ Ms. Right.) The catch is he started dating my sister, the Super Sleuth. They had had a talk about being upfront and honest and about each other's dating situation from the start so she assumed that Slick Rick would comply. Not so. On their most recent date night, he was obnoxiously texting a mystery person back and forth. (Suspicious? Yes.) Then as soon they got back to his place, he said he needed to go out and get some milk? That was completely understandable because he drinks a lot of it.

Call it a woman's intutition or her super Sherlock Holmes skills but she was compelled to check his refrigerator to see if he actually had milk. Turns out he did.... and that it was 2/3 full .... and its expiration date was a full month from that day. Hmmmm... even more suspicious is the fact that he ran back into the apt without the milk saying he forgot his wallet. He is not an absentminded type of guy so if his sole purpose for going out was to buy milk, why would he leave his wallet behind but take his phone?

DUH! What an idiot!!!

When it rains it pours --

Doggone-it prats! Confounded idiots who should be banished to a desert island of idiots to compete for drinking water in a thunderdome style battle. Excuse my lame attempt at cursing without using expletives. Anyway bad things happen to good people and bad people and good things happen to both but some feel like it's luck and the others just think they deserve it.

OMG! How can the bad just pour down on both Jane and me at the SAME time???! I am confused by this -- events happen in 3's but to both of us at the same time? Mathematically it would look something like this 2x(3x3x3) =666??? Yes, that would make it the mark of the beast.

Really though, all kidding aside - it's been a shitastically turd burglar type of day and it all started the other day with the crazy drunk guy telling us he just went through his second divorce, almost puking on us while sitting really close to us, then trying to lean on me to touch Jane's face THEN to top it all off as we were scrambling to leave because we were so weirded out he grabbed the back of my coat and wouldn't let go. REALLY??!! Did that really need to happen? Wait I think the thing that happened to us today was the last one. YES!

BTW - ENTJ's may rule the world but will be tremendously unhappy doing so

Are you freaking kidding me about these career options????
I don't want to be any of these!!

* Corporate Executive Officer; Organization Builder (bleh)
* Computer Consultant (bleh)
* Lawyer (BLEH!!)
* Judge (bleh!)
* Business Administrators and Managers (OMG, this one doesn't even merit a bleh, but BLEH!!!!!
* University Professors and Administrators

* Entrepreneur (MAYBE THIS ONE THOUGH! - Birdie post to follow!)

ENTJ - The Field Marshal

Extrovert
Intuitive
Thinking
Judging

The other night, Jane went out on a date with a prototypical Type A. The Myers Brigg's personality assessment would put him in the upper right quadrant. I took the test on http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp , which is a condensed version of the MB.

Turns out -- you guessed it! I am a Field Marshall. I think there are only 2-3% of us out there. I think it has to do with limiting the gene pool with pushy demanding people. Field Marshals are just that... they like to marshal the field - they like structure and organization and they like to be bossy and think they are always right. They have feelings but don't respond to them, more often than not, ENTJ's repress them.

Now imagine a world full of these types of people -- we'd always be fighting with each other -- getting nothing done at all. What we need are soldiers to carry out our plans... reach our goals.. get the job done...and you better not question the orders.

Are ENTJ's doomed to never find people to relate to on a personal level? I'm guessing you need to know what your feelings are to relate to other's feelings right? To make it even tougher for the ENTJ's, there are more S/F's than Thinking/Judging types. It all sounds Greek to me when people tell me how they feel. I'm always trying to find a solution to my friends' problems when they tell me they are sad, depressed, etc. I can't just let them stay that way for an extended time or else I get frustrated and want to run for the nearest exit. With me, they get 30 min max to talk about their problems and I get to find a solution for them -- plan next steps, conflict resolution, strategy, etc.

How typically ENTJ of me but I have a solution for this problem already. Here it is...

If I am to get along with others and play nice... I'm supposed to develop my N(intuitive)side. So I will try to just "know" when I am being overbearing or else will someone please put me in check and just tell me? I am going to try to "know" when people need to be in their depressed states or just be left alone. AND FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS, I will listen to my gut when it says I should back off. And I will listen more and try to commiserate and empathize with people.

This is going to be a tough year for me.... I am going to do 5 unassisted pull ups and be more sensitive to people's feelings? Sounds like a plan to me!

Love is a battlefield???

I try not to think that way -- as much as this song is among my top karaoke songs, I think it's too fatalistic.

I've always tried to stay away from the tantrums and baggage that come along with L-O-V-E. If love were a battlefield I'd be a sniper or a runner (one of those messengers who take info back and forth from the front line to HQ). I've always danced along the periphery and never really dove in. I don't like to get my hands dirty.

Then I met the Lieutenant and things changed. I opened up more and it was easy to do it because the he was soooo far away. It was so far away that it could even have been Oz.... oh wait, it was. He didn't make any demands on me, I didn't make any demands on him and it was really fantastic. It was sort of like having a pen pal who was turning into my best friend. There were times when it would have been nice to share things with him -- like maybe hold hands on a cold day -- show him my fave ramen joints -- go bicycle riding and join in reckless randomness but overall I was pretty content with the situation.

It was a nice little bundled up quasi-relationship and I absolutely enjoyed spending my virtual time with him; emails, skype, texts, phone calls. All of it was easy to digest -- not confusing at all. Then I went to go see him and things unraveled. Perhaps my expectations were too high -- maybe things just sped up too quickly -- our time together was stressed and it was like being in warp-speed headed for a big asteroid or something. I got confused and I think he did too. Maybe I should have held back but I dove in head on. It was important that I prove that I wasn't afraid to show someone how I felt - more importantly I needed to prove this to myself.

I remember talking to my sis about all this before I left for my trip. She told me that I didn't need to be afraid of it and that even if it felt like someone tore out my heart, ripped it to shreds and stomped all over it, that I'd be okay. Reluctantly I agreed because I just didn't want to talk about it anymore. Yeah, yeah whatever, I thought. And it happened to me - I got hurt -- but I survived. I told the Lt I loved him and things just didn't work out. I was sad and it felt bittersweet but as more time passes my memories are sweeter, less bitter.

Next time? You ask? I don't know when that's going to happen. I've always been more cautious with people whom I truly like --- maybe even grow to love. I might get on that battlefield and work my way up to the front line. I might not even have to fight for it at all -- I might just let it happen in its own way. I'll be ready for it though and I won't be afraid of it.

Panamamacitas

Know what I've learned from traveling to seemingly warm weather destinations? I should have listened to Mrs Napolitano, my 3rd grade Science teacher. The closer you are to the Equator, the warmer the weather. I'm not taking any more chances with my vacations and I'm going after hot and humid. Panama's year round avg temperature is 90+ degrees!

It's cold in NYC again - I can't count on it being warm for another 2 months, so I'm packing ONE bag and hightailing to Panama for a few days with my sis. I am insisting we hike through the jungle, jump off cliffs, docks, helicopters (hmmm, maybe?) into the the azure blue ocean, bike into town, drink ice cold Balboas at a roadside shack, maybe go see the canal... (I don't really care for this last one, but she might want to do it.)

Oh my dearie dear dear dear...give me a hammock and a drink in a coconut.

Weekend plans

OH Merciful God, I have to go to a male strip club for a friend's bachelor party. A few things made me sort of hesitate....

1. The thought of a dude's gyrating crotch in my face to Geunwine or Usher or Justin or they might go old school and gyrate to Toni, Tony, Tone... or the Thong Song. Thong th-thong thong thong.

2. The thought of the above with some of the people we are going with-- including overweight transvestites -- think of John Waters' Hairspray, Ricki Lake's mom... Mama Turnblad. They def do not look like the ladyboys I met in Thailand.

3. I might have to sit through my own lapdance. What if something happens... like mid-dance.. the dancer gets too close and beaded butt sweat is flung on to my face.

I'm kinda scared but I just love how weird this is going to get. Bwahahaha!

sigh -- new york it is

i've been trying to run away to warm weather cities for the past year now... but looks like a higher power is telling me i should stay. good things keep happening in ny, keeping my feet firmly planted to the cold pavement and mother nature keeps telling me i can't move somewhere just for the sunny weather. (it rained the entire time i was in lala and yeah it really sucked.)

so i'm staying and turning up the heat, wearing uggs when i have to and trying to get used to the cold, even though i refused to believe i'd be here for the entire winter season. the other day, i looked up at the empire state building from chelsea and thought that i can't leave just yet. ny and i have a love/hate thing going on and i'm not hating it so much anymore.

im making huge vats of tasty lemonade out of my lemons--- trust me, it's that good and you're going to want some of it.

DABA

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/28/nyregion/28daba.html

is an acronym for:
a. Daily Accepting Boob Augmentation (as a birthday/anniversary gift)
b. Dare to Achieve Botox Association
c. Dating A Banker Anonymous

It could be all of the above, but the answer is C. (It's always C, didn't you know that?)

DABA is a support group for women who are dating (now out-of-work) bankers, which means the following for them:

1. Lots of pouting because there are no invites out to the Hamptons, no expensive dinners out, and no $1000 table reservations at the clubs on their bf's dime and social network.

2. Planning more nights out with your group of semi-pretty friends (so you can look the hottest out of them) and nab/steal/cajole the Banker WHO STILL HAS A JOB away from his current girlfriend/wife. (DABA for life!)

3. Taking a refresher course on pole-dancing and other techniques of people who work in the sex industry.

4. Cutting back on limo services, personal shopping, trips to the spa, cutting back on BOTOX maint to every other month. Recycling last season's hot handbag and making other tough sacrifices.

What happened to women making their own money?

AKIMBO

I remember when I first came across this word. I was 15 sitting in English class and we were doing our vocabulary review. Yes, even back in 1995 we were preparing for the verbal assault of the SAT's. I remember envisioning a crazy cool samurai warrior princess outfitted in a sleek dark kimono-esque outfit, strapped with sharp blades and wielding an ancient and powerful samurai sword.

Unfortunately, the word is derived from an middle English word "kene" + "bow", and there are a few definitions. Contextually, you use it to describe the physical position of the person, it usually connotes a rather stand-offish and superior attitude to the person who is standing akimbo. It can also refer to being bent or I like to think mangled lying on the floor, limbs akimbo. Think of the sharp angles your body can make with your elbows and knees and voila you are now akimbo.

Nevertheless, I wanted to introduce her to my cool clique of familiar words. But Akimbo was aloof and didn't want to play with the other words. She only had one cool thing to say and she would say it and then suddenly shut up again, leaving us all confused and wondering WTF? I couldn't get the other words to be friendly either. She exuded a cool superiority but for some reason we had seen through her one-trick pony but were still mystified that she would still feel like she was better than us. In turn we were fascinated all the more for it.

To this day, Akimbo stands in the periphery of my mind. She has been invited to join in on the clowning multiple times and has quietly refused fraternizing with the other words. She'll always be there in striking distance.... ready to stab our roundabout conversations with an exclamation point. Again we will be awed by her cool factor and she will recede from the limelight leaving us thinking WTF!

WTF!

WTF!
WTF!
WTF!
WTF!

I can't believe I'm going to quote Paula Abdul here but "one step forward, two steps back"

The item for auction is Natalie Dylan's virginity and it's now worth $3.7M. Is she the ultimate American capitalist? She's identified a market, she has a unique product and she's branded herself as a young college grad trying to pay for grad school.

Franklyn - Looks awesome but no US distro!

You don't gotta go home but you gotta get the hell up on outta here!

I'm talking about the pity party for one I've been at for the past few days. There are a million reasons why I thought I should be there: I caught the flu, winter in NY, the recession, lack of direction in my career, uncertainty about whether I wanted to stay in NY, etc, etc, etc, ad nauseum.

I was celebrating BY MYSELF with my Debbie Downer tiara firmly placed on my crown of uncombed hair, slow-dancing to a loop of Celine Dion's "All BY MYSELF" in semi-darkness. Mood lighting provided by the glow of the television set to VH1's Rock of Love. Drinks provided by I-don't-know-what-flavor-green-is-but-I-think-Vick's-calls-it-original-flavored Nyquil.

Mid-dance, my ego flips on the light switch. Goddamn egos! They ruin everything! I was just getting into the chorus again (for the 6th time). The bossy, opinionated loudmouth that she is told me to get out of my stinky sick clothes and take a freaking shower. So here I am at work today, clean and feeling fresh and i think i'm looking kinda hot in an casual workwear way.

Big shout out to my overblown know-it-all newyawker ego who can 3 finger snap me back to reality. I thank thee for not letting thyself wallow and despair as queen of Loserdom!

wanna talk recession?

It's 1am and I can't fall asleep. So many thoughts are running through my head: all the stuff my sister threw out during her move, BBC news reporting that the toxic recession in the US is trickling down into the global economy, and OK! magazine reporting that celebrities are cutting back on their Christmas spending even though Christmas time as Macys so brilliantly coined is the "gift giving" season. I have one thought and that is that this recession has seriously made me think about my consumption habits, the things I throw away and the things I refuse to let go.

This year my family decided to have a Secret Santa. It's not because we couldn't afford to buy each other gifts but because we wanted to concentrate our individual efforts on buying something special for one person. How many times have we gone gift-shopping and picked up the same sweater or ipod for multiple people and how disingenuous is that?

We as a Western society have taken many things for granted. We have taken our material wealth for granted and we glutted ourselves on things that we never even thought we wanted. We took for granted the value of our homes and thought that this was something special that WE did rather than an error in the system. Keep the good times rolling, right? One of the things that really struck me over the past year was that countries that relied on importing grains for food could not afford them because of the demand for it due to biofuel. This in turn drove sharply higher grain prices. Countries could not afford to buy grain for food and in turn its people had to cut back on them or go hungry.

Yet I said more, more, more. We all chanted it.

I have personally thrown away clothes that I have never worn, let food rot in my refrigerator untouched, spent thousands of dollars on things that I never used. In light of the economic slowdown, I have spent less on things I don't need and really thought about what I value materially and spiritually.

What do I want? I want people to think about what they buy and how they consume. I want all our talented and creative people making innovative and inventive products that shine beauty and truth and I want the consuming masses to seek it if it's not there. I want to go into a store and find everything beautiful and seek the one beautiful thing that sings to me. I want American Consumerism to stop behaving like a bloated glutton and say no for once to the marketers forcing bland derivatives of true beauty down its throat. I want this recession to revolutionize how we think about our wants versus our needs.

Call me an an idealist but I think we can do it. All we needed was a catalyst to make it happen. We needed to be shaken up. I needed this change so I could put my faith back into what we create as a nation, as a society and as a generation.

I want to be Ong Bak but does that get in the way of GOOD EATING?

For the first time in a long time I got my body fat measured by my new personal trainer, Emile, who trained four of the contestants from last season's Biggest Loser show. I am officially on the "fit" side meaning that my body fat is between 15-20%. This totally threw me by surprise. I have never thought of myself as fit, maybe thin, definitely not fit. (Mental note to quite smoking once and for all!)

I am flashing back to when I was called Sumo Susan. I was 10 yrs old and overweight and I could call Ronald McDonald and Burger King my 2nd and 3rd best friends (Jane was and always will be my first BFF). I remember Mr. Poter (our gym teacher) measuring the body fat of everyone in gym class with the pinch test because our school was participating in the Presidential Physical Challenge. I was a whopping 32% (no pun intended). I didn't think much of it back then because I didn't know what was healthy. I had no concept of what was healthy and you know what, he never told us!

My parents showed me love through food and all I wanted was the international chicken fillet sandwich, fries, and the paper Burger King crown. The bonus was making my own drink concontions from the free refills on the fountain drinks. So the only thing I gained (no pun intended again) was my love for food. Even though it is officially cool to be a gastrophile or foodie, I have always been and will be a food lover. I think it is because I was born with extra-sensative taste buds. I've been judging every meal I've had with my previous one my whole life and I can relate how I feelings with all the foods I have eaten. If you ask me what I thought of the merguez at the facy restaurant in Morocco, I will say it was just ok and list out what was right about it and waht could have better. My first and foremost sensual taste experience was when I had my first bite of the supreme pizza from Chris' Pizzeria in East Rutherford, I think I must have been 8 yrs old. I was born to be a foodie because now I can taste anything and recreate it, make it my own. I digress, because my philosophy and passion for food deserves a post of its own.

Back to 2008, so working out definitely has its rewards. I feel better mentally and physically and all the extra neuroses I had pent up in my head have now been replaced by the slow burn in my hamstrings from the high leg kicks. It's so liberating to have a strong body. It is absolutely empowering. Who cares what I look like?! I can punch, punch, duck, punch, punch, high kick. That's right, I am kickboxing and once I rent and watch Ong Bak again, I am going to be a peaceful but potentially dangerous ass kicking machine.

You betta watch yo'self, before you wreck yo'self or just give me a hug and let's call it even.