so i have to accept the fact that i'm a nerd

you may think i'm tres cosmopolitan. savy. stylish. smart. and just plain cool. you do think those things, right? come on! i've tried so hard to exude my coolness to all of you. it has to have worked on somebody, yes? well, i'm starting to come to the realization that i am, in fact, a total nerd.

in a conversation with digi, admitted to him that i keep my creme brulee torch in my room, thinking that i could use it as a weapon if i wanted to. i'm retarded.

i took a geek test and was dissapointed that i didn't do well.

have the hugest crush on a tech boy (yes, boy. he doesn't look a day over 21 and i'm probably being generous) who works at the computer tech booth in my library. this may be an indication that i'm just spending too much damn time here and am starting to become delusional. but, i have to say, for a computer geek...he def. knows how to wear his jeans. it's kind of hot. [slapping own hand] stop it!

i'm a stalker. if i were more celebrity-like, i think i'd be too cool to bother.

i like show tunes. that's a lie. i love show tunes.

i'm stopping here because i've embarrassed myself enough, but the list is endless...

is there a chiropractor in the house?

I’m dog-sitting for the next week. For my friend pretty’s ex-girlfriend, skinny, which is a little weird, but we ran into each other on the street and she asked and I felt bad saying no. BUT she has the most beautiful weimaraner so I’m pretty happy to have some doggy company. I miss it dearly. Also, I get to use her tres chic gym membership for the week so will hopefully go to lots of cool new pilates or dance classes. Skinny is the one who went on dates with jon cusak and Carson daly. Also, since then TOPHER GRACE has been pursuing her. But he lives in CA and she’s not all about that apparently. The thing that kills me is that shes skinny and blond and pretty, but she’s not Giselle. I’ve asked her how she does it. She said that she went to some prep school and that she’s stayed in contact with some of them and chalks it all up to money. She’s like, “I went to college and they all thought I was nuts, they had millions of mommy and daddy’s money and just did whatever.” So one of these friends is dating someone in the band “the killers” (don’t ask which member, I have no idea) so she’s been meeting all these people that way. My theory is that famous people want to meet normal people but don’t know how. I think that’s why they’re always hitting on their waitresses. Most places celebrities go, there are tons of teeny boppers going crazy over them. To meet a normal non-celebrity must be damn near impossible.

Also, I think I very well may have thrown my back out. I was walking home and passed the Lincoln center where it is “midsummer night swing” season. So this great big band was playing and there were swingers all over. I had on my “Ithaca is gorges” t-shirt on and people kept stopping me to ask if I was one of the “Ithaca dancers.” There is this legendary lindyhop (a type of swing) teacher who lives in Ithaca and has a dance group there that all the swing world knows about (when I was in college, there was a guy named sky in the group and his eyes were the same color as his name, I adored him). This guy offered lessons at my college which I took for about a year and a half. It was amazingly fun. So I had to disappoint all the people asking and staring by telling them that I just went to school there. I got hit on by two kind of old (early 40’s) men. One creepy and one perfectly normal, if not a bit too preppy. So preppy begged me to dance and I acquiesced. It was fun, though I’m a virgo and like to have control so am usually a terrible follower. I did okay though and all these people were gathered around to watch and seemed not to notice all the times I was fucking up. but THEN he dipped me real low and I felt something pop and now my back is in all kinds of discomfort. I’m afraid that if I lie down, that I won’t be able to get up. goddamnit!

Briefly: dave’s funeral was yesterday. His father said that the eulogy was the middle aged man’s speech. But that usually it is the middle aged man giving it for his parents, to a bunch of people with white hair, hearing aids, and walkers. That a eulogy should not be written for an audience so young. Dave’s note said that he’d been dealing with severe feelings of inadequacy on and off since high school (dave turned 29 this year). It makes me wonder where those feelings originate when he went to one of the best prep schools in the country, then to princeton, then to one of the best law schools in the country. His father said that his son was his sun for 29 years and hoped dave had gone off to find his own sun, to finally be at peace. His sister told a fart joke (a pretty good one at that), saying that dave always wanted to know how a fart joke would fare at church. His brother-in-law and two best friends told a few hilarious stories that epitomized him. It felt good to laugh, but felt awful to be reminded of all that we lost. His family had cds made with a handful of dave’s favorite songs, and put a picture of dave singing karaoke on the cover. I love it but it makes me want to cry every time I see it. The dean of my law school flew in from paris to be there, which I thought was amazing. The priest comforted my thoughts by telling us that those who take their lives are not condemned in the afterlife, that jesus has compassion for those who suffer that much pain. I’m not at all religious but it is something I kept thinking about.

a potpourri

It was reported in the NYTimes yesterday that Philadelphia will be the first city to add African American history as a graduation requirement. It’s about fucking time. I think it’s easy for people to ignore the plight of others and fight against remedial action when they’re ignorant of the absolutely shameful past (and arguable present) behavior of this country [getting off my soapbox]

As you all know, I’m a stalker. I’m thinking about starting my own company. All Eyes On You, L.L.C. when I do, I’ll definitely need one of these.

I mentioned I was going to the Yankees game before. Did anybody happen to see that game? They were down 8-2 by the second inning or something (what’s up with that randy?) and tons of people left. In the middle of the 7^th, two friends of mine left, joking that they were bad luck charms and that the Yankees would probably win after all. We laughed. Then the Yankees scored 13 runs in the 8^th inning and won 20-11. wtf?! That shit was crazy!

Also, for those who like the ballet. If you ever go to see Balanchine’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, only stay until intermission. The rest is blah.

Went to a birthday party at the infamous club X last night. I told myself I was going to stay away from there (and away from the pole) for a while. Damn. No sight of the 19 year old though. I’m sure I wasn’t out until way past his bedtime. But i did, however, run into this random guy who went to my highschool out in elmhurst, IL which is a bit freaky. this city is so goddamn small sometimes.

And finally, thanks to all of you for being there to listen (well, read) at this difficult time. When I started blogging I never thought that it would be something to turn to, or that it would give me people to turn to, in a time of need. I had planned only for it to be silly things, useless rants, and happy stuff (ah, I’m so naive!). Thanks for sticking by when it’s none of the above.

Muah, muah, and muah!

a few things...

i want to thank you all for your kind words, thoughts and prayers.

a few things have seeped into this story. dave had very recently been diagnosed with a type of lukemia that he was told would end his life sooner rather than later. there is some confusion about whether it was true. something about a mistake in the diagnosis. but it's unclear whether the mistake, if it was made at all, was made before or after his death (and found in the autopsy). regardless, modern medicine is a miracle (no matter what tom cruise and the scientologists seem to think), and a rational person has to think, "you were fully functional and heathy from the outside, you should have rode it out. they might have found a cure for it before you had to die from it." but if, as i suspect, its a culmination of things (upbringing, mental instability, alcoholism, stress, etc.), then the illness may have been the straw that broke that camel's back.

i met his parents today. they don't even know him. they were visibly bothered that they had no part in his life and that they didn't know their own son the way most of us did. they had no idea where to suggest for donations in lieu of flowers for the funeral. they didn't know what his passions were, the things he cared about. it was sad. in fact, it was the sight of them that finally made me cry.

i said in my list of 100 things that i can never cry for death. that isn't entirely true. when i find out initially, i'm emotionless. it's about 3-4 days later when everyone else is all cried out that i finally lose my stuff. i'm just slower at reacting or feeling or my body really resists it for some reason.

i think i'm actually losing my mind. i keep seeing dave places. 4 times today i saw a guy that i thought was him. in class, i kept looking back at the seat where he always sits. it was empty and every time i looked back, there was part of me that truly thought he was going to be there when i turned around next. it seems to be this really weird type of denial. the thing is that i didn't realize how constant he was. although i'd only go out with him every other week or so, he was ALWAYS outside school smoking a cigarrette. always. it is surreal to walk into or out of school and have him not be there. just walking up the stairs, it's obvious that something is different. we're not in kansas anymore toto.

this is my first experience with suicide, which i think is why it's messing with my head so much. i just don't get it, and as any virgo would know, it's awful to not have control or an understanding of something.

the one understanding i've seemed to grasp slightly is that this was bigger than all of us. that whatever demons were there, that all reason and logic were out the window. i just hope he ended up wherever he had hoped he'd end up by making this move. i hope that he got what he wanted. that if souls are hanging around somewhere, that his is finally at peace. i'll never understand (nor do i want to) where he was, but it's obviously a very painful place and i hope that he is out of his misery.

and still, i keep thinking i'll go to sleep and wake up and it will all have been a dream. still. i'm not at the point of comprehending that i'll never see or talk to him again. as i type this, i don't belive it for a second, even though i know it to be true. denial is a powerful thing...

at a loss

this is a downer. i'm warning you.

a friend of mine from school killed himself yesterday. actually, i'm not sure what day he did it. the housekeeper found him yesterday. he's a trust fund baby whose parents live in china and he lives here in their apartment, alone. there is no doubt that he was an alcoholic. he came off as being neither depressed nor overly happy. he was always easy and zen-ish. he took things as they came. or at least that's what it seemed. whatever this was, he could think of no other escape. sometimes he'd disappear for a week or two. when i first met him, it worried people but we just kind of accepted that that's just the way dave was. it was a little quirky. i know that everything is clearer in hindsight, but i can't help but think that we should have known that he was having real problems. that we should have done more to help him with his drinking problem (which he acknowledged, jokingly, he had, but had thoroughly convinced us that he was alright after all). we should have known that him disappearing like he sometimes did just was not normal. i'm certain that this had nothing to do with the bar exam, or school. he was that guy that never came to class, was a genius but "didn't apply himself," and still managed to get good grades anyhow. he could have cared less about school.

i'm angry at his selfishness one moment, and accepting that this is bigger than us and has nothing to do with us the next, and at the same time i'm in absolute denial that i'll never see him again. i feel this heavy weight and this sickness in my stomach as if something really bad has happened, but not the reality that is his death. my brain just will not wrap itself around it.

anybody out there who might know what he was going through? how it feels to want to take your life in the belief that it is the only way out? any guesses as to what it was he wanted out of? he left a note but i'm not sure if we'll ever know what it said. feel free to e-mail me if you think you can help me to understand where he might have been because at this point, i'm at a loss.

reason #633 why i love new york

Today was the first Bryant park movie of the summer. The Way We Were, with the love of my life, Robert Redford. Bryant park is a small park in midtown and people just pack in with blankets and snacks from whole foods or pizzas. The man said there were 10,000 people there tonight but I don’t see how it was possible, though I’m not gonna lie, we were like sardines. You have to be a tightrope walker to even manage the tiptoeing to get to your friends in the middle, if you can find them at all. Luckily, my friend J’s roommate M had time to get there early and get a spot (which entails getting there and waiting for the park to open at 5 and then making a mad dash with your blanket unfolded and trying not to get trampled). Thank you M! they always show a Warner Bros. cartoon first, and then they show this clip that I never see because I’m too busy dancing. You see, for those in the know, the ritual is for everyone to stand up and jump up and down whilst waving the arms back and forth above your head like you’re at a concert or rave or something. We all look ridiculous and I giggle at myself the whole time I’m doing it, but it has to be done people. I don’t want to be the spoilsport (wow, spell check knows that word but not blog, go figure).

It was a perfect evening, a little chilly, but I was so happy to be there. It’s one of my favorites and I haven’t seen it since long before I moved here. I didn’t realize how much this fine city is featured in it. I love movies that take place in new york. and did I mention that Robert Redford is nearly the hottest man ever? Okay, okay, to be honest, I’d put a young Paul Newman ahead of the pack (and gotta find a space for gene Kelly…my god, those shoulders…but I digress). Don’t tell Robert though, I’d hate for his feelings to be hurt.

Tomorrow I’ll be at the Yankees game for all my stalkers out there. I’ll be sitting in the bleachers wearing a Derek Jeter jersey. Come say hello and introduce yourself! I’ll be in the famed “bleacher creature” section 39. it’s always so much work though (they love to call out a players’ name until they turn around and wave. You get so caught up in their stunts that you miss half the game).

Off to dream of Robert and Derek…man, i’m getting wet already…

my europe

As I’d mentioned before in my homesick ode to Chicago, there’s nothing that makes you feel more pent up than several consecutive 15 hour days at the library, knowing that there’s no respite in sight. [grabbing your hand so we can skip, wizard of oz fashion, down memory lane]...vignettes from Europe.

It started in Venice, where our gondolier looked just like Robert Redford. I took in nothing of the scenery but the view of our guide in his red and white striped shirt. He was 35, I was 19, he spoke almost no English, I think I would have married him had he asked. Maybe he did, but I just couldn’t understand him. We met some Australians at dinner (serenaded by “la vie en rose” on the accordion) and drank red wine with them until the sun came up. The night we left we had an hour before our midnight train, decided to wander and stumbled across the Contarini Bovolo staircase. It was eerie and beautiful, lit by little else but the moon...

In Munich we headed straight to the hoffbrahaus where we had these beautiful Serbian waiters smuggle out two of the litre mugs for us. We stashed them back at the hotel and went clubbing with those gorgeous waiters. I picked the tall one and we made out like high schoolers in all our (my?) drunken glory. i think I was sober for all of one hour in munich but I loved it...

New years was nicer in Nice, being able to yell, "bonne nouvelle annee!" endlessly and being kissed by a dozen French men every time you did...

A brilliantly sunny day in Monaco where everyone drives a Ferrari and you could literally eat of the ground, it sparkled so. We grabbed baguettes, pomegranates, and brie and spent it walking the hill on which the castle sits. For kicks we stopped by Monte Carlo in the evening and played slots, just so we could say we gambled there, amongst those who flew in on private helicopters wearing white tuxedo jackets...

Zurich was pristine and civilized. Cars stopped a mile back if they suspected we wanted to cross the street. Shop workers came outside to help if they saw us looking the least bit lost. It seemed everyone spoke English, and French, and German…it made me a ashamed to be a clumsy American with nothing but a working knowledge of Spanish...

Berlin's surrealness, paying tribute to peace by preserving evidence of war nestled in between the Gap and a McDonalds. It was all at once modern and a sad kind of old. What remained of churches that had been bombed had been left standing like a time capsule scattered about the city like chards of glass...

Stunning is the first word that comes to mind when I think of Prague. Our hotel owner was an overly-friendly man named janna (pronounced yahna). He was a photographer and begged us to pose for him. His portfolio contained no nudes, and I think he was harmless, but we didn’t want to take our chances and politely declined. He sent us to the best restaurant where we ate 5 course meals for $12 a person after a generous tip. The most amazing puppet (marionette) show of “the Barber of Seville” that I will never ever forget...

Ah paris! Gazing at the setting sun with a gargoyle at the top of Notre Dame, having batted our eyelashes enough at the two young men who told us we’d just missed the last entry up, and them letting us up for free after-hours, where we had the thing all to ourselves. We spent an entire evening on the left bank with the owner of the legendary Shakespeare & Co., George Whitman, and his partner in crime. I didn’t love Parisians and it was so good to find a couple friendly New Englanders, the cutest old men you’ll ever meet. They told us stories all evening about the countless famed writers who had rested their heads there...

When I think of Barcelona I think of Mamma. She owned the hostile we stayed at and babied us all. Wanted to know when we’d be back, did our laundry, and tucked all 20 of her guests in at night. She was crazy and loud and pushy but I truly felt like she loved every guest like her own child. We always looked forward to coming home to tell her about our day. And the view from her place was amazing.

living in fear

I walk down the street, I look down at the ground, I never make eye contact, and most importantly, I never smile. I don’t want to encourage them or make them think I’ve noticed them. I somehow think that will keep them from saying anything. It never does. I still hear, “hey! Come back here! I want to talk to you!” “where you going baby?” “you have a good day now.” “you’re gorgeous baby.” “I’d like to take my dick and stick it in you, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “you should let me fuck you hard, baby.” I refuse to respond to these comments. I want to run away from them. But then I hear, “what, you too good to stop and talk?” “you should say thank you, bitch!” “where you going? I’m trying to talk to you?!”

And all of them act like I’m a bitch because they were “just trying to be nice.” “no. no you’re not,” I want to say to them. Did they say hello to the guy that just walked by? How about that overweight girl? How about that older woman? Hell, how about the tall skinny girl? They see i’m diminutive, they feel some kind of power over me, they see I have breasts (no matter how loose-fitting the clothing), and they think they can harass me. They pretend they’re complimenting me, when we both know they’re humiliating me, they’re objectifying me, they’re degrading me.

What bothers me the most is that these men are always minorities. I’m uncomfortable talking about race. I’m certain it has something to do with a disconnect with my own status as a person of mixed race. I hate feeling a fear of minority men just walking down the street. It’s never a fear of violence, but a fear of what is the imminent violation of my womanhood in a deeply personal, though non-physical, way. Why would anybody think it was okay to do this? When they see women like me, who keep their heads down, and are obviously bothered by it, afraid of it? Not a single day goes by that I don’t get a handful of degrading comments tossed at me. Not a single day goes by that I don’t pray for silence every time I pass a man whose eyes I feel on me.

I was leaving my building and I hear a hispanic accent, “you so beautiful baby! Hey baby, where you going?” and like always, I keep my head down and quicken my pace. I hear, “hey yasmeen, stop!” in a peppier, more girly voice. It was my door guy, the cutest gay Puerto Rican ever, Ceasar. I turn around and relief swept over me. i started yelling, “oh my god, it’s you! Don’t do that! Do you have any idea what I put up with every day!” and he giggles, like always, and when he sees how exasperated I am he apologizes. It has happened to me before. I have a hyper-sensitivity while I’m walking down the street. I see a figure. I know he’s looking at me. It’s drizzling and I lower my umbrella to try to cover my face so he’ll stop looking at me. I hear a voice say, “hey!” and his arm reaches out to touch me. I jumped and hit him with my umbrella. It’s danny. A security guard I know at a Lincoln center building (where a friend works and where I often meet her for lunch) was walking by me and was trying to say hello and I almost beat him down, assuming he was one of them.

When I was in 4^th grade I had stayed at school late. We were building bridges out of popsicle sticks. We were having a contest to see whose could hold the most weight. I had mine in a big box and was walking back to the babysitter’s house, where I would wait for my mother to get home from work. A white man with blond hair in a ponytail was fixing his bike on the sidewalk. I walked around him and half a block later he was riding down the street at a slow pace. I heard him say, “little girl…little girl would you like to touch my penis?...hey…did you hear me? Would you like to touch my penis?” terrified, I started running with my box, my backpack strapped tight, to my sitter’s house. She went off in her car to find him but never did.

I blame that white man for making me afraid of half the men in this city today. Though I’ll never appreciate the comments, I think they’d roll off my back a lot easier had that day in 4^th grade not been seared into my memory.

putting myself "out there"

So my friend Pretty (a guy. and no, that's not his real name. it's what i call him when he's not around. if you've been visiting here for a while, you've heard of him before)was in a long term relationship which ended about 8 months ago. This guy is very good looking (think brad pitt), has tons of money, is funny, so smart, and not full of himself, was an all-american lacrosse captain for one of the best teams in the country. except for his height, he stands at a modest 5’7”, he’s the perfect man (and even the height wouldn’t bother a lot of people). Pretty is ALWAYS meeting women (granted, he's after sex and has literally landed nearly 35 women in 8 months. I’m considering changing his nickname to dirty). Whenever I complain about not being able to meet guys, being single, never getting any dates, etc., he’s always telling me I need to put myself “out there” more. I tell him I think I am “out there.” i usually go out 2-4 nights a week, to tons of different places (though mostly bars/clubs/restaurants), and am the MOST social person ever.*

I didn’t realize what Pretty meant until I started spending more time with him one on one at bars. See, when we’re all out in a group, we stick together. When it’s just the two of us, Pretty won’t hesitate to walk off and hit on a girl. This guy has balls. He walks right up, doesn’t use anything too cheesy (usually a, “hey, how you doin?” not said joey tribbiani style, but said like a normal guy…for all those who didn’t read that in a joey-esque style, good for you), and most the time they girl totally blows him off. I have to admit, if the roles were reversed, I’d be nearly mortified. That would be my brave moment for the evening. No mas. But not Pretty. Absolutely unfazed, he’ll try again on another girl 10 minutes later (so much for me worrying I was killing his game). I tell him I don’t think I could handle all the rejection. Pretty says the more you do it, the easier it gets. I’m not sure that that’s true. I can’t ever see myself hitting on a dozen guys in a night. I think I’d wear myself out after two or three, tops. But to be fair, the more interviews I go to, the easier they get, so maybe this would follow suit. He says his odds are that about one in 15 will turn into something (be it random sex, a phone number, a date).

1 of 15 sucks, but is it worth it for that one? They’re so much work. Every approach is like a job interview, sans suit. First, evaluate the situation, then gauge the receptiveness, adjust your enthusiasm, be a good listener, be interesting, look good. But these aren’t job interviews. No sir. These are BLOW job interviews.** Is this what women have been reduced to? Could they even carry it off if they tried? I mean, most men come off as absolutely sleazy, but because pretty is…well…pretty, I think he gets more leeway.

What do YOU think? Should I start “putting myself out there” more? Should I follow Pretty’s lead in order to just meet more people, since the ones i'm meeting while waiting to get approached aren't worth the cheap cologne they're wearing?

* Let me clarify my frustration: it seems EVERY guy that approaches me at a bar or club is some gross old sleazy man. and more often than not, the hot guy is always with a girl. those guys in between, if i happen to end up talking to them (just normal perfectly sane guys), they get the number and don't call, or don't get the number at all, or i'm plain not interested. or i meet hot men half my age (see Tag update for info on THAT one). i will tell you, quite frustratedly, that i've only had 1, uno, un, ONE date in two years. i can't even get a dinner date with someone i'm not that interested in! what is going on in this city?! i always meet such nice good looking guys when i go to CA or go home. when i decide i'd like to be in a relationship, i'm considering taking a sabbatical, moving away, finding a guy, and then convincing him to come back here with me.
**Now I’ve been to more than two dozen interviews in the last year, with presently no job to speak of. I wonder how many of those guys would have offered me the chance to give them a blow job? Probably more than I’d like to think about (oh, those lonely, old, boring, partners at law firms…but I digress).

losing my meme virginity

it had to come at some point, didn't it? sometimes i read them and think the whole way through "don't tag me, don't tag me..." but i'm happy to report that this one wasn't bad at all. i was tagged by cadiz12. enjoy!

Three screen names you have had:
Jazmine730
Jazzmatazz
ladybug

Three things you like about yourself:
My way with people
My confidence
My intelligence

Three things you don't like about yourself:
I’m too uptight
My Insecurities
My selfishness

Three things that scare you:
the future
Leaving this city
rollercoasters

Three of your everyday essentials:
NY Times
Skim Latte
Lotion!

Three things you are wearing right now:
Black pajama pants
Camisole
slippers

Three of your favorite songs:
These foolish things sung by billie holiday
Anything Coltrane
Belief: Gavin DeGraw

Three new things you want to try in the next twelve months:
Getting a real job
Burlesque dancing lessons (or bellydancing)
Move to a different borough

Three things you want in a relationship:
Humor
Candor
Longevity

Three things you can't do without:
Craigslist
Jamba Juice
dogs

Three places you want to go on vacation:
Southern Spain
New Zealand
Hawaii

Three things you just can't do:
Whistle
Keep plants alive
Ask for favors

Three kids' names:
Clayton
Elena
Carter

Three things you want to do before you die:
record a jazz album
Skydive
Travel a lot more

Three celebrity crushes:
Jon Stewart
Patrick Dempsey
Taye Diggs

Three people I nominate to complete this exercise:
I hate to break the meme chain, but I don’t want anybody to feel like they’ve gotta do this. If you wanna do it, do it and let me know you’ve done it so I can read it.

The queen resumes her throne

since i am the self-proclaimed "Queen of Procrastination" i have a treat for you!*

y'all should check this out. i've been prank calling people with it all day. it has recorded phrases of people (napoleon dynamite, arnold, bush, etc.) that you can put together with a couple clicks. it's amazing. if you're quick enough you can make Pedro have relevant responses to whatever joe schmoe is saying on the other line...


*speaking of proclaiming yourself King, S is from a town where a guy really did that. it'll be in a post in the near future. on an off note, i'm not a writer. i'm not creative. when i happen to think of something that'll make a blog post i'll write it down so that when i run out (and with zero creative bones in my body, i will) i'll have something. well now my "to blog" list is nearly 3 pages long. it'll take me years to get through it. damn.

home sweet home

Since i'm definitely stuck in this city for the next two months (bar study leaves no time for travel) of course i'm getting homesick for all the places i've lived.

Things I love about Chicago (some of these are up to 45 min. out of the city but they’re worth the commute if you can get there):

Ravinia: a beautiful outdoor music pavilion (kind of like D.C.’s Wolftrap). Lawn tickets are $10, free for students. Bring: a quilt, good food, better wine, and my mother and I always make sure to bring candles and a tiny vase with flowers to add an extra touch Martha Stewart style. Bring a sweater b/c it’ll get cold. Go early. i went home specifically for michael cerveris, audra mcdonald, and patty lupone doing sondheim's "sunday in the park with george" and it was SO WORTH IT.

The beaches: along the lakeshore.

Clark & Belmont: where you can find Pennys noodle shop, Orange’s brunch (get the frushi and the pancake flight), and the Pick me up café (where go for a cup of coffee at 4am).

Nacional 27: one of my most favorite restaurants in the city. I used to work for Lettuce Entertain You and had the sweetest discount. Get the sashimi, a mango martini.

Arlington Racetrack: my mother used to take me there on my birthdays. I used to bet on horses by their silks. When I was old enough to understand the handbook I started using stats but now I never win. I should go back to the old way. My mother always bets on the first grey mare she sees. Don’t pay for a reserved table. Run down to the paddock before each race to look all the horses in the eye. This place is beautiful, take it all in.

Oakbrook mall: my stomping ground when I’m home. It’s the MOST beautiful outdoor mall. It has a Nordstrom (and ALL the other necessaries) and the restaurant I used to work at, Antico Posto (you must go if you’re anywhere near there! Get the ricotta gnocchi, you’ll thank me later).

PORTILLO’S: the best hot dogs. Period. They’re building one in L.A. near my mother so I’m thrilled. you haven't lived if you haven't had a chicago style hot dog (fresh tomato, cucumber, relish, hot peppers, pickle, onion, celery salt). NY'ers go to the shake shack at madison square party. they import vienna hotdogs from chicago for it.

The pizza: Lou malnatti’s, Eduardos or Giordanos. Or try Pizza and Oven Grinder, get the flatbread, skip the salads, and try the pot pie pizza’s with wheat dough.

The Lyric Opera: which is twice as good as the Met, I think. Actually, I think the metropolitan opera house is just damn ugly. I had season tickets all through junior high and high school (I was a dork, we don’t need to go over it again). These two old guys used to stand near the door and yell, in perfect unison, “librettos. Enjoy the opera with a libretto…and opera glasses!” I’d get a bottle of Orangina. I always wore this beautiful nanette lepore dress.

Second City: where I used to watch Rachel Dratch before anybody knew who she was. Chicago is THE home for good improv. It's where anybody who is anybody funny got their start.

Lombard at this time: it’s the lilac capital of the state (maybe even country), its an amazing place in May.

Long Grove: a quaint little town with cutesy shops. Not a place for most men. They have an apple cider mill and they make the BEST apple cider doughnuts. Get the day old doughnuts for half price, they’re better than the fresh ones. Also, hit their chocolate confectionary (which is world renown).

Ithaca will be next....

Tag Update

Wednesday 8:30 pm: Tag and I traded text messages (which, btw, are the downfall of modern dating. That might be the topic of my next post). He wanted me to stop by club X…again. I wasn’t doing anything but wanting to seem not-so-damn-available, told him I was busy but could meet up tomorrow.

Thursday 4:00 pm: another text, “you and your girls should come to club x tonight, I’m having a birthday party.” Frantic phone call to S telling her she’s going to club X with me. The one picture I have of Tag that I didn’t post is him standing on the bar pouring tequila down a girl’s throat at the bar. S tells me to pull up the picture and look closer. Why? We’re standing at the bar. A friend of S’s is the girl getting tequila down her throat, we’re standing next to her. So apparently I’ve seen Tag before but because of evil tequila, I have no memory of it.

12:00 am: Get to Club X. Tag walks right by us. I’m thinking he doesn’t even remember what I look like. He’s hot. He’s wearing this little black knit cap with a bill, a Kelly green tight t-shirt, jeans hanging off his tiny ass with a black studded belt. He walks past us again to the other end of the bar and I get a text: “when are you showing up? I’m getting lonely.” I show the text to S and K. I get another text, “I see you, don’t act like I can’t.” I told him I didn’t know if he’d recognize me. He said he loved the way I had hit on him. He was gone to greet friends every 15 minutes but kept coming back to talk. He was sweet. He was funny. He was a good dancer. I was drunk. They put the pole back up (they had taken it down for a band earlier) and I figured it was DEFINITELY time to go.

Friday 7:30am: I wake up still drunk. I have a missed call from Tag at 3am and a text at 4am which reads, “Hey u need to wake up right now and cum to 30^th b/w park and lex.” Ha! How is it the guy thinks I’ll answer a booty call when we’ve never even kissed?

9:00am: report to bar exam study class. Pages spinning in my vision. I felt like I was going to throw up the whole time. Told a friend I had been at club X, she said she’d gone to high school with the owners and their brothers (i.e. Tag). I said it was Tag’s birthday party. She said, “oh yeah, I forgot! He just turned 19” YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT. Nineteen. For fuck’s sake!

1:00pm: meet S and K for lunch. Am reminded of lots of things I can’t remember due to drunkenness. Forced to endure a solid 2 hrs of jokes about how he probably just wanted me to come over b/c he was scared of the dark and needed a bedtime story. About how I should have met him earlier, I could have gone to his prom. More jokes about incubators, living with mommy and daddy, all in the cradle robbing theme.

So whaddya think? If I hear from him do I respond? Is nineteen do-able? Literally...

i could rant on about how it's okay for older men to date younger women (i dated a guy who was 27 when i was 18, and nobody flinched), but this isn't time or the place. i've kept y'all long enough.

p.s. i heard from him one more time (late night text). i didn't answer. i think that's the end of that!

See post below for who this is....

jasmines
Originally uploaded by jasmineleilani.

p.s. S, a stalker i trained myself, found a picture of Ian/Tag online. This is him, but i wish he weren't making such a goofy smile in the one to the right. but it's the most Tag-ish of the bunch. they're on the website for club x. how come i didn't think to check there first?!

stalkers unite!