EATING MY FEELINGS BOOK TOUR KICKSTARTER! There are only a few days left to make this happen so let's do it people! It's time for my annual summer break from blogging. I will be back on July 8 with all new blogs, giveaways and prizes all throughout July celebrating THE SINGLE LIFE'S 4th Anniversary and leading up to the much anticipated release of my second book EATING MY FEELINGS on August 6. In the meantime, relive one of my favorite journeys from January of 2011 as we celebrate my most favorite holiday of the year: Fleet Week. Happy summer, kiddos. See you in July!
New York in January is a little bitch. It’s cold, lonely, leaves me
gassy and the only thing I have to look forward to is watching reruns of
“Dynasty” and eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s on Valentine’s Day with
Stressica. Knowing this, I booked a flight to California shortly into
the New Year and could not wait to get the hell out of dodge. Luckily,
Stressica had booked a flight on the same day to Barbados (married
couples always plan trips during the same time so they don’t have to be
in the city alone, even if they aren’t going to the same place) so we
got travel to the airport together.
“I can’t wait to test out my
new balls out in my swimsuit!” Stressica said as we entered the airport.
Unfortunately, Stressica spent the better part of December laid up due
to ball surgery. Don’t worry, it was just a preventative surgery and
Stressica’s balls are fully functioning once more.
“I’ll obviously need pictures,” I said.
fake made out and parted ways as I boarded my plane. Every time I fly I
act as if I was born in 1908. The marvels of aviation still astonish me
at ever turn and I let that fun fact be known to every flight attendant
on every plane I board.
“I can’t believe that we can get all the way across the country in six hours,” I told the flight attendant as I boarded.
believe it sweetheart,” she said. I feel like she should have been
smoking a cigarette, but she wasn’t making me, in turn, want to smoke,
“I just came back from the west coast thirty minutes ago.”
“Wow!” I said, agog. That’s aero technology for you.
made our way across this glorious country and landed safely in San
Diego. I deplaned and even before leaving the airport, I had fallen in
love with California. From the airport I saw palm trees and people
walking down the street, not wearing everything they owned like they do
in New York, but instead wearing fashionable clothes and get
this…smiling. Everyone was smiling. It must have been the Vitamin D. By
the time I left the airport, I was nearly down to my underwear. I had
planned on wearing as little as possible for the next few days and
decided the airport would be a good place to start disrobing.
leaving NY, I contacted an old friend, Patrick to see if I could stay
with him. Patrick and I met a few years ago when we were both hammered
on a beach in Delaware, became fast friends and have stayed in touch
ever since. I arrived at Pat’s place and was greeted with a warm
“Mark!” Patrick said, “You look so…relaxed.”
Apparently while on the flight, I had lost my bad ass New York attitude and chilled out a bit.
“It’s the Vitamin D,” I replied, “I haven’t had it in months.”
“Let’s grab dinner and catch up,” he then said, “but I have to make a quick stop on the way.”
Patrick and I walked down a palm tree lined street and we caught up. Patrick is currently single and we both commiserated.
He began to say things like:
“Guys in San Diego are cute, but they’re pretty flakey.” And
“Guys in San Diego are nice, but they don’t have follow through.” And
“Guys in San Diego are super sweet, but never call you back.”
flash Patrick: all of these attributes are not isolated to guys in San
Diego, that’s just how guys in general roll. San Diego, New York, L.A.,
Mumbai, all guys suck. Anyway, we continued chatting until we arrived at
“I have to go in and pick something up real quick,” he said.
“Where are we?” I questioned.
“The weed store,” he replied.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
California, if a doctor gives you a prescription, you can pick weed up
at store. It’s as easy as if you were buying groceries or condoms. You
walk in, show them your prescription and leave with weed.”
“Why do you have a prescription for weed?”
“I have anxiety and I can’t sleep.”
I gave him a dirty look.
“Whatever,” he said, “ that’s what I told the doctor because I wanted to get high.”
entered and I sat and waited for Patrick to get his weed. Suddenly, I
felt as if I were involved in some sort of drug deal gone wrong.
Although it was perfectly legal, I was suddenly transported back to 2007
to a grimy couch in Harlem. I thought my drug cartel days were over but
here we were and I had only been in California for but a minute.
Patrick exited the store and I followed.
“I’m super happy that worked out, but I have no idea how to smoke it. I’ve never rolled a joint before.”
“No worries,” I replied, “I got ya covered. That’s one of the many perks of having an alcoholic houseguest.”
and I ate dinner and caught up. He told me how much he loved living in
San Diego and how “health conscious” everyone in the city was. Everyone
loved to do things outdoors and no one ever stayed home unless it was
raining, which was only a few times a year. However, I couldn’t help but
notice how much everyone drank and smoked a lot. I’m sure they loved
their outdoor activities but they loved drinking just as much, if not
more. The people in this town were about as health conscious as I was
when I was drinking and switched from six-packs of beer to vodka because
it had less calories. Moral of the story is: San Diego is a big party
town and if I had still been drinking, I would have not have already
been blacked out while this conversation was taking place, but would
have also most likely have been elected Mayor by close of business that
We ate dinner and shortly after Patrick escorted me off
to a bar that was filled to capacity, unlike anything I had ever seen in
New York on a Wednesday night. The health conscious citizens of San
Diego thought it best to get blacked out on a Wednesday, probably
because they had been so busy hiking, swimming and doing whatever it is
people do outdoors. I honestly don’t remember what that’s like doing
things outdoors because I currently live just south of the North Pole.
Patrick and I had a ball and people seemed to be interested in me. Not
one person asked me what I did for a living and people were touching me
inappropriately at every turn. I decided then and there that I hearted
San Diego. That night I also got to meet some of Patrick’s friends who
included Brian, Andrew and Andrew’s friend John.
The next day, I
was off to L.A. to meet Boa. Remember my beloved Asian friend? Well,
he’s off on a journey around the world to find himself (and probably a
flock of exotic men, if I know my girl Boa). I personally think that he
could have spent a lot less money and a hell of a lot less of my time
finding himself in New York, but apparently, he needs to do this
elsewhere. I miss him terribly and cannot wait for his triumphant return
to the city. Stay Asian buddy!
Back to San Diego I went and the
following day, as I was getting a croissant and coffee at the local
coffee shop. It was ten in the morning and packed to capacity. I don’t
think people in California actually work, which was fine by me because
after just two days in Cali, I never wanted to work again – it was
rubbing off. I sat down to enjoy my coffee and in walked John, who I had
met two night’s prior.
“Do you mind if I join you?” John asked.
“Of course not,” I replied.
was I to refuse a seat to the cute Navy boy who couldn’t find a table
of his own? It was later revealed that this was all staged and that John
was walking by to go somewhere else, but saw me and stopped in which in
New York is considered being a stalker but in California is considered
“How are you enjoying California so far?” John asked.
love it!” I gushed, “Everyone is so nice here and fresh faced. I mean,
sure, there a hot guys in New York, but when you look at them, you know
they’ve been through the shit. They’ve had hard lives – everyone has in
New York. Everyone here is just chilling. I could live here.”
“Well, New York is a pretty awesome place to live,” John replied.
My love affair with New York is less of a love affair and more of a trial separation at this point.
walking around in shorts right now,” I replied, “not only that, I
continue to forget it’s January and there aren’t polar bears roaming the
streets. New York is miserable right now.”
“Well you must live there for a reason,” John said.
Yes, I do. But I couldn’t for the life of me remember what that reason was.
John and I continued chatting and John asked me what I was doing for the remainder of the day.
“I plan on roaming around and enjoying the city. And drinking as many iced coffees as possible.”
“Do you mind if I join you?” John asked, “I can be your tour guide.”
A lady never turns down a tour of the city from a gentleman, especially if that gentleman stranger is in the Navy.
accepted and John and I quickly darted over to Balboa Park and
continued to get to know each other. Before I knew it, John and I were
talking about our families, past relationships and my friends back in
NY. It was around my seventeenth iced coffee that I realized I was on a
date. This is the part of the story called: “Mark finally gets a clue.”
was absolutely nothing to dislike about John. He was from Texas, in the
Navy, a gentleman of which the likes of New York has never before seen
and body be right. We had a lovely lunch in the park and then he treated
me to pinkberry afterwards. Not only was he a gentleman, he already
knew that the way to my heart was frozen yogurt because I am a big fat
pig. We parted ways and that night, Patrick took me out to the bars once
again. Those crazy kids were out in full force that night, drinking,
smoking and living it up. God bless that clean living lifestyle that the
residents of San Diego continue to embrace. As we were shaking our
proverbial groove things, John stumbled over. I couldn’t believe that we
had bumped into each other twice in one day. Such is the fickle finger
of fate. I could tell that he was a little hammered when he pulled me
into a kiss.
Thank God one of us had been drinking (because it
certainly wasn’t going to be me) because my game has been off ever since
I quit the sauce. Not only that but it had been exactly 147 days (but
who’s counting?) since a man had kissed, groped, or fondled me. I’ve
been busy finishing another epic book and having mini-nervous breakdowns
every other day, both of which leave very little time for boys. Anyway,
John and I made out like horny Mexican teenagers who had just crossed
the border illegally and off to John’s place we went.
morning, John had to leave to go to work and I had big plans to go to
Disneyland. John rushed me out the door like the high-class escort I’ve
always hoped to be. I understood that he had to work but found it
extremely charming that he emailed me moments later telling me that he
was sorry for rushing me out the door and that he hoped we could see
each other before I went. I quickly wondered if being a Navy wife was
anything like being an Army wife, which if any of you recall, I was
about two and a half years ago.
Patrick and I went of to La Jolla
and later Disneyland that day and had a blast, although I can safely
say that we were probably the only ones standing in line for the Pirates
of the Caribbean ride talking about anal sex and using Grinder on our
I-Phones. John sent me cute little messages throughout the day and as we
left the Magic Kingdom, I briefly wondered how much it would cost me to
run for Mayor of San Diego. I needed to stay in California, but how?
Upon leaving the Magic Kingdom, I was approached by Cinderella.
are you from young man?” she asked. Who you callin’ young, lady? We’re
bulldozing our way toward thirty at lightening speed.
“New York City,” I replied.
“What a magical place,” she said.
“It’s not that great.”
“Oh no!” she said as she put her hands to her face. “Why on earth would you say that?”
cold as hell, everyone sucks and you can’t get the kind of Mexican food
that you can get here. It’s just not the same Cinderella. It’s just not
the same!” I pleaded.
“Certainly you must like something about it.”
I stared at her for a second and replied: “Stressica. I like Stressica.”
dear, I don’t know what any of those words mean, but I’m sure they’re
lovely. You need to go back to New York to figure out what it is you
love about it.”
“Wow, Cinderella, maybe you’re right. Or maybe I should sleep in a bathroom stall here and just live in Disneyland.”
you want a picture or not?” Cinderella said sharply. She probably
needed a smoke after having been surrounded by children all day so I let
her tone slide. Patrick and I left Disneyland, partied all night in
West Hollywood and were back in San Diego the next night where I was
greeted by my own, personal, knight in shining armor.
“You need to help me run for Mayor and win,” I said as I greeted John that night, “oh…and I’ll also be moving in.”
He laughed: “So you want to stay in California do you?”
the hell wouldn’t?” I replied, “You people live like kings, it’s
gorgeous out all the time and everyone is happy. I think it’s either the
Vitamin D or legalized marijuana, I’m not sure which, but all I know is
I never want to leave.”
“There must be a reason you live in New York,” John said.
stared at him. He was perfect – everything I would ever want in a mate
besides the pesky fact that he lived 2500 miles away from me. I honestly
could not answer him.
“Yea, everyone including Cinderella keeps
telling me that,” John looked confused so I continued: “Stressica is in
New York so I guess that’s something,” I replied.
“You certainly wouldn’t want to leave Stressica behind, would you?”
kind of been dead weight since he got his new balls…if I’m being
honest,” I replied. John had no idea what the hell I was talking about
so I laughed and replied: “Of course not. He’s my life partner. I could
never leave him.” I sat and thought of ways to blackmail Stressica into
moving to San Diego with me while John and I got to know each other
further. To be honest, John took me out on one of the nicest dates
anyone has ever taken me out on. He wined and dined me like no man has
before. Although, I guess in my case he ice teed me and dined me like no
man has before.
As John was talking, I was checking flights back to San Diego on my I-Phone until John stopped me.
“Mark!” he barked, “You’re going back to New York. Now let’s enjoy each other’s company before you head out.”
and I had a lovely evening and the next day we continued our tour of
sunny San Diego but I moped the whole day. Keeping in the tradition of
being the stupid bitch I am, I pouted the whole day instead of enjoying
myself. I prayed for a snowstorm to delay my flight back to New York,
but when I got to the airport it was all systems go. I missed John
already. Boys like that don’t exist in New York. They’re just dating
urban legends that only exist in movies, books and apparently this blog.
I quickly thought about kidnapping him and taking him home with me, but
I don’t need the United States Navy all up in my business too. I said
goodbye to John and Patrick and off to the airport I went.
interest in aviation had waned as I sat on the plane ride home. I put on
a mask to cover my eyes and when the flight attendant came by to ask me
if I needed anything, I pulled it off to reveal blood shot eyes. I had
been crying. Alone. On the plane.
“Are you OK?” the flight attendant asked.
“No!” I cried, “I don’t want to go home!” Apparently, I’m a five year old now.
“It’s cold as shit in New York right now,” she replied.
know,” I said, “Stressica text messaged me and told me that his new
balls were frozen when he got off the plane from Barbados.”
“What?” she asked.
“Never mind,” I replied, “moral of the story: I don’t want to go home.”
“I think you need to figure out why you live in New York,” she said.
looked at her dead in the face. Suddenly a wave of anger came over me.
People needed to stop telling me that I needed to figure out why I lived
in New York and pronto. I got up from my seat and began an epic
soliloquy/vocal nervous breakdown: “I live in New York because that
fourteen square foot apartment that I pay way too much money for is what
I call home! I live in New York because I am driven like no one else
and I will be on the New York Times Bestseller List if I have to fuck
every reviewer in Manhattan. I’m a New Yorker and I’m not above sleeping
my way to the top like everyone else! I live in New York because I love
nearly falling down slippery steps on my way to the subway, almost
causing myself a severe head injury. I live in New York because there is
nowhere else in the God damn world to live God damn it! She may be a
cold, heartless bitch, but she’s MY cold heartless bitch and I love her.
That is, from April to October and periodically in March if global
warming is being kind to us and the temperature goes above sixty.”
was a small applause from my makeshift audience of passengers as I sat
back down in my seat. In mid air, I was no longer technically in
California and my Vitamin D level had dropped significantly. I was back
to old, bitchy Mark. I got off the plane at JFK and when it was snowing I
uttered: “Oh, right. It’s January,” under my breath. Stressica was
right. New balls or otherwise, mine were freezing.
hustled at the airport by a gypsy cab driver, paying seventy dollars to
get back to my apartment, which is really only like fifteen miles from
the airport and falling on my ass when I got out of said cab, I was
home. I concluded that while I love living in New York, I will now spend
every winter moving forward in San Diego with my new Navy boyfriend and
our 4.5 miniature poodles that we have yet to buy. It’s too cold here
and I could probably win the mayoral race if I tried hard enough – as no
one seems to work in San Diego at all. I would just have to make sure
everyone was sober enough to make it to the voting booth. Vacations are
fun, but all good things must come to an end. So I’m back, bad attitude
in tact and having met one of the most amazing people I’ve met in years,
so there’s my silver lining.