The Single Life Of A Manhattan Homo

A List of Reasons Why We Like Lists

2013-05-21T11:21:00.000-04:00

Apparently the only form of reading people like to do on the internet these days is to read lists. Hey, remember when this website used to be fun stories and crazy adventures? Now it's just list after list after list because people just don't have the time to invest in getting to know characters or actually learning something anymore. The truth is, lists are just sloppy writing but people enjoy them because they're easy to read. Here is a list of reasons why people like lists.

Before we get to it, don't forget to donate to the EATING MY FEELINGS BOOK TOUR KICKSTARTER! Now is the time!

1. Because they see something like this and they're like: "Awww...yea...totally remember that." And then congratulate themselves at their desk for still having the capacity to remember and feel.

2. Because things are more fun to read...

3. When they're spread out...

4. Over several numbered sentences...

5. And getting to a higher number on a list makes you feel as though you've accomplished some sort of literary feat.

6. People aren't a smart as they use to be and don't have the mental bandwidth to handle reading something that is more than a paragraph long.

7. Because Buzzfeed is apparently our new online Bible.

8. We don't have attention spans anymore.

9. What was I just talking about?

10. Writers are lazy. Take it from me, pulling a bunch of pictures from a website and putting them onto a list is SO much easier than actually telling a story or reporting something newsworthy.

11. Because people need to know things like "The 21 Types of People on Airplanes" and yes, that is a real thing and apparently culturally relevant.

12. Lists usually involve pictures and looking at pictures is more fun than reading (it's OK to admit it). It's like being five years old again, except you can drive a car now!

13. Looking at pictures on lists tricks your brain into thinking you're actually reading and in turn makes you think you're smart.

14. Lists pass the time when you could be working or spending time with your family and who the hell wants to do either or those things?

15. Because if you have something mean to say in list form you can just let grumpy cat do it for you.

16. Everyone is bored at work...all the time.

17. You can write a list like "Reasons Why Britney Spears Is Cool" and one of your examples can be: "Because she just is" and people will agree with you and accept that as reasonable.

18. Because when you see something titled "A List of..." or "25 Reasons Why..." you will read it no matter what, and you just proved my point.

Five Things to Avoid While Trying to Quit Smoking

2013-05-20T10:04:00.002-04:00

Smoking is by far the most satisfying, exciting and wonderful thing that God has ever bestowed on man. In fact, my list of favorite things to do is as follows:

1. Smoke cigarettes.
2. Take naps and showers.
3. Watch reruns of Knots Landing.

Apparently smoking is super bad for you. I literally had no idea it caused cancer until just last week so I decided I would go ahead and quit. I'm a week in and feeling alright, but I have found out what NOT to do when you are trying to quit smoking. If you've decided to quit smoking (which I imagine is just about as hard if not harder than kicking crystal meth) DO NOT DO ANY OF THE FOLLOWING:

1. Operate A Motor Vehicle.

Take public transportation whenever possible. But, if you find yourself driving in say, Washington D.C. for example, a town where literally everyone learned how to drive by taking a class taught by a fucking monkey, do your best to try and watch your language. I apologize to the soccer mom who had to tell her three children what the definition of a "cunt" was.

2. Troll Social Media.

If you want your friendships to remain in tact, avoid Facebook, Twitter and Instagram at all costs. Because if your friends are anything like mine, the week you've decided to quit smoking is the week everyone else in the world will decide to carry on like a bunch of fucking morons, drinking, smoking, having a blast and photo documenting it. I also discovered how to blocks people's updates on Facebook this week. My newsfeed is currently empty. Stupid things like the ugly guy who inexplicably has 8,000 Instagram followers while you only have 350 will piss you off more than that time they killed Gabrielle off of One Life to Live for no reason whatsoever. Yea, ten years later and I'm still pissed about that too. I need a cig.

3. Listen to Selena Gomez.

I get that you're trying to transform yourself into a full-on drag queen - I get it. What I don't get is how songs with such shitty lyrics can be so popular on the radio and why I can't stop listening to them. Which, in turn makes me feel horrible about my life choices and makes me want to smoke.

4. Raise Money.

I'm sure by now, you are all well aware of the EATING MY FEELINGS BOOK TOUR KICKSTARTER. So fucking donate. You read this shit for free every day and come to my events for free all the time. GIVE ME A DOLLAR GOD DAMN IT.

I'm sorry, I'm just so angry because I am not smoking...I'm sorry for being out of line. But seriously, give me a mother fucking dollar.

5. Have Human Contact With Loved Ones.

Kicking bad habits is hard. What's harder is having to deal with your loved ones during this time. Here is a list of people I have almost punched in the face this week due to the fact that I haven't smoked:

My boyfriend, my mother, the guy who used to sell me cigarettes every day (Hi Juan! I told you that you'd get a shout-out in the blog one day!), my brother, my brother's dog, my best friend, my next door neighbor's infant child, Sally Struthers, the asshole in the office next door to me who always wears pleated pants, the cunt mother in her car, everyone who wears items purchased from the J. Crew sale rack, my sister, the asshole who told me I was racist towards Native Americans - when if they hadn't invented tobacco - I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, the homeless man who keeps asking me for cigarettes even though I am clearly not smoking any longer, my dead aunt, and pretty much everyone else in the world except for Britney Spears and Susan Lucci.

Not smoking really makes you a bitch. And I'm already a huge one, so this is clearly a problem. I also need to not leave my house until I am fully over not smoking or I will literally have no friends in the world.

While I am relatively sure I won't start smoking again, I suggest that everyone on the eastern seaboard watch their backs for at least the next forty days. Not smoking makes Marky very very angry. Also: buy my book.

Eight Ways to Get Over a Breakup

2013-05-15T10:01:00.000-04:00

Relationships are hard. Believe me...I know. But what's even harder is breaking up with someone you really care about. Sometimes when you lose the one you love, you think all is lost, but it's not! Here are eight fool proof ways of getting over a break-up.

But before we get to it: don't forget to kick in a few bucks to the EATING MY FEELINGS BOOK TOUR KICKSTARTER. 'Cause you know, this website is free and always will be.

1. Go Out...Hard.

Nothing says "I'm getting over my boyfriend" by getting date rape drug wasted with a group of your best girlfriends. Bonus points if you get so hammered that you end up pouring yourself onto your ex's doorstep and begging for his forgiveness after two in the morning.

2. Plot Revenge.

My person favorite. Nothing helps in the grieving process of losing a loved one quite like plotting revenge against them. If they've made you hurt then make them pay. Steal their dog, get them fired from their job and plot an elaborate AIDS scare that last for months. I promise, making them feel like shit will make you feel better.

3. Channel Sandra Bullock.

There are any number of Sandra Bullock movies that will make you feel better in almost any situation. Need a laugh? Pop The Proposal into your VHS system. Need a good cry? The Blind Side will always do the trick. Feeling up for a bit of action and adventure? Rent Speed 2: Cruise Control. No matter what the occasion, Sandra Bullock will literally make everything better.

4. Sleep with a Stranger...

But don't get AIDS 'cause then the joke's on you. A one-night stand can be the cure for any breakup. Bonus points if you sleep with a friend or a friend of a friend of an ex and it gets back to them that it was the best sex ever.

5. Stalk the Shit out of Them.

Facebook, Twitter and Instagram never fail when keeping track on an ex. Because no one has ever lied on social media...ever (really, they haven't) keep tabs on them via social media outlets because your ex is most certainly happier than you are and that will make you feel awesome for them. Randomly pop up when they check-in somewhere on Facebook. Like the shit out of their Instagram pictures. Read into every tweet on twitter that they have fully moved on from you in hopes that your retweets will reignite your relationship.

6. Jump to Conclusions.

Nothing says "I'm over you" quite like jumping to conclusions after every text exchange. "I'm going to dinner with a friend" translates to: "I'm sleeping with someone new." "I have plans tonight" means "I'm running away and getting married" and "Oh him? He's just a new friend!" clearly means "he's pregnant with my baby even though men can't get pregnant." Jumping to conclusions that everything is the worst, will in the end, make you feel one hundred times better.

7. Eat Your Feelings.

Oh, do I know about this. Eat your face off. Don't worry gay boys, there's a guy out there for you even if you gain fifty pounds.

8. Complain to your Friends.

Because they want to hear about. Even after it's been six months and the potential to get back together with your ex has been over for months, your friends will never tire of hearing you complain or bitch about how sad you are and it will, in turn continue to make you feel better.

There you have it, eight fool proof ways to get over your ex-boyfriend. Trust me, I've used them all and they all work!

Love Will Lead You Back: 10 Reasons Why Taylor Dayne Needs to be Popular Again

2013-05-06T11:01:00.001-04:00

Don't forget to kick into the EATING MY FEELINGS BOOK TOUR KICKSTARTER. Only 20 DAYS LEFT TO DONATE!

Let’s face it, the pop stars these days are great but they'd be nothing had they not learned from the diva herself: Taylor Dayne. And let's face something else - the similarities between Taylor Dayne and I are unbounded - we're both gorgeous blondes, we're both single mothers and we can both sing the shit out of a late 1980's pop ballad. And since the early 90’s a serious void has been apparent in the music industry. Taylor Dayne needs to be as popular now as she was then and here’s why:

Her Love of Hats

No one embraces hats, quite like Ms. Dayne. Not even Blossom.

Her Lyrics

Fucking Selena Gomez thinks the following are lyrics:

“When you’re ready come and get it. Nah nah nah nah – nah nah nah nah – nah nah nah nah. When you’re rea-eh-eh-eh-eh-edy. When you’re rea-eh-eh-eh-eh-edy. When you’re ready come and get it. Nah nah nah nah – nah nah nah nah – nah nah nah nah.

So obnoxious. She needs to take a pointer out of the Divine Ms. D’s book. Lyrics should go like this:

“Honey, I’ll be-ee- you’re shelter. I’ll be the one to take you through night. Whenever you need shelter, I’ll make everything alright, make everything alright yea: nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.

Don’t separate the Na’s, you dumb bitch!

Her Hair

Seriously, no one else could pull this off. Ever.

Her Love of Saxophone Solos

The only reason Lady Gaga and Katy Perry even know what a saxophone solo is, is because of Taylor Dayne. Don’t front.

She Gives Back

I am proposing that the American Red Cross use “I’ll Be Your Shelter” as their new theme when they swoop into towns for disaster relief. It could also replace that horrible Sara Mclachlan song in the Humane Society’s commercial.

She Has the Potential to Save Lives

I am also proposing that “Don’t Rush Me” is the new theme song for America’s safe sex awareness campaign. Imagine how amazing that commercial would be. The hair! The make-up! The black bra, black pants and no top! Epic.

She Knows How to Relax

She Actually Sings

She seriously sings the shit out of everything. And this all went down long before auto-tune. Listen to “Love Will Lead You Back.” No one sings the shit out of a Diane Warren power ballad quite like Taylor.

Her Songs Tell A Story

Listen to “I’ll Always Love you” not to be confused with “I Will Always Love You” (also awesome). She’s not fucking around. She will always love and we will always love her.

She Never Learned How to Enunciate

Listen to any Mariah Carey song after she decided she was a slut (aka the post “Honey” years) you can’t understand a Goddamn word she’s saying. You know where she learned how to do that? I’ll give ten guesses.

In conclusion, I mainly wrote this because I want Taylor Dayne to Emcee my wedding. I also wouldn’t mind a Jon Secada cameo – but that’s a whole other article entirely. So if you’re out there - I’m still listening, two decades later and will be your champion (and your shelter) to bring you back to the forefront of music – right where you belong.

Five Reasons I Wish I Could Get Pregnant

2013-05-03T10:02:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I like to daydream. Now that I have a boyfriend, I wonder what it would be like if we could have a child. And not in that gay way where you have to adopt or get a lesbian pregnant - the real way where one of us would get pregnant. It really wasn't until recently that I realized men could not get pregnant due to the fact that I skipped out of most of my health classes in middle school. And meanwhile, I would look really fucking cute with a baby bump. Here are the reasons why I wish I could get pregnant.

1. You Have It Made.

People open doors for you when you're pregnant. You get better parking spaces when you're pregnant. When you go to Starbucks to get a (decaf) latte, the woman at the counter asks you questions like: "Cute, when are you due?" or "Is it a boy or a girl?" They don't say things like: "Here comes that little fagot watching One Life to Live on his iPhone again." Not that that's ever happened to me or anything.

2. You Can Eat Whatever You Want, Whenever You Want.

You're already packing on the pounds, so really - who gives a fuck? I am known for my ridiculous eating habits. Don't believe me? Reserve your copy of Eating My Feelings right away via Amazon or Barnes and Noble. Seriously. I like to eat tubs of ice cream while watching Goldie Hawn movies all day. If I were pregnant, no one would judge me for it. Lord knows Kim Kardashian is doing so why shouldn't I?

3. It Gives You An Excuse to Have Mood Swings.

I think I am bi-polar because literally one minute I am up and the next I am down. For example, yesterday, I was sitting in front of my computer screaming: "Thousands of people read my blog for free and not one of those assholes donated to the Eating My Feelings Kickstarter." Then I was like, I should just be happy that people read my work. They probably can't afford to give me a dollar. Those poor, cheap, attractive people." Then, you know what, I thought about it once more and was like: "No, you read for free, it's the fucking least you all can do at this point. These articles don't write themselves." I also sometimes have conversations with myself and begin crying for no reason. If I were pregnant, I could pretend I was talking to the baby in my tummy and crying tears of joy.

4. It Gives You Leverage.

Because I believe life is one perpetual soap opera that we are all just lucky to play a part in, being pregnant gives you leverage over everything your husband does. If your man is cheating, you can always hold your unborn baby over his head in order to get what you want.

5. Morning Sickness.

For whatever reason, I always feel like shit when I wake up in the morning. And so, before I get ready for my day, I diagnose myself with no less than sixteen different diseases ranging from Lyme Disease to Diabetes to brain tumors and back again. At least if I were pregnant, I would know why I felt like crap every morning when I woke up and it would also free up a lot of the time I would normally spend on WebMD every morning.

There you have it: the five reasons I wish I could get pregnant. It can't be that bad, in fact, it seems to me like being knocked up, pretty much rocks.

7 Reasons Why Every Gay Should Love Macklemore

2013-05-02T10:00:00.000-04:00

Woah guys - woah! You all FUCKING ROCK! 100,000 people read THE SINGLE LIFE in April 2013 making it my most viewed month ever. Having said that, you read this shit for free so I am going to go ahead and suggest you either chip into the EATING MY FEELINGS BOOK TOUR KICKSTARTER or go ahead and pre-order the book on AMAZON or BARNES AND NOBLE. Now would be awesome.

Since Lady Gaga, Beyonce and Britney are all being lazy bitches, I have had to find new music to listen to before the divas decide to put out new albums. During this diva transition, I've slowly begun to realize that I love Macklemore. I really do. And here are a few reasons why every gay guy in the would should love him too.

1. He Sang A Song About the Gays.

His song "Same Love" is a basically a love letter to his gay friends in support of same sex marriage. He supports you, so you should support him. This love isn't a one-way street like when you get a twenty dollar hand job at the Port Authority, you've got to give something back too.

2. He Wore This.

Enough said.

3. He's Sexy.

We gays love our eye candy and let's face facts: Macklemore is fine as hell. He has a body be right, a face be right and he is usually shirtless. Translation: I'm already on board.

4. Having Said That...

He also looks like one of the straight guys who would get drunk and totally let a gay guy blow him. It's OK Macklemore, that doesn't make you gay. But, if you happen to fall off the wagon (God forbid) and are feeling frisky - give me a call.

5. He Sings Songs About Bargain Shopping.

And we gay people LOVE to shop. Even more so, we love a good bargain.

6. He Likes Drugs.

Well...he USED to like drugs. And every gay guy I know likes drugs or used to like drugs or are currently in rehab/AA. Hello, Macklemore can totes relate to you homos 'cause he's been there too.

7. He Released a Mix Tape.

Don't front - you know you totally made that boy you liked in high school a mix tape because you were too afraid to let him know you were attracted to him.

Don't take my word for it - download Macklemore's latest album The Heist now available on iTunes. He. Is. Awesome.

Six Reasons Why Kim Jong-Un Scares the Shit Out of Me

2013-04-12T14:25:00.000-04:00

DON'T FORGET TO BUY YOUR COPY OF EATING MY FEELINGS BEFORE IT HITS STORES ON AUGUST 6 VIA AMAZON AND BARNES AND NOBLE. SERIOUSLY, YOU'VE READ THIS CRAP FOR FREE FOR LONG ENOUGH. IT'S TIME TO PAY UP.

You guys, I'm scared. In fact, I'm so scared that I'm scured. There is some crazy ass shit going on over in North Korea these days and quite frankly, it's starting to piss me off. And there is one man to blame for it: Kim Jong Un. Normally, I have no problem with Koreans (white girls on the other hand, I always have a problem with) but this little fucker is making some pretty serious threats that are shaking me to my core. Here is why Kim Jong Un scares the shit out of me:

1. He Yells Loudly in a Language I Don't Understand.

You know me - I love all of God's children. Unless of course, they're threatening to nuke my country - to which, I take great offense. People who yell in languages other than English tend to yell ten times louder and ten times meaner. For example: two Latino girls fighting on the subway will always be louder than two white girls fighting on the subway or when you leave Future World at EPCOT and wonder of to the World Showcase and all of the sudden it's ten times louder. So, while I have no idea what the fuck Lil Kim is always yelling about, I'm pretty sure, it's not good.

2. His Wife is Apparently Mute.

And you know what that means, bitch is hiding some serious secrets. KJU's wife is usually seen chilling by his side, kind of like Beyonce and Jay-Z cause she's a ride-till-I-die kinda girl. Unlike Beyonce however, Kim Jong Un's wife is always seen but never heard. It's my belief that she is hiding government secrets and I also think she knows who killed J.R. on Dallas.

3. He's Short.

I have this crazy fear of midgets due to the fact that my older brother made me watch Twin Peaks when I was a little kid. While Kim Jong Un is not officially a midget, he is short while translates to him being more mobile than say Osama Bin Laden or Kim Kardashian. It's my belief that if the shit hits the fan in North Koran, KJU has a secret network of trees to hide in filled with Keebler Elves and garden gnomes who will all do his bidding for him. In short (ha!), small people are terrifying. For reference: please see Napoleon or Kristin Chenoweth's Oscar pre-show coverage.

4. He's Angry All the Time.

Come KJU! You run a country, you can't be that pissed ALL the time. I'm going to need you to go ahead and look into whatever the North Korean equivilent to Paxil is and get a script ASAP.

5. He's a Communist.

True, all Communists aren't bad, they're just crazy (example: Lucille Ball was a communist - seriously) I just don't like how this situation could potentially pan out. American's don't have really have the greatest track record when it comes to defending Asian countries divided by Communism. And I still have a lot of misplaced angry towards Hitler that I am ready to redirect your way, Lil Kim.

6. The Mother Fucker is Younger Than I Am.

His actual year of birth is unclear (due to the fact that he may have been raised by gypsies, jk, I made that up) but what is clear is that he is younger than I am. I am frightened of people who are younger than I am that wield more power than I. That list includes: Demi Lovato (even though she looks forty), Justin Beiber, that girl from Victorious and now Kim Jung Un.

And so tonight, before I go to bed, I am going to pray to Baby Jesus, Hillary Clinton and Goldie Hawn (or as I like to call them: "the Holy Trinity") that this man goes away and leaves me and my country alone forever. Either than or we get him before he gets us and force him to be in some sort of reality competition show. Cause I'd probably watch that.

The Perks of Being Single

2013-04-08T11:09:00.002-04:00

DON'T FORGET TO PREORDER YOUR COPY OF EATING MY FEELINGS VIA AMAZON OR BARNES AND NOBLE RIGHT AWAY!

Last week, we discussed what the perks of being in a relationship were. However, for the past four plus years, we have bitched, complained and moaned about how horrible being single is. Now that I am in a relationship, I look back on my single days fondly. There are so many benefits to being single. Of course, I have only figured these out after committing myself to a serious relationship...because I am a dumb bitch. Let's take a look at the perks of being single:

1. The Word "We" Doesn't Exist In Your Vocabulary.

When you're in a relationship the word "we" is said as frequently as you'd say: "I will not have bareback sex with you" at a sex club. "We love that restaurant", "we adored the movie", "we will not be having bareback sex with you at a sex club." When you're single there is no "we" it's all about ME, ME, ME! You can be a selfish bitch and no one will fault you because you're single and people feel bad for you because all of your friends are married and you're not.

2. You Can Have Anonymous Sex.

Don't front. We've all gone through a whore phase at one point or another. And let's face it, being a whore is kind of fabulous. That's why everyone loves Samantha on Sex and the City. However, when you're in a relationship, being a whore is frowned upon and will most likely get your broken up with. Just be sure to play safe. No one wants gonorrhea (trust me).

3. You Can Explore.

Per number two, when you're single you can explore with several different partners to figure out what it is exactly that you like to do in the boudoir. Say you like to get peed on (ew, but hypothetically speaking). You can go out and find someone to pee on you, who also likes to pee on other people with no judgements. If you're in a relationship and you ask your partner to pee on you and he or she is uncomfortable with it, you're not only ridiculed by your partner but you're forced to have several conversations revolving around: "that time you asked me to pee on you."

4. You Don't Have to Fake An Interest.

Even Shelly gets bored when Obama talks about his job from time to time. You know, I know that's right, girl! And that's because it's really really hard to pretend to give a shit about another person, especially when you're the world's most selfish piece of shit, like I am. If you like to talk about yourself and no one else, being single is most definitely the way to go.

5. You Connect With Friends More Often.

When you're single, your friends are all you've got. So you get to see them a lot. However, when you're in a relationship, you have a built in copilot who now preapproves all of your social activities and if your friends are a group of dumb whores like mine are, chances are, your new partner will make you see less and less of them as your relationship progresses.

6. You Can Do Whatever The Fuck You Want.

I love doing whatever the fuck I want. When you're single, you don't have to answer to anyone, therefore you can do whatever you want, with whomever you want without saying: "Sorry, we've already made plans this weekend." Want to go on a weekend getaway to Vegas for three days of prostitutes and gambling? Well you can without your wife saying: "I don't think that's a good idea." Of course it's a good idea. Just go!

7. You're the Life of the Party.

Going to events by yourself is so much fun - especially weddings. When you show up at events stag, you automatically become the life of the party because people are fascinated by the sole interesting creature who hasn't paired off. Also, getting laid at weddings is awesome, especially when it's from an out-of-towner that you never have to speak to again.

So you see, being in a relationship isn't all it's cracked up to be. Enjoy your single life you little whores. Because it truly is some of the best times you will ever have.

The Perks of Being in a Relationship

2013-04-03T11:11:00.001-04:00

DON'T FORGET TO PREORDER EATING MY FEELINGS VIA BARNES AND NOBLE OR AMAZON RIGHT NOW!

Well, the cat's out of the bag. I'm dating someone seriously and have been for a few months now. In the spirit of not dicking myself over, I am going to go ahead and refrain from giving him a cute nickname or airing our dirty laundry for the world to hear. You can try finding him on social media, but I guarantee you, you won't have any luck. Unlike some people (and by some people, I apparently mean the rest of the world) I don't see the use in spreading my affection for someone else via Facebook. Because if it ends, then the world is privy to your misfortune and suddenly, you're the topic of conversation on everyone's lips. I'm keeping my lips sealed, in an unprecedented lapse of actually keeping someone's anonymity to myself (I know, I'm shocked too). However, I figured it's high time that I wrote an article about why it's great to be in a relationship. I mean, come on! I've written no less than 245 (seriously!) articles about how dating sucks and how I am going to die alone, so I figure it's high time to revel in the reasons why being in a relationship is kind of awesome.

1. You Can Have Sex Whenever You Want.

Seriously, I like to have sex. On a plane, on a train, in the back seat of car, it really does not matter the locale as long as I am getting it on the regular. I'm like the fucking Cat in the Hat of sexual escapades. The wonderful part of being in a relationship is that your partner is kind of contractually obligated to give it up to you whenever you want. Which, is awesome, because I really like to have sex. A lot.

2. You Don't Have to Eat Alone.

When I was little, I used to walk two miles every day to go to Burger King and then would proceed to eat two Whoppers and walk home, thus defeating the purpose of walking anywhere to begin with. Eating alone, always makes me feel like that fat kid again. Now in a relationship, I have someone to stuff my face with me on the regular so I never have to feel like that lonely fat kid again.

3. If An Intruder Breaks In, You May Not Die First.

It's nice sleeping in the same bed as someone else. Not only for the comfort, but also because if someone breaks into your apartment in the middle of the night, there's a 50/50 chance that you won't be the first to die. Meaning, you will get a heads up that shit is about to go down and can quickly plan an escape. These are the crazy things I think about as I am about to go to bed every night.

4. Let Yourself Go.

I like my boyfriend. But, I also like to eat (See #2). So, while he may be impressed with my physique right now, I certainly hope he doesn't get used to it. I figure within the next six months, I will completely let myself go, get fat and force him to stay with me anyway. But don't tell him that.

5. You Can Be Those People You Hate.

You know the ones I am talking about: those couples who go antiquing together and photo document it for the world to see. Now, you can be those people you've secretly hated for all those years and yet were dying to be all along.

6. You Won't Have to Die Alone.

I have this unwarranted fear that I am going to die tragically in a horrible jet skiing accident or that my mother will accidentally poison my soup (she's tried unsuccessfully before: see EATING MY FEELINGS). Now I know that when I do meet an untimely death, someone will be there to dramatically throw themselves on my casket, and that friends, helps me rest a little easier every night.

7. You Can Have an Over-the-Top Wedding.

While I am not planning on getting married any time in the near future, I am, however, one step closer to throwing the over-the-top Dynasty style wedding, I have always dreamed of. I also hope someone falls through a skylight at it. *Fingers crossed*

There you have it: some of the many reasons why being in a relationship is awesome. But don't take my word for it - go out and find yourself a relationship! It's not as shitty as you think it's going to be.

The Bombshell

2013-03-28T10:01:00.001-04:00

DON'T FORGET TO PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY OF EATING MY FEELINGS ON AMAZON AND BARNES AND NOBLE NOW.

A few weeks ago, I went down to my hometown of Washington D.C. to handle some business. Once there, my lesbian sister informed me that she was co-chairing a charity event and asked if I would like to join her. The event was to benefit the transgendered community, or as I like to call them: the unsung heroes of the LGBT community.

"Of course I will come," I replied, "I love me some trannies," I paused. "Platonically of course," clarifying that I didn't mean in the sexual way.

I was happy to oblige, especially after my sister told me that my little brother (not gay, but a "supporter of the gay community" as he likes to call himself) would be joining us as well. I love my little brother mainly because if it weren't for the fact that he loved sports and dumb blond female sluts so much, he may as well be gay himself. Boy loves him some Bette Midler and Les Miserables. The only straight man I've ever known to love show-tunes as much as my littler brother is my father who's got the street cred of four wives to back his heterosexuality up.

And so three Rosenberg's (one straight and two gay) trekked down to downtown D.C. for a charity event for trannys.

Luckily for us, the theme of the charity event was "casino night". This worked well for me because I am a compulsive gambler even when the money is fake. My brother and I began the evening playing fake blackjack. I, of course, began flirting with the straight blackjack dealer in hopes that he would come around at the tranny ball (tranny ball, hehehe) and realize he was gay, to no avail. Turns out, when gambling with fake money, I'm like the fucking Don Juan of the craps table. I am so good at gambling with fake money, that I won about ten thousand dollars worth of fake money to spend on nothing because it wasn't real. Awesome.

"You want to ditch these trannies and go to Atlantic City?" I asked my brother.

He stared blankly. He was hammered. Two drinks in these days and the kid gets date rape drug wasted.

"I will take that as a 'no'," I replied.

My little brother then made his way over to the poker table and began what he liked to call his: "Campaign to be Mayor of the Gays". Always the salesman, my little brother effortlessly swapped business cards and information with every gay man, lesbian and transgendered individual who came to the event that night. Now a bigwig in the D.C. metro area for commercial real estate, my little brother is almost as bad as a used car salesman when it comes to getting new clients. He's just like his big bro: a full time prostitute who will literally try selling ice to an Eskimo to make a quick buck, God love him. I sat down next to him at the poker table.

"How's the mayoral campaign coming along?" I asked.

"Very well," he replied, "gay people love me. It's because I am such a supporter of the community." My little brother began ranting on again about how much he loved gay people until he abruptly stopped and turned his attention to a woman who sat down at the poker table adjacent to us. "Wow," my little brother said, "what a bombshell."

"Uh, hello!" I said. "Must I remind you where you are? That's not a woman, that's a man, in a dress. Adams apple equals man."

"Oh, right," he replied. "Well that dude is a bombshell then. It's amazing what you can do with a pair of pantyhose and some shellac these days."

"You're an idiot," I said as I walked outside to smoke a cigarette. Earlier in the week, I had gotten an STD test that had come up all clear. So, to combat the fact that I was still STD free, I decided I would go ahead and make sure that I still had a chance at either getting lung cancer or heart disease later that day by chain smoking throughout the course of the evening. I had also convinced myself that night that I had somehow acquired Lyme Disease but was too lazy to go to the doctor to get it checked out. What I need to do is get my head checked out. When I returned to the poker table, I found my brother. He looked horrified. He had the look of someone who just found out they were adopted.

"OMG, OMG, O-M-GGGGG!" he cried.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I asked.

"That woman," he stuttered, "I mean, that man, dressed as a woman. That tranny," he reiterated, "just tried to give me a hand job under the poker table!"

This was about the time where I lost my shit and began laughing hysterically.

"It's not funny," he said.

"That's what happens when you're a 'supporter of the community'," I replied, "sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and get a hand job from a tranny."

"I don't know what happened," he began, "we were sitting there talking business. You know how I like to work these events," he said. I nodded. "Apparently she...I mean he... is a lawyer."

"Wow, a tranny lawyer," I replied in awe. "They're just like us."

"Not the point, Mark," my brother said, "I was asking if she...I mean he...I mean...oh my God I am so fucking confused," he put his head in his hands. Regaining his composure he continued, "so we were just chit chatting, you know I love the gays."

"I know you do boo boo," I replied, consoling him.

"And then, she...I mean he...I mean...OH MY GOD I DON'T KNOW....he/she...put his or her hands down my pants and started giving me a hand job."

I began laughing again: "and you went with it?"

"Well, for like two seconds I forgot she or he, rather was a man. I mean, come on, that guy is a bombshell. It must have been the booze, but once I realized what was going on I put the kabash on it. Am I gay now?" he asked.

"He/she is like forty feet tall and has an Adams apple," I paused. I had to make him feel better somehow. "Getting a hand job from a tranny doesn't make you gay. Your taste in music and the arts are what really set people off thinking you're gay you," I replied. "I mean, come on bro, you've fucking buzz down the street singing the entire score of Guys and Dolls before." Seeing my little brother was clearly distressed, and looking for answers - most notably from the four other trannies he had made friends with that evening (who hadn't given him half hand jobs under a poker table), I patted him on the shoulders. "Don't worry baby brother, you're fine. And the tranny didn't touch the skin so technically you got an over the undershorts hand job, which doesn't could for shit."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yea," I replied, "over the undershorts hand jobs don't count as anything. If I counted all of the over the undershorts hand jobs I've gotten in my day, well...let's just say, you'd be looking at me in a very different light."

"OK, I guess I feel better...and you're a whore."

I began laughing at my brother again. "What?"

"You got a hand job from a tranny!" I yelled "The best part is, I literally told you that that woman was a man right before I left. It amazes me what you decide to commit to memory."

"Fuck off, Mark," he replied, "meanwhile, he/she mentioned something about getting paid for services such as that."

"I thought he/she was a lawyer," I said, "I thought writers had it bad, but apparently tranny lawyers are hurting in this economy as well. That's horrible. If a tranny lawyer/hooker can't make it in this economy...well that's just...Un-American is what it is."

"I suppose so," my little brother said, "I'm so embarrassed right now. Listen, if you tell anyone about this, I swear to God, I will kill you."

The Ex-Factor

2013-03-27T10:02:00.004-04:00

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If you have ever read anything I have ever written, then you know I have horrible luck in relationships just like Britney Spears. Whether it be a married man who leaves his wife for me then slowly begins the process of revealing he's a sociopath, a man who is addicted to not only child pornography but crystal meth as well or a little dicked asshole who revealed that he was in a nine year relationship two and a half months into our courtship, I have managed to date every asshole in multiple cities across this glorious land that we call America. I have paid my mother fucking dues to the dating Gods and while I managed to stay single for the entirety of 2012 and not date a soul for a full calendar year, I have a feeling that 2013 may just be my year. Probably not but, fingers crossed anyway. As we breeze into spring, I have once again begun to think about all of my exes and where their lives have taken them.

However, back in my day (yes, I am old), meaning the days long before Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, it was rather difficult to stalk your former flings. Back then, you had to actually pick up the phone (gasp!) to see - if you wanted to - how they were doing. Or, you could of course roam aimlessly around the vicinity of where they live to see if they were home or, on the off chance you bump into them on the street - even better? Right? Not that I've ever done that or anything. However, these days there's an even more efficient way of tracking down the exes to see how they're doing and that way is called the Internet. For whatever reason, over the past seven years we as a culture, have decided that we are going to share all of our information with everyone on the Internet because apparently, everyone else is supposed to give a fuck.

I've never been one to keep exes around as friends, mainly because my relationships usually end in a bloodbath, however I will occasionally pop into their Facebook page on the fly to see how they're doing. Well, I'm happy to report that all of the exes are doing well; happily paired off and some of them are either engaged or married. Good for them. I'm being serious. Good for them. Maybe if I repeat that over and over again, I will actually believe it. It's like a good Gloria Estefan song: "I realize you're seeing someone new...but I ain't through with you yet!" The problem I face as someone who writes about real life events and makes them relatable to the rest of the world is that I am always forced to look into the past. I've now written three books, all of which document one specific or several failed experiences in the dating arena. No one wants to read about a happy, healthy relationship. It's boring and no one cares. People want drama; happy endings are nice and all, but they're not relatable. People sitting on Facebook and staring at pictures of their ex-boyfriends kissing their new boyfriends for forty-five minutes while eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's and watching reruns of Criminal Minds is relatable. Not that I've ever done that or anything either.

The thing about social media when it comes to exes is that no matter what, if you're single and they're in a relationship, they are always going to look better off than you are. Facebook is a presentation of every one's best self - it's very rare that people post things that aren't either a witty comment or a blurb about how well they're doing. So, if you're an outsider looking in, everything looks great. In the event that you happen to randomly stubble upon an ex (and by "happen to" I mean seek them out of course) who is looking happy with his new fling, you're automatically going to feel like shit if you're still single. To add insult to injury, Facebook now let's you know for at least two days when people have formed new relationships or have gotten engaged. So even if you aren't creeping on your exes Facebook profile, you still get updates on old friends (you know who I am talking about, those old "friends" on Facebook, who you don't really care for very much but refuse to delete because you want to make sure they are doing worse than you in an effort to see who will die miserable first). Or am I the only one who has friends like that? Social media has made us all little sociopaths - we don't really care very much about what we're liking, barely retain any of the information provided and don't care who we're friends with on Facebook unless it pretains to us and in most cases, if you're miserable and someone else is happy - you're going to be pissed. What's worse is, when you're in a really bad mood, someone you don't like very much or an ex will miraculously have the best mood ever, thus irritating you further.

I think it's time we all take a step back and click refresh. In the new season, I suggest that we all collectively stop stalking our foes and exes via social media. Let's simply try to be happy for them. And when we are finally happily paired up, but sure to photo-document it for social media so that everyone in the world knows that we are happy. Because if it's not on Facebook, then it's not really happening, is it?

Fuck you, Taylor Swift!

2013-03-19T09:59:00.000-04:00

Picture this. I'm sweating my balls off at the gym rocking out to the Britney Spears station on Pandora in my iPhone. I'm lifting weights and being taken away on a musical journey that includes all of my favorites: Britney, Madonna, Beyonce, et all. when suddenly I heard a song that I was not familiar with. I loved it. I was bopping around the gym like the moron that we all know I am. I loved this new song. I felt the lyrics spoke to me and the melody was catchy as hell. I needed to know who sang this amazing song - was Britney back with a new hit that I was uninformed about? I pulled out my iPhone and checked the artist who was singing the new song I had fallen in instant love with. When I saw who the artist was, I cursed her name.

"Well played," I said under my breath, "well, mother fucking played Taylor Swift."

I looked in the mirror, disgusted at myself.

"You little bitch," I said as I looked at myself in the mirror. "You little bitch. You totally just rocked out to a Taylor Swift song. Look at yourself. You should be ashamed."

A single tear fell from my eye. I never thought this day would come. For years, I had prided myself on my amazing taste in music. Britney, Barbara, T.I., I only listen to the best music has to offer. Granted, people have compared me to Taylor Swift for years: we're both gorgeous dumb blond sluts who write songs (or stories) about the men who perpetually betray us. Granted, Taylor dates hot celebrities and I date fat dumb actors who sing at dinner theaters in the Ozarks, we both have the same formula for how we come up with material and America loves us for it. She even gets a shout-out in my upcoming book Eating My Feelings because the similarities between the two of us are unbounded (haven't pre-ordered yet? CLICK HERE NOW!). But listen to her music? Never! That was never in the game plan. And now, I felt I had betrayed myself by rocking out to "I Knew You Were Trouble"; quite possibly one of the best pop songs I had heard in years.

OMG! I can't even believe I even just said that. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME!?

Having a moral dilemma in the middle of the gym at high noon, is not uncommon for me but I soon found myself sitting on a bench in the gym feeling dirty.

I looked in the mirror again, "You need to wash your ears out!" I said to myself, "You love Taylor Swift you little fucker! What happened to you?"

I did a quick Google search of Taylor Swift (because Lord knows the dumb bitch isn't on the cover of every magazine every month) to see if I was, in fact, the only person who had fallen under her spell. Turns out, I wasn't. Upon further inspection, I figured out that this little bitch has made millions squawk singing about her break-ups and she's only twenty-two.

"You poor thing," I said sarcastically, "you're a millionaire and all you do is bitch and complain about how no one loves you." I stood up and began yelling directly at my phone, "EVERYONE LOVES YOU! YOU'RE TAYLOR SWIFT!" People at the gym began looking at me awkwardly and I sat back down.

Suddenly I realized that I am Taylor Swift. Like, in reality because I am not sure she's actually a real person. All I do is bitch and complain about literally everything and make a living off of doing so. Taylor and I are like kindred spirits. I then downloaded every song she's ever sang and decided that instead of denying her, I would embrace her because we really are the same person. Touche indeed Taylor, touche indeed.

You win this round Taylor Swift. I can't help but love your awful music and your awful soul and because I am a horrible bitch as well, I embrace you, I love you and hope that no relationship in your future works out so that like me, you can continue to produce mediocre material for teenage girls and gay men.

They're Either Too Young Or Too Old

2013-03-15T10:05:00.000-04:00

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During the Second World War, the single women in America found themselves with quite the quandary. With all of the eligible bachelors shipped off to either Europe or the South Pacific, the bachelorettes of the mid-twentieth century found that they were left with a much smaller dating pool - they either had to date men who were either much older or much younger than they were. Needless to say, this created some interesting couples and most likely tons of hijinks circa 1940's America. However, if you are thirty years old and single in New York City or any other large metropolitan area for that matter - not much has changed since the days when Hitler was parading around Europe like...well...a Nazi. Your dating pool is most likely fillied with either teenagers or old men. Here's what's up if you're in your late twenties or early thirties and you're brave enough to navigate the dating pool in the major city you happen to be living in:

The men your own age (mid-twenties to mid-thirties) are most likely doing one of the following:

+ Their getting married: With gay marriage being legalized left and right (and seriously, GO GAYS! You go ahead and get married! This is, however killing my game) and straight men being held at gunpoint to propose to their girlfriends, it's most likely that the well the holds this group of men is drying up faster than Barbra Walters' who-ha. So, unless you plan on being the other woman or plan on making some sort of dramatic revelation known at the wedding of someone you are lusting after and inevitably ruining it (I prefer this tactic, used frequently on shows such as One Life to Live) chances are most of the guys you know in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties are already happily paired off. If they're not...

+ They're workaholics: Those single men who haven't paired off are probably too busy working. These are our formative years where we establish ourselves in the industry we hope to thrive in during adulthood. However, this takes a lot of work and the workaholics know that so instead of pursuing meaningful relationships - they work - all the time. They can also afford prostitutes so don't feel too bad for them, 'cause they're getting theirs.

+ They never grew up: Then there are those men who decided they were never going to grow up, so once in their mid-twenties or thirties, they're still out at bars every night and sleeping with anyone who will give them the time of day or an HJ in a club bathroom. They don't have healthy relationships, they have one night-stands. While a rare breed in the straight community, the guys who never grew up are quite prevalent in the gay community because most gay men are whores who think they'll have their looks forever, but can't afford Botox. The jig is up guys!

So what does that leave us single gays and gals who are actually looking or a relationship who are in our mid-twenties and thirties? The old men and the children.

The Children: These men who range from eighteen to twenty-four (depending upon their level of maturity) are normally the ones who are either still in college and/or work meaningless jobs that they don't really care about. The children are easily manipulatable and will look up to you no matter what you do for a living because it's most likely cooler than folding sweaters at the Gap. However, they get clingy. Real clingy. If you are their first relationship, chances are, they will latch on for dear life and most likely start creeping around your apartment and/or office once you've decided that dating someone fifteen years younger than you is not a great idea and lurk or call your cell hundreds of times a day and simply breath into the phone to let you know they're watching you! I know because I've been that creepster before.

The Old Men: These gentlemen (forty and up) will wine and dine you like the lady or high-class escort you've always wished you were but could never afford to be. The older gentleman are usually good for a fun time, but that fun time normally ends around twelve a.m. eastern standard time/eleven central time because they've got to go to bed. They have a cavalcade of experiences and stories to share with you and if you're lucky, they can provide fun history lessons about things that happened before you were even born. Turns out, the Vietnam War - not as interesting as you had hoped. The older men are fun - they pay for things, they show you part of the city you never knew existed and if you're anything like me, and you get a good older guy - you'll most likely have a ton in common with him - such as a mutual love of various ointments and 1980's prime time soaps. But you're friends will judge you for dating a man fifteen years older than you, which is probably not a great idea anyway.

So where does this leave you? Screwed. And not in the fun back-room-of-a-strip-club kind of screwed. Truth is, if you're single and anywhere near thirty, you're just like those brave women in 1940's America. All of the men in your dating pool will be way too old or way too young for you. My suggestion: have your fun while you can. Because while you may envy your contemporaries for having husbands and babies, chances are, they're envying your fabulous, fun and fancy free single lifestyle.

OMG, I am SUCH a B!

2013-03-14T09:54:00.001-04:00

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Over the years, I have tried to keep this blog less Sex and the City and more The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. You know me - I love Sex and the City but I am my own person and there need be no comparisons made to the greatest show in the history of television because nothing will ever touch that shit. However, after watching the Sex and the City movie the other day - I finally got it. I really am Carrie Bradshaw. And not because we're both fabulous blond writers who often times make questionable decisions regarding our hair, but because we're both horrible bitches. Look at her on that payphone. You know she's probably bitching to whomever is on the other line. Do you know how hard it is to wake up one morning and realize to yourself: "OMG, I am SUCH a B!?" It's not pretty. Here are a few examples of how Carrie Bradshaw and I are both horrible bitches:

1. We're Judgemental Bitches.
Carrie couldn't help but judge Samantha when she rolled on into her office one afternoon and caught her blowing the UPS guy. But seriously, who doesn't fantasize about blowing a hot UPS guy? No one, that's who. Meanwhile, last summer, I was caught judging...well...literally EVERYONE. Hello? Anyone remember Gossip Gay? Cause I do.

2. We're Horny Bitches.
Carrie almost got rid of Aiden because he didn't want to have sex with her right away and asked the age-old question that every woman and gay man asks themselves from time-to-time: are we sluts? Well, I don't need to ask myself if I am a slut because I think we all know the answer to that one. I got rid of the man in the red shirt because he didn't like having sex. While I am sure that Aiden didn't have his private parts diddled at summer camp when he was ten and red shirt did, that makes both of us horrible, horny bitches.

3. We're Crazy Bitches.
That hot guy who's name I don't remember dumped Carrie because she was so convinced that he was crazy (because he seemed so perfect - what kind of crazy bitch does that?) that she began snooping around his apartment to find his secret cray and he caught her and promptly dumped her. The difference between Carrie and I on this one? Carrie snooped behind that guys back, whereas I just snoop in front of a potential match. It's not uncommon for me start looking for dead Asian prostitutes under floorboards or drug paraphernalia hidden in closets while my new beau is still in the room and that makes me a big ol' crazy B!

4. We're Whiny Bitches.
Yes, both Carrie and I have outlets for us to take our life experiences and put them out in a public forum so that you can relate to us and feel like you're not-so-crazy because someone else feels the same way that you do. However, all we do is whine and complain about everything! WTF is our problem? We have great friends, great jobs and yet we're always fucking complaining that we either don't have a boyfriend or the boyfriend that we do have isn't good enough. We're not being retrospective, we're being whiny bitches. Dear Mark: SHUT THE FUCK UP! THANK YOU, MANAGEMENT.

5. We're Selfish Bitches.
I was waiting for the episode of Sex and the City where Miranda strolled on in to Carrie's apartment and was all like: "OMG, Carrie! Brady's been hit by a bus!" And instead of helping, Carrie would lament about how Brady getting hit by a bus reminded her of that time she was poor for two seconds (and complained about it non stop) and the lady at the bus stop was like: "Why do you have to take the bus if you're on the bus?" Instead of helping Miranda, she would then write a three part series of essays about how buses are like relationships and then Brady would die in the middle of seventy-third street. You know I know I'm a selfish bitch so we don't need to get into details. What the hell is wrong with Carrie and I?

6. We're Jealous Bitches.
Carrie couldn't even let Charlotte get married (part one) without bitching about her break-up with Aiden. Here's the thing about Carrie Bradshaw and I; we HATE when the attention is on anyone but us. Granted, both Sex and the City and The Single Life are ensemble pieces because neither mine nor Carrie Bradshaw's lives are that interesting and we really do need those supporting characters. However, we hate hate hate when attention is on anyone other than us and will do everything in our power to make sure it comes full circle and back to me (or her).

7. We're Bitches Who Wouldn't Know A Good Thing If It Bit Us On The Ass.
How many fucking times have Carrie Bradshaw and I gotten rid of someone who could have been a good thing because of something stupid like having a weird chest hair pattern or a fondness for child pornography? Chest hair grows back and child pornography trails have acquittals. We're not that cool, Carrie and I. We needed to learn how to settle for a good thing when we have one.

There you have it. Carrie Bradshaw and I are literally the biggest bitches in American and possibly European (save the bitch Marie Antoinette) history. But you love us, because just like us, you're a big ol' bitch too. Don't front - you know you are.

The Book of Revelations

2013-03-08T09:56:00.000-05:00

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When I was growing up, I always wanted my life to be just like a soap opera. From the tender age of five, I began watching some of the greatest television shows of our generation: Dynasty, Falcon Crest and Knots Landing just to name a few. While the rest of the kids on the playground were chatting about the cultural relevance of television shows like Alf, I was discussing Alexis and Krystal's latest lily pond cat fight on Dynasty. For years, I imagined what my life would be if I were to have lived on Falcon Crest with Angela Channing - the hostile company takeovers, the land wars, one of my family members meeting an untimely death that always seemed to happen around May Sweeps - I always wanted my life to be a soap opera. But, you know that old saying, "after you get what you want, you don't want it."

2012 was a rather tumultuous year. Sure, it had its ups (The book tour! The book deal! Yea!) but it had its downs as well. Just because one aspect of your life is going well doesn't mean the rest will automatically follow suit. It's Murphy's Law - anything that can go wrong, will eventually - so watch your fucking step. When 2012 finally made it's grand exit and a new year had begun, I decided to take a new approach on life. I decided that 2013 was going to my year to civilize. Too many things had gone wrong in the past year; there had been too many fights with people, this stupid blog had caused so many issues with so many different people that it's rippled affects are still evident in my life today and too many people had been cast to the side. Because I had those amazing ups, the lows were so much lower and all the more devastating to the point that had Joan Collins actually been around, I would have actually thought that I was living a real life episode of Dynasty. And so on January 1, 2013 Mark's Mission To Civilize went into full affect.

I'm happy to report that with just a little over two months into the new year, I really must admit, 2013 has been rather amazing, because I have put the work into it. I have stopped fighting because, after all, what's there to fight about? I don't want to wake up in forty years (God willing I make it that long), on my deathbed regretting not making amends to someone over something so inconsequential that I can't even remember why I was fighting with them in the first place. The Mission to Civilize has really taught me what's important about life. It's not money or material things, it's the people we chose to share our time with and the people who are there for you when the shit gets real and we need a true friend by our side. I possess this incredible ability to push people away - but I refuse to do it any longer. The people who are in my life now have been here for quite some time, have seen all of my multiple personalities (Happy Mark, Sad Mark, Melancholy Mark, Stressed Mark) and yet, have continued to put up with the bullshit anyway. The fighting, the gossip and the harsh words exchanged are simply no longer worth it. Unless someone kills your mother or shoots your baby, if you're fighting with a friend, you really need to take a step back and put things into perspective. Is the fighting really worth losing a good friend over? If it's not - then there really was no reason to fight to being with.

I am so happy that I have come to understand so many things over the past few months as I continue to turn the pages of this imaginary book of revelations in my head. And while I would love to get down and dirty with Joan Collins in an art studio one day, I'd rather do it for the comedic value than have that be my actual life. Having turned thirty and in turn a bit more retrospective, it's time to look at the good and stop focusing on the bad because I really have found that with a positive attitude, things will turn around without you having to put much work into it at all. After all, soap opera says, you've only got one life to live - it may suck at times, but I believe it's time we all start making the most of it.

S&M

2013-03-06T09:55:00.000-05:00

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When you're in your late twenties or thirties, you know from experience that dating has gone from fun and exciting to tedious and nerve racking. In your early twenties, you're optimistic, excited and hopeful for the future; however by the time you make it to your late twenties or early thirties and you've gone through bad boyfriend after bad boyfriend and you are still single, dating has gone from fun to work in the blink of an eye. With all of your friends most likely pairing off or getting married, you're now in a race against time to lock it down with that special someone. If you're thirty, still dating and trying to find the love of your life, you're no longer optimistic, you're a sadomasochist. You're still trying even though it's gotten you nowhere and it's painful as hell and makes you crazy but part of you totally gets off on it.

Let's cut the shit - when you get to the point that you're going out with guys you know you're not going to like and get pissed when even they don't call you back - you know things have gotten bad. I was always told that when you reach a certain age and you're still not paired off - it's best to keep your options open and if someone asks you out - whoever they may be - you accept the invitation and move forward even if you're not one hundred per cent invested in it. Because the people who I have been one hundred per cent invested in have ended up fucking me over in the end. It's a Catch-22 - the guys you lust after, think about all the time and literally chase to be with you - never end up liking you and the ones who you couldn't care less for are the ones that end up pursing you. It's not fun anymore - it's like being bound up Fifty Shades of Grey style, except you don't get off and you are stuck with a hundred and fifty dollar dinner bill to pay for to accompany the blue balls you're left with.

If you're in your late twenties or early thirties, there's also a good chance that all (or a healthy majority) of your friends are in long term relationships or married. With each invitation you receive to a destination wedding or baby picture you 'like' on Facebook, part of you is dying on the inside thinking: "Why on earth isn't this me? Why am I not having a wedding in Cabo? Where is my baby dressed up in a miniature Lululemon track suit?" And so, with the proverbial carrot dangling in front of you, you pressure yourself into that next date, or next 'big' life event so that you can feel better about what you don't have (all the while attempting to make your friends think that you have something they don't). Navigating social media and love lives when you live in the big city is almost like having a full-on second job and it can be nothing if not torturous, but we kind of love it.

So why do we play this game of fantastical game of S and M with ourselves and why are we always pursing the next best thing, therefore putting ourselves through the relationship ringer? I think a lot of it has to do with how we view ourselves - we're not good enough for this person so we'll settle for that guy - we have tried so hard with so many guys that it hasn't worked out and so I am going to lower my standards - Karen dressed up her baby as a cupcake for Halloween and I just ate a box of Crumbs alone in the dark. You see, we do it to ourselves. Instead of tying our own hands and bounding our own mouths perhaps we need single guys and gals need to start thinking a little bit better of ourselves to attract that special someone. There's no need for the imaginary game of S&M we perpetuate, we're awesome and deserve the best. Even if you did just eat a box of Crumbs cupcakes alone in the dark. Oh, wait...that was me...not you.

23 Greatest Britney Spears Songs Of All Time

2013-02-27T09:58:00.000-05:00

Britney Spears and being single go hand and hand. All of her songs are about sex, going out or getting over a past love. I love her. I always have and always will. And so, I present to you, the twenty-three all greatest Britney songs of all time AKA the best blog I've ever written/put pictures on.

23. Three

Britney Spears could quite possibly be the only person in the world to make threesomes more fun.

22. Oops I Did It Again

This song is awesome and also proved that Britney was paying attention when she watched Titanic.

21. From The Bottom Of My Broken Heart

Yea, seriously. True, it may sound like Britney is singing about a lost puppy and e love of her life, but this is the quenticential Britney slow jam and totes reminds you of going to the mall with your high school boyfriend and butterfly kissing.

20. Showdown

With lyrics like "I don't really wanna be a tease, but would you undo my zipper please?" this song clearly belongs on this list.

19. Gimme More

The song that has had every homo screaming "It's Britney Bitch" since 2007.

18. Circus

Cause when Britney cracks that whip - you KNOW YOU GONNA TRIP

17. I Wanna Go

Picked by her fans as the third single from the FEMME FETAL album, I WANNA GO is the ultimate party song. For some reason, every time I hear this I want to take off all my clothes.

16. Me Against The Music

It's always fun when Britney almost kisses Madonna in a video. Too bad one of them is still relevant while the other is over fifty and dresses like a cheerleader (which kind of reminds me of an old episode of Melrose Place...but that's a whole different story).

15. Get Naked (I Gotta Plan)

It's like Britney doesn't even give a shit - she's just going to name her song GET NAKED. Just guess what it's about.

14. Til The World Ends (Remix)

Spears + Minaj + Ke$ha try NOT using your best friend as a stripper pole every time this jam comes on in the club...oh, wait...am I the only one who does that?

13. (You Drive Me) Crazy

Don't front - you know you went to that clunker of a Melissa Joan Hart movie back in 2000 because you thought Britney had a cameo in it.

12. Hot As Ice

IDK what the hell "cold as fire baby hot as ice" even means, if anything, but I really love this song.

11. Outrageous (Junkie's Dancehall Mix)

This song never really got a fair shot - but it's one of her best. And she's so hot that you're comin' out ya clothes - oh, Britney, you tease!

10. Radar

This song is so damn good that she put it on two albums. And even though for a full calender year I thought she was saying "operator", I still love it anyway.

9. Stronger

Just like the gays, Britney has been through it all. This was the quenticential club anthem for me freshman year of college, because Lord knows my life was so hard - not working and drinking every night - I clearly needed to feel stronger.

8. Don't Keep Me Waiting

This song sounds like it should be the background music in an expensive champagne or car commercial. For this Britney aficionado, it is the best of her songs to run ten miles to before smoking three cigarettes.

7. S&M (Remix)

A Britney and Rihanna pillow fight? Count me in. Still not sure if either of them know what a boudoir is, but this song makes you wanna get up and dance!

6. Womanizer

I like a song with lyrics I get. "Womanizer, woman, womanizer, you're a womanizer, oh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, baby," I get those lyrics.

5. Perfect Lover

I. Love. The. Blackout. Album. It's no coincidence my first book was called Blackouts and Breakdowns. This is one of the reasons why.

4. I'm A Slave For You

I mean, come on. Everyone (including myself) thinks they know the chero to this when it comes and will have no problem showing you, even if it's in the middle of the grocery store.

3. Piece of Me

For some reason her saying, "I'm-misses-extra-extra-this-just-in" still makes me giggle and I've listen to this song 4,560 times according to my iPhone and no, I am not exaggerating. Get those VMA's girl!

2. ...baby one more time

You know it's coming even before it begins. Nothing beats classic Britney in her Catholic school-girl outfit in the song that made her a star. Except...

1. Toxic

Clearly one of the best pop songs ever written. Just try NOT pressing the button below and listening to it in it's entirety.

This whole article made me love Britney Spears even more than I did before. It also made me realize, I really should be working at Buzzfeed.

True Life: I'm Trapped in North Carolina

2013-02-21T09:55:00.001-05:00

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My trip to California was pretty amazing. The least fun part about going to the west coast in the winter is having to come back to the east coast after enjoying a week of fun in the sun. What made this trip even less fun was the fact that before I even made it home, I had a layover in Charlotte, North Carolina. I boarded the plane from Los Angeles and sang "What I Did For Love" on repeat because I was so annoyed that I had to go back east. Upon boarding, I quickly saw that I was sitting next to an elderly Asian couple, neither of whom spoke English, so instead of saying 'hello', I bowed with my hands in prayer form in order to let them know I was happy we'd be traveling together.

The flight from Los Angeles was pretty uneventful. The Asian woman next to me was reading a book called; "Thomas Jefferson: How Great Was He?" a book that's letters were so big on the page, I could see them from my seat. I assumed she was trying to learn English because when I quipped: "he was so great, he fucked his slave girl," the Asian woman gave me a look of sheer confusion. I listened to a ton of Britney Spears and when we landed in Charlotte, I had about an hour to make my connecting flight home. Hoping that being in North Carolina, the birthplace of tobacco, there would be a smoking lounge in the airport, I figured that this would be the airport, if any, to allow smoking. Once we landed safely in North Carolina, I began to wonder what was going on because after a half hour, we were still sitting on the tarmac; our plane immobile.

"Sorry folks, but there was two inches of snow here in Charlotte so we won't be able to make it into the terminal right now. It never snows here, so there's a ton of confusion. Please bare with," the pilot said from overhead.

Wonderful, I thought. Not only was I not going to be able to smoke in the imaginary smoking section I randomly decided this airport had, but I was most likely going to miss my connecting flight home. Next to me, the non-English speaking Asians began to panic.

"Can I help you?" I asked, in my one and only good deed of the month. God help these two if they were to get stuck in North Carolina. The Asians looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. I guess Mrs. Asian's book about how great Thomas Jefferson was wasn't translating as well as she had hoped. The Asian woman pulled out her ticket. They were connecting through Charlotte to another destination just like I was. I glanced at the ticket, noticed they were going to Birmingham, Alabama, mouthed what the fuck are you two jokers going to Alabama for? and proceeded to find out that they too had missed their connecting flight.

"I'm sorry but your flight to Birmingham, and one can only imagine what the fuck you two are going down there for, already left," I said. The Asian woman looked at me not having a clue as to what I was saying. I then began flapping my arms likes wings, pointing my fingers in 'NO' direction and yelling "NO PLANE! NO PLANE!" over and over again until they realized what I was saying. Mrs. Asian went back to her Thomas Jefferson book and I began to worry that I was going to get trapped in North Carolina forever.

Two hours later and we're still sitting on the tarmac.

"Excuse me," I asked the flight attendant, "Can the adults please smoke?" (Bam! TWO Chorus Line references. TAKE THAT!).

"I'm sorry sir," she replied, "FAA regulations..."

I cut her off: "yea, I get it. Can I hop out of the plane real quick? I mean, we're right here. I really need to smoke a cigarette or simply not be on this plane anymore. We've been sitting on the tarmac for two hours and I think I'm going to have a panic attack."

"NO!" She barked back. Then she threw two individually wrapped biscuits and a bottle of water my way and walked to other passengers. Wow, I thought, dinner!

Three and a half hours later, the plane finally made it's way into the terminal. I ran off the plane, quickly cased the airport for a smoking section, didn't see one and ran to customer service in order to exchange my ticket home for a new one so that I could get home. After waiting in line for 2 more hours, biting my fingernails down to the nub to see if there was any excess nicotine in them and listening to a woman and he crying baby bitch about how they couldn't get home (Hello! We're all in the same boat baby!) I finally got to the ticket counter.

"I need a flight back to New York," I said. "All I have ever wanted out of life was to watch a Beyonce directed documentary about her life and now, thanks to US Airways, I will be missing that. Saying I am pissed is the understatement of the decade."

"I'm sorry," the attendant game me wink - he wished he were watching Life Is But A Dream as well and was pissed he couldn't, "the next flight that has seats going to New York is Monday morning."

"You've got to be kidding me," I replied.

"Either that or you could rent a car and drive to Columbia, South Carolina and take a flight to New York leaving from there at 7pm tomorrow night," he said.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Yea," he replied, "seriously."

"What about D.C.?" I asked, "are there any flights going to D.C. within the next twenty-four hours? I could stay with my mother." I smiled. The line behind me of people who were waiting to complain about their flights being cancelled was getting longer by the minute and the attendant was getting more annoyed with me as he watched every new person that jumped in line behind me.

"Yes," he said, "there is a flight going out tomorrow morning at 9am you can get on." He made a reservation for me on that flight and then made sure to tell me that every hotel in Charlotte that was within ten miles of the airport was booked solid and to get comfortable because I would be sleeping in the airport tonight.

I walked out of the airport and smoked forty cigarettes. Being in the birthplace of tobacco production really brought out the smoking spirit in me. Then, I figured I was going to have to get creative if I was going to be spending the night in the tar heel state. And so, I did what I did best: made friends with every woman over the age of fifty. Upon reentering the the airport, I stood in a line to get a cup of coffee that was about forty deep. Starbucks was the only thing open at the airport as it was now one in the morning and from the looks of the line, they were going to run out of coffee any minute. A friendly looking woman was standing behind me so I smiled and said 'hi'.

"Hello," she said. Her name was Eileen. She and a group of twenty women, all over the age of fifty were returning from a vacation in St. Martin. I had found my core audience and began penetrating the inner circle.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"We're from Pittsburgh," she replied.

"Wonderful," I said, "didn't your quarterback rape some chick?"

"Eh, something like that," she utter. "Where are you from?"

"Well," I said, "Home base is New York, but I have been spending a lot of time in D.C. recently with my family. I'm coming from L.A. right now and it looks like I will be going back there next month. I also have trips planned to Philadelphia and Charleston next month and New Orleans and Dallas possibly in April. In reality, I'm kind of like a modern day Carmen San Diego. I also have a ton of various colored hats to go along with that theme so I like to roll with it."

Eileen burst into hysterics: "I have to introduce you to the girls."

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, I thought. Eileen and her friends could totally keep me occupied during my stay in North Carolina. And if worse came to worse, I was certain that at least one of them had a caftan I could use as a pillow. Eileen introduced me to her peeps and we quickly began taking Instagram pictures (I had to explain what Instagram was and I was more than happy to do so), playing bridge (score! Lorraine brought a deck of cards!) and swapping stories, me of my trip to L.A. (I, of course, plugged my books) and them of their grandchildren and recent trips to the Caribbean. Turns out, ladies from Pittsburgh are super fun. I told them all to follow me on twitter and shortly thereafter, I hoped on a plane back home - which was of course, three hours late.

While my detour in North Carolina lasted a little bit longer than anticipated, I sure do love all of my new friends. Further proof, that I have more in common with women over the age of fifty than I do with any gay man even remotely close to my age.

L.A. Confidential

2013-02-19T10:00:00.000-05:00

Sometimes duty calls and this past week, duty called me all the way to Los Angeles. I was more than happy to take a free trip to the left coast and knew exactly who to call to put out a GAY-P-B and let know I was on my way.

"SCOOP!" I yelled into the phone. Scoop is an old friend of mine, whom I was supposed to move in with this past September, when I was supposed to move to L.A...and then never did. I literally had an apartment and a plane ticket to move to L.A. and never made it. It was kind of like pre-paying for a hooker who never shows up. Biggest. Letdown. Ever.

When I told Scoop is was coming to Los Angeles, and that I would be staying with him, he screamed like a school girl and proceeded to make arrangements for my arrival. When I arrived in L.A., I expected an Evita style welcome, but unfortunately that didn't happen and so I whisked myself off in a cab to Scoop's apartment. Upon arrival, I saw a few homeless people standing over a trashcan that was lit on fire and promptly threw my coat in it. What the fuck did I care? It was eighty degrees and given my undiagnosed adult ADD, I figured I would never need my coat again. This posed as a problem upon my return to the east coast. But I didn't care - I was a California girl now, so much so that the second I stepped foot outside of the airport, I already had a tan that rivaled George Hamilton's.

I was greeted by Scoop at his office (he works in reality TV and once going to his office, I realized reality TV is anything but reality) and he spirited me away in his obscenely large car back to his condo (not apartment - condo. People in L.A. own property. People in New York rent shit shacks for the price of what they could own a condo in L.A.) Once I got back to Scoop's apartment, I took a look around and realized that everything I had been missing in my life was right there in front of me. The hot shirtless boys walking down the street, the perpetual sunshine, warm weather and smiling faces. Every time I am in California, I always question; "Why the fuck doesn't EVERYONE live here?" Sure, people are stupid, flaky and so happy that you automatically presume they're all high on crystal meth, but who cares? It's always nice out and everyone is hot and easily manipulable. You certainly can't say the same about New York.

While my week was mainly focused on meetings and networking events, we did manage to have some fun. On Valentine's Day, Scoop and I had a romantic dinner and shortly thereafter went to a club so that I could show those West Coast boys how to dance. It wasn't long before I realized why I gave Scoop, the nickname Scoop. He literally knows the scoop about everyone in West Hollywood.

"So and so has hepatitis," Scoop said gesturing toward a man at the bar. "And is a total prick." Oooh, burn. As if the hepatitis wasn't enough.

"I heard from my friend Tommy's friend Tommy, that that guy was in a scat porn and likes when people poop on him," Scoop said about another gentleman.

"See that guy over there?" Scoop said as he pointed to a guy dancing. I nodded, "Well," Scoop continued, "there were photos in a very famous newspaper in these parts of him passed out from taking too much ecstasy. He's a total drug whore."

"Wow!" I replied, "If you and me (Gossip Gay) teamed up we could give the gays on both coasts are run for their money. It's almost as it no one learns their lessons." I paused, "but I am on a mission to civilize in 2013 so I have given up my gossiping ways."

"Well, I sure haven't," Scoop smiled.

Scoop and I laughed about how we were the coolest people on the planet and how our vanity had reached an entirely new level in just a matter of moments, when I turned and saw a familiar face.

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD! I said as I pulled on Scoop's arm.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Scoops barked.

I pointed to two guys who were at the opposite end of the bar. "Those guys!" I said.

"Yea," Scoop uttered, "what about them?"

"I've dated them both," I said. "in New York. What the hell are they doing here?"

Scoop replied: "You know you're a slut when..."

"Fuck off," I replied, "I am not a slut. I just do slutty things sometimes. Moments of sluttiness does not a slut make," Scoop gave me a half raised eyebrow signaling he wasn't buying the shit I was trying to sell him. "How do they know each other? And furthermore, what the hell are they doing in L.A.?"

Why, oh why, my past continues to come back to haunt me, even when I am three thousand miles away will continue to be a mystery.

"I gave one of them an over the pants hand job," I said, "and he never called me back."

"Did he have an orgasm?" Scoop asked.

I gave him a look that said: Of course he did bitch! And continued, "And the other guy...well...hell I don't remember how I met him but I know for a fact that I have had relations with him."

"At least your whoredom translates to the west coast."

As Scoop was saying this, someone else I gone on a date with in New York walked into the bar. Again, we're still in West Hollywood at this point, we hadn't miraculously been transported back to New York in a matter of sixty seconds. However, everyone I had ever dated in the Big Apple had made it to the same bar all he way across the country is a mystery to me.

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!

"Do you have Tourettes? Scoop asked.

I pointed to the guy who had just walked into the bar and yelled: "I went on a date with that guy in New York and he never called me back either."

Suddenly, I figured out why I had never heard back from anyone I had dated in the past four years. They had all lived in Los Angeles now.

"Los Angeles is like my island of misfit toys," I said, "It seems as though all of the men I have had bad dates with or given over the pants hand jobs to in the past half decade have all relocated."

"That's cause you're a shitty date. They're all probably traumatized and are forced to relocate," Scoop replied.

"Eh, whatever," I said, "this will all make fodder for a good blog entry."

Instead of leaving, Scoop and I decided to dance the dance of the red shoes. Los Angeles may love its strippers, but I will tell you what: Scoop and I missed our calling and should be put on staff at Revolver because we showed those exotic dancers a thing or two that night.

After seeing everyone I had ever dated in another city, I got on a plane ready to return to the cold. However, what came next, was even more shocking than seeing three tricks three thousand miles away...

The Trouble With White Girls

2013-02-11T10:02:00.000-05:00

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Many people think that being a homosexual is a horrible life choice. First off, it's not a life choice, I was born this way. And if you don't think it's genetic, ask my lesbian sister what she thinks about it. Secondly, being gay is kind of awesome - mainly because I don't have to deal with dating white girls. My heart literally goes out to all of my straight male friends who have to deal with them. The are, by far, the most obnoxious group of human beings ever assembled on the planet earth and the fact that I don't have to date them makes me beyond happy. Let's take a look at some of the reasons why white girls are just the worst.

1. They Can't Hold Their Liquor.
Go to any straight bar in the country on a Friday night and who will the be the loudest, most offensive and sloppy group of people there? You guessed it - white girls! Not only can they not hold their liquor, they turn into complete sloppy ass messes as soon as their mojito hits their lips. It's not uncommon to hear conversations such as this:

Tiffany: "OMG, Stacey, I cannot believe that Mitch cheated on me with you. Uncool - I thought we were besties."
Stacey: (crying hysterically, streaks of make-up running down her face as if it they were in a marathon to make it to her cheek.) "We are. OMG, Tiffany I love you. I totes didn't mean it. We were just super hammered and one thing led to another."
Tiffany: "But, we're soul sisters!" (Tiffany, of course, does not know what the meaning of a soul sister is.)
Stacey: "I know, and I'm so sorry." (the two begin crying together). "I just love you so much."
Tiffany: "OK, just as long as it doesn't happen again."
Stacey: "I promise. Mitch was terrible in bed anyway. OMG, Tiffany! Let's get shooters!"
(Tiffany and Stacey proceed to hug it out, drink shots then hold each other's hair back while they puke their brains out within minutes of this conversation taking place.)

White girls are also the loudest and drunkest at gay bars as well. We really appreciate your support ladies, but if we wanted to deal with you at a bar, we wouldn't have gone to Posh on a Friday night, so get the fuck out.

2. They Gossip.
And dare I say it, they gossip worse than gay men. Everything is a dramatic revelation and like a terrible game of "Telephone", secrets are unearthed at warp speed because the second Tiffany hears a juice tidbit, she texts Stacey then Stacey texts Amber then Amber texts Brittany and before you know it, everyone knows your business and you haven't even left the house yet. Unlike gay men, however, white girls aren't always smart enough to fact check their gossip before spreading it to the world. There also isn't another group of people who say the word "like" nearly as much as white girls.

3. They're Needy.
My poor, poor straight male friends. How in the world you deal with white girls and their needy behavior will continue to amaze me until the day I die. You all deserve some sort of award for putting up with the ridiculous requests made by stupid white girls. I mean, I can imagine pussy is good and all, but carrying a bottle blonde's dog through the mall while she yack's on her cell phone, tote and iced coffee in tow, living up to every white girl stereotype in one picture perfect shot would make even the straightest white man turn to dick.

4. They're Loud.
I love black and Hispanic girls because they are loud by nature and usually say something horribly inappropriate while I walk down the street and it makes me laugh out loud. White girls, on the other hand, are just loud. They complain - it's loud. They're excited - it's loud. They're pregnant (shocker) - it's loud. Whenever I see a white girl approaching on the street yakking away, her words turn into a squawk reminiscent of a hen and then into a fog horn until I almost go deaf. No matter the occasion, white girls will be fucking loud and obnoxious about it.

5. They Can't Hold Their Liquor.
I mean, I know I've already said this but they really can't and I can't explain how fucking obnoxious it is.

6. They Can't Fight.
White girls always think they're being clever with their words, but they're not. They're just squawking. A black girl will always have a better, wittier and more biting comeback no matter what. Meanwhile, put a white girl in a steel cage fight with either a Hispanic or black girl and her ass will be taken down faster than she can yell: "Tiffany, let's get some shooters!"

7. They're Hypocrites.
You know the white girls you went to high school with who always looked down on the slutty girls or didn't like any of girls of color because they thought they were better than them ended up as one of the following:
a. pregnant out of wedlock with their baby daddy no where to be found.
b. dead in a motel room.
c. stripping/hooking for dollars.
The jig is up white girls - you're just as bad as everyone else so get over it.

8. They are the only group of people to utter the words: "I know it's not on the menu, but can I have (fill in the blank with a ridiculous request here)."
Bitch, if it's not on the menu, they don't serve it - so don't ask. And if you're cutting carbs this week - the world does not need to be privy to that information. But have no fear, everyone in the restaurant will know about the token loud white girl's diet before they finish their meal.

And so you, see white girls are annoying as shit. But if you're gay and living in the big city, there's a good chance that a little white girl lives inside of you, like she lives inside of me, which makes me hate myself even more. I suppose white girls aren't that bad - I mean my random, yet frequent trips to Hooters wouldn't be the same without them.

Afternoon Delight

2013-01-30T10:02:00.000-05:00

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A few days ago, I was daydreaming. Thinking of a time when life was easier - my early twenties. Oh, to be twenty-three again. Binge drinking until I blacked out, nary a care in the world outside of what party was going on that night and no relationship to tie me down. You see, when I was a fall down drunk, I had the good fortune of having a regular fuck buddy, a man aptly named Peter.

I had met Peter at a friends party where we both reveled in the fact we had a mutual love of Britney Spears (I mean, we're gay, it's really not that far out of the question) but we were both so drunk when we met that it turned into our mutual claim to fame. "We both love Britney Spears!" we yelled walking down the street, clutching each other as if we had actually done something worthwhile besides drink forty beers collectively. The night that we met, we of course hooked up, but Peter came in handy a few more times and proved to be more than just a one night stand. Peter was very attractive; he was about my height, 5'9'', had short black hair and a body that was all kinds of right. I think he hailed from Buffalo originally. I only remember this because I have this unlimited knowledge of useless sports facts about the city of Buffalo, but that's a story for a whole other time. Peter and I would meet up about once a week and always in the afternoon. I liked to call it "Afternoon Delight" because I always worked at night and he was in med school in the evenings so the afternoon was the perfect time for us to get together. Besides, there's nothing like leaving a tricks apartment in the middle of the day, off to bar tend with a little extra spring in your step and little bit of a glitter in your eye.

A common misconception about me is that I am a bottom. However, when it comes to anal sex, I tend to try and top mostly. I like to think of my asshole as an "exit only" hole, but with the right guy I've certainly had my bottoming moments - which is a little a little thing that makes me not only amenable but totally a catch...and apparently undateable as I am still fucking single. Anyway, Peter was awesome because he liked bottoming which meant, I put as little effort as possible into each and every hook-up. For months, Peter and I would have awesome afternoon sex. It was quite possibly the best relationship I had ever been in, mainly because we never really spoke and it totally revolved around sex, which at twenty-three was all I was really looking anyway.

The last time I saw Peter was on a gorgeous afternoon in April. It was the perfect New York City spring day and because of that, Peter decided it was the perfect day to get slammed up against a wall and have sex like I had just killed his parents. I responded to his text and made my way over to his apartment. When I arrived, Peter was already in his underwear and ready to go. He ushered me into the bedroom and we went right to it. This was why I liked Peter. There was no small talk - just a good old fashioned throw down and we'd go about the rest of our day. Peter and I made out and got naked and it wasn't before long that Peter wanted to have full on sex. And so, I agreed to, as I always did. We got started and I must have seen something shiny and got distracted, because I have the mental bandwidth of a four year old girl, so I stopped. When I stopped, I noticed that Peter may have had a heavy lunch that day because the second I pulled away from him, I saw crap, actual crap all over his ass. Apparently the last time Peter had wiped his ass was sometime during the Regan Administration. I screamed, in my usual fashion of always doing the opposite of keeping my cool.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"This is not delightful," I replied.

"What?"

"I mean," I stopped. I couldn't tell Peter that he had literally just shit all over me so I tried to regain my composure. "You know, our little saying, afternoon delight? Since we always do it in the afternoon. I'm just not feeling so delightful."

Peter rolled over and not knowing that his ass was covered in feces, got most of it on his bedspread. He sighed, "listen, I am on call in an hour. If you want to do this, we need to move things along." What a gentleman. Not only had he just shit on me, he was now hustling me along like a Goddamn Chinese lady in an illegal back alley shop on Canal Street.

Then he started kissing me and one thing led to another and he resumed putting my you-know-what in his you-know-what and having the memory of a crystal meth addict, I had almost forgotten that his ass was covered in crap. So instead of causing a scene, I just resumed doing what I had been doing before because I didn't want to piss Peter off.

After we were finished (and in record time, I couldn't have gotten out of there faster), I ran to Peter's shower and literally scrubbed his shit off of me. However, like the memories of the Vietnam war for our beloved veterans, Peter's crap lingered all day. I couldn't get the smell off of me no matter how much I tried. I even popped into Sephora and spritzed myself with no less than five different colognes but nothing worked.

That was the last time I ever saw Peter. I never responded to his "Afternoon Delight" text messages again because I couldn't get the image of his shit out of my mind. The moral of the story here is, no matter lady or gentleman, if you are over the age of three and out of diapers, you really need to make sure you are capable of wiping your own ass. Especially if you're expecting a visitor down yonder.

How To Date A Fucking Loser: Reloaded

2013-01-28T10:00:00.000-05:00

Two years ago, I wrote a blog called "How To Date A Fucking Loser" which, with over 65,000 views, quickly became my most read blog; a record that it still holds today. From that blog, spawned my epic musical book reading series in the summers of 2011 and 2012 and the now infamous "Crystal Meth Song" which my mother claims to have stuck in her head at least once a week. After two more years of dating, reaching thirty and still not having found my "Mr. Right", I am once again presented with yet another quandary: "Have I dated every fucking loser in New York, or are there still some out there that I have yet to discover?" Since the original "How To Date A Fucking Loser" came out, we've had some close calls, several near boyfriends and a ton of heartache which promoted me to believe that I was not through honing my craft in dating losers, rejects and unscrupulous men - and so I return with the reloaded set of rules on finding that special someone who will no doubt end up dicking you over in the end and leaving you more bitter, jaded and miserable than you ever though you could be. Ladies, gentleman and undecided; it's time for "How to Date A Fucking Loser: Reloaded". Take notes, follow these easy steps and you too can date the biggest fucking loser in the history or America.

But first! Don't forget to pre-order EATING MY FEELINGS by CLICKING HERE!

STEP ONE: GET A HALF A HAND JOB AGAINST THE WALL OF A VACANT BUILDING AND HOPE IS PARLAYS INTO TRUE LOVE.
+ Meet a seemingly harmless man at a bar (I hear Industry is a good place to pick up sociopaths) and agree to go home with him.
+ Once back in the vicinity of his apartment building, agree to let him give you half (not all) of a hand job against the vacant building located near his. Just like Cinderalla! But only half a hand job. Not a full one - and don't cum.
+ Once back in his apartment, check under the floorboards for the dead bodies of either underage Mexican prostitutes or illegal immigrant workers and check the closet for random miscellaneous body parts. If you find nothing, move forward. If you find something, alert the authorities, but move forward anyway because remember, you want to date a loser and this guy is a big one.
+ Proceed to woo this man; take him to dinner, share your deepest secrets with him and become as close as two people can get. But remember, don't sleep with him - that half a handy was all your going to get, even after three months of dating and sharing the same bed.
+ Question your new beau on whether or not the two of you are going to have sex, and when he complains about it or refuses to, continue to bring up the topic until you look like a desperate mess. Once you realize you'll never have sex with him and that this man has not only raised expectations, but shit all over them, move on to step two as quickly as possible.

STEP TWO: DATE SOMEONE IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THE LAST ASSHOLE.
+ Literally waste no time moving onto your next loser. And when I mean no time, meet your next loser immediately following an encounter with the first loser at Five Napkin Burger that involved Katie Couric and you screaming the word "pussy" at the top of your lungs.
+ Latch on to this new loser, even though you know you really don't like him very much and he doesn't bring much to the table.
+ Once this loser cheats on you, thinks he's gotten HIV and begs you to lock it down in a relationship so that something like that doesn't happen again, agree to do so and move forward. I've said it once and I will say it again, "nothing brings two people together quite like an AIDS scare."
+ Try desperately to keep this loser, even though he's done little to nothing for you. In fact, cook him a full on steak dinner so that after he's finished eating it, he can tell you he doesn't like you and leave your apartment "wanting to be friends." FYI: You'll never hear from him again. Score!

STEP THREE: TAKE AN OLD LOSER BACK.
+ Nothing is more overrated than giving people a second chance or the benefit of the doubt so when a former loser who's lied to you in the past resurfaces, take him back! (Say, for example, this loser was dating half of America while he was dating you, including but not limited to, people he met on Facebook but never had human communication with.) This loser is special so when he railroads back into your life - welcome it with open arms.
+ Sending this person gifts and attempting to help them in any way possible will not only fuel your hatred for him in the long run, but it will also make you look like a better person in the end (even though, it was you, who was a complete loser to begin with for taking him back).
+ Once you realize this person is still dating pretty much everyone, continue to peruse him even after he gets back together with his ex-boyfriend. He's a total loser, doesn't have a job and has no money, so this is clearly someone you WANT to be with!

STEP FOUR: DATE SOMEONE WHO WITHHOLDS INFORMATION.
+ Remember now, he's not lying - he's just not telling you the whole truth.
+ Meet a seemingly nice man and watch as the revelations come hurling at you faster than Marlon Brando could go downtown on a Kraft Services table circa "The Godfather".
+ Begin to like him, the sex is good and he has a body be right, so clearly he is a nice guy because I was always told: "if it's nice on the outside, then it must be nice on the inside."
+ Revel as the secrets come hurling out. Guess what, he's not only in a full blown relationship, but...wait for it...he has kids (gasp!) and he and his partner own a home together. When the secrets come spilling out faster than a weeks worth of reveals on "One Life to Live", you know he's a keeper.
+ Even though he was lying to you (I mean, withholding information), still pursue him, until he inevitably dumbs you, as if you were the one with the issues.

STEP FIVE: OPEN UP A HILLEL ON THE UPPER WEST SIDE.
+ Here's a fun one! Date two losers (both Jews) on the same night at the exact same spot.
+ Make sure the first has a dark past, i.e. his parents are Hisidic and sent him to a sleep away camp so that some random men could "beat the gay out of him."
+ Make sure the first man also drops hints to people he knows on reality TV shows. (Hint: if ain't Ramona Singer, move on!)
+ After you're done with the first Jew who nearly bored you to death with "America's Next Top Model" trivia, move on to the second - but don't get up - because he's coming to meet you at the same place the first Jew did. Now, Jew number 2 will only be interested in getting married and spreading his Judaism across the world with you - but you aren't ready to marriage - you just want to date a fucking loser.
+ When you never end up hearing back from the second Jew because even he doesn't want you (but would probably marry you in a pinch), invite him over for sex a few months later and proceed to have the worst sex imaginable. Bonus points if you're thinking about filing your taxes during the sex because it's that boring.

STEP SIX: FUCK YOUR HOT NEIGHBOR.
+ Have your sexy piece of shit neighbor who kind of looks like James Franco chase after you with an invitation to lunch for months. You see, you've been dating losers and have needed a break for a bit. It's time consuming and emotionally draining.
+ Three months later, after he finally tracks you down for that "lunch" you've been meaning to have all this time, invite him over for a "nightcap" instead.
+ Have a thrown down. Have sex until your brains fall out, get dressed and ready to go and then have sex again because it's so good that you never want it to end.
+ Now the pursuer becomes the pursued - you can't get enough of the sex. Well, that's too bad because your hot neighbor who came after you for months on end is now going to ignore you when you see each other walking down the street because he's classy like that. Even after you yell across Broadway: "Hello! I've been inside of you. The least you can do is say 'hi'." Because remember folks: "I want to talk you out to lunch and get to know you" translates in gay speak to: "I really just want to have sex with you and proceed to ignore you."

STEP SEVEN: HAVE A THREE-WAY AND HOPE IT TURNS INTO A RELATIONSHIP.
+ Seek out a hot ass waiter, exchange information and then put him on an email list so that he knows when each and every one of your book readings is in hopes that he'll come to one so he can see how funny/retarded you are live and in person.
+ Pursue him, to no avail until you finally give up.
+ Years later, when you are invited over to a friends house for a three-way (which isn't a real three-way because there's no penetration) amaze in the fact that he's your third. Surprise! We've come full circle mother-fucker!
+ The hook-up is good and he's totally into you, so afterwards, resume pursuing him and hopes that he falls in love with you.
+ He'll never return your call because he's a big fucking loser (and so are you for doing it) so even when he doesn't respond, continue to leave messages for him and stalk the restaurant he works at. (FYI: "walking by and glancing in" does not constitute stalking.)

There you have it folks! The new rules on HOW TO DATE A FUCKING LOSER. Because once is never enough when it comes to finding and falling for the worst possible mate in the world. After further examination - and not to get all philosophical on your asses - but could it be that it is I who is the fucking loser? Hello! No! Of course it's everyone else! Duh!

Godspeed and I hope that you have as much success in not finding a boyfriend as I have. You can do it now go find your loser!

The Perks of Being in a Long Distance Relationship

2013-01-24T09:38:00.002-05:00

With all of the ways to communicate these days, such as the Internet, the telephone and good old fashioned snail mail, it's a wonder to me why more people don't date long distance. There are so many reasons why so many people have had successful relationships with someone who doesn't live in the same city. Let's take a look at them now:

But before we do that, don't forget to pre-order EATING MY FEELINGS by CLICKING HERE!

1. You Don't Have To See Them Everyday.
There are very few people (if any) I really need to see every single day, which is why I still don't understand why the gays want to get married. Cohabiting and sharing everything becomes exhausting and problems such as financial issues, petty fights and dealing with children (yuck!) consume your life. When you date long distance, you literally get to chose when you see your significant other and you don't have to come home every night after a long day's work to hear about stupid office gossip that you never cared about to begin with.

2. The Sex
When you go for long periods of time without seeing the person you love, the sex gets better each time. People in long term relationships who live in the same city or even together, often times find that sex becomes boring after a while and try, in fain, to spice things up ("Let's add a third to the mix. Cause that won't ruin our relationship - it will only make us stronger!" Idiots.) When your partner lives in a different city than you, you long for them more which makes the sex hotter when you see them. Sure, most nights you have to rub one out on your own, but those bi-weekly thrown downs in an airport waiting area make it all worth it.

3. The SexTING
When you can't see the one you love, you need to find creative ways to get the message across to them that you cannot wait to fuck their brains out the next time you do see them. The best way to do that is sexting. Of course, couples who live in the same city can do this, but sexting with someone who doesn't live near you is hot. And with the advent of FaceTime and SKYPE, you can take sexting to the next level and literally have sex with someone via your mobile device. Without the penetration of course, but it's still fun and kinky nonetheless.

4. The Travel.
I am one of those weirdos who loves living in hotels. I also love flying and train travel and when you're dating someone in another city, you get to do all of the above on the regular. When you date someone who lives, say down the street, the options of what you can do for fun become limited. When you date someone who lives across the country, the options for fun nights out and romantic dinners are endless. And think of the miles you'll end up racking up to help pay for an awesome tropical getaway.

5. The Friends.
Anyone who has ever dated before has dated someone who has a friend that you just can't stand. When you date someone who lives on the opposite end of the country, you can say things like: "Oh, I was just hoping for us time tonight. I never get to see you." Instead of what you really want to say which is: "you're friend is a stupid bitch. I can't stand her and don't see how you can either," because that's just not nice - something I have said several times and the possible reason as to why I don't have a beau. This ends up helping your relationship yet again especially if you secretly hate your partners friends.

6. Catching-Up.
Unless you're a person who is super easily jealous, only seeing someone you care about every weekend or every other weekend can benefit you enormously. This way, you talk about the things that are really important, the stuff you couldn't cover over the phone or during a sexting exchange. And you could have a lot more sex too. Just putting that one out there again.

So dump your boyfriend who lives in Hells Kitchen and take up with the boy you met on Facebook a few weeks ago, have never met in person and who lives in Kentucky. The sex will not only be amazing, but I hear, there is a ton of shit to do down in Louisville come Derby time. And you'd get to rock a fabulous hat you're friends in New York would have made fun of you for wearing in the first place. Bonus!

East Coast Gays Versus West Coast Gays

2013-01-22T09:51:00.001-05:00

It's an undeniable fact: if you want to be loud and proud about your gayness, there are one of two places for you to move in the U.S.: either New York City or West Hollywood, California. Sure, San Fransisco and Chicago have their moments, but NYC and L.A. are undoubtedly the two gayest places in the country. However, in the spirit of gangster rappers and congressmen, most gays prefer one or the other thus creating a longstanding rivalry between the two towns. Let's finally get to the bottom of which town is better to live in if you're a homosexual.

The Fashion:
While the gays in L.A. have their defining fashion moments, New York City, is considered outside of Paris and Milan, the fashion capital of the world. It is also home to every aspiring gay fashion blogger who feels the need to posts their outfits or "looks" every morning on Facebook as if anyone gives as shit in hopes that an editor from GQ will randomly check their Facebook page and be like: "Wow, that kid dresses well, let's hire him!" I care as much about what you're wearing as I do what you've eaten that day, but the clear winner here is: New York.

The Nightlife:
If this were 2000, New York would be the clear victor in this category; however, things change and Los Angeles has NYC beat in every way. Nowhere else in the country can you literally walk down one street - one street - and not only hear every song from the Britney Spears catalog of music but have more of a variety in gay bars, lounges and clubs then in West Hollywood. The best part: unlike the more uptight homos in New York, the gays of West Hollywood - well, they just don't give a fuck and anything goes. The winner: Los Angeles.

Climate:
It's currently 23 degrees in New York. The winner: Los Angeles.

The Professionals:
In keeping the tone of that Southern California coolness, people in Los Angeles are far less concerned about what you do and more concerned about what you look like. People in L.A., never seem to work much at all and it is one of the only towns I have ever been to where people like porn stars and strippers are put on a pedestal. You may call that slutty - I call it entrepreneurial. However, there is something about New York that drives people to work harder for a better life. I guess it has something to do with the fact that Ellis Island is right around the corner and people there are still fighting for that American Dream or some shit. Nowhere else on the planet is a fourteen hour workday not only accepted, but the norm. The winner: New York.

The Gayness:
Sure, New York has Stonewall and is the birth of Gay Pride. But West Hollywood has a crosswalk that is painted in the colors of a Goddamn rainbow flag. I, for one, have never seen anything gayer. The winner: Los Angeles.

The Attitude:
Gay men are notorious for having this unwarranted attitude toward each other...and well, everyone else. If you are looking for hard stares, uncomfortable banter, dirty looks and men saying horrible things about each other because they are so upset with themselves that they need to make everyone around them feel uncomfortable, New York trumps Los Angeles.

The Lesbians:
What would gay men be without their lesbians? Who would do our woodworking or carry our children for us? Both towns have wonderful groups who love women on women action; however, unlike Los Angeles, where the dyke's are tanned, toned and ladylike, New York's lesbians are gritty, burly and simply look like they are ready to rewire a lamp at a moments notice. Quite frankly, that's how I like them, because if you're going to be a lesbian, you may as well live up to our stereotypes of them. The winner: New York.

Real Estate:
I don't think there is any other place in the world where it is acceptable to live in a hundred square foot apartment in the middle of place that smells like Mexicans with a bunch of Mexicans and no actual kitchen and pay two grand a month for it other than New York. However, in Los Angeles, the apartments are bigger and not only that - they have (gasp!) actual houses. Houses that you can decorate and - get this - invite people to parties in. You all may love the shit shacks you call homes, but I would take a mansion in Beverly Hills over a rat infested duplex on Eleventh Avenue any day. The winner: Los Angeles.

Transportation:
Ever feel like getting grouped by a homeless person at 7 am on your way to work on a Tuesday? Then New York is the place for you! New York has by far the most well planned and efficient public transportation system than any other city in the country. Sure, I love sitting in L.A. traffic blasting "Where Have You Been" by Rihanna on repeat while ripping an amount of cigarettes that would have made Lucille Ball's head spin, but I like to be on time and I never am in L.A. The winner: New York.

The Men:
I've said it once and I'll say it again, bodies be right in West Hollywood. Like, super right. And when you only work for three hours a day, it affords you the time to go to the gym for hours on end. But, for me at least, there is something about the men in the New York that puts a smile on my face. Men who live in New York have an edge, they look hard - like they've been through the shit and back. Men in Los Angeles don't have a care in the world and are all fucking gorgeous as hell, but in my book, a gritty man who has worked twelve hours a day, every day for the past ten years and has no money to show for it because his rent is too damn expensive is sexier than hell. The winner: New York.

So you see, there are benefits to both New York and Los Angeles gays, it just depends on what you're looking for. And just as badly as Madonna wants to continue to have us accept her as an artist and not an over the hill hack, these two towns, and their gays are here to stay.

How Will I Know?

2013-01-18T09:27:00.000-05:00

Don't forget to pre-order your copy of my second book EATING MY FEELINGS by CLICKING HERE

It still surprises me that anyone in the world would bother reaching out to me for relationship advice. Yes, I write a blog about relationships, however none of them have ever worked out and I still haven't the first clue about what makes a successful relationship work. However, when a friend of mine recently reached out to me and posed the question: "I am dating this guy and I really like him a lot. But, how will I know if he really loves me?" I had to appease her by a. listening to Whitney Houston on repeat for four days straight and b. answering her question in blog form. If you're really sweet on someone, but aren't sure whether or not they have feelings for you back, take a look at the following and use these helpful tips to guide you toward a successful relationship. If your new mate exhibits any of the below qualities, there's a good chance true love is on the horizon.

1. He Talks About Other People.
If you're wondering whether or not your new beau is really interested in you, try to think about the conversation topics that you've discussed during your courtship. If he talks about his friends, hogs conversation time and speaks incessantly about how much he loved his ex-boyfriend, then there's a pretty great chance that he is actually in love with you and you should latch on for dear life.

2. You've Never Met His Friends.
So, you've gone on four dates with the man of your dreams and you're really beginning to like him? The obvious next step would be to meet his friends. However, he refuses to introduce them to you. This is most likely a good sign. You're probably too good for him so he's embarrassed to introduce you to a group of people who are most likely beneath you. Either that, or he's lying to you and dating other people who his friends have actually met. But he's a great guy and would never lie to you so it's most likely the former.

3. He's Still on Grindr.
If you have locked it down with your new beau, but he's still on Grindr and active frequently, don't worry about it. He's probably just telling all of his Grindr buddies how much he likes you.

4. You Pay For Everything.
So, you and your new partner are now getting serious. You're out and about all the time and having a blast, but there's a problem: you find yourself paying for everything the two of you do. Have no fear! Just keep paying for things, buy him or her gifts and take him or her out as frequently as possible. There's a really good chance they love you a lot and are just saving up for a super nice present to express how much they really care for you. If he isn't, you can always send him a bill for services rendered if the relationship goes bust.

5. They Ignore You.
Have you been going out to bars and clubs with your new partner and have begun to realize that every time you're in a social setting they talk to everyone BUT you? Have no fear. They are most likely telling everyone how great you are and that's the reason they're not talking to you.

6. They Disappear.
Are you super interested in a guy but he disappears without a trace for days on end and doesn't respond to your text messages or phone calls? Don't worry about it! He's not ignoring you - he's just planning something amazing for the two of you to do and can't be bothered returning a text message because it's time consuming and no one has their phone on them ALL the time anymore. It's not like it's 2013 or anything.

7. They Forget Details.
If your new partner forgets important details of your life such as your occupation, your likes and dislikes or even your name, have no fear! It's not that he's not paying attention - he just has shit for brains like every other man you've ever met. Stupid people are easily manipulable in relationships so if he forgets where your apartment is after having been there three times in the past week, he's most likely a keeper.

There you have it. If you or someone you love is concerned about whether or not the person you're dating is invested in the relationship, ask yourself the above seven questions and follow my lead. You'll be in a committed relationship in no time!