Housecleaning

So I am no longer a full-time employee, which means many things:

I can now indulge in my favorite things: sleeping, shopping, reading, going to Sports Club LA for hours on end, Pilates, thinking, looking at magazines, plotting my comeback, etc. etc.

But I also have serious stuff to do. Like moving. Is moving not one of the most loathsome tasks on earth? Ugh. The packing, the bubble wrap, the storage—it's enough to drive any somewhat insane persone completely insane.

And, yay, I get to be with my beloved Wally and other dogs in a few weeks. And double yay, I get to spend New Year's Eve weekend in NYC. I hope it's really chilly, as I haven't gotten to wear any boots, scarves, fur, gloves etc. in nearly a year!! This trip and subsequent move is the perfect excuse to take advantage of all the great sales at my most favorite stores.

And my brother has landed in India, which he says is pretty shitty, and if he says that, then I know my mom and I are in trouble, so it's now my job to convince him to meet the fam halfway somewhere cool like Thailand, Hong Kong, Vietnam or Japan. He's the only kid I know who would pass up an all-expenses-paid vacation that would probably include stays at the Mandarin Oriental or the Four Seasons. But I suppose that is what makes him interesting.

And it seems I have a rather ardent fan over at LeandroToro. She was, in fact, the first one to buy and read my book who is not an immediate family member or friend. I find her coverage of me and my misadventures both amusing and quite flattering. I actually have my own topic category. Cool. If only we could see ourselves as others do, we'd all have much higher self-esteems.

And I think I've made a decision regarding my future career, if such a thing exists and I'm not just to become a navel-gazing wastoid. Freelance writing is really where it's at. Especially if it involves travel, beauty, fashion and accessories. So that is where I will be focusing my energies.

And weird as it may seem, now that I am not working in an office full-time, I will have less time to blog. Oh, boo-hoo.

And for those of you who have complained that you cannot figure out how to buy my book: I will spell it out for you once again. Simply click the buy now button on the upper right hand side of this page below my profile picture. It's really not that hard, guys. **UPDATE: OK, SO STEPHANIE JUST INFORMED ME THAT ON NON-MACS, THE LINK IS ALL THE WAY AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BLOG ON THE RIGHT SIDE. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIX THIS. IF SOMEONE DOES, HOLLER.
I'll get a notification that you bought it from paypal and then I'll email you the book. Much less effort than say, going to Barnes and Noble.

And if you're on my e-mail list and you haven't bought the book, well, then I'm afraid I'm rather disappointed in you. I'd buy your damn book. And in some cases I have. Doesn't mean I've read them, but I still made the effort. Ahem.

And Alec Baldwin? Soo nice to me when I approached him in Vegas. Though I was looking quite fetching and feminine that night. Guess these Gawkers weren't.

Well-heeled Travelers?

So my brother is in India and he says it's, well, shitty (duh). The fam and I are planning to visit, naturally, ensconced in the safety of a town car and a guided tour. The only luxury touring company I can think of that has programs there is Abercrombie & Kent.

Does anyone have any other suggestions? Has anyone been there in a luxury capacity? Basically, I want to go from resort to resort and site to site, with an escort/guide at all times. I know lots of socialites and wealthy folk do indeed travel there, and I know where they stay, but how do they organize the whole shebang? Please respond. Time is ticking.

eBay round 2

OK, it's officially up on eBay. There are three listings; my feedback has to reach 5 stars before I can sell multiples. What a pain in the ass. PayPal is much easier, so use that—plus it's a flat fee. I'm not eligible for "Buy it Now" status on eBay.

Unless of course you (NOT YOU, MOM) want to get in a bidding war, in which case, feel free. From now on, go to PayPal, cause it doesn't cost me anything whereas eBay charges for each listing.

Meanwhile, this chick must get her ass in gear to be moved out of Miami by the end of the month and in NY by Dec. 29th. Have I even called the movers? Um, no. Packed? No. Slept late, gone to the beach, the gym, the spa? You betcha. Not working is so great.

Oh, and for all you Jacksonvillians who feel the same way about this girl and her family as I do, you'll get a real kick out of this Gawker prize. And, sorry to say, she is about 33 or 34; was only two years ahead of me in high school. Let's just say though that while I visit the derm for facial rejuvenation, she visits the real surgeon, repeatedly and has for years.

PayPal is my New BFF

Well folks, apparently the whole PayPal thing does indeed work. I have just received my first official purchase of Dishalicious. So a big shout out to Leandro over at leandrotoro.

So right now, eBay is out of the picture until I get the kinks worked out, and you can indeed use the Buy Now button to go directly to the PayPal web site. I will then email you the non-disclosure agreement, you will fill it in and email it back to me, and then the book will be yours...

Oh, I just LOVE it when other non-NYC "writers" post about me. Esp. when they reside in the boondocks and call their site Suburbarazzi. Yeah. I'm sure there is a lot of action down there. So much so that they are writing about me.

Thanks, Gawker, but I hate that picture. Oh, well, you can't win 'em all.

Since I have some new eyes reading, in the tradition of my blogging buddy Mel, just the facts today:

1. I am 31, Jewish, straight and single.

2. I grew up in Jacksonville, Florida, where there are 794 churches and about 5 synagogues.

3. I currently live in Miami, where I moved from Manhattan seven months ago. I lived on the Upper East Side for about six years, and I plan to head back there as soon as humanly possible, which translates to about three months in Stephanie time.

4. I went to Emory University and the University of Florida as an undergraduate, and I got my master's degree in journalism from NYU. I'm certainly convinced that the NYU money would have been better applied toward a condo downpayment.

5. I've always known I wanted to be a writer and editor, and my first published "clip" (if you can call it that) was a letter to the editor in Vogue when I was 16. I followed that up with one in Interview and thus began my not-so-illustrious magazine career.

6. The most important elements in my life are my family, my friends, my family friends and my dogs.

7. There is no place like home: Bergdorf's, Barney's, 5th and Madison Avenues.

8. My favorite things include reading, writing, shopping, talking, sleeping, dreaming, watching quality TV and movies, going to the beach, traveling, being around dogs and just relaxing.

9. My least favortie things to do are flying (commercial), waking up early, being around lots of dirty people (e.g. riding the subway), driving and being told what to do.

10. More than once I have been labeled a pistol.

11. I have lived in Atlanta, Los Angeles, New York and Miami, and I'll take Manhattan any day of the year.

12. My true (superficial) passions are writing, reading, fashion and jewelry, and I would love to figure out a way to combine all of these things into a lucrative business venture. I seem to be the go-to girl when it comes to fashion concerns and advice amongst my friends and family friends, so I suppose that my dream would be either to author a fashion column or to be a fashion editor. Well, okay, my dream has always been to be a fashion editor, but I didn't have the patience to suck it up and "start at the bottom." Screw that. And since nobody wants to give me this dream job, I've created it: Fashionosophy. It doesn't pay very well.

13. I'm not afraid to break rules. In fact, I'm kind of unflappable when it comes to most things. When I was sued by American Media, I think that most people in my then-situation—unemployed, sans money, 28 years old—would have conceded defeat. I, however, put my dukes up, smacked their asses down in court, and though it didn't pay off in the form of a lucrative book deal, it was something I needed to do. The First Amendment was drafted for a reason.

14. I'm tough-talking and opinionated, but in real life, I'm a softie and play well with others.

15. I'm currently polishing up my second book, which be something along the lines of (no) Sex and the City meets the Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing meets Kissing in Manhattan.

16. My favorite book of all time is Confederacy of Dunces, with Gone with the Wind running a close second.

17. I'm like the Jewish, female version of Kevin Bacon. I seem to be connected to many, many people by less than six degrees, in large part due to my dad, who seems to know every person in the country in some way, shape or form.

You can learn more about me by reading some of my favorite posts:
On Dreams, On Cursing, On Registries, On Singlehood, On Rude Questions, On Happiness, On Leaving New York, On Rodents, On Sept. 11.

Thanks for stopping by.

eBay This Book!

Filed under the "Oh, Puh-lease Dept." from today's Keith J. Kelly Column in the NY Post
'ONE PARK'ING JOB ON STAR MAG'S REALITY TV SHOW

On a totally unrelated note: If you want to know what really goes on behind the scenes at a completely fictional, notorious, American tabloid, well, here's your chance, finally. I've decided to sell unpublished, individual copies of my manuscript Dishalicious on eBay. That's right folks. I know that most of the takers will be friends and family, but at least that will shut 'em up.

I'm not sure if this has been done before, but I'm sick of people asking to read the manuscript. So here's your chance. Buy It Now, or don't. Frankly, my dears, I just don't give a damn anymore. This is total, straight-up, American ghetto-style publishing. Purchase it, and I'll e-mail you the Word document. If you're really that interested, you can print it out yourself.


I'm having the confidentiality agreement drawn up now, which buyers will have to complete via e-mail once they've bought the book. So I should have this done by tomorrow, when I will post the link.

UPDATE: Man, eBay is a pain in the ass. eBay is taking longer than I anticipated. You can purchase Dishalicious directly through Paypal buy clicking on the buy now button on the right side of this page right above the flickr link. Er, so is PayPal. I should have this resolved soon; it has something to do with my slow ass Southern bank. You know, everything takes twice as long down here in the boondocks.

This is the summary I've posted on eBay, whenever they decide to move their asses and approve my PayPal account:

Dirt. Deceit. Dish. Divas. Sex. Drugs. Betrayal. Bribery. Lies. Paid
informants. All in a day's work at the country's most notorious
tabloid, Celeb. And it's research editor Serena Gold's job to make all
the stories seem legit. Except, well, they're so not.
The editor is an infamous demon; her second in command is a manscaped
albatross; her staff has a higher turnover rate than that of the Bush
White House; and the publication's unscrupulous methods of
manipulation are enough to drive any sane journalist slightly mad.
What's a nice, Jewish girl to do when she witnesses lie after payoff
after breach of ethics? Keep herself chained to her desk for the
14-hour-days required of the staff? Engage in retail therapy at
Bergdorf's and Barneys? Rely on her stable of delightfully eccentric
family and friends? Well, yes, but Serena must also show her bitchy
boss that you simply cannot claw your way to the top of the publishing
totem pole without getting a few scratches in return.
And as it turns out, Serena's nails are sharper (and better manicured)
than those of her editor.

And since I have a substantially wider audience with this post thanks to Gawker, please visit my sister sartorial site: Fashionosophy.

Bat Mitzvah Brouhaha

For those of you non-Jews out there who have never had the experience that is the bar or bat mitzvah, a primer. There are usually several de rigueur (sometimes conflicting) elements at work at the bar/bat mitzvah party, including: a cheesy band/dj combo; lots and lots and lots of food, most of which will remain uneaten; a whole lot of liquor; an abundance of glitter and glowsticks; goodie bags; the hora; diamonds and pearls and the town's finest baubles; blacklight; a dancefloor, whereupon the YMCA, the Electric Slide and the Macarena all will be massacred by our non-rhythmic tribe. So what this all translates to is this: a sea of drunk, young, sort of young, older and really old people thrusting their bodies around the dancefloor in celebration of a 13-year-old boy or girl becoming a man or woman.

It's a great excuse for a party, and I think that most of the time, at least in my family's circle of friends, the adults have more fun than the children. This past Saturday was such an occassion for the daughter of my dad's longtime best friend.

The 'rents and their friends were shaking their tailfeathers to the likes of everyone from Timberland and Outkast, to the Village People and whomever is the brilliant artiste behind "Hava Negilah." There's something about the sight of my parents, neither of whom have any rhythym whatsoever, doing the white man's booty shake that really cracks me up.




But what occurred to me most as I drank, danced and laughed too much at this party, is that nothing really changes in our cloistered little world. We Jews have been shaking our asses to the same perennial songs for the past 18 years, since my friends were anointed men and women: Unchained Melody, Shout, YMCA, Push It, Pump up the Volume, etc. We've been waving glow sticks, sneaking drinks from the bar, worrying about which boys will ask us to dance, watching our parents get drunk, throwing up in the temple bathroom, putting on our finest Manolos and then kicking them off by 11 p.m., for ages and ages. But still, there is something about seeing your loved ones hoisted up onto chairs that just gets you all verklempt.

It's silly really, but it's great fun.


I suppose a few things have changed though. After she was made to dance onstage with the band/dj/dancers, the bat mitzvah gal, a real pistol whom I have known since she was born and whom I adore, came up to me and said, "Omigod, Stephanie, I'm so embarrassed! I am so in love with the dancer, but he has a boyfriend!"

I used this horrible Kodak disposable digicam cause I forgot mine, so we all look like ghosts in these pictures. And I cannot explain why my dad's mouth is wide open in every picture.




And, the men in the sequined jackets?



My dad's frat brothers dressing up as the Four Tops and driving the crowd wild. Though they actually had some moves, so maybe some white men can dance.

Also, check out Fashionosophy, I actually managed to update it...

Gawker Does it Again

Required Disclosure: I know suicide is not funny.

But this sure as hell is. I'm in Jax., again, third weekend of traveling in a row. I will try to have some fun tonight so I can entertain all 12 of you with amusing anecdotes Monday...

On Beauty

Yay, I'm finally published again. And for the first time in very, very long, it's about material I'm passionate about: beauty products.

So check out juli b's Beauty Picks for Miami, written by yours truly.

Leaving Las Vegas and, oh yeah, Miami

Las Vegas was a good ol' time. Some of the highlights:

Love, the Cirque du Soleil show set to music by the Beatles. I am not a theater person, don't particularly like Broadway and am usually dragged to these type of things by my family, but I would highly recommend this show and even see it again.



My encounter with Alec Baldwin. I've mingled with my fair share of celebrities and am never one to approach or bother them when they are out in public. But upon seeing Baldwin in the giftshop of the Love theater, I just had to say something because I adore his new show 30 Rock. So I approached him and say, "Alec, I never bother celebrities but I just wanted to tell you that you are fabulous in 30 Rock and it's an amazing show. Congratulations." He was sweet and accepted the compliment and his son thanked me as well. They sat several rows behind us and left before the grand finale.

The shopping. I scored a classic, black Theory dress for about 40% off at Neiman's; a classic black Theory top for 40% off at Neiman's; a fab lacey black shirt by Roberto Cavalli for about 75% off from Nordstrom's; and a Spanx "body shaper" thingy. Now, why a size 2/4 woman should have to wear a girdle is another issue altogether, but there you go. Sigh.

Canyon Ranch. Words can't describe the inherent goodness and blissfulness of a good spa day. First came the haircut. Next the massage. And finally, my first facial, since of late my skin has been all over the place, probably from the Botox and Restylane experiments. The facial was nice, though I don't know that my skin is necessarily any better.

The classic Clark Griswold/Mark Green vacation comment. Our family vacays always turned into Griswold-esque misadventures when we were younger. Fittingly, it was Vegas Vacation this time. While eating at Spago with the fam, our aunt, uncle and cousins, who always go on international vacations as a family, I say to dad, "Well, we had never even been on a family vacation outside the U.S. until Bermuda, where I had to drag you kicking and screaming." We've been to Mexico, but that doesn't count.

"Uh, huh," dad says in his defense, "What about Hawaii?"

The Wynn resort is pretty, pictured below, but kind of a poor imitation of Bellagio from what I saw of it. You can view the rest of our Vegas Vacation pics by clicking on the Flickr link on the right side of this page.




This amazing leg massager from Brookstone, which my brother and I parked our weary asses in after dinner and drinks at Tao Sat. night. I think you can deduce from the expression on my face that it's pure heaven. The attached seat rest massager (only $99!) is divine too.



OK, now for the Big News: I quit my job today with about a month's notice. I am leaving Miami. This city just isn't my cup of coffee. I plan to go back to writing and editing full-time, first and foremost finishing my second book. I also plan on moving back to NYC soon, but am decamping to the family's pad in Fla. to finish the book and look for some freelance gigs. So holla if you've got some stuff for me. What? Why? When? More later, I am still jet-lagged.

Thanks

I am so thankful for the fact that mom didn't realize that her computer was logged into my blogger account due to my use of it over the weekend at the 'rents' house; otherwise she probably would've tried to post something. I'm thankful that I'm going to Vegas, which oddly enough is warmer than Miami right now. I am also thankful that I am flying out tomorrow instead of today. I feel for everyone traveling today, so good luck and Godspeed and all that.

And I'm uber-thankful that tomorrow's episode of Grey's Anatomy is extended, yay! After eating at one of Emeril's restaurants in Vegas tomorrow night, while my parents are at Celine Dion (oy vey), I'll be in our suite at the Venetian watching McDreamy. Yes, I am totally lame, and I don't gamble. I'll stash the cash that daddy gives me to gamble with and use it to shop, shop, shop.

But what am I most thankful for? Oh, yeah, you guessed it: the day after Thanksgiving sales, the fact that Neiman's is near our hotel and the fact that dad and brother will be occupied at Canyon Ranch while mom and I have retail reign.

Happy Thanksgiving and safe travels!

Savvy Sales Shopping

I basically posted this exact same thing on Fashionosophy today, but since nobody reads that site and I'm too lazy to keep up with it, I'm duplicating the post here. One of my 2 daily readers e-mailed me about this site he works for called Shop it to Me.

It's awesome; you choose your favorite designers--lots of good, high-end ones are listed--and then the site e-mails you sales these designers are having online. You also choose your size, so the e-mails you receive are specifically catered to your designers, sizes, etc. No more need to scour the web for deals. Why didn't I think of this? I eagerly await the post-Thanksgiving e-mail.

I'm off to Vegas, baby, for Thanksgiving. I don't gamble, but seeing as how Vegas has become both a foodie and fashionista destination of choice, I think I'll find some things to amuse myself with. Plus, Saturday I'm booked at the Canyon Ranch Spa Club, which is simply divine. Oh, and there's a Neiman's outlet a mere 39 miles away. . .

Are Rock Bottoms Solid/The Circle of Celebrity

I've had several moments in my life where I've thought, "OK, this is it, I've hit rock bottom." But then the mere fact that there have been several "rock bottom" moments implies that one of them really wasn't rock bottom, so obviously, the botom is porous and it's a sliding scale, especially for depressives. For a true depressive, I suppose that real "rock bottom" translates to thoughts of suicide or actual attempts. Anyway, my point is that I've had several times in my life where I've thought that "this is it; things just can't get any worse, how am I going to dig myself out of this whole and claw my way back to the top? (Or, the middle really.)

On Sept. 10, 2004, The New York Post ran a nearly full-page story about Dishalicious in the business section, accompanied by a photo of me and a photo of Bonnie Fuller. There had been previous items in Page Six, on Gawker and in Women's Wear Daily, but the business section of the Post? That got American Media's attention. Seventeen days later, Sept. 27, 2004, I learned that I was being sued by American Media. During all of this, the book was circulating amongst 10 publishers, and according to my then agent, prospects were good. Then I was served by AMI, and the bottom slowly began to fall out. The publishers' reactions went from "very interested" to "not interested, and I was once again unemployed.

Oct. 1, after I had a court date, after the press had both praised and vilified me and after the book was rejected by 9 publishers, my family and I went to the opening of our family friend's play, Jewtopia. Sam Wolfson, who I'd grown up with, is one of the stars and cowriters/cocreators. The audience that night was comprised mostly of family and friends of the stars. I was, as you can well imagine, an anxious mess that weekend. I was experiencing my first Warholian 15 minutes and was unsure what the hell it all meant? Would I challenge AMI? Would I settle? Would the book sell? And that night I was faced with a sea of Jacksonvillians I hadn't seen in years, so I had to do the whole 60-second-life story spiel about forty times.

I get through the pre-theater cocktail hour fine, doing the whole 60 second life story—book, press, lawsuit—several times over. Disconcertingly people seem to think that because I’m being sued, I’ve made it or I’m famous or I did something right. It’s bizarre.

Sam especially thinks this is cool. "Wow, you're being sued! How cool! Go get 'em Steph and let me know what happens."

In fact, this is pretty much everyone's reaction. The play is fantastic, and I’m so happy to see someone who deserves success finally achieve it. The thought that plagues me though is whether I’ll ever experience the joy that Sam is now, finally seeing his dreams come to fruition after struggling for so many years. I wonder if my parents will ever be as exuberantly proud as Denny and Arlene are of Sam. I have serious doubts they will.

After the play, at the small reception above the theater, my dad congratulates Sam's dad, Denny, with whom he grew up, saying something like, “I think your boy is going to make it!”

Denny, flushed with pride says something along the lines of, “It looks that way. Thank God, cause this is one difficult place to make it. You know, I came here after college to work on Wall Street and it was tough.”

“Well, you definitely have to be tough to make it here, otherwise the city will eat you alive,” I say, thinking, I wonder if I'll do the eating or be eaten.

Cut to two years later, this past Saturday night. Sam and Bryan are in Jacksonville doing a reading from their book. It's a funny book, and it was great seeing everyone again. But here we are again; two years later, a lawsuit, 30,000 edits of a manuscript, 500 pages of a new book and Sam, the actor, has a book and I, the writer, once again, have nothing. And once again, Sam's folks are laughing with pride, while my folks are, in answer to the question, "What is your daughter doing now," saying, "Well, she's in Miami, trying to figure things out."

Strangers or friends of my family I haven't seen in years, ask me what's going on and I have to do the 60-second-life-story yet again. "I'm in Miami, writing and working for my uncle."

"Do you like Miami?"

"No, actually, I hate it. I miss New York terribly."

"So what are you going to do?"

Good question.

Mercedes; The Ultimate Twatwaffle

10 hours in my car over two days does not a happy Stephanie make. Forced by the condo Nazis to "permanently remove" Wally from the premises, I drove up to Jacksonville yesterday, attended a patron's dinner for the JCC there wherein Sam and Bryan of Jewtopia were the featured performers, then drove right back down to Miami today. My back and neck ache, I've barely unpacked, and I'm off to Vegas for a true American Thanksgiving on Thursday. Funny stories from the weekend TK, from the Jewtopia event last night, but right now I must go stretch and hit the gym.
And, yes I'm bitching again, but if you don't like my bitching, then quit reading, because I tend to do quite a lot of it.

Stephanie's Reasons Why Not

I don't think it's any great secret that I don't like it down here, for myriad reasons, many of which I have already bitched about. Nonetheless, a refresher course in why Stephanie thinks Miami sucks and there really is no place like home (New York).

1. Spanish.

2. Condo Nazis. Give me a non-English speaking doorman and an ineffectual super on-the-take anyday over a building full of "condo commandos" whose jobs require them to narc on neighbors, spy on residents and discriminate against dogs.

3. Cars. Especially my car. I want to set the motherfucker on fire and then push it into the Atlantic where the sharks can feast on it.

4. Traffic. The traffic down here is simply unbearable, seriously. Everyone thinks NYC traffic is bad, but honies, let me tell you, a sea of cabs moving at 5 mph is much better than an ocean of cars six lanes thick not moving at all on I-95. Also, the conditions of the roads down here are so bad and there is constant construction, everywhere.

Case in point: Last Friday night, I had an event for the symphony. I elected to drive, as the event was a mere .08 miles from my apt. .08 miles people. Well, what did the wonderful city of Miami decide to do at the last minute after my friend had secured permits for the venue? Override her permits and tear up all the surrounding streets. What would have been a 2-minute drive turned into a 40-minute ordeal that resulted in me screaming into the phone to Dana, who was already there, getting into a fight with several valets and having a police officer escort me to the door of the venue and asking, "Are you happy now miss?"

Well, no, actually, I was so peeved by the time I made it into the event that I left after about 30 minutes.

5. Most of the people who live here. People who live here seem to fall into a few categories. a.) Working-class Latinos (pardon me if that is not the PC phrase, I never know). b.) Uber-wealthy South Americans with second residences here who think they own the city, which I suppose they do. c.) Old Jews. I love 'em, but since I don't live near Bal Harbour, I don't encounter many bubbies. d.) Youngish Jews, but not cool ones. Not New York Jews. Married young Jews. Boring young Jews. Non-stylish, under-educated young Jews who do not read the Times or even Page Six. In fact, they don't even know what Page Six is. And Gawker? Forget about it. These people down here barely know what blogs are. Seriously.

I could go on for pages about what I don't like down here, so I think that is a sign that perhaps I've made a colossul, monumental mistake in relocating, but I'm not quite sure what to do about this. I have some serious, serious thinking to do people, and I'm going to try to do it over the weekend, in Jacksonville, where I have to drive to deposit Wally since he has been evicted by the Condo Nazis.

What, you may ask, if anything, do I like about Miami? The beach is lovely. But I do not go to the beach; it is far and requires me to drive and it makes my skin even worse and I don't belong to a beach club here so I have to go to a public beach and there is just simply not enough Purell in the city to enable me to do that. So there, once again, I'm a complete and utter mess.

Awanta?

Awanta: Who do they think they are? Hebrew-style.

American Media (all links via Gawker) is, once again, reading this. Is it a lackey? Is it a lawyer? Is it Bonnie or Joe? Most likely, it's a lackey, as this particular AMI slave was logged on at 9:47 p.m. last night and read for more than 15 minutes.

Sooo, because I'm in a particularly bad mood today and because AMI pretty much made my life a living hell with the lawsuit (despite the fact that I smacked their asses down in court), this is what I have to say to you American Media: Fuck off, lech lehizdayen, joda lejos and baiser de. Hebrew, Spanish and French, respectively. But cursing in phonetic Hebrew is the funnest.

There's:
zonah: whore
benzonah: son of a bitch (son of a whore, literally)
lech zayen et ima shelcha: go fuck your mom
arss: white trash

My favorite Hebrew phrase, however, is sababa, meaning cool, okay, fine. It's just so fun to say. Sa-ba-ba.

Ah, the things you learn at sleepaway camp, in Hebrew school and in Israel. I miss Israel and esp. Israeli men. Everyone thinks they are chauvinistic and sexist and maybe they are a little. But, they are hot. They are strong. They are men's men. They are also sweet, complimentary and put women on pedestals. They are, in short, much better in my opinion than American Jewish men, who tend to be coddled, prissy, dorky and often spineless due to years of thinking they are the best thing since sliced bread, thanks to their overbearing mothers.

I think I need to go back to Israel; the last boyfriend I had was Israeli, and though things would've never worked out due to cultural chasms, he was hot, sweet, hardworking, hardbodied, caring, sensitive, funny, goofy and he gave great massages.

Condo Commandos Catch Clandestine Canine!

Wally's jig is up. Seeing as how I stopped using the stupid Sherpa bag and have been walking him freely, just like, oh, any other normal dog, I'm not surprised. Alas, he was ratted out in ways of which I am not aware, but I suspect the security guys. I think they probably get kickbacks for being narcs. I mean, how could anyone possibly take offense to this face?

Anyway, I was planning on driving him back to the 'rents house this weekend so he could avoid the whole moving ordeal. After I returned from Jax a couple weeks ago with Wally in tow and told my realtor-friend, he responded with this humorous e-mail:

"I hear someone singing

Reunited and it feels so good

This breakup we had

Has left me lonely and sad

But we’re reunited, hey hey"

And then today, upon me telling him that the way in which Wally was caught was nothing dramatic--for he has since become a loyal reader and expects nothing less than high drama from moi--responded:

"I pictured the condo emperor running you down as you sauntered out with that oversized LV puppy purse. 'What whimpering...oh that?...um, that's my cellphone...got to go!"

D. I think you may have missed your calling as a writer or something;) Although I'm sure a sense of humor comes in handy in your line of work.

Check out today's Fashionosophy; I actually managed to post something. Or nothing. Eye of the beholder and all that.

Sitemeter

For those of you web newbies/old people out there, we bloggers have a function called sitemeter that often enables us to see who is reading our blog and for how long. With the exception of AOL users, we can see your IP address, your company name, your geographic location, how long you spent on our site, how you entered and exited the site, and what page you were referred from.

Sometimes this falls under the heading of "too much information."
Case in point: Today someone from the law firm of Sedgwick Detert Moran & Arnold viewed 79 pages of my blog! WTF? I didn't even know I had 79 pages. You're an atty--don't you have, like, work to do?

One of the best parts of sitemeter, however, is that when someone arrives here from a Google search, you can see the exact phrase they typed in. Usually, it's just my name or Dishalicious. But some of the funniest ones I've had are "hairy green scary," "lexapro and kicking and screaming in sleep," "seeking for 100% auth dating site in maryland in 2006," and "slingbacks adhesive" and "jdate freaks."

Leave it to Me

To be one of those idiots who never deletes e-mail addresses and enters each person into my "contacts" because I had Hotmail and otherwise it went to Junkmail. What this means is that when I sent out my e-mail today announcing that I was switching to Gmail, and selected "all" in my address book, the email went out to every ex, every potential employer, every JDater, every ex-friend, etc. etc. who was still in my address book. And now they all not only have my blog addresses, but also my cell phone #. Ah, the wonders of technology and the stupidity of moi. So, er, welcome back people. It's been one of those days.

On the plus side, I've gotten to chat with lots of old peeps who I haven't heard from in a while, so it's all relative.