I Forgot to Tell You

Up until last week, I thought I had already blogged about this. But then I realized I had been holding out on you for no reason. My apologies, but I don't even have an excuse.

Some time ago there was a competition that I wasn't aware of, but I won anyway. It was among the women in my department for who had best legs. They forced it on me as we were walking out of an event and I was innocently wearing a dress.

Well, not so innocently. It was moderately cleavage-bearing and I knew there would attractive gun-toting men in attendance. But I was working from the torso up. I wasn't even aware of my legs, lest they needed to be shaved.

In all honesty, I really was oblivious to how much woman yearn for skinny ankles. I would have written mine off as chicken legs if someone else hadn't pointed it out to me. Or, four someone elses.

I relayed the story to my dad, who then asked me if that was sexual harrassment. But since it was coming from women, it a) couldn't be harrassment, and b) had to be the truth since women are only known for viciously criticism of their peers.

I turned to my girlfriend Spanky for confirmation. He's fallen victim to my smile, but I still trust him to be straight with me. He confirmed I should wear the crown. I love having girlfriends with penises.

So when it came time to indulge in an online dating experiment, all I posted were a picture of my legs. Overnight, I had 50 messages.

Who knew???

Overheard on the Phone

It is a very good thing that I have an office with a door. The walls aren't soundproof, but it at least lets me get away with some very naughty conversations with my favorite Spank Artist.

This was not one of those, but maybe I'll post one some day.

Spanky is a devout Democrat. Only part of the reason I love him. Others are that he's suprisingly down to earth despite being exceptionally rich and also lets me tease him mercilessly about his white guilt.

He also likes my boobs. But who doesn't?

GPG: So, Hillary or Obama?

Spanky: Obama all the way! Of course.

GPG: Why "of course"? Why do you hate women?

Spanky: *sighs* There's no way to win with you.

It's true.

Time for a Second Opinion

I got some bad news from the doctor the other day. My liver is compromised. That's not fun.

It's not past the tipping point, but inheriting bad genes is not helping.

And the kicker? It was probably caused by the drugs he put me on. File that under Supremely Fucked Up.

Spanky doesn't handle medical malpractice, but he suggested someone who does. I'm not convinced there's a case here, but it's comforting that my friends are attempting to help the best way they know how.

The upside? Ceasing to drink probably would not help this condition. Wouldn't hurt either, but at least alcohol won't kill me.

At least there's a silver fucking lining.

Fucking doctors.

Committed to the Cause - Update

Turns out the strikers don't picket when it rains. Can't blame them. It's wet out there. Has been for a few days. Cold too.

They're kind of like my building's handyman that way. He refuses to work in the rain too. Probably afraid he'll melt. Like the Wicked Witch.

But when it's not raining, they're out waving their signs. The lady I wrote about last time isn't alone anymore, either! She's got a gentleman at her side now. And her cane is festively decorated for the season. Who doesn't love tinsel?

I wonder if she picked her writer escort up in some sort of displaced WGA-friendly Match.com. Can you imagine?

Just to show solidarity with the working man, Spanky and I ate lunch at a deli that had the picket signs prominently displayed in their window. We're good that way.

More Free Gifts

Remember how my super cool clients bought me an iPod? I casually mentioned it to Spanky, who is a member of a different client group, and his response was that they had to get me something even better.

Who doesn't love a healthy competition for my attention?

Guess what I got today? A gift basket. A small one.

Laugh. Out loud. Hard. Please.

I immediately called him up to thank him for passing along the message that something better than an iPod would be the best way to bribe me into giving a shit about the work I have to do for them. And then asked him if a GIFT BASKET would fetch more on Ebay than the $65 I got for the iPod.

The consensus: decidedly NO.

There was a bottle of dry sparkling wine in it. Which I don't normally care for, but there's an architect that I could be spending all weekend in bed with, and we're going to need something to drink, so sparkling wine might just fit the bill.

But seriously: a fucking GIFT BASKET? Isn't that what you get for someone you don't like too much? And how do middle-aged lawyers assume that a basket of foofy shit like tapenade and fake champagne trumps a cute little mp3 player for a hip 29-year old event planner???

Guess who will be getting more of my attention in the new year? The people with taste, that's who.

Excuse Me While I Ramble

I was drinking scotch again last night. With a random New Zealander who didn't mind me yelling at the tv because the Cavs lost or the fact that I kept making jokes about how he lives in the upside down part of the world.

That's why there's nothing of substance here today.

I did introduce two of my favorite men to each other, though. Neither of which is a Kiwi. One was Spanky. The other is a man to be named later.

I have to stop getting home at 1 am...

Falling in Love in My Free Time

You may have noticed I took a few days off last week from the daily posting. Or not. I don't really know what you notice, but the stats say you keep coming back so something must be right. You might also be wondering what the hell I've been doing if not keeping you entertained during the Exxy Dark Period.

Answer: I was losing myself to a new vice and enjoying the shit out of it like you would not believe. At 29, I've discovered yet something new that gets me tingly all over my body, starting from my lips and going all the way down to my toes.

Tuesday night, Spanky gave me advice while I gave him alcohol. It's a nice payment system we have worked out: retainers via booze. As I swallowed it down slowly yet hungrily, I pleasured him with a story about the mistake that led to my infatuation with a tantalizing 18-year-old.

Cleverly, he asked what the mistake's name was. I simply flashed him that trademark smile he so enjoys.

Wednesday night another lawyer, a little more forceful than the previous night's companion, introduced me to a 21-year-old he insisted I try. And in that first instant, it was all over. As I sat taking in more and more, I fell deeper and deeper into an obsession that will probably be the death of me.

I thought heaven was found in a double shot of chilled fine tequila. As it turns out, it's actually in a glass of The Balvenie single malt scotch.

5 glasses later I was throwing back truffles with none of those pesky caffiene-induced side effects that usually cramp my fun. So not only have I discovered the perfect alcohol, I've found the cure to my allergy: high-end scotch!

To quote someone smarter than me: I love scotch! Scotchy, scotch, scotch!

Now all I need is to cultivate a love for cigars and I might actually become the perfect woman.

Till then, all you get is little ol' me. Back from the dark.

Kinda.

The Day Thus Far

I got out of the shower this morning to a barrage of phone calls. 3 within 5 minutes. So I laid in bed, wet and naked while my mom, Krazy Mommy and La Ria all called one right after the other. Happy birthdays all around.

In between I missed a phone call and the second-best "happy birthday" rendition yet:

Happy birthday to you/Happy birthday to you/You're a Puerto Rican and I am a Jew.

That one had me rolling on the floor.

Then I got to work and my coworkers decided it would be funny to clear out my entire office and put up a banner saying "You're Fired!" Had they not lost some files and gone through all of my personal things, I might have found this funny. But I'm in the middle of major back-to-back programs, so I didn't. I still haven't found everything those assholes misplaced.

I truly hate practical jokes.

But then my boss brought me a bottle of Don Julio añejo and that was awesome. And then the assholes gifted me a hundred bucks. I still don't like them.

More people called. Some texted. Spanky sang to me yet again.

I cut out of work early to the Krazy Daddy gargling caffiene-free diet Coke (he knows what I like!) and singing at the same time. It was the best rendition of the song yet!

And now I will go drink with the Princess and get my spank on.

More later if I'm sober!

Happy birthday to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

T-1 Day

I was just going to write Exile a quickie happy birthday message today. He's celebrating the Canadian way with crocodiles and oranges in Florida or something. And then tomorrow someone else is getting married.

But then I had a DAY and so we're going to keep it about me instead.

Like you really expected different.

I have monthly meetings with my client groups. Some are in swanky offices up high above the city. Some are at hotels. They are all with lawyers. And sometimes, judges.

Today was one of those.

I'd picked the menu specifically because it's what I wanted to eat during my birthday week. Especially the dessert. It had alcohol in it. The chef indulged me nicely.

And we were just about to wrap up when the kitchen staff came into the room, holding a huge cake. On it, the words "happy birthday" scrawled in beautiful script. Two candles lit in the middle. I scanned the room to see who was responsible. Spanky was sitting next to me, but he swore he knew nothing of it. (Of course not, he's a man. They don't think that way. Turns out it was a gift from the director of catering, a woman.)

The entire group of them sang happy birthday, including the hotel staff. It was nice. Then we realized the cake was chocolate (I heard later from the mortified catering director that she had ordered me strawberry shortcake--definitely not chocolate--but I was so surprised I had to appreciate the gesture).

I laughed when it was over and invited everyone to partake of a second dessert. The man taking the minutes was sitting on my other side and pointed out the fact that I had just been sung to by name partners of international firms as well as federal judges. Not to mention a few superior AND appellate court jurists. I agreed with him that it would go down in history as one of the most interesting birthday celebrations ever.

And by "interesting" I mean BIZARRE. They're entitled stuffed suits. Singing. To me. And then eating my cake.

I then told anyone who asked that I was turning 35. Or 21. And then let them figure it out.

I relayed this story to my mother later on, and she freaked out thinking that today was my birthday. But she calmed down when she realized it's only Wednesday.

If that was today, I cannot imagine what tomorrow has in store.

Photoblogging Friday 4.6.07

What's better than being the number one listing under the Google search string "tijuana strip club peanut"? Better than Spanky dressing exactly as you asked him to for your breakfast program?

This:

Downtown Los Angeles, at night

That's what I get to see on my drive home. Or what I got to see before this bullshit "daylight saving time" thing we do here in the States. So fucking lame.

Nighttime in LA, though? Fucking awesome.

Um...Okay?

When is it acceptable to say "I'm going to spank you!"?

- to a naughty child: maybe, depending on your views regarding corporal punishment

- to a naughty lover: yes

- when you're a man, talking to your penis: I suppose...

- when it's a client* reacting to my marketing proposal: probably not

*it's not even this same guy! sheesh-ala...