Dear Joe...

Ironically, the last time I blogged was to announce my engagement. Surprise, surprise, it's ended. There's so much that goes into the downfall of any relationship. You can never blame just one person, or one event. It was probably an ill-gotten engagement in the first place. I mean, it wasn't even a ring purchased for me. Rule #6587 never accept a leftover ring from a previous broken engagement. That's bad juju or some shit. So anyhow, it was one of those "grand gestures" that we always see in romantic comedies staring B-list actors from failed TV sitcoms. It was suppose to save our relationship and erase past tragedy. Start fresh. Start new. Build a new foundation. Except, well, you can't really do that can you? You can build a new office building on top of a landfill, but it will still smell like shit every hot day in July. I would say the main thing we forgot was how to be friends first. Friends above everything. So concerned with how much (o...

I'm sitting at work. 52 oz big gulp of coffee (you can ban soda all you want, prick ass Bloomberg, but dont you DARE limit my coffee cup sizes or there will be anarchy in the streets), some "I'm so hip my band name is a sentence" playing in the background. You know these bands. "John's brother is a mermaid." "Tina and the reindeer maniacs" "Sam went to the store and bought a pretzel". And everyone's all "oooh best name ever!!" Anyhow, I digress. So I'm sitting here thinking about what to possibly blog about. And looking back on my old posts. And all I have to say is "whew". God damned I had a crazy life. lol As of March 17th I am officially engaged. *harlem shakes at my desk. but a real Harlem shake, not this new white shit.* So anyhow, it's official. One penis for the rest of my life. Damn fine one, but, that's it. LOL After all the bitter ass, sad, crazy, random, remarkable rel...

I was about to board my plane for LAX, and I received a message. Which simply said "leave it all in the clouds." And for a few action packed beautiful sun filled days I did. Then I landed back in NYC, and it was snowing, and reality hit so hard. So. Fucking Hard. I think people always list "go out with your friends, travel, learn a new language" on those damn "how to survive a breakup" lists because its immensely distracting. However,they never seem to be able to tell you what to do once said task is complete. Eventually, it's going to be 3 am. Eventually, you're going to be alone in your bed. Eventually, you're going to have to deal with whatever issue it is you were running away from. Whether it be a bad relationship, a horrible boss, a fucked up financial crisis. Running will never solve it. Neither will loading up your system with liquor, and false compliments from new men. It somehow leaves the opposite result. I think about 1...

Knee deep in a breakup.I haven't slept. Mainly because I keep replaying the last fight in my head. Like a bad fucking K$sha song. Just constant, nagging, replaying. I switch stations, and I groove to a different song for a while, and then BOOM fucking K$SHA again. Wikihow says this is part of my "grieving stage". I'm suppose to forgive myself for my part. And of course, move on. I don't want to move on. I've stopped telling anyone we broke up. I told a few close friends, and the immediate response from each one was "BUT, you guys looked so CUTE together. So Happy!!!" And we were. We were like one of those little couples in a snow globe. Holding hands in our winter jackets and mittens, with a cute little cottage behind us. Protected from the cruel outside world by this circle of glass. This glass that we thought was impenetrable. Everyone picks up the globe and they smile. Thinking of their own love. Thinking of when they were that ha...

The saddest thing in life, is realizing that you're 31 years old everything you own can fit inside a Ford Focus. Scratch that. The saddest thing in life, is being 31 and driving a Ford Focus. Wait. The real saddest thing in life, is being 31. That's better. If I was someone famous, some disgruntled paparazzi in a dirty cargo jacket and a thick Russian accent (in Old Country I was neurosurgeon) would have been outside waiting for a money shot. And he would see me, all teary eyed and disheveled, gathering up my clothes and tossing them in my Ford Focus. My face a contorted expression of shock, hurt, drunkenness, and anger. Mostly anger. He would get a shot of me lighting a cigarette, while I'm on the phone with my best friend, my throat angrily shooting out incoherent sounds in between sobs. Imagine if ET was shot, and desperately trying to call 911...it was a sound similar to that. He would get shot of HIM. HIM who kept coming out with handfuls of more things. As...

Everyone is back at work today. All refreshed and rejuvenated for the new year. Making all of these grand proclamations. Flying high from quality family time, and paid time off work. So far everyone in my office is either going to quit smoking, or lose weight. Which, of course, they declared while popping popping Munchkins, or asking to borrow a cigarette. So, needless to say, they already failed. The other half of the office vowed NOT to make resolutions, because they're old and bitter enough to know that they are not going to keep any of them, and just end up feeling more like a failure than normal. Then there's me. I'm kind of stuck in the middle. I don't believe there's any "magic" that happens on January 1st that makes me take stock of the year, and vow to do better etc etc. And ACTUALLY follow through with it. Nor am I bitter enough to completely dismiss the romantic idea of a "fresh slate" and new beginning that the upcoming y...