A Temporary Farewell
Dear Readers,
Unfortunately, my life has become to hectic to maintain a healthy work/life/blogging balance. It is for that reason, that I will stop posting on Queen Samantha’s Weblog and post only on Guest of a Guest. I will be back in June, so don’t fret — my absence will be but temporary. Please enjoy Guest in the meantime — there are lots of talented writers there, writing about lots of interesting things. But don’t forget who sent you. ;o)
S
Lovers’ Quarrels Hit The ‘Net
Wow. I thought that posting the lyrics to love songs on your profile and changing your relationship status were public enough. I had no idea. In today’s tech-savvy world, there really are countless ways to humiliate those you were once intimate with. And for us voyeurs, who needs reality shows when you have genuine, unscripted angst accessible from your desktop? Take, for example, the blogosphere. Or more specifically, this weblog, where an old flame confronted me on the specifics of our (not-so) romantic relationship, while another attempted to oust my identity on my “About Me” page (just as a FYI, us bloggers know where comments come from, despite any not-so-clever attempts to conceal it using pseudonyms and bogus email addresses). Oh, but my trivial encounters are the tip of a very large, emotionally-charged, electronic iceberg.
Male Hand-Me-Downs
Things with Mr. Zegna have been progressing smoothly. We’re almost ready to plant tomatoes. Almost. We passed the exclusivity road mark a few miles back and I am happy to say that most of his women, save for one, have finally stopped calling. Stay tuned for brilliantly-hatched plans on how to put the kibosh on the calling from this Last Mohican — I promise lots of sadistic humor and political incorrectness. Until then, however, I need to figure out what to do with my Last Mohican. Or, rather, Mr. Valdez.
It’s 4:00 on a sunny Friday. Temperatures are in the low 70’s and you’ve managed to bullshit through your last assignment, put off the rest, and dodge your bosses on the way to the elevator. Yes, you’re free for the weekend – the beautiful, beautiful weekend. It’s time to meet your beau and head over to the parking garage. After all, rush hour is upon you, dinner reservations are at 7, and you would like to love up your beau and have a cocktail before then. More importantly, Borgata is roughly two and one-half hours away and the tables are calling both of your names. The car is packed up, your new Alice & Olivia dress hangs from the “oh shit” handles in the back, the Gucci sandals that you bought last spring and haven’t worn nearly enough are sitting at the foot of the back seat in eager anticipation of reacquainting. And then … you’re off. Sunglasses on, wind in your hair … and you’ve made it through the Lincoln Tunnel without incident. You can taste the free dirty martinis already. Beau takes the ramp onto the Garden State Parkway, and you are exuberant, dancing in your seat to some Eurotrash beats with all the excitement of youth and freedom. Then, “Fuck,” he says.
Puppy Love
I have been spending a lot of time in Hoboken lately. Lots of great stuff in Hoboken, along with a high concentration of yuppies, baby carriages, and dogs. Coming from the Upper East Side, I’m beginning to wonder … Is this my inevitable fate? Yuppies, baby carriages, and dogs? And if so, the real question is: purebred or mutt?
Dating for Independent Women
As a woman, it is so difficult to know when to be strong and when to be vulnerable. Even worse, confusing the two can spell relationship disaster. Like many women, I tend to put my guard up during the courtship. Subconsciously I think to myself, “Stay independent, stay in control, he won’t be able to hurt you.” If you tell yourself those things often enough, you will never fall. When it ends, you will feel no pain. Those mantras, however, are also likely to ensure that (1) there is an end; and (2) you will derive no emotional benefit from the relationship in the interim. How does that saying go? No risk no reward? Well, it applies to love and money alike. Ladies (and gentlemen, albeit in a different way), if only we could realize that in this context, our “strength” is nothing more than a manifestation of profound weakness. So when does the guard go down?
Not too long ago I read an article reporting on the closing of Wolfie Cohen’s Rascal House Restaurant. Yes, after 54 years anchoring New York-style, Jewish-American culture into the bedrock of South Florida, the establishment has given way to South Beach’s premiere gourmet superstore, Epicure Market. Once independent businesses, both Epicure and Rascal House were acquired by the National Deli Corporation (or Jerry’s Famous Deli, Inc.?), whose bottom-line was ostensibly effected by Rascal’s diminishing clientèle. So, just as New York recently fortified its stronghold on South Florida with the opening of Gansevoort South, it has relinquished control of Miami Beach’s northern perimeter. Or has it? Jewish-American cultural icon replaced by gourmet groceries. Come to think of it, that sounds a lot like New York.
My Taster’s Choice Commercial
What twisted webs we weave. I can’t even begin to recount the recent weeks of drama with Mr. Zegna. Actually, I could, but I’ll spare you. Our current status is “technically together.” Translation: I’m on hold. And that’s not a cynical translation. Literally, we have agreed that he may reserve me for a couple of weeks while he gets his head together and decides whether he wants to continue our relationship. I agreed to this because 1) he is mourning the loss of his father; 2) I’ve fallen for him; 3) I have apparently become something of a pushover; and 4) I should be working, not dating, anyway. So, Mr. Zegna and I are “taking a break” from our one-week-old relationship, but have agreed not to date other people. And I am officially in the weirdest dating scenario this side of the Maury Show.
Wakozi Makes Its Debut
When I first moved to Manhattan, I was most enthusiastic about the variety of delivery options. I had grown up with access to museums, nightlife, etc., but I was deprived takeout of the non-pizzeria/Chinese variety. As an adult, that sucks when you are a busy person who works late hours. Just in case you didn’t know. So, I arrived, I unpacked, and I immediately canvassed my neighborhood and beyond, plucking take-out menus from the outdoor menu stacks whenever and wherever provided. When a friend told me about Fresh Direct, my enthusiasm for city life grew (it has since been tempered by an acute awareness of the environmental irresponsibility of Fresh Direct, which I completely ignore when my refrigerator is extra-empty and I’m extra-busy). When another friend told me about SeamlessWeb, I was down right ecstatic. Today, I would like to be the one to pass a torch and excite you with news of yet another innovation that will make your life even more convenient: Wakozi. For the record, I’m elated. Like SeamlessWeb, Wakozi links users to the inventories of nearby stores, which will deliver free of charge (save for tax, any applicable minimum amounts, and a negotiable tip).
Poison Mozzerella
“Washed” spinach – fine. Beef – fine. Kids’ toys – err, whatever. But buffalo mozzarella? That soft, spongy, creamy, deliciousness which my caprese salad could not exist without? NOOOOOOOOO!! Today, just four days after a police investigation of dioxin levels in Italian mozzarella, Reuters reports that the European Commission has asked Italy to officially rubber-stamp their mozzarella. It turns out that the Italian mafia — the Camorra, specifically — isn’t as competent as we all thought. Or at least, not as environmentally friendly. Follow this if you can: the Camorra has dealt with their waste disposal responsibilities by dumping and burning industrial waste in the vicinity of agriculturalists who produce feed for the buffalo herds whose milk is used to produce the most important element of my caprese salad. Can we go six months without being poisoned, please? Stay tuned as I turn my apartment into an organic vegetable farm, and spend my winters subsisting on dried tomatoes and cilantro jam.
