From the monthly archives:
QUESTION: “A poll says 74 percent of Americans frequently hear profanities in public. Do you think New Yorkers curse too much?”
ANSWER FROM 25-YEAR-OLD BROOKLYN WAITRESS, AMANDA CHRISTIANSEN: “Fuck No …”
SOURCE: Metro New York, Thursday, March 30, 2006 Edition
They say age ain’t nothing but a number. And, here are a few other things they say about aging: Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act. Truman Capote Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Samuel Ullman You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely. Author Unknown [One] is not old until regrets take the place of dreams. John Barrymore The idea is to die young as late as possible. Ashley Montagu. True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country. Kurt Vonnegut.
They also say: Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. Mark Twain The first forty years of life give us the text; the next thirty supply the commentary on it. Arthur Schopenhauer One of the best parts of growing older? You can flirt all you like since you’ve become harmless. Liz Smith Old age ain’t no place for sissies. Bette Davis Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Henry Ford How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were? Satchel Paige.
The last quote is a question. How are you old? Take this test and have the Grim Reaper guess your age based on your answers to questions such as “Do You Have Pimples”. On the opening page, you don’t have to provide your real email address if you don’t want to. There are no real prizes involved, but the test is fun. How old are you? Take the test to find out.
I live in New York City. I pay too much for rent. I don’t own a car. I’m recently unemployed. In the meantime, I work a temp job to get money coming in the door. I’m up to my eyeballs in debt. I’m not married and I don’t have any kids. I love my life—when it cooperates with me. I follow my dreams. I blog because it’s free therapy ( … and because I really like you guys.) I’ve never had a mortgage. My college dorm room was larger than my current apartment is. My fears: being single forever and death. My joys: men, chocolate cake, working out, sunny days, strolls through Manhattan, and images of Paul Walker. And, very very soon, I’m going back to school part-time (while I continue to search for a job that is a good “fit”) so that I can begin to launch my own non-profit. I’m 31 and I’m happy. I am a (new) New Yorker. And, I am a grown up. That’s the State of Stolie.
But, when does one really ever “grow up”? That’s the question that Nerd Girl posts on her blog. And, if you haven’t read New York Magazine’s hottest new article*, “Up With Grups – The Ascendant Breed of Grown-Ups Who Are Redefining Adulthood”, you should. (Trust me, everyone is reading it.) The article discusses the typical 35-year-old New Yorker: The Grup. He tends to pay $600 for a messenger bag because only a “frat-boy Wall Street flunky” would carry a briefcase. The female Grup tends to “take her toddler to a Mommy’s Happy Hour at a Brooklyn bar”. In New York, 30-something is the new 20-something.
All of this talk about aging leads me to wonder: “what does it mean to be a grown up in today’s society?” And, how do you know when you’re there? Are you a grown up when you marry and have kids? When you start saving for retirement? When you don’t know what the DJs are spinning at the clubs anymore? Seriously, I’m curious to know what the sexy people of the Stolie Nation (um, that’s you) think. Feel free to use the comments section to share your thoughts about adulthood. Or, alternatively, write a comment to complete this sentence: “Grown ups are people who __” (All thoughts are welcome. Be as witty, goofy, or serious as you want to be.)
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NOTE: I’ll have you know that the Funky Brown Chick had a post about the Urban Fountain of Youth back in January, waaaay before New York Metro printed its article on the same topic. Yeah bitches, I’ve got my finger on the pulse of what’s hip and happening in New York City; so, when you wanna know shit — just ask the Stolinator. ;)
I ask this question for two reasons. First, in bloggerland, I’m thinking about Mitch’s recent comment [on this post] that his type is “petite brunettes” as well as the Fake Doctor’s love of so-called “burritos” [Jewish women] . Second, in the real world, I’ve noticed that my friends claim that I only date the same type of guy. I wonder: Does everyone have a “type”? I don’t think that I have a type, I have four. By way of example … and because I’ve been known to be somewhat of a 31 Flavor Taster … I’ll compare my men to different flavors of ice cream. Here’s what I mean:
New York Super Fudge Chunk
Yummy, clean-cut, smooth black man from the big city. Think Kanye West. He’s sexy. Sure, everybody thinks he’s an arrogant ass, but let’s face it: the man is gorgeous and he is talented. Ahem … and, by the way, … yes, contrary to popular belief, I do date black men. It’s just that I’ve been licking and sucking the Choc Chip Cookie Dough flavor for the past 2 years.
Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
White Guy with Brown Eyes and Brown Hair. Think George Clooney. Le Canadien, Boy #2 and most of my recent boys fit this type. NOTE: A variation of this flavor is the white guy with brown hair and blue eyes. Think Hugh Grant & Pierce Brosnan; equally as yummy as the Choc Chip Cookie Dough guy.
Vanilla
Think recessive traits. White guy with light blonde hair and blue eyes. Jason Lewis and Paul Walker. Even though my love for Paul Walker runs deep, of all of the guys that I’ve ever dated, only 1 was blonde. He was cute. VERY cute.
Dulce de Leche
Who doesn’t love a sexy, Spanish-spanking … oops, I mean Spanish-speaking man? Ahhhh, Winter 2004. Cold days. Hot nights. “Winter of El Corazón”. I had a small harem of 3 boytoys (consecutively not concurently, mind you) from Puerto Rico, Spain and Mexico. The hunk from Spain didn’t even speak English. Mucho fabulous!
So, there you have it folks. If I line up each of my ex boytoys, flings and boyfriends, they all fit into one of the four categories above. (Same well-toned body, cute face and winning smile — different flavors.) Who’s missing? Well, I’ve never dated a redhead, a man with salt-n-pepper hair, any guy with dirty blonde / light brown hair, nor anyone from the continent of Asia. In each case, it’s not for lack of interest, mind you. It’s just that it never happened. Hmmm … Two questions for you: (1) Do you think it’s true that everyone has a type? (2) What’s your type?
And, now for something completely different … I’ve got Ralph Macchio on my mind. Why? Because I’m odd, that’s why. But, anyway, remember him? The Karate Kid? Well, just in case you’ve been losing sleep over this man’s whereabouts, here’s the scoop …
Where should I start? I guess the beginning is as good a place as any. Ah, Ralphie. In his breakout role in the movie The Outsiders, you may remember him as the dying burned guy who listens to his friend, Ponyboy, recite the Robert Frost poem “Nothing Gold Can Stay”. Even with his boyish good looks, it’s hard for Macchio to stand out in a film chockfull of Eye Candy such as Matt Dillon, Rob Lowe, and Tom Cruise. Nevertheless, Ralph Macchio’s performance doesn’t go unnoticed. After The Outsiders, he lands the lead role in the film “The Karate Kid”.
It’s likely that you remember Ralph Macchio’s one-legged-both-arms-raised karate pose more than the dozens of movies in which he appears after the Karate Kid’s release. So, I guess he hasn’t really been up to much recently — with the notable exception of presenting at the Asian Excellence Awards special tribute to the late Pat Morita (Mr. Miyagi) earlier this year.
So, that’s the scoop on Ralph Macchio. I’ll now place him safely back in the “80s Hotties Vault” where he belongs — with other people like: Joaquin (Leaf) Phoenix’s brother River; the boys of Menudo; Downtown Julie Brown; and the guy who regularly stood in close proximity to Don Johnson’s naked ankles while shooting Miami Vice, Phillip Michael Thomas. Hmmm … I wonder who’s in your 80s (or 90s) Hotties Vault?
I’m 15 years old, and I’m at a cemetery standing next to the only other two people anywhere in sight — my mother and my grandmother. It’s cold and I can see my own breath dance in the air when it exits my body. I pull the zipper of my coat a few inches higher to keep the air at bay. I don’t want to be here. I’ve not seen grandfather’s gravesite since the day of his funeral. Walter Lee Jones. Born: 1932. Died: 1984.
The day that my grandfather died, my grandmother couldn’t be consoled. Standing over his grave now, tears stream down her cheeks and settle into the cracks and crevices of her old, leathery face. She doesn’t have a tissue, so she wipes tears away with the back of her hand. I’m numb. I don’t feel anything. And, I don’t cry because I’m not sad. As I watch my grandmother cry tears of deep sorrow, I only feel cold, bitter and angry as one thought enters my mind: Grandma, Walter Lee Jones was not kind to you. He lived his life in a drunken stupor and he cruelly beat you with his fist for almost 35 years. DON’T. CRY. FOR. THIS. MAN!
Two years later, memories from that day at the cemetery enter my mind as I sit with my grandmother watching one of her favorite television shows. A female character has just told her friend that she doesn’t want to date a male character on the show because he is, you know, too nice. “Lot a wiman say dat,” my grandmother says in her deep Mississippi drawl. “They ont like mens who is too nice. Ain’t no such thang. No man cain’t eva be too nice,” she says. I didn’t agree with her then, and I don’t agree with her now. There is such a thing as too nice. My grandma was too nice to her husband … and he wasn’t nice enough to her.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: In dating and mating, I think it’s always important to like (and to be nice to) yourself more than you like (or are nice to) the other person. So, if you’re nicer to them than you are to yourself or if you’re nicer to them than they are to you, that’s too nice.
Can men and women be friends without the sex stuff getting in the way? In an interesting tête-à-tête in the comment section of a previous post, Raymond, Darwin and I pose this question to each other; however, I think the answer deserves a full post in its own right. So, here it is … I think every woman is different but, in my case, I usually tell a guy I just want to be friends when one of the following occurs:
1. Ain’t No Chemistry. Call it lust, attraction, pashing, magic or whatever — you know it when it’s there, and you can’t deny it when it’s not.
2. It’s Illegal to Fuck Him. Legally, I can fuck almost anyone 18+ that I choose. But, men I consider “socially” illegal include: married men; guys who are dating my friends; boys who live in my apartment building (a.k.a. “apartmentcest”); anyone more than 10 years older than I am; etc.
3. I ONLY Want to Fuck Him. Ahhhhh, the notorious Fuck Buddy. In this case, the friend thing is a negative choice: it’s not that I want to be the guy’s friend, I just don’t think he’s prime boyfriend material ( … yet I still want to have sex with him because he’s hot).
4. He’s Too Nice. It goes without saying that everyone should be nice to each other. But, if a guy is nicer to me than he is to himself—that’s too nice. Actually, wait a minute. Check that. Maybe the sin isn’t to be “too nice” so much as it is to “acquiesce too much”.
Having said all of that, the question about whether men and women can ever TRULY be platonic friends remains. What’s my opinion? Well, in my case, I have to say the answer is: not usually. I’ve slept with 90% of my straight male friends. Why? Well, most are ex boyfriends, past boy toys, or former fuck buddies. For the remaining 10%, for whatever reason, we never dated or otherwise hooked up. We met in some other context, and we’re just friends. I’d love to hear your opinions on the topic “Men + Women = Friends?” Please use the comments section to share your thoughts …
I’m horny. I was going to blog about other things today, but I haven’t had sex in almost six months. So, I really need to talk (and fantasize) about men for a bit. And, if we’re going to talk about men, what better topic could there be than People Magazine’s 2006 Sexiest Man Alive pick? No, they haven’t named the guy yet, but yes I’m pretty sure I know who they’re going to pick. Who is it? Well …
Here’s what I know. People Magazine usually bestows the top SMA award on attractive, 30-something, whitebread, American men — though some SMAs have hailed from Scotland, Australia, and England. Also, the SMA is typically someone who is in the news at the end of the summer / beginning of fall when the SMA issue hits newsstands. So, taking all of this into consideration, I have two words for you: David. Beckham.* He’s 31. British. Hot. And, let us not forget that it’s a World Cup year; he’ll be in the news a lot this summer. But, here’s a question: how the hell could the magazine that wisely honored such deliciously dark-featured men as Denzel Washington, JFK Jr. and George Clooney suddenly “Go Blonde”?
Now, before you all throw your Clairol Ultress 7a Medium Ash Blonde bottles of hair color at me, let’s be clear: I love men. All [gorgeous] men. Hell, I think Paul Walker is a hottie. He’s blonde. [Pictured, but click here to drool over more photos Paulie.] Ditto for Jason Lewis. [Click here to drool over J-babe.] It’s just, as I’ve said before; my preference tends to be the 2 out of 3 guy: Hair. Eyes. Skin — at least 2 out of the 3 should be dark. And, you know what? People Magazine used to agree with me. Peruse the Sexiest Man Alive Vault, and you’ll notice that the top award has only gone to 6 (5 faux, 1 natural) blondes over the past 20 years. That’s not exactly “Going Blonde”, BUT it’s worth noting that the two most recent triumphs mark a back-to-back blonde win; Jude Law won in 2004 and Matthew Mcconaughey won in 2005. So, if/when Becks wins this year, we’ll have a Blond Threepeat on our hands. What ever happened to tall, dark and handsome? Are blondes the new “it” boys?
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** Paul Walker is a fucking god. Sure, it would make more sense to post a photo of David Beckham today. But, I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t fathom writing a post and about blondes and NOT posting a picture of Paul Walker. It would have felt like I was cheating.
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