Top 10 Reasons Why I Don't Have a Man

10. Nothing feels better than sleeping ALONE diagonally on a Queen-sized bed!

9. My great grandmother angered some Yoruba gods back in the day and all her female decedents are doomed (blessed) with the single life.

8. My ADHD won't allow me to tolerate any one man for more than 13 years.

7. The last thing I need is some swarmy, skeezy pedophile anywhere near my babies.

6. Lloyd Dobbler has ruined me for all other men.

5. Because I'm royalty, and none of these "subjects" are good enough for me.

4. It's all about appearances- if you can't be eye candy, then gets to steppin!

3. I require 89.99976% of a man's attention, and I've been told that that's being greedy.

2. I'm still searching for that nerdy thug, or the thuggish nerd, or any combination thereof.

1. Plainly and simply: I'm a man-hating, whorish snob who finds it beneath her to deal with a species that is, essentially, sub-par to females with their incomplete X chromosome and smelly man-feet.

*smooches...enjoying the view from this pedestal*
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Now I don't want anybody
To get the wrong idea about me
I don't have nothing to hide
I want the world to see...

Today's Happiness Brought To You By Victoria's Secret

When that horribly uncomfortable thong trend came about all those years ago I was a new mom who dressed very "grunge" and therefore could care less that women were now asked to wear dental floss instead of real panties. Then I ballooned up to over 200 pounds, which pretty much guaranteed that I'd NEVER need a thong.

But when I lost all the weight and tight-ish clothes and low rider jeans came into play it seemed that I would not be able to escape thongs, unless of course I wanted to pull a Britney (no thank you!).

This weekend I bought a really cute dress for a concert I'm attending on the 22nd (Sean Paul...yum!) and when I tried it on in the store I noticed my pantyline- very very visible underneath. I almost put the dress back to hunt for jeans instead, but I really liked this dress. I really wanted it. I dare say, I NEEDED this dress. So I bought it and resolved to go to Vickie's to buy a damn thong.

However, when I got there I saw a sign for something so glorious I heard a chorus of angels from heaven and saw that dancing baby from Ally McBeal: Seamless Panties.

They're so soft and small and, well, seamless, and it meant I didn't have to wear that uncomfortable v-string I was holding. I asked the saleswoman, Eve, "Is it true?" "I'm wearing mine right now." I looked down at her ass- us women can do that without a care- and lo and behold...even though her pants were rather snug, I could not see a pantyline. Hot-diggity-damn!

I bought three pairs and washed them the millisecond I got home so that I could test them out this week. Today I'm wearing the black ones...and nope, my daughters confirmed (through snickers and giggles) I had no visible pantylines.

Victoria, whoever you are, you're a freakin' genius!! I'm going back to get a pair in every color; I'll never wear thongs again!!!

*smooches...SOOOOOOO comfy and happy right now it should be a sin*
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I'm walking on sunshine,
and don't it feel good!!

Things To Do Before I'm 40

Yes, readers, it's come to that. This Jaded NYer, in her on-going effort to find true happiness, has been reduced to making one of those annoying "To Do" lists that can either be a great motivator or just another reason to be depressed. I'm hoping for the former; the latter would just be so pathetic.

Blame the degree; ever since graduation and panel, I've felt this surge of happiness, this sense that anything is possible, that I can accomplish whatever I set my mind to. I've never thought that before- ever. But now, seeing that I actually graduated on time with quality material to show for it...the closeted optimist in me sort of woke up.

So, in no particular order, here's the list of accomplishments I'd like to be celebrating on my 40th birthday: May 23, 2015 (damn! That's like RIGHT AROUND THE FREAKIN' CORNER!)

1. Compete in an iron woman triathlon. What better way to tiptoe into my twilight years than with a healthy, bangin' body? I've wanted to do this for some time but have always found three trillion excuses why I can't. The number one reason being pure, unadulterated laziness. Well, I'm done with that- I really want the glory of it all, crossing the finish line, getting a little certificate or medal saying that I finished the race. That'd be a good legacy to leave my babies.

2. Get out of debt. My mom just accomplished this in her fifties and I applaud her. She makes great money, has zero debt and her credit rating is so freakin' enviable I can hardly believe it. So now I have to follow her example and do the same, a whole decade earlier. Because after all, parents always want their kids to do better than they did, and besides the freedom zero debt will allow me, I'd like to show her I can do it, too.

3. Publish at least two books. Very ambitious, I know, but that's my goal. I want two titles under my belt by the time I hit 40, and that's that.

4. Complete a novella in Spanish and have it published in DR. This is a vanity project undertaken specifically in my grandmother's name. To make her proud, even if she's not physically here to see it.

5. Sail throughout the Mediterranean. I want to see Greece, Italy, Spain, Portugal. I want to dip my bread in fresh olive oil and tan on the beach with some sexy Italian/Spanish men. It's my destiny, I know it.

6. Start a cultural magazine based in NYC. I will see my name on a masthead above the title Editor-in-chief and that's just that. It will happen come hell or high water.

7. Meet John Cusack. Don't laugh; this is no joke. Besides having a huge, life-long crush on him, I also respect him as an actor/writer/producer, and I'd like to work with him one day. I think we'd be able to make great films together. Which brings me to number...

8. Start my own film production company. Based in NYC, of course. We need more quality films out there, and I'm not being a snob and saying that only I know quality movies, but I know of great projects that don't get made because no one will back them. Well, I'll back them. Every single one I can.

9. Own a radio station. Where there won't be a set format. It will be as eclectic as me and the city, and we'll give as much airtime to up-and-coming artists as we will established musicians. We'll sponsor events throughout the city and expose the public to as much music, old and new, as possible.

10. Own a brownstone in Brooklyn. This is going to be my very first real estate purchase, because I've wanted it ever since I was a little girl ogling the brownstones on my block when we lived in that great studio on Stuyvesant (between Hancock and Halsey) with the floor-to-ceiling windows and the decorative moldings everywhere...god I LOVED that apartment...

11. Learn how to drive. This might require some therapy, though, because the fact is just that I have a serious automobile phobia. Once I conquer that, I should be OK.

12. Be a regular contributor or columnist in The New Yorker or New York Magazine. Only until my own magazine takes off, of course. I respect those two publications immensely, and to be a part of it would just be heaven on earth.

13. Vote in a government election. But not just vote, but actually know what/whom I'm voting for; be educated on the issues and the candidates and make an informed decision on who'd do the best job for my city/state/country. That'd be cool.

14. Earn my Ph.D. I don't know in what subject, but I covet that degree like a fat kid loves cake. The prestige, the honor, the pomp and circumstance...I want it and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

15. Conquer my insomnia. I fear that if I don't it will dig me an early grave. So whatever it takes, I will have to force my body to get more than four hours of uneasy sleep a night.

I thought I'd have more things on this list. In fact it started out as a "40 Things To Do..." list, but when I got to 15 I realized that if I were able to accomplish even half of these item, the rest of my life would be Häagen-Dazs' Butter Pecan ice cream with hot caramel sauce, sliced bananas, whipped cream and three Maraschino cherries on top.

And isn't that all any of us wants?

*smooches...so very certain- for the first time in my life- that happiness is right around the corner*
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And all I really want is some patience
A way to calm the angry voice
And all I really want is deliverance...

Reason # 5,298 Why I Love New York City

Because here, apparently, I'm FIERCE.

Walking down Third Avenue, on my way back to work from meeting my mami, a fabulously gay man shouts out to me:

WORK IT, DIVA! WORK IT!!

I love this city!!

*smooches...working it for all it's worth*
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now if its all the same
I've people to entertain
I juggle one-handed
do some magic tricks
and the best imitation of myself

Graduation Celebration Pt. 4: New Clothes, 8 Balls in the Side Pocket and New Outlooks on Life

As far as my normal Saturday night outings go, yesterday was quite tame. Don't get me wrong, I was still drunk out of my mind by the end of the night, but it was a tame night nonetheless.

I spent most of the morning hanging out in my apartment. I caught up on episodes of Entourage, got into the first season of Gilmore Girls and made some really good shrimp tacos. But then I saw the sun peeking out from behind the clouds and decided that maybe some fresh air would do me good.


I went into lower Manhattan to check out the tail end of the San Genaro festival, only to get disillusioned at what a commercialized event it has become. And way over-crowded. I left, went to SoHo and got some retail therapy instead (new dress, clothes for work and seamless undies from VS).

Then the weather turned on me and my stomach started to rumble; I decided to meet Lani for dinner back in Park Slope where I had even more shrimp tacos (I can't get enough!) and a couple of glasses of red wine (uh-oh...here comes trouble). We agreed to a relatively quiet night because Lani was hurt from a bike accident that left her too sore to sneeze, cough, dance or rob a bank...so no running off to Fiji this week...maybe after she heals...

While at a pit stop at Lani's, my mami calls to tell me of the Penzo family mini-reunion she'd just attended. Without me. And I felt the need to remind her that she's not a Penzo, I am, and therefore she's not obligated to attend these functions. Especially not without me.

But I didn't, because if she hadn't gone, then we wouldn't have been able to dish about my little cousin's upcoming wedding and whether or not they'll invite us, and the very suspicious ghetto-booty that another cousin has all of a sudden (I wonder if I can get the number to her surgeon?). Penzo family gossip is always the best- those people are like the cast on a soap opera. Because there's so god damned many of them!

THEN Lani and I went to Loki to partake of more liquor- I decided to try Lani's "Special OJ"- and ogle at the Brooklyn-ites around us. Lani had a friend meet us, and I guess he was cool in that white, Canarsie-hoodish sort of way, and it was his birthday so I was on my best behavior. After a few OJs, the obligatory tequila shots and a quick bagel stop, we went to our fave dive bar, Reis, where we ended up running the pool table- kicking ass and taking names like the true rowdy girls that we are. Lani even almost got into a fight with some dude who obviously didn't realize that she could easily cripple him with one swift kick.

At Reis, Lani's Canarsie friend seemed to lose his thunder (and appeal) and when he decided to leave no one cared. The Red Stripe was flowing (as were the free shots from the bar) and we were wiping the floor with people left and right on that freakin table. The only thing missing from that night was the pizza we were craving after we left the bar (beer munchies are the WORST), a little smoke, and lots of dancing. And the boyfriends that we don't really want but really do, especially on chilly autumn nights when the desire for the warmth of the arms of someone you can tolerate is all that separates us from monkeys.

But it was a hoot to keep making Lani laugh and watch her double over in pain all the way home. Because I'm a true friend that way.

And the drunk dialing I did at the end of the night was fun, too.

And no, it hasn't escaped me that my partying ways are starting to taper, as if I've partied myself to death. It could be age. It could be the new degree, which now no longer allows me to rest on my laurels. I don't have any more excuses for not being published, and the process requires a bit of seriousness, hard work, proactiveness and grown-upiness from me that leaves little room for dancing on bars and hooking up with random CL dudes for one night stands.

Now I have to think about getting query letters out there, getting an agent, marketing myself as more than a pretty face and a good lay. I have to get my name out there, I have to network and know the right people and get the money that will allow me to buy that phat townhouse I saw in Gramercy Park just last month.

And somehow I'm figuring that none of that will come my way if I'm too busy shaking what my momma gave me in bars every night with half a bottle of Jimador saturating my internal organs.

*smooches...officially done celebrating my degree and ready to celebrate my successful liver transplant surgery*
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I am days away from change,
From one last touch,
until the next time.
I am days away from waving goodbye,
so long to all of this,
but it's alright.