exitstrategy

I crave structure.  When I was growing up my parents had a lot of rules.  When I went to school, there were a lot of rules.  I think part of the reason I decided to become a lawyer is because of all the rules.  But, I later learned most of the rules of law have exceptions.  Oh, and they are boring rules.  But the point is I firmly believe that a society needs strict rules. Clearly with the economy gone to shit the rules have been broken.  But lately, I have noticed other rules being broken.  Rules that I never thought would be broken, and it has shaken me to my core. First, last week on Millionaire Matchmaker, one of the Millionaires broke the cardinal rule and had sex before being in a committed monogamous relationship.  I was waiting for the moment when Patty would enforce her rules.  I mean after the verbal lashing she gave to the rent-a-date for letting the Millionaire buy her milk for free (I understand that the phrase is get the milk for free but the women on this show are certainly paid for their services), I was expecting her to impose her rule with vigor.  But, the unimaginable happened: Patty did nothing.  She kept the ho in the “database” and she probably set up the millionaire with another “soul mate.”    Second, I have come to expect the few standard gentlemanly gestures.  I do not expect anyone to open my door, but I do expect him to hold the door open to the person behind, to let me in the elevator first, and to let me out of the elevator first.  Well, Fat Bastard is oblivious to these few simple courtesies.  I mean, a man is supposed to carry your things, take your coat, open you door, etc.  Today, Fat Bastard made me hold his stuff, hang his coat, and he jumps in front of me to get in the door and then does not hold it open.  But the worst is his elevator behavior.  He pushes in on elevators that are nearly at capacity and shakes his fat jelly around until the people make way.  I am then stuck in the little crevice in the corner, having narrowly escaped being disemboweled by the elevator doors.  His elevator exits are the greatest display of rule-breaking.  He does not let me, the woman, leave the elevator first (even though I am the nearest to the door).  Instead, he will start pushing through the exit at the exact same time as when I start moving.   This is on top of the fact that he is covered in white powder, makes gross noises, scratches his big sty on his eye and then germs it around, and many other offenses to the rules of common decency.  I mean it is possible that he is the originator of Swine Flu.  In other words, he even breaks the rules of nature. Third, and most scarring, occurred a few hours ago.  I was in a meeting with 2 partners.  One of the partners started describing the issue we were to research.  He would do various gestures for emphasis and even tap the desk several times.  But, then it happened.  He took his hand down towards the table for what I assumed would be another little drum session.  But, no, the hand went past the desk.  It kept going.  Wait is he?  . . . UM YES HE IS.  He stuck his hand down his pants, he scratched down there for a while (3 seconds according to my count) and then he took his hand out and sniffed his two fingers.  I think there was never a greater instance of a rule-breaking workplace activity, including on office sitcoms. So what do I do in this world gone mad?  There is no order, no rules.  I mean I might as well ask a man out, or wear a cowboy hat, or steal digital music if there are no rules anymore.  NOTE: I am such a stickler for rules I cannot even fathom interesting ways to break them.   This blogisode is dedicated to the memory of the great Bea Arthur who was always a rule-breaker.  I loved her on Golden Girls and I am pretty sure that if I took the quiz on Facebook I would be her in the “Which Golden Girl Are You Quiz?” (which I will not take for fear that the quiz will reveal I am most like Stan Spornak).  RIP Dorothy. 

After being out of town for a while last week I was pretty out of the loop with what has been going on in the world (i.e. in pop culture).  I am now aware that Miss California is against gay marriage and only supports “opposite marriage.”  I have seen Perez and her be interviewed and I have heard commentators and I guess I find it all a little shocking. Am I shocked that Miss California is a homophobe?  No.  In truth, there is a large proportion of the American population that is against gay marriage and homophobic.  During my conference, I learned that the more educated a population is, the more tolerant they are.  Makes sense. So here is the shocker - who ever thought that Miss America was smart?  I think it is hilarious that Perez is upset because this woman, as Miss America, represents our country.  I mean it is unfortunately ironic since in truth she does (see above).  But it is truly funny that he could think this antiquated competition produces women who are in any way representative of Americans. At the most basic level, Miss America looks hot in a swim suit.  The majority of Americans are obese - they would FAIL the swimsuit competition.  I am not sure how they would fare on the talent competition - there are a lot of good contestants on America’s Got Talent and American Idol.   Which brings me back to my original premise - Miss America (which I think is still a scholarship contest?) has never struck me as identifying the 50 smartest women in America.  I saw some clips of the other contestants attempt to answer questions and it was not pretty.  And let us not forget Tara Conners. And the greatest shocker - who ever thought that Miss America contestants were liberal?  I find it hard to believe that liberal families or liberal women would strut their stuff in a bikini to be judged by Perez.  In fact, we all know who raises these pageant beauties.  They are the same trainwrecks that we see trying to force their little girls to sex it up for baby pageants.  I can think of two shows alone that highlight these “pageant” parents. So, in short, Miss California’s views are not surprising.  What is surprising is how much attention it got.  Who cares about Miss America?  Especially when Gossip Girl was a new episode this past Monday after a several week hiatus.  Let’s hear it for hunky Gabriel!!

So I am sure most of you are assuming that given the title of this blogisode, I will be discussing yet another religious and/or divine experience.  But, you are wrong.  See, in this case, the view from above is not from Heaven (or Touched by an Angel), but from me looking down on you from high atop my soap box.  Here goes: So I spent the last few days in DC lobbying on Capitol Hill, listening to senators and prime ministers and civil rights leaders and the like talk about the important issues of the day, and last but not least, walking past Donald Rumsfeld as he went in to have a lovely lunch.  That experience (probably most of it derived from Don) gave me a renewed appreciation for how genuinely interested I am in politics.  I also learned a lot of substantive information about the economy, terrorism, Israel, hate crime legislation, and other issues. I took all this renewed interest and knowledge with me when I went to attend a talk by Rudolf Guliani.  I went to hear Rudy speak as part of a fundraiser where people stood and publicly pledged hundreds of thousands of dollars to the cause (note: this was not a fundraiser for Rudy).  Rudy talked for about 30 minutes and from my crash course this weekend, I was able to listen with renewed appreciation for just how wrong he was.  He talked about how Barack is weakening America for negotiating with terrorists, although I have yet to hear a published report of any negotiations that have yet occurred.  He said that the only way to fight terrorism is with force and war, although he conveniently left out Iraq.  He talked about how the stimulus package was a mistake and instead we should just lower the debt rather than give money to “social causes,” which might make sense to people willing and able to donate hundreds of thousands of dollars on a Wednesday night, but which certainly is an incomprehensible proposition to families who are out of work with incredible debt and no way out.  But, my favorite part of the night occurred during the Q and A.  Most of the questions were anti-Rudy sentiments, which I applauded.  But the exception, and my favorite question, came from a young man who was sitting at a table with his family who had likely given hundreds of thousands of dollars that night (and who belonged to a private club, lived in a wealthy suburb, drove a luxury car, etc).  This sage asked the following questions:  ”Rudy, I was watching on TV the tea party protests against taxes and I was really struck by how the cultural elites were labeling the protests as dangerous when they were just free expression.  What are your thoughts?”  I had to go to the bathroom during Rudy’s response, but here is what I imagine he said (ha, obviously not, but here is what he SHOULD have said): 1.  Dude, you are a moron for labeling others as “cultural elites” when you are listening to me speak at a private club after having been dropped off by your driver. 2.  Many of those tea ceremonies were in fact dangerous.  According to the Huffington Post, some of the most offensive signs displayed during tea party protests read:  ”Obama’s Plan, White Slavery” or “The American Tax Payers Are The Jews For Obama’s Ovens”  (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/04/16/10-most-offensive-tea-par_n_187554.html).  It was these ceremonies that were labeled dangerous, you moron. So here I stand high above the rest and from this vantage point I can say one thing:  Let me be pacific, our country is in a worse spot than its ever been so let’s just see what Obama can do before you make your doomsday statements Rudy, or your incorrect and ill-conceived statements Oblivious Cultural Elite.  And the message from above is that we are in good hands.  MINE!!!!

I just discovered today that I have developed an edge.  I simply cannot handle incompetence.  While I used to be able to just smile and wait patiently, I now get all fired up and snappy.  I am no longer the sweet, gentle flower I once was. Take today.  So the accounting lady (remember her colleague - the number cruncher?) came into my office.  ”Spinsta, your billing entries are not detailed enough.  They need to be really pacific.”  ”What?”  ”The client requires you to be super pacific.”  ”Um, well I guess I can revise the entries to make them more Specific.”  ”I have to check with Number Cruncher to see how we fix this but next time you have to be really pacific.  The client requires the entries to be pacific.”  ”Ok next time I will be more ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssspecific.”  I exaggerated my sss so much that I sounded like that one dude who was obsessed with precious on Lord of the Rings.   I mean if the woman does not know the word “specific” should we really trust her to do the bills?  I mean I am all for cute little kids getting words wrong.  But this lady was no little Michelle and “pacific” is not cute like “ouce cream.” Ugh and then all week this week the cab drivers could not figure out how to get me to work.  They would go the long way, or make wrong turns, or be extra smelly. During my interactions with the moronic cab drivers or Mrs Pacific, I noticed my voice getting harsh.  I can’t help it.  I just have no patience for these clowns anymore.  I am a very important person and my time is valuable.  I am a serious business professional - I mean I earn money in 10 minute increments.  No time to waste.  Of course, taking an hour lunch is ok.  And spending a few hours online is ok.  But given that I lose all those ten minute increments I have no time to waste.  So don’t be making me wait 10 minutes while you put down each individual piece of lettuce on my turkey skinny!! Let me be pacific - the new Spinsta is one tough cookie.   

I had a terrible nightmare last night.  I woke up in a sweat.  As I laid in bed, I tried to remember the nightmare.  This is what I can recall: I was working on a cruise-ship.  But I was also in prison on the ship - I had to stay in the cargo area.  The Count and Countess De La Sepps (from Real Housewives of New York City) were guests aboard the ship.  For some reason I had to compete in a battle of strength with the De La Sepps’ son (who was actually Samantha Ronson).  I won the competition, but because they could not live with the shame of having their son beat by a commoner, the Count framed me.  He threw a giant bag full of marijuana at me and told the ship’s captain that I was trying to smuggle drugs.  So, the ship’s captain put me to death.  I was thrown over board and I woke up while I was drowning to death.Terrifying.  Not only because the dream was really scary, but also because the dream was a pretty scary testimonial to the fact that I watch WAY TOO MUCH TELEVISION (especially reality television).  But, I have to wonder why the De La Sepps and Samantha Ronson?  Well the De La Sepps is an easy one - they are getting divorced because the Count is a cheater and I just think that the Countess is a mess (although I don’t know why they morphed into murderers).  But the Samantha Ronson cameo is a little more difficult to decipher.  Perhaps, she was in my dream to symbolize my guilt for breaking passover.  I did hear on E News that the Ronsons had disinvited Lindsay from their “family get together” (i.e. SEDER you clowns at E!) and I bet the Ronson clan is still eating matzoh.  Well, whatever the dream means I decided that I have to limit my exposure to reality television - if for no other reason than so I can sleep peacefully.     

Tonight is yet another night when we are supposed to eat matzoh.  I usually try to keep passover.  It is one of the few religious traditions that I try to abide.  I, like most other modern Jews, am selective about what traditions I follow.  For instance, I would think nothing about having an egg-white omelette, matzoh with butter, and canadian bacon.  Or, better yet, a turkey and swiss sandwich on a popover (for those of you unfamiliar with this passover delight - it is a puffy matzoh meal thing made with a million eggs). I don’t go to synagogue except on the high holidays.  I do not honor my mother and father (don’t Jews obey the 10 commandments?)  My parents are also non-practicing (although my mom is in a Jewish cult where she studies Torah passages).   The only religious person in my family is my sister.  She married a Rabbi’s son and has become a born-again Jew.  I mean she has shabbat dinner every week where she sings the prayers and even does that thing where you wave your hands in front of your face.   I think the proper term for my religious practice is a “cultural Jew.”  You know - I don’t do any of the religious stuff but I get crazy at weddings when they dance the horah and I must marry a Jewish guy (although preferably another one who is, like me, Jewish in name only.  I mean I do not want to have separate dishes - I would rather put the money into my closet.) So with this background, you are probably not surprised to hear that I broke passover.  I did it twice yesterday.  First, at brunch with my friend, I tasted every item in the bakery basket.  Then, I got drunk last night and ordered guacamole and chips at the bar.   During both of my indiscretions, I found myself telling my companions “not to tell anyone” that I had broken the covenant.  I do not know why I said that, nor who I thought they were going to tell.  I am pretty sure that G-d is aware that I broke passover twice (and then officially stopped today).  But, in my defense, at least I broke it on worth-while items.  I mean I really went out with a bang.  I think this means that I will not be visited by any cab driving angels for a while.  Well, I guess there is always Lag BaOmer. Happy Passover and Easter to all. 

There is a direct correlation between economic conditions and crime rates.  Unsurprisingly, in this recession, petty crime abounds.  However, I did not truly appreciate the current state of affairs until I fell prey to a crime spree. I will tell you exactly what happened - with no exaggeration and with no shocking detail withheld.  After being told by a partner that he “was uncomfortable with my research,” I went to meet a friend at Starbucks to bitch about the old hell hole.  I did not want to draw attention to myself when I stepped out (they watch us like a hawk - every time you leave, someone writes it down.  Yet another example of how I have the worst job) so I just grabbed my credit card and my blackberry and put them into my jacket. When I got to Starbucks, I ordered my chai latte and sat down to chat for 20 minutes about how I have the worst job and to talk about the story of Passover (I actually said “let my people go”).  On our way out, I checked my pockets to make sure that I had everything only to discover that MY CREDIT CARD WAS GONE. I went to the cashier and asked him if he gave me back my card.  ”Yes Ma’am.”  I looked under the table - nothing.  I browsed around the area but I got scared off by the paranoid psychzophrenic sitting in the corner screaming “squack” and “you promised me” and “spur some change.”  I ran from the corner in fear and I bumped into a young man with a major coiffe running his fingers through his hair as he waited patiently for a frappacino.   And then I had a vision.  I recalled only minutes earlier when I ordered my chai latte.  There were several suspicious looking men in line with me.  And when I finished my order and put my credit card back in my pocket, I could feel one of the men’s eyes sear through my back.  Then two others jostled me.  Then the three of them left the Starbucks in seconds, running at top speed.   I imagine it was my preoccupation with that shitty comment that prevented me from realizing that I, the worldly and street-smart Spinsta, was caught in the middle of a heist.  Yes, I was PICK-POCKETED at a Starbucks filled with homeless people and sexual deviants with long, luscious hair.  I came face to face with the problem of petty crime in this country and I got burned. Perhaps I have slightly dramatized the pick-pocketting, but it was traumatic.  Luckily I canceled my credit card right away, but before I got to a phone the pick-pocketer had purchased a train pass from the station for $79.00.   Let this be a lesson to you - in these tough times, on these mean streets, you must be vigilent.  Please remember this next time you go to Starbucks - not only will you have to pay $100 for a coffee but you may also be pick-pocketed. 

I, like every other spinsta out there, have been obediently echoing the mantra for all single ladies: it happens when you least expect it.  In fact, I least expect it when I go out for the night, when I go to single’s lectures, when I go to weddings - you get the point. The power of least expecting it is derived from some universal source - if you least expect it the universe will respond and send you what you least expected (i.e. amor).   So, I am wondering why after least expecting it for a long time I am still a spinsta.  I wonder if the universe is capable of hearing my thoughts.  See, I say I am least expecting it (e.g. my mom calls me and asks me what I am doing “Least expecting it.”  ”Ugh, spinsta give it up.  Why don’t you let me set you up with this nice homeless man who has a box that fits two.”).  But, inside I think I am expecting it.  Aha - maybe that is the problem.  Universe - its me, spinsta.  I get it now.  I am least expecting it. And then it hit me.  I have been least expecting it, just watching every dating/love show on television.  I guess for inspiration?  And then I see him.  His name is Sex Toy Dave.  He is a short, unnatractive Jewish guy who runs an online business that sells sex toys.  His house is decorated with dildos and he has a stripper poll in his living room.  After two unsuccessful set ups, Patty learned that Sex Toy Dave (S.T.D. for short - my heart is singing) actually just wants a nice, sweet girl he can take home to his mother.  I think I could be that girl.  I will learn how to use a stripper poll and peddle sex toys online (I already know that former partner who loves erotica - he could be my first sale).   The power of the universe has been revealed.  Now I just have to make it through the ultra difficult casting session at the Millionaire’s Club.  Patty - I promise I will straighten my hair.