the roger substitute

Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Roger- the revered rabbit vibrator. Amazingly powerful, surprisingly reliable, inordinately pleasurable. It is available 24/7, wherever and however you want it. This exquisite creation requires only the minimal investment of three AA batteries yet guarantees extraordinarily breathtaking (literally) results. What more can a girl ask for?
And all that assured ecstasy without the emotional entanglement of relationships or unwanted dependence on another person makes it an essential in every female’s life. Women can now embrace this possibility of eliminating the need to turn to men for sexual fulfillment. I am no bra-burning, men-hating feminist, just a strong independent female who rejoices in this liberating assertion of my independence. And for someone like me who does not quite luxuriate in random hook-ups, the rabbit is one convenient must-have in a single girl’s life.
I was a girl about to embark on a long-distance relationship when I received this as a birthday/farewell present from my oh-so-thoughtful girlfriends. It served as a just-in-case Plan B, should I decide not to partake in the debauchery of the hedonistic Singles Paradise that is New York City. This gesture turned out to be a prudent one, for as sad as this may sound, Mr. Roger has tide me over many nights.
With the rabbit, let me assure you that you get there EVERY SINGLE TIME. No hassle, no games, no disappointment. And most importantly, no need to fake it – it is the real McCoy every time. To all the men out there who think they are God’s gift to women, this might come as a somber reminder of your mortality. The intense vibrations of the rabbit can hardly be replicated by any guy, which substantiates my conclusion that it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, for a guy to deliver orgasms with that intensity and consistency. Sorry dudes this sounds harsh, but reality often is.
I wonder if the insatiable desire for efficiency and speed that people in New York inevitably develop has diffused into my sexual perspective as well (gosh this sounds sad). Time is of the utmost important in this city that never sleeps because there is too much to do and see; no one wastes it. So why go through the dating process when I can rely on the rabbit for non-committal, immediate satisfaction?
Perhaps I am also becoming increasingly jaded about relationships. Living in this city and being in the industry I am in (read: testosterone-filled DUDES with too much money and an overwhelming desire to score with girls) certainly does not help my cynical perspective. It is only with absolute caution that I guard my heart against the destructive waves of frivolous relationships, and seek solace with Mr. Roger who never disappoints.
I guess it boils down to me choosing the rabbit over a one-night stand. I am not a conservative girl, nor do I judge women for indulging in their passions (in fact, kudos to those who do), but I personally do not quite fancy sleeping with someone I don’t have special feelings for. Yet the rabbit would hardly be a gratifying substitute for physical intimacy with someone I like and care for. Despite the reassuring certainty of achieving the big O with the good ol’ rabbit, it is so much more worthwhile to engage meaningfully with someone who makes me laugh. Someone who inspires me. Motivates me. Excites me. Preferably all of the above.
The best sex I have had was with, no not Mr. Roger Rabbit, but a special someone whom I was very much in love with. The emotional affiliation with another person makes the interactive experience incomparably better than a vibrating object.
That being said, I would not chuck the rabbit into a corner even if I find someone like that. After all, Mr. Roger may not be a complete substitute, but it sure as hell can be a great complement. ;)

drunk no more

sunday night. the period i call the great depression. thank god for DST though cos we earned an extra hour today. yeaaaaah.
anyhoos, last night was fun. jon had a bday dinner at pre-post, which was just across the street from guesthouse. everyone came costumed except for a few lame-os. i was an equestrain rider. shups was decked out in gold and had a teeny spade and a miner's helmet aka gold digger. haha. forget it, am too lazy to list out what the others were wearing. we go over to guesthouse after dinner and that's when the alcoholic festivities begin. nothing too interesting happened. had a minor blackout towards the end. YIKES. that was definitely not supposed to happen.
i still can't figure out this whole blackout mystery. my wbff, who basically carries my twin liver and stomach, claims that there are 2 types of people in this world. the blackout-ers and the non-blackout-ers. and unfortunately, we fall in the first category which is fucking annoying. friends think its strange that i blackout too cos apparently sometimes i seem like the most sober among them. i hate blacking out!! the worst part of blacking out is waking up the next day and wondering what happened. the mind goes: shit, did i do anything embarrassing? godddddd, who knows what i did. and the only thing a blackout-er wants to hear the next day from a friend who was there the night before is: 'i have no idea. i blacked out.' seriously, if you're a blackout-er, you would understand how comforting those words are. i hate non-blackout-ers, they spoil the fun. who wants a recollection of embarrassing moments when you have no other souce of evidence except others, whose own recollection of the event was probably muddled by alcoholic consumption. i think i need to start a pact with myself - only hang out with blackout-ers. life would be so much easier. there would be no post-drunk trauma. i could wake up stress free without a care and not have to worry about anyone witnessing embarrassing moment.
speaking of embarrassing moments, my hair caught on fire like 2 weeks ago while trying to light a ciggarette. yeah it was funny. not so when it happened especially when it happened at lotus. what's also funny was that i totally forgot abt it the next day when i woke up till the smell of something burning hit me. thank god the hair still looks fine. i guess this would be the only time i'm grateful for having thick hair. losing 100 strands couldnt kill. by the way, this is the SECOND time my hair has caught on fire for the same reason. seriously, keep your children away from me the next time you see me lighting up. or maybe i should just stop smoking. think it might be easier to just keep the children away.
back to blacking out, i just remembered something about last night. this stupid guy kept trying to come home with me. he was european, meaning a highly annoying constipated accent, and desperate. he even tried kissing me. yucks. ok i need to cut down on the liver stress a little. its highly caloric, expensive and not to mention dangerous! and i've noticed that i've been starting to get a serious case of debbie-downer the next day.
shit! it's 11pm. way past my bedtime. tomorrow's going to be a crazy day. jeff, the only other guy who trades vanilla options with me in ny, quit on friday. which leaves me all alone and it is fucking stressful. they're still trying to get him back but they just flew him to london over the weekend to try some clockwork orange-esque brainwashing in hopes that he'll change his mind. on friday, they had him in the meeting room for 6 hours and he looked so shot when he was out of the room. eyes were red, hair scruffed up. he's never looked this miserable even when markets are moving and all our deltas are all over the place.
k, zzz. till next time, in the meanwhile, embrace blackout-ers and girls, tie your hair when lighting ciggarettes.

sugar daddy-o

the best and worst thing about flying every week to chicago is you never know who you are going to meet.

one time i was at the gate waiting to get on standby since my original flight was delayed yet again. there's a douchebag at the counter getting hasty and sharp with the agent at the counter and i was thinking oh what a jerk. (though i cannot fault him completely- flight service people for domestic flights must have graduated at the absolute bottom of their training class). then turns out this jerk gets a seat right next to me on the plane.
i give him a cool reception as he gets into his seat and i try my best to not bump his elbow on the armrest throughout the flight, but i manage as usual to fall asleep terribly- head-bobbing, drool etc. i wake up when the plane touches down and i call for car service. i had to give my name to the car service company and when i hung up, this jerk turns to me and says:

do you work for bloomberg?
yes in fact i do...*wave of fear comes over me*
hi, i am bill doyle from W asset management *omg...*
oh hi! how are you? funny that i end up meeting you on this flight when we couldn't find the time to meet in chicago! *fake laughter ensues and a wave of shame comes over me because this is my client who saw me head-bobbing and drooling in my sleep!*

thankfully, soon after the embarrassing episode, a new team member took over the account and i would never have to face Bill ever again. however, the takeaway from here is that always be nice to people you meet on planes because you never know who they turn out to be.

Heeding my own advice, on yet another day of delays at o'hare, i get up to the gate for the next flight to la guardia and try once again to get on standby. this time there is a harmless looking old man waiting and i ask him if this is the flight to la guardia and if they are allowing standbys. we start talking about how terrible it is to fly out of ohare and other random things. he tells me he works for fox-the president of fox tv. i thought oh ok, cool, maybe he runs a station. i give him my business card and we spend the next hour running from gate to gate trying to get on the next flight. in the end, i get on the earlier flight and forget about this friendly old man.

three weeks later, i am at my desk and who should call but this friendly old man from the airport. he asks if he can take me to lunch and i oblige. who would refuse a free lunch and who knows maybe this old man who runs a tv station can get me a job. after we get off the phone i get an email from his secretary with the details of the lunch reservations and i start to think wow this guy must be a bigger shot than i thought.

the day of the lunch, i casually mention to my colleague tha i am meeting a president of fox tv for lunch. she asked for his name and lo and behold here's what came up from her google search : http://www.broadcastingcable.com/article/CA6276873.html?display=Hall+of+Fame

wtf- i then scramble and print out some articles about him and his work ten minutes before my meeting to not seem like a total fool, the whole time cursing myself for not doing this in advance.

during lunch, we talked about travels, his experiences, and although i knew he graduated from the university of illinois, grew up in springfield, gave oprah winfrey her big break, moved from NBC to Fox and was an overall big wig, i pretended to be surprised when he told me he was in the marines, grew up in the midwest and championed the olympic bid for new york last year. we talked about dinner at lupa (the restaurant below my new apt on thompson) and the book the world is flat by thomas friedman that i was reading at that time (and in fact, still reading because i am lazy).

a couple of weeks later, i get a call from this old guy again and he asks if i have moved into my new place. i said, oh yes, i just moved in this past weekend! he then asks if he can take me to lupa for dinner because we talked about it the last time. sure! sounds good i reply, and we set a date for our next rendezvous.

now i am a week away from the lupa dinner with media hotshot and i am getting nervous because everyone including my dad has said all this guy is trying to do is get in my pants. but why, and how can he?? he is about 70 years old and looks a little like santa claus and he has such a high profile, why would he do something stupid like that? my father said being high-profile, rich and old never stopped anna nicole smith's late husband.

like i said, you never know who you are going to meet at the airport, so always be on your best behaviour. i will let you know what comes of my next meeting with mr media man.