My first online date

Yep, bit the bullet last night. Went out with "Geoffrey," the 40-year-old actor. He used the word yummy. Referred to attraction as "the YUM factor." Said "you're beautiful. why are you single?" When I told him how my ex and I split up, said "Oh, he met someone else. Absolutely." I proceeded to get shockingly drunk off of 3 gin and tonics, the booze mixing with the happy pills in a way that made my head tingle, reminiscent of my college days on No Doz and Headz Up. He wore more jewelry than I. Talked about his chakras a lot and how he keeps them aligned at all times. Had a pretty sweet ass and wore tight jeans. This is bullshit. I want ease. Rapport. Friendship. And really good sex. And fuck if I'm gonna ask any of that from some old dude who says "yummy!"

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today would have been my mom's 65th birthday. In my mind, she's forever 51 but so it goes. My dad and I went to St. Malachy's where we'd requested a mass said in her memory. Church isn't nearly so bad as I remember it. St. Malachy's ("Actors Chapel") is quite beautiful, lots of paintings and stained glass and no matter where you sit, you see a slightly different angle of the church. Afterwards we had breakfast at the Renaissance Diner and my dad told me about his degenerative arthritis. So it goes.
Oddly, Wendy Williams is also a famous swimmer. She's also performing at the Laugh Factory in Times Square. I'm confident she, like my dead mother, is funnier than my ex-boyfriend.

The most fun I ever had with the ex

I celebrated my birthday early this past Saturday night with a small group of friends at a semi-quiet bar. My friend Tim made flashcardsof my ex, highlighting my ex's finer points: lack of talent, lack of humor, ample body fat, a shocking amount of body hair, etc. Then three of my friends presented me with the ex action figure: an exceptionally hairy and chubby wrestler outfitted in traditional ex attire who came with accessories: glasses, body pillow, wallet chain. We then took turns knocking him over with a pool cue and ball. We also tossed him against the table, against the wall, into the fish tank . . . he also took it up the ass from Sgt. Slaughter, another action figure gift. All of these things brought me nothing but joy. The difference between this ex and the "Real" ex? He was fun. Funny. Able to take a joke. Didn't crap his pants in social situations. Didn't overeat. Didn't overdrink. Didn't talk in a highly annoying "baby" voice. Didn't smoke. Didn't do mediocre standup. This ex I like. This ex makes me laugh. I would introduce this ex to my dad. My friends like this ex. Oh, and he doesn't have a pear-shaped body, a huge bush and child-bearing hips.

Sleepless in Manhattan

So, I woke up about an hour ago, around 5.a.m ish, for the third time since falling asleep around 10p.m. I turned on the news. Lost my remote during some overzealous springcleaning. I asked myself the age-old question: is Rob Morrison actually attractive? Or does he look too much like my brother for me to view him in that light? Aimee Muzzo's nasal voice is enough to make one cut out her larnyx with a spork.
Kelly Ripa. Kelly Ripa is who I'd like to see at this hour but no, gotta wait three fucking hours.
Nora Ephron once said that Rob Reiner, after his divorce, would carry his depression around like a poodle in a sherpa bag and bring it out periodically, make it do tricks. I got nothing.