The Accidental Babysitter

So how weird is this? I was waiting in line this morning at Cafe Kai, a cafe in my neighborhood, when the woman in front of me didn't have enough cash to pay. She had two kids with her (maybe two and three years old - one was in a stroller) and she got two smoothies for them, so she handed over her debit card to the cashier. The cashier was a new employee and explained that she didn't know how to use the credit card machine so we all just stared into space for a bit like, "Hmmm... what now?" because the kids were already chugging them down. Realizing I had enough cash with me, I offered to pay for the woman's smoothies and told her she could just go to the ATM after we left and get money to pay me back. She looked nice, her kids were dressed well - I could tell she was good for the money - so no biggie.

The woman was grateful that I offered to do this, but then said, "Actually, could you watch my kids for me while I go to the ATM right now?"

Watch her kids? Was she serious?

I didn't know what else to say, so I was like, "Uh... sure," so the woman left. Let me repeat that. The woman LEFT. HER KIDS. ALONE. WITH ME. A STRANGER.

I realize I didn't look very threatening - I was carrying a Yorkie in a bag and was wearing a Brown University t-shirt (stolen from an old boyfriend - I'm not that smart.) But still, this woman doesn't know me from Adam. Or Eve. Or whoever. What if I took her kids and ran away? Or on the other hand, what if she never came back? I mean, I hadn't even thought about that. What if she was a mom on the verge of a nervous breakdown and saw me as an opportunity to get away from diapers and Desitin.

Sheesh.

Thankfully, the woman returned after a few minutes. And, thankfully, her kids were still there when she did.

Happy Easter!

I'm so sorry for the lack of updates, but I've been WAY busy making my Easter bonnet out of peeps and cellophane grass for the big parade on Sunday.


HAPPY EASTER! Happy Passover, too, to all you non-Christians!

My Starbucks Office III: Confronting Lenny... For Real This Time

Okay, so I'm trying to post this via e-mail using my Blackberry so I hope it works...

I'm at Starbucks right now sitting smack dab next to Lenny. Not only that, but I'm facing him - we're sitting on opposite sides of two tables that are right next to each other. Taking everyone's advice, I held my head high and said hello in a very friendly way when I walked in and saw him here, and he gave me the cold shoulder. Either he's embarrased or angry that I didn't call him back, or I just thought about this: what if he read this blog and knows that I've told everyone about him? It's not totally implausible. (I think that's the first time I've ever used that word. Did I use it correctly?)

You know, I miss the early days of savekaryn.com, when my website was anonymous and I could write and say whatever I wanted about anyone and not worry about them reading it. Now I have to worry about hurting people's feelings and stuff, and I can't write about any of my dates for fear of the guys I'm dating reading it. Hmmm... maybe another another anonymous blog is in order.

Okay, I hate typing on my Blackberry, so more on this later.

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless handheld.

Previously: My Starbucks Office - Part II, My Starbucks Office: An Open Letter to Starbucks Corporate

Babies and Guns

So I bought my niece a shirt with a gun on it. I mean, yes, it's Princess Leia, but she's holding a gun. It's not just any gun either - it's kind of like an Uzi. I didn't notice it when I bought the shirt, and I'm thinking of bedazzling it and making it a blow dryer. They resemble each other, see?

What else could I make it?

(Truthfully, I LOVE this shirt and don't really care, it's just that I haven't seen a gun a shirt in ages because my, my, my how times have changed.)

UPDATE: You can buy the shirts here: Bobo Brooklyn. They have a lot more than just Star Wars!

My Starbucks Office II: Confronting Lenny

I'm taking everyone's advice and going to my favorite Starbucks right now. I WILL NOT BE DRIVEN OUT BY LENNY! I'll let you know how it goes.

Previously: My Starbucks Office: An Open Letter to Starbucks Corporate

UPDATE: I tried to write this update from the Starbucks, but someone turned off the free wireless since Lenny drove me out. Okay, here's what happened...

First, I planned my "look." I didn't want to look good so I didn't take a shower and put my hair up in a pony tail. (I didn't even smooth out my bed head before doing so.) Next, I pulled a dirty pair of cargo pants that I wore to the zoo on Saturday out of the laundry basket and put them on with the hopes of smelling like a monkey. I briefly thought about not brushing my teeth, but that's just gross, so I did. On top I wore a red long-sleeved t-shirt with no bra. Truth be told, the "no bra" thing might've turned Lenny on more, but I didn't feel like wearing one. (I don't know why I just told you that detail.)

Anyway, I was prepared to see and repulse Lenny. However... Lenny wasn't there. He wasn't there when I arrived and he wasn't there when I left. And you know what? I found myself getting angry about it. I mean, it took a lot of courage to go back to Starbucks. And he's there every damn day - why not yesterday? I was ready for a confrontation, whether it be a nod or a "hello" or a "why'd you blow me off, bitch?" I was ready, Lenny - WHERE WERE YOU??

I'm going to go back to Starbucks tomorrow, and every day after that until I see him. Now I'm on a mission.

Conversations with your pets

Okay, enough of the feel-good stuff - back to me being a whack.

Warning: If you're not a dog or cat owner, you might find the following post disturbing. (Actually, even if you are a dog or cat owner, you might find the following post disturbing.)

I talk to my dog and cat, I do. I tell them random things, like how my day's going, what I'm making for dinner, etc., and they blink. This isn't uncommon - I'm pretty sure most pet owners talk to their animals. However after a recent trip to LA I took this a step further and began talking back to myself as if I am my pets. Here, let me explain...

While I was recently in Los Angeles, I stayed with two guys, Mark and David, who have two Italian Greyhounds, Brisco and Gertie. (BTW, Gertie is in a book called Greyhounds Big and Small by Amanda Jones.) Every so often one of them would say something to one of the dogs, like, "Hey Brisco, how's it going?" When they did, the other would jokingly answer back as if they were the dog, "Oh I'm okay, just hungry." Odd? Yes, but since there were two of them having the conversation, it was acceptable. (And kind of funny, to be honest.)

Anyway, after staying with Mark and David for a month or so, I picked up this habit. But the thing is... I live alone and don't have a second person to talk back to me, so I started doing it myself. For example, when I gave Beverly her breakfast one day last week (which was dry dog food) she looked at it for a couple seconds but didn't eat it. When she looked back up at me, I asked, "Aren't you hungry?", and then I raised my voice an octave and answered myself as if I were Bev, saying, "Yeah, but where's the gravy, bitch?!"

On one hand I think I'm losing it (I mean, I'm having conversations with myself - it's kinda schitzo), but on the other hand I think my behavior isn't that odd. I mean, everyone talks to their pets. Besides, at least I do it alone in my apartment and no one can hear me - right??

WRONG.

It was yesterday, I don't know what came over me. I took Beverly out with me to run errands and she fell asleep in her bag while we were on the subway. When she did, someone sitting next to me commented about her looking exhausted, so I looked down at her and asked, "Bev, are you tired?" Hearing my voice, she raised her ears and looked up at me, at which point I raised my voice an octave and said back to myself as if I were her, "Yes, Mommy! I'm so, so tired!"

The person on the train looked at me like, Sh*t woman - take your meds. I mean, not only did I talk to myself like I was my dog, but I called myself "Mommy." Yikes.

I'm not losing it, I'm not. I simply picked up a bad habit and need to break it. But anyway, all this leads me to wonder... what kind of odd behavior do you exhibit when you're alone with your pets? C'mon... you know you do something. Let me know what it is. Make me feel better.

PS - Regardng their alter egos... When my cat Elvis talks back to me, he's a major ghetto thug who uses the words "bitch" and "ho" a lot. He's totally disrepectful. Bev, on the other hand, is an out of control teen with a severe drinking problem who often slurs and swears something fierce.

Crackpot Posse

I usually don't like the cheesy e-mails people forward each other, but I got this today from my friend Cristin (who has now dubbed our crazy group of friends "the crackpot posse") and it made me smile.

As spring approaches, a parable...

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a long pole which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the perfect pot always delivered a full portion of water and the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house."

The old woman smiled. "Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each person for what they are, and look for the good in them.

FORWARD THIS POST to all your crackpot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path.

20 Times News, Third Book, Paying It Forward

So, the galleys (uncorrected proofs) of the new book have gone out to press and my publicist is setting up interviews, etc. Rachel Kramer Bussel - writer, editor, sex columnist, reading series host, cupcake lover, comedy fan - will be interviewing me for the Village Voice closer to when the book comes out. However, she already read the book and wrote on her blog that she "devoured Karyn Bosnak's hilarious, fun and fast-paced forthcoming novel 20 Times a Lady..." Yay! It's not an official review, but it's still excitng to hear. You can click here for her blog, Lusty Lady. Warning to conservatives: she is a free-spirited sex columnist. (And I commend her for it.)

In other news, in addition to writing the screenplay for 20 Times a Lady for New Line, I'm also writing a teen book for HarperCollins. It was announced yesterday in Publishers Lunch, a publishing industry newsletter:

CHILDREN'S: YOUNG ADULT
Karyn Bosnak's BEAUTY QUEEN, a girl crush novel set against the surreal backdrop of teen beauty pageants, to Amanda Maciel at Harper Children's, by Jennifer Unter at RLR Associates (world).

Anyway, so exciting things are happening for me! Gosh, to think all of this started because I owed $20,000! Just so you all know, as soon as I get paid for the screenplay, I'm donating every red cent that I received to pay off my debt to charity. I've been donating ever since I got my first book deal, but I haven't come close to $20,000 yet. People have the misconception that because I'm a published author I must be rolling in dough, but it's quite the opposite. For the past couple of years I've been making much, much less money than I ever did as a TV producer. However, I'm SO MUCH HAPPIER because I'm doing something I love. From the bottom of my heart I thank each and every person who helped me get to where I am. Whether you gave me a dollar or not, bought my book or not, I appreciate the support that people from around the world have given me. Pay it forward, pay it forward...

I'll keep you informed on the donating front. I'm thinking Katrina, a cancer charity (in memory of my Aunt Carol), and maybe UNICEF. I should give to one global charity because it wasn't just Americans who helped me. (Maybe an animal charity, too, because Elvis was such a big hit.) So anyway, that's what I'm thinking.

N-N-N-Nora! Beautiful Nora! You're the Only G-G-G-Girl That I Adore!

I'm alive. I haven't been kidnapped by Lenny. I'm at my sister's house babysitting my eight-month-old niece, Nora. The idea of me babysitting is funny for one main reason: it's me babysitting. To say that I know nothing about babies is an understatement. Me watching my niece is kind of like me coaching a football team, or me trying to hold a conversation with someone like Alan Greenspan. None of them come naturally to me.

Like for instance, when my sister was pregnant and stocking up on goods, my friend told me that I had to get her this thing called the "instant bath." I imagined it to be like a car wash for babies: you put them in one end, turn a crank, and they pop out the other end all spic and span. I went to Babies 'R' Us looking for it, I scoured the internet - no one had it. I called my friend and was like, "This instant bath thing doesn't exist," and she was like, "You idiot - I said infant bath."

Anyway, to further my point, I can't tell when her diaper is wet so I just keep changing her. Also, I'm not really sure how to entertain her, so I keep making faces and dancing. She seems to like it, she keeps smiling at me, so I guess I'm doing something right. (It's either that or she's looking at me thinking, You're such a dufus.)

She just got up from her second nap and I just fed her lunch. She had sweet potatoes and corn. I gave it a little taste and have to admit - the stuff's not bad. It would make a good glaze for a chicken breast or something like that.

So anyway, this leads me to my question. Nora is going to grow up and call me "Aunt Karyn" or "Auntie Karyn," but I don't like the way either name sounds. They just don't flow off the tongue that smoothly. I'd much prefer it if my name were something snappy like "Aunt Tootie" or something. Any suggestions?

My Starbucks Office: An Open Letter to Starbucks Corporate

It's hard to work from home, it is. Someone is always calling (usually my mom) or stopping by (usually my drug dealer) and interrupting what I'm doing. (Kidding about the drug dealer. Really.) And then there's the kitchen. It's always needs cleaning. And don't even get me started on the cat. For some reason he feels that he MUST MUST MUST sit between me and the computer and lie down over my forearms while I'm typing. These things combined with the fact that Oprah's on at four are enough to make even the most dedicated person unproductive. Because of this, I frequently visit my local Starbucks to get work done.

It's my Starbucks office, that's what I call it. There are branches all over town. Yes, I'm one of those people who camp out at a table all day, one of those people who prevent you from finding a seat when you stop by in the middle of the afternoon for your non-fat mocha. Sorry. But I buy things all throughout the day; I try to earn my keep.

Okay, so on with my story. I've been going to this one Starbucks by my apartment forever. I like it because it's close to where I live, I get free wireless there, and it's cozy and neighorhoody. Other writers (my co-workers) go there as well, but I don't know their names. It's kind of like an unspoken rule--we're there to write, not chat, so we watch one another's stuff during bathroom runs (a huge disadvantage of going to a 'bucks where you don't know anyone is that you have to pack up every time you go to the bathroom, which happens WAY too frequently because you're drinking so much damn coffee because you don't want to be kicked out, so you usually lose your table by the time you get back), we share tables when it's crowded--but we never EVER exchange names. I like this. Let me repeat: I LIKE THIS. And I thought my co-workers did to. But then came Lenny.

The fact that I know his name should tell you that this guy was nothing but trouble from the get-go. Yep. From the moment he arrived on the scene, Lenny was chatty, chatty, chatty. It was "What are you working on?" this and "How do you like your computer?" that and "Gosh, it sure is windy outside today, huh?" I wanted to turn him and yell, "FOCUS, Lenny! FOCUS! We're here to work!" But I didn't. Why not? Because I'm a people pleaser. I don't like to cause problems. I don't like tension. What I'm learning about myself as I get older is that I avoid confrontation at all costs.

Since I didn't want to be rude I answered Lenny's many questions, which of course led to the most dreaded one of all: "By the way... what's your name?" As my co-workers shot me worried glances that said, What in the hell is he doing???, I felt a pit form in my stomach. I wasn't sure what to say. If I told him my name did it mean we were going to be friends? I mean, I'm always up for making new friends... but not with Lenny, not with chatty, chatty Lenny.

Against my better judgment I told Lenny my name, which led to an even MORE dreaded question: "Would you like to get a drink sometime?" Would I WHAT? Did I hear him correctly? Many of my co-workers choked on their chai tea lattes and looked away. I mean, this was our place of employment for God's sake. I was in a predicament. If I said no to Lenny's drink, it would be rude because it's kind of like saying, "I don't want to be your friend." If I said, "No, I have a boyfriend," then it would be presumptuous of me to assume that Lenny was looking for something romantic. So anyway, I said yes. As I started to write down my e-mail address, he interrupted and asked for my phone number. My PHONE NUMBER. I mean, sh*t -- right? I couldn't say I didn't have a phone because it was sitting right in front of me, so I gave it to him.

Lenny called about a week later. I was on the other line at the time and told him I'd call him back, but I forgot. By the time I remembered, his number had disappeared from my call history. Since then, I haven't gone back to the 'bucks for fear of a "confrontation." I'd have to say something about not calling him back, and then he'd say, "Oh, it's no big deal, really," and then I wouldn't be able to work because it would be awkward and I'd be all worried about it.

I walk by my favorite Starbucks a lot (always on the other side of the street, of course) and look in the windows--Lenny's always there. Fucker. He drove me out. And I was there first. I've tried to transfer to some other office branches in the neighborhood, but I haven't had much luck. The Starbucks on Court Street in Brooklyn Heights is really drafty, and the one on Montague is okay, but I have to pay for wireless internet there and it's kind of far.

All of this leads me to one thing: Starbucks needs a human resources department. It's as simple as that. I'm not asking for baristas to announce my appointments, screen my calls, or validate parking for my clients or anything--I just need a place to go to air my grievances, you know? I need someone to complain to when the techie with the Mac, iPod, Blackberry and phone hogs all the outlets. I need someone to complain to when people like Lenny ask me out on a date. Hell, I don't even need a whole department--one person would do. So if anyone reading this has pull at Starbucks corporate, please try to make this happen. I'd be happy to come to a board meeting and make my case. Thank you.

First Kisses

The New York Post's Page Six recently published a fun, short article about celebrity first kisses that got me thinking about my own first kiss. I was in seventh grade at the time. I had braces. I was at a school dance and this boy that I was CRAZY about asked me to dance. I, of course, said yes.

I remember what I was wearing, it was a hot little number I got from The Limited--a Forenza sweater in yellow and matching yellow pants (I looked like a banana)--and I remember that I had the biggest bangs ever. My best friend and I used to hairspray our bangs while blowing them straight up in the air with a blow dryer. They were like a wall. Anyway, I don't remember the song that was playing, but seeing as though it was 1985 I'm sure it was something like "Careless Whisper" or "Crazy for You." (It could've also been "Heaven" by Bryan Adams or "But I can't fight this feeling anymore..." Rock on REO. The wagon ruled, didn't they?)

The boy was taller than me and I'm sure my big bangs tickled his nose while we were moving to the music, but that didn't stop him from bending over and planting a big one on my lips. Nope. He went straight for my kisser with full force, and I remember thinking, What the hell?--I wasn't expecting him to slip me the tongue. It was a whole new sensation and even though I found it a bit strange, I enjoyed it. My lips tingled for the rest of the evening. My first kiss (who shall remain nameless) and I dated for a week or so, but unlike my big bangs, our relationship fell flat. Oh well.

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR FIRST KISS.

---

THE LAST WORD ON FIRST KISSES
New York Post
February 11, 2006
WITH Valentine's Day coming up, Webster Hall's ubiquitous curator Baird Jones has amassed a juicy list of famous folks dishing on their very first smooch.

* Q'Orianka Kilcher, who was 14 when she played Pocahontas in "The New World," tells movies.com her first kiss ever was with lusty leprechaun Colin Farrell. "We were shooting, and all of a sudden, out of the blue, director Terrence Malick goes, 'OK, now kiss her, Colin,' " Q'Orianka recalls. "I totally froze up . . . I know my face went pale, and that was exactly the way Terrence had written it in the script." The smooch was cut out of the epic, but will surely be on the DVD.

* Tyra Banks was 13: "[My boyfriend] tried to kiss me at the movies, and he put his tongue in my mouth. It felt like a worm, like a slug in my mouth."

* Heather Graham: "I was 9. This boy I had a crush on said, 'If I give you a dollar, will you kiss me?' I said, 'I don't know.' Then he asked, 'What if I give you 50 cents?' I finally kissed him for free."

* Uma Thurman dished to Premiere magazine that she was 8: "It was brief, swift, and then it was done. It was a professional job. I needed to be kissed, and I was kissed."

* Charlize Theron recalled: "He had braces. It was in the back yard after we had just watched 'Friday the 13th.' His name was Nicky, and I'm like, 'You wanna do it, you wanna do it?' We're standing there arguing about it for so long, and it was just awful - darkness, saliva and tongue."

* Brad Pitt: "I was in the fourth grade. We actually made a plan at school and to meet in her garage and kiss. It was like this business deal. It took me half an hour to [find] courage to go. So I get there. I go right up to her. I kiss her. Then I ran home."

* Burt Reynolds tells the Enquirer he was in sixth grade: "Her name was Marilyn. She had beautiful black hair and one front tooth that was longer than the other. At a party we played spin the bottle, and I prayed it would stop in front of her. When it did, we kissed a long sweet kiss with everybody looking. She dumped me for a guy who already had hair under his arms."

* Jack Osbourne fondly reminisces: "I was 8, and it was with my sister's 11-year-old friend. I like older women."

* Matthew McConaughey had technical difficulties on his first try: "Old Amy had braces, and my lip got caught. I almost threw up, but it was all right."

Gross Words

My friend Sam just described something to me as being "moist" and it creeped me out. What words give you the heebies?

Dating Dictionary

I'm a HUGE fan of made-up words. I'm also a huge fan of Daily Candy. Every so often the clever clan behind this popular website sends out newsletters with fun words and phrases that they've heard people using. Many of these words have become a part of my daily vocabulary and some have even made it into my new book. Below is a list of some faves in the world of romance and sex. Read them, use them, and then (of course) visit Daily Candy when you're done.


bandwagoner
n. A once-single woman who traditionally swears off the holiday but is now happily coupled off and suddenly all about hearts, roses, and luuuv...

bonk statement
n. The reply you must give to the question that every prospective lover will casually pose after you first have sex. ("So, how many people have you slept with before me?")

boreplay
n. The worst kind of foreplay, which rarely, if ever, leads to intercourse.

bust bust
v. To be busted by your significant other for staring at another woman's breasts.

candy-boxer
n. A cop-out gifter. ("Good old George. He's a total candy-boxer, but I still love him.")

cryday the 13th
n. The day before Valentine's Day if you don't have a boy/girlfriend.

drailing
v. E-mailing when drunk.

DIZO
n. Acronym. Describes (busy, working, all-too-typical) couple: Dual Income, Zero Orgasm.

dressed to spill
adj. Used to describe a woman's precarious and flirtatious state of dress, wherein a great deal more than cleavage will likely be revealed. ("Look at Alexis' nonexistent top. That girl is dressed to spill tonight!")

drimming
v. Drunk instant-messaging.

earnest hemorrhage
n. A man who is oppressively forthcoming with every thought and feeling. Antonym: Ernest Hemingway, linguistically stingy author.

eggsnog
n. A makeout session that takes place under the influence of eggnog.

e-mauling
v. Stalking someone via e-mail.

fear goggling
n. The act of rushing into a relationship in order to avoid spending Valentine's Day alone.

fifty-footer
n. Someone who looks really attractive from 50 feet away. Closer examination reveals...

F.L.A.C.I.D.
n. Pronounced "flaccid." Acronym for Failed Lovers Against Caller ID. Don't say you haven't been there. We all have.

flighty Aphrodite
n. A favorite Valentine's date, she's undeniably attractive and intellectually challenged.

foxymoron
n. One who is incredibly dumb but incredibly cute, who simultaneously attracts and repels. ("I'm so ashamed. I hooked up with that foxymoron last night.")

gu
adj. Pronounced "goo" acronym for "geographically undesirable." ("Great guy and all, but totally gu - he lives all the way in Reseda!")

guyatus
n. A hiatus from guys. ("Thanks, but no thanks. I'm kind of on guyatus.")

helicopter girl/boyfriend
n. A significant other who finds it necessary to hover around his or her mate at all times. ("I'd love to come to girls' night, but my helicopter probably won't let me out of his sight.")

hetox/shetox
n. Taking a break from romance and its attending insanities. A.k.a. turning off the valve.

HIT
n. Homosexual-in-training. He may not know it yet, but everyone else does.

hobeau
n. A less-than-hygienic boyfriend. ("Better open the window. Here come Gloria and her hobeau.")

inebridate
v. To regularly and repeatedly have drunken intercourse (never sober) with the same person. ("If my liver could take it, I'd inebridate John for at least another couple of months.")

intie
n. The intimacy flu. Usually occurs 2 to 3 weeks into a budding dating relationship. Symptoms include unreturned phone calls, "mistakenly" deleted e-mails, and sleeping on far edge of the bed.

kama-suture
n. Aid for injuries sustained during aerobic bedroom exercises (particularly by non-aerobic types.)

locationship
n. A relationship based solely on proximity, such as with your neighbor.

love at first fight
n. Syndrome experienced by those drawn to each other by arguments and make-up sex.

maid of dishonor
n. The wedding attendant who alters her dress to show lots o' cleavage, then sleeps with the best man.

manbiguous
adj. A quality in a man by which his behavior, sexual and otherwise, raises question about his sexual orientation.

margariter
v. To serve a margarita for the express purpose of loosening up. Alt. margaritim. ("He's just sitting in the corner, Sally. If you're interested you're going to have to margaritim.")

mistleho
n. Someone who hangs around under the mistletoe, waiting to get kissed. ("Eve was being such a mistleho at the company party that no one else could get any play from the cute tech guys.")

ranky
adj. Gross, nasty; hybrid term - raunchy meets skanky.

restaur-romp
n. A date that gets out of hand at a dinner table and/or bar area. ("After two bottles of wine my date turned into a full-on restaur-romp.")

reverse evolution princes
n. Men who at first seem to be princes but turn out to be frogs.

Saturday night fever
n. Often followed by a real fever, the delirium that comes over some women as they get (un)dressed for a Saturday night on the town, believing that the temperature is as much as twenty degrees warmer than it actually is.

scamentine
n. Someone who always has a random hookup on Valentine's Day.

scum
n. Self-Centered Urban Male.

smellibacy
n. A state of involuntary celibacy brought on by bad hygiene. ("Jake has only himself to blame. His three-year dry spell is a clear case of smellibacy.")

staremaster
n. Gym dandies who constantly check themselves out in the mirror. ("If that staremaster touches his pecs one more time...")

stray
n. A heterosexual male who everyone secretly thinks is gay.

textual harassment
n. A proposition via text message; received, generally speaking, quite late in the evening. Similar to a textual advance, only far more annoying.

Valenspammer
n. Shallow sentimentalist who sends valentines to everyone he/she knows. ("Don't be flattered by Pat's card. He/She is a notorious Valenspammer.")

"He/She is a lot of yabba dabba and not a lot of do."
adj. Used to refer to someone who is all talk and no action.

20 Times a Lady Movie Deal

Okay, I know I've been missing for a while, but I've been CRAZY busy. I'll update you on my trip to LA in a bit, but first... I have exciting news. New Line Cinema has optioned the rights to my new book, 20 Times a Lady, for a feature film and hired me to write the screenplay. Yay!

Here are links to the articles in today's trades:

(If you don't have a subscription to HR,
you can read a screencap of the article here.)

I'm obviously very excited and I'm thrilled to be working with people who love the book. I put my heart and soul into writing it (it took me a year to do so) and I hope everybody likes it.

Yes.

You betcha.

Ha ha... kidding. I really love this website though.