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.

Going out to California... gonna let the water warm my clothes...

Okay, the title of this post is the first four lines of a fabulous song called California by Josh Ritter. His Hello Starling CD is a favorite of mine and I highly suggest you download it or buy it if you like music like David Grey.

Anyway... on to my trip. I made it to California. I left my apartment an hour after the MTA workers went on strike and was able to get a cab to the airport.

Kick. Butt.

As for Jet Blue... I didn't have a very good experience. For one, I know it's not their fault, but an extremely large woman (extremely large; like 400 pounds large) was sitting next to me on the plane and took up half my seat. I couldn't use my direct TV because she was sitting on the arm rest with all the control buttons on it, so I just stared at a blank screen for five hours. She was overly nice and obviously self-conscience about it so I felt bad and didn't say anything. However I do think the airline should've at least given her an aisle seat or something--the poor woman was sitting in the middle seat.

The second reason I'm not a fan of Jet Blue is because they screwed up my luggage. For some stupid reason they didn't put all the bags on the plane, so when I got to Burbank I had to wait in a long line with about thirty other passengers and fill out some paperwork so they could deliver it to me. I got it about twelve hours later. Considering I have a dog and all of her food, etc. was inside, it was a huge inconvenience. Anyway, I think I'm going to write them a letter and tell them I was unhappy. Maybe they'll give me a voucher or something.

I went to Bikram yoga this morning with my friend (Mark), and Patrick Dempsey was not in my class. Nor was the mom from E.T. Nor was the kid from Boy Meets World. I know it was first time and all, but I'm already starting to wonder if Mark is lying about these people being in the class. Anyway, seeing as though I kept falling over because I have no balance, I suppose it's better Patrick Dempsey wasn't there. I mean, how's he going to fall in love with me if he knows I'm a klutz? I'm going to practice my poses tonight so when I do see him I'll be much better. On a funny side note, all throughout class the instructor kept telling me that I smelled good and asked what I was wearing. I told her it was my new deodorant.

What do the F train, Jet Blue, Bikram yoga, Patrick Dempsey, Mini-Coopers and the mom from E.T. have in common?

Nothing, really.

I have to admit, I'm a subway girl, I am. I used to take taxis everywhere, but ever since I did that website thing a few years ago, I've become a subway girl. It's affordable, it takes you where you need to go, you get to know the city better by riding it--oh, and don't even get me started on the people. You see so many interesting characters on the subway--it's an entire world that exists underneath New York.

Anyway, wouldn't you know it... the transit workers are threatening to strike tonight at midnight and I'm leaving on a jet plane (go Peter, Paul and Mary) tomorrow morning at 6:30 am for sunny Los Angeles. (Actually it'll probably be a 747 or something, not a jet.) I like to fly out of JFK because I live above the subway--literally, like my apartment shakes when it goes by--so all I have to do is go downstairs, walk to the corner and get on the train. One transfer and $7 later, I'm there. If these people strike tonight, then my arse is going to be on Smith Street at 4 am with a dog and suitcase looking for a taxi. It'll cost me about $50 to get to the airport, btw.

Dammit. I need to look for the rainbow in all this. I'm going to be in warmer weather for a month. And I'm flying Jet Blue for the first time which I'm really excited about. And my friend and I are going to go to Bikram yoga every single day. Bikram yoga is hot yoga, where they crank up the heat. Apparently some people do it in their underwear, but I'm not going to be one of those people. You wanna know why? Because Patrick Dempsey was in his class a few days ago. Yepper. The last thing I need is to be doing a downward dog with my butt stuck in Patrick Dempsey's face.

No. Thank. You.

The mom from E.T. is in his class, too. Dee Wallace-Stone. Here's a funny story. My friend drives a Mini-Cooper. Apparently Mini-Cooper drivers all wave at each other. (God knows why... those LA whackos and their cars.) One day after leaving yoga, Dee kept waving at him, and he's like, "Why is the mom from E.T. waving at me?" After a while he figured it out--Dee drives a Mini-Cooper.

By the way, have you ever wondered what happed to Rider Strong, aka Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World? Well, he's in Bikram too, and I'm gonna find out what he's been up to.

Anyway, I'll keep you posted as to how Bikram yoga goes. And Jet Blue. And the subway ride.

20 Times a Lady

By the way, some people have asked about the new book... I'll let you know all about it after the new year!

Favorite Drunk Lines

So my friend called me at 5am. She lives in LA, so it was 2am there. She was drunk, upset about some guy, and had just gotten home. Of all her blabbering nonsense, my favorite thing that she said was...

"I know I'm drunk, but I don't know what I'd do without my dog."

From My Dog, Bev

Yo bitches. It's come to my attention that some of you have been asking about me. My name is Beverly and I'm three years old.

Here's a day in my life:

Morning:
9:00 am - Wake up and go potty.
9:05 am - Look at breakfast.
9:06 am - Quickly scan apartment floor to see if any food was dropped since the last time I was awake.
9:10 am - Go back to bed.
10:00 am - Realizing Mommy isn't going to replace the same sh*tty breakfast I get every day with eggs or something exciting, get up and eat.
10:14 am- Burp.
10:15 am - Sleep off kibble-induced food coma.

Afternoon:
12:00 pm - Wake up and beg Mommy while she eats lunch.
12:03 pm - Scarf down a piece of tofu.
12:30 pm - Pissed all Mommy gave me was one piece of tofu, harass cat to work out anger.
1:00 pm - Sunbathe --------------->
1:30 pm - Catch some shut eye before afternoon walk.
2:00 pm - Anxious to be on afternoon walk, drop a steamy load as soon as I get outside.
2:15 pm - Stop walking because I'm fat and out of shape.
2:16 pm - Get carried for rest of walk .
2:25 pm - Treat apartment like Indy 500 and run laps around it to celebrate being home.
2:27 pm - Thrash around on bed for a while.
2:28 pm - Sneeze.
2:29 pm - Exhausted from walking, running and thrashing, pass out.

Evening:
5:20 pm - Arise from slumber.
5:30 pm - Look at dinner.
5:31 pm - Seeing it's the same sh*t I always get, glare at Mommy.
5:33 pm - Quickly scan apartment floor to see if any food was dropped since the last time I was awake.
6:00 pm - Beg Mommy while she eats dinner.
6:10 pm - Yes, yes, yes! Now we're talking... Lick Mommy's plate clean.
6:30 pm - Realizing there wasn't much food on Mommy's plate, eat my own dinner to satisfy grumbling stomach.
7:00 pm - Harass cat again just for being a moron:
7:30 pm - Do some paw work: Lick between toes.
7:45 pm - Nap on back to make belly available for rubs.

If you're incredibly bored, you can learn more about me here: Bev's Dogster Page.

I Have a Secret

I got this new deodorant and it smells so good that I want to eat my armpits. It's called Secret Platinum. The scent is Glacier Mist. I took a picture of it with my new phone. To make it more exciting, I had Elvis sit in the background.

All Things Itis

So sorry for my absence. I had a terrible sinus infection that took forever to get over. Ewww. Sounds gross, doesn't it? Someone needs to come up with a better name for a sinus infection, because that and "sinusitis" both sound pretty disgusting.

Speaking of all things "itis"... While I was at the T-Mobile store yesterday getting a new cell phone (mine broke), some guy walked up to me and said hello. When he asked my name I, of course, told him my pretend name, Suzanne, because I don't tell strangers my real name--it's just not safe. When I did, he said, "Well hello, Suzanne, my name is Leonitis."

Yes, Leonitis.

I don't know how you spell it--Leonidis, Leonitus, Lianitis--who knows? All I know is that it sounds like a venereal disease. If that were your name, wouldn't you go by Leo? Or Leon? I mean, why Leonitis?

Anyway, you should've seen him. He was dressed to kill. He was wearing a gold hat that matched his gold suit that matched his gold shoes. He was what I would call "ghetto fabulous." I should've snapped a picture of him. Next time I will because my new phone has a camera in it.

Because I'm an enormous dork and love all things pink, I got the magenta Razr phone by Motorola. I ended up getting it for under $100 because my broken phone was still under warranty and I was eligible for an upgrade. It's so shiny and pretty. Anyway, I took a picture with it to share with all of you. Here it is:



I live in Cobble Hill, a neighborhood in Brooklyn. The photo was taken out my window, which faces northwest. Here's a map so you can get your bearings. Click on it to make it bigger:


Anyway, now people can stalk me. Kidding. Like anyone would.