Valentine’s Day Gift Guide for your Guy

Valentine’s Day is in two weeks. What are you going to do? Girl, if you’ve got a man or a woman in your life it’s time to get on it! Sure you can get your love the usual, chocolates, wines, champagne, tickets for something or a great meal at home or a fine restaurant but I love something even more special – boudoir photos! I’ve been taking them over the years with my trusted photographer friend, Umar Abassi, (many of his photos are below).

It’s a fun way to prepare for the big day – fresh haircut, color, wax and some new lingerie. It will also boost your confidence if you’re working with a terrific photographer with a good bedside manner!


To Screw or Not to Screw

herpesvirusAs 2016 was just about to end I was really looking forward to dinner with a gentleman I’d been seeing. I was beginning to think this one had some possibilities. Serious possibilities. We got along well and there was attraction and a good rapport – the elusive chemistry you might say. Having somewhat similar life styles, values and work ethics made it even more comfortable. So after a great meal and a few drinks it was time to find out if we’d be compatible in one last way…

Things were getting very hot and heavy in bed when suddenly everything came to a screeching halt. I looked at his face. I watched as he sat up and leaned his bare back against the headboard. The room was silent until he said,

“I have to tell you something.”

His words echoed against the bare walls. Oh god, it’s never any good when someone says those words. Was I doing something wrong? Did he have a peculiar fetish or need porn to get an erection? Maybe he also suffered from Erectile Dysfunction? Or had recently recovered from Prostate Cancer? My head spun not sure if I wanted to find out.

“I have Herpes.”

“The mouth kind?”

“No, not the mouth kind.”

Why in god’s name did he wait to tell me this when we were both nude in his bed?

parisian-chic-street-style-dress-like-a-french-woman-1“It wasn’t a big deal for my last girlfriend.But you know the french, they’re very relaxed about sex. I honestly thought you’d just say fine let’s use a condom.”

He actually said these words although we were talking about putting a band-aid on a paper cut. My mouth hung open. Stop that I thought. Do not judge him. Appreciate his honesty. Thank god he told me BEFORE anything happned. I was an adult so I wanted to communicate my honest feelings,

“Wow. No one has every told me this before. I’m not sure what to say.”

“I can’t believe you think this is a big deal. Do you realize almost 70%* of the population worldwide have herpes?”

I hadn’t and wasn’t even sure if his facts were true or if he was Donald Trump-ing me.

{NOTE:*His figures were not even close to accurate according to Atlantic Magazine “genital herpes statistics are usually quoted at closer to 25 percent for women – that’s one in four – and 10 percent for men, but most of these people don’t even know they have it.”}

“That may be true but I’d like to remain in the other 30% and not have to have this conversation with my next lover. I have enough problems already.”

“It’s really not a big deal you just have to take a medication…”

“I don’t even take aspirin. I’m not taking any drugs just to sleep with you. Or anyone. No offense.”

“Now you’re making me feel like a leper.”

“A leper? That’s your stuff not mine. If I felt that way I wouldn’t be having this conversation I’d be sound asleep by now.”

1-2“I’ll call my gynecologist on Monday and see what she says. Let’s talk then.” I hoped he
realized I was giving him the boot.

“I thought we’d spend the weekend together brunch, museums, movies…”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” He sounded beyond disappointed.

I hadn’t. Not because I was lying it just didn’t come up.

He called me the next day to see how work went and explained he wasn’t a “needy guy” (his word not mine) he just wanted to get to know me better over the weekend.

I was conflicted. He communicated and was pretty comfirtable with his feelings as far as men go(okay so I’m stereotyping – please forgive me). He was honest to share with me he had herpes. He didn’t have to tell me that. I never would have known. He was a good guy, a generous guy, handsome, a little rough around the edges but dressed in Armani with all the trappings of a successful man.

genital-herpesI agreed to see him Sunday night for a casual bite. Our clothing remained on at all times.

Of course my genitals itched and I was convinced I had already contracted herpes until I heard back from my doctor on Tuesday after the new year. She explained the risks.

In the meantime, he went to his doctor for a full blood work up and tests. Ten days later he claimed he was good to go although he never showed me the results from his doctor. I’m not willing to take a chance.



The Coward

12716249_10207167745586400_4874272916637831338_oWhile on vacation having a relaxing time, I received this email from a man I had one (yes, one) dinner with.

Dear Tiny,

My life is pretty good. Since you have been away I have been giving things some thought and I want to move ahead with my life and given your obligation to your work and friends I just didn’t see that happening in the near future. I am really fond of you, but I want to have a relationship with someone in which I am one of the foci* and while that may have eventually happened with us I was just not comfortable with the pace at which that was happening. I kind of want to have a girlfriend with whom (since my kids are all away) I can spend evenings and weekends and who would come away with me and who I am in touch with by phone daily when she is not around. So while I am super attracted to you I think it best for me to reluctantly move on. I hope you find everything you want in a relationship and in general.



I am hopeful that 2017 will be better for all of us dear readers!

*Foci {foh-say,-kahy}

noun, plural focuses, foci

  1. a plural of focus.
  2. a central point, as of attraction, attention, or activity



Breaking Up is Hard to Do!

rest-jumboI’d been ready to break up with this guy for three weeks. He said something dumb, really passive aggressive relating to my intelligence over dinner. I ran to the ladies room and was as sick as a dog. It wasn’t from the Artisanal agnolotti filled with ricotta and Italian pumpkin, in a walnut and butter sauce we shared,the bottle of Sancerre, the Chef’s risotto del giornoor the Bigné filled with hazelnut cream and wild berry sauce. It was my date that was making me ill. My gut was telling me loud and clear this guy was not for

I returned from the lady’s room a good 15 minutes later and said I was very sick and needed to go home. After a dinner like this I’m sure this was not the ending to our evening that he was hoping for!

I knew I needed to break up with him. I consulted with my girlfriend,

“It’s not fair to break it off right before Christmas.”

Her response, “So basically you’re saying you want a gift?”gift-box

“Not at all!” I argued.

“So then you need to do it now, before.”

With time running out I wondered out loud how I should do it; text, email, phone call or the most dreaded – in person.

“Well, since you have a mutual friend and you live in the same neighborhood you potentially could bump into each other again. You need to do it in person.”

In the meantime, I took hours to call him back or ignored his text message. I acted disinterested whenever we spoke. His numerous text messages were filled with even more hearts, smiles and balloons, his voice was as upbeat as usual. He didn’t have a clue. Finally it was the day. I thought about canceling or sending him an email instead. I didn’t. I marched over to his home in the pouring rain each step with more dread.

He was freshly shower in a beautiful pressed shirt and oh so happy to see me after nearly three weeks apart. I felt like a bitch. He was a good guy, a generous guy, a pleaser with a successful company. He wanted to take me away. Why was I letting him go? I reminded myself that he drove me crazy and had an inferiority complex. He poured me wine, he asked if I was hungry and then he practically put me on his lap. Finally it was over.

I called my girlfriend on the walk home.

hostile-takeover-big-fish“It was 90 minutes of hell.”

“You stayed that long?”

I explained that I felt I had to. The guy had been through and awful divorce which came out of left field, he was having issues with his son and his best friend. Things were not good. I wanted to stay and answer his questions about why I was breaking up with him. I did what every woman i know wants, I gave him answers. I even brought him a chocolate muffins from the best pastry shop – a parting gift.


“Did he cry?”

“I saw him wipe his eye.”

“Was he hamming it up or holding it in.”

“I don’t even know but I ventured to guess he was crushed. It always hurts when it’s a surprise.”

As I was finally done and extracting myself from his couch he asked, 

“Do you find me attractive?”

What was I going to say no when I was breaking up with him? Truth be told he was tall, dark and handsome and went to the gym every day – not an ounce of body fat. So i said, Yes, of course. And then 0008-Sony-Artisans-of-Imageryhe leaned in for a kiss and asked,“So could we still see each other?”I kissed him on the lips and laughed. Not one to give up easily he asked, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

By the time I got home there was a text message from him. UGHHH!!!! The next time I break up with someone I’m sending a letter – not a text message or an email, a real letter with a stamp.




Update: He sent my a very expensive holiday gift from Saks and a large bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream.

The Return of the Grin Fucker

bad_dayLet’s go back nearly a year to one of the worst dates of my life. No wait, change that, THE WORST DATE OF MY LIFE. EVER. Read about it here so you have a little background. This guy was one sick fuck and I if you read my blog, you know I NEVER speak like that. So I’ll catch you up to speed – I’m minding my own business when I receive an email from a gentleman (I use that word loosely). I immediately recognized his user name as this was his third attempt to see me. After our disastrous brunch date he actually had the nerve to ask me for a second date! When he did I was VERY CLEAR about why I would not date him yet this is the message I got from him today:

He said…

Hi, So, here are some things I think you might want to know about me….. I’m 6′-3″, slim/athletic and all my pics were taken in the last 12 months. I grew up in England. Moved to New York 20 years ago. I live on the Upper East Side and my office is in midtown Manhattan. I travel a lot….especially to Europe. I particularly adore Italy, skiing in Austria and the beaches of the Bahamas and the Caribbean….especially Barbados. I have two great kids, both just graduated from college. I’m fit, masculine, sporty, self-confident and witty. Hopefully I told you all the important stuff…….but I’m a guy……so how would I ever know what women really, really want to hear? -M

So does this jackass forget we had a date OR does he think I’m so forgetful that I wouldn’t remember him – a snobby, six foot three giant Brit on a bike?Mr-One-Percent-Riding-Through-the-City--94137

I said…

Hi, So, here are some things about YOU that you might want to know….. We met some time ago. I know you grew up in England and moved to New York 20 years ago. You told me that over a horrible brunch as you told me many other things such as you have two great kids, both just graduated from college – one the “fuck up” and the other the “grin fucker”. How could I EVER forget a father that speaks that way about his children. You most certainly told ME all the important stuff in that awful meeting. So now you know what this woman really, really thinks.

I cleverly used his own format to respond.


He said…

Sounds like I was having a bad day, so you should give me a chance to show you what a kind and loving man I really am. OK? -M


I have to say, as much as I can’t stand this angry and miserable excuse of a man, I’m almost tempted to go out with him to see how he would behave. It’s that same sort of obsession of have with that crazy bastard Donald Trump. Like a train wreck waiting to happen, for the mere entertainment value. Decisions, decisions…


Big Wig

trumphair27n-6-webI peered into the large glass front restaurant and knew it was him. He stood there, posed, one leg up on the bottom rung of the bar stool, looking confidently toward the front door. Even from twenty yards away I could tell something was off. What was going on with his hair? I approached suspiciously. He caught my eye and immediately turned on his heels kissing me on both cheeks. He was very animated and his skin tight and bright – heathy eating or Dermabrasion, I wondered. As he chatted away asking what I’d like to drink my eyes went back to his hair – full and dark brown – not a gray hair in site and no variation in color, a thick helmet of hair. Surely it was a wig. Not just a wig but one of the worst wigs I’ve seen in my life. I was angry with myself for being disappointed. What if he had been ill? Surely, I could forgive a wig.toupees64002

As my date downed two ice teas and I sipped half a bottle of San Pellegrino I looked past the wig and focused instead on his crepe-y skin. It was not the skin of a man my age let alone someone a few years younger as he had mentioned. I immediately wondered if he had lied on his dating profile. Pink flag. Hair and age could not be vetted on the telephone. I told myself to see if I liked the guy and then worry about the wig and the fib about his age.

The most interesting part of the date was when he mentioned that he was working with a woman, I’ll call Sandra, I had met decades before. And a woman who I knew had been a high-priced call girl/madam for New York’s elite. These were women who wore only Chanel, Armani and Balenciaga. Their designer handbags only carried a lipstick and a hundred dollar bill which naturally they couldnever break. They dripped in jewelry and tended to travel by chauffered cars way before Uber, Gett and Lyft. Sandra was now a legitimate business owner and living at one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. When I asked how they had met, my date said he knew her a good twenty-five years after that he suddenly became very evasive. Another flag.toupee

Wig or not, I knew that my date wasn’t for me. I looked at my watch and said I had to run. My date seemed disappointed I was skipping out so soon. I kissed both his cheeks and was on my way.

Three days later while on my personal Facebook page a “Friend Suggestion” popped up. I examined the familiar photo. It was my date with the wig! The really surprising thing was his name appeared as Dominic Christiano not Dominic Black. I thought back to our initial phone conversation where he dropped his last name. Something about the way he fit it into the conversation didn’t feel natural. So when I hung up, I did something I normally would not do, I Googled him. I couldn’t find one person with his full name – and oh, yes. I spelled it every which way. In today’s world this was a dark pink flag.

bad_toupeeI left Facebook and googled Dominic Christiano and up popped an awful lot of information about my date! He was actually 17 years older than he had told me! Yes, 17. One – Seven! And they say women take off a year or two! Surely he had had a facelift! That was just the tip of the iceberg. There was also an $70 million-plus judgment against Bad Wig for falsely marketing and devising an “elaborate hoax” for hair-growth products! Initially, I found that extremely funny considering the awful toupee until  I began to realize how many people he had deceived. This guy had lived the life of Riley while hair challenged people had spent thousands of dollars hoping for some hair miracle.

Ladies, and gentlemen, trust your gut and do your research before you get involved. A pink flag will likely become a field of red flags. You surely don’t want to be dating a criminal with or without a wig.


Happy Birthday Larry David


Tomorrow is Larry David’s birthday. I don’t care how old he is. I just love him.

I was invited to the NYC Friar Club for a roast – I think it was for Soupy Sales – he was there in a wheel chair with his nurse. So were Stiller and Meara, the press, many of the old-time Jewish Alps comedians and a room full of more notable people. I had a ball!

I quickly noticed there were virtually no women there, and if they were they were in orthopedic shoes with canes and wigs and yellow teeth. With odds like those every man with a pulse wanted to talk to my friend. I on the other hand was fit and in my prime. I was in my uniform of tight jeans, high heels, low-cut top and push up bra with my long blond hair blown perfectly straight. I was invited back the next week by the Treasurer who took a shining to me. He wasn’t a comedian or an actor, just a music executive with lots of stories about Tommy Motola . I accepted without hesitation. I loved the club. I would live there if I could.

I met the Treasurer upstairs, where he was waiting for me, at one of the smaller bars. The Treasurer was seater with fellow friars but these guys were old school – senior citizen who could make you pee in your pants not the other way around. We had a drink while they told hysterical stories about their careers. I was deep in a story  when I heard someone behind me say,

“Hey, Treasurer. How’s your wife?”

I could feel the Treasurer’s hand on the small of my back but I didn’t care. I listened with rapt attention to the two old comedians do their bit. I loved their stories and could have listened forever. Suddenly, it occurred to me that my date was married and I quickly realized that I was having so much fun that I couldn’t have cared less. I had no interest in him. And then I thought about that voice who delivered those words and their timing. I knew that all too familiar voice. I looked over. It was Larry David and he was gone in a flash heading out of the room and down the elevator.

I could have run out of the room. I could have chased him but I didn’t. Instead I continued listening to the stories of some of the greatest comedians way before Larry David’s time.

I knew that I missed my shot at meeting one of my all time favorite comedians. Chances are this would be my one and only time. Oh, well…

Happy Birthday, Larry, you old COCK BLOCKER. I love you. Call me when you can.