The Spanish Fly

Cut to me today: adorned in a black mesh thong, green-faced, horrified and staring off into space for most of the afternoon. That's right, my Friday night caught up with me. FRIDAY NIGHT?!?!

Friday, March 3rd, I was at the office like any other afternoon- plans were made with the office mates to go out after work and unwind with some drinks. We decided on La Tasca and headed over there at half past 7 for some leisurely libations. The sangria flowed free (both white and RED ... ohhhh), the Grand Marnier shots were delivered (noooo), and the beer cups floweth over (ughhhhh).

We ate tapas 'til 10 (blehhhh) and then headed over to Fado's.

Okay, I have to stop the story here. I'm gagging just thinking about it. Long story short, I woke up Saturday morning with what I thought was a hangover. Here it is TUESDAY and I'm still hurting. Beware, residents of DC, the pre-spring stomach bug has reared its ugly head.

And P.S. I will NEVER go to La Tasca AGAIN ... EVER! (For no other reason than that it's the start of bad things for me this week)

Make Mine a Mai Tai

Cut to Wednesday night when I was out in my black polka-dot thong with Cha-Cha and Rizzo at Topaz Bar on N Street. Cha-Cha and Rizz and I were at Vassar together years ago and let me tell you, these two ladies are a couple of hot tamales!

We were having a fabulous time being catty, catching up, and swilling plenty of dirty martinis and gibsons. I turned to go to the bar and asked the girls if they needed refills. Cha-Cha replied "Sure, but make mine a Mai Tai."

She had me at Mai Tai. I thought 'Who in 2006, besides blue haired, Botox-less geri's in Boca would order a Mai Tai??'

"Mai Tai?" I asked. "Yep," said Cha-Cha. In my obnoxious tipsy state, I raised both hands, leaned back, and joked "Why not just make it a pina colada?" I thought it odd that neither Rizz nor Cha-Cha laughed along with me; in fact, Cha-Cha just lowered her eyebrows at me, so I kept on my way to the bar.

I asked the bartender for two dirties and a Mai Tai with extra fruit garnish and chuckled silently at myself while I waited for the drinks. I paid for the drinks on my tab and walked back across the bar with two martinis and a pink drink ... "Martini for Rizzo and Mai Tai for Cha-Cha."

"What the hell is this?" asked Cha-Cha.

(Blank Sassy stare) "Your Mai Tai."

"HAHAHA. I didn't order a Mai Tai. I told you to put it on MY TAB. I was wondering why you said Pina Colada!" laughed Cha-Cha.

So you see, girls, Aunt Sassy's lesson of the day is that when you have one foot in your mouth and the other is knee deep in vodka and olive juice, it's best to just let someone else do the ordering.

Single Awareness Day!

So Happy Belated Valentine's Day to all of you! I am sitting here in my candy-striped V-string, working late into the night without a soul to bother me. A lot has happened in the past few weeks (including my successful completion of the ING Miami Marathon on 1/29 ... thanks to Asa and Chaz).

But isn't it amazing how the stars can align in just the right way one day and then dismally fail you the next? That's right, although he chugged along with me during the marathon, Chaz and I are dunzo.

Strangely enough, I felt like I had really lost a sense of myself during our relationship. I no longer enjoyed the same activities: I stopped blogging and I lost touch with many friends and acquaintances over the course of our 5-month tumble. It's heartbreaking to know that you once held yourself to such a high esteem and now your feelings don't matter to anyone; not even the only other person who is investing so much time into you.

During the past week though, I have had more than enough engagements to fill my dance card. How funny that although I closeted myself away with Chaz and felt an incomparable loneliness, as soon as I opened myself back up to the outside world people were knocking down my door to go out and reconnect with them. What a refreshing feeling knowing that I haven't lost the very things that make me so Sassy.

For Valentine's Day, I was invited out by 4 people ... but a good book, full glass of wine, and a completely quiet night to myself??? Yes, PLEASE!

Think I'd Better Run, Run, Run

I'm here this afternoon in my black mesh bikini cut underwear, with my face sagging in sorrow. I will get through this thing with Chaz and I'll be fine ... but on a better note, in less than two days I'll be in beautiful, sunny Miami!

That's right, Asa, Mav, Bandi, and MeatMan are joining me in Florida for the ING Miami Marathon this weekend. I've been training for 5 months now and am ready to finally do it!

So Sunday at 6AM, if you're in South Beach Miami, look for the fabulous woman running 26.2 with the singlet on that reads "Sassy"! Drinks at Rose's condo to follow ...

What's Love Got To Do With It?

ATTENTION: RANT (Not for the faint of heart)
Here I am tonight, working late at the office in a blue and white polka dot g-string, contemplating love and control. Are they really autonomous of one another as so many people claim? How can you really love someone without wanting to have SOME iota of control over how they feel or what they do? You CAN'T! Anyone who can sit there and tell me that they have never wanted to change something about their partner gets my dowry ... which happens to consist of 7 figures and a goat. And don't lie and give me any of that "unconditional love" crap; that's a hoax that makes this bitter old woman want to spit nails. I'm not buying it.

For instance: last week I was at the bar at Zengo with Chaz and a stranger walked up to me and said "Is this a first date?" To which I replied "No." He then leaned in and whispered "Well unsolicited advice, lady ... you're way more into it than he is."

No matter how drunk he may have been, no matter how badly he reeked of cheap Calvin Klein cologne, that guy got me thinking.

I've thought a lot on the subject and have come to one conclusion ... who gives a shit? I may be way more into it, so sue me! God forbid I'm enjoying myself and just want some drama-free fun. I'm flirting with an ulcer over my relationship and sometimes I wish I could just walk out. But the fact is that I'm a glutton for punishment and I can't turn my back on love, no matter how stale it may have become.

I have done this to myself, I'm the first to admit it. I knocked down the Great Wall of Sassy and for what? For lonesome nights of wondering and doubt? For self-inflicted drinking spells that only leave me more questions? For this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I liken to swallowing cement?

You know, for someone who's always been able to stop the love train, life's getting awfully unrecognizable ...

How To Lose Your Woman (In 7 Steps Or Less)

God help me for what I've just done ... while wearing my blue anchor thong.

The situation is beyond explanation: at this point it is no longer necessary. Regardless, there is a certain gentleman caller who I have mentioned here who is no longer welcome to call because of a tender issue.

In a cheap attempt to self-medicate without liquor, here they are: Things to Keep In Mind If You Want To Lose Your Woman In 7 Steps Or Less:

1. Your "partner" is the enemy, ALWAYS be on your best defense no matter what she says
2. Keep in VERY close contact with your ex who continues to systematically destroy your life. When your "partner" brings this to your attention, do what any other normal man would do: deny, deny, deny!
3. When posed with a final ultimatum, choose to keep the ex in your life over your "partner." No questions asked.
4. Regardless of her feelings, keep your own hours and consistently forget plans or double-book. She'll get over it.
5. Never put her first before anyone else, you never want to get too attached.
6. Break down her walls, then break her down. She needs to open up to you eventually; if she's reluctant at first, KEEP AT HER! Once she lets you in, tell her she's smothering you and that you can't deal with her baggage.
7. Ask her how she could do "this" to you (whatever "this" may be) if she really loved you. Women come up with all kinds of creative responses when they're under pressure.

Regular programming will return tomorrow, self-medication complete.

Certifiably Certifiable

You may want to be seated before you read today's post: I sit here today at the office (complimented by my baby-pink thong) with CANKLES!

The urban dictionary defines Cankles as:
n. 1) An aesthetically unfortunate physiological condition which leaves its victims with no discernable narrowing of the ankle between the calf and the foot. 2) The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, non tapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. 3) An ankle which has no discernable narrowing from the calf to the foot. History: The word is derived from a combination of the words calf and ankle. Victims of this condition are advised to avoid the following: ankle boots, ankle-strap shoes, anklets, ankle socks, ankle tattoos, high-top shoes, and any other footwear or legwear that might draw attention to the cankle region.

Who would have thought? ME? CANKLES? The horror! Thank god we've not yet reached Spring/Summer '06, as I could have kissed goodbye a whole season of cropped pants paired with suede Prada loafers!

I blame the running. I woke up on Saturday morning at 6:08 to prepare myself for 6 hours of pure, unadulterated insanity (read: 23 miles of running). I met my group in Southeast DC and we embarked on the stupidest journey of our lives: running down the mall, around the Kennedy Center, and up the Capital Crescent Trail to downtown Bethesda ... AND BACK!

Everything was going great until about mile 15 when I lost all feeling in my ankles for about 20 minutes. Had I not been running for about 3.5 hours already, I could have predicted what would come next: at about mile 16.5, the feeling returned to the lower region of my legs and I had to run the next 6.5 miles with my ankles on fire. I can honestly tell you that I would not have been surprised if I had looked down and noticed little blue flames shooting out from my inner ankle bones. At about mile 20, I was so mentally exhausted that I let out little lion cub whimpers about every 3/4 of a mile or so. As we finished, I let a couple small tears eek out in what I refer to as "Complete Mental Breakdown Mode."

I ended up having to catch a cab home to Dupont, as the Metro was not even a possibility at that point. I arrived home and crawled up my front stairs on all fours. I showered in a daze, and settled in for what I hoped would be a long nap ... but there's just something about throbbing, apple-sized ankles that doesn't let you get comfortable for more than 6 nanoseconds at a time.

To add insult to injury, I decided it would be a SMASHING idea to join Asa, Mav, and Sid at Halo that evening. I spent about an hour on my feet and then had to make a plea for a return back to Asa's house (where we spent the greater part of the evening with some therapeutic red wine and the Oprah 20th Anniversary DVD).

I iced what Asa so affectionately refers to as my "cankles" all day Sunday, and felt like I was ready for stairs and a full workday in heels by 7:30 this morning. Cut to my cankles swelling right out of my heels today by about 1:30PM.

So now I sit here in misery, chained to my desk because I'm bare in my stocking feet, calling my assistant every 2 hours or so to bring me some more Excedrin.

And poor Chaz, his first day back in the States and he's in for quite the evening of massaging the heck out of some cankles ... what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?