The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker

A man has this ritual he goes through when he’s trying to hook up again with an old girlfriend. He’s like a dog that way, sniffing up her shorts trying to pick up the smell of availability before making a move. The line he drops is always the same: “Soooooo . . . you seeing anyone?”Every old boyfriend of mine has tried once he realized he’d taken me for granted. Very few have succeeded, especially since now I know all the signs and cut him off at the pass, unless, of course, I want to give it a shot.

While blogging late at night a pop up box with an instant message appeared on my screen. It was Andrew: “Are you there?”

We hadn’t chatted in a while, so I typed back “Hello! How are things?”

“Can I call you?”

“OK.” This would be interesting. He’d been emailing me more often than usual.

The phone rang almost immediately. “Hello Angelface.”

“Well hello, Angelface.” We call each other Angelface.

“I miss my Angelface,” he pouted.

Andrew is Israeli and English isn’t his first language. Our conversations tend to be short and a little disjointed, but overall we seem to do all right. As for visuals he’s on the shorter side, wiry with long grey hair, very artsy and Californian. I don’t think the man even owns a suit, so unfortunately my fancy dresses and stiletto heels are wasted on him.

These days Andrew is having both his home and his studio outfitted with enough solar panels to get 100% of his electricity and heat from the sun. In addition to his Save the Animals hobby he’s apparently plunged headfirst into Save the Environment, because his companies just sponsored a big eco-something convention and got to drive the model car from the “Who Killed the Electric Car?” movie. His intensity regarding these subjects is perfectly OK with me, except I can’t say anything about my furs, and I can’t really eat meat when I visit because it upsets him. He’s in the production side of show business, owns a few companies and hugely successful but for a CEO he’s awfully sensitive.

“We have fun together yes? We did lots of things together: Spago, Rodeo Drive, Venice Beach, Malibu, the Grammy’s . . . ?”

I smiled. What a time that was. “It was all wonderful; I always have a good time when I’m out there.” I kind of knew where this conversation was going, but I thought he’d found a girlfriend so . . . Okay I’d ask. “Are you still dating that . . . woman you were seeing last time we emailed?”

“I ended it with her. She was mean to my birds.”

“Oh no, that’s awful.”

“She was always telling me I don’t spend enough money. You know, to look good. Suits and things, my hair . . . I tell her I don’t like spending money on those things. She wanted me to buy all new cars. You know, be like the other men. Show off and stuff. But I like my cars. She was pain in my ass.”

Andrew has twelve cars in storage, all vintage, and he likes tinkering with them. That, and designing/decorating his company offices because he’s really good at it. He’s spent millions on those projects so cheap he is not. “Aw, that’s too bad; I’m sorry that didn’t turn out. It was probably for the best.”

“You’re not a pain in the ass. We had good times, yes?”

OK now I knew for sure where this conversation was going.

“So . . . you seeing anybody?”

I’m off again for our yearly Sisterhood is Powerful Holiday Conclave in New England. It’s a small group, only two of us, but oh! The things we do! Such as read and drink coffee and nap.

What, no Christmas carols? No big family reunion? No fancy feast? No church? You’re kidding, right?

Don’t worry about us; we have our own special Christmas traditions, like getting drunk and cow-tipping at the neighboring farms.

What? You’ve never heard of cow tipping? It’s where you sneak up on a dozing cow and tip him over. You have to be really, really drunk, as it’s the only way to approach a huge bull minding his own business in the middle of a field. The bull needs to be nodding off, almost asleep or it won’t work.

Oh. You know cow tipping is an urban myth? There are articles all over the web explaining how cow tipping breaks the laws of physics?

Damn internet. It used to be so funny, watching those drunk city boys being chased by the neighbor’s enraged bull. Priceless.

But my dad and his buddies did put the neighbor’s bull on a roof once. Really; that story is true. When Grandpa told him and his friends never to do it again they put the car on the roof instead.

Don’t believe it?It’s done with scaffolding and ramps. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a REAL cow being hoisted to a high roof with a crane. That’s just mean.

They were letting us down a little bit at a time so as to avoid the bank runs: Eight billion here, eleven billion there. A week or so would pass and they’d “adjust” it to a few more billions. It’s the subprime disaster, they explained, but they had a “plan.”

Meanwhile Wall Street knew better: This was bigger than what mortgage default rates could do to them. No, this was HUGE. Something else was going on but they couldn’t figure out what it was and no one was talking. Only a few knew that the chickens had finally come home to roost: The “Enronization” of the U.S. economy was taking its toll, and the Basel II accords, along with some major bills coming due, had left certain U.S. Treasury and Federal Reserve executives with their pants down.

The white-haired man was not amused, and neither were his royal friends.

From: The White-Haired Man

To: The Honorable, George W Bush, Jr. ; First Lady Laura Bush ; Mr Dick Cheney; The Honorable Dick Cheney ; Mr John DUGAN ; Attorney General Michael B. Mukasey ; The Honorable Henry M Paulson

Cc: Thomas E Henry, Esq. ; Thomas Eugene Henry, Esquire ; First Lady Laura Bush ; Mrs Lynne Cheney ; GOPUSA - Friends ; Mark Stephens NRSC Executive Directeur ; Officer in Charge ; Officer in Charge ; Officer in Charge ; Messr David Rexrode RNC Directeur ; Executive Directeur Mark L. Stephens

Sent: Wednesday, December 12, 2007 1:44 PM

Subject: Special Prayer to our US President George W Bush, Jr.

SEVERAL MINUTES AGO, I WAS INFORMED BY RELIABLE SOURCES THAT THE 2am [12 December 2007] US Treasury Direct - Citibank - CitiGroup Directeurs agreed upon Financial Settlement was estopped by your White House personnel. Why is it so difficult to release said monetary funds . . .

And so it goes, on, and on, and on.

When I read the news of the United Bank of Switzerland (UBS) taking a big hit by writing off ten billion dollars of bad debt and deciding to sell a part of itself I was shocked. Et tu, UBS? I thought the Duke’s bank was the only in the world who for sure had it all together. I guess not.

My Duke keeps all his hundreds of millions at UBS AG. He counts the entire Board of Directors among his personal friends: He used to share his jet with them when they needed it. Suffice it to say he has a very big interest in what goes on there.

I remember the guided tour of the UBS financial transaction process Duke gave me a few years ago. The security protocol was unbelievable: His bank card had a hologram and his fingerprints on it, and it came with its own little computer! He had to type in his codes, and then after a few minutes UBS would send him a different code, which he would then use to access his money. It was all very complicated, but Duke said UBS was the safest bank in the world.

Then he asked if I wanted his help opening an account there, which made me laugh. With what? As if a single mom eking out a living in New Jersey would have anything to show besides a house, a car, and an untouchable 401K. Very cute: As brilliant as this man was he really had no clue about what it was like to be, well, normal. I suppose given my family background and career he just presumed certain things, but I don’t take money from my parents unless it’s an absolute emergency, I don’t get child support, and this high rent town takes a lot of my money: We have the highest property taxes and insurance rates in the country.

From: The Duke [mailto: theduke@ubsag.com]

Sent: Monday, December 10, 2007 17:38

To: HPS USNUNK NAVAIR

Subject: Re: OW . . .

Importance: High

My Lady,

I am in Geneva now and spent the whole day at the UBS office. They didn’t even flinch over the 10B. There is a lot more gold under the Bahnhofstrasse.

Duke

Sigh. I wish I had some gold under MY Bahnhofstrasse . . .

The Duke called this morning with good news: He just accepted a CEO position with a biotech company out West. Croatian medical researchers who work for this company may have found an affordable (herb based! cheap!) way to treat AIDS, and have asked Duke to be their CEO to help them through the formal trials.

Duke is SO excited, as he has been funding independent research on the virus in the hopes of coming up with a vaccine. The idea of finding a CURE for AIDS is even more exciting to him, so he accepted this position in favor of the job that would have taken him back to the Congo to implement the development plan he wrote for President Kabila (the one who was assassinated) many years ago. Now Kabila’s son is in charge, and Duke likes the guy,  but the task would be so enormous that Duke would be well into his 80’s before he finished. So he picked the company with a 5 - 10 year plan instead. He said didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in an African jungle anyway. I guess I don’t blame him.

It’s been too long since I’ve written about the Duke. Since he’s moving the headquarters of this new biotech company to Geneva (Switzerland) there may not be much left to write beyond our back story. Then again, he’ll be in town in a few weeks, so who knows?

(to be continued . . .)

(Rabbit Island, Oahu, Hawaii)

Yesterday Bunny left me and I pouted. She joined her father and climbed aboard a 747 for yet another 9+ hour flight to Hawaii. Again I am jealous! I’ve never been to Hawaii (snif!), or a cruise, or a lot of the fancy things Bunny has done. She’s more of a jet setter than I am!

Bunny’s father Ken has periodically treated her to week-long vacations in Oahu since she was a little girl; since her uncle lives there technically these are family visits. This time Ken’s girlfriend and her son will be joining them.

Bunny and I have promised to text or call each other every day that she’s away. In the mean time I putter around the house and anxiously check Weather.com every day to track Hurricane Flossie’s path toward the Hawaiian Islands. Right now it looks as though it will hit just south of the islands right about the time they are due to leave, so my fingers are crossed.

The weather in Oahu is glorious today so I bet my waterbunny is swimming!

Doc and I spent a beautiful day together. We enjoyed a late lunch with his attorney, who apparently wanted to hire me for Doc’s new company. “When can you start?” he asked, grinning. I told him I had parenting responsibilities and couldn’t relocate and he spent more time than was necessary trying to convince me I could bring Bunny if I fought hard enough. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I’d already been down that road and knew better.

Several glasses of wine and a few appetizers later we bid adieu to the attorney and rolled into Doc’s house. We chatted for awhile in his kitchen until darkness fell. “Let’s go to bed,” he said.

I’m glad he suggested it; the last time I’d made love to a man was last year: To Scorpio, of course. Doc and I settled in to his room for what I hoped would be a long night.

“We’ll need condoms,” I advised.

Doc groaned. “God I hate them,” he said.

“I know, but we have to do it,” I said gently. “It’s the only way I’ll have sex.”

“I don’t have anything. I’m clean.”

I shrugged. “Oh well.”

He sighed. “I think I have one or two over there,” he reached into his night stand. “God I can’t wait until I never have to wear one of these again.”

I took over the job of putting it on him and smiled. Finally! I hopped on him greedily. And then . . .

. . . nothing. He went flaccid. Well, this is a new development, I thought; he’d been fine with the condoms the last time I came down to see him. Was it his age?

“I can’t wear these,” he complained, “Get it off me.”

I reached down, slipped off the condom and tossed it on the floor. “I suppose we’ll just have to do other things,” I said sweetly.

“MMMMMM . . . I like those other things you do.”

I enjoyed those “other things.” I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I can lay a man flat in fifteen seconds with those other things I can do. Unfortunately, Doc’s body was having none of them tonight. “Let’s just go to sleep,” he said. “This happens sometimes.”

We slept a lot that weekend. I still have not had sex yet this year.

(Westminster Dog Show award-winning Vivi, reportedly worth between $20,000 and $35,000 bust loose from her cage at JFK airport and disappeared last February. A year later she’s still on the lam. To this day her royal hawt dawginess is still making the news and there are still search teams and prayer vigils dedicated to her safe return. This should be proof to all, just in case there were any question, that whether human or canine so long as you are hawt you matter! If you disappear, you will make the news! You are high-value because you are hawt! So unless you’re very rich, or a very white woman, the rest of y’all are screwed should YOU disappear, cause you’re not hawt. No 24-7 news coverage for y’all cause you’re all just folks. Just sayin.’)

All flights to Florida may be termed the Romper Room Flight, because the hulls are always teeming with screaming children. One of them kicked the back of my seat the whole way to West Palm Beach! I flipped through my issuse of the Economist, figuring all was just par for the course. It was a bumpy flight, also par for the course.

Doc Johnson was waiting for me in the same place he did before. “Look at you!” he exclaimed, as we embraced each other excitedly.

“No, look at you!” I countered. He was a little bit older and heavier, but then again so was I so no matter. He looked well. “You look good!”

“You look great! Look at you!!! Miss D.A.R.!!!!!”

Some little spring went boi-oi-oing in my head. DAR????? Daughters of the American Revolution? “I can’t believe that of all the things about me THAT’s the thing you remember.”

“Are you kidding?” That’s the FIRST thing I remember about you! Miss little ladylike DAR! You’re half southern! I love that about you! Your mother’s side, right? Descended from French royalty and George Washington’s family! So girly and feminine, yes suh, no suh, ooooh sexy!” He started to pinch my fleshy bits. “Look at you!”

I cringed from his tickles. “So what you’re saying is that what you like most about me is that I’m pedigreed, like a dog.”

“Definitely. That and you’re very feminine. I love it. Love it!”

This would probably have been the right time for me to make him carry my fancy Louis Vuitton suitcase, since I was such a Southern Layday. But they gave these things wheels for a reason, non? So I kept walking, wheeling my bag behind me. I let him load it into the Jag. I was hungry.

“Let me take you to Luigi’s to meet my attorney,” he said. “You like the food at Luigi’s right? He’s waiting for us. He’s gonna love you. Look at you!”

It’s still a MONTH OF CHOCOLATE!

more to come!

(Scene from Miami Vice, the movie)

What started out as a long weekend on a yacht in Key West just turned into a commercial film shoot in Miami. That’s the thing about adventure: You never know where it will take you . . .

Bottom line: Until I fall in love again I’ll give my time to the people who can give me the best stories. Let the games begin! See you next week!

(Paul McCartney at the 2006 Grammy’s. I touched his shirt that day and was healed!)

I’ve been corresponding with Andrew; he’s met a nice local woman and he seems happy! Unfortunately this means I won’t be going to the Grammy’s this year. Oh well! They say if you’ve been to one awards show you’ve been to them all, right? Actually, I’m very happy for him, and more than willing to close this chapter of my life.  Hollyweird is well . . . weird.  Not my style at all, but it was fun while it lasted!

(The red eyes make this photo extra special)

I am home from the witches’ masquerade! I brought Bunny and we had a lovely time. We did plenty of socializing and dancing but alas, I am sorry to report that there was no debauchery. Certainly I was propositioned, but with no one I particularly wanted to debauch. Better luck next time?

I was thrilled to be able to see my favorite people again after many months of being away. In particular I was able to catch up a little with someone near and dear to my heart. He’s been on my mind lately . . . more about that later . . . perhaps.

In the mean time, if you are interested in a Venetian-styled masquerade mask of your own, look what I found! Gypsy Renaissance has a few lovelies, and if you are on the other side of the pond you may try the Naughty Magpie. Then again, if money is no object and you are looking for an authentic paper mache Venetian mask made in Venice, go to Visions of Venice. Drooooooooool!!!!! That’s where I’m getting my mask for next year’s party!

(Bunny looking very grown up)

(All scenes from Eyes Wide Shut)

The Witches are gathering again: There is a fancy masked ball this weekend and the Hedonistic Pleasureseeker has nothing to wear! JUST KIDDING! Of course she has an entire wardrobe of regalia for just this kind of event. Most of her wintry fancy dress ball fashions are luxurious silk velvet. She has several masks and a moss green velvet opera cloak. The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker is nothing if not prepared!

Still, the Hedonistic Pleasureseeker is bored with her old peacock feathered mask and plans to purchase another one this week. Do you think she can find one like this before Saturday?

The food, the entertainment, the music and the guests at this particular event are always spectacular. Will the revelers get this naked? Maybe not this naked, and probably not at this particular event. Oh, some folks sometimes do expose a lot of flesh at these kinds of gatherings, and it’s always quite the sight when it happens. Bodypainting is very popular at these events, and Pagans in general throw the best parties around, mostly because the guest lists are so entertaining!

Stanley Kubric might just have based a few choice scenes in Eyes Wide Shut upon his ideas about what goes on at the witches’ masked balls. Did he get it right? The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker shall not tell! Shhh! She’ll give you a little hint though: The women generally wear more clothing. Also, although wanton debauchery at parties is the norm (some hosts order cans of chocolate syrup and whipped cream by the case!), any serious sexual activity that might come of it takes place behind closed doors. Also, things settled down a great deal when the community started having children of its own. Now these children are practically grown and getting frisky themselves, while the oldtimers are saying “Remember when . . . ?”

This particular event will be held at a public place, plus it’s winter, so it’s likely that everyone will stay covered up. Will the Hedonistic Pleasureseeker be naughty this weekend? It depends on who there is for her to be naughty with! One year she ended up in the cloak room with a very tall man named Wolfgang. To this day she’s not sure if this was his real name or not, and come to think of it, she doesn’t really care . . .

I received an email a few weeks ago:

I hope you’re well. There are not too many women on this earth that can ring my bell but you hold a very special place in my heart. If you ever change your mind, I would love to see you again.

Doc

Ah . . . another one. Doc writes to me every few months or so, and usually I just delete his emails. We met on Match.com a few years ago, after the first time I broke up with you-know-who. I had put out a Call to the Universe for another Scorpio who cooked, and within a week I received an email from Doc: A Scorpio in the diamond industry whose life was all about food! He was the spitting image of Don Johnson, the actor who became known for his role in the TV show Miami Vice. He could have been a celebrity impersonator, and all his friends called him John Donson as a kind of joke. I’m calling him Doc because . . . um . . . you’ll see.

Doc sent me a first-class plane ticket to Palm Beach we spent a wine and Viagra-soaked weekend in southern Florida indulging in nearly every hedonistic pleasure known to humankind save for illegal drugs. Consequently, if Doc is holding memories of me anywhere you can be sure as hell they’re noplace near his heart! We had the usual Scorpio-Taurus chemistry, and I’m not exaggerating when I tell you it was some of the best sex in my life (Doc Johnson, get it?). Imagine two people with oral fixations and you’ll get the idea. He was one of two men (two in my life! In 20 years of sexing!) who was able to bring me to climax on the first try (the one was a Spanish gentleman I met on a camping trip when I was a teenager, but that’s a story for another time). Anyway, the man was amazing. In fact, it was ten times better than anything I’d had with you-know-who!

Plus, the man could cook! His specialty was an absolutely insane osso bucco that took all day to make and tasted divine. Plus he knew every great restaurant in Palm Beach/South Beach/Miami and was hell-bent on showing me every one of them before the weekend was up. It was he who dared me to eat the baby eels at a Spanish restaurant in Miami. They were actually very good, fried in a butter and garlic sauce, although I found their little black eyes somewhat unnerving. I gobbled them up greedily anyway. Imagine my shock when he told me the appetizer cost a hundred dollars!

That’s about the time I began to realize that this relationship with Doc couldn’t go anywhere. Sure he was an awesome lover and a great cook, but he was horrible with money. He made a good living but he spent it the minute he made it and had nothing to show for it afterwards. He was in his early fifties had no savings. Worse, his investments were speculative, shaky, and not very well thought out. Here I was, a single parent in my 30’s getting by without a dime of alimony or child support, and my net worth was greater than his! But to him money was like that Doritos commercial: “Don’t worry, we’ll make more.” I knew that if I were to marry him someday I’d probably blow my brains out from frustration with him.

I suppose this is where some of you will look for the “I’m not a golddigger but . . . ” speech. Let me cut things short by being very clear when I say that money matters in relationships: How we make it, how we spend it, how we save it. Money is the top thing couples fight about and, next to infidelity and sex, one of the top things couples divorce over. In life there are spenders and savers, people who are good with money and people who are bad with it. I’m only so-so with money so if I’m gonna hook up with a man, it’s gonna be with someone who is better at it than I am!

I broke things off with him shortly afterward. There was no way this relationship was going to go anyplace, so I wrote him off as a lovely fling and moved on with my life. He took it poorly and said some very nasty things, revealing an explosive, mean-spirited temper that I always suspected was there but never saw until that day: The dark side of passion.

Over the past two weeks I’ve deleted Doc’s email, thought about it, and moved it back into my inbox. Several times. Another fling perhaps? Some insanely good sex, a little osso bucco, a little Florida Sunshine? It’s high time the Hedonistic Pleasureseeker took a vacation, after all, since I’m never going anywhere again with you-know-who.

. . . so what’s up, Doc?

I hit the send button.

My posting schedule may be light for the next several days because I plan to be busy visiting with family and reading my new Honda owners’ manual! I have a navigation system to figure out and voice commands so memorize. This is my very first new car and I’m thrilled! It’s a hybrid, so I’m already averaging 44 mph. Vroom!

Tonight I’ll be taking my very first road trip with my new car: To Massachussetts spend a very New England Christmas with my sister Jen. Our weekend will most definitely not look like this:

Rather, it is more likely it will look like this:

I found this photo at Axis of Aevil, kept by an American EX- expat who just returned from a long stay in Helsinki, Finland. Check out her flourless chocolate cake recipe!!!! No matter what your holiday looks like, have a happy one!

It was early in the week and I was eating lunch at my desk, talking on my cell phone. I was thinking about calling off my date with Michael and wanted to give him an opportunity to bow out voluntarily.

“But it’s Hannukah!”

“I don’t care. I want to see you.”

“OK, but I wanted to remind you, just in case your mother calls you up and expects you to be somewhere or do something.”

“She’s not like that. We don’t celebrate. Our family isn’t like that.”

“OK.” We hung up and I thought hmmm . . . another family on holiday strike. I liked it.

There was no point to refusing Michael’s offer because I had nothing better to do this weekend. Certainly I was not going to spend another Saturday night at home watching Sex and the City reruns! He wanted me up for the entire weekend but I told him I wasn’t available (I lied). Frankly, he doesn’t rate a full weekend of my time, not yet at least. We probably won’t even go out; more likely we’ll just stay in and test the chemistry, and if the sex is bad I don’t want to be marooned in Manhattan for an entire weekend! I told him I’d take the train up on Saturday morning.

Of course, upon reading this my sister is going to have a cow. What can I say to her but “idle hands?” Just look at them: They’ve caused me all this mischief! Bad, bad hands! Perhaps someday when I have a full-time lover, a posse, and/or an affordable hobby I will no longer have the time or interest to toy with this strange breed of men. Until that day comes I’m just going to collect my stories.

I’ll let you know if he’s better than HBO.