Cock Blocker

A period is the biggest cock blocker ever. It makes sex virtually impossible. (Okay, some people choose to go there. I am not one of them.) It puts most women in a funky mood and won't accomodate despite any and all pleas. Sounds like the ultimate cock blocker to me.

So next time that pesky friend or associate just can't get the hint that you and your beau want some alone time, just think - you could always have your period.

...At the same time, a period can be a life saver. I know I, for one, have used the 'I'm on my period' line at least a dozen times to get out of sex. I guess it has its perks too.

All I want to do is...

But then I'd get arrested and that would really suck.

So, considering those circumstances, I'll pass. However, despite the initial title, there actually is a purpose to this post. I first heard this song at the gym. I was taking a class, but not just any class.

I was taking my favorite gym class - pole dancing. (Okay, I totally revealed what gym I go to and what class you find me in weekly, but whatevs.) I'm in loooooove with this class. I get to prance around in 4 inch heels, slide down a pole, shake my tush in booty shorts, and not have to deal with a single cat call, crumpled dollar bill, or judgment.

For the past few weeks, I've started my Friday night by spinning around a pole and hanging upside down with my legs spread eagle and enjoying every minute of it.

Stress Less. Live More.

Free your heart from hatred -- forgive.

Free your mind from worries -- most never happen.

Live simply and appreciate what you have.

Give more.

Expect less.

Something's...

Better than nothing.

So, I figured I'd just start writing again. I don't know if I'm caught up in real, non-blogged life or just bored. Either way, my blog and I are having a few communication issues.

I don't have anything to say. (Who would've thunk!) And my blog doesn't want to listen. We're more distant than Britney's forehead and her hairline.

WTF moment, indeed. So, I figured I'd just write. Write until something inspires or something humors me or pisses me or jerks me out of the blogging rut I'm in. It's disgusting, I know. For a woman who dishes her sexual conquests via Internet to suddenly have a lack of words is ludicrous.

Yet, just writing this poor excuse of an apology reminds me of old times - sitting up late night pinning in gossip into my Blackberry, intricately plugging in juicy details into every story.

The gossip and juicy details are still here... or were. Maybe, I drank them down with Patron shots or sipped them like chocolate martinis. Somehow, they got lost in the scuffle and landed on Memory Lane. Fortunately, my life's a crazed reality television show with an award winning editor.

So, long story short, I'm back in action and ready to dish...!

XOX Twenty. Something.

Uninspired

So, I've been severely MIA in the blogosphere. Why? It's a definite WTF moment - I've been uninspired. Normally, I write almost every other day. Ideas fill my head, impatiently waiting to be released. But the past few weeks... nada. Zilch. Nothing.

No inspiration. No excitement.

No blogging. WTF is wrong with me?

(I apologize for my inadequacies.)

My castle doesn't exist.

When I was younger, I believed one day I'd meet my Prince Charming, and he'd sweep me off my feet and whisk me away to a secluded castle. I'd have lots of beautiful dress to wear. A horse and carriage to ride in. A Prince Charming that'd fulfill my little heart's desires.

Cinderella found her's. Snow White did too. Sleeping Beauty and Pocahantas followed suit. Even Lady found her (puppy) love. My turn was surely next.

Except Disney lost my script.

I know for sure they had written it all out. Filled it with fairy god mothers and started it with once upon a time. Of course, they wrote in a few ups and downs to make the story interesting, but they ended it perfectly with and they lived happily ever after.

At 6 years old, I was so excited to start my story. I waited. And waited. And waited for it to begin, but it never did.

I never got my pretty dress, huge castle, kiss from Prince Charming, or fairy tale ending.

Because Disney lost my script.

Shawn: the transition

I waited for you
Today
But you didn't show
No no no
I needed you
Today
So where
Did you go
You told me to call
Said you'd be there
And though I haven't seen you
Are you still there
I cried out with no reply
And
I can't feel you by my side
So
I'll hold tight to what I know
You're here
And I'm never alone
And though I can
Not see you
And I can't explain why
Such a deep
Deep
Reassurance
You've placed
In my life
We cannot separate
'Cause you're a part of me
And though you're invisible
I'll trust the unseen
I cried out to no reply
And
I can't feel you by my side
So
I'll hold tight to what I know
You're here
And I'm never alone
We cannot separate
You're part of me
And though you're invisible
I'll trust the unseen
I cried out to no reply
And
I can't feel you by my side
So
I'll hold tight to what I know
You're here
And I'm never alone
...

He and I
Had something beautiful
But so dysfunctional
It couldn't last
I loved him so
But I let him go
'Cause I knew he'd never love me back
Such pain as this
Shouldn't have to be experienced
I'm still reeling from the loss
Still a little bit delirious
Near to you
I am healing
But it's taking so long
'Cause though he's gone
And you are wonderful
It's hard to move on
Yet
I'm better near to you
You and I
Have something different
And I'm enjoying it
Cautiously
I'm battle scarred
I am
Working oh so hard
To get back to who
I used to be
He's disappearing
Fading suddenly
I'm so close to being yours
Won't you stay with me
Please
Near to you
I am healing
But it's taking so long
'Cause though he's gone
And you are wonderful
It's hard to move on
Yet
I'm better near to you
Yet
I'm better near
To you
I only know that I am
Better where you are
I only know that I am
Better where you are
I only know that I am
Better where you are
I only know that I belong
Where you are
Near to you
I am healing
But it's taking so long
Though he's gone
And you are wonderful
It's hard to move on
Near to you
I am healing
But it's taking so long
'Cause though he's gone
And you are wonderful
It's hard to move on
Yet
I'm better near to you
Yet
I'm better
Near
To you
...

Breathe me.

(Play track while reading.)

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me



Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe



Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me



Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
and needy
Warm me up

And breathe me

I fucked my boss*.

"You dirty little whore," flew out of my ex co-worker's mouth faster than vomit out of a drunk co-ed.

She was mad. Very mad. Despite quiting my job and starting my own company, I was doing very well and living quite comfortably. To add insult to injury, she had just been fired. For what? I didn't care and had no interest in asking. It didn't help that I am 10 years her junior, either.

She was biter, and karma or coincidence was in her favor. So, when we ran into each other on the street, she had words to spew.

"Hey, Taylor. How are you?"

"You dirty little whore..."

And so went the insults, which were prefaced with, "I get fired and you got a raise?" The word had slipped. She, and most likely several other co-workers, found out my previously well kept dirty little secret. I fucked my boss.

Yes. That's exactly what happened. I slept with my boss and got a raise. She did her duties (and something else that caused her termination) and got fucked over. It's not my fault life isn't fair. I've been handed my fair share of shit. It was simply her turn to deal with some. Unfortunately, she wasn't dealing with it well, and she let it be known.

"Congrats! You fucked your way to the top."

Okay, so I read the How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying manual and took it to heart. Men statistically make more money than women and typically are promoted to higher positions faster than women. I used the one thing I have over all men - my pussy.

Like it or not, the power of the p is like a two of hearts in Spades. It's a woman's most powerful tool, and if used wisely, it can trump any situation a male poses. In this case, I used my trump card for a strategic career move.

I fucked my boss and enjoyed it. There was always a undeniable sexual tension between us, although our chemistry surpassed the physical. Thus, when our paths crossed on that fateful night at the Gansevoort Hotel's rooftop bar and his friends and my friends slowly dwindled down, we drifted into our own corner to talk.

He could pick my brain, and I could read him like a cheap novel. We were in tune mentally, emotionally, and, by the end of the night and four pomegranate martinis in, sexually. There were no HR discussions, no 'what happens next?' conversations, no second thoughts. He wanted me, and I wanted my raise. I deserved it - my work ethic and project quality far surpassed both my male and female counterparts. But I sealed the deal with my skills in bed.

I sold my pussy and my soul for a raise and a bigger office. Considering, I've fucked many a men and received nothing in return - this was an upgrade.

*Well, my old boss. I'm no longer employed there - I quit. I decided to opt-out of the 9 to 5 madness and pursue my dream. I'm now my own boss, although I do continue to fuck my boss. This time, I don't get an orgasm... I just get fucked over.

Mind your business.

What other people think of you is none of your business.

Why care what others think of you?

Hold yourself to a high standard.

Treat people how you'd like to be treated.

Open doors for others.

Always say 'please' and 'thank you.

Eat your peas and carrots.

Take naps.

And don't give a damn about his, her, and their opinion of you!

The Virtue of Selfishness

I ran across this book title. It is more a collection of essays on the ideology behind selfishness and altruism. The title caught my attention because earlier this week of close friend of mind called me 'selfish'. I wouldn't have minded if the comment was warranted. However, I felt it was not.

He called me selfish because I said I would handle a particular situation differently than he. The situation was whether or not he would introduce his male friends to a close female friend that was re-entering the dating scene. He said 'no' because he was concerned for all parties involved and would not want to jeopardize either friendship. Very altruistic.

I, however, said I would if I were placed in his shoes. Everyone is an adult, and if I knew someone she would be interested in I would introduce the two. I would accept responsibility for the introduction, but did not feel an obligation to prevent a bad situation (in advance) by never letting them meet.

He considered that selfish, rather than agreeing to disagree. So, when I came across Ayn Rand's The Virtue of Selfishness, I was curious to learn more. I search engined the title and came across this entry by J.R. from the objectivistcenter.org:

What does Ayn Rand mean when she describes selfishness as a virtue?

Ayn Rand rejects altruism, the view that self-sacrifice is the moral ideal. She argues that the ultimate moral value, for each human individual, is his or her own well-being. Since selfishness (as she understands it) is serious, rational, principled concern with one's own well-being, it turns out to be a prerequisite for the attainment of the ultimate moral value. For this reason, Rand believes that selfishness is a virtue.

Rand writes that the "exact meaning" of selfishness is "concern with one's own interests" (VOS, vii). In that work, Rand argues that a virtue is an action by which one secures and protects one's rational values—ultimately, one's life and happiness. Since a concern with one's own interests is a character trait that, when translated into action, enables one to achieve and guard one's own well-being, it follows that selfishness is a virtue. One must manifest a serious concern for one's own interests if one is to lead a healthy, purposeful, fulfilling life.

Rand understands, though, that the popular usage of the word, "selfish," is different from the meaning she ascribes to it. Many people use the adjective "selfish" to describe regard for one's own welfare to the disregard of the well-being of others. Moreover, many people would be willing to characterize any instance of desire-satisfaction in these circumstances as "selfish," no matter what its content. Thus, many people arrive at the following composite image: selfish people are brutish people who are oblivious to the negative consequences of their actions for their friends and loved ones and who abuse the patience, trust, and good will of all comers to satisfy their petty whims. Rand certainly recognizes that there are people who fit this description, and she certainly does not believe that their behavior is in any sense virtuous. But she opposes labeling them "selfish."

Rand believes that this application of the word blurs important philosophical distinctions and foreordains false philosophical doctrines. First, this understanding of selfishness construes both whim-fulfillment and the disregard of others' interests as genuinely self-interested behaviors, which they are not. Second, this understanding of selfishness suggests an altruist framework for thinking about ethics.

To elaborate on the first point: Rand believes that the elements of human self-interest are objective. All human beings have objective biological and psychological needs, and one's actual interests are identified by reference to these needs. Mere whim-fulfillment is therefore not constitutive of human well-being because one's whims might be at odds with one's actual needs. Moreover, the character traits of the "selfish" brute are not compatible with any human being's actual, rational interests. Humans live in a social world; in order to maximize the value of their interactions with others, they should cultivate a firm commitment to the virtues of rationality, justice, productiveness, and benevolence. A commitment to these virtues naturally precludes such brutish behavior.

To elaborate on the second point: Rand argues that the conventional understanding of selfishness implies an altruistic framework for thinking about ethics. Within this framework, the question, "Who is the beneficiary of this act?" is the most important moral question: right acts are acts undertaken for the "benefit" of others and wrong acts are acts undertaken for one's own "benefit." Rand believes that this approach passes over the crucial ethical questions: "What are values?" and "What is the nature of the right and the good?" In addition, the altruist framework suggests a dichotomy between actions that promote the interests of others to one's own detriment and actions that promote ones own interests to the detriment of others. Rand rejects this dichotomy and affirms the harmony of human interests.

Rand writes, "[A]ltruism permits no concept of a self-respecting, self-supporting man—a man who supports his own life by his own effort and neither sacrifices himself nor others … it permits no concept of benevolent co-existence among men … it permits no concept of justice".

For her, the truly selfish person is a self-respecting, self-supporting human being who neither sacrifices others to himself nor sacrifices himself to others.

Finally, one might ask why Rand chose to use the term, "selfish," to designate the virtuous trait of character described above rather than to coin some new term for this purpose. This is an interesting question. Probably, Rand wished to challenge us to think through the substantial moral assumptions that have infected our ethical vocabulary. Her language also suggests that she believes that any other understanding of selfishness would amount to an invalid concept, i.e., one that is not appropriate to the facts and/or to man's mode of cognition.

In addition, one might interpret Rand as asserting that her definition captures the historical and etymological meaning of the word. But certainly, her praise of selfishness communicates instantaneously and provocatively the practical, this-worldly, egoistic, and profoundly Greek orientation of her ethical thought.

That (a little too) long excerpt summarizers Rand's philosophy on selfishness. I'm headed to the library now to pick up the book; I'd love to get a better grasp of the work. I look forward to the read!

But my REAL moral of the story is: Even if I am selfish, so fucking what?!

I always had a passion for flashin'.

I am a firm believer in overdressing.

Catherine Malandrino

Every woman deserves an all out, no designer barred, credit splurge shopping spree. Whether she is generously treated to one from her male love interest or willfuly opens her own wallet to herself, there is one requirement. She must indulge in the experience sans hesitation and regret.

Checking receipts, contemplating prices, and returning items are all major no-no's in the world of shopping spree indulgence. Thus, clutch and Blackberry in hand, I took my undisclosed sum of money, dialed my fav fashionista Giselle, and giddily pranced out of my Manhattan apartment.

As I hopped in Giselle's ride and immediately hit traffic, I questioned why we didn't rough it on the train. She pointed to my casual (okay, not really), yet killer 4-inch Manolo's. Now before you even ask why or am I crazy, please read my disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: I was born with heels on and haven't been able to remove then since, and to my wallet's detriment, I developed an addiction to designer heels. In my closet, sneakers are for working out, flip flops are for showers after the gym, and heels are for everything in between.

Moving on. Giselle's point was proven. So, we gossiped our way through traffic and headed to our fav shopping spots. Giselle loves boutiques and, being a stylist, she's overly familiar with Manhattan's best "OMG, where did you get that? I love it!!!" boutiques. I love, love, love shopping with her for this very reason. Her eye for detail and style is unparalleled - or, at least, in her world it is.

Thus, when we go shopping, I never ask for her opinion because I already know I'll hear it. She'll gladly offer her two cents, whether or not I want to hear it or like, and she is far from shy when she believes something doesn't work.

"You need to lose about a quater of an inch off of each hip before you can wear that."

"Gi, the dress is my size."

"What size is it?"

"A two."

"Well, maybe if they had it in a 2.5, it'd fit you."

"But it looks good!"

"Wouldn't you rather look great?"

"Point taken."

Despite her lack of tact, she was always right. She wanted better for me, and I wanted better for myself. Thus, regardless of her smart ass comments, I always listened to her reasoning. She knew her shit, and she was proud of it.

"So, what do you suggest? Since you apparently know it all."

"When it comes to fashion, that I do. I'm soooo glad you're finally catching on."

"Shut up, and dress me."

And that she did. She willfully pulled designer after designer - pairing colors against my eyes, selecting cuts that appeared to trim off inches, combining styles that I opposed only to fall in love with once tried on. Although my wallet hates her, my inner shopping diva looooooves her, swoons after her, and is willing to drop everything in order to look fabulous. She is genius.

So genius that she, and she only, could make me forget about my fav designer stores. Although I had my sight set on a pair of Fendi heels for which my precious little feet ached and a few summer styles that my body craved and my closet needed, they became obsolete once Giselle my became my fairy godstylist. Six hours, an undisclosed sum of money (since I can't bear to type it, just yet), and 8,000 laughs and memories later, Giselle and I pranced out of our final boutique - ready to take Manhattan by storm, one avenue at a time.

I am truly living the good life.

Vodka Tonic With Lime Lite Ice

I'm not an alcoholic. I'm a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings.

My best friend recently accused me of becoming an alcoholic. She says I drink every day. Yes, she is absolutely correct. However, alcoholism is a very serious problem to which I do not admit.

I live in a city where I deal with crazy people every day, but I'm not a shrink.

I live in a city where I give away money to people in need, but it didn't go to a charity.

I live in a city where I dodge in and out of traffic trying not to get hit, but I'm not even in a car.

I think I deserve a drink, dammit! And so does every other high-strung, over worked, under sexed, trying to survive in a city filled with more crazies than Bellevue New Yorker!

And I will drink to that.

Be with you.

(Play track while reading.)

As Shawn caressed my neck with his lips and seductively pulled my hair, I giggled and then whispered his name. He grabbed my hips and gently unzipped my skirt; his instantaneous reaction shocked me. He wasn't normally this forward, but it pleased me to know he wanted me as bad as I desired his touch.

He twisted me around, graced his chiseled chest against the arch of my back, and slowly pursed his luscious lips against my spine as he wrote each letter of his name down my back with his tongue. He knew he had me, alternating between kisses and alphabet maneuvers with his tongue. My breathing deepened, and my body quivered under his touch. Shawn was very well aware that I was at his disposal.

Within seconds of our first sexual encounter, he discovered that my back could nearly make me climax and used this knowledge to his advantage ever since. He loved me loving him. Every moan, every request, every exasperation, name, quiver was graciously accepted and further multiplied.

"Don't stop..."

My wish was his command, and this genie in a bottle had no intentions of slowing down or stopping. For the following hour and a half, Shawn showed me why he's my Ryan. He kissed, caressed, worshiped, explored, and thrilled my body in ways that I could never type. Not because I'm timid to share - every detail is worthy of a Dickinson novel - but because words cannot describe what I experience when I'm with Shawn.

Every time we're intimate, there's so much history, so much joy and pain intertwined into our sexual experience. It's as if we read each other's souls as we love each other. He's my Big, and we just don't seem to be able to let go.

Despite our ups and downs, passion always reigns. He evokes my naughtiest desires and releases my inner fantasies. He explores my body like no other man. Stretches my comfort level only to bring me to higher forms of pleasure. Takes the road less traveled, but always brings me to my destination.

What are you doing?

Me: Talking to myself.

Him: Why?

Me: Because I always get the last word.

Cupid shot me in the heart...

And I fell in love with New York.

Running free

Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free 'til they find someone just as wild to run with them.

Sex and the City

Top 5: The Sex in This City Edition

Welcome to Top 5, Volume 1. Every week, I will add an installment to my Top 5 Edition, which is a list of my Top 5 (fill in the blank). Today's founding installment is The Sex in This City Edition.

Why sex? Why not? Without it you and I would not be here. So, let's delve into some pollenation!

I can define my sexual experiences through 5 names. Each name personifies a sexual experience to which I judge all present and future encounters.

Marc - Marc was my Picasso. He created a master piece in bed. He could do things and make me feel ways I didn't think were possible or legal.

Every woman deserves at least one Marc in her life. That one sexual experience that can be described only through sound. 'Mmmmmm' or a massive sigh. A sexual experience that is just such - an experience - an out of body, I just went to Heaven and back experience. A mind boggling, words cannot express, once in a lifetime sexual experience that all other sexual experiences will be compared to and subsequently will fall below the mark (pun intended).

He is also the type of guy who you secretly don't want to tell your friends about (but end up dishing about after you and he are officially over) because you don't even want to chance having an envious friend side-eye him.

Grade: A+ - Graduated high school at 16. Finished college in 3 years, then pursues a Masters. Just received an honorary Doctorate. We have a genius here, folks!

Ryan - If I were Tony the Tiger, one saying could summarize Ryan. He's "grrrrr-great!" He's no Michaelangelo; so, don't expect a Sistenth Chapel here. Yet, he knew what he was doing, and, even better, he did it very well. An orgasm was guareenteed and so was a fun time. (Who knew I was that flexible!?!) Like Marc, every woman deserves a Ryan for when Marc is busy. Lol. A Ryan is defitinitely bragging rights material.

Grade: A-/B+ - Strong GPA, Honor Roll

Alex - Alex defines decent sex. At times, he's good. Other times he's just okay. Sometimes, I'd have an orgasm, and the rest of the time I wouldn't. He's one of those guys that you won't rant and rave to your friends about his amazing skills in bed, but you won't complain either. Fortunately, he's the teachable type, and every once and I while, he'd Ace his test!

Grade: B to C+ - not stellar, but consistently good, above average

Jason - After having sex with Jason, I immediately wanted to fall down, bump my head, and wake up with a severe case of amnesia. Unfortunately, I still remember the bad sex. I almost told him, "Okay, enough, this just has to stop!" But he (very fortunately) came within 7 minutes of us starting. I kid you not! Not only was he bad in bed, but also he gave Speedy Gonzales a run for his money.

Grade: C- to D+ - If this were the SATs, he was one of those kids that benefitted from filling in his name correctly.

Kevin - I wish I were a nun.

Kevin is the anti-hero, or, in this case, the anti-Marc. He is the one sexual experience I wish I never experienced. He took bad sex to another level. He's one of those men you question, "Is this his first time?" Or ask yourself, "Should I kill myself now, or later? Now." He is the story that you tell your friends because you think you need counseling, and they believe you. If Jason (see above) epitomizes the saying, "Tragedy plus time equals comedy", then Kevin signifies "Life isn't fair."

Grade: Don't pass go. Don't collect $200. Go straight to Jail. You failed! You get a 0!!! Repeat the grade!

Ladies, who are your Top 5? Any good stories???!

And Gents, feel free to spill your Top 5 too!

Be.

To thine own self be true.
Shakespeare, dishing out wisdom from way back when.

'But'

My Dad once told me,

"Anything you say before 'but' is always trumped by what is said after."

Thus, I present the following examples:

I love you, but it's just not going to work out.
Translation: I wish you were better in bed.

Your son is an intelligent student, but he isn't applying himself.
Translation: Your son's an idiot.

You look great, but everyone can always afford to lose a few.
Translation: Put the burger down, fatty.

Your application was very strong, but we regret to inform you that we cannot offer you a spot at our school.
Translation: Hahahahahaha. You're not going to college.

I'm doing great, but...
Translation: I just suckered you into listening about my day.

TAG YOU'RE IT! Gimme your best 'but', but if it starts with 'I love your blog, but...' (Pun intended.)

I (Heart) This City

My hair is always at its best in New York. I don't know what's in the water. It could be the mousse. Ellen Degeneres, TV Guide - November 2005

If London is a water painting, New York is an oil painting. Peter Shaffer, New York Times - April 13, 1975

New York now leads the world's greatest cities in the number of people around whom you shouldn't make a sudden move. David Letterman, The Late Show with David Letterman - Feb 9, 1984

Cities have sexes: London is a man, Paris a woman, and New York a well adjusted transsexual. Angela Carter, New Society

... And 2 SATC's for the road!

Carrie: New York City is all about sex. People getting it, people trying to get it, people who can't get it. No wonder the city never sleeps. It's too busy trying to get laid.

Miranda: Why do I think living in Manhattan is so fantastic?

Carrie: Because it is!

The difference between success and failure

Just a little lesson I thought I'd share:

Most people that fail don't lack strength. They lack will.

Overheard in New York

20-Something Hipster:

I call her my special lady friend, and she calls me her gentleman caller -- because boyfriend and girlfriend are too possessive.

Courtesy of overheardinnewyork.com

You must earn my kisses.

I will not kiss you if you do not give me butterflies.

I will not kiss you if you buy me dinner, take me dancing, and walk me to my front door step, and expect me to kiss you.

I will not kiss you if you believe chivalry is dead.

I will not kiss you out of pity or if I'll regret kissing you.

I will not kiss you unless you're worth the build up, the release, and, most importantly, the aftermath.

Yet...

I will kiss you if you give me butterflies.

I will kiss you when you least expect it.

I will kiss you if you act like the gentleman your mother raised you to be.

I will kiss you because it felt right deep down inside and at that moment, and moments to come, I could see myself kissing and kissing and kissing you.

I will kiss you if you make me smile from my heart, feel that I've met my prince charming, and believe that when you look into my eyes that spark that shines is for me.

Girls Night In (Pt. 1)

As Jaizen, Blake, and Shawn hit the city streets for their infamous, weekday Guys Night Out, Giselle, Chelsea, and I spent some quality time together for our monthly (and impromptu) Girls Night In. Giselle's Park Ave apartment proved a quality and quite stylish venue.

Giselle recently redecorated her one bedroom. Abandoning her plush, white, Miami inspired pad for a ice blue and camel colored theme, Giselle's fashionista style resonates throughout the apartment, and she was more than proud to show it off. It was as much a Girls Night In as a 3 person house warming party - for Giselle showed off every inch of her place. After what felt like a never ending tour of every fabulous nook and crany, Girls Night In finally began.

The theme of Girls Night In is always chosen by the host, and Giselle was in a curious mood. So, her theme - Secrets, Secrets (are no fun unless they are for everyone) - was particularly suiting. Of course, she paired secret spilling with the perfect loose lip propeller - liquor and lots of it. As the Fendi Bag Crew went from 'Cheers!' to graciously swallowing the weeks woes, in form of passion fruit mojitos, the game was about to begin!

Stay tuned for Pt. 2, entitled You Did What?! (Teaser: Chelsea has a BIG secret that will nearly jeopardize our friendship + Giselle's crazy celebrity sex romp with...?)