The catcall and the call back

The catcall has always been puzzling to me. The various calls that guys throw out to unsuspecting women in the hopes of... well, I'm not quite sure. Here are some that may ring a bell:

The infamous whistle
The "hey you sexy thing"
The "nice legs"
The "hey ma can I get me a piece of that"
The "you're a goddess"
and my personal favorite....the "psst, psst", like you're a stray or lost cat.

Most times I walk by looking at something other than the offender, ipod on, earphones in and volume at a ligimately high enough volume that I actually don't hear most details of the catcall. Living in new york, I have perfected my defenses. There are some days though, when I honestly wonder what would happen if I returned the favor... For example, if I get a "hey you sexy thing", I respond with a "no, no.... hey you sexy thing". Would he stutter? Would he think that I was honestly interested and try to get my number? But alas, as much of a smarta$$ that I can be, I lack the guts to be that big of one.
But the other day, as I was walking home, past the four construction sites on my block, and the four large groups of construction workers I got a catcall that I have never received before.... after ignoring the usual calls one of the workers in the last group called me a whore. He actually called me a whore. Not a slut or bitch…or even a ho…a full fledged whore. So, confronted with the situation I did what any self respecting whore would do.... I stopped dead in my tracks, turned and smiled my sweetest smile and flicked him off. Then, leaving them actually speechless, I turned and walked up the stairs into my home.

Betty Crocker Clinic

Do they honestly have one? If yes, I really need to go.

-This weekend I bought, and ate, an entire box of Entenmann's donuts. Yep, the ones that taste like chocolate covered cardboard. And I loved every bite. I even brought a couple with me (for the road) when we went out drinking on Saturday night.
-Yesterday I single handedly ate an entire bag of Pepperidge farm chocolate chip cookies in about 1 and 1/2 hours... ok, so I let Karl have one, but only because I felt bad that he was hungover...but I really wanted them all to myself.
-Today I literally ate an 11 oz bag (that would be .6875 lbs) of Hershey's kisses. I definitely felt like I was going to ralph half way through the bag, but I couldn't help myself...I wanted to eat the entire thing.

I haven't eaten a chocolate cake out of the garbage yet....but I'm getting pretty close. People should probably be concerned.

Queen of the Chicken Party

Due to recent events in a very close friend of mine's life....I thought this was a good time to resurrect this blog....

A few weeks ago my friend Ella and I were talking on our way to the train after work. She was telling me about how in her country they have Chicken Parties, similar to the American BBQ, except with Chicken. Often times this is how singles meet new people and some start dating. Ella then told me about this talk show host Camille (the female Jerry Springer) and how she has women on her show that meet men at these chicken parties, swear that their man is only dating them and then 5 "girlfriends" later they bring out the boyfriend. Devastated, shocked and pissed off, these women go at each other and the man typically stays quiet.
Ella had recently broken up with John, a friend, who turned into a friend with benefits, who turned into something a little more. Ella and John dated for 12 months but 10 months into it she started to get the feeling that he was dating someone else. He, of course, told her she was crazy. Flash forward 2 months and Ella finds herself in his backyard while his "ex-girlfriend", Adrienne, is telling her that she and John have been sleeping together and Adrienne is also aware that John has been dating a third and fourth woman as well. What was John's response when confronted by all of this you may ask...Absolutely nothing. He stayed quiet and then left the yard. After telling me this story Ella turned to me and asked me, "So when did I become Queen of the Chicken Party?"
It's funny how that happens, I mean, no one wants to be Queen of the Chicken Party, and yet, unless you are exceptionally lucky you will be or have been Queen of the Chicken Party (in one form or another) at least once in your life. A crown not many of us care to wear and yet when we are little girls wearing a crown is all we can dream about. I remember as clear as day when I was 5 years old and my mother told me that Sara means Princess in Hebrew. I couldn't believe my luck. I was a Princess, a real Princess, I was royalty and it was my birthright, given to me by name! Unfortunately, the memo regarding my coronation did not seem to reach the greater male population and the only royalty I too have been is Queen of the Chicken Party.
Every time I hear one of my friends tell me about how they found out the guy they have been dating/seeing (or whatever the hell those of you who play word games want to call it) is "seeing" (to be kind) a couple of other people the first thing that pops to my mind is; when do they find the time?? I mean seriously, between work, going out with my friends, work, traveling to see my family, work, road trips with my girls and of course shopping I barely have the time to keep one "relationship" afloat let alone multitask like that! And while I think it's totally dick, I can't help but be slightly impressed by their ability to juggle multiple people like that. Let's face it, I'd be screwing up names and conversations all the time.
I can also never understand the friends who stay with the guy even after they find out either. They turn a blind eye and hope for the best, believing all that he says is true. Not me, I have relinquished the crown (and will continue to do so), because that is not the type of Queen that I am prepared to be. It didn't work for Ella either. She walked away from John and never looked back. Two weeks later he was calling her, texting her, leaving her "I'm sorry and I miss you" messages and even calling her friends. Why? Because she walked away, because he knows he will never find another Ella. She is beautiful, successful, sweet and caring and girls like that don't come along every day. And now he sees that, and now he knows.... see that's the funny thing about relinquishing some crowns, you create your own status and that is far more memorable than wearing any other title that someone else has forced on you.

Hold the Tonic please....

Saturday night I went to go see Tallagdega Nights with Karl, Rick, RD and John (hysterical movie btw...if you haven't seen it, you definitely should). It had been one of those days when Karl and I had run errands all day, had a late dinner and were just meeting friends for a movie. You know the days, those casual, "I lost my belly ring earlier today, thank god I had just bought a new one 10 minutes before, then I spilled my frozen margarita all over the place and I really wanted it...I mean, so badly I wanted to lick it off of the table but that would be totally inappropriate, ugh I just want to be a bum" kind of days. ...... Ultimately we decided to go to a theatre in Ricks neighborhood.... right around where Murray Hill kisses Gramercy. Here's the problem, you can't casually go out to a movie and then stroll to a bar for a drink in that neighborhood....I mean you can, but not the same way you can in let's say...my neighborhood. Why?.... well mostly because of the joys of walking down the street any time after 10pm on a Friday or Saturday in Gramercy and Murray Hill....Westchester and Long Island has thrown up all over the streets it's "best dressed" and most "trendy" individuals. The guys all wearing almost identical button down dress shirts and the girls in their shortest dresses and highest heals. It is truly a sight that I have yet to become acustomed to....and the day that I do means that I have completely lost all touch with reality and I need to move out of the tristate area.
As we walked past Tonic I got a flashback of something....I couldn't quite put my finger on it... then I saw a couple of people I went to college with... The Post (!).... Tonic reminds me of The Post.... The "it" place for freshmen at Albany to go, get ridiculously over dressed and ho themselves out for the night. (there's no denying it....we all did it.) So that's what Tonic is...the adult version of The Post! I really saw the weirdness of it all as I walked past in my jeans, tank, hooded zip (listen, 8 months of chemo does crazy shit to your body temp) and flip flops....and the people outside definitely looked confused as to why we were dressed so casually. Like it never crossed their minds that people actually live in these areas and do regular day to day things...that don't involve heals and button down shirts. I laughed to myself as we walked past....ok, that's a lie...I kind of chuckled out loud...ok, that's a lie too, it was more of a snort (my freaking nose....damn that mechanical bull)... So Tonic, Banc, Tin Lizzie, Metro 53...and all of those other "city bars" that only LI and WC people go to...I'm just going to universally call them The Post. It just fits, and I feel, gets across very clearly the type of bars they are.

Nervous Breakdown

I'm pretty sure I'm at the start of mine. I'm not depressed or anything...I'm just pretty sure that this is what a nervous breakdown feels like. I once heard someone say that "everyone has their tipping point".... I love that phrase and I've decided I'm going to adopt it in honor of the fact that I have been completely off of my rocker the past week (yes, more so than usual).
You know the weeks.... the weeks when:
you find out that not only is your work load about to quadruple but your boss thinks that you're intelligent and capable enough to take on said workload (nobody panic!),
you feel like you're running around so much that you can't remember the last time you sat down on the couch in your own house,
you're getting phone calls from your dry cleaning service because you've managed to leave half of your wardrobe there for 2 weeks,
you realize summer is almost over and you've only gotten to go to the beach once (once!),
you're pretty sure you're riduculously underpaid and all of the "rite of passage" pep-talks make you just want to vomit,
you've convinced yourself that some random person at the bank has been tapping into your bank account and stealing your money because your balance is alot lower than you feel it should be.....
Yep, you know exactly what i'm talking about. And that's the kind of week I was having.
I finished off my week by finding out that I fractured my nose and left cheekbone during my drunken debacle. I literally broke my face. Friday I had to go to meet with a surgeon and this week I have to go for a freaking CATSCAN. I found out that not only was I not brave for waiting two weeks to tell a doctor that I had injured myself, but I was, infact, an idiot. Now I have to wait 4 weeks to have surgery so that they can repair the damage. Ugh... and I have to find the time to do this during a crazy work schedule with possible travel and meeting my bf's rents.... "hi mom and dad, this is my girlfriend...she doesn't normally walk around with two black eyes and a giant bandage on her face...i swear. And she did not get a nose job and plastic surgery...she just broke her face after riding a mechanical bull while blasted out of her mind... Isn't she pretty??"
Normally this wouldn't upset me so much..... but alas, Friday, this was my tipping point. I think I actually almost spontaneously combusted... I'm totally not kidding... I got myself so worked up on Friday that I actually gave myself a fever. Who does that??? Apparently people who are having nervous breakdowns...that's who. At least, that's what they suggested on Web MD when I typed in my symptoms... (should I admit that I did that?)

I am an a$$

No seriously, it's pretty much certifiable. Let me give you a couple of reasons...just from this morning:

- This morning I signed onto myspace and I noticed that my boyfriend's best friend had sent me a comment... very cool, I am now an action figure. (p.s. I think I rock at being an action figure if I do say so myself) In the process of looking at the comment I noticed he had changed his picture. Being the ditz that I am, I thought that he had superimposed some giant alien penis to his chin in the picture and posted a comment on his page to that effect. Clearly it is not an alien penis... it is his hands. Why would anyone superimpose a penis to their face??? I'm not sure, but I thought he had. My mind is obviously in the gutter... I should probably be ashamed of myself. (Note: I should probably get my eyes checked again as well.)

- I had to explain to my bosses that I had a 4pm doctors appointment today to check on my nose. Steve and the DOM (please refer to past blogs) asked me how I hurt my nose...
Me: um, well..... I fell down
Steve (looking at me suspiciously like I'm a victim of domestic violence): Fell down?
Me: yeah.... it's kind of embarassing....
Steve: so you were drunk??
Me: kindof ... but I definitely would have done it sober too.... I'm a clutz
Steve: how drunk were you?
Me: oh, not really..... (total lie!)
Steve: so, where did you fall?
Me: in a bar...
Steve: yes, but how and where?
Me: ooooh, please don't ask me....

It's official there is nothing worse than having to tell your boss (who recently promoted you due to his belief that you are a very competent person) that you broke your nose while riding a mechanical bull drunk. Nothing!

- Patty's out today, a hostage at the DMV in Jersey.... so I'm swamped. (which is why I'm taking the time to write this blog) I found out that I have to run to a clients office. I wore copper sandals today.... copper(!).... and while they do look stunning, I work in wealth management. I know this sounds ridiculous to some people, but trust me, it's a very conservative industry. 30 minutes later, nervous about the sandal situation I spilled easy mac all down the front of my self. Nope, not one or two noodles... the whole damn thing. I hate myself today.....

Nonsense and my nose

Just some random things that have happened:

In a moment of dieting miracles I caught a horrible stomach flu and was vomiting for approximately 36 hours straight. While I was home, laying on the bathroom floor, spooning the toilet, convinced that I was most likely dying I got a phone call from my roommate who apparently overnight developed a serious allergy to Tuna. Unfortunately, like most allergy discoveries, she found this out after she ate a ridiculous amount of Tuna. I never knew people could actually turn purple...but Sarah's always been an over-acheiver so if anyone could make themselves turn purple, it would be her. Yes, she was calling me from the drug store, while turning purple, asking me what she should get to help with the reaction. My first thought.... hmm, perhaps a hospital?.... but Sarah swore it wasn't a big deal.... needless to say one phone call to her doctor and some serious amounts of Benadryl later, she was sent home to me. The only condition was that I would be able to look after her to make sure she didn't...oh let's say...stop breathing. I thought about it and decided that in between trips to the bathroom I could definitely make sure she was still alive. So their we were, such a pretty pair...both home sick on a Thursday, not playing hooky...actually sick. Me vomiting and Sarah crashing from the large consumption of Benadryl she had taken to counter-act the effects of the Tuna.

After much procrastination, I went to my favorite salon to go get my nails and eyebrows done yesterday. I got my nails done first and then it was time for me to get my eyebrows done. Now, I should have remembered that I had broken my nose only 10 days before, I should have said something to the woman doing my eyebrows.... but alas, I am a complete flake at times and so I did not think to say anything at all. Well, nothing until I yelped from pain as I heard a slight rip as she leaned on my nose to balance her hand. (Everyone who has ever broken their nose before, just cringed.) Now I can't be 100% sure, but I'm pretty sure that that was more painful than when I actually broke my nose.... mostly because this time I was sober. Eyes instantly bloodshot and tearing I stood up and mumbled something about breaking my nose....next thing I knew there was an icepack immediately on my face. An icepack that got stuck to my face because I still had wax on it. Needless to say, instead of being "right back" from my lunch break, I was gone for a bit longer. As I relayed the story to Patty the first thing that she said was, "well, I hope you don't bruise again".....Too late, one of the first things Karl said when I saw him last night..."you're eye is looking a little purple".... and a little bit later in the conversation.... "Sweetie, maybe you should just walk around with a helmet on until your nose completely heals".
Anyone got a helmet I can borrow?

Two of my good friends hit a rough patch in the healing process of recent break-ups this week. Two! I am fiercely loyal to my friends so I truly take their difficult times to heart. In honor of being depressed and stressed on their behalf, I basically housed an entire bag of Reese's peanut butter cups yesterday. Thank god, chocolate does not have any calories when you're stressed!

I called my doctor today because I decided that it may be a slight problem that my left eye keeps tearing and i can't breathe out of or feel the left side of my nose still. I actually left a message for him and his assistant called me back.

ast: hi sara, it's Ann from dr. smith's office.... dr. smith is on vacation this week but he got your message and would like you to come in and see him in the office tomorrow.

me: oh, well i can just wait until he gets back to see him...it's not a big deal.

ast: no, he said that you'd say that. he told me that 'sara farkas always waits until the last minute to call me. The last time she saw me for a "minor stomach ache" she had stomach cancer... if she's saying it's not a big deal, it probably is a big deal.'

me: oh... ok

ast: so we'll see you tomorrow at 4 sara.

me: ok....

And here I was affraid that they'd think I was over reacting.....

Come One, Come All

Friday my elevator bank in my office building wasn't working. I had to take a seperate elevator bank and then walk up two flights to my floor. Thanks to the broken elevators and retarded repair men, two great things happened:
1 - Thanks to the stomach flu and nearly 36 hours of violent puking, this woman actually stopped me to tell me I had the smallest waistline she had ever seen... (note: please add random elevator lady to list of people i totally love ... also let's take a moment to thank the occassional stomach flu which always helps shed those couple of unwanted pounds.)
2- I totally met my best friends future husband. Actually I met like 10 possible future husbands. Elissa is always telling me that I need to get lost on the 3rd floor of my building because there are some really hot guys that work on that floor. .... Some? Some?? ..... No, let's try LOTS. There I was glowing from the afore mentioned compliment when a fleet (fleet!) of good looking guys came over to get into the elevator. After I picked my jaw up from the floor I decided that I seriously need to take my single girlfriends to that floor and just get lost up there.... you know, kind of drop them off and say I'll be back in a couple of hours. Seriously, any of you girls looking for a cute guy...send me an email and I'll point you in the right direction.

Pepper Spray and Mullets

Recently when I was home visiting my family my brother and my father tried to press upon me the importance me carrying around pepper spray. Especially since, in their humble opinions, I tend to walk around in a general state of "I'm not aware of what's going on around me". I tried to explain to them that they don't understand what happens to me when I am in New York... I am not to be trusted with pepper spray. Here are some reasons why:
- Yesterday, on the subway ride home, some guy was using his cell phone as a boom box (no ear phones)...he sat there blasting his crappy music from 1993 -- If I had had some on me, I would have sprayed him with pepper spray.
- This morning, on the subway, some random guy followed me from spot to spot trying to talk to me. I had my ipod earphones in, reading a book and this a-hole is trying to hit on me (!). At one point he leaned over and plucked one of my ear phones out of my ear... -- would definitely have sprayed him with pepper spray.
-As I was waiting for the elevator some guy cut me in line and then preceded to tell me I had pretty eyes... It was a million degrees, 8:30am, and he just cut me in line after I had been waiting for 10 minutes -- Definitely would have sprayed him too.
-Once I was in the elevator some woman who works on the 22nd floor got in...mullet and all. Who still has a mullet?? It's ridiculous... it wasn't even a mini-mullet, it was a full fledged, it must be 1985 mullet. -- Out of principle I would have sprayed her too. Then I would have found out who cuts her hair (shame on them!) and gone and sprayed that person as well.

This is why I have no business owning something like pepper spray.