Cucumbers and Coors

Ladies … And for the male followers who will wish to remain anonymous… MY GIRLFRIEND HAD THE MOST FUCKED UP WEEKEND!!!!!

No more surprises!! I am now accustomed to the stories I hear from my girlfriends, “NYESPN” (New York Entertaining Sexy Perverted Never-to-be-told) highlights of the weekend.


The story went down like this…

My MicePack – “MP” (which is my abbreviation for the female rat pack, not to be mistaken for the abbreviation for the Meatpacking District) – and I were out last night to watch a little football in the West Village.

So we the MP, mid-life crisis hot mamacitas, cruised into the Windsor Bar (full of pre-pubescent little big men, pounding on their hairless chests rooting for their schools they attended… last year) and we quickly realized that we are not Cougars, not MILF’s, just “WWWTGF.”

Can anyone figure that out?

Please comment on this post with your answer. If so, you win nothing (not enough followers to afford any electronic gifts to you at the moment), but will be rewarded verbally!


We gals bolted from the frat house disguised as a bar and went to our favorite oyster spot and played the “Drink Mimosa’s at 5pm on a Sunday and spill your sex beans” game.

I know…. We’re alcoholics. Stylish alcoholics though…

All my friends are up on the latest trends. One of my girlfriends politely insulted me at our “Oyster Binge” and made me aware that my handbag from Canal Street was not Gucci or Coach, it was “Cuuchi.”

I know, don’t judge me!!! I guess the “G” for Gucci and the “C” for Coach were morphed into a “GC” combo.


Yes, I bought, and still buy, knock off handbags, hoping to pass for a cool hipster chic or a sandal-slaving “Tori Bitch” with Mercedes medallions on my flats. (Yes, Century 21 still sells them.)

Anyway, enough about classy me…


My friend, “Ms. Cucumber” went out on a date with last Friday night with Mr. Pat Sajack meets Town and Country Magazine. You know the guys that are quirky, eccentric and can be as weird as they want because they are FUCKING LOADED?????

Yeah. This one was as flavorless as microwaved tofu.


I’ll cut right to the cucumber…

He — I’ll call him JR — took my gal out to a very nice dinner at L’Artusi in the “West Vill.”  This is a classy Italian restaurant, which would make any woman feel wanted, desired and classy if someone asked you to dinner there.

She — I’ll call her Tammy — was fucking more excited then my aunt Jackie before a Botox injection. She thought she hit the New York Lottery. Yet, dating in NYC is hard. If you’re online or not, it’s work. She was hopeful, but JR was strange.

JR asked her back to his pad on the Upper East Side, which she was willing to overlook because anything above 14th street is so laymo… full of Mr. Pink shirts that needed to be laundered about a year ago.

I know, we women are such dogs!!! Not cats, guys, we really are dogs. Our Equinox locker room banter regarding “what’s his penis size?” is brutal.

JR asked Tammy,” Do you ‘Party Party,’ Tammy?”


“What?” She played dumb. ” I don’t what you mean.”

I have no idea how “Party Party” became the Urban Dictionary definition for the question, “Do you do coke?”


Some unknown porn star started channeling through her body, making her respond to his perverted questions quickly and without consequence. Tammy sheepishly whispered, “Yeah, baby, I do.”

JR ran up stairs and left her downstairs for 30 min. Tammy thought that was weird and went on a millionaire hunt in his 5-story penthouse.


She found JR on the 4th floor sitting at his desk, whacking his very small “pee pee” to

“What the fuck, JR??? Seriously?? Is this really what’s happening???”

JR looked at her vacantly and said, “Don’t you think this is hot, Tammy?”

“No, I fucking don’t??? JR, I’m not going to watch you whack off. I’m headed to bed.”

Tammy went to bed with his Chihuahua, a little “Paris Hilton” dog, and let JR go to town on himself.


Tammy laid down at 2:35am she claims…

She was awakened by JR’s strung-out voice calling a Deli for a delivery.

JR: “Hi, I’d like to make an order for a delivery…

(It was 6:21am.)

JR: “Um, yeah, um yeah…. hahahaha. I’d like 6 Coors lights, a pack of cigarettes, large tub of Vaseline (what’s a tub?) and 3 medium Cucumbers….”

Once Tammy heard this disgusting request, even though being a vegan, she decided the best course of action besides juicing the cucumbers was aborting the mission immediately. ​

What did she learn from this experience? Fans, I ask you? ​​Tammy is still on an Oyster Binge, ordering cucumber mojitos with a serious case of chapped lips. She needs our help.


I got a T.W.W ticket today!

<Hello friends,

This is an unusual post as it has nothing to do with dating stories (well sort of does), but felt compelled to write this as I was walking in the subway today. I have recently moved back to New York and have realized that the city at 35 years old is a hell of a lot different from when I lived here at 25 years young.

Everyone is on their phones with their heads down, walking full speed ahead and bumping into every poor innocent tourist. I can barely maneuver Penn Station, let alone Grand Central. It’s a war zone!

While I was trying to dodge human paint balls in the belly of Grand Central, I thought to myself, “What’s worse than texting while driving? Texting while walking!”

Really people….?

Some jack ass ( a rather cute banker type) just cited me with a “T.W.W” verbal warning when he sat down next to me on the train.

I grumbled, “What the hell is that?”

He answered with a whisper, “It’s stand for “Texting While Walking! You about killed me just now as you entered the train.”

I chuckled, “Sorry, I was playing “Words with Friends, what do you expect?”

He was not amused.

I swear I have had more pedestrian head on collisions since I moved back to NYC two months ago. Either I’m checking my email incessantly, responding to every text message within seconds or trying to get my damn compass to work on my I-Phone while walking around the city.

My friends make fun of me because I have no idea which way west or east is in the city. My friends always say, “Walk the same direction the cabs are going when you get off the subway!”

What’s the rule on responding
to text messages anyway? What do people think when you respond in seconds? Maybe they are wondering if have a life? Don’t answer that.

What about autocorrect? Fuck! It’s so god damn annoying. I can’t tell you how many times I have been asked if I speak Hindu as my first language? Sometimes I give up and “jug” send the text message anyway.

And the LOL’s, OMG’s, TYLL’s, NP’s …. I’m done, especially with “LOL.”

Why can’t people pick up the phone and call? I had a three week relationship with this guy I met when I moved back to NYC. The relationship was amazing on text. Finally, AT&T called and said I was over my text limit and go out already!


I met Mr. Text for a drink and had nothing to talk about face to face. He was a total dud. I went to the bathroom and “texted” my best friend to call me in 5 minutes so I could get out of the date. My friend called shortly after and I left the restaurant. Of course, I did not “call her,” so I am no better than the people or men I am bitching about!

The next day my “text boyfriend” texted me that we were not right for each other. He didn’t feel we had a connection. Hilarious. Whatever.

So now I have come to the conclusion, there are text boyfriends and phone boyfriends. Texting is the lowest form of communication. If you have a text boyfriend, don’t expect much….LOL!

What’s really funny is that while writing this walking in Grand Central with my head down, I got on the 7 train instead of the E.

OMG! I’m LOL! Oh well, NP!

Until my next commute,

Miss NYanonymous..

He matches me, he matches me not…

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Oh my, I never would have thought I would blog about my days in the city 10 years ago, when online dating was so cool, but really NOT.  No one would EVER admit they were writing profiles online because it sounded so desperate.


Everyone was doing it! But why? Why in a city of 8 million just in Manhattan alone, would a beautiful woman like me need to go online to date?

Well, if you can believe it, I was bored and so were my friends. Every night we would go out in the city and do the same lame thing, drink, talk to a guy in suit and then if we were REALLY lucky we’d get our bill paid with the hopes that we would not have to sleep with the suit, especially if he was the “Happy Hour Suit.”  Those guys were never that cute, pretty overweight and had the worst scotch breath (not to mention they never flossed). Ew!!!

Who knows how long they had been sitting on those stools in the generic pop up irish pubs with the foul smells of beer soaked in the wood from years passed evaporating into their clothes. “The Suits” just sat there waiting for incoming mid 20 year old’s to walk through the door. But in their defense, these suits were walking ATM’s. So it’s safe to say, I have had plenty of fish and chips in my day!

One night my friends and I went out (every night was girls night out) and we were sitting around a table at a swanky restaurant that we read about in “Time Out” magazine. The big joke around the city was who could find out about the hot spots before the masses did (masses meaning the “Bridge and Tunnel crowd.” Sorry if you are reading this and you are from New Jersey, no offense, really.

The life cycle of “cool, swanky, private, exclusive” went quickly in the city.  It seemed if over 100 people knew of a hot spot, it was urban mutiny and we were on to the next dark dingy lounge to be noticed.  How vain we were back then!

Like I was saying, girls night out turned into the contest of all contests.  We all had a couple of poor girls chardonnay, the house wine which was ONLY $15 dollars a glass and discussed who could get the most dates in one day on

There were three of us up for the challenge, the other three pushed their noses up in the stinky smoke that had drifted from the other tables and said, ” No way, they would never go public to admit how desperate they were! ”

Well as Darwin said oh so long ago, “It’s survival of the fittest baby!” And I was not going to fail.

We had 48 hours to secure 5 dates in one day.

We all went to work the next day at our lovely jobs that only paid us 40k a year.

That was another reason we wanted to take on the challenge. We were BROKE and the only way to survive, meaning feed on something besides a pretzel from a street cart like a bitchy woman with low blood sugar was to have a boyfriend.  We gals worked or starved during the day, then they (the walking ATM’s) took us out for dinner. It was that simple. No one cooked in NYC. I think I cooked a meal three times in over 2 years and it came out of a box.

Anyway, I was hungry, boy friendless and needed nourishment.  I was starting to fit into all the children sizes at the GAP.  Did I just say Gap, I meant Armani. Sorry.

The next day, sitting in my uncomfortable chair at work, I wrote my very witty, charming profile and posted it immediately.

I went home that evening from work feeling a little weird and exposed.

I mean what if I’m at Barnes and Nobles and the weird perverted man staring at me in line recognizes me from my profile handle, “Long walks on the beach?”

What if my boss was on Match? What if all the dorks on the trading floor at the bank I worked with were on Match? Is that why they were laughing when I got on the elevator?? I was totally paranoid. I started to keep my head down, every where I went. I was acting like everyone on the street was the Paparazzi!  I wore hats and sunglasses so I would go unnoticed.

24 hours had passed since the posting. I went back to work to check my email. In those days, I did not have a lap top.  Everything I did on a computer came from a big apple box the size of my parents TV.

I closed my eyes and logged on. My finger tip was white as I pushed the last button to sign on as hard as I could not wanting to let go, I held it for what felt like 30 minutes!

I released to find 300 messages!!! BINGO BABY! Oh yeah, I am was gonna win this contest and gain at least 5 pounds!!

Date 1:

Breakfast at 10am – Jan 2, 2001

Match #1  Bald, Boring and Bad Breath

Date 2:

Brunch at 12:00pm – Jan 2, 2001

Match #2  Fake, Funny and full of flatulence

Date 3:

Lunch at 2:00pm – Jan 2, 2001

Match #3

Mature, Manly and a maniac

Date 4:

Happy Hour at 5:00pm – Jan 2, 2001

Match #4

Strange, Stinky and stinky

6:30pm – Barf in the restaurant bathroom at Pastis

Date 5:

Dinner at 8pm – Jan 2, 2001

Match #5

Hot, Handsome and a Hard Body!

I won the bet, my friends came to meet me at my last date and sat at table across from us trying to be unnoticed to see what Match #5 was all about.

Needless to say I did not need to eat for a week after the contest. I have never been on Match since, but if things start to go south again for me and the hunger pains kick in, I will try!

Ms. will date for food – 2001

Miss NYanonymous, 2011 | Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Miss NYanonymous with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.