That "Giant Sucking Sound" Again

How can this be? Didn’t our beloved President just tell us that new jobs are on the way? That economic recovery is just around the bend? Is it possible that the Commander-in-Chief of our great nation is that out of touch?

Maybe he was referring to all of the new janitorial and tobacco harvesting opportunities that will flood Monster.com (does anyone even still use this?) once we legalize those 8 million illegals that ensure low wages for blue collar jobs. Somewhere in all of the rhetoric, I recall that the employers have to prove that no legal American citizen wants these crappy jobs.


Viva la Bush! Our fearless leader…Unless you happen to be one of those high-tech workers whose job just moved to India.

Vidal Sasson Once Again Saves the Day

I'd like to give a big shout out to Amy at Vidal Sasson on Newbury for giving me this stylin' haircut. My desire to "grow it out" necessitated leaving my hair untouched by scissors for four months and the resulting straw-like matter on my skull wasn't doing me any favors in the beauty department.

Also, not that I need it, being a 100% natural blonde, Nicole at VS does an amazing job with foils. So I hear...

Keep up the good work girls!!

Truth in Advertising

I came across this on Craigslist and just had to share. For some reason, I find this guy almost intriguing enough to respond to his cry for help. Almost.



28, SWM, brown hair, brown eyes, considered attractive by some women, considered a major downer by others. I can't hold down a job any more because of depression, I have a habit of creeping women out, no self-esteem to speak of, and I have absolutely no idea how to relate to normal human beings. I'll probably scare you off after about the third or fourth email, and never find out why. I'm miserable on Cape Cod, so I spend a lot of time in Boston. I write in complex sentences and think in obscure metaphors that tend to annoy people and give me the air of being an intellectual snob. And I feel incredibly guilty about all of this, making me even worse when the antidepressants aren't kicking in.

Just looking for some sympathy sex. I don't expect you to do anything more than be disappointed in me and pity me.

Who knew that Strippers had such an impact on the Superbowl?

There are just so many things I love about this. I don't know where to start.

I hope that the Panthers are in the muthafun' house like you read about! Cashing their paychecks in $5 bills, pumping huge amounts of pesos into the coffers of Houston's finer "Gentleman's Clubs" and signing autographs at the local police precincts.

This article goes a long way in explaining why Fox Sports, ESPN and CBS commentators thought that the Pats didn't have what it takes to get to the Superbowl: Lack of Criminal Records. We are just a bunch of goody-two-shoes compared to the line snortin', weapon carrying, and prostitute lovin' members of those other LOSING teams.

As an aside, if a picture of Tom Brady getting a lapdance from a nubile 19 year old stripper ever surfaces, I'll be crushed.



dtaggart2004@yahoo.com

Just Another Reason to Hate This Job

Talk about a bad day at work.
This would drive me to drink. I mean, I drink anyway but having my boss undermine me when I just had the most traumatic day of my life on the job would drive me to start knocking back shots of whiskey BEFORE I left the office.

New week = New attitude

It my pleasure to report that I had a awesome weekend that included the following: three pubs in Harvard Square Friday after work; going home due to the fact that the bars closed, not because the night sucked; one hangover; one makeup demonstration at Sephora (followed by a substantial purchase); a great visit with some friends and their new baby at their new home in Winchester (the dining room and the sitting room combined equal the size of my condo) and one much-needed sixty minute cardio session on Sunday.

So, back to work with fresh perspective on my “friend’s” hiding his new-now-former girlfriend from me. One half of the couple I hung out with yesterday is a psychiatrist who gave me a full, complimentary analysis of the situation (new fact: he called me to “catch up” and had a laundry list of upcoming events he wants to attend with me). From the beginning of his secret affair (I had gone out with him a few times while things were hot and heavy with them and he never mentioned her – that’s a secret!), he intended it to be short-term with her and wanted to keep his options open with me. If you knew what this guy did for a living, it makes perfect sense that he runs his social life as he would a business deal.

Whatever. I am seeing him twice this week after a long hiatus and am looking forward to it. He is good company and I have missed having him around. I am writing this in the hopes that I don’t review it in a few months and think how stupid I was to welcome him back into my social circle. Wouldn’t be the first error in judgement I have ever made!

As an aside, I am loving that the Democratic primary is going on right now. It keeps W off of the front page and consqeutnly, the volume of bile in my throat has been at a year-long low for a few weeks now. Keep up the good work Senator Kerry!

I have had better days

Sitting in this windowless office, I feel as if the life is being sapped out of me by the fluorescent lights and the incessant droning of the heat vents. No, I am not hungover, I just had my ego bruised.

Let me back up. Last night’s date couldn’t have gone better. We had a lot of laughs, he was a gentleman (a rarity here in Beantown) and it wasn’t one bit awkward. Not bad for two strangers. So, everything is going well and the vodka’s flowing and I hear someone say my name. I turned to see my friend’s ex girlfriend standing there smiling.

This girl is a real peach and I got right up to hug her. We did the usual chicks-who-haven’t-seen-each-other-in-a-while-thing: talking at the same time (I need you number! You look great! How is everything? Cool!). As I am jotting down my number for her, she gives me a sly smile and says, “You didn’t know I was dating X did you? Well, we just broke up”.

X is not her ex-boyfriend. X is someone that I thought was interested in me and then faded out of sight. I never even kissed this guy but I am floored because I introduced them. Then she and my friend broke up. Then X dropped out of site. Now, they have been-there-done-that and I can’t believe it.

I guess to be completely honest with myself, I am jealous. X is not a that great of a catch mind you. He isn’t even that nice and I should be grateful that I didn’t have the “tumultuous”, “disastrous” relationship (her words) with him that she did. I just thought that was going to be my experience to have. Not someone else’s. This makes sense in my chick brain. I am going with this theory to explain my borderline melancholia.

dtaggart2004@yahoo.com

Tad Hamilton Upstaged by kid from That 70’s Show – Big Time!

A friend and I had press passes from Dreamworks to catch the preview of “Win A Date With Tad Hamilton” last night. As I am not “press” per se, but did enjoy the movie (as did the throngs of 14-20 year old girls Dreamworks stocked the theater with), I feel compelled to earn my free pass (a $10 value!) by blogging about the flick.

Loved it. There would be no movie without Topher Grace (sp? It’ll be a household name soon enough. We all know how to spell “Kutcher” by now, don’t we?). It is not a cerebral film and it not the kind of movie I’d see sans free ticket, but it’s cool and doesn’t hurt one bit. I mean, I felt none of the physical pain I endured watching “Maid in Manhattan” on a transatlantic flight (I had seen the other films offered because they were good ones).

When it ended and the crowd of teary-eyed Tobey Maguire fans in low-rise jeans clapped like crazy, I turned to my friend and said, “That rocked”. He replied: “It was an excellent film for its genre”. No Shit! It wasn’t as if I had compared it to “Lost in Translation” for the love of god! Loosen up already – using the word “genre” after seeing a teen-chick-flick is just out of line…I imagine him thoughtfully eyeing a glass of Hi-C musing: “It has an amusing flavor. Fruity, sweet yet slightly tart”. Geez! And, yes, he's gay.


dtaggart2004@yahoo.com

Everyone Should be Shopping at Second Time Around

Kindly stop by Second Time Around on Newbury Street the next time you are in the neighborhood. Then, it would also be very kind of you to purchase one or several of the twelve items which I have on consignment there.

Please! I need the cash and Prada, remember, never goes out of style.

Just a suggestion. As you were…

Boston Sports Club: The Best Eye Candy $74 a Month Can Buy

Now I don’t know what goes on at other gyms in this city but I can tell you this: the hottest guys in Boston work out at Boston Sports Club. When I think of all those years wasted at Healthworks!

I’d go to the gym three times a week anyway but I’d be lying if I said that I didn't look forward to checking out the guys in the free weight section. And the guys running on the treadmill; Tall, lean bodies, toned muscles and angular facial features. Just the way I like them.

I can’t help but wonder: where are these guys during the day when I am running errands at lunch in the Financial District? What bars do they go to? Do most of them already have girlfriends/wives/boyfriends? How does one actually meet them? When I find out the answers to these questions, I promise to share. After all, we BSC girls are in it together.

This is no way to start the day

This morning, I woke before the alarm went off and realized: Fuck! It was 8 a.m. and the thing had never even sounded. As I dragged myself out of my unconscious state, the sensation of the sheets against my bare skin roused me into reality. I looked down to see that I was naked. I never sleep naked! What the hell happened last night?

I sat up and it was freezing and still dark. I jumped up and grabbed a sweatshirt off the floor and threw it on. The sweatshirt didn’t stop at my waist. It continued almost to my knees and the sleeves hung off of the end of my arms. This wasn’t mine! I turned and saw that the front door to the apartment was open and I ran to close it. My heart was beating a mile a minute now; I was disoriented and scared. The door wouldn’t shut properly and I almost fainted when I saw the calendar on the back of the door. I do not have a calendar on the back of my door. The floor plan was exactly the same as mine but this was not my apartment.

I flipped on the foyer light and looked around wildly. Obviously, a man lived here. Alone. The sparse furnishings, the boxer shorts on the floor, the threadbare towel hanging off of the doorknob of the bathroom; they spoke volumes about the occupant. I was not the occupant of said apartment and I had no recollection of ever having set foot in the place, taken off all of my clothes and drifting off to sleep.

Breaking into a cold sweat, I tore the sweatshirt off and grabbed the still damp towel. Wearing just the towel, I bolted out the place and turned to shut the door behind me. It was apartment 245. Strange. I knew that I was in my own building and actually I was just a few floors up from my own place as the floor plan of this place mirrored mine. My building however, does not have an apartment 245. Now in full panic-mode, I flew down the stairs, passing people in the hall who did not bat an eyelash as my attire or the tears in my eyes.

As I approached the door to my apartment at a full-fledged run, an alarm went off in the building. My last thought was: There is no way I am evacuating wearing only this towel. I opened my eyes and was facing my alarm clock from a supine position. It read: 6:30 a.m.

“Leg Models Needed”
I couldn’t help but click on this link in the “Help Wanted” section. The ad stated that a local photographer needed models with sculpted legs for a “2005 High Heel Calendar” he was putting together.

Now, I haven’t mentioned this before but, I have sculpted legs. My biceps are pretty cut too should anyone need an upper arm model but I digress. I read on to learn that he would pay $20 or pay for “time for prints” or “TFP” as we call it in the business. Well, I am not in the business yet but here was my big chance! If this law thing doesn’t work out I am going to need something to fall back on.

I called the number and left a message stating that I was only 5’3.5” but had a set of gams that wouldn’t quit. I didn’t really put it like that of course as this is not a Sam Spade movie but I got my point across. He called me back, listened to my string of reasons why I am not your typical model; including the scar on my knee from the time my brother pushed me off of my bike. How badly would my brother feel knowing that his callous act all those years ago might be all that stood between me and my new career? I do love him dearly though so I would take pains to ensure that he never found out if it in fact, becomes the case.

The photographer’s name is “Joe Angel” which sounds like either one of the Sopranos, the title character of a new series on the WB or a director of porn films. Joe doesn’t sound like any of these things though and we make an appointment for me to come by for an hour of “test shots”. My first modeling shoot!

Went out with Lisa tonight to catch up on things and get smashed. Although I have resolved to tell no one about my moonlighting, two pomegranate martinis takes care of that inhibition and I find myself saying:

“OK, I am not vain or anything and you know that I’d never call myself “model material” but…”
She is sobering up now with a look of confused anticipation because, although I have known her for years, this is an opening she has never heard before. I tell all and she loves it. She’s totally supportive and gets a kick out of the whole thing. She rocks.

Of course this becomes fodder for amusement all night and it just never gets old. She came back from the Ladies’ at one point and said that she’d just met a cool British guy who, after hearing we’d were going to London next month, said he’d stop by later. Lisa told him that she loved London and I interjected with, “and my friend is a model” and we just dissolved into a fit a vodka-fueled laughter.

To be continued!

I don't know where to start.
I walked into Dillon's and realized that, as usual, I had gotten there before Tina. I sashayed up to the bar and made a point to sit next to the only other solitary female bar-goer. Strength in numbers!
She wasn't alone for long though. I medium-hottie walked in a few minutes later, scanned the room, and headed her way. He said her name tentatively and she responded by saying his with a big smile. A blind date! Cool. I had about four of these last year myself and always like to spy on others.

As I sat there, listening intently, I couldn’t believe my ears. Earlier in the day I perused Craig list, as is my wont. Under the new “Strictly Platonic” forum, I found this post. Seems a female foreign war correspondent was in town looking for someone to have a drink with. She promised to provide “amusing anecdotes and stimulating conversation” as long as some guy provided the warm body next to her at the bar. Well, here she was! With her new “Strictly Platonic” amigo. A Craigslist success story taking place before my own eyes…

I stole a few glances at this chick as she went on about her time in Pakistan. She was attractive, blonde and wiry. I could totally picture her in a flap jacket, dodging bullets as she and her camera man ran for the cover. Not that she was telling any such story. I could just picture it.

One look at the guy said it all. The typical Boston, late 20’s, three-workouts-away-from-flabby, former captain of his high school football team, now in middle management at Fidelity and living in fear of the next round of layoffs. He’d been full of vim and vigor when they first started to chat but now he looked as though he was having the life sucked out of him. I think I know why.

Some men are insecure enough in their masculinity that they don’t need to have it challenged by some brainy, well-traveled war correspondent for the love of god! I mean, here she is just in town for four days to visit family before getting shipped off to conflict-torn Liberia and he is telling her about how he got into an argument with a fellow Beacon-Hiller who tried to take the parking space that he had shoveled out and marked with the dreaded folding chair. See where I am going with this?

This woman seems great. The perfect dinner guest and traveling companion. Well-spoken, refined, adventurous and friendly. Unless she finds her own Indiana Jones soon, she is going to be alone for a very long time. At least if she plans to live out her years in Boston.