You would have to be some kind of mental freak to not love this face. The only way that you could "not like it" is if you were masking your intense level of likeness due to the fact that you are uncomfortable with your sexuality.
I truly do love these dogs. But, lately I've been re-thinking my intentions to get one. I mean, I willll get one someday. I have just been seeing a lot of super cute, funky little rat dogs on the street. Mutts. I like their spunk, their personality. They are true individuals. Very lower Manhattan. Are they as cute as a Pom, well physically, no - but, they more than make up for it with their personalities. Plus there is something about not having parents that are related that makes for a more well adjusted personaility.
I would take my new dog, we'll call her, Loverly LadyPants, to a restaurant that is super cool for both cool people and their cool pets. The menu will have food for both of us and little chairs for LLP to sit in. Maybe she would make a friend? Maybe I would. HER: "Hi, your little rat dog is adorable!" ME: "Thank you, so is yours!" Then of course, we would not talk - because talking to strangers is annoying, but out rat dogs would get on amazingly. We would be so proud. LLP would be a real sparkplug. We would walk in and everyone would think to themselves, there is that lady and her little sparkplug of a dog - god, that dog seems amazing. It's pretty much what is going to happen.

DA CHEET!!

I have no time, but, I’m feeling the need to let loose with the inner monologue. It’s for the sake of the quality of work that I take this 10 minute break to free my mind. The Cheat is a character on www.homestarrunner.com, he amazing. He is by far the cutest character. He makes these little squeaky noises and makes a good sidekick for the ever feisty Homestarruner. Sometimes I wish I was The Cheat. Just squeaking through life when something affects my mental stability. Make cute little noises that no one understands instead of shitting out a stream of consciousness. Ideally, I wish there was one person who could always listen to the dribble and insecurities and when I was finished be able to not be affected by my words and not over think them and just smile. AND, then go through each bullet point I had put forth and tell me how silly each one was and how I should concentrate on all the positive things and forget the shit. Basically tell me everything is perfect and they love the insecurities and mood swings. God, am I woman or what? But, I do have that with a few people, it is nice, comforting – dare I say boring even? Yet, even when I fight with these people I still feel loved and secure. How do you tell someone you love to do that; to be that way? You don’t. It sucks, because until that is achieved the fear of that person leaving is real. It’s a catch 22. With people that it just doesn’t happen with naturally I have yet to find the quick (key word) and easy way to get to that unconditional state. You can’t tell someone to not be afraid of the words you say and the actions you take with more words and actions. I grew up with a father who I love dearly, but he tried that his whole life. IF we sit here and do that it will be EXACTLY this way! Wunderbar!

So, what does this mean at this very moment? Nothing.

Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don't know what your rights are, or who the person is you're talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door. (Now that’s funny).

I DATED THIS MOFO

Have you ever dated someone you work with and then completely more than anything else in your life regretted that you did? I am sickened by the fact that I dated this guy (picture above, took it on my camera phone) . And in this small office of 18 people nonetheless. I still have to see him, hear him, run into him on a daily basis. He smirks at me and gives me looks of "yeah, hey - we fucked, what's up?" look. I seriously want to slap him and then kick him in the balls and then when he is on the floor crying I want to kick him some more and the crap right on his face. He repulses me. I have blocked every mode of communication with him, because even after doing horrible boyfriend things to me (including cheating among others) he still felt that he had the right to contact me on a regular basis. He is an equity trader, not surprisingly, and he recently moved to an area of the office with the other traders. Since moving there he has become much more boisterous. He cackles, yells out "dude" and "man" to everyone, talks about how refined he is in his thick Long Island accent. "Dude, I cook 3 course meals every night." "I love the fucking farmer's market at Union Square, the blood oranges are fucking amazing man. Judsy!" WHAT WAS I DOING!!!!!! OMG, I would share my frustration with http://laketch.blogspot.com/ but, alas, she is still sicky poo. Today the combination of this Dickwad and the Bumble Fuck sitting next to me is making me mental. LA KETCH COME BACK!!!!!!!! Not to mention DJ - wonderful man of my dreams - is away. I need my Mommy. She is coming in this weekend. My Mom is awesome. She is a so much fun and will bring me back to reality and to what really matters in life. Big breasts, shopping and getting drunk.

People are dumb and annoying. I don't mean some people - all people, everyone of them. Now that I have your attention I should adjust that statement by saying everyone in this room. I work at an "asset managment company" that does well for itself. But, the price we pay for such success is at times baffling. I am dealing with the best of the best in terms of knowledge of all that is lame and boring. They are a neurotic group with monchromatic personalities. In case you havn't caught on yet, today's blog is about complaining, griping, just general old fashion bitching. Usually I can voice - aka, type via instant messenging - my complaints to my partner in crime http://www.laketch.blogspot.com/ but she is on a way overdue vacation. We have one person here - we'll call her Elfin Magic - she is a little worker troll. Her dedication and intensity make me want to go to bed. She is 3 feet tall and has a long mane of hair. She knows everything about said area and at 26 years old she has declared to the room of people before me that she never wants to have children. Two people I don't trust per se - those that don't drink and those that claim they don't want children. What is going on in her brain. She is the kind of girl who never picks her nose, even when she is alone. She always uses a kleenex. One that came from her purse, neatly folded, leftover from some ritzy hotel she stayed in while meeting with some company that makes magnetic, semi-invasive, lighted rods that doctors stick in your numeroids to clean out your suz-o-whats. I want to take her out and get her wasted and watch her grind-up on some 19 year olds with fake id's visiting from Jersey. Ahhh, just the image alone has brought me out of my funk. Carry on.

ELLLO, ELLLO, ELLLLO, ELLLLO, VEEE-EEEEEEEE, ELLO ELLLLO ELLLO

(repeat 10 thousand times and you have just learned the words to Ashlee Simpson's creative masterpiece). I am not an Ashlee Simpson fan, in fact I think she sucks. But, that damn song is catchy, especially when you are running on the treadmill and all that you have before you are 3 television screens set on MTV playing this song. I have chose this, albeit turning out to be pretty lame, beginning to my blog because I am not going to gloss over things - today's blog is mostly about my love life. I used to pay a therapist to listen to my mundane, trite relationship problems, but, I am embarrassed at this point to go into her with the trivial issues I am seeking advice on. "Sometimes he is really cuddly and sometimes he isn't - men!! Makes me crazy. What should I do?" I know she is dying to say, "Get a fucking life." But, that is the beauty of money - you can get people to say what you want to hear if you are paying them. I realize this and if I ever have seminal issues I will go to her, but in the interim this diary of sorts is going to have to do.
Here's the quick and dirty to bring you up to speed so I can just start my stream of consciousness. I have lived in NYC for about 7 years now - every since I graduated from college. I absolutely 100% love the city; it took me about 3 years to say that and really mean it. But, single women in the city have it rough. Especially if you are a Catholic girl from Missouri. Ie; if you are "normal." I fully expected to graduate college, work in the arts, meet a nice man and have 2 children by now. After blowing through 3 long term relationships all NYC based my expectations of how my life is going to turn out has changed immensely. First of all, apartments - talking 400 sq rooms - average $1600 a month, and that's if you are lucky enough to find one that cheap. So, after working 3 jobs for 2 years to make ends meet in the arts I moved into finance. Do I like finance? No, it is so boring and the people who work in finance are boring, the room I work in is boring. I try hard to like it, but the thing I like about it pretty much exclusively is that it pays well. So, ideal picture characteristic one - smashed - no more arts, all finance.

Secondly, well secondly is the crux of this blog, relationships are tough period. But, you compound the stress that one can bring with the complexitity of NYC and at times you become mental. Depsite my best intentions, I go back to those - "I should be doing this, I should be at this point" feelings at times. It fucks with my head, because honestly I am happy. I am happy AND in a great relationship, not BECAUSE I am in a great relationship. I have to remind myself and write it down so that I am reminded so that I stay away from the evil pressure monster. Otherwise, I start to define myself within certain boundaries and that is dangerous.

I would and should end on some uber creative note - but, I started with Ashlee Simpson and it would be misleading if took you to a place that you are not going to today.