Rats. Really?
Ok, so I’m walking by my favorite Cosi Sandwich store on Park Avenue, and I see a new site. This gigantic blow up toy. And it’s not a doll. Nope. It’s not. And I really don’t think, I like what it stands for, especially outside the place that I eat lunch. Every day. Nope, I don’t like it. Not one little bit.
Boyfriend Advice, Part II: Maybe I Should Take My Own
I am trying really, really hard to lose those 10 pounds that I’ve gained over the past three years while working at the God Damn health food company. And, believe it or not, I’ve not only cooked at home three days in a row, and CUT OUT THE WINE (Except for Friday and Saturday), but I’ve actually worked out three times too. So tonight, I prepare dinner, then tell Bella that I am going up to the gym to do stairmaster (or whatever the hell they call them now) for 1/2 hour. And she’s like, “whatever”. I merrily grab her i-Pod (but leave my contacts in which are really killing me now, and I want to rip them out of my head) and ascend to our teeny, tiny but serviceable building health club. And THERE, right in front of me is the most gorgeous, blond haired, blue eye GOD that I have ever seen AND HE’S NOT 28! He’s like MY AGE. He turns those baby blues on me and I melt, or I felt like melting and I am screaming to myself SAY SOMETHING! But I don’t and he smiles, and I smile and slip off to elliptical.
And then he walks in, surveys the room and gets on the bicycle and all I can think about is how fat I must look, I should have left my hair loose, he’s looking at all the 20 somethings who can actually stretch without groaning, and who have no cellulite. And I spend my entire 25 minutes listening to songs about love and how this one can’t think about anything but him, and Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going On (where does Bella get these tunes anyhow??). And I watch him take his jacket off and his back is bared and I almost swoon right of the machine (except people don’t do that anymore). OK by now you are thinking that I must be a desperate housewife which I am but not really because I’m not a wife and I do work.
But I don’t even notice the ponytail girls any more (oh wait, you don’t know about my little gripe–those perfect bouncy tails I will leave for another time), and time goes very quickly and I must leave before he does because I need to find out from the girls at the reception desk who the HELL this creature. Which I do and they laugh because of course, he’s JUST VISITING, but he’s in for the whole week, so you know where I’ll be Tuesday at 7:30.
I head home, all sweaty and hopefully a pound thinner, (but probably not, right?) and I announce to Bella that I’ve met my husband. And she’s like, “that’s nice mom, did you talk to him?” and I’m like no. And she’s like, you at least have to say HELLO! And I tell her that I am going to. For sure. Tomorrow…to be con’t.
Who Should I Vote For?
With only 2 weeks away until election day, a clear cut vision has not come to me in who would make the best president. So, without embarrassing myself on the who, what or why, I figured, one last time, internet, who in tarnation should I vote for? It’s up to you. (Hey, I may leave in a swing state, so be careful who you pick)
Boyfriend Advice
So I just might not be the best advice giver to my teenage daughter. But ya can’t say it’s not for trying. Bella has, well, in the olden days you’d say it was a crush, on a boy, (older I might add) who may or may not like her but these days it’s hard to tell because, I’ve been told, teenagers don’t date (which I don’t get) but WHATEVA. And tonight, she was depressed because she can’t tell if he likes her or not. So me, being me, helped her make this list, on a napkin, 
which was made, after one very, very strong Cosmo (ok, I know that Sex in the City is over, but these are very, very dry and do indeed help on a Friday night to give advice to my very depressed teenager). And, in fact, it was also very helpful that we were eating dinner at the bar of an Irish pub, with a very Irish (and cute, I might add) bartender, who gave the following advice: “give him a compliment and the rest will follow.” And I’m like PERFECT. Tell him you like his running shoes, and you need a new pair. Ask him where he got them.” And she’s like, “his SNEAKERS have HOLES in them.” At this point, I’m like, “WHO THE FRIG CARES ABOUT THE HOLES, say SOMETHING!” In the end, she’s decided on a plan, and the plan is Monday morning, when she sees him in the hall, saying something cool, like: “hey, hey Spencer.” And I’m thinking Hey HEY Spencer??? After 2 hours of debate, lists, and bartender advice, we’ve boiled it down to Hey HEY? To be continued…
Lara’s Love Life: Part II– The Ultimate Bad Boy
I just can’t help it. And I know that every grown, almost grown and partially grown female has the same distinct failure… attraction to the Bad Boy. But, he’s not ALL bad. He’s just deep..very deep. We can’t read his mind, but he can read ours. He knows our every thought, our every desire. And he’s strong, he’s there to protect us. And sensitive. But he’s just not available. Or at least not completely available. And of course, he’s got his faults. Like, maybe, he drinks too much. Or maybe, he just can’t stay out of rehab. Or, he’s just not ready to settle down. Yet. Or he may have another weakness. But he just can’t help the way he was born. It’s what makes him so attractive. Maybe this time, it’ll be different.
the iPod life: all you need is a good soundtrack
So, forever, it has annoyed me that the good citizens of New York, turn on, tune up, and tune out (i.e. the minute they leave their ever lovin’ apartments, they stick i-plugs in their ears to block out, well THE SOUNDS OF LIFE, for godssakes). Which means that, let’s say, a HUGE mack truck is honking at them as they step into the street. They don’t hear it ’cause the White Stripes is blasting, and well, they are now dead because the truck hit them. Which is really annoying because the ambulance that comes roaring down the street to pick them up is really loud and I hear it because I DON’T plug in. So this has festered like a puslike, open, cankerous sore for a long, long, time. And, I just didn’t get it. Until today. Today, I used Bella’s i-POD which I took from her because she being bitchy and I punished her, and I decided to use it on my “run” . And well, it was though I found God (which I didn’t and won’t because if God had existed we all wouldn’t have lost millions in the market last week–but I didn’t exactly cause I didn’t have millions to lose, but I friggin’ lost ENOUGH). So, I didn’t find God, but I realized, that having that iPod was like creating a soundtrack to life. Everything had heightened meaning. It was my own magical mystery tour. My senses were heightened. I ran faster, longer, better, because I was running to the beat of the iPod. And the faces? They all had a meaning, a purpose in life, not just some annoying stranger that walked in front of me that I would never see again. They had expressions. That I had never noticed before. And I began to make a movie. The movie of life. By the way Bella, I don’t know what the hell you are complaining about. You have AWESOME songs on your iPod.
THE SOUND TRACK TO LIFE from Lara Dean on Vimeo<
The mundane. Turned into a documentary. All you need is a good soundtrack
After Sex or Waitress No More?
Today I met Bella and her friend, Mandy in Central Park on the great lawn. And who knew! Quite a fantastic place for boy watching, AND single father watching. As Bella, Mandy and I discussed the virtues of the 3 teen boys playing frisbee and their wedding band-less father –but we figured the fact that he had a Maltese (and what single adult male has a MALTESE unless he’s gay?) meant he was probably not a single dad at all, but a married dad who simply didn’t wear his wedding band, it came to my attention, that the girls had gone for manicures. And indeed, what a manicure they had with completely different colors. Can you tell? Which is which? One is “I’m Not Really a Waitress” and the other is “After Sex”. Look, look, LOOK at the difference. Can’t you tell?