My reader, John (he can be found in the comments section), hooked me up to this great song about cockroaches:

Update 9/10/12    I slept with the light on last night and had awful dreams about cockroaches.  I want to know if this fucking thing is still in my room, but I don’t want to research the insect (I think they live in nests, so it would have gone home by now) because I don’t want to see pictures of them.  GROSS GROSS GROSS

   Today after I finish with laundry and my students, I am going to (get this) TRY YOGA.  Yeah yeah, you might be going, “Margo, that sounds like some bourgeois hipster bullshit to me!”  You may be right.  However, the tendons in my legs are stiff and tight and my posture is poor from spending so many years as a little office monkey.  The women at work rave about their yoga, so I am going to try it.  There’s a place by my house that offers a weeks’ worth of beginner lessons for just $25, so if it sucks or I’m too clumsy to do it, I won’t be out much.

                *                                  *                                 *                                *                    *  

 So, I just got done brushing my teeth and was getting ready for bed when what do I see crawling on my bedroom floor but a HUGE FUCKING MONSTER COCKROACH!!!  I am serious!  This ugly motherfucker is even bigger than that bastard I sucked up in the dustbuster last year!

     I screamed and ran out of my room.

     I collected myself in the living room and tried to decide how to deal with it.  I would have rather seen FIVE mice than a roach that huge.  I would have rather seen RATS.   GOD!  BARF BARF BARF

    I fetched the bleach from underneath the sink.  What could I do?  I had to deal with it somehow.  It was in my bedroom!

     I peeked through the door and saw it sitting by the computer chair.  I tried to bleach it from the doorway.    I got some bleach on it, but it ran away.  I should have just stomped the ugly monster.  But I was scared!  It ran to my bedspread and I had to pull the bedspread off and I got bleach on it so I had to rinse it out in the sink just now!  BOO!  The roach ran under the bed and I am NOT going to chase it.  UGH!  UGH!  I hope I sprayed it enough to poison it!

     This disgusting  roach–where did it come from?  How long has it been living in my room?

      What am I going to do?  I keep looking over my shoulder, thinking it’s going to come out.  I cannot sleep with it here.  I could sleep with the lights on, but the light didn’t keep it away last time.  What am I going to do?  Sleep on the couch?  Because of a roach?  Really?

Sunday + Mathematician Conundrum

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     If you live in the Tri-State area, I must encourage you to get outside today if it is at all feasible.  

     For the first time in what feels like forever–actually probably three weeks–that it’s truly comfortable out.  This summer has been miserable.

    The weather is gorgeous.  Dry and warm.  It’s perfect.  

     I went to the gym and then came home, cleaned up, and baked cookies: 

      I had a good time last night.  I went out and didn’t get back till late.  I bailed when the drugs came out–I’m really not much of a nightlife person, and never have been–but I still had a good time.  And FYI: everything you’ve heard about Germans and sexual depravity is true.  True!

       There’s also a new guy…though I don’t know whether I should write about him here, before anything has really happened…

       This guy contacted me months ago through an independent ad I was running (not associated with the Studio).  I met with him and we started having appointments every other week or so.  

      Here’s the kicker: the guy’s not kinky.  He does not want to be oppressed.  He is not a fetishist.  Basically, he hires me to hang out with him in some fancy lingerie..  There is a little T&D towards the end, but compared to the stuff I usually get into at the Studio–or with the Surgeon, Lord have mercy–this is as wholesome as you can possibly get.  It’s actually a little confusing–you’d think that this guy would be better served by a stripper, but he doesn’t like strip clubs.  He doesn’t like prostitutes, either. Yeah, I don’t get it, either.   

      This guy has a crush on me and I’m pretty sure that he wants to date me. 

       Normally, this is the Kiss of Death in a professional relationship.  A bit of a crush is fine–even desirable–as long as the man has a very clear understanding about boundaries and exactly what we are doing together.  But if he has a real crush on you, then you might as well put a bullet in it, because it isn’t going to end well.  This has happened to me many times.  Client falls in love with a fantasy of what he wants you to be.  In your professional role, you are an actress and an avatar for his fantasies.  He might know you a little bit…but he won’t know you as people in your outside life know you.  Hell, in my case, I deliberately feed clients misinformation–they don’t know what fields my degrees are in, or what neighborhood I live in, or what state I’m from.  I lie.  I have to.  Loose lips sink ships, baby.  You think the parents I work for would approve of me teaching their kids if they knew what a degenerate I am?  

       Anyway, I’m rambling.  What I meant to say was that the client falls in love with a fantasy, and then when reality knocks, he always feels the same way: butthurt, rejected, and/or embarrassed.  It does not matter if you did anything to reject him or wanted him to be hurt.  He will feel hurt and rejected regardless.  And humiliated.  He will run away to lick his wounds and you will never see him again.  

       So this guy, the non-kinky client–we’ll call him the sexy Mathematician–he has a crush on me.  He sends me guy-tarded text messages and shows me his vacation photos and wants to hang out.  Usually the options are: put a bullet in it now, or wait for it to run its slow, inevitably painful course.  

      Here’s the thing: he’s actually a very nice and attractive man.  He is actually total relationship material.  He has a Ph.D. in math, a good sense of humor, a friendly dog, gainful employment, and a parrot.  He is also athletic and good-looking in an affluent dorky country-club sort of way (think boxer shorts with boats on them).  He is older than me, but not scandalously older–people don’t think that I’m his daughter out in public.  

      If I met him on a dating website, I’d definitely schedule lunch with him.  That’s what I’m getting at.  

      Maybe I could try going out on a real date with him.  It’s no big rush–I have plenty of time to think about it.  

     If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.  And if I date him for real, I’ll never be able to see him as a client again.  

      But I’m going to lose him as a client eventually, anyway.  It is going to happen.  Feelings of rejection and butthurt are in the future.  Before Halloween, I’m wager. 

      I’ll think more about it.  

     Now: to AA, and then Thompson Square Park!

Parrot Sez: HELLO!  Give me a scratch? 

Time Warner Cable Internet Connection Sux + Cute NY Dogs

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     I just spent an HOUR on the phone with Time Warner Cable of NY, who manages my internet/fax-landline/cable account.  

      I couldn’t care less about the fax or the cable TV, but the internet connection is imperative.  Of course, it’s the only thing we ever have trouble with, and today it was out ALL DAY.  Out when I got up early this morning, out when I got home at 6 PM, out when I got home from my AA meeting at 8 PM.  I cleaned the kitchen and looked for evidence of mice (some droppings on other side of apartment…but I have not seen a mouse in many days…YAY!!!).  Fun Friday night, right…? 

       I’ll have you know that I am trying to arrange an assignation for tomorrow evening with a debonair European masochist.  But I cannot effectively plan unless I have the internet.   You try calling Europe with your cell phone.  Let me know how that works out for you.

     By the time I got an operator on the phone, I was ready to unload on him, but he sounded so young that the sound of his voice diffused my anger.

     Organizational complexity diffuses responsibility and accountability. This kid had nothing to do with the fact that my internet wasn’t working.  Even if we’re paying $170 for the package (how much are YOU paying?).  

        He fixed it.  I thanked him and said he did a good job. 

      While I was brewing on the phone, I edited photos of awesome New York Dogs in an effort to calm myself.  I took these on my walks around my neighborhood: 

Not a dog, but Parrot.  Because everything is better with Parrots.

Awesome cute white terrier or some kind at cafe! 

Australian Shepard???? Not sure what breed–waiting for owner outside Deli.  SO PRETTY!  See  the blue eye? 

   See this cute little dude–he’s a brown Dachshund I spied while passing a dry-cleaner’s.  I did a double-take and stopped walking.  He was just standing there on the tailoring stand, chilling out, pretty as you please.  I took out my iphone to take (crappy) pics of him.  The entire time, he just stood there like he was waiting to get his trousers fitted.  


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     I deliberately avoid being pornographic on this blog.  Try to keep it rated R.  I would like to think that I am so much more than my bizarre, pathological sexual proclivities. 

       But this picture is HAAAAWT HAWT HAWT so hottie hot that I must share it with this world and then go jump in my bed.

      Thank you, thank you, models and photographer, for making this image.  xoxoxoxoxoxox

      Found at:


      god I am deranged today.  I must be ovulating or something. 

     P.S.  What is the rope doing there, though?  Does not appear to be serving a purpose.  I assume this is from a series of images in a bondage scene, and the model was just taken down from being suspended, or something like that. 

woman in wooden stocks gets punished by comfortably seated Japanese man

Alcoholic Coffee Wars II and Photo Updates

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    Sorry I haven’t been posting so much this week.  I saw my analyst last Wednesday for the first time in almost two months–since just before all those problems happened with the landlord–and it was emotional.  I had a very, very busy and difficult summer. 

     I made coffee last Sunday for my crispy burnout A.A. meeting.  We had a business meeting afterward.  The Alcoholic Coffee Wars continue.  Some dude who only shows up approx. once a month stayed for the business  meeting and raised his hand to suggest a motion:

     “At the secretary’s break, the person giving the announcements ought to ask if there is anyone who wants to bring cookies and coffee to next week’s meeting!  Then we can assign cookie duty.  That way, every week, there will be cookies.  Also, do you just throw out the coffee grounds, or what?” 

     SHOOT ME NOW!  

     Handsome Englishman raises his hand: “I have to comment.  This meeting, though I love it, is full of flakes.  People will take cookie duty and never show up.  And what if someone is going through a hard time and thinks they can afford cookies, but then is not able to bring them before the meeting?  We want them to come anyway, and not feel defensive about it.” 

      New “Assign Cookie Duty” guy is incensed.  “It’s just a way of encouraging people to come back!  If they have a responsibility, they’ll come back.  It’s a gesture of welcoming to the newcomer.”    

       On and on it goes.  

      The high point for me was being able to wink at Handsome Englishman when the argument was getting nuts and say, sotto voce, “This is like a Monty Python skit.”  

        That cracked him.  He had to fake-cough. 

       Humor aside: the speaker for this AA meeting was very inspiring and humbling.  I sat there silently listening and leaking tears for most of her qualification.  I do not cry easily.  This person’s addiction messed them up so badly that it cost them EVERYTHING.  And then the loves ones started to die due to heath problems or freak accidents.  And then this speaker got sober a few years ago without any concrete motivation or rewards (besides health and life, but those don’t matter to a using addict very much). 

      I always think of that when I see young addicts resenting the meddling of their families or loved ones.  I think: You ought to be grateful some people still care enough about you to meddle. You ought to be grateful that you can still go to rehab.  You keep this up, and in time nobody will want anything to do with you.  They will learn to protect themselves.  And then you will have nobody to get better for.

      This all reminded me of my father.  He burned through all of his relationships–I was the last to leave him.  It’s not as sad for him as you might imagine.  He does not need human company.  

     Without insurance, I couldn’t go to rehab even if I needed to.  



President Lincoln bowling.  Seen in PATH train en route to Hoboken.  Give this ad designer (?) an A+ and a raise.   I love President Lincoln.  He is one of my Dad Crushes.

From the Superstudio.  A woman who works there brought in a poster of Marilyn and hung it on a wall in one of the locker rooms. The poster was in a frame, but still kinda shabby.  I would guess it was picked up off the street or purchased at a garage or yard sale.
Anyway, someone STOLE it from the locker room.  Who would steal a ratty poster of Marilyn Monroe..?  And why…?  And I DID NOT MAKE THAT SIGN!  NO THAT IS NOT ME! 

       Sighted in subway station: dark red aquatic turtle plush toy animal with huge cartoon features.  On a gate.  Abandoned.  What? Why?  Who knows? 

The Economy Doesn’t Suck for Everyone

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   Sure, it sucks for me.  It probably sucks for you, too.

   Tonight, however, I got to observe The Affluent in their natural habitat–a tony, trendy hotel.  The swimming pool was awesome (I didn’t swim–there was some photo shoot going on) and the decor made me feel like I was inside of a spaceship.

     I am fascinated by hotels.  I have a love affair with them.  I love hotels–the richer the better, but I am very satisfied with roadside inns and motor lodges and Motel 6s, just so long as there are no cockroaches and the bathrooms reek of bleach. Hotels are anonymous.  You can be free in a hotel.  Nobody knows who you are, or where you are.

    You are as free as the proverbial bird.