An open letter to my One Night Stand...

Dear One Night Stand,

It's been several days since you put your penis inside of me. How have you been? I hear you've been busy. Well I'm assuming you've been busy. Normal behavior dictates several things, involving intercourse and intimate contact between two consenting adults.

Firstly, a thank you or a fun text by midday, the following day thanking the other for the fun times is in order. Sideways winky face is optional. Of course, people aren't always expected to thank someone whenever pleasantries are exchanged in a day-to-day situation. But a simple "thanks for lending me that book" or "had a great time at your party, the other night" is always appropriate. But in this particular instance, there was no book lending and there certainly wasn't a party.

Secondly, complete avoidance after a sexual encounter is inevitable, but unacceptable. Yes, there will be times in a person's life when they meet an attractive person at a bar/concert/Starbucks/street corner and the meeting becomes sexual. Hopefully, both know this is a one shot deal. Occasionally one person promises to call another person, and chooses not to out of embarrassment or a sudden move to another state or a death in the family. These things happen. Unfortunately, when said person continues to ask the other out in a public forum such as Facebook or Friendster, and when the two people have many mutual friends, the intelligent thing to do would not be to avoid contact with that person once they have inserted a penis into a vagina. Because then the person with the vagina will write her feelings down in a witty way, on another public forum like the internet.

Finally, quirks are common place where intercourse is concerned. We all have facets of our sexual life that are best to be kept private between two partners. For instance, I enjoy having my ear nibbled on - that is a quirk. And I hate feet - yet another quirk. It's always a surprise to learn about a partners quirks, the first time a sexual encounter takes place. A penchant for soft biting and hair tugging are a few I've encountered. But a partner who shakes and trembles violently as if they're having convulsions is a new one. I suppose these convulsions are a distraction, to keep you from ejaculating to soon. Consideration for another is always appreciated. And when you are finally at the point of ejaculation, a loud, girlish scream is rather odd. If I acted in that manner, you'd become fearful I was cumming rusty needles and rubbing alcohol.

And an added note regarding sexual quirks - bruising will happen. But bruising that resembles getting pummeled by a 300lb mime is just not acceptable - I work with children after all.

Hopefully this was helpful to you. One of my strongest suits is my willingness to go out of my way for others and make them feel comfortable. Such as when I cooked you breakfast the following morning - I always take care of my guests. Think of this letter as my way of assisting you in the proper way to fuck and run.

Very truly yours,

The Smirking Valet

PS - the eggs I prepared for breakfast that day, were apparently several weeks old. Hopefully salmonella isn't as serious as it sounds. Kisses!

When reality's rockin, don't come knockin!

I've never been into reality television. I only watched the Real World when it was in NY for the second time, because the first inception was during my parent's "MTV and The Simpsons will rot your brain" phase. I liked dating shows with gimmicks. For Love or Money was always fun because you knew they'd always choose the moneyand it proved what other countries already knew - we are money-hungry douchebags. I liked Mr. Personality too - but i have thing for intimacy where the fella's face is covered with a mask. Just something I'm into.

I've recently become addicted to Daisy of Love, starring Hot Mess du jour, Daisy De La Hoya - who may or may not be related to another hot mess, Oscar de La Hoya. In it, she meets 16 different men in her quest to find one that isn't infected with Chlamydia. The finale was Sunday night, and not to spoil it, but she chose London.

Yes, our heroine desires what we all want - random sex with men of questionable morals, mass quantities of liquor, and a hot tub. There were some amazing men on that program. There was the abused cage fighter, the guy with the 6-gauge Prince Albert (Hellooooo, Nurse!), the truck driver with the heart of gold, the fella that wore the man thong, the guy that looked like Cher and Trent Reznor's love child, and London - every dumb girl's dream.

London was an attractive man, with a mohawk. Now I'm not into the whole "mohawk look" , because I have a thing about balding men. I don't like 'em. Sorry Mr. Clean, but it could never work. He was all angsty like Morrisey but tried to be a bad ass, like Sid Vicious. I dig.

Women want to date a rock star. I see it. Why wouldn't you? We want a man that rocks out, screaming about social injustice then serenading us about how they would die for our love. This shows they're multi-facetted and dedicated to a cause. We want a man that dresses well. Rock stars wear tight pants and leather! Women love leather! It's soft and reminds us of sex. Rock stars play instruments, and we like instruments. It means they're good with their hands, so they can fix that leaky pipe or hang a painting. And when it snows, they can shovel the walk. And if they're a drummer, that means they can finger bang. And women tend to like finger banging.

Whether London is good at finger banging or changing a light bulb or writing a sonnet, remains to be seen. Hopefully he treats Daisy with the love and respect she deserves. Nothing says "im deserving of love and acceptance" like posing with a guitar between your legs.

Television has the power to move, to heal, to change the way we think. If you're not into that, watch Daisy of Love.

And a final thought: Like so many of us, even people made out of plastic need love. Sometimes love can come in the form of plastic. Think about that!

My brain feeds off of the History Channel.

Since I've been out of work, I suppose I've been in the doldrums. The upside is I get to video chat w/ my wonderful friend, Mark and my MBA friend in Rome, I've rediscovered the wonder of midday naps, I'm spending more quality time with my Rabbit, I can meet some of my other out of work friends for lunch, and I've become addicted to the Rachael Ray Show and the Discovery Channel.

Some say I remind them of Rachael Ray. She's so perky and spunky and does things her own way. And she does strange things with food like making Red Velvet Whoopie Pies and coating Fried Chicken in curry! That proves it is entirely possible to fry pasta-nests. I've been DVR'ing her show, and making a list of meals I want to prepare, once I have money to go to Fairway.

The Discovery Channel is a surprise addiction. I've always been a history buff. Just try and beat me at Jeopardy. Bitch. I'm learning all these wonderful facts, such as the 7 possible ways the world will end (plague! massive volcanos! rise of the machines!), each of the 13 colonies had their own bill of rights however Rhode Island and South Carolina we're all like "bitch, please. That's not how we roll in the Palmetto State/Smallest state in the nation!", and most importantly James Buchanan was gay! Wow, right?? I always thought he had an incestuous affair with his niece, Harriet Lane. In reality he was schtuping Franklin Pierce's VP! Franklin Pierce paid no mind, since he was still grieving over the death of his son. He was decapitated before President Pierce's eyes!!! Sucks, right!

Now I'm no Franklin Pierce or William Henry Harrison, which is good because Harrison only served three months of his presidency, after succumbing to pneumonia after giving the longest inaugural address in US history. Three hours! Bring a book! Anyway, cutting to the chase, I may be out of work and lolligaging my days away, but at least I'm continuing my education. As we all know, men dig smart chicks who watch the History Channel!

Mondays mean only one thing...job search!

I do one of three things, every 6-10 months. I move, I look for a job, and I come up with a hair brained scheme. I move so often because I have had the worst luck with roommates. By far. My one positive situation was in the East Village, but the other roommates, as amazing as they were, had predilections for drug use, casual sex, and Brooklyn. Other then casual sex, the other two were deal breakers. Of course, I have the most wonderful roommate now, so let's not dwell on that subject any longer.

As for the hair-brained schemes? Well they typically consist of delusions of grandeur i.e. traveling to Iceland and the Shetland Islands, eating one meal per day for 2 months, becoming an internet sensation, booking a suite at the Pierre Hotel, and walking into Cartier and purchasing a Love Bracelet. There's a reason we call these things hair-brained, yes?

Now speaking of le job, well that's the story of my life, isn't it. I've always been a Nanny. I consider it a profession, and one that has it's own level of prestige. Our portrayals have typically been on Pointe. Yes, we live to serve, the children can sometimes be terrors until we come in and change their lives. Yes, the parents are the most miserable shit heads on the planet, wondering why their children love us so much. It is the latter of these reasons that my job search is one of a frequent nature.

If I wasn't so tired I would go into specifics regarding the torment and abuse I have witnessed. But hear I am, jobless - by choice, mind you - in search of another position. I've been told I'm a "downtown, Upper West Side Nanny" because downtown families appreciate my "quirky nature" and UWS families appreciate my liberal approach to child rearing. Whatever the stereotypical case may be, I'm just searching for a family that pays amazingly, treats me with respect, understands my role and doesn't misuse it, and let's me be me.

I have an interview tomorrow morning, and it's a big one. This is the sort of interview that you purchase new shoes and pluck your eyebrows for. A formal household looking for an amazing nanny. Hopefully the "rock and roll Nanny" will impress and kick some 5th ave ass.

Have you celebrated your Helen today??

Today is "Helen Day". For those that don't know, this is a very special day, indeed. The routes of "Helen Day" can be traced all the way back to March 27 th, 2009, the day that my roommate Helen and I signed out lease. "Helen Day" consists of catching up with your roommate after several days of running around, shaking your money maker. In this case, my few no-show days consisted of entertaining my beloved Miles on Mon, a booze date on Tues, and a friend date on Wed. My presence was requested downtown, but I said "How preposterous, indeed! Today is Helen Day! Now kiss me, you fool!"

In the past, the celebration of "Helen Day" has consisted of me buying us Chinese Food, insisting we use chopsticks, "because real New Yorker's eat with chopsticks!" And then we watch DVR'd episodes of Jeopardy or Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead. Sometimes I buy her condensed milk at Fairway, so she can make us fudge. Fudge makes a great gift, you know.

Because she's a scientist, she comes home very tired. Saving the world from the arms of destruction is a tough job, and I'm glad to know she can do it. She helps me through every crisis I throw her way i.e. "Does he "like me" like me, like I like him?" or "Can you sew the button that fell off my jeans." And if all else fails, I go into one of my anal sex stories, sure to make her laugh.

Since I am without work, and nursing a splendid cold, I spent the majority of the day on the napping couch - so called the "napping couch" because it is the perfect place to take a nap. I napped in my nightgown, alternating between reruns of Maury and reruns of Full House and whatever I DVR'd from the History Channel. On days like this, it is of most importance not to ruin "Helen Day" by appearing to not have accomplished anything. So I have a plan.

I can hear her coming up the hall, either on her phone or the jingling of her keys. I run into my room and throw on some yoga pants and my Lolita t-shirt, and greet her with a look of extreme accomplishment. Of course, she is aware of my sudden wardrobe change, because she is Dr. Helen, and she knows all.

So we will celebrate "Helen Day" over a Dominos Pizza, because I have a coupon, a little Gnome Poison, and hopefully some fudge.

A special thanks to my friend date from last evening, who inspired to blog today.