Previous month:
February 2011
Next month:
May 2011

March 2011

Why I Love Philanthroper.Com

Daily deal sites are taking over the internet. Groupon is Living Social in Gilt like the TownHog. I've gotten my fair share of Brazilian blowouts and a dozen cupcakes for the price of six, but what I like even more is a new site called Philanthroper. is a daily deal site for charities. Those already exist, but what I really like about Philathroper is that you can only donate a dollar.

One dollar a day to a different charity each day. Brilliant. Why is that? Because of this:

Why Can I Only Donate $1?

So you can donate another $1 tomorrow. And another the next day. Use Philanthroper daily, and we guarantee, you'll donate more over time than you would have otherwise plus it won't sting your bank account so badly. Use Philanthroper every day and you'll be on the right track to give more, more easily. If you're compelled to make a larger donation, fantastic. We always link their site. So go for it. [emphasis mine]

I have a dollar. You probably have a dollar. What better to do with it than give it to this guy?


This sounds trite, but nothing is truer: Every little bit helps a lot. reinforces this maxim.

A++++++ will donate again!!!!!!

Cabbie Schooling Me about Mafia Influence in NYC

First things first: I have never seen a single episode of the Sopranos. Mob movies are not my bag. In fact, for a long time I went out of my way to avoid them. Guns and dudes and crime, blech. But, I think part of the reason it never interested me is because I never fully understood just how true much of it is.

Second things second: I sound like a moron in this video. I wish I had said less, but I wanted to keep him talking. I sound fresh off the tractor. This information may be common knowledge for lifelong New Yorkers or New Jerseyans, but it shocked the shit out of me.

Without further ado, this is a video I taped in a cab last night with a driver who has been living in NYC for 28 years. There is nothing to see; it's the audio that is interesting. In the 6 minute clip he talks to me about the mafia stronghold that still exists in the city. Fascinating stuff to someone virtually ignorant about organized crime.

I'd Totally Eat Breast Milk Ice Cream

Shop-to-make-breast-milk-ice-cream I would eat breast milk ice cream, and I don't really get why other people find the idea so repellent.

I mean, really, if you eat dairy, what you are doing is already more disgusting.

Humans drink the milk of cows, eat the cheese of goats and slurp the yogurt of sheep. We eat the mozzarella of a big, fat buffalo.

We consume the mucous-making life fluids of animals that are not us. That, if anything, is gross.

So, bring on the breast milk ice cream. I'll eat it up.

Drunk Girl Wearing Nothing But Heels and Bra at My Door at 2 a.m.: An Analysis

Choo The mystery about the drunk girl outside my apartment wearing nothing but heels and a bra has been plaguing me. How did she get there? Why so little clothing? Why did she call him both her boyfriend and her husband? Why did she think she'd brought her wallet? How does she afford such expensive shoes?

Her being a prostitute had been suggested by many, but I was like, "Nah. She's my neighbor."

Not until today did I consider that she's both: she's my neighbor and a hooker.


It's the best I can come up with. Or as my friend said, "If you end up locked out in a hallway wearing nothing but heels and a bra, you've been having hooker sex."

The Time A Girl Wearing Nothing But a Bra and Heels Rang my Doorbell

There are plenty of people who would be thrilled beyond reason to have a young woman ring their doorbell at 2 a.m. wearing nothing but a bra and sky high heels. I am not one of them.

And yet, this was the very scene outside my studio apartment this Saturday night.

I was sleeping on the couch, like you do, when I heard someone ring my doorbell. I found this odd for several reasons, the primary of which is that I live in a doorman building, and I hadn't okayed anyone coming up. Also: 2 a.m.

Thinking I might be dreaming, I waited. Sure enough, the bell rang yet again.

I threw on some shorts and headed to the door wondering what on earth might be lurking out in the hallway. A gentleman suitor? A late night delivery of pizza and wine?

Nope: naked girl in nothing but a bra and high heels.

She tried to cover herself up once I opened the door, but she had nothing with which to do so. She must have seen my gobsmacked face that had just gotten a gander at her hooha, because she immediately exclaimed, "I'm so sorry."

"Are you okay?" I feared she may have been assaulted.

"Yes, I am fine. I just..."

"First of all, get in here." I ushered her inside, and she immediately went to sit on the end of my bed. Without her chonies on. Yeah. That's when I could tell she was drunk.

"I locked myself out of my apartment, and I was hoping you could call the desk and ask them to let me in."

"Of course!" I looked around for my phone.

"Wait, let me get you a robe." I pulled my robe out of the laundry hamper (so, it wasn't clean, but it was clothes) and handed it to her. "You can keep that," I told her.

I made the call to the front desk and told them my neighbor had locked herself out and could they please come up and let her in.

"Can she come down and get a spare key?" No, I told them, she could not.

I think she said she was sorry several dozen times. Assuring her it was fine, I was just thanking the stars I'd never gotten so drunk that I ended up locked out in a public hallway wearing nothing but stripper gear.

Her story didn't really add up. She said that she and her boyfriend had gotten into an argument, and he locked her out. Then she called him her husband. I hadn't heard any banging on doors or pleading to get back in. I mean, you have to have no where else to turn to knock on a stranger's door buck naked at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night, you think she'd be banging on the door where he boyfriend/husband was.

I further questioned her story when she asked me if she'd brought her wallet. She'd hadn't. And besides, who gets kicked out wearing nothing but shoes, but brings along their wallet? Fishy.

Once I got confirmation that someone would be coming up to let her into her place, I noticed her hair was wet. Not soaking wet, but damp.

So very odd.

I told her that someone would be on the way up, and showed her to the door, and she almost forgot her shoes. I picked them up--nude, patent leather Jimmy Choos--and handed them over. "My Choos!," she yelped.

She looked me in the face for the first time. "I know it's a really trashy way to meet someone, but thank you."

I'm not sure we met as much as I bailed her naked ass out.

After she left, and I heard her safely (?) back in her apartment, I wanted to tell everyone I knew: THERE WAS A NAKED DRUNK CHICK IN MY HALLWAY WEARING HEELS AND A BRA AND THAT IS IT. But it was nearing 3 a.m., and no matter how juicy a tale, I wasn't going to wake anyone up for it.

So, I put it here.