My latest internet crush

I love Aberjona's blog, even if often I don't understand it (what is for this Tumblr?). A few of my fave posts of his recently:

On the benefits of siblings
On how I usually feel in relationships, including the last one, and possibly also the current one
On the awesomeness of Bjork, and also Spike Jonze
On the universal truth
On a hard lesson learned
On the new world order
On the hotness of Olivia Wilde
On how I know I should live my life, and wish I did, and try to do
On rendering me speechless in jaw-dropped awe
On my old pal Zeke
On disturbing poultry
On the Loonie Bin!

I'm trying to remember if I found him this incredibly charming and clever, and by extension hot, when we were in high school together.

Excellent Brooklyn apartment, yours for the renting

Is anyone looking for an AWESOME apartment in Brooklyn? My sub-leaser is moving out Feb. 1, and I'm trying to find a replacement tenant for my landlord.

Rent-stabilized one-bedroom, about 700 square feet, second floor walk-up on President Street three doors down from Prospect Park West. Nearest subway stop is 2,3 line at Grand Army Plaza.

Eat-in kitchen (with a sturdy fire escape), bay-windowed living room, two large closets in bedroom plus a coat closet in the foyer. Bathroom was gut-renovated down to the studs in 2004, beautiful renovation. Original parquet floors throughout, slightly flooded in 2005, refinished in 2006. Nice neighbors in this family-owned building (plus Chuck Schumer and John Turturro on this block, if you're into that...).

The rent is about $1800, stabilized, plus one month security, no fee.

If you're interested or have questions, please e-mail me at maggiebex@gmail.com, or leave a comment.

Imagine, a nice apartment and a testament to my lost wild days (when this blog was perhaps more entertaining...)

Hi, my name is Maggie and I have a problem.

(Hi Maggie!)

After at least four whiskeys (wait, maybe it was six) that are totally not on my diet, I think I can only manage stream-of-consciousness this morning.

The biker woke up at six in a panic; he had to be at work by eight, and needed to go home to Harlem first to change. I washed all the smeared eyeliner off, grabbed a spare blanket (it was freezing; when will the heat come on?), set the alarm for 8:00 and went back to sleep . . . until 9:00.
The alarm had gone off, I'd just slept through it for an hour. My hair was a matted snarled mess and had to be washed, but at least it didn't wreak of smoke (thanks, Bloomburg!).

Where was my bra? Oh, right, in my purse. (but my cell phone wasn't, I discovered later. Still AWOL, egads.)
My boots? One was in the kitchen, the other in the bed.
My raincoat? Covered with pigeon droppings from the fire escape. I'd have to wear something else.

I barely managed to water the cat before I dragged my sorry ass out of the house. Late again. Those resolutions are dropping like flies. But at least I was wearing eyeliner while drinking more and not driving!

Of the men who undressed me in my foyer this weekend...

...one then went for the bed, the other for the couch; one left too soon, the other I couldn't get rid of fast enough; and one was only there at all because the other one wasn't.

The Bachelor and I had a lovely time on Friday night. And more on Saturday. He was sweet and charming and funny and attentive and ... ohmygod so good. I know I've talked about circus sex in the past, but that was just adventure. This was so far beyond, good thing the neighbors were out of town for the holiday weekend. No tricks or bells and whistles or feats of exhibitionism either, just enthusiasm and a talent, and a big payoff for my patience.

Alas, the Bachelor has a built-in expiration, and the alarm usually goes off after about a dozen hours or so. As I'd used up my quota for the week, he wasn't available to enjoy he fruits of my bender on Sunday. Which leads us directly to the door of...

The Biker, also known as "Chew-your-arm-off-and-leave-it-behind-in-Harlem-if-you-have-to-but-get-out-at-all-costs Guy." Why on earth would I hook up with him again? I was drunk, he's a good kisser with a hard body (biker as in cyclist, not Harley), and the Bachelor didn't answer my messages.

That said, there are a few lessons to be learned here.

-- If you have to keep score ("I went down on you in the bar; now it's your turn"), then you've already lost.

-- If you push down on the top of my head even once, it will be the last time you will be in a position to do so. This is not a porn flick, I am not a prostitute, and you need to show some respect and appreciation.

-- As I am non-confrontational to a fault, I probably won't actually kick you out -- unless you've gotten physically violent. But if I don't offer you a shower, a toothbrush (I keep a stash of spares, courtesy of my dentist), or breakfast, consider yourself unwelcome.

Also, "You're so macho" is not a compliment, Don Juan.

Nicfit, if you're reading this, please stop me from ever making that mistake again. Three strikes is enough.