But thing is I didn’t feel right posting here the last little while. It just didn’t seem right.  I started to taper off a while ago, then would proclaim “I’m back” but truthfully I was never feeling it, and so I’d drift away into the night again. It wouldn’t go unnoticed, I’d get your comments, your emails, your tweets, asking where your Sunday PULL was or that post I promised on ‘this or that’ but after awhile those stop too. And then today (or should I say yesterday) something shocking happened I had 193 unique hits on my blog… the first time in over 2 years I feel anywhere near under 200 or even 300.  And something in that hit me. I don’t know what it was just something hit me. Not in an “ I better get cracking” or “oh no” or even “what the hell where is my love” kind of way, just in a “isn’t that interesting” kind of way.  It is kind of interesting how when you stop talking (or should I say typing) after a while people just stop listening. Almost like you never were there, like it never meant anything to them, or even to you……and “isn’t that interesting” at getting lost on the side of the road of this information super highway.

Now lostplum has been here since 2006…. and became a steadier stream of consciousness in February of 2008. That’s 3 years…. 3!

3 great years…..I’ve meet some great people via this blog, and had some great adventures, and yes some bad ones as well.

I’m proud to say I have never just banged out a post for the purpose of blogging everyday. I don’t just sit down and say “I’m here world pay attention…I have nothing of value or usefulness, but here’s a fun video cause I’m lame today” I’d like to think I’ve always posted something that even if it didn’t make others think or made them laugh it did those things to me. I always provide content…i think….well maybe….

Hold your horses…. this isn’t a goodbye letter!

Lately I’ve been in a blog rut.

A RUT!

That’s all it has been. I just had no motivation to post. (Notice I didn’t say writing rut…cause I have been writing) A very “what’s the point of it all” moment in my head…..this moment has lasted a few months.

I don’t apologize: why should I?!

It just is what it is…. it has been what it has been.

But here is the thing. When looking at that under 200 mark I hit today it clicked in my head that it doesn’t really matter if 200 people read this, or 2000 or even 2. I read it and I say things that matter to me. I don’t do this for anyone else…I have lots of other projects I do for others. This is just my little world (it’s getting old just like me) where I talk about those ever important issues like relationships, dating, friends, boys, sex, guys, the odd few men, and even love.

I just LOST my place on the page for a little while…. bare with me I think I’ll be finding my way back soon.

FACT: I’m posting at 2am that has to say something!

Turning to twitter seemed like the most logical thing to do since flipping the cushions was not an option…because frankly the other side of the cushion was even ‘manlier’.

I still need to dry clean my cushions covers (infact even more so now) but here were the Top 5 Home Remedies that followers either tweeted me or emailed me.**

Maybe sharing the knowledge will help someone in need…..it is national volunteer month!

“Just use a dry tooth brush and some Fabreeze and brush it off. Works every time!!”

“ some cold water mixed with a little dish soap and lemon.”

“ Try seltzer water and a tiny drip of vinegar”

“protein-based stains need cold water remember that.”

“No more spitting only swallowing and use a condom next time Plum.”

**FACT: I had just copied these into a document and stupidly not listed who told me what so my upmost apologizes for not being able to give credit where credit is due…but then again none of these worked for me so frankly screw you guys!

And I’m telling his “story” the details, you know how girl-friends talk.

I’m not talking very loud, as I tend to be soft spoken, if you can imagine that!

We’re chatting away about “baby boy” and all of a sudden this girl from the table next to me leans over.

SIDEBAR: tables in NY tend to be very close together, and sometimes you feel like you are dinning with strangers.

“Are you talking about “baby boy”?”

“Yes” I say with my mouth, but my eyes were totally saying “nosey bitch”

She gives me this look and says with some terrible white girl attitude, “Good luck with that.”

My friend of course jumps in “what the fuck bitch…first off you’re the one in need of luck that we don’t…”

I of course can only giggle at the situation, as my friend is ripping this chick a new one.

She trails off as the girl and her friend sign their cheque and exit.

I could let this situation run for hours in my head, and I’d probably be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what that lanky bad nose, bad teeth chick was talking about, but more likely I just kind of laugh at the ridiculousness that is life, and more likely women…we are crazy sometimes!

Who does things like that?

I’ll mutter things under my breath, make comments or comebacks that might have always been quick on the draw but sometimes may have been inappropriate.

I’ve many times caught myself on a date saying, “I’m sorry we just meet and I’m already making fun of you” which by the way all were funny comments. (I can be hilarious at times)

When I got my big corporate job this had to change. Which some people found funny, as I had to be professional at an establishment many view as quite the opposite. I had got pretty good not saying things, but needed to started mastering the art of not making sounds. You know those sounds of disbelief that escape your mouth when someone would say something utterly stupid in a meeting.

SIDEBAR: I somewhat mastered this…somewhat.

The facial feature looks of disgust I’m still working on. I’m pretty terrible at making faces.

But when I’m comfortable. Truly at easy and enjoying myself I resort back to my old ways, and have a tendency to say things aloud without thinking. In fact many times I say things aloud that I think I am only thinking in my head.

FACT: this may or may not steam from the fact that I spend many hours working from home alone now, and say things to myself out loud.

Well sometimes accidently saying what I’m thinking gets me into trouble and sometimes it’s down right embarrassing:

Things were hot and heavy, and it’s going really good. I’m totally in the moment. We’re both in the moment…. the missionary moment. And the moment is good.

A thought pops in my head.

He stops.

I open my eyes.

He is staring at me with a puzzled but scared and mixed with a little concern look.

“Are you serious?” He says.

“What?”

“Do you?”

Awkward silence, for a minute as he’s looking down at me and I’m looking up.

With shock on my face, “Did I say that out loud!?”

“Did you think you didn’t!?”

“Oh my god! I thought it in my head!” I begin to laugh from mainly embracement.

He beings to laugh.

“I’m so embarrassed…..I didn’t mean to say that out loud”

I’m hiding my face in a pillow I’m so embarrassed but yet I’m shaking from uncontrollable laughter.

After what feels like 15 minutes of us both laughing a silence falls. He reaches over and hugs me, kisses my head and in his best Plum impression repeats what I had said.

“I think I have to fart?”

A friend of mine was in the city filming a movie. She and I aren’t as close as we used to be, and don’t talk all that often, but we had done dinner one night, and talked about being single (she had just broke up with her boyfriend and I was as always single).

Two days later she called me. She had met this guy who worked in locations on her set. She thought he seemed nice, and he was single, and she was setting us up on a blind date.

Now I’ve never had the best luck on blind dates, they usually make me question my friendships…basically I would sit there looking at some guy wondering how what I thought was a good friend would think anything about this person was “right” for me.

But against my better judgment I agreed to meet this guy for a drink. He and I exchanged a few phone calls, and had our after work drinks planed with the option of seeing how it goes and maybe grabbing dinner. He actually said that which I thought was a huge turn off, but I let it go.

He picked this very posh cocktail lounge in Lower Manhattan, which frankly was alittle to stylish for my liking on a first date. He sent me a text saying he would be about 10 minutes late, I was surprising on time, so I texted back saying no worries I’d wait at the bar. I settled into the bar and ordered my very delicious but completely over priced drink.

Upon his arrival he seemed normal. Tall and in a business suit, dark featured, but nothing really to write home about, just seemingly normal. He smiled, I smiled, and we started into the usual blind date get to know you banter.

And then about 10 or 15 minutes into our seemingly ok date (there was nothing really there but the company was nice and the drinks were delicious) He says the following to me, “ I’m glad you sat at the bar and not at a table” “ Why is that” I asked him. And then he said the following as if it was second nature to him,

“ Cause at least at the bar we only have to deal with the one black bartender.”

I gave him a questionable look, in which he then proceeded to rant about how people of pretty much every race but ‘white’ were terrible serves in restaurant, and how he had no idea this place started hiring so many ‘black’ people since he had last been.

I sat there with what was most likely the blankest of blank stares on my face. My jaw may have actually hit the bar. I see from the corner of my eye, the two bartenders frozen where they were staring at us. I feel embarrassed to be with this guy, and sad for him at the same time.

Are these words really leaving his mouth? Is he really in the middle of this bar going on a rant about how he hates black people? And why am I not wearing my Obama T-shirt when I need it?

As he proceeded to continue on some racist banter about something I interrupted him in the only way I could think of at the moment.

“I think I should just let you know that my Dad is black”.

He looked at me as if a bus had just hit him.

“ But you’re white.”

“ I know. I look white, my brother looks black, that is how it works.”

Silence fell. It felt like every eye within a 4-foot vicinity of us had stopped what they were doing and watching the tale I was telling him unravel.

“So you could have a baby that looks black?” He asked me still looking at my ivory white skin in total shock.

“ Oh yeah of course, I could pop out babies black as night.”

This look of terror came over his face, as what I can only described as this fear that he could have gambled with having sex with me and never would have know what he was sticking his penis in unless I had said something.

“ I’m going to go use the ladies room, and when I’m get back I assume you aren’t going to be here” I said as I got up off my chair and walked to the restrooms.

When I returned he was no longer sitting at the bar, and I assume he used what little braincells he had to tell himself leaving was the best option for him.

I on the other hand was greeted by a round of applause from the bartenders and the two people sitting next to us when I returned to the bar area. He apparently had said the following to the one male (‘white’) bartender before leaving:  “she’s half black” with a confused look on his face.

I sat down and had another drink on the house, and the bartenders also picked up the tab that my date had so gentlemanly left me with, which included his $40 glass of whisky.

FACT: I might just be the whitest kid you know.

SIDEBAR: This was the last blind date I ever went on, or will ever go one for that matter.

Not only a FYI but a straight up FACT!

To be honest I couldn’t tell you what the book was called or who he was or everything they talked about in the hour or however long that show is on.

The fact is I like background noise on when I work, and I usually have the TV on rather then music, I think because I care less about the TV then I do about my music.

Anyways, during a part of the show they asked multiple-choice questions about dealing of relationships, and then he would give the scientific answer (the only true answer as he put it, you know cause science is factual ALL the time)

They had questions like, what to wear to bed, who should pay for a date/outing, and so on…

But one question made me question “science”, and not just science but people.

The question was: If you don’t feel like having sex with your partner one night and they really want to you should either A) grin and bear it B) pretend to fall asleep or C) bribe them with something (ie. they take you some place, buy you something, do the dishes)

Now we are all entitled to our opinions, and I am in no way going to say which one is the one I’d pick. Cause fact of the matter is I have issues with all these options!

Grin and Bear it?! Really. If you are in any relationship where you have to grin and bear sex then you are lacking in the communication department. And if your communication department is broken, I hate to say it but your relationship is broken.

Now pretending to fall asleep is just ridiculous. Straight up!

Now compromising is one thing, but last time I checked compromising wasn’t the same as bribing. If you are with someone who needs you to agree to take out the trash or do dishes or take them on vacation to have sex, I feel bad for you. Sex should not be compromised and brided for. You know who bribes for sex? Prostitutes!

What happened to being honest? What’s wrong with saying “I don’t feel like having sex”? Nothing wrong with not wanting sex all the time (I don’t get that, but I’ll buy it, and appreciate the honesty)

How is honesty not a scientifically proven right answer? This is what is wrong with our world. Honesty is not the best policy when it comes to sex, and that means it’s not the best policy period. Because frankly we all know sex drives the world.

Oh and in case you were wondering if you turned to science for the right answer it would be C) bribe your partner to do stuff for you, before you do “stuff” to them!

Almost 6 or 7 or even 8 years since I had even spoken or seen “first guy” he tracked me down at a job (aka he googled the hell out of me) called my work mid day and asked me to forgive him for how badly he had treated me.  I told him simple he didn’t have to ask me to forgive him because I already had.

Fact of the matter is I didn’t forgive him (well maybe I did) I just didn’t care anymore. I could careless. I spend most of our hour conversation in which he wanted to “catch up” wondering what type of 12 step program he was in, in which he needed my forgiveness.

FACT: I may have asked if he was in rehab.

SIDEBAR: This call from him also came a few months before he married wife number 2, so maybe that is how they were connected.

So my question of thought rolls around this…..is it better to say things regardless of your timing then to never say them at all?

Does letting out thought and feelings in regards to relationships better then bottling them up and waiting for hem to go away. And in that case do they ever really all go away.

A few months back I drunkenly told a guy I had cared deeply about that he broke my heart when he said he couldn’t be involved with me (after we had been involved) Did I mean it, yeah, but did I really mean it, I don’t think so.  (does that make sense?!)

It felt good to get it out there. To say “you hurt me, I’m over it, now lets be friends!” And great friends we are!

Last summer I had a good guy friend get married. This guy friend and I had started something once, but timing and location made it impossible. One of the “what if” relationships. We all have them, in fact, life is full of those “what if” moment.  (In fact that is a whole blog on it’s own)

This friend called me two days before he got married to tell me that exact thing.  “What if” and how he “wished we had been able to give it a shoot” with me.

So why is it when it comes to relationships, when it comes to matters of the heart do we close up when something is right in front of us, but later on we let out how hurt we are, what we regret, and ask for forgiveness?

And he ended the chat with a statement, a pleasantry, a signature, a farewell, that for once didn’t bother me but that’s cause it fit the conversation we were having.

I hate, loath, cringe when I see or hear the following:

“Ciao”

Seriously, ciao?!

You are picking that to end this conversation?

Ciao!?

* shakes fist at the screen *

I will refuse to contact/reply to guys who put this in their first contact email on any online dating site, or first email/text/call/ask to ask me out. I may stop talking to friends for a minimum of a week if they use it, and have even flat out called people out on it…./slash/ gone ape shit on them.

I don’t know why. But I do know that I find nothing about this word appealing, romantic or ‘international’.  It’s just stupid!

Do not ever try to date me if you like using this as your signature on an email, a chat session, or even worse you actually say it to people.

Unless you are Italian (like it’s spoken in your home as a 1st language or you are from there) OR we are actually IN Italy, do not I repeat DO NOT end with a  ”ciao” at me!

Ok that is all.

FACT: ‘Steve’ and I were discussing pros and cons of different hotels in Rome for an upcoming trip. Thus it was appropriate.

SIDEBAR: This is also a story I’ve sat on for a while. I’ve struggled with on so many levels, but in the end putting it out there is always best, or not. But here we go *deep breath*

You, Me, and the Stump equals three! Part One and Two!

I had noticed Elevator-Hottie since I starting working in the building 5 months ago. Ok, I didn’t notice him I straight up stared and maybe drooled at him. This man was hot, and by hot I mean HAWT!

We always seemed to be stuck in the elevator together, most times alone no matter what time of the day.

I simply chalked this up to fate!

We had exchanged a few smiles back and forth (god he had great teeth) but other then that, he watched the elevator TV and I pretended to be doing something important on my phone while I checked out his hot ass in his nice suit!

I worked late that night and as I was leaving the office around 8pm, I clicked the down button.

The door opened and there stood his tall gorgeous frame. (If I were a guy I would’ve got an instant hard on)

He smiled. I quickly looked down at my phone.

Elevator-Hottie: Can I just say something?

I looked up, mouth open from shock and stared at his beautiful face. I did not say anything, I don’t think I even nodded, but may have turned bright red.

Elevator-Hottie: You’re gorgeous! I’d love to take you to dinner sometime, if you’d like and are available.

I keep staring, drool may or may not have fallen from my mouth.

“Ummmm…(What ever I said here was most definitely babble and I fear evening thinking about it. I’ve blocked it from my memory)”

Elevator-Hottie: Can I get your card?

“Umm…yeah…sure” I fumbled for a card.

Elevator-Hottie: “I always wondered what you did at ‘the magazine with boobies’……”

His voice trailed off as he got off the elevator. I was planted firmly in my place still in shock and awe from the fact he even talked to me. ME!?! Did he just ask me out? HE asked ME, (ME?!) out!?!

The elevator doors closed!

SIDEBAR: I am an idiot!

I press the button the doors open (as I am already on the first floor). I walk out he is gone and there is Tom my favorite of our night security desk guys. “Smooth, very smooth!” He says with a smile.

I blew it! I totally blew it! Oh well.

But I get a phone call that night, and it was Elevator-Hottie. Seriously, I was now staring to believe in this ‘fate’ stuff.

Our first date was to be an after work drink. Although in all honesty I didn’t go to work till the end of day cause I was picking out the perfect outfit, getting my hair just right, doing nails, and all the girl (yes sometimes I’m like that) stuff!

We had a seemingly perfect first date. We had great conversation, I didn’t get to drunk (a usual first date flaw on my part) we ended up grabbing dinner, all in all a great date. As we were saying our goodbyes he gave me a “had a great time” accompanied by a pat on the shoulder.

He hates me. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that third drink, maybe I talked to much, I probably swore to much, maybe it’s cause I made fun of him…..urg such is my life!

But he called me. And he kept calling me.

Now Elevator-Hottie was everything you’d want in a man, especially in a Manhattan man. Tall, unbelievable handsome, very well educated, good family, owned his own apartment with a park view (and not stand on the toilet  in the bathroom tilt your head kind of view, we’re talking a view!) He had great job, and he even a summer house.

Date number 12 rolls around and the most action I’ve gotten is a peck on the lips and a pat on the back hug. And a few flower arrangements sent to my office.

I mean come on, a girl cant wait forever. In my dating world 12 dates is pretty much an engagement! So you better pony up! I was so confused by the situation, and never been in one like this before. Plus, I like sex so I was alittle upset on that front too.

I was also struggling with him because as perfect on paper as he may have been. He really didn’t make me laugh. OK, I shouldn’t say that he was funny he would make any normal girl laugh alot. But I need and want a guy who makes me spit out my drink, maybe pee my pants just alittle bit laugh! (It’s a requirement)

My friends all pushed me towards the ‘perfect on paper’ and said to ignore the other details.

Oh right, I’m forgetting that one other detail. You see for all his great perfect on paper points, there’s one little thing he didn’t have.

One quality mister-perfect-elevator-hottie-on-paper was missing.

Actually, it was more of an appendage then a quality. You see Elevator-Hottie was missing his left leg below the knee. He had a prosthetic, no leg, a whatever you want to call it………There was no leg!

So I rationalized his lack of physical contact as a shyness of his stump.

Maybe it was all scared up and nasty! Maybe it was shaped funny. Maybe he was scared I’d want to lick it during foreplay.

All I knew was if he didn’t take my pants off on this our 14th date, it’s over.

Leg or no leg : Over!

I get a Text message: Instead, why don’t you come over and we’ll order in and watch a movie.

Thank you Jesus! Come over and watch a movie IS and has always been code for come over and have sex!

But now I was terrified. I frantically spent hours googling sex with one legged men, and so on. These results turned up nothing but scary porn, and creepy craigslist ads.

This was it. You see if the sex is amazing, I guess I can get over the lack of gut hurting laugher. Plus, I was starting to really like him. NowI was more nervous then excited.

I show up at his apartment. I walk in the door and he jumps me. Wow! Like throws me against the wall, jumps me.

Where did this guy come from?

Lips are intertwined, arms are throwing and ripping off clothes. This one legged Hottie was on a mission! And his mission was me!

We take this action into the bedroom. We’re doing it, and we’re doing it. Oh and we’re doing it! And it was really great. And did I mention the view of the park from the bedroom!? The whole thing was hot and amazing!

I’m in the moment. Really in the moment, and then he decides he wants to take a trip…downtown !

And as I lay there with my eyes closed enjoying his downtown adventure I hear a soft whisper in my ear.

“She’s good isn’t she.”

I look over. I look down. I look over. I look down. I look…I look DOWN!

And there between my legs is this mass of grey hair.

I jump back! So fast and hard I hit the headboard and the back of my head started to bleed.

There at the foot of the bed is this …..Old Lady.

Now not just old, we’re talking tales from the crept, old lady boobs to her knees, fucking Old Lady OLD!

As I’m picking up my stuff I’m speechless. More shocked then when he asked me out in the elevator. I kept looking at him and his perfect body his mouth was moving, something about it being ok, how he wants me to stay. I kept looking at her with her really not perfect body saying something about how he was right I am really pretty.

And I couldn’t say anything. Maybe it was just the surprise of it, maybe it was the feeling that I was pretty much just violated by an old woman, or maybe it’s because I hit my head so hard I was pretty sure I was dying of a brain bleed. I was shaking and in shock, and just wanting to leave.

As I ran out in my jacket, one shoe and holding everything else I came in with. I walked into the bar across the street asked where the bathroom was and said I was coming back for shots!

As I put my clothes on I held back tears. I don’t know why exactly, but I had never wanted to be more loved and cherished by a man then in that moment. It sounds odd I know, but all I could think was why couldn’t I meet a nice guy, why does every guy I meet need to be an asshole douchebag or a freak. Why won’t anyone ever just love me. What was wrong with me?

Because just when you think someone is perfect on paper you realize their grandmother is doing the book keeping from inside the closet, or under the bed, or wherever one hides a walking swinger of a corpse!