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What the hell is Prana breathing anyway? The Mandarin detox was pretty good, up to a point, and then suddenly Dario started telling me how to breathe while he was stimulating my lymph nodes. Then he made me drink this revolting green-colored juice which made me want to puke, but unfortunately, I think I mentioned that I’m not one of those women who easily hurls her food. My stomach was shot the entire day. $2000 later and I still need valium.

You’re probably wondering how this all started.

Actually I’m having some trouble remembering myself.

Oh yes. It’s coming back to me. I had a hangover. A really bad one. If you recall, we were invited to dinner at Lysette‘s, my old friend who used to work for the Mossad. I based my detective character on her. I think I already mentioned that.

Lysette lives in some place called Kew Gardens. We took a taxi over, stopping for drinks on the way, and by the time we got there, we were an hour late, which shouldn’t be such a big deal, but you can tell from the look on Lysette’s ethnic boyfriend’s face, it was.

So it was pretty much a disaster from start to finish. My future ex-husband, through no fault of his own, can’t really handle being around poor people. He got completely soused on the Dalmore we bought with us and before too long he was making his usual drunken racist comments. Santiago, surprise surprise, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, and sometime after the ‘entrée’ was served, they were yelling at each other and talking about current events. In her sad, little kitchen Lysette revealed to me that she was pregnant after years of trying. As my readers know, when people tell me about their fertility woes, I usually say a little prayer for them that they won’t get pregnant, because no one really understands the extent to which children make you unhappy. But with Lysette, it was too late, and she was so excited about having a baby that all I could do was listen and pretend she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

I can’t emphasize enough that going to Queens was probably one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made, or at least, the biggest one of the summer. But the summer is ending, and I’m hoping for a respite from all the drama this fall. Let’s all say a little prayer for Jasmine.

in Dalmore, future ex-husband, Kew Gardens, Lysette, Manhattan, Mossad, Queens, Uncategorized, Valium | Read full story · | Comments { 9 }


There are construction workers in the house even as I type. Did I mention that we’re renovating the bedroom? It was all red and ottomans and antiques. No one should have to live like that.

The problem is that our designer, Mark Moualem, was supposed to oversee the whole thing. It was scheduled to be finished a week ago but, surprise surprise – Mark is having “boyfriend” troubles. I know as a Manhattan woman I’m supposed to like gay men, but to be honest they never appealed to me. Now, with the delays and the bitchy neighbors and the aggravation, all the bad feelings I’ve ever had towards gay men seem totally justified. I mentioned this to my mother, who lives in Palm Beach, and she just laughed one of her mean little laughs. That’s the way she is.

My future ex-husband bought a place on Meadow Lane last year, and I should probably just move in until the work is done, but it’s so dull there now. And tomorrow is my weekly mani-pedi-hot-stone-neck-massage-hydrating-rejuvenesence facial.

I know what you’re thinking: Jasmine, why are you putting yourself through this? Just check into a hotel. But as you may recall, the last time we renovated, my future ex-husband and I stayed at the W Hotel in Midtown. It was fashion week and everything else decent was booked and well, you know what it’s like there. With the tourists in the lobby and the small rooms and Tom and Jerry playing in the elevators. I needed a week in Maui to recover from the whole ordeal.

So here I am, trying to answer Pavel’s incessant questions about the position of the Alvarez pendant lights. Someone get me the Dalmore.

in future ex-husband, Gay Men, Manhattan, Mark, Renovation | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }