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Nonna Pessia

If one more person says they’re surprised when they discover that I have a living grandmother, I swear to god I’ll punch them in the face.

Nonna Pessia came to visit me yesterday. It was a real honor because the rumor is that she’s more loaded than anyone in the family.

“Yasmine,” she said before her gloves had come off. “Who is representing you?”

“An associate of Charles Endicott’s,” I told her.

“Get rid of him,” she said. “Call Stanley.”

“He’s dead, Nonna,” I reminded her.

“Then call Myron.”

“Dead,” I said.

She exhaled from exasperation.

“You are going to end up in prison, Yasmine. This is very serious. Who is this man in the kitchen?”

“That’s just Mark. He’s renovating the bedroom. Supposedly.”

Mark approached my grandmother but she put her hand up to stop him.

“I stay out of Chelsea,” she hissed to me. “Why does he have to come to the Upper East Side?”

“Please, Nonna. I won’t go to jail. Anyway the real issue is Daddy. He’s going to marry that horrible woman. Can’t you talk to him?”

“We haven’t spoken for twelve years,” she said. “I’m not sure this is a good enough reason to start now.”

“Oh forget it,” I said. “Let’s just go to lunch.”

You see? There’s nothing as frustrating and disappointing and complicated as family. You can wish you were adopted all you want, but in the end, if you have a grandmother who can get a table at Jean Georges just by walking in, then order the foie gras brule and count your blessings.

in Charles Cornelius Endicott IV, Gay Men, Jasmine's Father, Mark | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }


Now that the storm has past and the lights are back on, now that the poor people have kept their president, now that China’s Politburo have elected Xi Jinping as their leader at last, I think it’s high time we bring the focus back to Jasmine.

Yet everywhere I turn, someone is trying to obstruct this deserving cause. Mark Moelim, my interior designer, pestered me with his boyfriend troubles earlier today.

MM: Jonathan wants to be exclusive Jasmine, but I’m not sure that I’m ready. I really love him. What should I do?

JS: How about getting the Travertine wall tiles installed in the en suite bedroom? I bet that would make you feel a whole lot better.

That’s right readers, you’re not hallucinating. Mark hasn’t finished the bedroom yet. And he’s bitching to me?

MM: Jasmine, I know you don’t like gay men, but I need a friend right now. Can you pass me the Remy Martin?

JS: I don’t not dislike gay men, Mark. I just wish you’d stop being such a precious little drama queen and focus on your job.

Mark shook his head, drained his balloon snifter and got up to leave. If only he’d done just that, instead of turning around and adding this:

MM: Just be honest for once in your life, Jasmine. The reason you don’t like gay men is because of your…

JS: Shut up Mark.

I had no better luck with my future ex-husband. He’s been acting strange lately, and you’d think it’s because of that admittedly sexy socialist winning the White House again. But no. He’s been this way ever since that night at Lysette’s.

FEXH: Sometimes I just wonder what we’re doing, Jasmine. That’s all. Is that so wrong?

JS: It’s obscene. And why aren’t you dressed? We’re already late for Jean Georges.

FEXH: Did you ever think about having a baby?

JS: Fine, I’ll call the car service. Just be ready in five minutes.

I tell you, sometimes it’s like I’m talking to a wall. If only the wall had a mirror, and was pouring drinks, then at least everything might not be so intolerable.

In other news, my “doctor” gave me a prescription for Opana. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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

50 Shades of Oy Vey

My mother called me yesterday. As always, when she aggravates me, I want to post about it here.

Here’s why:

Mother In Palm Beach:He’s going to marry that Russian, isn’t he?
JS: She’s Kosovan.
MIPB: I always hated those Russians. They completely ruined Brighton Beach.
JS: You’ve never been to Brooklyn
MIPB: That’s a filthy lie, Jasmine. You’ve always taken his slide.
JS: It’s not even eleven o’clock mother. How can you be drinking already?
MIPB: Don’t pretend you don’t have a Hendricks in your hand right now.

(Silence of Admission.)

MIPB: I was a good wife. I didn’t do everything he wanted, but I stayed skinny. How was I supposed to know what he was into?
JS: Mother, I don’t want to hear…
MIPB: He just seemed like your typical finance asshole when we met. I thought the masks were part of an old Halloween costume.
JS: Mother please!
MIPB: Not that he ever satisfied me either. You think just once he’d asked what the straps were for.
JS: Could we please focus, here Mother? How are we going to stop this wedding?

Mark: Maybe they really love each other.

This last helpful comment came from Mark Mualam, my errant interior designer, who was in the kitchen taking measurements.

JS: How about finishing the bedroom before you share your pearls of wisdom?
MIPB: Who is that? He sounds just like…
JS: Shut up, mother. You know I never speak about him. And let’s get back to the wedding. What are we going to do?
MIPB: I got my settlement darling. You’re on your own.


My future ex-husband: What if Mark is right? What if they do love each other?

Did I mention that my future ex-husband has been behaving bizarre ever since the night we went to Lysette’s house in Queens? As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. I swear I must be the only sane person in this entire penthouse, including Pavel, who’s installing the Novellini shower door in the en suite bathroom.

On another subject: As my readers know, I don’t like to call attention to other women. However, these two ladies had the same idea as I did and posted their two cents under the title “50 Shades of Oy Vey”. Anyone who thinks likes Jasmine is doing something right.

Abbey Prentice – Writer and blogger and sadly for her, a mother – really, really hated the S&M books and says they are “not worth the paper they’re printed on”.

Pink Lady Lindsley, also a writer, sounds like she has a really hot sex life herself. Alas, she found the sex scenes boring and prefers 9 1/2 weeks for getting libidinous. Jasmine hasn’t read the books but generally endorse anything erotic, so long as it doesn’t make me feel old.

in future ex-husband, Gay Men, Jasmine Schwartz, Jasmine's Father, Jasmine's Mother, Lysette, Mark, Queens, Renovation, Sabina | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }


If I see one more four-year-old at Balthazar while I’m trying to drink my bloody mary, I swear I will kill them. I’m so hungover I could eat bread. I’m crabby and irritable and if you want to sue me, go ahead. My future ex-husband has a law degree from Duke and he loves confronting idiots. Good luck to you.

Remember when you could not like certain kinds of people and no one cared? While we were having brunch today, I was complaining about our evening in Queens, which I’ll get to in a future post, and then started bitching about our errant interior designer, Mark Mooalem. Everything was going fine, and our friends laughed at the appropriate moments and felt really bad for me. Then I used a certain word to describe Mark and… Bam! The bonhomie was over. Everyone at the table gave me dirty looks like I’d murdered a puppy. The waiter started crying. The couple at the next table complained to Hadassah, the skinny blond Hostess, who I know from when I used to work in the business.

My future ex-husband quickly dropped a few hundred dollars on the table and shoved me out the door. He’s hoping that with some hats and sunglasses we’ll be able to go back next week, but I bet that bitch Hadassah has just been waiting for an excuse to blacklist me.

Everyone in this city is so sensitive. It makes me want to puke. If only I could. It’s a skill I never mastered.

Well, I’m off to the Mandarin now because my mother swears by their 24-hour detox. And since it’s summer, tomorrow we’re headed to my future ex’s place on Meadow Lane. See you there, darlings.

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


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 }