Wednesday, August 31, 2005

A little weepy today...

Vanessa here...

A little weepy today on several fronts...
  1. The guy selling Heralds in South Station this morning was asleep at his post and people were just taking newspapers.
  2. A baby was crying on the train and it's mother was just ignoring it, reading her Danielle Steele novel.
  3. A man on the T was asking for "spaaaahhhhhhe channnnnnnge" and screaming it out so that people were fleeing from him and cringing. He had crazy in his eyes.
  4. I didn't get to each lunch today and worked straight through until I was so sick from lack of food.
  5. I'm PMSing.
  6. Being Bobby Brown is more episodes.
  7. Utter, total depression over the devastation in New Orleans, Biloxi, Gulfport and Mobile. So sad. So very sad. Give to the Red Cross. Do anything! Do something! Help these people!
  8. Hunter didn't answer any of my e-mails. (Okay, maybe he was busy.)
  9. My mother called to tell me I got a letter about the status of my student loan. It's apparently been rebundled and sold to another company and they're upping my payments.
  10. Finally, I went with Mia after work to pick up her wedding dress. She looks gorgeous. Happy. Glowing. I hate her.

Okay, I don't hate her...I love her, but I'm jealous. I just hope I can get through the weekend without crying my eyes out. Mia and I've been together for a couple of years. It's like we're breaking up. She's moving out, starting her life and her family. And I'll be all alone.

Yeah...definitely PMSing. Dinner tonight is a bottle of Buena Vista wine, French fries and a tub of Edy's Gourmet.

I'll be better tomorrow...I promise.

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

I'm a cheater...

Vanessa here...

I think I cheated on Hunter today. Not like he's officially my boyfriend or anything, but still...I feel like some sort of dirty fornicator. WAIT...I did not have sex with anyone. But I eye flirted on the train with a guy.

I was sitting there and I felt someone looking at me. You know how you get that feeling. Usually it's some crazy mo-fo asking me about where to get electric shock treatments or some bum telling my shoes are nice. But this time, it was actually a cute, well-dressed, blue-eyed guy. I was listening to my MP3 player and next thing I knew, he was nodding and smiling at me. He apparently could tell I was getting into the Jenn Cuneta version of "Come Rain Come Shine" blaring out.

So, the whole ride, we did the eye flirt. Teasing each other with our smiles across the train. He was really, really flirting with me.

Then it hit me! Hunter! What was I doing?!?! I mean, sure, I don't have a ring or anything and there's no commitment (yet...), but I shouldn't be flirting like this, should I? No! It's not right.

Maybe it's because as wonderful as things have been going with Hunter (we've had 4 dates), there's been no sex date, yet. And I know, I know -- TMI, Virtue -- but seriously. We haven't done anything yet but kiss. It's not like I think he's gay or anything and just appeasing me. He's obviously interested in me, but we get to kissing and stuff and then he calls it a night. Is he too tired out from FBI fingerprinting all day? Or is he just being a gentleman? At some point, my libido is going to explode. Like it almost did on the train today.

Please tell me I'm not a bad person for my eye flirt cheat. I don't want to be a bad person! Am I? Would you have eye flirted with a cute guy?

I am taking Hunter to Mia and Larkin's wedding this weekend (small affair) and maybe that'll put him in an appropriately romantic mood. Home girl here hasn't seen action in a while, if you know what I mean. And who better than this hunk of a man who likes me!

Besides, I don't want to turn into one of those crazy-assed women we talk about!

Time to make dinny...

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Monday, August 29, 2005

Katrina and her waves...

Vanessa here...

I know many of you might have tuned in to hear how my weekend with Special Agent Hunter Langdon, hunk extraordinaire went (I just love saying that), but in light of today's weather catastrophe, I thought I'd wait to talk about myself (I unlike me!) and instead share some pictures of the last time I was in the beautiful areas that were hit today. I have relatives in the Mobile Bay area (who were smart enough to evacuate deep into Florida -- ain't that an irony?) and I've been to New Orleans myself. So, I thought I'd just let you look at some pretty pictures and enjoy. Hopefully everything will be back to normal soon.

Thoughts and prayers go out to everyone on the Gulf Coast!

Hugs and love,
Double Vee

Classic First Street in New Orleans

Anne Rice's backyard (well, when she still lived there)

First Street Flower

The Heart of Bourbon Street

An Older Resident of the French Quarter

Typical New Orleans Courtyard

Some Crazy Woman on Bourbon Street

Jackson Square

Lafayette Cemetery

Mobile Bay from Fairhope Point

Another View of Mobile Bay

A Local Resident of Mobile Bay (I'm told he evacuated)

Saturday, August 27, 2005

A little som'in som'in...

Vanessa here...

...with a fly-by post! Hunter's picking me up in 15 minutes. I'm a little nervous. Could this be the sex date? I shaved my pits and my legs, just in case. And Griz brought me some condoms. Will I get to use them?

I'll keep you posted...

Double Vee

Weekend eye candy...

Vanessa here...

Here's a little eye candy for you this beautiful Saturday morning (as we watch the summer slip away.) Though I loved Tyrese Gibson (no relation to my creator) in 2 Fast 2 Furious, I hear he's most excellent in this summer's Four Brothers with Marky Mark (okay, I know he's Mark Wahlberg, serious actor, but he'll always be Marky Mark to me.)

Here's a little Tyrese for your Saturday...


Hang loose,
Double Vee

Friday, August 26, 2005

Humor to round out the week...

Vanessa here...

Just a quick post before Hunter comes to get me for our date tonight (yeeeeeeahhhhh!!!) Since I've been bagging on all these crazy women all week, I thought I'd end with a funny that was sent to me today, bagging on our male counterparts. I hope Hunter doesn't believe this way! Props go out to Elizabeth for the laugh:

Female Prayer

Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man, who's not a creep.

One who's handsome, smart, and strong,
One who loves to listen long.

One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.

I pray that he is gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, won't be annoyed.

Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.

Oh send me a man who'll make love to my mind,
Knows what to answer to "how big is my behind?"

I pray that this man will love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.


Male Prayer

I pray for a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with huge boobs
who owns a liquor store and a bass boat.
This doesn't rhyme, and I don't care.


Have a great weekend and hang loose,
Double Vee

Thursday, August 25, 2005


Vanessa here...

So, I know people think Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is all about television and drama and stuff, but there's a lot to be said for that show and the "lessons" they're teaching men. Little things like:
  • don't live like a heathen in a pig sty
  • shave and bathe regularly
  • clean your toilet on a regular basis
  • be polite and nice to other people
  • in general, don't be an asshole

Okay, so they come in, clean your house, teach you how to cook a lobster salad, how to make your girlfriend feel special. They chop long hair, snip bad chops and style unruly locks. But one of the greatest lessons The Queers have taught people is "manscaping." And believe you me, there are a lot of men in Boston (at my company, particularly) who could use some tending to.

Remember our new CEO, Darth Vaddar? Well, he totally needs a Queer Eye makeover.

I had the unfortunate honor of sitting catty-corner from him today in a marketing meeting. My boss pulled me in along to help her with some budgeting numbers, but I had to sit next to Darth. Now, this guy's only been around a few weeks and everyone basically fears him. Me in particular. So, imagine my freaking out on the inside as I had to sit near him.

I'm sitting there and the guy keeps scratching at his hair and the back of his neck. So, I look and I see that the dude has a forest of hair curling up out of his collar from his back! Massive back hair! We're talking Bigfoot potential here. All I can think is that his wife needs to spend some of his ill-gotten (from taking over corporations) gains and get his back waxed or lasered.

As if that's not bad enough, in the middle of my boss' presentation, Darth farts! FARTS! A CEO of a software company trying to get together an IPO to go public. He frickin' FARTS in front of the VPs of Sales, Engineering, Business Development and Marketing. And we're supposed to sit there and act like nothing happened? (Trust me, it wasn't silent, but it was deadly.)

Then, after the meeting was over, I was still sitting there and Darth is standing over me and I can see right up his nostrils. It looked like the Redwood forest and I was afraid some small woodland creatures were going to scamper out. He needs nose hair trimmers something fierce! Should I give them to him anonymously at Christmas time? He could also use a manicure and some ear hair trimming.

How does a man rise to such a powerful position being so hygenically challenged? I don't get it.

And I've seen a picture of his wife. Trophy bimbo. You can't tell me she can't groom and manscape him a little better? Guess all she cares about is his Platinum AmEx?

All I know is that Hunter's back in town tonight (he's going to call me) and we're going out tomorrow after work. He knows how to dress, has clean fingernails, nicely trimmed hair and I can only imagine, but I get he's not doing crop rotation on his back.

Tell me I'm not the only one this bothers...

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

I'm more convinced than ever...

Vanessa here...

While I'm wallering around in my own connubial bliss (well, not technically, just my wishful thinking...also the phrase is props to my home girl, DP ;-), I'm still surrounded by friends who just can't get it right. And it makes me more convinced than ever that my friends -- and women in general -- are just insane. Is it in our DNA? Does it come with menstruation? Why can't we avoid these fucked up relationship situations?

Many of you have been kind enough to e-mail and relay your case studies. So, I present a few more for your consideration. Now, I'm no sociology major and I only took one psych class in college, but I'm beyond advice for these women...

Case Study #5: Eggplant is in a quandary. Somehow, she woke up Sunday morning with two fiances. Yes, you read that right. You see, Eggplant has been engaged to Radish for almost a year. The two of them bought a house outside the 128 beltway of Boston. See, Radish is some sort of corporate geologist or something and just got a job with one of the huge oil companies in Indonesia. He's there now and Eggplant has been depressed. So, she goes home to suburban Chicago two weekends ago to see her parents and who does she hook up with but Watercress, her high school boyfriend. They spent the whole weekend together doing God knows what Eggplants and Watercress do when they stir fry. This is all while Radish is in the Pacific and Eggplant is supposed to be planning the wedding! Eggplant says she's going ahead with the wedding...until last Friday night Watercress shows up at her doorstep with a ring asking her to marry him, instead. The wedding to Radish is this weekend, Watercress has threatened to show up and protest, but Eggplant says she's going through with it, but she'd rather return home to the suburbs, marry Watercress and start having his babies. So, poor Radish in Indonesia doesn't know that Eggplant shrugs and says, "I'll get married and if it doesn't work out, in six months, we'll just get divorced." And they say the gays are ruining the institution of marriage. *sigh*

Case Study #6: Radicchio has been dating Green Bean since 10th grade in high school, all the way through college and two years out. It was inevitable they get married. Which they did, last summer. I swear to God, I've never seen anyone more scared shitless walking down the aisle. We all thought she was going to bolt. (The wedding cost a quarter of a mil, so I guess it was wise she didn't.) We just all thought it was nerves and stuff, but as it turns out, she feels very stifled in life, saying the only person she's ever slept with is Green Bean. So, six months into the marriage, Radicchio is clearly not happy and suddenly she's got eyes for one of the new sales guys at work: Acorn Squash. Acorn Squash is your typical software salesman: determined, busy, Mr. Golf. But he's attentive to Radicchio and next thing I know, they're doing the white man's overbite. She then moved out of her house with Green Bean and moves in with Acorn Squash. They are blissfully in love (for now), but it's a year to the date of Radicchio and Green Bean's wedding and she's just now filing for divorce. Why? Because if she did so before now, she would have had to have returned all of the wedding gifts because it fell under the year! As if!!!! (Oh, and Radicchio and Acorn Squash are expecting a little vegetable patty in 9 months...surprise, surprise.)

Case Study #7: Okra is a really nice girl. She's average pretty, average size, goes to church, never misses work and always remembers her friends' birthdays. She rarely dates, although she makes it clear to people that at (almost) 40, she's really looking to settle down and have a family "before it's too late." She goes online three months ago and posts her profile and information on She fills in all of the information accurately; her hopes, dreams, desires, likes and dislikes. Then comes the photo entry. Only, it's not her. It's a photo she got from a picture frame she got at CVS. The woman in a flaming, gorgeous redhead, a la Nicole Kidman in "Days of Thunder" and is wearing a bikini. Now, Okra is a dirty blonde with long hair, a nice face, large eyes and pert lips. She's a cutie. So, why do this? Well, as you can imagine, the date requests started pouring in. Okra would set a date and then show up at the restaurant or whatever to check the guy out. Of course, they're looking for the redhead bombshell and quiet Okra's sitting in the corner nursing a drink, never going up to meet them. She says she "just wants to see what kind of guy would answer an ad like that." One guy, Corn, shows up and he's literally her dream guy. He's in jeans a button down and a Red Sox cap. He's perfect. She doesn't talk to Corn, though, but next day online makes up some bullshit about getting caught at work. So, they meet up the next day and he's dressed pretty much the same. He's shocked, of course, that Okra isn't anything like her picture, but he's willing to get to know her. Then he takes off his Red Sox had and he's like bad, freaky bald! Okra goes ballistic, telling him how he lied on his description and how he'd deceived her with the cap. Corn's like, "but you said you were a thin, thirty-year-old redhead!" She doesn't get that her lie is as big as his, so she tosses his beer in his face and walks out in a huff! Corn, as you can imagine, popped his top. (Oh, come knew I had to get a pun in here somewhere!) What did she expect? Did she never see the movie "The Truth About Cats and Dog?"

Honestly...these women! Are we all this vulnerable? This desperate? This...fucked in the head?

I guess the answer is...yes.

Please feel free to share stories of your own in the comments section, or e-mail them to me and I'll recount here.

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Put your money where your mouth is...

Vanessa here...

So, do you have any friends who could stand to lose a pound or two and they talk constantly about how they're going to do this, that or the other diet? Sure, you do. Hell, you may be a person like this yourself. I'd be happier myself if I lost maybe 10 pounds. But, honestly, people...put your money where your mouth is.

All-Chicken-All-Day Mara is driving me nuts, beans and crackers.(tm) Yes, I'm trademarking that phrase. A-C-A-D Mara...all she does is complain about how overweight she is. She pinches the rolls of fat on her stomach. She turns sideways to show us her child-bearing hips. She waggles the fat on her upper arm. But all the time, she's saying how she's sticking to her diet and going to the guy and working out and how her muscles are working. Yet, for as long as she's talking about it, she's cramming her face with food.

Here's what she had today:

Bacon, egg and cheese bagel sandwich (she said it's all about the protein)

High protein nut bar (that had 12 grams of fat)

After talking for 20 minutes about how she was going to go get a roasted chicken salad, she came back with a chicken, cheese, rice and bean burrito that you could have sailed down the Amazon. In her thinking, it was "no big deal" because she didn't get extra sour cream and the cheese and chicken is protein. Then, she said "and the rice isn't bad when it's coupled with the beans. It turns the rice into protein." I'm like what the fuck? Is she serious? Certainly not. But, she is! She honestly believes this cock 'n bull! Rice coupled with beans turns into protein? On what planet? Rest assured, she's going to work out at the gym with her personal trainer (that's another thing...she's always talking about her personal trainer) tonight and says she'll "work it off." (We won't mention how she was talking to a buddy about getting KFC for dinner. What? It's chicken.)

Oh...then the other thing she's been saying..."water is bad for you." WHAT??? Yeah, it's bad for you because it makes you pee all the time. And "your organs shouldn't have to work so hard." Is she freakin' kidding me? Are these words really coming out of her mouth?

My point is, if you're going to talk the talk, walk the walk. If you're concerned about your weight, then do something about it. Don't just talk about it. If you're professing that you're only going to do proteins and such, don't invent jackassian food rules about rice turning into a different food group. Go for a walk at lunchtime. Eat a salad instead of a burrito. Drink water.

And, for all things that are right and holy, if you're going to only talk about eating chicken...then either do it or quit talking about it.

Yes, I have no patience for stupidity.

Then again, who does?

Okay, end of rant.

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Monday, August 22, 2005

I'm turning into a domestic goddess!

Vanessa here...

Sorry about the late post. Been a busy day. I hit the ground running at work today and then had to get home in a flash to cook dinner for Hunter. Yes, I had a Monday night date!

But I should backpedal 'cause I know you're curious. Hunter came over Friday night and we had pizza, wine (well, I had the wine...he doesn't drink) and watched a movie. Oh yeah, and we made out like bandits. Man, I don't know what they teach them in the FBI Academy, but that boy can kiss!

We were going to get together on Sunday, but something came up with Hunter's work. So I lost my head completely and offered to make him dinner tonight. What was I thinking? I mean, sure, I've been watching The Food TV Network for five years and I can "Bam!" with the best of them. But to whip up something for a man I'm deeply smitten with? I scanned the internet for recipes and ideas. Was it too late to go take a quick class at Williams-Sonoma?

There were other challenges. In addition to not drinking, Hunter doesn't eat red meat. And he likes to eat low fat. I won't complain 'cause his body is to die I guess we could all stand to eat a little less cow and lard. He said he wanted "comfort food." (Apparently he had a long, hard day.) So, I found a recipe for Turkey Stroganoff and it was deeeeeeeeeelish! (See below.)

Hunter came over, was amply impressed with my culinary skills (Phew!) and kissed me good and long before he had to scoot out. I'm telling you, this man is...perfect. Absolutely perfect. I don't know what can be wrong with him. He's smart, strong, gorgeous, polite, charming and attentive. I mean, did I dream him up, or what?

He's going down to DC for a conference tomorrow until Sunday, so my Hunter time will be down a bit this week, but don't worry, I'll have plenty of stories to keep you entertained.

I have more Case Studies for you and All-Chicken-All-Day Mara's been particularly annoying.

In the meantime, why not try my awesome Turkey Stroganoff:

Turkey Stroganoff

1 pound ground turkey
Salt and pepper to taste
3 tablespoons Brummel and Brown, divided
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups chicken consomme
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 small onion, chopped
1 pound extra wide egg noodles, cooked to package directions
Chopped parsley leaves, garnish

Chop onions and cook in one tablespoon of Brummel and Brown (yogurt butter.) Add lean ground turkey meat and season with salt and pepper. Cook until meat is almost done. Then add mushrooms and cook for about 5 minutes until everything is done.

Cook egg noodles according to the package, drain and set aside.

Drain meat into a strainer and set aside.

Return skillet to medium heat. Melt 2 tablespoons butter and mix with flour 1 minute. Whisk in chicken consomme. The sauce will thicken in 1-3 minutes. Stir in sour cream, thicken 2 to 3 minutes. Reduce heat to low and season sauce with salt and pepper. Pour meat, onion and mushroom mixture into the sauce.

Arrange a bed of egg noodles on a plate and top with Stroganoff sauce and parsley.

Serve with French baguette.

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Weekend eye candy...

Something to keep you occupied over the weekend...

An oldie, but a goodie...remember him from back in General Hospital and Melrose Place? Mmmm...

Antonio Sabato, Jr.

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Friday, August 19, 2005

Drenched in stupidity...

Vanessa here...

Was this the longest day of the year, or what? It seemed like the day just dragged and dragged and dragged. Maybe because I've been anticimapating my date with Hunter tonight sooooo much. I don't know about where you live, but here in Boston today, it was like everyone left town. The streets were empty, the cubicles at work were sporadically filled and it only took me 25 minutes to get home.

I thought I'd check in with you before Hunter gets here for our second official date (the get-together at The Rattlesnake a week ago didn't count 'cause it was a meet up thing) and I'm on pins and needles. Why? Well, let's just start out with...

The Stupid Things I Did Today:
  1. I wore a pair of sandals to work today that I haven't worn since 1999. Stuuuuuupid. A half hour into the morning, I had blisters galore on my feet and was in quite a bit of pain. I had to call Mia at the hospital and have her bring me a pair of flip flops (they have a supply of them for the doctors) during her lunch break.
  2. I made the mistake of eating a poppy seed bagel at an 8:30 breakfast meeting and at 11:15, my marketing buddy, Jack, said to me, "You know, you've got like nine poppy seeds stuck in your teeth, right?" UGH! Why didn't someone tell me before then?!?!
  3. I was supposed to meet Hunter after work tonight at Kinvara Pub in Government Center before going to a movie...but I had to e-mail him with a change of plans. I said I'd be at work late...couldn't tell him the real story. Griz and I went to the burrito place for lunch and on the first friggin' bite, the beans, rice and sour cream just booginked out of the tortilla, down the front of my WHITE shirt. Griz, of course, starts wiping at it, turning it from a mess to a complete shit stain! I had to borrow this company baseball shirt to wear for the rest of the day because I was a mess. I couldn't have Hunter see me like this, so I came home and he's coming over for pizza and some Netflixing. Oh, and we're going to watch a movie, too. :)
  4. My allergies were acting up, so I took a Benedryl (it was all I had) and I fell asleep at my desk around 2:30. Fortunately, Griz called me with some office poop and woke me up. I'd only been asleep for 7 minutes, but my gel pen had fallen onto my finger and I have a big blue ink smudge on me.
  5. I needed energy to wake up (see #3), so I consumed a Milky Way bar. Well, not only did it wake me up, but it ripped up my, I'm bloated and crampy and...I have a date tonight.
  6. I accidentally told Motor-Mouth Mara of the All-Chicken-All-Day contingent that I liked to cook, so now she's e-mailing me all these low cahhhhhb chicken recipes: beer can chicken, chicken livers in Diet Dr. Pepper (gag), chicken thighs in grape sauce.
  7. I got home and ran into Mr. Paulsen. (Remember him...the freakazoid landlord?) I made the mistake of asking him, "How are you?" And, for the next 25 minutes, he told me. He apparently has a spastic colon and had to go in for some sort of camera up the ass test today that left him groggy and all sorts of other things that he went into details about. Let's just say, ewww...

So, I took a long, hot shower, shaved all the appropriate places and have dressed in my cute little Diesel jeans and this BCBG top I splurged on during a sale. It's demure, but cute. Not slutty at all. I do have an FBI agent coming over, after all.

We're going to sit on the floor, eat pizza, drink wine (he's bringing over a couple of bottles) and watch some movies. And then, I hope we make out like New Hampshire teenagers in the back of a truck in Hampton Beach. Sorry...local reference. It means I want to kiss him...baaaaadly.

And Mia's staying at Larkin's tonight (as most every night), so I've got Hunter all to myself. Better go brush my toofies and get ready!

Hang loose and talk to you on Monday!

Double Vee

Thursday, August 18, 2005

No wonder men are scared...

Vanessa here...

...with some interesting insight on why guys are scared of us.

It's because they should be!

I will not use real names here (to protect the guilty), but will use vegetable names as substitutions. I have several friends who are at different stages in their love lives and it makes me stand back, shake my head and try not to emulate them or make their mistakes.

I don't understand some women's take on things. I'm sure it has to do with inner confidence or what have you or thinking a better guy is around the corner, but I'm just stunned by some recent friend activity and I have to share.

CASE STUDY #1: Carrot and Potato have been dating for four years. Carrot is all a flutter thinking Potato doesn't love her enough and he doesn't want to commit. One night recently out drinking, Carrot got sloppy drunk on Mandarin and Tonic and admitted to us that she's about to give Potato the "shit or get off the pot speech." She says she's getting too old and she wants a commitment from Potato, especially since they have two cats together and an apartment. Here's the problem. I know Potato and I know for a fact that he's been scrimping and saving every penny for the last two years so he can save up for a ring for Carrot. He's had unemployment issues, so the aggressive savings has taken him longer than expected. But he does love her and wants to marry her. She just needs to calm the hell down. But what do I do? I can't do anything. Carrot's borderline nut job hashing about this and if she's not careful, she's going to freak Potato out.

CASE STUDY #2: Broccolini just recently broke up with her boyfriend, Tomato, of three years. I think they lived together, but I can't remember exactly. Actually, I think they lived in an apartment with his parents and she packed her shit and moved out. See, Broccolini has recently lost some weight and now thinks extremely highly of herself. (She looks great, so I say whoohoo to the self confidence.) However, she told another friend of hers that she knows there's someone better out there than Tomato. She doesn't like the work hours Tomato has and she said he was (get this) "too in love" with her. (Most of us want to smack Broccolini.) But Broccolini is out there, ho-ing around, going out every night and hooking up with guys left and right. How is this finding Mr. Right? No one's going to want to buy the cow if she's givin' the milk away for free. And what's wrong with a guy who's too in love with you? Tomato is crushed (ha! -- no pun intended), but he's getting on with his life and has hooked up with his pre-Broccolini girlfriend, Cauliflower. Now, Broccolini is miserable.

CASE STUDY #3: Rutabaga is a sweet, plump girl and a good friend. She's one of these people who's always talking about dieting and her personal trainer and going to the gym, but you always see her chowing on a Wendy's double-bypass burger with cheese every day and sneaking Kit Kats from the candy machine in the afternoon. She complains all the time about not having a man in her life, yet, she's been dating Zucchini for eight months. How is this not having a man in your life? She comes up to me yesterday and tells me that she's ready to break up with Zucchini because he "acts like a nine year old." She says every time she tries to have an adult conversation with him, he plays with her stuffed monkey that sits on her couch, or he'll start switching the TV stations. She says he "doesn't have a real job" (he works in construction) and she says she can't get him to commit. Rutabaga gave Zucchini an "ultimatum." Either he give her a ring by September 1st or they're breaking up! After only eight months? Man, you can't even pop out a baby in eight months and she wants a commitment and a ring? And let me tell you, I love Rutabaga, but she's not Adrianna Lima. Then I ask her, "Do you love Zucchini?" And she says, "Yeah, I guess so," so non-chalantly that I almost fall out of my chair. So, let me get sort-of-kind-of love Zucchini, yet you're demanding a ring? Something tells me Zucchini will be sauteed by September 1st and Rutabaga will be back on the streets looking for her next victim.

CASE STUDY #4: Asparagus (green) broke up with Cucumber three months ago. Three weeks ago, she was feeling lonely so she called Cucumber up and asked him to meet her for drinks. Cucumber showed up...with (white) Asparagus in tow. She looked exactly like G. Asparagus and dressed like her, too. W. Asparagus even laughed the same way as G. Asparagus. Cucumber wanted them to be friends because he said, "you're practically the same person." Well, G. Asparagus was horrified. And offended. She breaks up with Cucumber and he goes out and finds an identical replacement? And he wants them to be friends? So, later that night, she calls Cucumber, goes over, has sex with him and then asks if W. Asparagus screws like her. Ewwww...that is just TOO MUCH INFORMATION. But G. Asparagus couldn't stand that someone else had what she didn't want. Course, Cucumber did her and hasn't called since. And yeah, he's still seeing W. Asparagus. And G. Asparagus doesn't get what went wrong.

Is it just me or have women just gone nuts, beans and crackers? I mean, I know I've been a basket case at times when it comes to men, but are all my friends at an age where they're desperate, over-confident and think the next best thing is out there just waiting for them? I had a friend about six years ago who was married, got divorced and immediately got remarried. She said she "couldn't be without a man." I thought that was sad. She'd bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend since high school, college and during her work years. Now, she's on her third husband and she's only 32.

No wonder divorce rates are so high when people are getting into marriages for all the wrong reasons: pressure, stress, ultimatums, shitting or getting off pots. Honestly, I feel for the men out there having to navigate the emotional waters of women-kind.

Which makes me think about Hunter and where things might go with him. Yeah, I've pictured our children (the twins, remember...Samantha and Claire), but honestly, it's just a mental fantasy. I would never act on those impulses. I would never give him the ultimatum at eight months and I certainly would never pressure him for a commitment and ring if the guy had been unemployed. I think we women certainly have the right to expect things from the men in our lives, the ones we let into our hearts, but let's not scare them away girls! Instead, let's be sweet, funny, charming, entertaining, interesting and understanding.

Am I just nuts or do I have a point here?

(And, of course, remind me of this when I hit my lunatic phase like all of my Vegetable friends.)

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Action on the Freedom Trail...

Vanessa here...

For the record...

I did NOT intentionally blog tease you people. My pregnant-with-her-bastard-until-September-3rd-child roommate was puking her morning (nee evening) sick guts up and I had to go help her. Do you think I'm the type of friend who would put my own self interests above those of a woman who's knocked up by the guy I introduced her to? Well, maybe not this time. let me get back to the date with Hunter Langdon.

Recap: Freedom Trail, lots of walking, eating oysters, eating gelato, torrential rains, holding of hands and running into covered alcove.

So, we're standing there. So close we're almost behind each other. I know I look like a drowned rat with flat hair, but suddenly, I don't care. The noise on the street behind us disappears. The rainfall continues around us, drawing us closer and closer together. His eyes are sooooo green that I could completely lose myself in them. His smile is so genuine. So deep. So...real.

He takes his hand and brushes my wet hair away from my face. I think it was in my mouth, but who the hell knows. I don't know. Do I care? Should I care? I care right now as he moves it away and focuses his stare on my lips. Hell yeah!

My hands wrap instinctively around his waist and I think I must look like Scarlett O'Hara in the parlor after Frank Kennedy's funeral, ready to be kissed by Rhett. You know the pose. Head back, eyes closed, lips slightly pursed. I must not have looked like a complete fool 'cause next thing I know, Hunter's lips are on mine. Smooth and oh, so soft. He must go through a containers of chapstick a month to keep them that baby soft.

It's not a too-fast, aggressive, open-mouthed kiss...more like a "get to know me" type of kiss. Nibbling here. Nibbling there. Mouths moving together. Sampling. Tasting. He takes my face in both of his hands now and adjusts my head for a better angle. Yes, sir, Agent Langdon. Anything you want, sir.

Then it turns...deep, adult kisses. Lingering. Smoldering. I hold on to him for dear life and I love every minute of it. Finally, our lips part and the tongues get into the action. He tastes of the coffee-laced tiramisu we had earlier. He tastes delicious.

I don't know how long we stood there grubbing out like teenagers, but eventually this school group came by and the kids started hooting and hollering at us. When we broke apart, their chaperone gave me the evil eye. WHAT? Like she's never seen two people kiss before? Or been kissed herself? Get over it, Prudey McPruderton.

Hunter and I skipped doing the Old North Church (didn't want to follow the school group in) and went straight to Paul Revere's house, holding hands the whole way. In the confines of the old house, we were constantly bumping into each other, rubbing against one another and, let's face it, I wanted him to throw me on Mr. Revere's bed so I could scream out "The Red Coats are coming! The Red Coats are coming!" Baaaaaaaaaad Vanessa.

By the time we walked all the way over to Charlestown to the Navy Yard, it had started raining again. We were so wet, we couldn't get any wetter. Hunter kept kidding around and literally dragging me through puddles, making my shoes even wetter. At one point, he lifted me up and over one big puddle and then let me ride piggy back. Man, I haven't ridden piggy back since like 7th grade! And I'm impressed that Hunter could heft me up onto his back so easily. Not like I'm a big cow or anything, but every female worries about girth issues, right?

We went through the long safety line at the USS Constitution and then did a quick tour. At one point towards the back of the boat, after the rest of the group had wandered off, I tugged on Hunter's hand and turned him back to me. Boldly, I stood on my (sopping wet) tiptoes and kissed him flat on the lips. He smiled down at me, sneered in a fun way and then wrapped his arm around my middle like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When our Freedom Trailing was over, we caught the water taxi back over to Long Wharf (drying off some in the breeze and now sunshine) and then he called me a cab to take me home. He didn't want to leave me, but he was having dinner with his boss and his wife that night and needed to get home and clean up. He told me this was the best afternoon he'd spent in Boston and he definitely wanted to see me again. (Hurrah!!!!) I literally floated home.

So, now it's Wednesday and Hunter and I have been e-mailing back and forth every day. (Don't worry...he's not using his official government work account. We're using our personal accounts. His address should be He's got a crazy busy week, but we're getting together Friday night and...I. Can. Not. Wait. He said it's up to me where we go and what we do?
Hmmm...dinner, a movie, a game of spin the bottle?

Any ideas?

I'll keep you posted on my bliss...

Hang loose,
Double Vee

P.S. Was the story worth the wait? :)

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Let Freedom Ring!

Vanessa here...

...with part two of my date with hunky, hot FBI agent, Hunter Langdon. (Do you love saying his name as much as I do?

I know...I know...I left you hanging yesterday, but there are only so many hours in the day to blog. Still...I appreciate your interest, your comments and your e-mails!

When last we talked, Hunter had just hugged me, thanked me for a great night and said he looked forward to seeing me on Sunday. (Snoopy dance!)

So, I barely get through Saturday, what with Griz dragging me to the mall with her to go shopping. But, finally, it's Sunday morning. I showered, styled my goldy-brown hair just so and then...couldn't find a thing to wear. It was impossible to dress for this date! Why? Well...
  1. It's August in Boston and it's hooooooooooooooooot as hell
  2. We'll be walking quite a bit, so no cute, fashionable sandals
  3. Thunderstorms are threatening

Knowing all of that, I rummaged through Mia's closet (what does she care...she's practically living with Larkin while planning their wedding in three weeks) and I find her weatherproof Reebok cover-up and matching shorts. That would be perfect if it rained because the cover-up had a hood. I matched up my white Gap t-shirt and Nike runners (was is kosher mixing dueling athletic companies?) and I was on my way!

I reached Park Street on the red line at precisely noon-thirty, as agreed. I wasn't sure it Hunter would want to start with lunch, so I didn't eat. My rumbling stomach was not happy. Dude, I was too nervous to eat!

But there he was...sitting on a bench with his arm spread across the back, demoing ever taut muscle in his upper torso. (Yummy yum yum!) Our eyes synced up immediately and I waved at him. He was a bit dressier in his khaki shorts (ooo...nice ass!) and a tight-fitting black Ralph Lauren short-sleeved polo. He hugged me when he saw me and I melted into a little pile of good.

But no time for nookie in the park, Hunter Langdon had a task to accomplish. He wanted to do the Freedom Trail, by God. So, off we went with me leading the charge and showing him my city like I was a native. We started in the common (checked out the lesbian swans and Make Way for Ducklings) and then head to the State Capitol and then to the Granary. (Did you know Mother Goose is buried there?) Then we popped into the Park Street Church, King's Chapel and the statue of Benjamin Franklin. Then down the street to the Old South Meeting House and then back on the stupid painted red line towards Faneuil Hall.

Throughout all of this, I learned...

  1. Hunter thinks cemeteries are beautiful. (I think Hunter is beautiful.)
  2. Hunter doesn't drink sodas either. (I'm drinking him in.)
  3. Hunter has a great laugh when he chuckles along with my stories and commentary. (His laugh makes my insides tingle.)
  4. Hunter has really big feet -- like men's size 12! (You know what they say about guys with big feet. :)

Over in Faneuil Hall, we stop in at the Union Oyster House for something to eat. He orders a dozen raw oysters and I'm this date going somewhere? I eat a great bowl of chowder 'cause the temperature dropped and I'm a little cold. (Not so smart wearing a white shirt.)

From there, we walk over to the North End (after a quick stop at Mike's Pastry for some tiramisu gelato) and continue walking and flirting.

That's when it happened.

I mean, I knew it was coming...but then, right there on Prince Street...

...the heaven's opened up and it started raining like nine bastards!

I squealed when the first of the chubby rain pelted me...instantly flattening my hairdo. So much for trying to look my ultra-cutest. Hunter looked up and laughed at the rain. Ha! Of course he can laugh, the man carries a gun...nothing bothers him. I reach around my waist and grab the cover up. I unzip the collar and put the hood up, but damn if it's not in the least waterproof. (Gee, thanks for nothing, Mia!) I'm getting soaked. Like the proverbial drowned rat. People are running all around us, seeking shelter, and here we just stand.

Then, Hunter grabs my hand and we break into a run towards the Old North Church. Hell, he could be leading me into a Satanic worship service for all I cared. His hand was large and warm around mine, protecting and leading. I'd follow him anywhere.

We get to the Old North Church and it's full of people, so we run past it into this little alley that's got this bit of an awning and some tree branch coverage. He pulls me under it with him and holds me tightly against his chest. My heart's slamming Nascar-style and I breathe in deeply the smell of soap, rain and...Hunter.

I look up at him. Our faces are so close. And that's when...

SHIT...Mia's in the bathroom throwing up. Damn morning sickness...

I have to go help her...more tomorrow...I promise!!! It gets really good!

Hang loose,

Double Vee

Monday, August 15, 2005

My evening with Fox Mulder...well...sort of...

Vanessa here...


I know...I're anxious to know how this weekend went, but remember, people, I blog at night now. :)

I have to say, though, that this was one of the best weekends of my entire adult life. Seriously. Not even kidding. The. Best. Ever. ( far.)

Me, Griz and a bunch of other people from work met up at The Rattlesnake on Boylston Friday night. And, as you remember, I boldly invited the gorgeous, fingerprinting FBI agent, Hunter Langdon. (Again...the name flows like buttah.) I arrived at The Rattlesnake fashionably late (9:38 instead of 9:30) and people were well into their beers and cocktails. I had to make sure I ratcheted up the cute, so I wore a cute, new flowery tank-like shirt from Ann Taylor Loft and a pair of nice black pants from Express. I have to admit, the pants make my ass look somewhat like Gisele Bundchen's. (I said somewhat...besides, it's all about how you feel.) I was feeling somewhere on the edge of cuteness and I couldn't wait to see him.

Hunter. Hunter Langdon.

At exactly 9:46, I saw him walk in. (Yes, I was eye-stalking the front door.) Then, I heard that full orchestration kick up in my head (drowning out the bar music) and a spotlight opened from above and lit him up. (No, I wasn't drunk -- this is just how I see him, thankyouverymuch.)

He saw me. He smiled. I smiled back. We exchanged waves. He pushed his way through the crowd to take the seat I'd saved for him.

Of course, Griz had to take over the conversation, immediately asking Hunter all sorts of questions about today's (Friday's) fingerprinting, asking what kind of information they looked up on people and what they usually found. (BTW, they're looking for criminal records and history of fraud and such.) Hunter was nice and answered all of her questions, but I could tell he didn't really want to be Agent Langdon, rather just Hunter...who wanted to relax and hang out. When Griz went to the bar for another G&T, I changed the subject.

Trying not to be completely mesmerized by his bright smile, hypnotic green eyes or his deep voice, I learned the following...
  1. He moved to Boston four weeks ago from where he'd been on assignment in DC. So, not only was he grateful to meet new people, he and I had old home week, since I grew up in Arlington.
  2. He doesn't drink. Like, not at all. On my third glass of wine, I realized that the orange juice he was sipping was completely screwdriverless. Not a drop of vodka in it. I had a Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard moment.
  3. He lives in Brighton in a condo on Comm. Ave. with his dog...a weimaraner named J. Edgar. I reminded him that Hoover was a freak of the highest level, but Hunter said the dog was named that because the day he brought him hom, he got into his sister's closet and came out with one of her dresses around his neck.
  4. He's originally from Atlanta, but has no trace of a southern accent. Of course, neither do I, growing up mainly in Northern Virginia. Unlike Griz who's so South Carolina, it hurts.
  5. He's 31 years old and his birthday is New Year's Eve. (Suddenly, I picture us in formal wear, showered by balloons and confetti as we kiss with the fireworks going off.

Well, suffice it to say, the evening went very well. Hunter fit in with my friends and had a good time. We laughed. We flirted. Our knees touched several times. We shared a plate of nachos. (He likes extra jalapenos, just like I do!) He told me he a lot of errands to do on Saturday, but he'd love to hang out on Sunday. (Whooooohoooooo!!) Since I'm the Bostonian here, he asked if I wanted to show him the city. I kept from shouting out "Hell to the yes," and instead offered a more reserved, cool, hip, "Absolutely." (I was bouncing in my seat just a little bit...what can I say?)

As we parted ways (with a lovely bear hug from him), I kept asking Griz if Hunter was for real, or had I just dreamed the last four hours? After pinching the crap out of me, I was convinced that everything was 100% real.

And for the record...I'm on full smitten.

Gotta run for now, but come back and I'll fill you in tomorrow on what our Sunday touring Beantown was like. Let's just say, Hunter Langdon's lips are as soft as they look! ;-)

Until tomorrow...hang loose...

Double Vee

Friday, August 12, 2005

Fingerprinting turns me on...

Vanessa here...

I have three words to say about my day:

Oh. My. God.

Okay, three more:

I'm. In. Love.

His name is Hunter Langdon and he's an (get this...) FBI agent. A real life, bonafide, genuine (pronounced "genu-wine") FBI agent. He doesn't carry a gun (that I could tell), but he was definitely Fox Mulder yummy in every way, form and fashion.

Remember how I said the new CEO, Darth Vaddar, was bringing in the fingerprinting person to ink the whole company? Well, when I got called in for my session at 1:15 p.m. today, my heart fell to the floor, returned lickety-split and lodged in my throat when I saw the honey standing before me.

Hunter Langdon.

Say his name with me. Hunter Langdon. Flows like nectar from the lips, eh?

There he was, standing there in all his cuteness. Not wearing s stuffy suit, a la Men in Black, but rather he was wearing smartly fitted khakis and a (ready?) royal blue shirt with the sleeves turns up to his elbow. Golden, sun-kissed, strong and muscular forearms showed. like fresh grass on an April morning. And sandy brown hair to match his squared, chiseled features. (And yes, they were chiseled! I've read enough romance novels to know when someone's goddamned face is chiseled.)

There, on the front pocket of his shirt was an ID: Hunter Langdon. Even the picture on his ID was sizzling hot.

Admittedly, the first thing I did was not-so-coyly drop my eyes to his left hand. Oh come on, you wouldn't have done that first off too? It was remarkably bare (and no tan line from previous wear that might have gone wrong.) I have to say, he's probably in his early thirties and yummy as a Cookie Doughn't You Want Some from the Cold Stone Creamery.

He ran through this quick presentation about confidentiality and stuff and gave me this card to fill out (he actually wanted me to write my weight on it!) and I handed it over to him. Then our eyes locked. And it was like a string orchestra set their bows to their instruments...playing only for me as the light shone in and illuminated him and only him. Okay, kiss my ass...I know I'm getting all sappy on you and waxing poetic, but it was a magical moment for me.

Hunter explained the whole fingerprinting process as he inked up the pad with his little roller. Then, he turns to me and asks if he can take my hand. (Take my hand? Take my breath, more like.) I give him my right hand and I swear to God, there's like a little bit of massaging action as he loosens me up and dips and rolls my finger in the ink. Then together, like a fluid piece of orchestration (I know, I've used that metaphor already, so sue me), we roll my finger on the card. We do this with each finger, a slow, rhythmic seduction of his warm hand cradling mine and carefully inking and stamping.

Thoughts running through my head:
  • Does my breath stink?
  • Is his heart hammering as much as mine?
  • I wonder what kind of deodorant soap he uses ('cause he doesn't stink!)
  • What will we name our children? (Two girls...twins.)
  • How am I going to get the ink off my fingers?
  • Would it be inappropriate to shove him onto the conference table and have my way with him?
  • Am I sucking in enough for my "skinny" look?
  • What if my name comes up with some sort of criminal record that's falsely been attached to my identification?
  • Does he like breakfast in bed?
  • How can I see him again?!

I decide to turn on the flirt (although a recent article in Money magazine suggests that women who flirt in the office get passed up for promotions, but I don't care 'cause Hunter Langdon doesn't work here!) and tell him I grew up in the Washington, DC area and "always wanted to be in the FBI." This gets his attention and he starts telling me a little about the Academy as he's still nicely holding my paw and pressing my digits into the card stock.

When it's done, I swear, he releases my hand reluctantly. (Okay...maybe that was me.) Then, he whips out this bottle of Windex and asks for my hands again. He takes a few paper towels and the takes my hand in his, sprays the cleaning product and gently wipes away the ink. Flashes of our future blind me as I see him capable of cleaning boo-boos and placing bandages on our twin daughters (Samantha and Claire -- they're adorable, let me tell you.) There's some sort of jolt or something. I feel it. I think he feels it. It's like what you always read about in novels and it's fucking fantastic. Our eyes lock. And hold. I stop breathing. He smiles.

And in the millisecond of a moment, I decide, "Do it, Virtue," and say, "My friends and I are meeting up at The Rattlesnake around 9:30 tonight...if you're not doing anything."

Damn. That was bold.

Hunter Langdon's smile broadens and he says, "I'd like that...thanks."

So...I have to shut the hell up, take a shower, get dressed in my cutest of outfits and head back into town. I have a date with an FBI agent!!!!

Don't worry...I'll be sure to share the deets on Monday.

Happy weekend and hang loose!

Double Vee, aka The Future Mrs. Agent Langdon

Thursday, August 11, 2005

I smell pootinky...

Vanessa here...

A bit perturbed.

Can someone please explain to me what the deal is with people and their lack of personal hygiene? Didn't they have to take health class in sixth grade?

Last night, on the way home on the T, this guy was standing next to me and wheeeeeeeeeee doggy did he stink! He was definitely challenging my olfactory muscles. It wasn't just that he smelled...he reeked! Like he hasn't showered in this new millennium. Thing was, he wasn't a bum or anything, but was dressed nicely in a dress (blue) shirt and khakis. And on top of that, he smelled like he'd had a gin bath.

Then, this morning, I'm on the train, sitting there, and I smelled massive B.O. Like someone cooking hamburgers. (Yeah...try eating that for dinner now.) He stood in front of me, swaying and totally invading my personal space. He kept yawning and propelling his stank breath at me. Yep...more alcohol and his eyes had crazy in them. I had to cover my face with my fist and breath into it to ward off the offending odor and to keep my gag reflex at bay. Drunk, stinky and stupid at 6:00 a.m. is no way to start your day.

I get into the office and All-Chicken-All-Day Mara is chowing away on chicken curry for breakfast. So, the whole cube area around me basically smelled like feet. (Again with the gagging.)

Am I just super-sensitive to smells or are people not bathing any more? Are people thinking that they're saving water? Protecting the environment? Or are they just plain lazy? How much effort does it take to shower off each morning before joining the belch of humanity?

I am so ridiculously aware of my own "scent" and not wanting to offend anyone with any kind bodily odor. I spend 15 minutes in the shower with deodorant soap, followed by a nice body wash. Then, after drying off, there's the whole body-spray-solid-deodorant-followed-by-a-blast-of-spray ritual. Now, I'm not one of those people who's so powdery and flowery that you can smell me before I enter a room...but I do keep Dial, Irish Spring and Lever 2000 in business.

So, I beg of my fellow commuters (hell, my fellow humans sharing the planet and the air God gave us to breathe), please take the time to groom and take care of yourself. At least sponge off in the morning and don't wear clothes that stink. You're not 18 any more and grunge went out with Bill Clinton. Hygiene people! Be cognoscent of your...emissions.

I'm climb off my soap box...ha...get, nevermind...

Tune in tomorrow...since we work with a lot of banks and financial firms as our software clients, our CEO is making all staffers get finger printed. They're bringing in an actual FBI guy to do it to everyone tomorrow. Great...all my drunk, stinky friends on the red line will think I'm some sort of fugitive...

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Is blue the new black?...

Vanessa here...

Perplexed and confused. Wondering if I missed a fashion memo that was circulated during my absence. But it appears that every confounded person (males mainly) in Boson are wearing blue shirt.

Everywhere I looked this morning, I was surrounded by people wearing blue. To the left, three guys in royal blue button downs. To the right, a woman and four men in light blue shirts. Behind me, a guy in a navy blue Izod. Even a frickin' sleeping baby was wearing a light blue denim shirt. What the fuck?

I mean, I felt like I was in that scene in the movie "Being John Malkovich" where he down the secret tunnel and entered his own mind where everything was Malkovich, Malkovich, Malkovich! Only do it in blue shirts.

Honestly...I looked at my black shirt and flowerdy skirt and felt like an alien from the planet Zoltoid who was about to be stalked and punished by an alien huntress or something. (Sorry...stayed up late reading this kick ass book called Awaken Me Darkly by Gena Showalter about an alien huntress...go buy it, say Vanessa sent you!) But much blue...I just didn't know what to think of it.

Was last spring's New York Fashion Week all about the blue? Did Tommy Hilfiger send out a press release saying biz casual men could only wear the cerulean shade? Are people in a good mood and separating from their boring, staid white and women busting away from their traditional black?

I got home and went through my closet: three blue shirts.

1. A dark blue scoop neck shirt that goes with one pair of pants. I don't wear it (or the pants) because I don't own any blue shoes.

2. A light blue Liz Claiborne button up shirt that I got on sale last year at The Basement. I sweat like a pig in it.

3. A blue jean chambray company shirt, most appropriately worn by the male salesmen at tradeshows -- hence, not very flattering to anyone with any type of boobage.

Am I going to have to go to the store? Am I going to have to revamp my entire wardrobe? Is this why I don't have dates? 'Cause I still dress in my traditional black? But it looks good on me. It compliments my complextion. It smooths out the parts of me that feel like a bumpy-dough map (oh, come remember making those in elementary school!) I won't give up. I won't give in.

Vanessa Virtue is a (semi) fashionable woman. They'll have to pry my black clothes out of my cold, dead hand. Okay...I'm not the NRA or Chuck Heston, but you get my stance.

So all you people out there...wear your perky, happy, bullshitty blue shirts. You'll just look like each other...and I'll stand out.

Enough for now. Tune in tomorrow for an interesting tidbit about office flirting. (Is that a teaser, or what?)

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

I found the cute guys in Boston!

Vanessa here...

Okay...remember how several months ago I was lacking in spotting cute guys in downtown Boston? Well, no more. I know where they all hang out. I've seen them. Spotted them. I will not hunt them down. Well...not really on the last point.

But, I was out meeting up with my friend, Megan, today who works downtown for a financial firm. We walked from her office on Boylston Street over to Devonshire Street to this tiny little hole in the ground called Viga. She assured me they had the best pizza in town, as well as the most amazing selection of sandwiches and pastas.

Well, the smells emanating from the tiny restaurant were enough to make me drool...but the REAL drool was over seeing SO many adorably cute guys. Of all shapes, sizes, color and age. It was a veritable smorgasbord of fine-looking guys. All dressed nicely in their finest dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up ('cause of the summer heat) and form fitting pants. I found myself staring more at the cute guys all talking on their cell phones, playing with their Crackberries or chatting it up with their buddies than I was at the menu items.

Okay, so I ordered a Tuscany (roasted turkey with cranberry sauce, mayo and lettuce on foccacia bread...YUM!), but I definitely took note of the many, many eligible bachelors standing in line for calzones, grilled chicken and caesar salads. If I'd thought about it, I would have stood at the door as they all exited with their to-go bags and handed out my "Vanessa Virtue" business cards.

Let me just say, it makes me want to work on Boylston Street instead of in Cambridge where all the boys are.

Oh, and I had a couple of e-mails from people wanting to know more about Mara the Chicken-eater. Sure enough, she came in this morning with a grilled chicken sandwich she'd bought at WENDY'S last night!!! She heated it up and had it for breakfast. Then, when I got back from my lunch, she went out and got another grilled chicken with extra provolone and roasted red peppers for lunch. And this afternoon, she was hungry and entertained herself with a cup of fruit. So much for the all-chicken diet. But, honestly. Who in their right mind thinks anything from Wendy's should be included in a diet?

Off to fix dinner. Anything but...chicken!

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Monday, August 08, 2005

All Chicken...All Day...

Vanessa here...

Hope everyone had a great weekend and is weathering through the sluggishness better known as Monday. I swear, I'm going to have to start upping my coffee dosage just to get through the day. I'm not as young as I used to be.

So, everything's all weird in my office. First of all, we got a new CEO and let me tell you...he's skeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery. His name is Steve Vaddar. He's almost seven feet tall, skinny, lanky with a scraggly beard. And yes, first day and everyone's already calling him Darth Vaddar (I's not spelled the same way, give me some leeway, people.) He doesn't smile. He doesn't laugh. He barely talks. He just walks through the cubes. Scaring the shit out of all of us.

That's the other thing. Darth Vaddar decided to "mix things up a bit" in the office. He doesn't think it's productive for people in the same team to be sitting with each other. So, we had fruitbasket turnover today (man, the IT guys were ape shit!) and had cube re-arranging day. Now, why is it smart to break the marketing people up? That makes no sense to me. These are the people I work with every day. Why do I have to sit across from an inside sales guy now. And behind me is a client services chick. She's nice enough, but she likes to talk. I mean, diarrhea of the mouth.

Her name is Mara and she's very nice, but like I said, she's a bit of a Motor Mouth. Any time I grunt or groan or react to an e-mail or joke or something, she shouts out "What?!" Then, I have to explain everything. At lunch, she came and plopped her thigh up on my cube top and started smacking on a package of Perdue pre-cooked chicken slices. She proceeded to tell me she had begun an "All Chicken" diet. For the next month, she's going to eat nothing but chicken...all day, every day. Chicken for breakfast. Chicken for lunch. Chicken for dinner. Chicken for dessert.

I asked why...I mean, isn't that, like, not particularly healthy?

She said she needs to shed 15 pounds by Labor Day because she's going on vacation to Fort Lauderdale and she has to lose weight.

But there are other ways, I say...trying to think of her health.

However, she's convinced that a straight chicken protein diet will do the trick for me.

What happens when she gets home and starts eating normally again?

Mara leans in and says, "Honey, after that, I won't care. I'm going to Fort Lauderdale for one purpose. To get laid."

Ohhhhhhhh-kaaaaaaaaaaaaay. Didn't we just meet, like today?

Well, okay, Mara. More power to you, girlfriend. Enjoy those grilled chicken omelets, those chicken smoothies and that chicken cheesecake. (Did you just gag? I did.)

I mean, I'm desperate for a good date and sure, I could stand to firm up a little bit, but haven't people heard of Weight Watchers or...going to the gym?

Ooo...gotta go...Darth Vaddar just walked by and my marketing buddy, Jack, just e-mailed me that the Force is not with me.

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Weekend eye candy...

It's been a while...I know!

Here's some eye candy for you. And for the record, I've been a Christian Bale fan looooooong before Batman Begins. All the way back to Swing Kids and Little Women. He's just...adorable.

Enjoy this...

Hang loose,
Double Vee

Friday, August 05, 2005

I'm starting to feel old...

Vanessa here...

Well, so we're in the midst of our annual sales meeting (okay, so it ends tomorrow, but still.) I've been trapped in a ballroom at the Royal Sonesta in Cambridge with all of our sales people -- both inside and throughout the country. It's men in Tommy Hilfiger pants and shirts, LiveStrong bracelets and buzz cuts standing around talking about bottom lines and sales figures and customer satisfaction while practicing their golf swings. I so don't fit into this world. However, the checks clear.

So, this chief something-or-other of something like finance drones on for 45 minutes about profit and loss statements, lulling us all to sleep with his monotone, but I was distracted by cuteness.

There he my peripherals. To my left. In a green plaid shirt and white pants. (I'll forgive him the white pants since it's not Labor Day yet.) A vision in the green that matched his eyes. He had bronzed skin, like he'd just returned from St. Bart's or somewhere and his smile was to die for. Who is this guy?

I mean, I know we have a lot of people in the way back of the office doing research and stuff that I don't necessarily know living in my 4 x 6 veal cube, but how did he escape me.

He takes a chair, two away from me. I sit there, demurely (trying to stay awake) and I angle my body towards him. He reaches out to a notebook of his that's sitting in the chair between us. He fingers it. (The notebook, people...honestly!) I glance at him sidelong ways and I can see nothing but long, gold eyelashes. He's too cute for his own good.

It's not like he's falling all over me or anything, but he does give me a sweet smile. Is he for real? I want to reach out and touch him just to make sure he won't disappear.

Suddenly, hits me. This guy looks wicked young. Or maybe he's just not as jaded and haggard as the other sales guys. But no...there's something about him. Something mmore.

Then the lunch break came and I got a turkey sammich. Cutie Pie returned to the seat next to me with an egg salad sammich. One of our VPs sat behind us and started talking about how he was taking his wife to Baltimore next week on vacation. That's when Cutie Pie spoke up.

"Isn't Maryland fantastic?"

Fantastic? Okay...did my gaydar just go up?

He kept on...

"In Maryland, the countryside just rolls up to meet the city."

Okay, I can dig this. I grew up in Northern Virginia, so I can identify. He likes nature. He likes cities.

Then the VP says to Cutie Pie... "Oh, are you from Maryland?"

He says, "No, but I attend Washington Bible College in Lanham, Maryland."

And, get this...turns out he's a SOPHOMORE and is interning with us! Do I feel like a cradle robber now gawking at him so long? Why, if you're in bible college, do you come intern with a software company in Boston? It just doesn't add up. And for some reason, I feel like a dirty old woman staring at him, as well as possibly needing to ask forgiveness for having lust in my heart or something.

I think I need a break. I need to go, like, watch March of the Penguins or something wholesome and improve my life.

Have a great weekend and hang loose!
Double Vee

Thursday, August 04, 2005

The Adventures Continue!

She'ssssssss baaaaaaaack!

Vanessa here! Did you miss me? I missed you! Thanks for all of the cards, letters and e-mails (okay...just e-mails) showin' me the love. Things have been crazy for me since we last talked. I must fill you in.

First of all, there will be a change in the blogging schedule. Due to a change at work, I won't be able to blog until I get home, so sure to check in for the previous day's post each morning. You can still e-mail me and comment. I'm sure I'll have plenty for you to laugh at.

Secondly, last we talked, I was in the throes of a new relationship with Chef Boy. Well, sadly, he is out of my life. And's not anythig I did (I know you're thinking that...stop it!) as he was offered and accepted a full-time job cutting fruit or something at a resort in Antigua. Who wouldn't choose a tropical paradise of me?

Chef Boy promised to stay in touch and said something about how I should come down and see him, but you know how things like that always turn out. Ah well, it was fun and nice while it lasted and I got in plenty of kissy-kissy practice in the meantime. Don't cry for me...Antigua.

The other thing I've been up to was a trip to Reno, Nevada (or Renal, NV, as I kept referring to it.) Griz won a contest on this travel website and won a trip for two and took me along for the ride.

I went along on the three-day splurge to the Nevada mountains. Of course, I lost $50 in the first two hours at the roulette, blackjack and craps tables respectively. Griz, on the other hand, made $685 on the slots and roulette (hit 36 TWICE...what are the odds?!) I got to coast on her successful coattails and drank for free while she tried her hand at craps (and continued to win.)

On the way home, our flight was overbooked, so we took a voucher (yeah...future free travel!) to take a later flight...a much later flight. A red eye, in fact. (Aptly named.) Griz and I didn't get to sit together, but we did get bumped up to first class. I sat in the window seat and this guy took the aisle seat and I swear, he was over seven feet tall! I mean, he had to DUCK walking through the plane. And, he had to stretch his lefs into the aisle to accommodate his height.

So, we take off, I order wine and it was hot. Not Bleck! I tried to sleep, but they started playing the movie HITCH and I was distracted by it. (It's a darling movie.) Tall Guy was all squirming and fidgeting, covering his head with a blanket until he finally stopped fighting the movie and put on his headphones to watch. Suddenly, I felt like I was on some sort of weird date.

As the movie is playing, Tall Guy and I are like sharing these moments -- laughing together at things on the screen, making eye contact during important moments and yes, there was a bit of a blush during the kissing scene. I thought we were really...connecting. Then, at the end of the movie, he takes his headphones off, as do I, and we turn towards each other (he's pretty cute, let me tell you, in an older sort of way) and I think we're about to bond further over the movie when he screws up his face and says...

"That's the worst fucking example of screenwriting I've ever seen."

Well thank you, Roget Ebert!

Then, as if that weren't bad enough, turns out Flirty Tall Guy is...married! His wife's sitting back in couch. What's the deal? What is wrong with people? Have you ever experienced anything like this? Man...a great plane flirtation that left me...flat.

Well, I learned my lesson.

Maybe one day I'll find love, like Hitch did. Real love -- like how much Bobby loves Whitney. Oh come on...don't tell me you're not watching BEING BOBBY BROWN on Bravo. It's on tonight...I dare you not to watch. It's like a train wreck and you can't look away from it. They're insane. Trust me. Watch it. We'll talk about it tomorrow...

Hang loose,
Double Vee

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