For months a friend of mine has wanted me to attend a speed dating event, which is something I tried once and swore I would never do again. Call me Jade for jaded, but I have a theory that “normal” guys don’t pay to attend singles events because it’s easy enough for them to meet women in the usual settings in this city where women outnumber men. I’ve run my hypothesis past some of my guy friends and the general consensus is one of agreement, but there were a few guys who said that they would do it or have done it because they don’t want to spend time cruising through profiles online and/or don’t have the time to go on the prowl. So, it was with that in mind that I agreed to join two of my friends for the “financially secure professionals age 33-44″ SD event. After all, I am a financially secure professional at the lower age range of that group, so what did I have to lose other than $40 and 2 hours of my life? And who knew, maybe I’d become an urban legend, you know one of those people who are offered up as proof that these events really do work. Maybe I’d be the person who is anonymously sourced in casual conversation as the “friend who met her fiance” there so as to give inspiration to the singletons of New York that we can date successfully in the most unlikely of places. Then again, maybe not.

I went to an SD event when I first moved to the city after the encouragement of a friend who dated several people from these events. It was only after I attended an event that she confessed that she frequently encountered non-native speakers, which sounds great at first because who doesn’t love a foreign accent and a well-travelled man. What she neglected to tell me was that some of the guys were still in ESL classes and to overcome the language barrier she had to engage in pantomime. Although I had an ESL guy at my event, who didn’t understand the rules of SD and ended our “date” by asking me “we go out again, yes, no?,” he was the most normal of them all. Highlights of my first SD event included a guy who reminded me of Screech from Saved by the Bell, whose first words out of his mouth was “I’m not going to ask you what you do or where you’re from, those will be questions 2 and 3, but if you had to own one, which one would you own, cat or dog and why?” Sweet mother of Allah, aidez-moi! Another guy hid his name tag and made me guess his first name. Seriously guy? We have 5 minutes to talk and you’re making me play “My name is.” The night was salvaged though when I became friends with the girl seated next to me. She has become one of my closest friends and it never gets old telling people that I picked her up at a SD event when we’re asked how we met.

So, it was with memories of Messrs. Screech and Guess My Name in mind that I arrived to the event. My skepticism was evident as my friend remarked, “the look of cynicism on your face right now is priceless.” I apologized and vowed to look like I was happy to be there. Here’s the review:

First up was the “Professional.” It started off with the Professional asking me if I had ever gone to a SD event before and I admitted that I had on one occasion. He then spent the next few minutes giving me his review of all the events he has attended. According to him the events held at the Trump World Bar are the best. He also kept trying to weasel it out of me which company’s SD event I had attended despite my protests that I didn’t remember. The Professional was the best looking out of the lot, but on boring side and I can’t help but wonder if he’s attended so many events then shouldn’t he have met someone by now?

Next up was the “Boob Starer,” who told me I looked like a “sexy robot.” Que? Sexy Robot? Is that a compliment? After two minutes, I have never had such an overwhelming compulsion to snap my fingers to break his trance and say “eyes up here buddy, EYES UP HERE!”). I compared notes with my friends and we all noticed that he was a little too into everyone’s “girls” as we all experienced the same lack of eye contact to boob ratio.

Then I met My Cousin Vinny, who was pushing 50. However, My Cousin Vinny was not the oldest gentleman of the group. That honor was reserved for a man we called Grandpa. Now you might think I’m being mean, but one of the guys gave him the nickname (and here I thought girls were catty). Grandpa was somewhere in his late 60s/early 70s and had children that were our age. Remember the age range was 33-44 not 33 + 44! Hello where is the SD bouncer when you need him? We agreed that if a woman showed up who was so clearly out of the dating age range of the group they wouldn’t let her attend. I thought to myself, I just speed dated a 70 year old, I feel dirty. Although I held my own with him, it was an uncomfortable round and we all intended to write a note to the organizers about the fact that he was in our group.

There were two nice guys, but I found myself wondering what friends I knew to set up with them….not a good sign for a romantic connection. My last date ended with the crowd’s favorite. I felt more of a friend connection with him than a Chuck Woolery Love Connection. Hopefully, one of my girls got matched up with “crowd’s favorite.” Because there weren’t 8 people there, we get to attend another event for free. I may go to another one to try to end on a high note and to prove my theory wrong. I’ll have to take a Chuck Woolery “two and two” break and get back to you.

On Friday night after a prolonged and much needed Happy Hour of cheap Margaritas and what seemed like a bottomless pit of chips and salsa at a local watering hole, I made it home just in time to watch Conan’s last show on NBC. At the end of the show, Conan made a classy and sentimental speech about how NBC had been his home for all of his adult life. That struck me as I realized that I’d been watching Conan all of my adult life as he had first debuted on Late Night during my freshman year of college. It was a very surreal realization and I suspect many of my peers who grew up watching him felt a bit nostalgic as well (or it may very well have been the earlier Margies making me a bit of a sentimental old fool, one can never discount the booze factor in situations like this).

I remember moving into the dorm freshman year and staying up later than I should have to watch Conan. I had an odd crush on this dorky redheaded comedian and loved the dynamic between Conan and Andy. However, I knew that Conan wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I remember the days when Conan wasn’t catching on and he was always at risk of getting a pink slip. So, I guess you could say I was part of “Team Coco, The Early Years.”

I love Jay, but I never thought Jay at 10 p.m. would work. I did, however, think Conan as the host of the Tonight Show would. With that being said, what never worked for me was Conan in LA. Conan has a self-deprecating style and has built a career out of molding himself as an outsider. Conan seemed like someone who never expected to get invited to the party, which is why his fans loved him. Leno, on the other hand, seemed to be part of the LA establishment and was at home with the celebrities he interviewed.

In fact, I associate Conan with New York so much so that on Friday there was a part of me that forgot that Conan wasn’t in New York. It was when I was walking to the subway stop after work that for a brief moment I thought, “I should’ve taken today off and tried to get tickets to see Conan’s last show.” And then it hit me! Conan’s no longer here and as a result even if I wanted to help him “steal every single item in this studio,” I couldn’t because he was no longer at 30 Rock.

I thought Freebird was a great way to go out and the lyrics were appropriate. When I listen to that song, it reminds me of a bittersweet breakup. It’s like a relationship you don’t want to end because you still love each other and have had some great times, but you’ve reached a point where there’s too much water under the bridge. But with this divorce Conan can take his 30-40 million severance and join the ranks of the Park Avenue Divorcee. We will welcome him with open arms!

The day started off with the alarm going off at 5:15 a.m. after having gone to bed around 1:00 a.m. due to a pre-Thanksgiving crisis. Our turkey was bad, not as in “naughty bad,” but as in “sleeps with the fishes and smells like fishes” bad. So, the Thanksgiving Eve hunt to find thawed out Turkey breast began (or as I kept calling it, much to my mother’s horror, “Turkey boob”). Needless to say I was incoherent at 5:15 a.m. And for the record, I don’t get up that early on a work day, let alone the most gluttonous day of the year after we embarked on a late night “You saved Thanksgiving Charlie Brown escapade.” The first thought that popped into my groggy head was “I can hit snooze, it’s not time to make the turkey” like I was in some warped Thanksgiving Version of the old Dunkin’ Donuts commercial with Fred who would get up mumbling to himself “It’s time to make the donuts.”

Then I thought, “why would I have to make a turkey? I have a wedding to go to.” Wedding? What wedding?

Despite my initial sleepy ramblings to myself, I was up and at em. This year, the role of the grumpy early morning riser was played by my understudy, none other than my very own mother. I was in an oddly chipper mood as I tried to rally the troops by bribing them with a trip to Dunkin Donuts. It was with pumpkin donuts and munchkins in hand that we headed crosstown to a little place I like to call tourist hell to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

We maneuvered ourselves to a near front row spot on Central Park West and 63rd Street. Prime real estate! The only people in front of us were tourists who had gotten there at 4:30 and 5:30 respectively and were seated so no one blocked our views. All was going well until some jerk from LI tried to push his kid to the front of the line in front of the tourists who had been there since 4:30 (didn’t anyone tell Long Island that the early bird gets the worm?). LI lifted his kid over the police barricade and plopped him in one of the tourist’s chairs. Insanity ensued…the cops were called…nothing says “Happy Thanksgiving, welcome to New York” like some aggressive local trying to bully his way into the spotlight. Thanks for helping our image buddy! Not to fear, New York’s finest arrived and 86′d Long Island. (Send him back, the crowd cried).

It wasn’t too long after Officer Friendly left the scene, that the parade started. I don’t watch the parade when I’m in the States. I once watched it in Quito while waiting for a flight back to the US later that day, but otherwise I boycott the TV version. The TV version does NOT do it justice. I am now a life long fan of the Macy’s Day Parade in the live version! It is now my secret mission to be in it next year.

We’ve established my childlike love of Sesame Street that continues to this day. My mom shares this love with me since she was forced to watch multiple episodes of the Street back in the day. You would’ve thought the Sesame Street float was full of rock stars the way I carried on. I guess to me they are rock stars and Big Bird might as well have been a taller feathery version of Bono for all I cared. I went crazy when I saw Bob, Gordon, and Maria (she waved to me, btw). Sure, I’ve seen them at various Sesame Street events when it went on tour, but that was back in the day. It was cool to see them still going strong. There was Big Bird and his nest, Oscar and his can, Bert & Ernie, Count and Cookie, Grover and a few other new friends. Although I’ve also seen some of them on tour, it was uber cool to see the real ones in New York rather than the Sesame on Ice posers. It felt like I was at a family reunion with family that I actually liked. All that was missing was Mr. Hooper and Snuffy.

The floats were also uber cool. My favorites were Snoopy, Kermit, Buzz Light Year, and The Doughboy (it was his first flight and he did a good job). We saw Santa’s sleigh around 10:30 a.m. When I saw Santa I might as well have been Natalie Wood in Miracle on 34th Street. I wanted to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him I’ve been good and ask him for something special for Christmas and not of an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle, but more something along the lines of tall, dark, handsome, single, and straight. Somebody needs to tell the fat man I’ve been more than patient!

I thought seeing it once would be enough and I could check it off my New York Bucket List, but after being there live, I want to start a tradition. However, I wish it could include Bloody Marys and Mimosas. Note to self, milk my connections to people I know who live on Central Park West. Then I can incorporate a little Holiday Cheer in my cup without judgment from the tourists.

I love this town! Prague rivals Paris and Buenos Aires in beauty. Where Krakow was reminiscent of the iron curtain mentality, Prague is western and welcoming. Of course, one of the first things I noticed is how gorgeous and flirty the men are so I admit my perception might be a bit skewed.

There are still some cultural things that we’re trying to get used to, however, since my Czech is limited to “Ahoy” (hello/goodbye), “dyekuyi” (thank you), “prosim” (please), and “pivo” (beer), I’ll over look Rule #3 of the trip, i.e., “just stand there and I’ll move around you.” Speaking of the Czech language, how can you not love a country whose greeting makes you sound like a pirate? Ahoy Prague!

We headed to the Castle District via tram 22, which has been branded as the tourist tram since most tourist sights are along 22. The Castle District neighborhood is gorgeous! If by some random turn of events I had to move to Prague as part of my expat relocation posh package, I’d negotiate a flat in the Castle District. The Castle was architecturally stunning! I’m not embarrassed to say that we posed with the Castle Guards. Those hombres could take a page from the British Beefeaters as they aren’t even subtle when looking around to see how close the tourists are to them. I could tickle a British guard with a feather and he wouldn’t move, but I had the feeling that if we got too close to the Czech guards, one of them would pounce on us and take us out faster than we could say Ahoy.

The inside of the Castle was underwhelming as it was sparsely furnished, but the views from the Castle were amazing. We saw more art than we cared to while touring the various galleries before admitting that unless the art is by someone we know, we’re not interested. We ditched our cultural ambitious and headed to the “Golden Lane,” aka Zlata Ulicka, which is Pragues smallest Street.

The Golden Lane is a quaint street that looked like it could be on the set of Disney around the corner from Magic Kingdom. On Golden Lane there are several mini one-room cottages that were built in the 16th Century to house the 24 castle marksmen and their families who guarded the fortress. The population of medieval Czech must have been comprised of short people as we had to duck through the doors. Franz Kafka, Prague’s native son, had his workspace at 22 Golden Lane. I had Nam like flashbacks to reading Metamorphosis in AP English. To this day, I still don’t see the big deal about an angst ridden teenager who goes into his room, refuses to come out, and slowly turns into a cockroach.

From there we tried to go the Toy and Barbie Museum, but it was closed due to technical reasons much to our disappointment. We decided lunch was in order and headed to Café Louvre, a Prague institution where Kafka and Einstein used to “kick it,” along with other members of the local intelligentsia. I ordered the most delicious split pea soup I’ve ever had. The manner in which it was served had pizzazz. The chef came out and gave me a bowl filled with what looked like a scoop of mashed potatoes with pieces of ham and croutons. He then proceeded to pour the pea soup around the potatoes and then garnished it with mint. I am not sure how you say delicious in Czech, but I said “OMG” in English. We also had our first serving of mulled hot wine.

The wine warmed us up and it was perfect for a cold day. It was here that we developed rule #4, which is “Don’t order more than one mulled wine unless you plan on getting bombed.” It was a bit cold that day and I could have definitely stayed and gotten bombed if it were not for the fact that we had limited sleep the night before and tickets to the opera.

However, the mulled wine made us warm and toasty and temporarily immune from the elements so we headed back to the hotel for a quick wardrobe change and then we were off to Don Giovanni at the Estates Theater, the very theater where Mozart debuted Donny G. We loved rocking it W.A. Mozart/Donny G style in such a visually beautiful place. Cue the Falco Rock Me Amadeus music.

We capped off our day of culture with dinner at the Buddha Bar of the NY/Paris chain. The Prague version was a cross between Buddakhan and Tao. The food was comme ci comme ça and overpriced. The beef I had tasted like $3 Chinatown beef and did not merit the $25 price tag. However, the drinks more than made up for the food. If you go there, go there for drinks, skip the dinner. And say “ahoy” to the giant Buddha in the main dining room for me, would you? I don’t think the “ahoy” for “hi” will ever get old to me.

We arrived in Prague at 7 a.m. from Krakow on the night train. The night train was an experience that I will not soon forget. I wanted to take it because I think that there’s something romantic about traveling by train, maybe it is because I am a throw back from another era and I was looking for Cary Grant on the Orient Express. The Orient Express it was not! Although I didn’t think it was that bad, Ahab, the nickname I’ve bestowed upon my travel mate for her map skills, described it as “super creepy.” In fairness she was also afraid we would get gassed and robbed on the overnight train as she had read one too many travel warnings that had morphed into the realms of urban legends. Perhaps, it wasn’t that bad for me because I drugged myself up with a Nyquil and melatonin cocktail so I was too tired to care. However, it didn’t help allay Ahab’s fears when our hot little porter told us to lock our doors because “there are thieves.” So, we triple locked our private sleeper compartment and debated on whether we should even venture out to the WC should the need arise, lest we get clobbered by some thief in the night.

Speaking of our sleeper car, when we first entered the beds were turned down, however, we weren’t ready to retire yet so we had hot porter put the go-go gadget seats up into the “lounge” position, which he happily did and then left.

About ninety minutes later, the sleepy time drugs were kicking in and we wanted to go to sleep so we tried to convert our seats into beds. However, not possessing Inspector Gadget like skills, we were unsuccessful. We didn’t see the clearly marked signs that alerted passengers that it was verboten to transform the seats into beds and vice versa while the train was in motion until it was too late. Wunderbar! There was an “emergency” bat mobile phone to dial our porter. To me it was the equivalent of the hotline between Kremlin to Washington. To Polrail it was the equivalent of the fake Fisher Price phone that sat on my first grade teacher’s desk which she claimed was her direct line that she would use to narc on us to God in the event we were bad. Needless to say our phone didn’t work and the porter didn’t come running when we called him. It took him 40 minutes to magically appear. I tried to search for him on our car and tried to get into another car to find him, but it was impossible to pass thru the cars as there was no platform floor in between cars. This was both comforting as no one could get into the car who shouldn’t be in it, but also disturbing because we couldn’t get out. Hey, I’ve seen Polar Express. I know that a train can threaten to be derailed when certain cars get separated from other cars.

Perhaps the most fun was when somewhere in the middle of the night and in the middle of who knows where Eastern Europe our train stopped for an hour or so due to an engine problem. We didn’t have heat, electric, or water. It was freezing! Ahab was afraid they would kick us off the train, but I just took more melatonin to go back to sleep. At that point I needed the drugs more than ever because with the lack of the engine to power the heating system and the soothing sounds of the train traveling on the tracks, I had a hard time drowning out the sound of the passenger snoring in the compartment next to us.

I think, I can, I think, I can….choo…choo. Thomas the train finally pulled into the main train station in Praha shortly before 7 a.m. We stepped out of the train station on our very short walk to our hotel and our first smell of Prague consisted of some guy smoking pot. Pot at 7 a.m on a Monday morning? Is that the Czech version of the breakfast of champions?

We only had to go about 600 meters to find our charming hotel, the Hotel Chopin. I highly recommend the Hotel Chopin. The staff was friendly, the rooms were clean with modern décor, and it was centrally located. I wouldn’t hesitate to stay there again should I one day find myself in Praha!

Auschwitz, the whole purpose of our trip to Poland. My fellow companion, who I’ve nicknamed Ahab due to her mad navigational skills, kindly arranged a private driver to take us there. Peter, our driver, naturally only spoke to us when spoken to (see rule 2 from the previous post). He picked us up from our medival themed hotel in Old Town on a rainy day for the hour long drive to Auschwitz. I thought the rain fit the occasion.

The museum at Auschwitz is free and it’s easy to explore on your own, but we hired a guide for 33 PLN (about $11). It’s a group tour where everyone gets a headset and the guide has a microphone and we’re able to hear the guide through the headphones. It’s a great way to give a tour, especially in a place as somber as Auschwitz. Our guide was fantastic. We first watched a very moving documentary on Auschwitz and Auschwitz Birkenau. I had to struggle not to cry during the movie as it was a wonderful demonstration of how brutal the Nazis were. Auschwitz is much smaller than Birkenau. Birkenau is roughly 438 acres whereas Auschwitz is much smaller. In fact, Birkenau was built because Auschwitz was too small to acheive the evil goals of the Nazis. Birkenau was the largest of all the Nazi extermination camps.

If I had only two words to sum up the camps it would be savage and inhumane. Although the Nazis destroyed the massive gas chambers and creamatoriums at Birkenau, the remains are still there to see how large they were. We also walked into a gas chamber and creamatorium in Auschwitz. It was unbelievable and overwhelming to think that we were standing on the exact spot where thousands and thousands met their death unexpectedly. I found that part the most difficult to tolerate as well as looking at pictures of children who had been the victim of experiments. I thought Birkenau was more moving than Auschwitz. It’s weird to say that because Auschwitz had several photographs and items from former prisoners there, but it had a museum like quality to it where everything was roped off and partitioned by glass cases, but at Birkenau visitors are able to roam the grounds freely and explore on their own. You walk along the train tracks that we’ve seen so many times in documentaries which were used to transport people to the camp.

It’s hard to talk about what the visit their meant to me. In fact, it was even difficult for Ahab and I to talk about it afterwards. We were silent for a good part of the car ride back to Krakow, each lost in our own thoughts about what we had witnessed. I was left with the feeling that it only takes a generation, a generation of brainwashing to change an entire culture. That’s a scary thought!

Krakow, Poland.

I’m convinced the Russians were friendlier right after the fall when I was there than the native Krakowians. Although beautiful architecturally, if Mr. Rogers wanted to be my neighbor, I’d have to tell the old man, nie! In my two days here, I’ve discerned two rules:

1) Golden Rule-speak only if spoken to. People avoid eye contact, smiling and even speaking. We noticed this when we were at the Cloth Hall, a beautiful building built for the cloth trade back in medival times, but now houses tacky tourist souvenirs. Vendors refused to acknowledge our presence. Is it better for a vendor to follow you around and stare at you as if you’re casing the joint or to act like you’re not there? At this point, I’m no longer sure.

2) “I don’t know” roughly translates into “I don’t want to deal with you.”

Aside from the cold fish, cold war mentality, we’ve had a great time. The city, Old Town in particular, is stunning. In our first 24 hours we accidentally got caught up in a pro-atheist rally. I tried to take a picture of a guy with a Yankees umbrella to show that they really are allied with the Enemy and part of the Evil Empire, but some godless heathen blocked my shot.

We saw the Wawel Castle where we tried to hunt for the Wawel dragon (these people are obsessed with the ancient lore of the dragon who allegedly lived in the castle). Shocker the dragon remained elusive. After our failed dragon hunting, we tried to find a pub to have a polish beer and some perogies, but they’ve strategically hidden their pubs down long alleyways and in basements. We settled on a cute pub in the cellar of a medival building and had some Tyskie beers and perogies for lunch. The beer was pretty tasty, but the bartender was not. It took me butchering “thank you” in Polish to get a smile out of him. After refueling we debated on taking a tour of the city in a golf cart (no joke), but we decided to walk off the beer. For dinner we went to Pod Aniotami (”Under the Angels”), according to Lonely Planet the restaurant, “occupies valuted cellars decorated with traditional folksy knicknacks and offers excellent typical Polish food in an attractive atmosphere.” It was a delicious and the restaurant looked very Sud de France and if it wasn’t for the wait staff we would’ve really loved this place, but with house wine at $3 a glass and two giant glass enclosed wood grilled ovens what’s not to love?

We later partook in the local liquor i.e., lots of flavored Wodka. I tried a 70 proof honey vodka. I’m pretty sure I actually drank honey flavored gasoline. Someone could’ve lit my dragon breathing breath on fire.

We tried to cap off the evening at the Irish Embassy, which is billed as one of the best bars in Krakow and the largest Irish Pub in Poland. We’re convinced it was the largest Irish gay bar as we were the only two women in the multi-level establishment. It was either because some important football game was on or because we found the only gay Irish theme bar in all of Poland. Knowing us, I’m banking on the latter. Either way there are a lot of good looking, tall men here, prompting us to wonder, who let the cougars off their leashes? We are cougars, hear us roar.

I had to drop a dime on eharmony. Our marriage has been on the rocks lately, i.e., it’s made promises it hasn’t lived up to, I’ve said things I didn’t mean. I’ve filed for dissolution so we’ll be going our separate ways soon.

I fully recognize that dating can be awkward. Who hasn’t had the long pause on a phone conversation with someone you barely know or wondered how to handle the whole “are we going to kiss thing” at the end of a date or how to have the “I’m not you it’s me” conversation. So, while I fully expect dating to have its fair share of uncomfortable moments, what I do not expect is for the awkward phase to begin before I ever communicate with my would be gentleman caller.

I woke up on Saturday and decided to check my matches. I saw an uncommon name and thought “please don’t let that be the guy I think it is.” It’s happened to me twice before that eharmony has matched me up with people I knew. The first time it was with someone that a close friend wanted to set me up with for years. She thought we’d be perfect for each other. It turns out we weren’t. Two weeks before we met, Dr. Warren introduced us. The fact that neither one of us chose to initiate communication should’ve been our first clue. The second time it happened, it was with a former best-male friend who has a common name and oddly before I ever even opened up the match and saw a picture I had a sinking feeling that it was him. It was. I thought we were perfect together, he thought that three of my friends were perfect for him even though he didn’t treat them very nicely. So, I “friend broke up” with him. He tried to get back in, but he was on the deep freeze list.

However, nothing compared to the awkwardness of what I experienced on Saturday when I was matched with a co-worker who described himself as a “full time dreamer, part time lawyer.” I’ve actually run into Senor Suenos at a restaurant while he was on a date. To say that I do not think we’re compatible is an understatement. I can barely stand to be in a meeting with him because he annoys me so much. So, I called Dr. Warren’s minions and Lucy did some “splaining” to them and told them that I needed them to unmatch us. I was reassured that they would remove us and it would be “as if you were never there.” Although that sounded a little too G-Men/Men In Black covert ops to me, I was happy to have eharmony “disappear me.” Unfortunately, it took two days and I know he knew because I ran into him in the hall and for the first time ever neither one of us said anything to each other. And there was that split second silent recognition were we acknowledged that we knew that the other person knew. Thanks Neil!

As a side note, has anyone else noticed that eharmony uses the same couples for its “success stories?” If there are that many marriages off of eharmony then why aren’t there more couples willing to brag about their successful lovey dovey stories to all of us lonely hearts out there. If I met my match off of eharmony, you can believe that the first thing I’d do after updating my facebook status to “M.Madison plus one,” would be to call them and tell me to book some serious studio time for my beloved and me as I’d be shouting it from the roof tops how great it was that I met my perfect match and how the 29 dimensions of compatibility really isn’t just a bunch of psycho babble. So, I can only reach one of two conclusions…either eharmony has only successfully married, say, 5 couples, or those that have gotten married are ugly and not-T.V. worthy.

Prove me wrong Neil! I double dog dare you!

It was duing the evening rush hour while walking to the Wall Street train station via Wall Street itself when I saw a massive group of people armed with cameras who were all too happy to snap away. This was more than the usual sprawl of tourists who frequent downtown and clog up the foot traffice to snap some pictures of the NYSE, stand upon the steps of Federal Hall to get their picture taken next to a statute of George Washington, or to take pictures of Trinity Church. This motley crew gave the Brangelina Papparazzi a serious run for their money. Snap, snap, click, click, followed by an “OMG there he is.” This could only mean one thing…Wall Street was lined with stars and not the kind that glitter in the sky, but the kind that line the Walk of Fame. I knew they were filming the sequel to Wall Street because on my way to work I had seen a camera crew filming background crowd shots with extras. As an aside, I get a kick out of how authentic it looks when there is a crowd of walking down the streets of New York when in reality it is a carefully orchestrated staged shot of extras.

When I got into the office, I googled to see who was in the sequeln Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps. I read a few articles that stated that Gordon Gekko would be played by Michael Douglass and Javier Bardem would be playing a sinister Hedge Fund Manager (is there any other kind?). So, I was hoping for a sighting of Javier because ever since Vicky Cristina Barcelona, I’ve had a thing for him. I can’t decide if I think Javier is caliente or if it’s just his interesting look coupled with his sexy accent that has me swooning. Officially, he’s in my category of “sexy-ugly.” I’ve put Benicio del Toro in there as well (a man who has great bone structure, but some tired looking eyes). I later learned that Javier had to back out due to scheduling conflicts and intead of Javey, we’ll be treated to Josh Brolin (wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers).

I get the original casting of Gordon Gekko, after all, no one else could play that role…who else could utter, “greed is good,” if not MD as Gekko? But Shia Labeouf as the equivalent of Bud Fox’s character? I’m not feeling it. My feelings were comfirmed when I saw Shia and MD filming a scene on Wall Street in front of the NYSC. Oliver Stone was there as well. First, let me say that I can see why Catherine Zeta Jones is drawn to MD. He is one good looking older man. However, Shia is like a man-boy. He looks like he should be starring in High School Musical. Although Charlie and Shia were roughly the same age when their characters went under the tutelage of Gekko, Charile looked more like the finance guys I have known and dated. Shia looks like their kid brother who still lives with his parents back in Jersey. But what do I know? I’m not Oliver Stone and perhaps Bud Fox was right when he said, “life all comes down to a few moments. This is one of them.”

And action! Try as I might to deny it, I’m a celebrity stalking whore. I’ve come to that realization after I pimped out my dogs to stalk the set of Nurse Jackie. Ok, maybe “pimped out” is a bit of a misnomer, but let’s just say I decided to take them on an extended walk to watch Nurse Jackie being filmed at “All Saint’s Hospital,” aka Baruch College. I figured a walk with the ladies could justify my leisurely pace and basic refusal to move and I knew that they would love making friends. My ladies became best-friends with the extras. Note to self become an extra, it seems fun! Scratch that, become a star!

I admit I became a fan of Nurse Jackie via a free Netflix preview, but because I don’t have cable I decided that sadly I would have to wait until the series came out on DVD. That is until I learned how to watch it online for free. Talk about feeling like a kid in the candy store. I may have watched the entire first season on a rainy Saturday. Ok, I confess, I did watch it all in one day. I was almost as addicted to the show as Jackie is to pain pills and infidelity. I can’t quite figure out why I like the show, but maybe it’s because it’s full of misfits and shows how complicated life can become and how flawed we all really are. Or it could be because I’m a not so closeted TV junkie. Whatever its draw, I was like a strung out junkie in desperate need of her next fix, I couldn’t stop hitting the play button on my laptop after each episode ended. And don’t even get me started on Jackie’s husband (who btw is uber hot in real life, much hotter than he is on TV).

After watching a few episodes, I could tell that Nurse Jackie was filmed near me because of the outdoor shoots that they do. Matter of fact, I could also tell that they messed with a subway sign in one episode, which really got my goat because I knew that there was no possible way there could be an N/R train station based on where they were standing. I wanted to go all Joe Wilson and shout “YOU LIE” to the TV for all of America to hear. Yes, I can be that anal. Inaccurate depictions stick in my craw!

Imagine my delight when my street was plastered with signs indicating that it was verboten to park on my street today due to the fact that Nurse Jackie was filming in the area, which to me, instantly meant the trailers would be parked on my street. Sure enough, all the cast’s trailers are parked right outside my front door (now if only I could find the catering truck). I’m not sure if Jackie’s trailer is incorrectly marked since there’s no “Jackie” trailer, but there is one trailer that says “Wackie’s trailer” and another that says “God,” not sure if “God” is code for the leading lady or what. If MJ could be Whacko Jacko, then maybe she’s Wackie Jackie?

One last thing about the shoot. In a few episodes there’s a guy who lives across the street from “All Saint’s” and he’ll stand in front of an open window in his robe and yell out crazy things. Well crazy guy’s apartment is located in this dumpy building, which I refused to enter to look at what looked like an amazing apartment from the NYT website, because the building is such a dump. Small world.

As they say in showbiz, I think this is the point where someone yells “cut, that’s a wrap!” Applause , applause, fade to black!