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!

After much hemhawing I decided to join match.com and chemistry.com even though I hate online dating as much as George Clooney hates Facebook. I nearly signed up for it last week after I had one too many drinks. What stopped me in my uninhibited state? Someone, and I won’t name names, couldn’t figure out how to pay before she passed out for the evening. That’s right folks, she was too tipsy to hand over the credit card information. I woke up next to my laptop screen that was open. In hindsight I could’ve woken up next to worse things than a laptop with match.com on the screen. I suppose it’s better than the time I woke up next to an empty food container that had previously housed a burger and fries. YOU think YOU’VE rolled over and seen some weird things next to you after a night on the town? Nothing beats rolling over and feeling cardboard and thinking “what the…” and then opening your eyes only to see a giant, industrial size take out box staring at you accusingly as if to say, “really lard can? Did you really need to bring me home at 4 in the morning,” and you look back as if to say, “better you than someone with a pulse!”

So I thought it was some form of cosmic intervention that prevented me from sealing the deal with match and that would be that. I thought that until I received an email from match.com informing me that my picture had been approved and was posted. MY WHAT? Evidently, “someone” could upload a picture, but couldn’t find the “subscribe” button in her altered state. An email sent to a friend that day stated, “Oh dear God. I just received an email from match telling me that my posted picture has been approved. Clearly, the question of do I remember doing that would be rhetorical at this point. ”

A week later I decided to give match another shot even though I’m convinced it’s the land of booty calls and fat bald old men who think they’re Brad Pitt hot and can date women 20 years younger than them. I also decided to give Chemistry.com a shot since it’s for a more serious dater. I decided to join Chemistry even though 1.6 million of its members got rejected from eharmony, a fact which one of my matches boasted about. Um, if an internet dating site rejects you, it’s nothing to brag about dude. I joined because 80% of people I know in New York are on one if not multiple dating sites. I thought it would make me feel like I’m doing something slightly productive regarding dating and that I might meet new people other than the pendejos I’ve been meeting out at bars and because a guy friend of mine said, “I’m conviced that you can find more than booty off match, look at me I’m living proof.” He got married off of match, however, he conveniently forgot that he got married only after having many match booty filled year, so whatever grain of salt and all.

In the three days since I have joined I’ve considered dumping them both 1,000 times during the “cancellation period.” And chemistry.com has about 2 more hours to make something happen or I’m pulling the plug on it. I’ll save the sucky profiles I’ve seen, of which there are many, for another post (or multiple posts-I have a feeling I’m going to have fun with other people’s profiles…not in a cruel way, but in a “could this guy be any more arrogant way”). Needless to say, I’ve been tempted to break up because it is a lot of guys looking for tail on match and let’s just say chemistry isn’t setting my bunsen burner on fire.

However, nothing tempted me to break up with match.com than the email I received today in which I was told “SHE’S interested in you.” You’re one of HER “Daily Fives.” Excuse me? Did I become a lesbian overnight? Is match.com suggesting that I broaden my horizons and go all new millenium New York lesbian chic? Truth be told I once accidentally joined match.com as a lesbian. How does one accidentally become a match.com lesbiana, you ask? Oh, I don’t know, I was probably half in the bag when I decided to join and marked the wrong button (either that or I was half in the bag and had a really, really bad date and Freud was slipping in there). I got an email from someone and I thought “wow, he’s cute…tall, masculine, 29, great job, he’s a blonde and I’m not usually into blondes, but he’s cute enoguh” which was quickly followed by “hey wait a second…this is a woman. What the….how the…” Then I realized that I had chosen women looking for a women. Woopsee. My lesbonic experimentation “phase” lasted all of 15 minutes and then I went straight again after figuring out how to make myself hetero again. However, not being a lesbian, I emailed match today and asked them what their deal was with matching me up with girls, hello aren’t you supposed to be looking out for me? Aren’t you supposed to be telling me what guys are interested in me? For the record, match has yet to respond back to me. I might have to drop a dime and get the AG in on this!

My mother had evidently given up on me finding love in the Gentile population and has told me that I need to marry someone Jewish or someone who is “dark like” me (hello mom, I’ve been trying to infiltrate the latin community ever since that one night in SoBe with the hot Colombian and especially since everyone things I’m from South America). This all stems from some guy that I had a transaction with while she was visiting. He was uber cute and nice, but was possibly married, even though he was sans ring. He kept talking about his two boys and I’m pretty sure he meant of the “Pampers and Gerber” variety of “boys” rather than “boyz.” I’d lay odds, 10 to 1, that he’s Israeli. I have a thing for the Israelis and normally test well with that particular geographical demographic, I think it’s because I’m Greek and pretty much from the same area code.

Anyway, according to my very gentile, very WASPY mother, who is all of a sudden into the “matchy, matchy couple look” I should start looking for a nice Jewish boy. As if there aren’t enough nice Jewish girls looking for a nice Jewish boy in this city, my mother wants me to go all Charlotte York and start picking up people at Temple. Not that I’m opposed, but you think that I’d meet some resistance to interfaith dating rather than active encouragement from my mother now turned Yenta. All those years at college, I should’ve been hanging out at the Hillel House. Ironically, I do sort of have a Temple that I’ve gone to for political events here in New York. Ok, it’s on Park Avenue and the congregation (is that the right word for Temple goers? Or is that too churchy) is a big fan of the red states (I met Ari Fleischer there after an event once) so I’ve adopted it as my Temple. Of course, its population tends to lean more towards the Safta and Saba age range, but evidently I can no longer afford to be picky.

I do love the High Holidays. Rosh Hashanah, Passover, Hannukah, bring it on! However, I am not allowed to convert (not that I would anyway), but when I mentioned that my new mate wouldn’t be going to church with me, my mother retorted, “You don’t go anyway.” Ouch! For the record, I don’t go that often because all of my friends are godless heathens and I am tired of going alone (ok kidding about the heathen part).

In addition to an interfaith marriage, she thought it would also be nice if I was able to buy a townhouse for sale that is currently available in my neighborhood. Um, yes that would be lovely. Now where did I misplace the $5 million plus necessary to acquire said Manhattan townhouse. Let’s see…did I donate it to the Save Venice Fund? No. The Junior League? No. My second home in Palm Beach? No. To Bernie Madoff’s ponzi scheme? No. Hmmm….where oh where could it be? Maybe I could start a dating website called Jews for Gentiles or Gentiles for Jews. There’s Jews for Jesus, so what’s wrong with a little shiska love? Give match.com and eschmarmany a run for their money and get the capital for a townhouse. Sounds like a plan. L’Chayim!