Does Debbie

Monday, May 30, 2005

Leave Your Tits at the Door

The past few days were spent at my house in Fire Island. A few friends and I rented our own house for a few months, and we were nothing short of amazed when we walked into our Pottery Barn clad, dirt-free summer haven at the beach. The weekend was filled with tons of sun, plenty of alcohol, and poker.

You see, in our current Hold 'Em obsessed society, I can't say I was surprised to see tournaments going on all day long, even on the beach. But what I was surprised over was that there was not one woman playing. That is, until I joined.

Given my current obsession with the game, my eyes lit up when I saw the stack of chips. I could smell the money from across the sand. And I knew the guys running the tournaments. After a few hours of annoying reminders and ensuring that my number was in their cell phone, I received the invitation. I was going to play poker, folks.

This game was at the share house of some friends of mine. There were 9 people who paid $40 a pop to play. 8 men and myself. The winner would take $240, second place $80 and third place $40- breaking even. The game started out intense. I felt that being the only woman playing I needed to prove myself and make my gender proud. But then the strangest thing happened.

I started to play very well. I was dealt magical hands, I could bluff like the best of them, and before I knew it, I was taking money left and right from these guys. But along the way, I felt myself losing my femininity. Why is it that a woman playing poker with the guys is seen as "one of the guys?" I was wearing a low cut tank top. I had sun-kissed skin from a few days at the beach. I looked hot. But I was still the chick at the table, not the "woman." I tried to not let it get to me.

I began to really kick ass and took $70 from one guy under his eyes. After scoring my second King on the river (Hold 'Em lingo) to win, the guy said, "not only do you have tits, you have balls." Yes, I was flattered. But I felt masculine. The women who were cheering on their boyfriends looked at me strangely. Were they impressed? Were they amazed that poker is not just a guy's game?

I ended up coming in 3rd place, which means that I broke even and got my $40 back. So I didn't leave with any additional money. But I did leave with some new poker-playing guy pals. I guess when a woman joins a men's poker game, she has to leave her tits at the door.

Friday, May 27, 2005

Corporate Poo

Eating, sleeping, and shitting. Three things we have been doing since our conception. Yet, for some reason, why is the latter one such an uncomfortable thing to do, in certain situations- like work?

I have been in the corporate workforce for about ten years, and for only 20 months of that time was a blessed to work at a company with private bathroom stalls with floor to ceiling wooden doors. Go Lowe & Partners!!

The rest of the time, like now, I am forced to share my bathroom time with others, and I still get weirded out over many situations. For example, about a week ago, I went into the stall at the same time as a very senior person in my company. She had to "go" to the bathroom, and it grossed me out, which it shouldn't have. This is human nature we're talking about here. But I'm not sure what to do in certain situations- like a bad stomach ache. Personally, I would rather run home 5 blocks than go to the bathroom in front of other people. It's just awkward.

Another example. Yesterday, I had just sat down in the far left stall when someone walked into the stall next to me. There were 2 other empty ones and she had to go next to me. It freaked me out. I had to sit there, with my pants covering my shoes (so no one would recognize me) waiting for her to finish her business so I could start mine. After all, two women would never go at the same time.

Why can't us women be more comfortable with this? Why can't we brag about our bathroom success? Why does trying to take a shit at work take planning and timing?

With all the crap we deal with at work, this should not be part of it. Pun intended.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005


I am a very curious person. Always have been. In fact, some might deem it as annoying, others might find it stimulating. Regardless, I always need to know the answers to things. However, there are quite a few unanswered questions that I still live with in my 31st year of life. Let me share...

1) When you are turning left on a two way avenue in New York, can you turn left when the light is green or do you have to wait until the perpendicular light turns green?

2) In our modern society full of ipods, wireless internet, and plasma TVS, how is it that many New York apartments still do not have a dishwasher?

3) Why is there a man at my work building who pushes the elevator button every morning? Is that his full-time job?

4) Is there a day when you should not eat sushi? I have heard Sunday and Monday, which one is it?

5) Why do men that have a bald spot on the top of their head tend to have excess back hair? Does the back make up for what is lost on top?

6) What is the appropriate response when someone tells you they are "trying" to have kids? Good luck? Have kick ass orgasms? May your boys swim?

7) What is the secret ingredient to good tuna fish?

I think that's it for now. Feel free to post answers.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Fat Ass

Everyone has the part of their body they are the most self conscious of. Mine, interesting, has evolved over time. There was the nose in high school (I should have been more conscious over my big hair, but that's another story,) thin lips in college, and now- my ass.

There are many a fella who would retort this concern, but given that large asses seem to curse the women in my family (sorry mom, and I know, Jessica that you escaped this one) I feel it is in my genes (or shall I say 'jeans') to inherit the extra cargo. To counter my heredity, I exercise quite a bit and try to eat as healthy as possible. But my ass has a mind of its own.

Being a typical chick, I tend to say, "I'm fat" but what I really mean is "I can kill small countries with the seat of my pants." Usually, my friends and family will tell me I am crazy, that I have a perfect JLo butt, that guys like women with a curve, blah blah blah. But not this weekend.

You see, on a family trip with my mom and sister, I happened to mention the A, and my mother actually agreed with me. Can you believe it? She told me that in fact, my ass does look a little larger, at least it did in the pants I wore the other night. HOLY SHIT. Parents don't lie to their kids faces, do they?? I might add that in that same sentence, she also told me that I am completely vain and questioned its root. See, parents don't lie!

Two days later, still on aforementioned family trip, I was on a shuttle bus in a bikini, from the river back to our car (river tubing pictures to come) when I began conversation with the fellow bus riders. There were about 10 of them, family not included, all men. We began chatting with them- where are you from? wow you are drunk (them, not me,) interesting mohawk you have there (again, them, not me.) Turns out they were 22-23. For kicks, I had them guess my age (26) and then proceeded to tell them what it really was (31.) Thanks for the good genes mom, even if it came with an ass!

But the irony of it all is that as I was walking off the bus, one of the guys yelled behind me,"nice ass."

Tuesday, May 17, 2005


In case it is not blatantly obvious in my posts, (which I'm sorry that they declined in frequency the past week or so) I genuinely enjoy writing in my blog. Sure, part of it is for selfish reasons as nothing brings me more pride than having one of my friends tell me that they almost choked on their edamame from laughing so hard. Or even seeing a total stranger post a response to one of my stories! There are people out there who like what I write. But becoming a soon-to-be-discovered artist comes with its challenges:

Finding the neutral ground to write about. Sure, I have pushed the envelop with dates and relationships, but I have never really talked about sex. And I sure have some funny stories relating to that (ahem, table, college) but there are one or two readers that I would prefer to not know the ins and outs of my ins and outs. Like my parents.

Then there is the issue of sharing stories from my current relationships. But I really don't need to flush down the drain years of therapy learning how to have a healthy relationship with the slip of a date re-cap occurrence. Like sharing how I found a hair growing out of someone's earlobe. Weird.

And finally I face the challenge of insulting and pissing off my friends and loved ones by dispelling their dirty laundry over the world-wide (or at least my world) web. Like how my friend David dreams about my friend Sandy's boobs.

But I am keeping all stories. I'll just change names.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


I couldn't make this one up if I tried.

Between ages 10 and 15, it would be fair to say that a significant part of my life was spent at the ice skating rink. While no Nancy Kerrigan, (except for Halloween this past year) I still skated competitvely. And worked at the local ice rink. And hung out there with my friends.

One afternoon I was taking off my skates with my friend Kim, and saw that she was talking to one of the younger skater's moms, who happened to have just given birth to a baby boy.

The little pumpkin was quite cute, and I inquired over his name. The mother told me his name, but I couldn't quite make out what she said. I thought I heard a K, and an N.

"Kunt?" I asked, without realizing what had just escaped my lips.

"No, Kyle," said the mom.


Sunday, May 08, 2005

Weird Me (1-10)

Sorry, there is no "story" here, just a list of the oddities that make me me. I have never crafted a list of this sort before and was curious to see what my fingers on the keyboard would lead to. So here goes:

1. My greatest pet peeves are chewing gum and people that spell "a lot" as one word.
2. I can only set my alarm to an odd number. 7:37- yes. 7:40- no.
3. In high school, my friend Niki and I would have language days. One day we would try to rhyme in every conversation. Another day we had to use a British accent.
4. A snack I enjoy is a cup of cold milk and hot chocolate. The powder from the hot chocolate doesn't dissolve and you need to eat it with a spoon.
5. I can stick my legs behind my head. Both of them. At the same time.
6. When I go running with someone, I need to run on the right hand side.
7. I want to be cremated because I am claustrophobic.

8. Men that do crossword puzzles turn me on.
9. I truly believe I will be famous one day.
10. When my sister and I lived together, we used to play "dead." When one of us walked in the front door, the other would undergo a spaced out, gazed "dead" look on the sofa. No ketchup was used to simulate blood.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Bathroom Dating

It really is not cliche. Men that are so-so looking possess infinite more chutzpah than the well above average Joe. Case in point:

A few years ago I had a blind date with Craig. Craig was a fix-up from a mutual friend, and came highly recommended. Of course there were a few possible precautions ("He might have gone full gray since the last time I saw him." "I don't think he is much of a player anymore.") Regardless, I heeded Steph's advice and met Craig for drinks.

Craig was cute. Craig was funny. But Craig and I didn't have that dynamic spark. However, about an hour into the date, I had to go to the bathroom. Legitimately; not to plan an escape call. But then it happened: As I was entering the "joint" restroom, I was slipped a piece of paper from Mystery Man. Ooooh, how exciting. Who was this ok-looking but intriguing man that slid a folded possibility in my hand? Was he giving me a lottery ticket? A bill? Maybe he found a new way to continue on chain letters!

Mystery Man had given me his number, with a note attached: "You don't look like you're having a good time on your date. Give me a call. 555-1234" (don't think he gave a cell.)

This was a first. I had NEVER been asked out while on a date with someone else. I felt like a woman in demand. I was happening. I gave Mystery Man a chance.

As with every story, this one lacks the happy ending. I went out with Mystery Man a few times, but then he creeped me out by stalking me in Miami when we were both there at the same time. And he was an awful drunk. But what a story.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Spring Forward

A few weeks ago we had to spring our clocks forward an hour for Daylight Savings Time. But the strangest thing occurred: my biological clock moved forward as well.

Maybe it's the increased number of carriages passing me on the street, as a result of the warmer weather. Or perhaps it's due to having my first friend with two, yup, two kids. Regardless, the ticking seems to have gotten seventeen decibels louder (Note to my potential husband that I am not going to do anything crazy like throw out my birth control if we date.) I just seem to think babies are even cuter than I did in early April.

I even did the strangest thing today: I looked at my baby/toddler pictures. Not to recollect on just how damn cute I was, but to see how I looked/acted at each age as I prepare myself for motherhood some day. I truly have lost my mind.

Well since I am not going to have children in the near future, I think I might get a pet. One that doesn't require much effort, much money or much time. Because I am still in too much of a selfish stage to be responsible for another life.

Hmmm, I think the clock just moved back an hour.