A COUPLE OF FROGS

People say you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince.

Well, in my search for a boyfriend, my lips are quickly turning into lily pads.

Let me explain:

One of the best things about living in Manhattan is the anonymity it gives you. I mean, you rarely see the same person twice. With that in mind, sometimes I like to go out with a new identity. Sometimes I'm Tommy the graduate student, or perhaps Vinny the dermatologist, or other times I'm Johnny from Long Island. Oh, I'm not alone in this charade, before having her baby, my good friend Denise would frequent salsa clubs under the alias of Ramona....perhaps, it's a Manhattan thing.

After one too many vodkas Sunday night, I met a hot couple who wanted to have a three-way. Hmmm... Johnny could handle this one. Yes, Johnny from Long Island would be perfect for this assignment. In the cab to their Washington Heights apartment, the couple barely spoke to me. I mean, I was getting scared - very Silence of the Lambs. Once we arrived, we were greeted at the door by a third roommate.

"Oh, we texted him and he wants to try you out, too."

He was handsome and young, so I thought what the hell. We went to the back bedroom and got it on. Once we were finished, he left the room and said, "I'll send the other two in". Suddenly, I felt like a whore at VIP waiting for client #9. The couple and I had sex, too - one was hot the other not so hot. Afterwards, they barely spoke to me. I guess this couple has a three-way clause - no talking or getting close to the third party. Yes, it was odd - as if they were about to say - "It puts the lotion in the basket." I laughed as I let myself out.

I guess I had a good time, but one thing is for sure: In my search for my prince, there are three less Manhattan frogs to kiss.

ICONS

You know, I just don't get this gay icon thing.

I was having lunch with "a queen of a certain age", and he talked nonstop of his love for Barbra Streisand and Bette Midler. Now I admit, I love me some early Babs when she had the winged eyeliner and ratted beehive, but once she scrubbed her face and combed out her hair and went down Laura Nyro's Stoney End, I lost interest.

Bette Midler? Her 1971 self-titled album is amazing, but like the first season of Desperate Housewives, it was five years in the making, so it had damn well better had been good. Everything the divine Miss M has produced since has been medicore at best. Okay, a few songs from "The Rose" are pretty decent, too.

My vote for gay icon is Britney Spears - a real mess.

CHEMISTRY 101

Last night, my friend and I were discussing sexual chemistry between two people. I mean, it's something you can't create - it's either there or it isn't, right?

But what happens when that person you have chemistry with has it with other people, too.

Let me explain:

I have a crush on a chickenhead - someone way too young and way too cute. I know he likes me - we've been fuck buddies for months. But I know he's seeing other people. I mean, when he's with me, he can't take his eyes off me, and we can talk endlessly about anything for hours.

But the real question is, how do you take a fuck buddy out of the bedroom and into real life? I mean, it's hard to sex someone up for months on end and not have any feelings for that person.

I guess I'm afraid to make the first move.

I LOVE THIS!

My friend had this posted on her site, so yes, I stole it, but it's so damn funny.

A FOOL

If this isn't proof that men think with their dicks, I don't know what is.

What a fool - I mean, did he really think he was going to get away with it?

I guess it's true that power corrupts.

BACK TO SCHOOL

"This is where I first cut myself."

"This is where I found out I was pregnant."

"This is where I found out I had a brain tumor."

And my favorite - "This isn't a high school musical."

For the past few weeks, I have been mesmerized by these haunting commercials advertising WE network's new show "High School Confidential" - a documentary  4-years in the making featuring 12 girls from Kansas.  I mean, I drove my friends batty over the past few weeks with my constant "This is where I sucked my first dick  etc...." jokes about the show.

Well, this week I was lucky enough to meet the girls who were in Manhattan on a media blitz to promote the show.    Fresh from an appearance on "The Tyra Bank's Show", I primped the girls for a Newsweek article. 

Of course, I greeted each girl by her problem, which I have to admit made the Midwestern mothers a little weary of me.

The show starts this Monday on WE.

SEX ADDICT?

Am I a sex addict?

I don't think so, but a man I was kinda dating seemed to think so.

Let me explain:

We were out drinking cheap red wine when he asked me what kind of kinky sex I would like to experiment with.  Feeling slutty and slightly intoxicated, I told him I'd like to take him to a "dirty bookstore" and suck him off through a gloryhole.  

He looked kinda startled, but I didn't stop there.

I then proceeded to tell him I'd like to "fool around" in the back of a speeding taxi or maybe he could sneak into my apartment wearing a burglar mask.

He looked at me horrified and confessed his "kinky" fantasy was to "do it" in the kitchen.  

The kitchen?  I knew he was kinda vanilla, but I never thought he was that vanilla.  

Now I've always subscribed to the theory that a man likes a "saint in the sitting room and a whore in the bedroom."  I mean, my dead husband never had any complaints with my sexual creativity.

Of course, the next day I received an email from this man informing me that we were not compatible and that I was a sex addict.

SHE'S BACK

She did it!

Against all odds, Hillary took Texas and Ohio last night, which means she's back in the race.

It's not that I don't like Obama, I just don't think he's prepared to run the country.  I mean,  we only need to look at the current president to see what can happen when someone with very little experience moves into the white house.

FATTIES

You know, when my friends come to visit Manhattan, they are shocked at the lack of fat people.  Well, I tell them, a fat person could never survive in the concrete jungle.  For starters, most of the subways are two to three to four flights underground - and that is a lot of walking.  I mean, you might start out fat if you move to Manhattan, but you would get thin mighty quick.

In fact, I see a "fat to skinny" reality show - put two fatties in Manhattan for six weeks and see how much weight they lose.

The Biggest Loser - Manhattan Style.

THE OLD BLONDE MARE

Okay, she doesn't have a chance in hell to win, but let's give the lady her due.

I mean, she has more balls than 99 percent of the men in America, so no matter what happens, she will go down in history.

What really scares the fuck out of me is that in a recent poll old daddy MaCain is neck and neck with Obama.

Doesn't this country ever learn anything?  

I mean, does 50 percent of the nation really want 4 more years of Bush?

I HATE SUNDAYS IN MANHATTAN

You know, I hate Manhattan on Sundays.

All of the undesirables from New Jersey and Queens swarm the city with their tacky Coach handbags and boot cut jeans.

Tacky.

Sundays are for staying in my apartment.

A DATE

Why do str8 people think that just because you're gay, you lust after every other gay person?

Let me explain:

In my quest for love, I let my injection specialist set me up with her friend.

Big mistake.

I mean, I didn't want to go in the first place, but she insisted we were perfect for each other, so she cooked up this idea that we could meet in a bar on the pretense of returning my phone.

He wasn't my type.

He was one of those "power fags" with a short haircut and a designer suit - and he smelled of too much cologne and carried a man purse. I don't think I was his type either. I mean, with my rock-n-roll Farrah flip and East Village hipster style, he looked rather startled when he met me. During our brief time together, he barely glanced in my direction; and within minutes, he grabbed our friend and made a hasty exit.

Odd thing is, the next day my friend called and informed me he wanted the three of us to have dinner.

What?

Men.

I can't figure them out.

MISTER MAKEUP SPEAKS

My best buddy Mister Makeup is offering his Valentine's Day beauty advice at www.celebrityeverything.com

Take a look.

SETTLING? OR JUST REALISTIC

I was chatting with an old friend the other day, and she had some interesting opinions about love.

In her heyday, my friend, who is one of the most interesting and smartest people I have ever met, was a model that jetsetted around the globe with a worn Filofax that was filled with admirers. In other words, she had a penis in every port.

As she approached 40, she married a suburban Minnesotan and moved into his rambler style house that looked like a garage - you know the style - all garage door and driveway with very little house.

When I inquired about her happiness, she replied:

"Well, my husband is too fat, he drinks too much beer, watches sports constantly, and he farts at inappropriate times. He doesn't "get" me, but then again, whoever did? I know he's very common, but I guess he loves me.

" Am I happy? It's not the life that I dreamed for myself, but he loves me - did I say that already."

I had no idea how to respond to her.

I mean, was this her idea of love?

TOUGH WEEK

It's been a tough week in my search for love. I mean, it's almost Valentine's Day - the most co-dependent day of the year - and I'm alone.

I started out the week with a cute French man. I met him at a bar, and he said I was cute, so I let him kiss me. I wasn't that turned on by him, but you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince, right?

I didn't go home with him.

The next night, I walked by a restaurant and noticed a happy young gay couple having dinner. I could tell they were on a date. It made me sad. I mean, it's been like forever since I've had sex with someone I actually liked.

Maybe I'm going about this all wrong.

Maybe I'm putting the horse before the cart.

I guess my fairy tale isn't about to come true anytime soon.

MORE MARRIED MEN

Do I have "whore" written on my forehead?

I think I do.

I was riding the 6 train the other day when yet another married man tried to pick me up.

Let me explain:

I was returning home from a shoot with Project Runway's Tim Gunn when a very middle-aged man in a suit kept staring at me. Within moments, he was chatting me up. He told me he lived on Long Island and sold septic tanks for a living. Yes, my dream man had finally arrived on a downtown bound Manhattan train.

I noticed the wedding band on his finger. Oh, don't worry, he said, my wife doesn't need to know a thing.

He said he had a few hours to kill - and asked if he could come over.

I said no, I'm busy.

No more married men - especially ones that sell septic tanks.

SUPER TUESDAY

What a great time to be an American.

I mean, a woman and a black man running for president?

We're witnessing history, folks.

SUPERBOWL

You know, I just don't get organized sports...I just don't.

Why do grown men and women get all worked up over watching a bunch of spoiled, uneducated millionaires tossing a ball around?

I just don't get it.

I also don't get how these same grown men and women take to the streets chanting..."We won, we won!!"

What did they win? Are these people living such sad lives that they have to transfer all of their hopes and dreams onto a sports team?

As I said, I just don't get it.

LATE NIGHTS

I hooked up with an old fuck buddy the other night – a gorgeous 28 year old boy with wavy Hollywood hair and eyes so dark and hooded they could turn a hetro boy queer. His name is Scorpio (I swear it’s his real name) and when I met him a few years back, he was trying to make it as an actor/model – he now works on Wall Street.

He came over at 1am – drunk. His hair was messy and he smelled of stale beer and cigarettes – and he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Why did I let him in? I guess the three devils of Manhattan - bored, lonely and horny – got the best of me.

He said he had stopped calling me because I was ”standoffish” during our last hook up.

Hmmmm.

Maybe that’s my problem with men.

I mean, he wasn't the first to tell me I have an icy veneer. I guess I’ve always subscribed to the notion that you never show feelings or love for several months – but come to think of it, the person who gave me that advice is 46 and still single.

I didn’t have much time to ponder the question of my cold soul, because in a matter of seconds his body was pressed up against mine. I woke up the next morning smelling of stale beer and cigarettes.

Time to save my soul later.

THE ORAL REPORTER ENDORSEMENT

With the onslaught of celeb and politico endorsements, I'm casting my vote for Hillary Clinton.

I have to admit, I was swayed by Obama's way with words, but when it comes right down to it, he doesn't really have much to say.

I mean, what are his views on anything?

Do we really know?

I'm sorry, but flowery words of change don't really mean that much.

I want a president with some experience.

And those Clinton years were pretty damn good in retrospect.