My Strike, My Divorce and Dirty Jersey. Chunky Pam Saves!

It has arrived. The wonderfully chaotic, often disappointing, stressful, dismal, and chalked full of disgusting nostalgia Holiday season. If I sound less than excited it may be because I am currently trapped in the holiday Bermuda triangle. THE AIRPORT.

What is it about the Holiday season that makes people want to couple up? Maybe I mean to ask, what is it about the holiday season that makes couples so much more noticeable? I have spent the last hour watching the most disgustingly cute couples fondle each other as if they are the only people at the airport. When in reality the airport more closely resembles my rush hour-India like-L train rides home after a 14 hour work day. It is standing room only, someone’s armpit is ripe, uncovered and a fraction of an inch from my face. And it is hard to decipher if the overwhelming smell of urine is coming from the bum four people down or the small child licking the subway pole just below me. Welcome to my reality.

Did I mention that I really do love New York?

It baffles me to think that we endure all of this insanity in the name of Jesus Christ.

Praise be to Jesus.

I don’t think that God had this kind of a travel circus in mind when he/she/it decided to have a son that was supposed to suffer for all our sins…I am pretty sure that I am suffering for my own sins in this very moment.

Throughout this Holiday season I have felt like a slightly over weight, single, somewhat undesirable twenty five year old divorcee. Sadly I have seen more action from my intimate encounters with my esthetician during Brazilian waxes in the last few months than I have with any man in the last seven months.

Yes, my crush is over. And clearly nothing came of it. He was a bridge and tunnel Jersey boy. Jersey is a long way away. He was not only physically too far away- but emotionally even further from being interested. I would always prefer a great distance between my lover, and myself but maybe Jersey wasn’t far enough? I am more like a big puddle or south of the border kind of girl. Translation: I am looking for someone who is Euro sensitive and Latin hot all in one. Everyone tells me to get rid of the list, but let’s call this a fantasy. I can live with fantasy since I have built my life around totally impractical goals. Such as an Oscar nomination and at least four houses on other continents. However, I think that I have officially decided to stop searching for the fantasy man. I am just going to roll over, lay down and count myself out of the man game for a while. At least by choice instead of by default. The strike is on.

NOTE: This blog may get very boring while the strike ensues. Read at your own risk!

I figure that if I choose to strike from dating and well frankly from men all together than I will not feel nearly as depressed about my personal affairs…or rather a lack there of.

After pouring four years into a failed relationship that I was under the impression might actually lead me down the path to marriage, which for some reason is coveted by so many women. ...? For me marriage bares a greater resemblance to a life sentence in prison, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I was pretty thrilled about meeting someone that I could see as a life long companion. The actual ceremony and declaration of matrimony is not really on my list of things to do.

List of things to do:
1. Get nominated for Oscar.
2. Buy four houses on different continents.
3. Go to sperm bank.
4. Have babies.
5. Hire hot gay Manny to take care of children while on location.

Too bad Palo ended up sucking at life. He may have enjoyed partaking in the above list as my sperm bank donor. Instead he morphed his attitude in the last year and a half of our relationship. Transforming himself into a totally self involved vagabond, while in conjunction returning to alcoholism. That pretty much would rule anyone off the sperm donor list. I have enough alcoholism in my family to begin with, I don’t think I need to add all of his poor genetics into the equation(wow that little rant was a border line psychotic episode, I think I will leave it in the entry and not edit it out. Disclaimer: I am not a nut case).

Does anyone know someone that may be willing to donate some sperm to a healthy and bound to be nominated for an Oscar Yo-Pro 6-10 years from now? Mr. Bridge and Tunnel recently said that he would have made this his dating personal add:

“Call me, Mr. Bridge and Tunnel, for beautiful healthy babies.”

Anyone who can match or top this please write me immediately.

But only if you’re serious.

Pfffffffff….Ha. I AM A LITTLE BIT OF A NUT CASE.


Returning to my thoughts on the strike. I am so tired of working at relationships with men. I already work for the man. In fact I work with about FIFTY men, and FOR all of them. There is no need to work for another. In the spirit of Christmas I should be celebrating the birth of some man-god immaculate conception creation. But since I am on strike I think that is entirely against my religion. That is why I have gone out and found myself a new savior this winter.


She is so un-classy its classy, she is so gluttonous it’s almost slimming just to watch her mow the Ho-Ho’s. Her lyrics are painfully beautiful. Best of all she objectifies men in her music videos, her dancers are reminiscent of In Living Color flygirls, but they are men. And they are the the best thing to hit Youtube gyrating and shaking since the latest Single Ladies Beyonce video. I love to watch the flyboys as they twirl around in their penguin suits complete with glossy pink cummerbunds while my savior spanks them. She even makes them wear Don Jaun Demarco masks, which I love. Because frankly, dancing dudes, I don’t want to see your face, I don’t really care what you look like I just want to watch you shake it. I think that was her whole point, and I like it…

A LOT!

My Jesus Christ this holiday season is CHUNKY PAM. (please see video side bar)

More reasons to take Chunky Pam as your Holiday Savior:

She loves her voluptuous body.
She eats everything she wants. LOTS OF TWINKIES
She has some pretty bad ass lyrics
She is so hot right now.
Her track suits kick ass.
She objectifies men. Did I already mention that?
She is disenchanted with love.
She owns her trashy bridge and tunnel self.
She has gold teeth,and a sparkly pink drumstick ice cream treat.
She is not a he, and does not work for the man. Chunky Pam is Chunky Pam.


I would love to see the MTV Celebrity Death Match of Chunky Pam vs. Jesus Christ. Jesus in his lame robe with a little rope, and Chunky Pam in a pink leopard print track suit chomping her gum with her gold teeth and sparkly glossy pink lip gloss that reminds me of the kind grandmas who live in Florida wear. Seriously who would you put your money on?

I am pretty sure that Chunky Pam could sit on Christ’s face and it would be all over. That is one more good reason to put Chunky Pam on the list of real saviors to celebrate this Holiday Season.

Perhaps this entry sounds a little dark, and lacks hope, and I have harped on optimism and hope for so long I guess there is still an iota of my being that wishes for the impossible. I want to find someone who can be my real life savior, and who I can be a savior to in return. It hit me the other day while strolling down fifth avenue and procrastination shopping for the birth of Christ day that I am searching for something Christ like. As I lip-synced my way through one of my all time favorite love songs I caught myself passionately synching:

“I know love has always scared you. Like the things under your bed. Maybe we can walk on water…”

There it was coming out of my mouth. I was lyrically conjuring the iconography that I have been denying.

I guess secretly I am a believer. At least I want to believe that I can feel weightless again. I want that effervescent, euphoric, inexplicable nearly drunken, and Dionysian emotional exchange from one person to another. I want to believe that no matter how scared I am, and no matter how difficult I find love, to believe that someone will take my hand and be able to guide me over the water to shore again. I want to be able to do that for him as well. I want to walk on water.

Whoever he is. Where ever he may be, since I clearly have no clue where to meet men or how to even interact with them anymore. Four years of dating the same man and trying to walk on water with him totally drowned all game that I once had.

Oh gosh! What would Jesus do?

Or better yet- What would Chunky Pam do?

She would probably go get some prime rib and call it a night- maybe she would call up one of her fly-boys.


I wish everyone the best Holiday season possible. Go find your savior, I found Chunky Pam, maybe you could find someone new that you never expected to be your Christ. I never expected to identify with Chunky Pam- but when I needed her most- there she was big- bad-ass and beautiful and making me laugh when I just wanted to dive into another box of peanut butter Ritz Bits. She is all that I can identify with right now…

Big Bad-Ass and Beautiful.

Go be triple B this season. Happy New Year etc…