As I was searching the internet for the average number of times a person would get hit by a car in a lifetime I came across the secret to curing obesity in this country: Americans don't kiss enough.

Now, anyone who knows me well knows about my disdain for the cliche of the "latin lover", but I think they may be on to something. I mean, what Latin American person (or even Italian, French, or Spanish for that matter) is obese and addicted to McDonald's? None. Not one.

Kissing. Kissing is the answer.

And to support my theory, I give you these cold, hard facts:

- The average American will spend 5 years eating during their lifetime.
- A one-minute kiss burns 26 calories.
- On average a American will spend two weeks of their lifetime kissing.


How in the hell are you expected to burn 5 years of eating in two weeks??? People! WAKE UP! START KISSING!

Hi there kittens.

So today I got struck by a runaway taxi! The horror of it all! I was crossing 42nd St. under the direction of the little glowing man and what should happen to cross my path? None other than a giant yellow town car. What else would one expect? I guess I should start keeping my wits about me.

This isn't the first time I've gotten hit by a car (I've been hit twice in my life, both of which happened in the last year) and this got me thinking: how many times on average, is the average person hit by an average car in an average lifetime? I spent a good amount of time trying to find this to no avail, but I imagine that 2 is close to the cap.
Since neither incident resulted in any sort of injury, I've taken them both as signs. Slight kicks in the ass from the universe, so I thought to myself, "what was happening at those times where I would need such a kick?"

Well, instance one I was rushing around like a mad person trying to find an address that was as elusive as a jaguar (bastard address). I was literally running back and forth along two city blocks knocking people out of my way, trying to make an appointment that was under threat of being cancelled if I was even one minute late. I was already five and counting. As I shoved a couple of school kids out of my way to book across Lexington for the 78th time, a silver Denali made an illegal right turn right into my butt, knocking me back onto the pavement. Being the amazingly kind-hearted person that I am my first thought was of course, "Thank God I pushed those kids out of the way." My second, after surveying the giant black tire treads across my brand new light grey jeans was "GODDAMNIT I JUST BOUGHT THESE PANTS."

I was actually so dazed that all I could think was that I was even later still for my appointment so I bounced up, apologized to the driver of the Denali (of course) and continued on my way, just as manic as before.

This morning was a different story. I was walking quite slowly as it was the early morning. I knew quite well where the building was that I was going and I definitely was in no mood for pushing anyone around me. I was however on this wicked wicked fast which has had me thinking about food and NOTHING ELSE for the past 6 days. So I was dreaming of eggs and bacon I was delivered a cold yellow taxi to snap me out to. Worked like a charm. This time I decided to take the sign. I killed the fast. It's just not my style to have something occupy my mind as much and for as long as food was doing so. I flit. Like a butterfly in a field of wildflowers. I'm not a lazy caterpillar. I'm not glued to a branch. It just doesn't feel right.

And as for the lesson in the last one, it was simply slow down and stop acting like you're the only person in the whole world that needs to be somewhere. I have a real problem with that. When I have to be somewhere or do something, my agenda is the only thing that matters. The world may as well just go on holiday for a minute because I need to make my 6:30 yoga class!!

So I don't blame the drivers of those terror mobiles for hitting poor, innocent me. They could've no more helped their fate as stopped time. They were messengers sent to knock me on my ass and into some sort of perspective. So the next time you're running around like the center of the universe or following a path that's just not meant for you, please, check yourself.

Otherwise you may find yourself with some fresh tire treads on your brand new pants.

I recently went through a break up. It lasted almost the entire duration of the relationship.

Has that ever happened to anyone? Is it me? I imagine it's probably me.

My real point isn't this though. Now that it's really (really) over, no one is there. No one is sleeping next to me. No one's home to watch me cook dinner...or eat it with me for that matter. No one's there to walk the dog when I can't. Bummer.

It's ironic that my main complaint is that I needed my space.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not considering that the decision to end things was a bad one, but it just gets under my skin that even while with someone that I had so much friction with still made me dependent on the mere companionship.

As I was talking this over with a dear friend, she happened to mention that goes away, that I just have to get used to the empty house, and that I'd be back to being happy with being solo or just hanging out with my friends. This is true. It's happened many times before. But my question is why is craving the companionship so bad? I don't see anything wrong with it.

Of course, I've been in relationships before where the level of time together was toxic...and one could argue that this was the case recently as well, but I think that there really is this fear among women here in NY of admitting that they want companionship.

The madness stops here. I admit it! I want a companion. I want someone I trust enough to give my email password. I do. So there.

However, as God as my witness, I will not settle. I jut have to make that promise...because I can't keep getting close to it and then have to just end it...and therefore not have anyone to share my magnificent dinners.

Except Lucy.

I went over a month, but the thing is that I'm trying to suck at this point.

SUCCESS.

I was waiting for the bus the other night and I was privy to something that has furthered my division of whether there's an actual difference in the sexes. The story goes, I was around 4 or 5 a.m. and I was waiting at the Jay St./Fulton Mall stop on the B54 and although I'm not sure exactly where it is, there's a lesbian club right around there. I regularly see a rather high number lesbian couples making out in the wee hours at this stop.

Anyways, I guess the club had just let out cause there was a couple waiting for the bus, making out up against a closed up shop, periodically causing the the roll-down gate to bang loudly. Weird already. Not because they were lesbians, but it was just too much for anyone to be doing in the out of doors...especially when there's someone standing about 4 feet from you...gawking like an idiot.

So as I'm cursing my iPod for breaking earlier that week, I'm delivered a reason to thank the heavens that it did break: they come up for air and one says to the other, "Girl, you taste like cherries. Were you kissing so-and-so earlier?"

OH SHIT!

Ok let's back up here. I failed to fully set the scene. There's an amazing phenomenon among black and puerto rican butch lesbians in NY: THEY'RE SO ATTRACTIVE.
This doesn't happen anywhere else in the whole world. Period. Argue with me. I dare you. Every other butch lesbian I've ever seen looks like a gym coach. A male gym coach. And it's quite possibly the worst look ever.

But this group of women, although they are dressed masculinely, understand the key point of STILL BEING ATTRACTIVE no matter what gender your choose to be. If I were to run around as a man you better believe I would not be donning a Reebok track suit or some khaki pants and a polo. No no no.

The lady that remarked about the suspicious cherry taste happened to be one such lesbian. It goes without saying her femme counterpart was ridiculous. The kind of lesbian that makes men weep.

So that being all set up, here's how the rest of this conversation went down.

"No. What are you talking about? But also how would you know she tastes like cherries? You know I saw you last weekend together. Don't try to tell me anything. You just played yourself out. I wasn't even gonna say anything but you're just stupid."

"You're crazy girl. I love you. That wasn't me. Who said that was me?"

"No don't even start. I saw you. That was you. I saw you up there, she was sitting on you all over your neck and you didn't see me cause you were too busy."

And so forth.

All I could think here was OH MY GOD it's not a man or woman thing! Not that I ever solidly believed it was, but this confirms it. Butch lesbians lie and cheat just like men! And I don't mean they are guilty of the act, I mean they do it in exactly the same way. Amazing. They're dumb as hell about it, they deny it in the face of cold, hard facts, and they always pull the I love you/you're crazy card out first.

I mean, the woman was already making out with you! Why lie!? She didn't even seem mad about it, but no, didn't matter. She went right on ahead lying for at least the next 15 minutes.

So it's just people. People are either shitty or not. As I said, I am of two minds on the whole relationship dynamic. And of course, in classic me style, the two minds are on completely different ends of the spectrum and yet I find a way to bring them together. (I'm telling you, I MUST get to the Middle East.)

On the one hand we have the idea that men and women are completely different. Couldn't be less alike! This is how I reconcile when I just cannot follow a man's line of thinking. I figure, hey, I don't pull out my hair when I can't understand a conversation in Japanese. I don't know one word. Why get upset when I can't follow it?

Same thing.

But on the other hand, we're all human beings and have all had a relatively similar upbringing in the grand scheme of things. This convo proves the later argument.

There has been an empire built upon the idea that men and women are fundamentally different, but really, I think I'm going to call bullshit. I mean yes, I will have to say that perhaps there are some different ways of thinking and perceiving that may fall into a more masculine or a more feminine category, but I just don't buy into the idea that one gender would be more predisposed to acting a certain way or having certain habits.

Nope. After witnessing this exchange I have to say that I just don't really buy "Men Are From Mars...", etc. etc. Maybe a better way to put it is that "Men are from Canada, Women are from Mexico"?