Reviews and Undecover Inspections

A couple of Saturday ago, I woke up to an email alerting me that a review of my glorious performance had been posted on a popular review board. This is my second forray into the Zagat of companions. My first review itself was OK, but the questions that followed made me uncomfortable, so I requested it removed. That was awhile back.

I met the writer of my second review shortly before the said piece was written. He didn't directly ask or state that he had such a writerly ambitions, but did allude that he was curious about the entire review boards. I was ambivalent in my preference to be or not to be review, which I suppose he took as a permission, or an ambivalence, to it being published.

I read the review quickly. It was detailed. But it was accurate. I decided that I didn't care either way and left it be.

Life went on.

I read the Sunday NY Times. I read the Journal. I watched some porn.

Then, I read the New Yorker.

A quick scan of the table of contents immediately had me flipping to this article about the undercover world of Micheline inspectors immediately grabbed my attention.

"Maxine eats out more than 200 days of the year, lunch and dinner."
"She is required to eat everything on her plate."
"[S]he sould go home directly after finishing dessert and paying her bill, and begin filling out her report.."
"[S]he would list every ingredient in everything she ate, and the specifics of every preparation. She would rate these according to several criteria..."

Maxine's undercover work oddly sounded familiar.

I asked the writer to have his masterpiece removed. The board needed a confirmation from me that I wanted removed. Several emails later, it is now gone.

Another issue New Yorker arrived.

I dined at a Micheline rated restaurant.

I watched some porn.

The Blind Date

The Blind Date was a disaster.

I was told that the Blind Date was quite the intellectual. I wouldn't know. He didn't how to make conversation. Every now and then, I would throw him the bone to run with it, yet, the dude had no social skills.

The only decent thing about the date was the cab ride home. The cab driver was Bela-Russian and I got to practice my limited Russian to impress Alexei, my fictional boy toy. ;-)

The Blind Date was a disaster. But if certainly gave me a renewed appreciation for my wonderful gentlemen callers who spoil me rotten.

Idle Ramblings or Random Idlings

Today is an end of an era. It's cryptic, but that's all I'm willing to share. I'm marking the occasion with a bottle of my favorite Sangrantino. It's a cliche, I know, but tomorrow is a new day, a new era. It will be different. It will be better, damn it!

I had a sweat session with my favorite Russian du jour, Alexei, over the weekend. I'm afraid the new Russian is too dumb for my taste. Correction. He could be a freaking Einstein for all I know. But only if I could understand his RusEnglish.

I'm being set up on a date. I've not been on a blind date since 1872. I have this fear that the dude is going to be fat and ugly, but irresistably charming. I fear for our children's beauty and girth.

Enough of the Umbria's greatest.

Spaciva.

xo

Russian memory

If you are a long time reader, you probably know of my fondness for Russians. Specifically, My Russian.

This is my memory of last night in the companion of a Russian - not My Russian, but perhaps soon to be my Next Russian.

Intro: Vodka infused light kiss on the lips.

Amuse-bouche: Ginger infused vodka.

Appetizer: Pommegranate infused vodka.

Palata cleanser: Horseradish infused vodka. (Yuck)

Entre: Cranberry infused vodka

Dessert: Alexei

Spaciva.

Reorganization

I like my alter ego. Being Victoria provides me with an opportunity to meet people - intelligent, interersting, successful and kind people - whom I would've never met. Like Fortune 500. And Mr. Hollywood. The financial benefits are no longer the driving force. My goal for Victoria is, was and will always be to have meaningful Clandestine Encounters. The ones that I'll look for toward to. The ones that I'll immerse my entire self into. The memories of which I will forever lust for.

Armed with the luxury of a stable paycheck, education and all of my brain cells intact, I have the benefit of choosing my companion with a great care. I am restructuring / reorganizing my Clandestine Encounter empire to enlarge the pool gentlemen from which I can select from. I realize the ability and the willingness to part with one's wealth does not guarantee kindness nor lust-worthiness. Changes are on the way.

And hopefully, the changes will lessen the amount of unsavoriness coming my way. Yes, I do get a lot of unsavoriness.

--------------------------------------
Exhibit A

From: John Doe
To: ForbiddenLetters@gmail.com
Date: Sun, Nov 1, 2009 at 3:15 AM.
RE: availability?

available tonight/this morning?

---------------------------------------

Note the time.
Seriously, dude. Seriously!
What is he (and others who sent similar note) thinking? Do some women fall for this crap?

Looking for the Elusive Sunshine

I am in the middle of a hellish work-crisis that it feels like I haven't seen the sunshine in months.

I am suppose to give a lecture to a group of eager young betherens on a topic that I'm suppose to be an expert on.

I found out today that I am an expert on that topic.

Big boss says that I am, so I must be.

I haven't a clue what I'm suppose to do for the two hours that the boss booked the lecture hall for.

I drove the Secretary crazy with the powerpoint presentation.

I want lots of noises and pictures and shooting stars on my powerpoint.

I am powerpoint un-friendly.

The Secretary put lots of noises and pictures in the powerpoint, but no shooting stars.

I want the shooting stars.

I should ask the Secretary to order pizza for my lecture.

I want more than two people (the Boss and the Secretary) to show up.

I have not done the laundry in weeks.

I have been wearing uber sexy unmentionable, normally reserved for generous patron saints to work.

I might have to go commando tomorrow.

My hair is messier than usual.

My hairdresser does not like me because I refuse to sit through an hour blow-drying sessiong after the cut.

I have better things to do than endure an hour of hot air aiming straight at my head.

I need to preserve all the brain cells I have.

Boss asked me to stop bringing baked goods to work because she wants me to be known as serious cut-throat professional and not as Betty Crocker.

I suspect she is worried about her inflating tummy, largely contributed by my superior baking skills.

I made pumpkin brownies that I plan bring to work tomorrow.

I am going to put extra chocolate drizzle on Boss's piece.

Speaking of sunshine, or lack there of, my new lust....

West Village dinner guest

The other evening, Gwen and I were dinning at a quaint French bistro in the Village. The purpose of this dinner (not that a dinner needs any purpose beside feeding the angry gnomes in my tummy) was to allow Gwen to bitch about our friend Tessa. You see, Tessa is a bit of a flake. So in this particular incident - and there has been many - Tessa is at fault. Although, this little spat of theirs is augmented by Gwen's holier-than-thou European attitude. But, I was being a good friend, listening and agreeing with Gwen. I know I'll do the same for Tessa tomorrow evening over dinner.

Anyways - as we were having dinner, we noticed this fella sitting at the next table. Not good looking. Not bad looking. Is he? Isn't he? No, he can't be. I think he is. He seemed to be enjoying his Bradade de Morue and nursing a bottle of Cote du Rhone all by himself.

"Would you like to join us?"

"I don't want to impose on lady gossips." (Gwen was rather animated - read loud - while badmouthing Tessa.)

"No worries. Just bring the bottle with you."

The still-no-named fella reluctantly joined our table.

"Weren't you the dead body at a recent CSI Miami?"

"Nope, I'm pretty sure I wasn't."

"Ooooo, I know, you are the one-eyed-crazy-fella-doctor-who-came-back-from-the-dead who killed whatshisface on General Hospital!"

"Nope, I'm certain I never played a doctor."

And the guessing game continued.....

About half-way through the second bottle of Cote du Rhone (his treat), we did figure out who he was. His name, anyways. He's seen his better days. He's not famous by any account, but he did have many notable roles in mainstream films in the 80s.

It was interesting having a stranger at our table.
Gwen appreciated his insight into her situation with Tessa.
And he did play an evil doctor in a soap and a murderer and a dead body.

I should have dinner with strangers more often.