Fantasy Tales

The Death of 'Til Death Do Us Part

2008-05-10T09:20:00.000-07:00

The Death of 'Til Death Do Us Part
April 1, 2069

Today in Congress history has been made, or erased depending on how you look at it. In a vote 10,000 to zero (no abstentions) Congress has wiped off the books an antiquated law and in so doing removed an entire industry of lawyers. Years ago such a move could not have occurred when Congress was dominated with the likes of an aging legal population; the old world, staunch men and few women born just before the sexual revolution who made up the old boys club.

Back in 1958 Congress was made up nearly entirely of white Wasp males. Fifty years later, the picture changed when women and other minorities rose the ranks through equal opportunity and anti-discrimination laws. However, the numbers were far from threatening. At that time Congress was 80% white Wasp males, 10% women, whose color was not counted elsewhere, and 10% colored, which in those days meant anything other than white including Asians and Hispanics. At the same time 99% of all Congress were lawyers; the other 1% were voted into office having the benefit of concentrated voters living in non-integrated, better known as, non-blended communities. What had also changed was that of the 80% white Wasp males reportedly half were gay. Prior to the year 2000 those members of Congress kept their sexual preference mainly hidden along with their sensitive or more commonly referred to as their feminine side. But when the doors finally opened a typhoon came in. The push to open finally gave way by the vast weight of the alternative lifestyle beings.

The choke hold of old world ways was beginning to lose its grip and so was the time honored tradition of becoming a lawyer before running for public office. The public could no longer be coerced by eloquent speakers, distrust had set in and with that candidates had to speak a different language the public understood. Congressmen, as they were called then, could no longer dictate old world values despite initial efforts to contain the boys club by allowing entry to those willing to assimilate. For a while they had succeeded in keeping the protocol. What they failed to see was that the new crop of legislatures had an internal voice which after being admitted was a voice which had to be reckoned with. Reconciliation meant a change of attitude first, legislation was not far behind. Within a matter of another few years, by the year 2020, lawyers were largely ousted from elected office overtaken by others with newer notions of the world popular enough to be voted in.

Fast forward to 2069, a time warp which could make anyone dizzy, and arrive at the new make up of our legislature. Congress, as counted by a recent poll, is made up of 53% Hollywood Celebrities, 24% Journalists, 12% activists with no other affiliation, 3% homeless and otherwise jobless, 4% military retirees and 4% lawyers. Of the 53% Hollywood Celebrities half have an affiliation with the film industry while the other half have an affiliation with the music industry. Both groups reportedly have the same celebrity status, pay scale, percent of gun ownership and drug use, in addition to L.A. residency. The values of society have changed notably with the dominance of the Hollywood set and Journalist whose main purpose is to report the activities of their peers. With that change of emphasis first came the mandate of prenups, back when the bill passed and became a law commonly known as the Donald Trumpet law. In the initial legislation behavioral issues first crept into legal documentation, such as compensation for the damaged party arising from infidelity, alcohol abuse, rants and rage, beating, until many years later the prenup was complicated further with details as to how much toilet tissue use would be tolerated in any household.

Finally the Hollywood set had enough of hiring big gun lawyers and tired of shelling out huge sums of their earnings to either lawyers and/or thwarted lovers. No more; no more prenups, each man for himself, and thus no more marriages. It's been outlawed when today a vote was cast and history written. This change will probably have little effect on the nation, but has managed to wipe away the cries of the religious right and to wipe out an industry of marital and divorce lawyers. The religious right has had to learn to keep their opinions to themselves. They can do whatever they want, but can no longer have their lifestyle choice upheld by law and demanded of others. As the shift would dictate, the former marital and divorce attorneys are now forming a new set of legal contract thus calling themselves lifestyle attorneys.

A contract is still a contract so long as it does not counter Congressional legislation. The Supreme Court, also dominated with former Hollywood celebrities and retired journalists, has released their accumulated statement, "Good riddance" to the press. Such sentiment implies no cases will be heard to challenge the new law. In reaction, lawyers are already at work devising new agreements inevitably preparing to head to lower courts armed with a realm of these new contracts including living together some times, having kids but not together, monogamous to a degree and I love you to a point.

Say goodbye to marriage, the casket, and case is closed.

Pam Anderson Jr. Denied Access to NYC Apt. per Condo Board

2008-04-24T09:42:00.001-07:00

Pam Anderson Jr. denied access to NY apt. by Condo Board’s strict No Pets rule
by Ladybug140 aka Fantasy Tales. Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved.
New York City 12/21/2012.

For all of you in the know, the date will not strike you as odd. For all others, it signifies the end of an age (sometimes referred to as the end of the world). Ok, it’s not quite catrostrophic but it is getting out of hand when today a NYC condo board cites a pet law in NY State Supreme court in a complaint filed on appeal in an attempt to further prevent residency of a former celebutante.

What a field day the lawyers must be having. I have to wonder if the judges in both the original suit and the state appeal are actually paying attention to the arguments or quite possibly putting on a poker face while they gratify themselves under the bench even if Ms. Anderson is not the buxom beauty she once was a mere decade ago. If one takes careful note, the news clips from Court TV demonstrate a rather odd look on the original judge’s face, Ms. Diamond, to be rather blank and flush. Her ruling further draws suspicion as she granted an award to Ms. Anderson on the grounds of emotional distress. Apparently Ms. Anderson feels humiliated, and Ms. Diamond agrees, that the board went a bit too far when it insisted Ms. Anderson use the service elevator for her daily walks in and out of the building. Furthermore, Ms. Diamond ruled, Ms. Anderson does not have to wear a support bra in order to contain her imposing bust line nor refrain from foreplay in the elevators which are under continuous camera surveillance. Ms Anderson sought restitution from the camera tapes which somehow got into the hands of TMZ for the incident which occurred when she first entered the building. As the tape demonstrated, shown in court last week, Ms. Anderson’s agent showed her more than an empty apartment. No one from the building has been identified as releasing the tape.

In the appeal, the court filing states Ms. Diamond should have recluse herself since she has been linked to receiving campaign pledges from the Screen Actors Guild as well as an offer for her own courtroom TV program slated to air in the fall to be called, “Justice for Some”.

In her defense, Ms. Anderson took the stand in a teary eyed account of the humiliation she felt when she was first asked to enter through the rear service entry by a doorman, then further alarmed when asked to see her pet license when she sought passage from the building’s concierge. Ms. Anderson reportedly misunderstood thinking the license that was sought was for her own pet pooch, a French poodle. Apparently what next transpired is a matter of he said, she said. According to Ms. Anderson the concierge poked a crack asking for the license for Tom Levi which Ms. Anderson said she did not find funny. The concierge and management have denied those allegations, but did admit to asking for proper pet identification from Ms. Anderson as well as insistence for her to use the service elevator and entry door. What happened next is somewhat speculative. According to Ms. Anderson her French poodle made a puddle on the elevator floor which the agent who was showing Ms. Anderson an empty apartment bent down to clean up. The tape is not clear as to what exactly transpired when the agent disappears from the visible screen. However, it has been noted that Ms. Anderson begins to breathe rather rapidly seemingly uncomfortable until the agent reappears some time later. It is further noted that Ms. Anderson then appears to be smoothing down a risen skirt. Upon existing the building in a second tape, Ms. Anderson is seen to give a rather zealous kiss to the same agent while the poodle is heard to be whining and then barking but ignored.

In the Board’s complaint on appeal, the suit states that Ms. Anderson has a history of misconduct citing loud and lengthy barking and howling, improper hygiene resulting in a swarm of paparazzi and a loss of bladder control though it’s not clear who is being accused of dirtying the elevator.

In her answer, Ms. Anderson cites the multitude of commonplace city disturbances such as the constant cries of babies, the howling of the sirens, the continuous hum of the vehicles outside, and the multitude of street people barking out side the apartment windows noise she claims is commonly intrusive. As to the infestation of Paparazzi, Ms. Anderson claims that to be a falsehood ever since her rapid departure of LA in exile from her latest scandalous divorce from Hollywood rebel Shawn Pencil. In her countersuit, Ms. Anderson claims had she known what a publicity mistake the marriage would prove to be she never would have left Tom for the fifteenth time.

While the case is pending appeal Ms. Anderson has been blocked from entering the building, and is not permitted to furnish a board package for the apartment she had interest in. According to her PR agent, Ms. Anderson is still very much interested in the apartment, but wishes to live in a peaceful manner and not at the mercy of a board which wishes to control every day affairs to the extent resembling an old age home. Ms. Anderson should take a deep look into the mirror and recognize that the reason the door was held open for her while getting in and out of the elevator was due to the proper course following along the lines of, “age before beauty”.

While it is hard to believe such a case could go on record it does appear that the condo board has filed a suit with some notable merit. After all curbing one’s dog is a matter of simple English.

Woody Adopts New Wife; Micky Moore

2008-04-21T20:25:00.000-07:00

Woody Adopt New Wife: Micky Moore
by Ladybug140 aka Fantasy Tales. Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved.
New York City 2011.

We all knew that Woody was off his rocker first evident in his early movie, 'Sleeping'. Entertaining, artistic and intellectually clever we all became interested in our local boy full of eccentricity and neurosis most likey due to an overbearing jewish mother. Woody was an odd fellow, but one none the less we looked at as if through our own pair of thick lensed glasses. Woody quickly became our very own hero from the hood.

Ok, perhaps that is not so as it certainly came not to be the case when his movies became more and more biographical over time foreshadowing the unethical if not mental breakdowns to come. Perhaps our vision too was impaired for we did not see it coming. After all, these works were 'Made in Manhattan'; so was Woody and so were we.

It seems like just short moments ago when the Daily Planet got hold of and printed the letter depicting a broken heart by arrow Mira Sparrow prepared when her adopted Asian daughter, one of seventeen and counting, was found to be having an affair with Mira's then boyfriend, Mr. A. What a shock to our City. What a shock to our generally mainstream but liberally minded community.

As if it was not bad enough seen all around Manhattan grandfatherly men escorting their grandaughter trophy wifes, this act stepped to new lows. Woody was bedding a recently emancipated girl over 30 years his junior, the very same girl he helped to raise the years before. Cries of incest were heard all over town. It's hard to imagine how Mr. A dared step out with his new babe even in this historically liberal town. But he did so, and we got used to the sight. Soon Mr. A married and settled into family life being nearly fully exonerated with the acceptance into one of New York's most sought after preschools and then subsequently private school.

Just when we thought we were getting used to seeing this mix matched pair strolling around Central Park with their six mixed ethnic children Mr. A recently released his newest and most controversial film as yet; 'Made for Me'.

As the story goes, a senior Woodrow leaves a younger and accomodating Asian wife with six teenage children to enter into a more fufilling relationship found with his believed to be soul mate, another man nearer to his age, Micky. It is not the discarded wife who puts up a fuss, but rather a zealous DA who wishes to avenge his own anger after having been dumped by his own Asian wife who has hooked up with another Asian woman. The DA, played by Carl Steiner, believes he finds evidence that Woodrow has begun to lobby state leaders to allow same sex marriages and believes the effort will prove successful. In order to prevent Woodrow from making progress the DA blocks the effort by arresting Micky for lude acts caught on the internet site, Your Tub of Fun. With Micky behind bars a marriage can not ensue ever since the removal of citizen rights for inmates.

But that does not stop Woodrow. He comes up with another plan to adopt his true love in an adopted spouse status. Leave it to Woody to concoct and make feasible a way in which love shall prevail against all odds by hiring a top notch adoption lawyer, played by media seasoned Nan Graceful, her first movie role.

Ms. Graceful plays her role in alignment with her name. She manages to ease the audience into the rights governed and protected by law not only by virtue of the adopted status but also enables Woodrow and Micky to have all the rights formerly bestowed upon traditional male/female marriages.

And so now we have a new mileu - the adopted spouse with full rights as once only available to the old world basis of marriage. The adopted spouse status enables Woodrow and Micky to make health care related decisions for each other, file jointly their Federal income tax, collect benefits otherwise deemed only for male/female marital couples, and one other formerly marital condition regarding conjugal rights. It is a horse of a different color, but still a horse.

While I can not wish Woody well in his what has to be new love conquest (I saw him and Micky Moore holding hands over a plate of pasta at a trendy Midtown eatery) due to my lack of ability to support the dumping of his old flames, I have to applaud Mr. A for the sheer chutzpah and mental brainstorming which has lead to this dramatic change in human rights. For once it seems Mr. A has actually encompassed societal good while seeking to serve his own agenda.

Hannah Montana Poses for Playboy

2008-03-12T09:38:00.000-07:00

November 17, 2016
Hannah Montana Poses for Playboy
By Ladybug140 aka Fantasy Tales Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved.

Move over Britney, Miley is has taken the stage, yet again. For many years we have witnessed and become all too familiar with what becomes of an aging rat pack, brat pack, and mouseketeer pack when over the hill first occurred at 49, then 39, until the current state of affairs, 29. I think it was the aging boomer Chris Knight or Scott Baio who said, “The new 40’s is 60” showing signs of early dimensia.

For those too young to remember, Dean, Sammy, Joey and Peter’s idea of a good time consisted simply of skirt chasing and boozing. These men were real pros for they always got back to business on time albeit hung over but ready to roll; a routine they kept going for decades. Except for some obvious dark circles (they didn’t know the preparation H remedy then) one had to imagine the prior night’s entertainment much to the envy of all. Oh what Vegas was like back then. Sitting at the dais at the MGM Grand, when it was half the metropolis it is today, were first time women libbers such as Phyllis Diller, a personal favorite, and Ruth Buzzy who could both sling a few shots while jokingly beat up on their “male chauvinist pig” buddies. Yes, that was what the world was like back then.

Until the next generation shoved them aside. Next “in” came Emilo Esteves, his brother Charlie Sheen, Sean Penn, and Judd Hirsh who literally drove the old timers off Ventura highway. Compared to their fathers these boys made their dads look like saints. Add one more, Robert Downey Jr., who was sometimes absent apparently too lost to find the door out of the drug den. Sean married Madonna and was arrested for beating her friend; I believe he was desperately seeking Susan. Charlie most often was awal with Bob, while Emilio and Judd did what they could to preserve the good name. Madonna donned cones, Rosanne took the microphone and Rosy took everything else. Women seemed to be having a menstrual melt down during that phase.

And Disney saw the gap as did Heff. From out of no where suddenly appeared these perky pests jumping around (maybe their caps were too tight), singing songs of supposed good, clean cheer. Give me a break. It didn’t take long for Justin to break Britney and fondle Janet while Jessica caught a fish or was it a chicken? Ok, Nick and Jessica were not bona fide members of the clan, but they became inducted as networks grew from the 5 channels of the forefathers days (when sin city earned it’s name; yes Vegas once had that name and reputation) to over 2000 exhibitionists we can select from in the comfort of our homes each day. First there was “That Girl” - are you too young to know who that might be? Don’t laugh, there was a time when husband and wife were not shown in the same bed let alone showing public displays of affection. Next came the sexy and sultry Cat Woman, now currently residing in a nearby nursing home, followed by the material girl who no matter how much plastic surgery missed her chance to be on Heff’s roster. All the king’s men couldn’t put that one back together again. Cat Woman was made over, though dominatrix in style, still in clothes.

Oh but those were the wonder years when Pamela Anderson changed the face, no the body, of the 80’s as did Anna Nicole both of whom had such strong “Marilyn” appeal (for any of you who are nostalgic or enterprising, a copy of the Marilyn Monroe issue of Playboy has recently fetched over $1 million dollars for a cover in good condition, no scum, on ebay). Simply put Britney was passed over. Two pregnant too young, too ill to notice, too washed up too young, Miley didn’t even have to step over the corpse.

While Hannah Montana had her day on the stage at the tender age of 13, much like Britney, Disney had thought they outsmarted the forefathers in selecting a mouseketeer pack believed to stay virginal even after their post teen years. I think Disney’s leaders, who are the same age as Knight and Baio, clearly should take up residency with Cat Woman. Hannah they could keep a cap on, Miley grew up.

Last week on Heff’s syndicated series “The Girls Next Door” an aging and severly sagging Kim Kardashian announced a new pet mate, Miley Cyrus (I guess this is the secret to Heff’s fountain of youth), while holding onto what appeared to be the newest cover. From what this reporter could see, Miley is still perky though I do wonder if they are real or imposters.

Boy did she grow up fast. Wasn’t it yesterday in 2008 when Hannah Montana tickets were the hardest to fetch tickets in town? Where did the time go? Where did Hannah go? I guess to a downtown medical office. I didn’t see her go in, neither did the paparazzi. Well it’s no wonder, we all remember in 2010 when Hannah began to grow boobs of her own and Disney cut the umbilical cord. Anorexia followed up in an episode of Celebrity rehab where the once nubile Hannah gained an unprecedented 100 pounds. I am not sure the doctor helped solve the underlying problem. Next it was onto Celebrity Fit Club where Miley got her groove and figure back when she left the show at a normal 125 pounds on her 5’-4” frame. That is until we next saw her on The Surreal life where she was ousted out in the second round challenge and disappeared from the radar. 2010 was a long time ago.

Until Now. And what a change just a few short years can make. Here’s to Miley all grow up and standing up on her own! Do you think she will last as a pet mate for more than one season? After all Miley is pushing 25.

The Problem With Women aka My Fight with Rita

2008-03-11T15:00:00.000-07:00

The Problem with Women aka My Fight with Rita
by Fantasy Tales Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved.

You know, we live in a city with all kinds. I guess having come from a dysfunctional family I have always been quick to forgive others shortcomings. To a point though, for after my toes have been stepped on a few times it doesn't just hurt it becomes something to scream about. And, I have to stop myself, but not my mouth, from picking up my heal and smashing it into the offender's shoes even deeper and harder than they have harmed me. Enough is enough.

Here's the background - months ago I made a date with a neurosurgeon. We were to meet around 4:30 at a nearby but nice, trendy neighborhood spot. Earlier in the day I was out alone when Rita called. "What are you doing?", she always needs to know. "Nothing much, window shopping before my date", I answer. "I'll meet you. Where are you?" No biggy at least not yet. We meet up on Madison Avenue and make our way up to the restaurant. It's about half an hour before my date. I call my date and leave a message on his cell explaining that I have finished early and am hanging at the place with a girlfriend. Still no biggy - so one would think.

At close to 4:30 my date arrives but since Rita doesn't switch seats, she is sitting across from me, my date is forced to sit next to me in such a way we can barely see each other without straining our necks. Rita states innocently she will leave after she finishes her drink. Again, who would think twice about that. But here's where the story really gets started.

For some reason Rita must be in one of her moods. If my date says, "black" she says "white" and I can see my date becoming miffed. I kick Rita under the table. She makes a face at me, as if to say, "What gives with this guy?" and continues to nurture her drink, something she has never otherwise done. And the arguments continue. My date and she are basically going at it. I am non-existent and somewhat in disbelief. Half a glass more to go before she'll leave. I kick her again. She cries out "Ouch" to make sure my date becomes aware I have kicked her. Then she resumes her argument. Still no one is speaking to me.

It's more than an hour before Rita has had enough. She is insulted by my date's remarks and stands to depart but with sense enough to ask my date if she should pay for her drink. You had to see this! She actually got up and let out a broad smile as if to say, "Aren't I cute?" I could have puked. Pay for her drink - how about a shrink! My date is way too polite and tells her he does not mind to pay for her. I am stunned, impressed, and pleased. Finally bye bye Rita, but the peace last only long enough to take in just one breath of fresh air.

Suddenly, my date jumps up from the table stating, "a meter maid, I'm going to get a ticket!" He ups and runs out. I am pretty sure he's going to come back else not only did I have an awful time I was going to be stuck paying for it too.

A few minutes later my date returns even more annoyed than before. This time he sits across from me and chides me that my girlfriend has overstayed her welcome, a fact I am well aware of. However, he did not have to opt to engage in her conversation to the point of ignoring me. I am not thinking much of anything other than to say, "I am sorry you have had a rotten time". To which he replies, "I have so if you don't mind I will settle the bill and be going". "Fine", I say, what else is there to say?

Later that eve I have the most unpleasant screaming fit on the phone with Rita who can only focus on how my date is not her type as if I am the one who should have my head examined. She actually expected me to thank her for protecting me from such peril. Conversation was another exercise in frustration.

Back to my quite life, I turn on my emails and send my date a thank you note, as good upbringing has taught me to do. I get a reply not to be snide. So much for that date, so one would think.

Many months later at another lunch date with the man I just started dating I make what turned out to be another enormous mistake. I see Rita across the street. I ask my date if he'd mind if I ask her to join us and run down the street like an idiot to fetch her (I should have thought that one over twice because on our second date when he opted to join me and my lady friends at an Oscar party, Rita who is normally the most rowdy could not refrain from sushing me, and just me). I must be out to lunch sometimes. For it hadn't dawned on me yet that while i had taken offense to some of her rude behaviors that she would be different and completely unbearable in the presence of men. After all it had been just one time, so far; the shushing I ignored as did my date. Well, it didn't take me more than 5 interrupted sentences when she spoke over me and only to my date before I exploded. My hissy fit, which lasted all of 10 seconds, touched a cord despite my public service announcement it would all blow over in an instant in an attempt to instruct my date to pay no mind. Later I tried to explain the context. It did not matter. The damage was done. Bing, Rita won round 2. Or so she thought. "Don't bite the hand which feeds you" I had warned her. Did I really expect her to acknowledge all the nice things I had been doing for her? Better still I came to my senses and decided I don't need those kinds of friends. So much for that man, so much for Rita. Bye Bye to both.

I got a call the other day from the first fiasco date. He apologized and asked for another chance to become acquainted sans any other escorts. I firmly agree. The lesson learned is the same for both women and men; it's called the test of time. Trust is earned over time.

The Leaning Tower of Penis

2008-03-11T07:32:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to Audrey for her Birthday 3/13/08.

As with all the writings the names and events are completely ficticious - solely a product of a vivid imagination and a desire to meet the challenge and rise to the occassion (that's a pun).

The Leaning Tower of Penis by Fantasy Tales Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved.

My girlfriend and I both have March birthdays not something we celebrate any longer. As for me, I decided when I turned 45 I would remain that number until I hit 50, and then just quickly turn the digit. It's the "9", the nines always gets to me. I flipped out at 29 buying 29 pairs of Bally shoes, all styles, thinking they would last a lifetime. Most nearly have given that I can only wear each shoe about one time a year since I hadn't known that each pregnancy would increase my shoe size half a size. I can tolerate about 2 hours; stretching them hasn't really helped. At 39 I thought I should cry having realized that I had never had an orgasm with my then husband. I used to beg him to come home, Wednesdays and Sundays (yes he even worked on Sundays). I used to call it M.A. nights, marital activity, thinking that if it had an official name it was like all other Hallmark dates engraved in cultural must do's. Seems my fabulous looks and figure were not enough to seduce him to come home to a house of crying babies, all of us. So at 39 I decided I should get out. And I did. As for my girlfriend, I haven't asked her why she left. I just know the gammit and don't ask 'cause all the reasons are pretty sad or upsetting. I do know that she hates her ex as much as I hate mine, and that she is also drop dead gorgeous. That is enough reason alone to celebrate, after all we are women who did not let ourselves go so there's no point going to waste.

I meet my girlfriend at the Hyatt around 3:30. We've decided to relax and enjoy a long evening first alone then on the prowl once the bar begins to fill up. It didn't take long. We had a couple of laughs over a glass of Tattinger mostly about the odd assortment of penis' we've each encountered the year prior. "You know when they have a huge gut it stops circulation so the penis is teeny", she informs me. Unfortunately I already know. "And the viagra doesn't really help", she continues over another sip. "I've been using those vagina balls to work the muscles", she throws out for shock value. "The only thing that's improving is my ability not to pee when I laugh really hard". Now I am laughing really hard. Thankfully I am a bit younger so I haven't had that problem as yet.

We clank glasses, take out last sip and spot our first target. A man in a business suit sitting alone yet looking back at the two of us. My girlfriend taps me on the arm and points over to the starer. "Let's get him", she offers. "I don't want to fight over a man on our birthday", I caution. "No problem", she jumps in, "we'll see who he fancies and go with it, no feelings hurt, OK?". I agree. We make our way over to the bar. We strategically put the man in the middle. No wedding ring I notice since I am on the left side. My girlfriend catches my glance and instantly catches on. She smiles even more seductively than before. "Hi there", she opens. "It's our birthdays and we've decided to allow you to join our party". The man looks at her and smiles a newly whitened smile. She nods to let me know he's now passed test two - good dental hygene. Before another word, the gentleman immediately calls over the waitress and orders 3 more glasses of champagne. "Well, let's get the party started", he joins in. "I'm Al", he says as he hands my girlfriend his hand to shake but instead he lifts the back of her hand to his lips. "Ooooh, this is going to be a nice party", she says. Then Al turns to me and takes hold of mine again placing a gentle kiss on the top. "Great night indeed", I add. Seems the party has gotten off to the perfect start. Al asks our names and lifts his glass to cheer, "a toast to a potent eve". We clank glasses while I notice my girlfriend has taken a hint for she is staring at the buldge in Al's pants which seems to indicate a strong attraction. Without missing a beat, my girlfriend leans her breasts as close to Al's glass as she can and whispers into his ear. Next thing I know the two of them are leaving the bar. She winks at me and mouths out that she will be back shortly.

She was right, it didn't take long for in about 10 minutes the two returned with very blushed faces. Al and my girlfriend resume their seats at the bar. I have nearly finished off my glass. Al calls over the waitress and orders another round but while doing so he is facing me staring intensely into my eyes. I look over at my girlfriend who is grinning but also nodding again at the buldge in Al's pants. Seems the direction has changed for what had been leaning to the right was now leaning to the left. My girlfriend pretends to accidentally knock Al into me giving him the opportunity to whisper in my ear. Next thing I know I have agreed to take a walk with Al. A few minutes later we both reappear. Now it's my turn to be blush. Al ordered one more round but indicated it would be his last since he had a train to catch. My girlfriend and I must have looked somewhat dissappointed, but not so much for the champagne and presents had made for quite a happy ending.

Letter to Park Ave. Doctor

2008-03-10T07:45:00.001-07:00

Letter to Park Avenue Doctor
by Ladybug140 aka Fantasy Tales. Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved.
New York City 3/6/2008.

Ghost writing a note to an unprofessional doctor (I think it's called poor bedside manner):

March 6, 2008
Dr. T
Park Avenue
New York, NY

Dear Dr. T:

I am writing this letter to retrieve my medical records as well as to express my thoughts regarding your statements made on Feb. 25 and Feb. 26 during my office visit for Botax injections.

Firstly, my internist, Dr. H, referred me to you when I was in need of a dermatologist to remove some growths from my neck. When I arrived at your office I filled out a health history form that was handed to me. I provided all the answers as best I could and noted my use of ****** per my ocular condition. On the form I believe I misspelled the medicine’s name. I wrote down something like, ‘mazathiprine.’ During the procedure to remove the bumps on my neck you suggested that I consider Botax injections on various facial areas which I later agreed to. To date, I have been to your office three or four times for the Botax injections. At no time during any of my visits have you asked me about my ocular medical condition until my last visit on Feb. 25, 2008.

On Feb. 25, 2008, moments before you started the Botax injections, I made an innocent comment in praise of my doctors’ high quality of care also mentioning my satisfaction with their staff. I continued on with enthusiasm stating that it is my belief that Dr. H and Dr. K “saved my life”. I am left to imagine that my use of the phrase “saved my life” must have changed a dynamic in terms of receiving the Botax treatment since suddenly, for reasons unknown to me; you put the Botax needle down and checked my medical record. Then you stated that you were unable to continue with the Botax injections unless you consulted with Dr. K. And your demeanor changed as well. You began accusing me stating that I did not disclose my medical history. I pointed out to you that I had in fact disclosed my current condition on your medical forms. What you said next is even more troublesome. You stated I was known to be a difficult person and you claimed to be a thorough doctor “like Dr. H” but suddenly you now wanted to check with Dr. K before going ahead with further Botax treatment. Despite being somewhat troubled by your comments and chiding, never the less I asked you to talk to the doctors as soon as possible since I was scheduled to leave for a trip to Paris on Wednesday of the same week this incident occurred and wanted to finish the work you began. It had not occurred to me at that time that you would later refuse further treatment by my having made an innocent statement regarding doctor care.

I received a call from you the following day. At that time you stated you had spoken with Dr. K and informed me that Dr. K did not want me to have Botax injections thereby you would not continue nor complete the Botax injections to the area you had begun. At that time again, much to my disbelief and displeasure, you stated that I must disclose my medical history and said that Dr. K told you that I am a difficult patient. While I am sure my being Korean without perfect command of the English language can at times be an impediment, I don’t think it's something you can state I hide. As such I firmly object to your characterization that I am difficult.

What bothers me most is your twice verbalized statements accusing me of not having disclosed my medical history. Additionally to further support your case, you attempted to shore up your accusation stating, as if it was fact, that Dr. K “told you about me” again calling me “a difficult patient”. Your attempt to portray me in such a light is untrue and uncalled for nor for one minute do I believe your statement that Dr. K had spoken about me as you state simply because he has never stated as such to me. Here’s a point you might consider, if I had been known to be a difficult patient, it then makes one wonder why then did you solicit me for treatment other than what I had come to you for originally. Certainly if I had been a difficult person you would not have be all to willing and encouraging to treat me on a continuing basis.

If in fact you want to be placed into high regard like Dr. H whom I respect you are not going about it the right way. First of all, Dr. H would have asked me to explain if my answers on a medical form were not clear. Furthermore, had Dr. K shared his opinion of me with you as you stated he did so in confidence. The difference here is such confidence is a matter of discretion you should be cautioned in using and in no case feel free to repeat. One act such as you have demonstrated alone is highly unprofessional perhaps even negligent should something bad have happen to me while in your care. So far I seem to be alright with the Botax treatments. However given your statements I would like a copy of the medical form I filled out in your office. I caution you against thinking not to comply. Sincerely, SY

fantasytales

2008-03-10T07:30:00.000-07:00

Take 2 Condoms and I'll Stay Till Morning

2008-03-10T06:09:00.000-07:00

Hi All

What's a fabulously creative unemployed mind to do all day? Obviously write about theoretically wonderful lives (thank goodness for imagination) though mine is in fact a Fantasy Tale. Here are (2) samples of what I can produce in 10 minutes flat.

Submissions will reflect a good jewish whine, and an array of my writing talents, but always guaranteed to be entertaining. You'll have to read each day to see what you get. Last comment - sexy is deep routed in the mind.

Hope you enjoy my,
Fantasy Tales

To Fuck or Not To Fuck
By www.thefantasytales.com Copyright 2005. All Rights Reserved.

I am standing at the bar with 2 girlfriends. We are all the ordinary type. One is a slightly overweight gal in pharmaceutical sales, 5'-8" of half Hispanic descent. Despite her miniature garments and largish breasts she is clearly not the prettiest of us three. Another is a tiny Asian girl, born here, who unfortunately inherited her dad's square Korean face and her mom's hugely wide nose. She works in a trendy Soho boutique so she is popular in the area. Then there is me; a classical pear shaped, brunette standing 5'-5'' in my heels (not Manaolo Blahnik's 'cause I don't like shoes without adequate soles to protect my princess feet nor the price tag) of Jewish descent who tries to make a living as a dental hygienist. None of us is doing too badly but the cost of living in the city is a constant drain on our wallets. We are drinking chablis.

My theory in hanging with these girls is that I must look best ‘cause my proportions are in the range of normal and my face prettier than either of them. I can not explain why some men prefer exotic looks but none of us complain as it seems we each have something redeeming which causes enough men to make their way over. I catch a photographer. I am bummed. He's cute ‘cause he has a nice face but he is quite lean. I wonder if he is a starving artist. Also he is tattooed over almost all of his body. He explains he is a work in progress. That worries me too. Certainly my parents would have difficulty accepting his politics since they still talk of the holocaust; one reason I have hidden the tiny butterfly I have near my butt crack, a place I believe they will never see. We chat up a good deal. He is entertaining and up on his politics. Thankfully he is not trying to engage me into any discussions of sports. I couldn’t care less how crappy the Yankees are doing. I agree that there is too much Hollywood in politics and everything else, I add. The evening is passing and I am beginning to find that I am more at ease with the photographer most probably as the alcohol is having the desired affect, numbing all my senses including common sense. I look around the room. The crowd is beginning to thin out. My Hispanic girlfriend is pulling on her ear, as if she has an itch, which is a hidden signal to me that she is feeling comfortable to leave with the man she is chatting with. I do not know if she will have an escort or a lay. Usually we meet up in the bathroom before departing to get the logistics down. I look around until I spot my other girlfriend. She is rubbing her arm, a signal that she wants the dude she is talking with to hit the road and would love it if one of the two of us would interrupt. I have to decide: to fuck or not to fuck? The photographer is attentive and kind of cool. Do I feel safe and comfortable? I decide not or at least not yet. I excuse myself and make my way to my Asian friend grabbing her arm and heading off in the direction of the bathroom. In this club I poke fun at the signs on the two doors which identify the men’s and women’s restrooms for there is little resting going on inside. I prefer to call them the sex and unisex rooms. We are now inside and I already know my Asians friend wants to go back out to the crowd to see if she can find a better guy to chat with. I tell her that I am not sure about the photographer. She sticks her head out the door to check him out and to sort of spy on his behavior behind my back. She reports he is standing alone obviously waiting for me to return. What should I do? I make a public service announcement. I call out to the other gals, grooming themselves in the mirrors, asking if any would like to take home a nice photographer. A few look out the door. None agrees. I decide that is a good consensus and reason enough to plan out my escape. My girlfriend uses the toilet and washes her hands while I wait for her at the counter. She looks intently at herself in the mirror and then quickly at me. Before I have a chance to start devising my plan she tosses back her hair and struts out the door calling out to me that she will call my cell phone in about twenty minutes. That may be too much time. I head back to the photograph ‘cause my Jewish upbringing forces me to be polite. I proceed with the small talk knowing that he is further encouraged. I look at my watch. I feel for my phone. Where is she? It's time to make my escape. It's an awkward silent moment when the photographer finally asks if he can bring me home. Thankfully the phone finally rings out. I excuse myself while I answer the phone. My girlfriend has struck out and ready to leave. She wants to know what I am going to do. Fuck or not to fuck?
I tell her to meet me out front in three minutes. I apologize to the photographer and explain that I have to take my friend home as she is too impaired to do so alone. I think I have managed to wiggle free. He offers to help and follows me to the door. I get there first and whisper to my girlfriend to act very drunk. She does a good job as she contorts herself making it look as though she can not balance on her heels. He grabs hold of one of her arms while I grab hold of the other. She strikes up a conversation with the photographer, albeit slurred. He laughs ‘cause he finds her provocative. So do I except that I am not laughing. We arrive at her apartment door. The photographer and I free her. She fiddles in her bag for her keys and then finds them. In a quick flash, she turns and looks at me and winks before grabbing the hand of the photographer and asking him if he can help her inside. He is a bit stunned but before he can reply she turns to me and asks me if I can get home alone ok. I look the photographer over one time before I realize that since I did not want him I had to accept that he was fair game. I tell her I'll be fine. The photographer and my Asian friend say goodnight and then disappears inside. I am left standing alone in the dark and dingy hall with my jaw still hanging. It’s time to go. I hailed myself a cab and while inside I begin to ponder, to fuck or not to fuck; was that even the question or had I just fucked up?

Take 2 Condoms and I’ll Stay Till Morning
By www.thefantasytales.com Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

Another week I am sitting home alone in my studio apartment facing a blank white brick wall across a small courtyard. Fortunately there is only one window two stories down in that wall. Sometimes when I am extremely bored when the winter is dreary I sneak a peak into that window where the she-male dominatrix doesn't mind much if she commands a slight audience. Only one time I had to think hard if I should call the police when she was hanging a john out the window. I decided to keep quiet, like much of my life.

My friends call me to go out each Friday. Each time I have to ponder if spending $50 is money well spent at my regular juzzling joint. Letterman and my vibrator is not my idea of a hot date so I can be cajoled every so often. If I haven't gone out on Friday night, by Sat. eve I am in dire need to break out and venture the 4 flights of stairs on my journey to freedom. It's almost 11pm and the club is filling up.

First the regulars come in. I have gotten to know them quite well over the last few years. I look around and spot Ellen a dumpy white girl, thirty-something, who has dropped 10 lbs. in the last month due to not finding any freelance film work. Even Craig's list did not bring her any relief. She smiles and pats on an empty bar stool besides her ordering herself her usual, beer on tap. Typical small talk ensues; the weather, current projects (I have none to report since being a collection agent is not typically exciting), neighborhood gossip until she lands her bombshell.

She takes a sip of her beer and then announces she has decided to become a nun. I look at her with a grin. I comment that we all have been cooped up too long but that she need not get radical. She explains her position with greater conviction. She says that she has no doubts that the sisters are not as lilywhite as their habits and that she would find the comfort of their affection a welcomed relief. She quotes some article about the percentage of promiscuity stating with fervent belief that the recent unveilings of rampant pedophilia is just one in the Pandora box. She grins and says that even if it's not so she figured free room and board was not a bad trade off and did not deny her the use of her vibrator when no one was looking. Her assessment was that she had nothing to loose including her virginity.

I asked her what she meant. She looked at me quizzically and remarked that there was not even a shred of possibility that I could in fact be the last living bisexual virgin within the city. I gave her back a mortified look. I told her that, yeah, I had some lines that I would not cross ‘cause it did not interest me at all. She laughed and said that anyway I wasn't missing very much since with the coming of metro-sexuality it was all pretty much the same thing. We agreed that what was lost was not the virtue of virginity but a sense of lasting affection. Of course we both then began to wonder what that was; lasting affection. We deliberated whether or not we had experienced such a notion since leaving the so-called safety of our parents' home both which had been broken before we were even old enough to know what cohesive and supportive meant. We questioned whether we had it at all or ever would.

As we clanked our glasses and began to make a toast in praise of freedom and lack of commitment two young men decided to join us. I knew of one of them who was an upcoming rap artist with two cd's under his belt. His friend, it turned out was a DJ. The guys bought us a few rounds before they quite patiently made their move asking if we wanted to get warm and cuddly. We smiled and played along, it was instinct and survival. The rap artist became a bit more suggestive when during one round he remarked that white girls typically like to taste the dark meat and to see for themselves how big and bad it is. I slyly looked at his shoes making a mental note that his most likely size 10 feet did not necessarily guarantee his hype. None the less my curiosity had been raised. Ellen did not wait a second longer as she jumped from her chair and grabbed the DJ's belt telling him he had a challenge on his hands to convince her not to join a convent. My date laughed and put his arm around my waist and gave me a little squeeze. He asked what I was into. It's a good question I thought as I finished my drink, replacing the empty glass back on the counter, and asked him for his drivers' license.