I spent some time with Shonah and Gabrielle and some of Gabrielle's friends from her apartment building. They all happened to be rich, middle aged, single women who spent the best part of their day talking about how ditsy, mixy, muffy and dongo needed to be taken outside to shit at particular times or their whole schedule would be thrown off, and don't even get me started the time we spent an hour waiting in the lobby for one lady to come down for our a brunch meeting...we later found out that dongo or bongo or whatever the dogs name was, was feeling a little shy and couldn't quite go to the toilet and she just couldn't leave bitzy if it hadnt been. They were lovely women, but they spent the other half of their lives talking about men, and how they hated their ex husbands and then proceeded to tick of a list of things they wanted in a man...it went something like this:
1. Must be rich - $500,000 and over annual income is a MUST
2. Must shower me with freshly picked rose petals every morning before I shower
3. Must cook, clean, work like a pack horse, but also have the time to have children with me and take us on family holidays every 2 to 3 weeks to the Carribean.
4. Must be romantic - this means picking up the bill or bar tab where ever we go, everytime we go!
5. Must also be a fully qualified masseuse (in addition to banker, lawyers or whatever daytime profession is), and proceed to give a one hour back massage every evening after a hard day of having nails done and shopping on 5th Ave.
These were the basic guidelines that these women were following to find their next suitor. Not only that they were actually all getting together with this famous matchmaker (read: scammer) to see if she had any clients on her books who would be a suitable match. I was later informed that her female clients didn't have to pay a cent, however the male clients had to pay upwards of $100,000 to be on her books. HA!!! Those poor suckers are paying $100,000 to be setup with neurotic, menopausal nutjobs!!!!
Anyway, the whole ordeal had me in hysterics. On our sunday morning brunch (after we'd had an early morning bottle of champagne to deal with their shit) I found it almost impossible to sit at the table and listen to dixie's latest doo doo story without bursting out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Its just one of those times where you really want to laugh but have to stay quiet which makes it even harder to keep quiet. The only way I managed to deal with the situation was to follow the example of the ladies of New York and order myself a prosecco...Its amazing how alcohol can help in a situation like this.
Now I know how the socially elite live - with a pole up their arse, no husband, and dog crapping schedule that surpasses any other daily activity.
