"Hey! My name is Jeremiah the Just, also beginning with a "J".

I saw her first. All night I dream of holding that beautiful porcelain hand. The Lady of the Box belongs to me. Move over,Jeff, stand down and may the best man win.

PS the last man who messed with me had to learn how to write with two fingers. He now hops around town."

Wow, what is going on all these "J's" making a claim for my Lady of the Box. Things are looking up. Only 5 more days to find the true "J" but at least I have some offers. This should cheer up My Lady on Canal Street.

Could it be true? My name is Jeff (J)and I stand alone in the Nevada desert playing my trumpet, belting out songs to attract a beautiful Scottish Princess. Perhaps my affection for the S.P. is just the cosmic path to my real true love, the lady in the box?

Desperate Measures had to be taken. I hunted down my dear old friend, Kesheva from Israel, who resides at Sivananda Ashram in Paradise Island in the Bahamas.

"Kesheva,"I pleaded," please sound your horn and bugle and make the mating cry heard far and wide, over land, sea and dale, from midtown to downtown, from the East side to the West side." And so he did and the clear, piercing sound reached the ears of all men in the city, (even those whose name does not start with a "J".)

"Calling all "J"s . We know you are out there. The Lady of the Box is more beautiful than ever, her pale statuesque arm the epitome of grace. Come out, come out, wherever you are. ( I am fast loosing patience.) "

Tonight I tried searching in midtown in Times

Square, at the super sexy book launch party























for Palagia's new book all about her wild, sensual, daring,

wonderful and now that the book is out, legendry, NewYork soirees.

There were many men there but only one had that mischievous glint in his eye. He tried to fool me by wearing a blue bunny suit but I spotted him in the crowd right away.

"Mr Blue Ears, the Lady of the Box has requested that you join her in her VERY SEXY black box for a delicious candlelit dinner for two on February 14th, the night reserved for true love. What sayeth you, my friend?"

"Alas, my true love resides not in a black box but in a rabbit warren out in the wilds of central park. My fluffy bob tailed sweetheart has already booked me for a delicious carrot and cashew stew on February 14th. I am not the one you seek tonight. But do not give up, "J" is out there, just keep looking, you can not , simply must not let your lady down. "

Pressure is on. Only 5 more days left to find "J".

"J" if you are out there, reveal yourself at once, much is at stake.

I started searching New York City high and low, to find the Lady of the Box's Valentine.

Last night I went to Johnathan's hot and happening 5 Rhythm Dance Class at Cosmos in Chelsea, where 100 NewYorkers dance the cold away and release anything and everything or perhaps nothing but the labors of a long day in the Big Apple.

I found this young dark, sultry hero, caped and dramatic. He looked to me like a man very much in need of love.

Could he be the one?

"Are you he , who my sweet Lady of the Box dreams of each night," I enquired.


"I am already betrothed to another fair damsel, I am afraid. I am not the one you seek, fair Princess."

And so , I journeyed on.

For a while, we said nothing so happy to be reunited again. We simply held hands, there were few other options, and I said to her, "My Miss Verizon Pumpkin Lady, it is wonderful to run into you again. You look marvellous, and this arm of yours , well it is very sexy and the black box, mysterious, intriguing, alluring, such an original way to put yourself together, I love it."

Bending over so no one could hear, I asked her,
"But are you sure you are not a bit squashed, cramming your head inside and all, is it dark in there, how do you read at night before you go to sleep? Does it get lonely in the box? How do you know if it is day or night?"

She did not reply to my questions, all of a suddenI heard, a deep mournful cry coming from inside the box.

"FIND HIM, FIND MY VALENTINE. Tell him I am here, waiting for him and I am sexier than ever, both inside and outside the box."

Of course I agreed to do my best. She described the certain Verizon customer who stole her heart, always dressed in black, an Asian warrior of the night with a wry sense of humor and cute smile. "His Name," she offered, "His Name...". She stopped and her hand went limp for a moment. "Oh Lady of the Box, What is Wrong?" I asked, quite startled by her sudden weakness of constitituion.

"I grow weak by my empty heart," I heard her whisper. "I am nothing without the man who's name begins with J". And that was all the words she could muster. I took her hand and held it firm.

"Dear Lady of the Box, I will make it my utmost of priorities to search out your hopeful beloved--I WILL FIND YOUR VALENTINE! And you shall be happy with him and live without vanity--your worries of having to diet will be no more and you will eat again. This black box will no longer be needed!!

She let go of my hand weakly, her thumb and index finger quivered together to signal the "ok" sign and I hurried off--Only 10 more days to Valentines Day.

You will never guess who I ran into underneath the Canal Street subway entrance? Yes, I mean literally underneath. Only her arm and a box containing what was left of her body was left.

Some of you who who have followed this blog from the start will know who I mean. Yes, you got it the poor Verizon shop window pumpkin lady from the Halloween October 28th post. Please refer back if you did not see the post.

Then she had a head and sweet orange stripy stockings and shorts and a smile. Then she was in love with one of her customers. I never heard from her again and I feared the worst, she had been turned into soup or a slice of pumpkin cheesecake. I was walking onto the train the other night and I heard her calling my name. I looked down to see this sad little black box, like a box you might see after a plane crash. Well she had gone on the Calorie Restriction diet so as to increase her sex drive and attract a certain male customer with whom she was most enamoured. In those days she had slimmed down so much she only had a shelf to support her pumpkin head and no body. It is ridiculous the lengths we women go to to look sexy.

Three months later she slimmed down drastically again, now she was just a mere arm, yes it is a very elegant, sensual and slim arm, I agree, and I guess the rest of her is in this box , which she clearly labelled VERY SEXY. Actually it looks quite inviting to look inside.

Stay warm and have fun by partying in the sauna and listening to the hotel DJ at the QT pool in Times Square. Note smart experts bring their own towels to avoid being cut short.

Midnight, January 30th, this happy couple, no doubt on their first date, are caught in action, sipping a martini in between doing their laps, escaping New York's first snowfall by taking a dip in the QT Hotel pool in Times Square

You too can snuggle in the arms of a hot date, while cooling off in the freezing pool. You heard it first here.

For those New Yorkers who did not manage to blag a holiday from some very drunken Burns Night revellers, do not despair, help is on it's way. Head over to the Pool Party in Times Square.

Check out the pool party night at the QT hotel in Times Square, 45th Street, free to all New Yorkers looking to do something different and impress your pals anytime before 1 am every Tuesday night.

Beware the pool is only a tad warmer than freezing.

Bonus, you are allowed to drink cocktails in the pool, see full bar at the back.

Warning, they run out of towels.

Here I am smiling and happy, trying to decide where I should go with all the airmiles I collected in the course of the night at the Bank of Scotland Burns Supper party.

It seems a fair swap, a holiday for two in the Bahamas in exchange for me saving your carreer and reputation for the rest of your life by not posting my After Photos, ah, what it is to be a yogi, always thinking of others.

At the Bank of Scotland Burns Supper, they sat me in a table with not one, not two, not three but SIX hunky, eligible New York hotshot bachelors, most considerate of them.

This is another Before picture. In order not to show you SP Followers the After pictures and wreck the poor laddies promising carreers, I made them each promise to give up some of their airmiles in order to send me far away so as to take my mind off posting incriminating photos of them, so I am off on holiday soon to escape the below freezing nasty weather here, hurrah.

Here I am again at the Bank Of Scotland Burns Supper at the super posh Palace Hotel on Madison Avenue, wearing my celebratory gold ballgown, we Scots wear gold on festive occassions as some of you know, from my burning Man pics.

This dashing young laddie, Douglas, was my gallant host for the night, see this excellent Before shot of him, all bright eyed and fresh. I am only helping him stand a wee bit. It was only the first toast. I very kindly let myself be used as a crutch as you can see.

He bribed me with a years shopping at Wholefoods not to show you the after photo so this is all you get, but the good news is my fridge is full for the first time in months.

SP Friends, is it my fault, look, he looked quite good at the start of the night, quite dashing, noble and elegant even, a sheepish boyish smile, cutesy, in his green velvet jacket, matching kilt, tartan tie, even his tie pin was green. The chappie went along way to impress me.

Shame that the haggis dish got the better of him, ah well, the SP is a woefu woman, just like Tam's wife Kate, and all I can say to all the frustrated Lassies out there whose date did not escort you home, you are in good company and better luck next year.

Yes, here he is, my delightful date, the "skellum" scallywag, waste of space, not even half way through the Burns Supper, a drunkard that would put even Tam O'Shanter to shame.

I am not sure if it was the whiskey, the raw sheeps stomach and dried blood gourmet scottish haggis they served, my reading of Tam O Shanter or what.

Suffice to say I went home alone that night and your SP was not impressed.

January 25th is a very important night in Scotland and around the world. It is Burns Night, a time when Scots all over read Burns Poetry, massacre a poor haggis in order to eat it with neeps and tatties and of course drink a lot of whiskey, like this handsome chap here - my date. This is him, 5 minutes into the first speech.

I attended two Burns Suppers, one hosted by Bank ofScotland for all its many posh clients and the other by the world famous Scottish New Yorker lawyer, Allen Rooney, at Clancy's bar on the upper east side. I managed to talk to the host into letting me read Burn's most famous poem,Tam O Shanter, it is only 20 minutes long so I promised to cut a bit out as New York audiences have a five minute attention span, but well all of it is so good, I just kept most of it in.
Naturally the audience loved it and many asked me to perform the whole thing again, maybe to pick up bits they missed.

Here is a quick snippet -

"Ah Tam, AhTam, thou'll get thy fairin
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin
In vain thy Kate awaits thy coming
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman."

In translation, Kate's man Tam is a "blethering,blistering, drunken bellum", ie a chatterbox numbskull drunkard and will probably not make it home but will be roasted in hell like a herring, a popular Scottish appetizer, instead, a deserved reward for a louse like him. A bit like my date for the night, I mean would you look at him.

Happy Holidays from your very own SP and her very special friends, the lovely Claudine and KJ.

The SP Santacon party went on all through the night and all the guests really let their hair down and boogied to cool Mr Candy Cane's terrific festive beat.

Horrors so scary--But instead of biting my neck in two, the big wolf gives me a gentle kiss. "Oh you are the lovely Scottish Princess that I've heard so much about," he says. "Please forgive me sweet Princess"

"Only if you join my Royal Scottish Tartan Army and help me save the day in Iraq," I replied, never forgetting my important mission. Luckily I had plenty of spare chocolate Chanukah gelt for my hungry friend so everyone was happy.

SantaKong has been trying to rescue a New York damsel in distress for many many years now since his unfortunate incident on the Empire State Building. He need look no further.

Thank goodness he pulled me away from the wolf, the age of chivalry is not dead! Kind of cute too, mmmm.......

I cried out for help but instead things got worse. A viscious Wolf in Santa's clothing was also feeling a bit peckish, as wolves tend to be on the hungry side this time of year.

The scary beast held me at bay for chocolates as well! Help, Help, Can nobody help me?

After all, where are all of those gallant Santas when you need them? Too drunk to notice!

After my warm invitation, Mr Freeze jumps up and accosts the SP! Quite the charmer! His magic wand casts a spell on me and I am frozen in my tracks.

The poor sod--he was bitter cold and hungry and hunting for my reindeer chocolates for much needed nourishment.

What have we here? A young fellow, decked out in blue watching the preceedings by himself. His nose is full of icicles despite Global Warming with 50's temperature.

I thought he seemed a little lonely so I asked him to join in the festivities.

Santa's Reindeer (on wheels) has a long day. He stares bugeyed as hundreds of onlookers, children, policemen, tourists and fellow santas receive a chocolate gift from his deep bellows. The holiday cheer escapes no one at the SP holiday party!

As dusk descends, the Chanukah Chicken and Madam Blue Pussycat spring upon the group. Of good spirits, these sweet creatures provide the cheer that brings Chanukah Gelt to all honored participants.

The Blue Menorah Lady, SP and Sir Tartan Timberlake pose before being presented the Royal Rasberry for Dazzleberryness. The coveted prize is awarded only once a decade and is valued at one million pounds.

Danny the Dreidel and all the Chanukah gang turned up too. I like his blue hat.

It was very sunny that day, as a result of all the global warming we have been experiencing over here , so i decided to go to my own Santacon party dressed as Santa Bo Peep so I could keep my sun umbrella up and protect my skin from these harmful winter heatwave rays.

Quite a crowd of Santas answered the ad. As more and more Santas assembled , the party got rowdier and more crazy until the whole of Central Park was entirely full of Santas of every shape and size.

I decided poorAlex needed a bit of cheering up after his radiation flavoured tea so I organized a Santacon holiday party festival for all the volunteers of the Royal Scottish Tartan before they leave for Iraq.

I put a very small ad in the Style Section ( the party section) of the NewYork Times inviting all the Santas from across the world to come and be part of my ScottishPrincess Holiday Party, which was to be held in various locations of NewYork City.

When I have a party, being the SP, I tend to get lots of new guests dying to meet me as I am a teensy bit famous now, especially after this blog.

As we three, Nicola, the Fire Goddess and your own SP, made our way home, all of us whacked after our various ordeals and struggles, a rather thin and sad looking figure, shouted "Halt,Ladies. Hear my tale. 311 I need help."

"You sure look like you do, what on earth happened to you, did you pull an all nighter at Element , my club, it attracts your type"asked our Fire Goddess none too shyly, perhaps even coquettishly.

"Perhaps something went down the wrong way, did you eat a trans fat item maybe, i hear they are banned here in the US, back home in London bacon sarnies are still quite the rage,"asked Nicola our Snowwoman kindly.

"Now, you are on the right track, I have never felt worse, you may have heard of me, I am the famous Russian Spy, Alexander V. Litvinenko and I am seeking revenge on Dmitri Kovtun, the ratbag, who I know put some Polonium 210 radiation in my morning tea when I was on my vacation in London and I dropped down dead as a doorpost. I must have revenge. Can you help me find him?"

"Look Alex, these things happen, try not to take it too personally, Kovtun was only doing his job. Why not come along to Iraq with us and join our Scottish Tartan Army. You could be our secret weapon, any troublemakers , just breathe on them , i think you are still contagious right?. We can chat about it over a nice cuppa." I said, trying to console the poor thing and get him to look on the bright side and feel useful again.

"Cuppa, tea, UURRGGGHHHH..... 311 no more tea please. I am off tea for good." Alex cried in a panic.

"OK, hot chocolate then, there is a great new chocolate restaurant in the East Village run by Israelies that is a big hit in NY, just relax till we get there. We can take you to a yoga class en route so you can clear these old fashioned revenge ideas out, have compassion for Kovtun, I am sure it was a mistake."

"Hhmmph, I am not so sure. " said Alex, taking my hand with his boney skeleton fingers.
"Ok, let's go."

Nicola to the rescue.

Out of thin air, she came, from her ipod she heard the twins cry for help on an NPR podcast, as the frequencies got confused.

Nicola towered over the tiny Fire Goddess and started spinning towards her.

"Oiey, You Fire Lady, Leave my kind, the snowtwins be, or else. Go back to your nightclub in NY. No fire tricks allowed in this neighborhood." she said very assertively, considering she only just arrived here from London.

Nicola wrapped her big arms around the Fire Goddess in a friendly but firm grip and all her flames dissolved and the snowtwins were safe again.

"I was only making friends,"the Fire Goddess said, looking at her soaked leather glove.

"Do something useful and join the SP Scottish Tartan Army and help us win the day in Iraq. No time to waste and then we can all be friends."
and so the Fire Goddess joined our ranks.

The Blue Snowmen Twins who watched the whole Spider battle, suddenly started panicking as the Fire Goddess walked towards them with her flame covered leather glove outstretched.


Aww, how sweet, matching snowmen twins. We don't get your sort in the East village. Let me introduce myself, I am the Beautiful Fire Goddess. Let me shake your hands."

"Be off with you, back to the city. Shoo,Shoo, SHOO ! 311! 311! Bloomberg, help. Go away. We don't go for you Freak Fest EastVillage types in the burbs. Get that firey glove away from us. Bloomberg, help."

But the Fire Goddess could not resist them and her lonliness and longing for the innocent time of her childhood drew her closer and closer to the trembling snowmen twins.

"We are dripping, somebody take this lady home, please,311."

Thank Goodness , the beautiful, exotic Fire Goddess heard my 311 cry for help all the way from Element the hot new Club on Houston Street, Lower EastSide.

As brave as she is beautiful, she turned to face the Spider and singed his raggedy, worn, frayed, black mothball covered coat until he released his evil grip.

As a double precaution, she threw him into his own mailbox , and kicked it shut.

As a final gesture and apt punishment, she chucked three months of junk mail from Chase, Continental Airlines and Planned Parenthood into Sammy's mailbox, unopened as we all know how he hates junk mail above everything.

Then she locked the little door and neatly swallowed the key, without batting an eye.

"That takes care of that rascal, nuisance of a Spider", she said gallantly, "you look rather shaken. Let me warm you up..."

I went back to the Ananda Ashram for some peace and quiet after my hectic trip to London and gathering of my Scottish Tartan Army and decided to go back down to my favorite tranquil lake.

Sammy the Mailbox Spider beckoned me over
"HeyPrincess,C'Mere lets take a look at that fancy green jacket of yours, Come Closer, let me see how soft and warm it is.."

"Hi Sammy, I did not know you were interested in fashion, especially as all i ever see you in is that humdrum black furry coat, which is getting a bit ragged at the edges, if you don't mind me saying."

"Not at all, your coat on the other hand is perfectly fabulous. Can I just touch it for a second."

Next minute he grabbed me at the jugular, and did a very realisitic job of turning into Sammy the Spider Vampire.

"Sammy, Get off me, i told you i do not , did not or will not send you junk email. 311 , 311,Bloomberg Help! Get this creature away from me. Ouch ! Ouch!"

"Save your screams , Princess, Bloomberg does not respond to 311 calls made fromHarriman, Monroe, now it is for my royal lunch you will be."