Monday, October 29, 2007


My liver needed further lessons in the school of humility, so Saturday night I treated it to a fifth of tequila and some red wine.

On the train home, this guy came and sat right next to me. The train contained maybe five people. I was wearing headphones and knitting, so it should have been easy to ignore him. But he wanted to talk to me. I don't like being rude to people; it just doesn't give me any satisfaction at all. I'd rather be polite and still make them feel like an asshole if that's what they deserve. But I was kind of drunk and I just kept telling him that I didn't feel like talking, and doing the thing where I keep taking one earbud out, nodding, and then saying pointedly, "Look, I'm going to listen to music now. Have a good night!" I could have been bitchy, but maybe I was just too out of it to get to that bitchiness threshold. He even put his hand on my leg and even though I had every right to be pissy, I just said, "Don't do that. Please don't touch me."

This cool chick sitting close by us, after observing this debacle for a few minutes, decided to intervene on my behalf. She was like, "Hey man, just lay off her, okay? Christ. Can't you see she doesn't want to be bothered?"

He said, "Hey, I think she likes you."

We chatted for the next 40 or so blocks, and she got off at my station. I had an empty fifth of tequila and a quarter-full bottle of Jack Daniels that I found on the ground, and the bottles were clinking together and sticking out of my purse. As cool as she was, I guess I was not drunk enough to hit on her.

I slept from six to eleven, then tried to clean myself up and head out to what I think was craigslist date 10.1, which makes me feel like I should get a free sandwich or something. On the train back to the Lower East Side, I was listening to the new Clap Your Hands Say Yeah album, and the song "Satan Dance" came on, which promptly produced a flashback to the previous evening that I never would have remembered. I was smoking outside this really fun bar on the called Sweet Paradise talking to a guy who looked forty but was younger than me. For some reason we were talking about how we both thought we would die at 23, which for him had not come yet, and for me that had passed. I don't know what it is about that age that screams Death!!! but I thought I would cure him of his fatalistic attitude by slapping him. I was slapping his face and his chest, mostly, and saying something like, "Don't be a fucken shithead!" His responses to my slapping ranged from "Why are you doing this?" and "I've never been treated like this before," to "I kind of like that," and then, "Can I buy you a drink?"

But wait, the reason why "Satan Dance" brought this back to me was that after the third or fourth chest slap, he said, "You're hurting me," and lifted his shirt to reveal SAtAN hand-carved and still scabbing over in five-inch high letters. "You're hitting my scars."

I think I said, "Serves you right, you fucken drama queen."

I was still kind of lost in this flashback when I met up with 10.1, a guy who, thanks to my slight hangover, seemed totally humorless. He was also short. And he was cold. As in, we had brunch outside and he was cold. For some reason, he totally lost me when he said, "Aren't you cold?" In response to that, I took off my jacket to further emasculate him. I wanted to share the SAtAN story with him but decided against him. That was a Freudian slip that I'll allow.

I guess in addition to my drinking problem, I'm also kind of a bully. And a hypocrite. I need to have a heart-to-heart with myself today. My horoscope told me so.

Friday, October 26, 2007

rampant alcoholism

Last night, on craigslist date 9.1, I decided it would be a good idea to take everything I know about drinking and throw it out the window. It involved whiskey, a bottle of $7 champagne, Coors Light, and two separate fast food pitstops that I have not indulged in about ten years, namely KFC and McDonald's.

I'm going to call this guy Mick. He just moved here SATURDAY from San Francisco, and I actually met him via craig a few weeks ago, and I kind of forgot about him. He's about my height (short), Peruvian, a nice guy. We chatted, and I felt kind of bored for a while, and was fascinated by this guy sitting next to us at the bar. Actually, I was fascinated with his drink, which was bar peanuts floated in a glass of Budweiser. The peanuts kept dropping to the bottom, then floating back up, like they were goldfish. I've never seen peanuts move like that, so free-spirited.

After many drinks, we delved into heavy topics ranging from self-mutilation to enduring friendships. It kind of weirds me out when someone tells me something that they've never told anyone else, or that only their one close friend knows about. I inspire trust in people, I suppose. Later he became infatuated with me and he was telling me that it was fate that he moved all the way across the country just to meet me, and we made out a little and I felt all love drowsy (some would call it just plain drunk). He became very insistent upon seeing me home, which is about 80 blocks from his home. At this point I became bitchy and a little fearful, and it took some firm ground-standing to force him off the train a stop after his.

I got home a little before three a.m., three hours after my target return time, and had to get up at a few hours later to attend an all-day conference. I was so hungover that not only did I think I was going to throw up on the subway, I thought I was going to shit myself. I've never had that feeling before, and let me tell you, it's not a good one.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

craigslist posting iv

Going the vague, dreamy route:

listen. - 27

Reply to:
Date: 2007-10-23, 10:38PM EDT

I know how this will happen.

I see you on the subway and I think you’re cute: you’ve got dark hair, a secret smile that I have yet to see, and a somewhat sloppy, unassuming style and grooming habits. You’re reading a book that I may or may not have heard of, and if it’s the former I ask you how it is, and if it’s the latter I pretend I’ve heard of it, and ask you about it anyway.

We talk. You say something even mildly funny or honest, I do the same, and the conversation continues and you say, spontaneously, let’s go get a drink.

We get a drink. Or two or three or four. I can drink, and so can you.

At this point we’re inebriated and we start talking shit, about serious things like religion and ironic motivations and mundane things like everyday frustrations and at the same time get all sappy about our blessings in life like our great friends, families, and the things we can still get excited about despite moments of confusion or despair. We have so many things going for us and we could talk forever, listen forever, learn or just rant. The conversation is getting so heady, so giddy, so…late.

We walk out of the bar into the night. It’s dark, the moon is out, the trees are softening the imposing urban jungle of this amazing city, and in the instant that the cool air hits our lungs we both come to the same sudden realization that we are young, beautiful, with enough sense to know when to listen to our doubts and when to ignore them, and that this person you’ve just randomly met on the subway has reminded you of all the incredible possibilities life has to offer. Actually, we have inspired each other. This realization invigorates us completely. And a part of each of us thinks that if only this person were there in our lives, we would do all the things we were capable of doing, and together anything and everything would be not only possible but probable.

This is the guy I am looking for. I’m willing to go on three hundred first dates to find him. I know he is in this city. And I am okay with not seeing him on the subway; I can find him on craigslist too.

sloppy sensitive big-hearted adventurous open-minded caring irreligious intelligent atypical aforementioned literate smoker drinker social reclusive undefined confident questioning compassionate conscious dreamer idealist realist self-indulgent disciplined seeking and wise…

  • it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 457856560

Monday, October 22, 2007

i told you not to do that

The Ukrainian and I had a cute date last night, but I'm kind of being evil/unfair by indulging in things that remind me of Love Affair. We were perambulating through the Village and passed by the Chess Shop, this awesome little spot on Thompson and W. 4th where you can pay $1.50 an hour to play chess. It's a little serious business inside, but it's fun if you can grab a table outside.

Love Affair reintroduced me to chess. We would play at home, before we started dating. I loved playing with him because he would let me take back moves in a way that didn't seem generous at all. After a while I got better.

So after getting a few beers at The Peculier Pub--a chill spot with a quirky beer selection and a name that seems misspelled--and some very decent sushi rolls at Miyabi--The Ukrainian and I played chess last night, and of course he beat me because he's got that Russian blood in him. I did pretty damn well for losing my queen so early on.

This was our third date, and I kind of felt like we would probably kiss at some point that evening, and for some reason I was worried that it would happen too early in the evening, and then he'd try to make out with me constantly. So all night I was smoking like a fucken chimney to discourage him from kissing me. We had a final drink at some joint that turned out to be a Red Sox bar before we went down to the train and parted ways on the subway platform, where we awkwardly kissed each other goodbye. It was fine, because now we don't have deal with it anymore.

Isn't it weird that I just called our first kiss "fine?" Let's just let that one pass.

The problem came today. In my second email to The Ukrainian, I warned him that (a) I am a smoker and (b) I run away from guys who show too much interest in me, in an itemized list of disclaimers about 'j' items long. Well, kind of like Boy, The Ukrainian decided today to kind of tell me how interested he was in me, in an email. Why go through with that? I know it wasn't spontaneous; it can't be because it just fell out of your mouth. You thought it, typed it, and then pressed send.

For some reason, I just really don't want to have your premature emotions e-mailed to me after a few dates. Maybe some would find that charming or cute or even honest, but to me it makes me think that this person is worthless. Whatever happened to playing a *little*hard to get, or at least not making yourself SO attainable that it seems like you'd just fall for anyone? I guess that's my problem with these guys who are so completely available. I kind of want to win a guy over and not just feel like he would fall in love with just about anyone.

Am I so Groucho Marx?...

"I wouldn't want to belong to any club that would have me as a member..."

I came home from my date and thought about Love Affair as I fell asleep. I've come to the conclusion that I've been thinking about him so much just because we never had the chance to let it all play out. That, and he symbolizes everything I left behind in San Francisco.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

it hurts it hurts it hurts

My hangovers are still a mystery to me. Sometimes I'll wake up feeling like I got away with murder and then there are mornings like today when I wake up and launch myself mechanically into my hangover ritual, which is composed of:

(a) sending one or more text messages out, canceling any plans I have made for the first ten hours of the day

(b) healing my body with a four-hour feast, always starting with an entire can of Campbell's alphabet soup, and today including a pint of Ben & Jerry's Pistachio Pistachio ice cream, and most recently moving into gouda cheese territory, and probably ending in a half hour with a large bowl of pasta.

(c) wondering what it was about last night that could have contributed to the loss of today. Was it the cocktails at the Living Room, kicking off the evening at 6:30? Was it the tasting at September Wines? Was it the two bottles of wine that Ricardo and I consumed at The Ghetto Gourmet? Or, was it that last beer? Was it finishing the night at the speakeasy on Avenue C, where, joy of joys, you can smoke inside? I like to blame a lot of things on smoking.

(d) going through all the messages I sent and received last night, which may or may not require mediation today.

I sent a lot of text messages last night.

Last night, on what would have been our sixth date if he hadn't freaked out and fucked it all up, Boy texted me to see if I wanted to get drinks. This was just after midnight, and I was surprised. I didn't want to meet up with him or even respond to him; I just don't want him to think he has a chance with me. I ended up texting him back later that I was busy instead of ignoring it out of politeness, and now I feel like he's going to try and contact me again.

In my mind, though, that ship has sunk.

I had a nice, liquor-free lunch date with The Ukrainian after I went to a great lecture given by Robin Chase, the founder of Zipcars and the new ridesharing service, GoLoco. I don't remember much about what we talked about, but I do remember that once again, he did not finish his meal. People who don't like their food worry me. Aside from that, I find him charming and maybe a little too earnest. The question "When are you free next?" is just so pointed.

I was supposed to go out with him today, but it's 11 p.m.; I still haven't put on clothes, and I think I'm going to keep it that way for the day.

And yes, it still hurts. My head. Liver, I'm so, so, sorry.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

e-flirting and e-breaks

Tonight I restrained myself and had only three cocktails before calling it a night so I could come home and, yes, do economics homework. The fact that my lover Insomnia spent the night also made this an easier decision.

So I come home and there are two emails awaiting me, one from The Ukrainian, which was sweet and saying that he had fun with me, with a link to this and he was telling me about. I happily responded that I would love to go out with him again, and that I thought he was cute.

The second one was from Boy, and it set of a totally unexpected e-nd to our CL affair. I think.

Boy is one of the many of us who spends way too much time in front of a computer, and when we first met via craig, I sent him a link to my MySpace for photos, and I guess he combed through my blog for clues as to my personality. Well this morning as I was waiting for the sunrise, I posted a dumb blog about Boy 1 v. Boy 2 as well as many sappy two-bit comparisons about This Life v. That Life, and on and on.

Following the first two emails, I consulted with Girlfriend, and she thinks I was right to let this one go. She says he expresses too much "entitlement" to me in his first email. Really, I would have let it pass, but I feel like we were heading nowhere anyway, and the person at the bar I reference in my first response was because I was saying this earlier tonight, about the friend zone. Keep in mind that this email from him was totally unsolicited, i.e., he happened upon my MySpace blog, and decided to tell me exactly what he thought of it.

> > > Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2007 20:35:44 -0400
> > > From: Boy
> > > To: seriously
> > > Subject: i want to read your secret web log
> >
> > >
i'm curious about boy number one. unless i'm boy number one, in which case i'm curious about boy number two. if i'm neither then i'm curious about both. i think i'm most comfortable being boy number two.
> > >
you made a comment in an email about being glad i wasn't bored with you yet, or something. i found that funny because you are the interesting one, the one who *goes places* and *does things* and plays piano and writes two web logs and used to ride a motorcycle. i like to stay home and watch reruns of house. but i believe that you like me. at least a little.
> > >
the truth is that i know nothing about adult relationships either. i'm not going to lie -- i have wondered how things would be if after getting drunk on one of our *dates* we went back to someone's place and did it, whether you would suggest it, what you would say if i did, whether i really wanted to, and what, eventually, you would write about it afterwards, if anything, on your secret web log. and so, in response to your suggestion of sex (not your suggestion of *having* sex, just of sex itself, so clever or careful as you are to make such a heavy thing float so effortlessly in an email) is that i like you. a lot. there are parts of me that say yes, which don't discriminate, and there are other parts of me that also say yes, which do discriminate (there are also parts that say no, but those parts will always say no; they are curmudgeons), and that is enough for me. but all my parts say no if you are already doing it with boy number one, or whatever his name is.
> > >
i guess this email is in case my actions or attitudes are confusing. girls sometimes tell me i can be that way.
> > >
> > > Boy
> >
> On 10/15/07, seriously wrote:
> >
you're funny. congratulations, you have actually managed to come quite close to flooring me with such an honest email, and i really don't know how to respond. but since i have a few cocktails in me, i will just go with whatever comes out of my fingertips in the next 4.3 minutes:
> >
number one, you cannot read my secret blog, so let's just leave it at that. it's secret, duh. don't you remember our conversation about the things you elect to tell, and those things you elect to keep to yourself? well, this is one of those situations. live with it.
> >
if i was going to be brutally honest, which i guess i will be, hey why not, i guess i would say that i have no idea what is going on here, but i'm inclined to take it as it comes and also just leave it at that. i am not supposed to be with you; that is honestly how i feel. but i like you too; i appreciate that you and i have both "been to the dark side," as my (former) roommate would say. and in spite of these similarities, i like that your brain functions on a different wave length in terms of your problem-solving abilities, and i like the way you explain things. to me teachers are so fucken hot. but i feel like we could be walking into friends territory, which is familiar--and not bad--ground. someone just said to me tonight, "if there can only be one, then i'm glad i didn't fuck up all my friendships along the way by sleeping with everyone who wasn't that one." so what if i don't know how i feel. i like hanging out with you, so let's just do that. hang out. have fun.
> >
i'm not trying to be discouraging, and i'm running out of my 4.3 minutes, i'm just saying that i think i know what adult relationships consist of now, so if you think you can still hang out with me given all this brutal honesty, on these terms, let's just have fun and not put any undue pressures on either one of us. how does that sound?
> >
this friday night, the cross street is allen and delancey. i would love it if you could suggest a place to meet at 7 and grab a bottle of wine. of course if you're freaked out by the thought of us just being friends, then you should bail on this right now.
> >
> >
> >
> > ________________________________

> Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2007 23:56:08 -0400
> From: Boy
> To: seriously
> Subject: Re: i want to read your secret web log
yeah, well, i came home from work and ate a truffle and got to thinking. (i love how, even when we are being up front about being honest, we have to mention a cocktail or pot filled snacks.) and then i cleaned my room.
i *was* feeling a lot of undue pressure. i really don't know how adult relationships work. your expectations, etc. you kept calling our meetings dates! i don't think i had ever gone on a date with someone i wasn't already sleeping with. seriously. i just... didn't want you to think i didn't like you because i didn't try anything, or at least mention anything. that has happened before.
i don't think i'm supposed to be with anyone.
i like that you have been to the dark side, but i *really* like that you are done with it. i don't think that i am. and i kind of envy how you go full speed all the time, out every night, talking,
drinking, feeling. i kind of wish i was capable of that, because i fear that i miss a lot while at home, resting. but it's not me.
anyway, i'm definitely not freaked out by being friends. intimacy freaks me out, not friendship. but, to borrow your favorite phrase and be brutally honest, i already have friends.
Date: Tue, 16 Oct 2007 00:12:23 -0400
RE: i want to read your secret web log
From: seriously
To: Boy

Boy, i don't know about this.

this is a gross email chain, but now i feel captivated by it so i have to continue.

it sounds to me like you have a lot of things you need to work out before you can be in a healthy relationship and i'm not sure i want to be the one to work with you through it. i don't want to be anyone's sherpa, especially the sherpa out of the dark side. i also don't want to feel like i have to hide the fact that i'm dating, that this is what dating should be like, or be defensive about it, and your earlier email to me really put me off though i wanted to just brush it off. i think we both have different ideas of what we want right now. i just want to have fun and enjoy life, and i don't think you're there with me right now.

look. something's telling me to let this go right now, and maybe for a little bit. i don't want to give you the wrong impression of anything, but i guess i do want you to think about why you're dating, what you're looking for when you get on craig. i thought i was pretty explicit.

let's call this friday off. i have a friend in town, midterms next week, and i think you're tired and stressed, and i can't deal with this right now, and i don't want to feel like i have to. it is hard for me to say this over email; this took way longer than 4 minutes, but i think it is best. i am out here to have a good time, and you should do the same.

call me next week if you want to talk.


This whole interaction feels totally evil to me, and gross, and I am kind of mad at him for pushing me into it. I was going to not respond to his third email, just go to bed, meet up with him Friday as planned, and just forget about this whole weird exchange, but you know what would have happened? That would have been inviting my lover Insomnia back to bed with me to think about how fucked up this whole thing was, and I would have laid awake wondering why I was subjecting myself to this kind of scrutiny for a Boy I've only been on 5 dates with, who doesn't even like to consider them dates, but "meetings."
I also cannot date a guy who calls having sex "doing it." He is a nice Boy, but a boy nonetheless. Do I want to deal with someone who confronts me, before our sixth date, with his lack of adult relationships, intimacy issues, and threats to retreat back to the dark side? This is not my deal. It's not fair for me to have to worry about the feelings of a boy I haven't even kissed. And that's not attractive. Ever have child fantasies where you have sex with the frail creature you're trying to protect?

Yeah, me neither. And this is why I shouldn't have gone out with him in the first place, because he was younger than my age requirement, but since he ignored it, I thought I would, too.

Now I can go to bed feeling like I have washed my hands of this. Eww, no. I have a conscience. I still feel bad.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

more bars, more dates

Friday night I found myself at a weird happy hour at the Tribeca Tavern drinking expensive greyhounds, at a weird club getting free drinks, and then back at Odessa. I called it an early night because Beauty's Boulder hipster crew were making me pine for San Francisco. It was also freezing out and I was tired of drinking and not being drunk.

Saturday I went to a wholly uninspiring CultureFest at Battery Park where Muffin and I basically went to each booth and filled out raffle tickets and got free buttons. We wandered out back into the world and, noting that it was almost five o'clock, decided it was time for a drink. Muffin took me to a great bar by Union Square called Revival with a cute outdoor area for us smokers and decently priced drinks.

After that I returned to Odessa to meet up with my new CL date, whose name is Polish but is actually from the Ukraine. He had suggested meeting at Tompkins Square Park but since I hate waiting for people without a drink in hand, I suggested the bar. He has a cute accent and has lived in New York since Chernobyl. I was excited about our date because my fortune cookie on Friday told me that everything would come my way, and I just got a good feeling from his emails, and he seemed stoked about meeting me even though he lives even farther away than Boy; he lives by Coney Fucken Island. At CultureFest, Muffin and I got to actually make our own buttons at the Bronx Children's Museum's booth, and I'd made him a button that said "I heart" I gave him the button. He seemed pleased.

The Ukrainian and I met up at 6 p.m. and continued to drink until 2 in the morning. He knew a lot of great spots to go to. After Odessa we went to get food at the Yaffa Cafe, a surprisingly large restaurant with a bohemian interior and a grand outdoor patio with a smoking section. The food was nothing special, but it was relatively inexpensive so we drank a bottle of wine as well. After that I led him on a wild goose chase to look for my buddy's birthday party, which apparently got switched to Monday night without my knowledge. So we ambled over to watch an accordian player in some park on Avenue B, and then had some more cocktails at a bar I think was called Luca Lounge or something; it had a photo booth in it. And then we went to Mona's a few doors down to play some pool. Mona's had a great jukebox and a pool table, and The Ukrainian and I played several rounds of pool with various people. I was so drunk that I almost adopted a rescued daschund named Louie that this girl had brought to the bar for the express purpose of introducing him around. I spent about two hours all over this dog; he was so fucken cute and mellow.

I liked hanging out with The Ukrainian because: (a) he knew a lot of places to go (b) he insisted on paying for several drinks for me, and dinner, which I appreciated, though of course I bought us about twenty drinks (c) he was mellow and could hang with other people easily and (d) I felt safe with him, especially when he put his arm around me as he walked me to the subway. He's definitely cooler than Boy, and I hope to go out with him again.

I had brunch with Boy today at a mediocre "mexican" restaurant called Agave on 7th Avenue South and W. 10th. I'd been craving some decent huevos rancheros and this was not the place for it. It was pretty much fauxican, and who the hell is going to pay $10 for guacamole? We did get a sunny table without having to wait (a bad sign, in my opinion). I struggled to keep up my end of the conversation because my whiskey-heavy sleep was not a good one. I rehydrated with coffee, mostly, and after brunch we sat out in Washington Square Park for a while and I felt my brain twitching.

Boy was in my former backyard, Dolores Park, in San Francisco this weekend, and yesterday he'd called me to see if I wanted anything from the famous truffle man who sells delicious pot truffles out of beautiful copper pots; one for $4 or 3 for $10. I asked him to bring me back two ginger-cayenne ones, and he did. That was sweet of him. I'm still unsure of how I feel about him, and I'm wondering how long I should keep this up. This Friday will be our sixth date. Earlier he mentioned something about hanging out with a girl mostly because he knew she liked him, and he liked the way he felt around her. I wonder if I'm doing the same thing with him. I wonder if that's why he brought it up.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

The Ex

The Ex was the longest relationship I ever had (just shy of three years). The Ex started out as a fuck buddy. The Ex used to call me "My Darling" in such a way that eradicated all his stupidities, all of my doubt about us, and made my heart melt and wrap around his. The Ex gave me my first motorcycle, my first dildo, and what I recalled in Morocco as the happiest moment of my life in the past five years on a weekend trip to Las Vegas. The Ex became my ex almost two years ago, and I still dream about him.

When will it end?

Memory is retarded. The Ex also gave me my angriest moment in the past fifteen years of my life when I found out from a friend at a bar that he'd cheated on me. The Ex was cold and distant half the time we were together. I broke up with him after a strained year of living together in Oakland, separated from our friends by the Bay and the idiocy of our continued relationship. I know that it was right to move out and move on, and I don't regret it. My heart and memory, it seems, have other intentions.

When will it end?

The Ex started dating someone who looked like me (Asian) but much younger and hotter within weeks after we broke up. They're still together, pretty much. The Ex lives in San Francisco, approximately 3,000 miles away. The Ex is totally and wholly The Ex.

Why, in my dreams, is he still my boyfriend? Am I fucken retarded?

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

craigslist dating III

Uh oh, I'm back on craigslist. Ever since my last posting got flagged and taken down, I convinced myself that I had an addiction and cut myself off. (Okay, I scrolled through one night last week, but I didn't respond to any.) But, like a true addiction, I came back to it.

I found a boy from San Francisco (my true goal here in New York: to find a boy from San Francisco. How fucked up is that?) who is coming here next week. That could be fun.

What about Boy, you may ask? Didn't I tell Boy I wasn't going to date any others? ...Well, Boy is out of town. Boy has left me high and dry to entertain myself for the next two weeks. And I haven't even kissed Boy yet. So there.

Also I had a mildly depressing e-conversation with my Ex, who just broke up with his long-distance girlfriend because he needs to get laid. Oh Ex. It's so fun to talk about relationships with your Ex, because who knows you best? Ex cheated on me more than once, and I accused him of breaking up with her just so he could sleep around without guilt.

Ex admitted I was right.

Oh Ex.

someone I know died

Today I got an email from this novel writing group I used to be a part of in Berkeley. Even though I left the group almost two years ago, I still get emails from the host. It was one of the first times I ever gave my gmail address out to a list serve. I'll never do it again.

But the subject line of the email was another member's online scrapbook instead of the usual "Chapters 15 and 16." Oh god, I thought to myself. She's dead. And sure enough, she is. She's dead.

I've been spared the death of anyone remotely close to me in my life. Yes, people I have known have died, but never anyone close. (Please tell me that I'm not inviting death into my life by writing this.) So, whenever I hear that someone I know has died, I sit there and think about that person for a long time, and I get a little sad that I didn't know them that well, because that means I never will get to know them better, and they probably didn't know how much I liked them.

You can't feel sorry for people who have died--well, at least, I don't--because they're dead. I do feel sorry for the people who survive them, and I know that whoever lost Holly is probably in a really bad way. She was one of those people who was a very comforting presence. I imagine that she was very important to a lot of people, because she had the kind of personality that attracted people with problems. I remember smoking cigarettes with her before, after, or sometimes during our writers' workshops, and being surprised at her honesty. She was at least twice my age and she seemed very fragile and tough. When we took our breaks together a part of me wanted to tell her all that I was going through with my then-boyfriend and I didn't really know why, because I hardly knew her. It took a few breaks together for me to realize that many people probably knew this about her already, that she was probably the person everyone went to with problems because she was so deeply empathetic.

So, my heart goes out to whoever loved and lost this very special woman. I remember her well after knowing her such a short time.

Monday, October 8, 2007

I have a beautiful girlfriend

My Girlfriend was here this weekend, and it was fucken glorious. I was so excited to see her that I hardly slept Thursday night. When I came home after class Friday morning, she was in my apartment, passed out in my bed after her redeye through Las Vegas. We had a fun girl afternoon of trying to decide what to wear, which was difficult because we were going from an architecture party to that hip-hop/dub show that I got free tickets to. Friday night was a typical alcoholic haze that started off with margaritas and free tequila (actually I think it was Tequiza) shots at Mama Mexico. The architecture party found us cruising with plastic cups of Budweiser and Oreos. Hmm. We had a great dinner at Cafe Habana in Nolita, which was exciting because I have heard about the corn on the cob there FOREVER and it did not disappoint. Decent margaritas there, too. Then we headed over to Motor City, this rockabilly bar with a sweet pinball machine.

We headed over to a friend's house to drink champagne on the roof and ended up getting stuck. Yes, stuck. On the roof. The door somehow shut behind us, and we had no way off the roof. Beauty was able to locate a friend at a nearby bar, Odessa, who came to rescue us. We threw him a set of keys and he heroically climbed up to the sixth floor on a bum ankle to save us from our stupidity. Or, rather, potential stupidity. I was volunteering to hang off the ledge and drop onto the fire escape. Ah, liquid courage.

Of course we had to escort our hero back to Odessa to buy him drinks and eat french toast at the diner next door. Around 4 I dragged my poor tired Girlfriend into a cab. Alas our adventures were not yet over, as we got stuck in stop-dead traffic on FDR and, after smoking a cigarette in the back and watching people get out of the cars to chill, I woke up Girlfriend and we ran inland to get an illegal cab back to Washington Heights. Never did make it to that show.

Saturday we went to the show at Randall's Island. We ended up walking across the Triborough Bridge to get there, which was cool. We found a joint on the way in, I got my free tickets to the show, and we spent the next six hours each occupying roughly one square foot of space and enjoying Les Savy Fav, Blonde Redhead, LCD Soundsystem, and Arcade Fire.
Each set was awesome. There were so many cute boys there that I became convinced that the whole concert was some sort of Hipster Vengeance plan to exterminate all twenty-something PBR consumers in greater New York. Why else would they have the concert on an island? And why were all those helicopters hanging out overhead? Very mysterious.

We showed up at Muffin and Keeten's place for dinner at midnight, exhausted and starving.

Yesterday we bummed around Williamsburg and championed another long day of drinking. After an awesome brunch at Juliette, a bright, laid-back little bistro, we went over to Rock Star bar where there was some kind of birthday party happening, and I got a huge $5 shot of Maker's Mark in a plastic cup. Did I mention you can smoke there? Awesome.

From there we went to another smoker-friendly bar, the Cyn Lounge at Bedford and 5th. It was fine but we were restless and hungry, so we found our way into the Charleston at Bedford and 7th. This place rules. You get an 8" cheese pizza with every $4 drink, so we ate about 7 pizzas between the five of us, and the bartender didn't give us a hard time for being drunk and hungry. The jukebox was full of Talking Heads, Joy Division, the Make Up, Donovan, everything. Highly recommended.

One more bar...Union Pool, also in Williamsburg, has a spacious outdoor patio, and a functional black-and-white photo booth, where Girlfriend and I took some of our only photos together.

I really, really love my Girlfriend, and I was glad I was only half-awake this morning when she left for her 8:30 flight out of JFK. The last time I said good-bye to her in August was so painful, I guess mostly because I didn't know when I'd see her again. I feel better about things now, because I worried that, like some of my past roommates, we would fall out of touch despite promises to the contrary. Having her fly all the way across the country to drunkenly bumble around the city with yours truly meant so, so much to me. And she didn't falter from her recent smoking quit, which was pretty incredible.

The best part about her visit is that I don't feel miserable like I thought I would. I feel happy and lucky to have such a beautiful girlfriend, even if she is 3,000 miles away.

Thursday, October 4, 2007


Tonight I am paying for my blatant disregard of doing things I know will hurt me, and part of this is indulging myself in this gratuitous post that will take me further down the spiral of emotional masochism. Let us pray:

My pagan new year's resolution this year was to love indiscriminately, without fear or expectation, which started the year out with me having a big crush on a boy with a girlfriend who I met on New Year's Eve, and that led to lots of wrenching pseudo-dates, threats of a roller derby chick clocking me, and me being The Other Woman and trying to be okay with it.

After that mess cleared up, this resolution also led me to an incredibly intense, anticipated, and much mourned love affair with my roommate, that began on a 3-day chautaqua to SoCal while I was crippled. On this spiritual journey, Sexy Roommate and I were trying to decide which graduate school to attend, and I told him that one of my last goals in San Francisco was to have an intense love affair, and we defined an affair as a relationship that (a) is finite, with a foreseeable end, (b) more or less exclusive, and (c) emotionally involved, despite its predetermined time span. Sexy Roommate asked me if I had anyone in mind, and though I had him in mind, we had a seven-hour drive ahead of us, and so I evaded the question cowardly and proceeded to think about it for the next four weeks.

While visiting grad schools later that month, I decided that I had to go for it, and when I returned, I put a plan into action and Sexy Roommate turned into Love Affair. It was one of the strangest times in my life. Our affair lasted two months before he left for the Middle East, and when he returned, I was living in The NY.

Tonight, while at happy hour with fellow urban planning students, I made the mistake of checking my voicemail and whaddyaknow, Love Affair had left me a message. It was the first time I'd heard his voice in three months. Yes, we've now been incommunicado longer than we were actually affair-engaged. I knew it was a mistake to call him back but I had a few drinks in me, so I kissed Beauty goodbye and said Ihavetogomyloveaffairjustcalledmeandihaventtalkedtohiminthreemonthsandihavetocallhimbackrightnow.

We talked for about 15 minutes as I made my way over the A train and we talked about how life back in school is going, how we miss each other, parties we need to throw in order to support our graduate student lifestyle, and the Queen of Sheba. In short, nothing. But, like our love affair, that short conversation is going to have massive emotional repercussions on me. I shouldn't have called him back. I should have kept drinking with my fellow classmates, talked about Millenium Park, asshole TA's and the I Hate Columbia club, but instead I left to torture myself with a tentative outreach to a boy I only allowed myself to half love.

I'm going to be paying for that move for days.

Of course I don't regret the affair, but FUCK...! Love hurts, man.

craigslist dating II

Last night I had date #4 with Boy. We went to Cleopatra's Needle, this jazz club/mediterranean restaurant on the Upper West Side. My piano teacher recommended it to me when I asked for a place that didn't have a $20 cover charge. This is the only one he could think of. There were a bunch of female vocalists doing hokey Sinatra covers until 11 p.m., when the open jam started, which I liked a lot more.

Boy told me about this hilarious golddigger post that had been circulating at his office. (He works for a hedge fund.) Someone at his office replied to her. God it's so funny.

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What am I doing wrong?

Okay, I'm tired of beating around the bush. I'm a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy.

I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 -250. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won't get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her

Here are my questions specifically:

-Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms

-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my feelings

-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 432279810


Dear Pers-431649184:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament.

Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold...hence the rub...marriage. It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease. In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that.
So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation.

With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way.

Classic "pump and dump."

I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

This is why I love craigslist, New York, and people in general. This kind of shit gives me hope in life.

Date #4 was nice. I like going out on Wednesday nights--something to look forward to during my horribly long Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I also like that I can outdrink Boy, and that he thinks I'm way cooler than him, which makes me feel supremely comfortable around him.

I feel like we're going to go out every Wednesday night for a long time, never kiss, never sleep together, and never do anything outrageous. I guess I wish I was more attracted to him. I wish that when I saw him, my heart went a-flutter. I wish that I wanted to lick his face. I wish that I had sexual dreams about him in the nights leading up to our Wednesday night dates. But I don't. When I see him I sit next to him and we drink and talk for hours, and it's my most articulate time of the week. It's like everything makes sense to me when I talk to him, including me, which is strange. The only thing that doesn't make sense is our grown-up
dating process, and why it's failing to bowl me over.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

sweet, sweet, October

This week I get to go to 3 shows for free! Last night Beauty scored me free tickets to this weekend's show at Randall Island: Arcade Fire, LCD Soundsystem, Blonde Redhead...oh yeah! Tonight I get to see Man Man for free at Webster Hall courtesy of Ricardo's roommate, and then I just won free tickets to some show Friday night through Flavorpill.

That's right, I actually won tickets. It's funny because I was just scrolling through this weekend's listings, looking for something to do this weekend with my Girlfriend, my old roommate who I love love love and miss miss miss so much. FP was offering free tickets to answer the question "What does your fiesta suit look like?"

I wrote something like: A spandex body suit, a carton of cigarettes disassembled and worn Rambo style and, most importantly, my awesome Girlfriend who makes sure I am never drink-less.

About 15 minutes later, they notified me that I was IN like SIN.

I love Girlfriend. I miss our camaraderie. Over Labor Day weekend, pretty much after I'd first gotten to The NY, I went away with some of my awesome Chicago Crew, two of whom (Keetens and Muffin) have been roommates forever, and their intimate interactions made me miss Girlfriend so much. I miss going to the bar with her and just naturally buying each other drinks, getting matching whiplash from noticing the same cute boys, playing wingman for each other, helping each other home from the bar, and then raiding the fridge and downing pre-sleep Emergen-Cs. It's stupid shit like that. Even watching Keetens and Muffin share cigarettes made me want to cry.

I'm so excited to see her. I know it's kind of a bad idea, because after she leaves I will be inconsolably sad. I was so attached to her that I imposed a breakup-style "not going to call her for 14 days" rule when I got here...though of course I broke down and had to write her a letter. So, it wasn't a complete breakdown.

So yeah, I'm pumped about all this week's freebies. Like most asians, nothing makes me happier than free stuff. And it confirmed the "good things come in threes" theory of the universe. It happened to me last week, too. I got almost $400 in the mail: an Apple rebate, the remainder on my canceled motorcycle insurance, and a twenty-dollar bill from my old boss for Rosh Hashanah.

Of course, this leads me to believe that the universe is about to implode, because historically, this is not a good time of year for me.