Friday, April 29, 2005

The Books by the Stairs

Nicole and I came home tonight to find a box of books by the stairs.

My neighbor's girlfriend moved out yesterday. I was a witness to a dramatic farewell.....or something like it. On my way up from the basement where I was doing laundry they were saying their farewells outside his door and her friend had gone with her to help carry her boxes. He said goodbye, they kissed and then he said goodbye to Jen, her friend. Girlfriend told him to stay in touch. Jen replied with a dry, "Goodbye jerk!". I quickened my steps because I felt embarrassed standing there in the midst of these strangers at this remarkable Hallmark card moment.

So tonight I guess he had cleaned out his apartment and have removed every remaining trace of her belongings, her books included. Nicole gazed down as she was climbing the steps and stopped when she saw some of the titles. "Mom! Plato!".

I stepped backwards and looked through the pile, neatly arranged spine up and picked up "Great Dialogues of Plato" which Nicole wanted. Then browsing through the rest, picked up some more:

Voltaire's Bastards
Julia Glass' Three Junes
J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye

There were other books but I have them already - either in my shelf or at home in Manila. And some cookbooks that didn't seem that savory.

We were giggling as we raced up the stairs with our loot. And then I told Nicole about living in Burbank in CA when I first arrived in the US with a friend. We were both just starting out so furnishing for the one bedroom apartment we shared was limited by a very tight budget. She had picked up her mattress and her sofa from the street. The mattress was so lumpy she had to pile comforters on it to make it comfortable and the sofa was worn in many places it only could look decent if it had a throw over it - a big one. I slept on an inflatable bed that deflated quickly that if I was too lazy to re-inflate it nightly it would feel like I had slept on the floor by the next morning.

When you come to a new country with the plan of relocating, the initial challenge often is about setting up living quarters. My previous supervisor here in NY had told me about her first apartment - she slept on a mattress and TV on the floor for a year because she was saving for the downpayment for her first home. When she had finally bought one, it took even longer to furnish and she's still struggling through the basics now, two years later.

When I first got my first Manhattan apartment the only luxury I could afford were the basics from Ikea. It's a starter-set furniture company but they have a few items that are worth the price (lamps, frames, glassware). NEVER, however, EVER buy a bed or a sofa from Ikea. Specially NOT a bed that expects any action. They're just not made for that.

Slowly, you trade the starter pieces for other items that are pricier (read:sturdier) that somehow reflect your sense of style. I migrated from a single to a full bed last year when the Italian gifted me with it same time as he gave me a couch. My computer desk I bought on sale from Office Depot and proudly assembled myself. The dining chairs are hand-overs from Karen and Gerry after they moved out of their apartment a block away.

I still own some of my starter pieces - the pots, pans, a $10 full length mirror from Bed, Bath, Beyond and a small lamp from Ikea attached to a timer. The rest are upgrades.

Still when I leave and move into a condo with my name in the title and where I will be paying mortgage instead of rent, I plan to leave most of these behind. Maybe sell some on craigslist, donate others to Goodwill and then some, to leave in a box near the stairs for another person to enjoy.

Friday is for late night day-dreaming.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Angels in the Outfield

Tuesday,April 26: For no special reason or occasion, one of the more senior bosses came over to our side of the office and asked if asked Renee and I had plans for the evening. We both had plans but nothing really we couldn't change, we told him.

He then handed us a small brown envelope that reminds me of those red Chinese money envelopes distributed during their New Year's celebrations. Inside were 4 tickets to premium box seats at the Yankee stadium for the games tonight. Definitely, we had to change our plans.

We all went home first before re-assembling at 161st Street at the Bronx. Nicole and I, Renee and Wally sat comfortably with a good view of the field, just behind the dug-out of the Anaheim Angels, tonight's opponents.

Jeter and A-Rod

The Yankees have had a bad start to their season. They were losing so badly, they had been berated by their boss, Mr. George Steinbrenner and commanded them to put their act together and play like the $200 million team that they are. Still, it has been a lean season for the main team of New York (with apologies to my friend Mark who only cheers for the team who plays in Queens).

The freezing wind tunneled through the aisles of the blue stadium. It felt more like winter than spring and my pink pasmina moved from Wally's neck to Nicole's shoulders for warmth.

In first inning, Alex Rodriguez, also A-Rod to the fans hit his first homerun out of three. He had 10 RBIs tonight and made it second in Yankees history. The American League record is at 11 RBIs by Tony Lazzeri, also another Yankee player. In the third inning, he hit another and upped the Yankee advantage to 5-2 after Povano allowed two runs in a previous inning. In the 4th inning, with bases loaded, A-Rod once again hit a homer, literally sealing a win with a 10-2 lead.

Star of the night

The crowd at Yankee stadium had always been baseball's MOST boisterous. Those seats really don't have a place there since most of the time the fans are standing, singing, cheering, dancing or clapping. New Yorkers do not take their baseball lightly and each game is an interactive event. We screamed and cheered with the crowd that the girls joked it would be tragic for the office if the three of us lost our voice at the same time. Each hit that flew across the field got a cheering: GO, GO, GO, GO...... until it goes over the fence with cheers and claps and screams.

Yankee fans are also the most difficult to please. His first games with the Yanks, A-Rod had to go through the intiation of being booed with such ferocity you can't help but wonder if this was the reason of his slacked performance. And yet he had proven his worth. And so tonight, the fans welcomed him as truly one of their certified pinstripe player.

In each of homerun by Rodriguez, fans acknowledged him with their cheers. Twice he received a standing ovation that he had to re-surface from the dug out to salute and thank the crowd for their gratitude.

A-Rod, A-Rod, was his game tonight and also his night.

For me, however, it will always be Jeter.

The final score for the night:

Friday, April 22, 2005

Puppy Love

A few months ago, the Italian friend emailed me a story about puppies. He found four abandoned pups in a small warehouse over the weekend. He said that there wasn't a trace of anyone taking care of them and so this bothered him. After spending the night worrying about the pups, he returned the next day to the warehouse despite a snowstorm, found them very hungry and still alone. He then decided to adopt them and brought them home to take care of them in his apartment.

He then ran off to a shopping spree at the supermarket and bought the basic requirements for rearing four baby pups - bottles and nipples and milk. Knowing the Italian, this would have been an over-the-top endeavor. And so he began the chore of taking care of his new-found babies.

The next day he went to work and came home during his lunch break to feed his pups. He found his apartment in disarray with the newcomers chewing on his furniture and pooping and peeing on his floor. Obviously, he hasn't gotten to the part of 'training' them yet.

At first I thought this was the point when he'd have decided to give them away to whoever was willing to take them. Later he said he didn't have the heart to have the babies get separated from each other so instead he asked a friend to look after them now and then while he is at work - just so they do not turn his apartment smelling and looking like a barn again.

The last line of his final email to me for the day: I have to go home and feed the dogs again. At night they are restless and cry a lot and so I only had 3 hours of sleep. I'm very tired.

Someone once said that a true sign that a man is ready for settling down and building a family is when he gets a dog. A dedicated and committed bachelor would be too self-centered and would balk at the idea of taking care of another being - canine, feline or woman.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

A Lesson in Love

This is the full text of Haruki Murakami's On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning:

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."


"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd.


A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Girl's Weekend Out

Best friend Remy was in town for a long weekend in March, in time for St. Paddy's Day. Whilst most everyone were veering away from New York's winter, she decided to trade forever Florida's eternal summer for some nippy weather of Manhattan...and the boys.

She touched down in La Guardia at 1235PM Thursday and I was still in the thick of paper shuffling and pencil pushing at the office. I found assurance in my boss' advise to take the Midtown Tunnel for a guaranteed 15 minute cab ride to the airport. Remy emailed me her fight details and it included the ETA time at 1:10PM. Her pilot must have been speeding.

Thursday night was St. Paddy's night and so we went off bar hopping in the Upper East Side to enjoy some green beer and to get into the crowd. In no time at all we were socializing with the crowd. We were almost headed to the door when a group of NY detectives based in Poughkeepsie introduced themselves to us and reeled us into conversation. Remy had a lot of fun but, well, I promised that what happened here, stays here (hehehehe).

I had brought her to my office to mingle with the group during our regular wind-down on late Friday afternoon's wine and cheese. She met the crazy bunch of guys I work with who make work a lot more fun with their sweetness and antics. She also met the two ladies I work with who are also Pinays. She understood now what I meant when I told her sometimes you meet other Pinays who are not in the friendship just to reap benefits from it. Renee and Wally are friends I have who fortunately for me, I also happen to work with.

With Wally in tow (Renee had other plans), the three of us went on a girl's night out starting with Italian dinner at Time's Square. We then trodded back to my studio for some rest and then took a cab to New York's famous 'Crobar'. We were like energiner bunnies til 2:30 AM - dancing long as they were playing music and paused only when the DJ was segueing to another number. We were also approached by some of the club denizens but we weren't intent on really doing a repeat of our St. Paddy's adventure. We decided to just stick with our moves and just feel the music.

Remy and I have been friends for more than 10 years now. We shared the responsibility of providing admin support for the Executive Suite of our offices in Manila, working with the three top managers of the company. Our friendship has survived many milestones in our lives.

In 1998 she migrated to the US and settled down in Florida and is still blissfully single to-date. In 2002, I got my job in NY and have settled here, too. We have this unwritten pact to see each other at least once a year - either in Florida, here in NY or in Ohio, at Judith's.

In the years between us, we both have changed. I noticed that we were no longer the same girls who used to create havoc at the staffhouse in Iligan whenever we came to visit though we could still manage to stir trouble even when we didn't try. Still, the two girls of ten years ago are no longer us.

Long after she has left, I ask myself where those giggly girls had gone to. Two friends who took different forks on the road of life, so different now but still so much alike. Life is funny, like what Vanj says. I can't help but wish I could peek into 20 years forward and see where we would be in our friendship.

Somehow what Remy and I have could be what soul mates are all about. A unique kind of kinship that remains no matter how far apart you are set apart, no matter how different the paths in life you take. We become molded by our individual worlds and the people around us but friendship, the genuine kind, remains the only constant, unrelenting.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Blinks and Links

So the M.O. says blogging is a display of conceit and self-centeredness... in a previous entry I have acceded to his opinion for the want of peaceful co-existence between friends. Though of course the insight stems more from having known me for the longest time in the worst and best of my moods (that, girlfriend means: EXTEMES). Somehow I smile sheepishly when I read the report of my sitemeter and review the viewership of my 'little corner in the sky' as Ms. P calls her blog.

Pero, really now, Yahoo and MSN search has a way of diverting the weirdest queries to my webiste. Among them: telenovela (?), hopscotch piko (hehehe), EDSA revolution, pictures of Capella (sino yun??), shampoo for women (nye....), rodel velayo (sino yun? hoy, my swimming instructor's name was Titoy Velayo and if you can find him for me I'd be very grateful), american adobo (mwahahaha) and Ninoy Aquino. Some of them make sense but some are really out of this world that I wonder how the search engines work.

I also get a lot of referrals from the links of other sites like Jong and Vanj. This is weird, though. I used to be linked to a website that was in Arabic. Not lately though so I guess the website has dropped me from its links. No I have no idea if that is good news, bad news or just news. Once upon a time I had a nom de plume that was...well, a bit mid-Eastern.

This ends here.... 24 starts now....

Monday, April 11, 2005

Living Bigger than Life (in small spaces)

Friends and I were dwelling into mobidity during dinner. Stuff that we try to venture on to try to sound smart but are really desperately attempting to just ruin each other's appetite. Then someone made mention of how freaky it would be to be buried alive and then wake up to find yourself trapped in a sealed coffin.

In chorus we all rang out: we know the feeling, we live in Manhattan!

So how does it feel like to live in those notoriously tiny shoe boxes that cost a leg and a limb?

Personally, my opinion is you deal with it. So fret, rant and grunt - your apartment is small. I look on the bright side: I am in Manhattan.

You want 'cheaper' and bigger space? Move upstate or be a Jersey girl. Input your transport expense and it piles up to a very miserable life commuting on trains or buses with smelly old snoring men (my opinion). Or you can own a car, drive and not meet anyone because you are encased in metal from point A to point B - ALONE. You want big spaces and cheap real estate - move 3,000 miles away from the center of the universe.

To prove my point.....COMPARE: greatest city in the world (per Dave Letterman) one bedroom co-op apartment (550 sf) in Gramercy - $450,000; four bedroom, three bathroom brand new house (3,980 sf) in Portland, Oregon - $350,000. You want space? Retire to Port-frigging-land, Oregon. You want life? Cram yourself in a shoebox in Manhattan.

Pros of living in New York City:
*you don't go ballistic when the gas prices go up, you don't deal with car check-ups and maintenance and insurance. Why? You have no car! You don't NEED a car. If anywhere within the tri-state area is your destination - a bus, a train or a boat will take you there. Desperately needing a car and then you can go rent a car. Go to the shop, pick up the keys, drive, return, refill the gas tank, drop off vehicle and get on with life.

*everything happens here. THIS, girlfriend, is the center of the universe, must I say again? Tune in your radio and you hear songs from Broadway's shows, songs about falling in love in New York, dreaming big and moving to the big city. Why again, are all the great movies about romance about the Empire State Building and Manhattan? And if I would please be allowed to promote: The Interpreter with Nicole Kidman starts April 22 and it was filmed at the UN Headquarters. The first movie ever to get into the General Assembly Hall.

*This is home to the people who know how to have fun, those who know how to twist life to make it more interesting - i.e. Seinfeld, Sex and the City, Friends, Will and Grace. It is every true to life in: CSI, Law and Order and NYPD Blues but that should fall under the Cons part...teehee.

*Shopping is a sport here. The whole city is a big mall!

*The streets are a buffet of good looking men and women! And always so fashionable no matter what time of the day, season or weather. I just love observing the Manhattanite's sense of flair and that everyone is comfortable with looking and smelling good (ooops, well, most of them anyways). No wonder when the weather gets mild people sit outdoors to eat their meals - it is because people watching has become a common and pleasurable past time!

*Free entertainment. Everything that happens everywhere can only happen in New York. Like tiny vignettes of life encapsuled in fragments of bit and pieces scattered in every street corner.

*Everything comes for free or cheap, if you know where to look. Pastries and bread at Au Bon Pain is 50% off after 7PM; restaurants give you a free food sampling outside to entice you to sit and dine; you can go to any Barnes and Noble, get a magazine or a book from the shelf and sit in a corner (yup, they provide seats, and if it is full, flop in a corner and no one will bother you) to read your stuff. There are wine tastings and most restaurants have a pre-fixed menu that gives you a three-course meal for $20.05 plus tax. Even the expensive restaurants you only hear the venue/name droppers drool about. Concerts are free at the parks in the summer evenings when the daylight hours are long.

Cons of living in Manhattan:
*it is expensive here. Not just the rent but going out (because there are so many places to go to: Broadway, the clubs, the movies, concerts, Knicks games, Yankee games...Mets? Who are they?...)

*well, you will live ina shoebox. Rent is about the same as the salary of a mid/upper-level manager in another country. You want space, you shrink the unnecessary - the TV, the ref, the bed and the sink. Your furniture cannot be those bulky kind your grandmother owned.

*You try harder to look good because competition is tough out there. The good side of this is you don't ever find yourself slipping away into hohum-land in terms of looks. You have greater vaue of yourself - you work out, you eat right and you associate yourself with the same kind of people. That my friend means you spend more in looking good. Go back to first item bulleted in this is expensive here!

*You get used to the noise, the crowd, the fast pace of life (because you are constantly trying to compress as much as you can juice out of city living as you can).

*friends come to visit? Send them to a have no space - hahaha!

*You don't develop that small town mentality in the crossroads of the world - all cultures, races, reliefs and all kinds of artistic inclination is represented here. This city is a petri dish of opinions and moral subscription. You find that you develop an uncanny way of processing your thoughts that you squirm when you hear your girlfriend's boyfriend fretting about trivialities...and she concurs. Ouch!

I will stop here because Michael just told me that the biggest CON factor about being a Manhattanite is that you become arrogant and self-centered because you thrive on the belief that there is no place better to live than New York City.

Hmmmm, but is there really any other?

Segue to exit music:

I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps
To find I'm king of the hill, top of the heap
These little town blues
Are melting awayI'll make a brand new start of it
In old New York.

If I can make it there
I'll make it anywhere
It's up to you............ New York, New York!!!


Saturday, April 09, 2005

Message of the Day

April 9...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY VANJ!!!! Image hosted by

(with coaching from gigi yan... )Image hosted by

Sunday, April 03, 2005

craigslist voyeur

All on 3 April when I was too lazy to join friends to dinner (besides, I overate when Gigi and Remy were visiting NY separately). The rain poured outside, the wind roared and I can hear the splash of rubber tires on the rainwater that has collected on the avenue.

I often get a kick browsing the ‘missed connections’ link of (so I am shallow – bite me!) and always find something that gets me rolling on the floor laughing:

The Blonde at the Laundromat - m4w – 28
You were the sexy blonde at the laundromat on 89th and CPW last night. I was the guy who was folding other people’s laundry into various origami shapes. I call it laundrogami. This serves multiple purposes, most of which make no sense, so I’ll only mention the ones that do. First and foremost, it’s nice to come back to laundromat and find your freshly dried clothes folded neatly by a stranger. It’s even nicer to come back to find your favorite t-shirt folded in the shape of a swan (even if that one does require a few staples), or your underwear folded in the shape of the Spanish Armada. A red bra? Bam. Hudson River. Don’t even need to fold those; I just create a tiny toll plaza on one side out of one of those tiny fifty-cent detergent boxes and add cars (regular M&M’s....peanut M&M’s for SUV’s). Apparently not realizing their significance, you ate several of my cars, like some modern day laundromat Godzilla. Anyway, you left for a while as your clothes were drying. I’d love to know what you thought of the sock panda. Coffee?

Response 1: Re: Blonde at the Laundromat
Sorry, I'm not the blonde from the laundromat- just a regular blonde. Just wanted to say that I was inordinately amused by your post. The modern day laundromat Godzilla was a particularly poignant image. You're funny. I hope you find this girl, or someone else who appreciates your creativity and wit.

Response 2: Re:Re: Blonde at the Laundromat
BEWARE. I posted a nice, totally sincere message about how much I liked the OP's message, and he sent an email to me saying, 'up yours.' I hope he DOES NOT find the blonde at the laundromat, because he sounds volatile. I was 100% serious in my post- I thought it was really cute. When I first read it, I thought, 'hmm, isn't it nice that there are witty, clever, fun guys out there taking chances and trying to meet girls they are interested in?' I think my sincerity was pretty obvious, so he is either paranoid or so used to being picked on that he sees everything as an attack. I learned a lesson here- never, ever again will I post a nice response to someone I don't know, because no one likes opening their mailbox to see a nice, hearty, TOTALLY underserved, 'up yours." If you are the guy, please DO NOT email me again. It freaked me out. I'm a reasonable person, I don't need that kind of negative bullshit.

me: So like life…so like life!

why aren't i married? - m4w – 36

i'm successful, own my own place in manhattan, educated, not bad looking, funny, nice let's hear your best responses ladies...

Response 1: Re; Why Aren't I Married?
My friend, I think the question you should be asking is not 'why I am not married?' but "why do I want to be married?" Take inventory of all the married people you know. How many of them honestly seem inspired by the person they are married to, or truly fulfilled by the relationship, or even deeply happy? Most married people I know half-heartedly joke about the end of sex, the end of freedom, the end of individuality. I get harrassed ALL time about being an unmarried 34 year old woman, but the truth is that marriage doesn't hold much appeal for me. So many married friends I have seem baffled and upset when I say that, but considering that the divorce rate is about 50%, I don't understand why people are so sure that the only true way to live happily is as a married person. Part of a legal couple. There's so much more to explore in relationships, and while I'm all for monogomy and committment, I think we all need to stop second guessing ourselves and others based on (non) marital status. Also, I don't think owning your own place or being successful automatically makes you a good catch. Women (at least responsible, indepedent, self-sufficient women) aren't as charmed by money or jobs or things like that because they often have their own success. Instead, try to sell yourself based on your other instrinic qualities- are you funny, easygoing, positive, easy to talk to, fun, etc? And most importantly, are you out there trying? I mean, really trying? If you see someone attractive, talk to them. Start taking chances. Remember, you have to collect a lot of "no's" before you get the 'yes' you are looking for. Good luck!

Response 2: re: why aren't I married? - m4w
"i'm successful, own my own place in manhattan, educated, not bad looking, funny, nice"

because you are not *very* successful, your place is probably "just" a pre-war 1 bedroom, you don't own property in the Hamptons, you are not *ivy* league educated, you are not *great* looking, funny is for best friends and nice is for the birds.


Response 3: re: why aren't i married? - m4w - 36
Because you're 36 and posting it on Craigslist!!!!!.... When you should be out.. lookin for Ms. Right!! Seriously.. you think you can find your wife here on Craigslist? Would you really want to marry that person, who actually answers that? Think about it!

Response 4: re: why aren't I married - m4w
"Also, I don't think owning your own place or being successful automatically makes you a good catch. Women (at least responsible, indepedent, self-sufficient women) aren't as charmed by money or jobs or things like that because they often have their own success. Instead, try to sell yourself based on your other instrinic qualities- are you funny, easygoing, positive, easy to talk to, fun, etc? " I think she has a point here, especially since *your* first two qualities listed had to do with wealth/security. And seeing as *those* will indeed appeal initially to certain types of women, you'd need to be more then "just" successful and "just" have your own place for them. Think about who you would like to spend every day and night of the rest of your life with, and imagine some of those qualities as being important to someone else as well. Play those up. I'd imagine if your energy is "i am successful and own an apartment" you are *not* attracting the kind of woman you "want to marry" or giving off the energy that would make you the marrying kind. i was constantly surprised when I was starting my own business, women kind of split in two camps; the ones who wanted nothing to do with me since I was, shall we say, fully "invested" in this dream, and those who found the energy/committment/ambition/etc exciting, i.e. it was myself and my dreams that made me attractive to them. try putting more of that out and let them find out you are succesful and own a place *later*.

Response 5: why you aren't married
You're boring and, judging from your grammar, stupid.

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Saturday, April 02, 2005

Pope John Paul II, 1920-2005

I heard mass at St. Patrick's at noon today, Saturday. Media tents surrounded the blocks from 49th to 50th Street along Fifth Avenue. It wasn't unusual for the cathedral to be packed as a majority of tourists make it one of their stops. But no matter how crowded, as soon as mass began, there was a hush and it was a very solemn celebration of the Eucharist. There was nothing unsual, except that too the far right of the altar, several pews were blocked off to accommodate more cameramen and their equipment.

It was a sad preparation for the expected passing of the most loved pope of this century.

I had lunch with a friend at Rockefeller Plaza and and as we stepped out of the restaurant in the midst of the pouring rain, we heard the sad eerie tolling of the bells from the cathedral. People along 49th Street were all looking toward the direction of the sound, many stopping in their track and frozen in trying to comprehend the emotions of the moment. No words needed to be said. The bells had unfolded the news.

Pope John Paul II had died at 9:37 PM DST Italy in his apartment in the Vatican City.

We returned to the cathedral briefly to say a prayer for the eternal repose of his soul. My friend is not a Catholic but he was just as moved.

In my mind, I will remember the Pope for the motto on the banners that greeted him on his visit to Manila - Totus Tuus which he adapted to be his own after he survived an assasination attempt in 1981. This pope inspired many, including myself to keep faith in the Catholic Church despite the many scandals that had struck through the past decade. His sincerity and his aura had made him almost not human, almost like a living saint and has touched the souls of even those who are 'half-believers'. And to his death, Pope John Paul II has lived for his flock with the dedication of a shepherd.

Totus Tuus - Entirely Yours Am I.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Pope John Paul II

As the Pope clings to life, this blogger, a Catholic joins the Christian community in praying for him.

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At a little after 1PM EST today the Italian media announced that the Pope has died. A few minutes later, this was denied by the Vatican.