Alexander McQueen

Yes, I am aware that this isn't a fashion blog. But I am in NYC, fashion capital of America. And he was so lovely. He's also among my top favorite designers. I bought almost everything sold through his Target line. (I don't have a couture income.)

Today was actually shaping up to be a good day. But whenever someone commits suicide, it makes you realize that there are lots of people out there with hidden problems. And that genius doesn't come without a price. It's the simple folks that are the happiest. I'll always believe that. Being gifted doesn't make you happy, it just adds to your responsibilities to the world.

But in other news, I bought a white netbook, because I thought it would look awesome. And if I needed to hide from Soviet agents in the snow, I could use it without being seen.

Tomorrow is my first NYC house party. It will be of the grown up variety, but I'm still looking forward to it.

Until then, dear readers, I leave you with sweet dreams and glasses of Jack Daniel's on the rocks.

All's Quiet on the Western Front

McKibbin Street is actually turning out to be not that bad. My roomies are quiet and so are the neighbors. I've heard some band practice going on, but not late at night and not for very long. I've walked home twice now in the middle of the night and haven't felt like I was in any danger. I think the most disappointing thing about my new home is the fact that the local Thai place makes sub par green curry.

I guess the trick now will be to find a job.

Moving to NYC

I think I need to change the direction of this blog. Sure, I could brag about my conquests and all the awesome people I know, but really, who hasn't read about that already?

Instead, I'm going to focus on what's happening now. Which I just discovered is pretty interesting. A week ago, I packed up two duffel bags, a suit case, a carry-on bag, a book bag and my dad's garment bag and hopped a train to NYC. I arrived to the open arms of a charming man and his charming west side studio apartment in Manhattan. Then a week went by and he told me get the hell out (he said it nicer than that).

So I looked for a place to stay. I found a charming room to rent in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. You would have loved it. Two days before I was supposed to be out of the charming man's apartment, the subletter called to let me know she was ripping up my check and renting the room to her roommate's friend instead.

What ensued next was a mad dash across Craigslist and across Brooklyn via the L train. I found one place, but it was only available for a month. No way was I moving again at the end of February. I found a great place I could have rented from three months to whenever, but then I got a call a few hours later saying they were renting to someone hipper than me. I finally found a place available for three months and dirt cheap.

In the heat of the moment, the place was perfect. It was furnished (mattress on the floor, though relatively new, an "armoire", a "chair" and a bedside table the perfect height for a mattress on the floor), it was cheap, my roommates were a gay dude and a sweet guy, and the room seemed pretty secure.

In the sober light of day I realized that kids play drums in the apartment late at night, that there is a real possibility of getting jumped coming home at night and the sweet guy is actually a lesbian (though still sweet).

I think I will take this experience as a lesson: I am not as hip as I pretend to be. I am a middle class attorney, not an artist, and, though not afraid to die, I am afraid of pain and getting my money stolen.

Please stay tuned for whatever next comes my way.

Why Bother? A Rant Against Stupidity.

I have nothing against a few typos or spelling errors. They happen. But when you type something up really fast and don't even bother to go back and put in spaces, that's annoying. Also, if I can't understand what you are trying to say, you must be really bad off, because I'm good at filling in the blanks.

I received this message on a dating website today:

I really like your profil... take take the age thing as if i cant keep up...im the man!email me if you like my profile!

I promise that is copy and pasted.

It is beside the point that he is a divorcé and has a young child (no thank you). He was done before I went clicked over to his profile.

A message like this means one of two things. Either he is typing really fast, so maybe he's writing to every girl between the ages of 18-40 with most of their teeth or he's retarded.

The lazy lover is no good because he's not really looking for anything. He's just seeing what he can get. The retard speaks for itself.

Using People

To a certain extent, I suppose I use everyone around me. But usually it's not with purpose and I feel like I give back a lot, as well. But sometimes an opportunity to use someone in the real sense of the word comes along.

There's always the classic get a drink for free. A boy wants to buy you one, and you think he's the most hidious thing you've ever seen. So you tell him that your friend needs a shot, too. You stand near him at the bar to make sure he doesn't roofie your drink, down the shot and then disappear in the crowd, hoping he forgets about you.

Then there are those long-term deals, where you're faced with the choice of dating a man just because of what he can give you. Maybe it's money, maybe it's a place to crash. This time it's free car work.

I like to play the tough guy and the idea of being a user really appeals to that part of me. But sometimes you've got to look inside yourself and decide if that's the part you want to play. I like to pretend to be bad, but actually dating someone just to get a free head gasket seems a little beyond me.

I Heart Boys

I adore men.  I can't get enough of them.  I collect them like I collect shoes.  Unfortunately, that means they tend to be as comfortable as my shoes, as well.  I have a bad habit of seeing a pair of shoes that looks cute and just buying without really considering if I need another pair of black heels or if they'll pinch my toes.  With boys, I think they look okay on the outside and I haven't been on a date in two weeks, so I figure I'll go for it.  

Next thing you know, I'm on my third first date of the month and staring at a kinda cute mechanic's bad teeth.  

I guess you'd call me picky, but if I can't find an intelligent man to date, why not only date the good-looking ones?  

I'm not addicted to love.  Love I can take or leave.  What I'm really looking for is the next fix of a perfect (or perfectly acceptable) kiss.

Single, White Female

I find the idea of internet dating exciting.  I mean, it's kind of like shopping on ebay.  You can look at lots of pictures, narrow your search down to your shoe-size and budget and get a great deal a pair of slightly used Jimmy Choo's.  And the problems are similar, too.  When shoe shopping on ebay, you start seeing the same pairs of man-made material shoes for $40 + shipping and you just wish you could skip the garbage and find the gems.

While pursuing the available men on various dating websites, you see a lot of themes reappear.  None of them want women that "play games."  I'm not even sure what that means.  I guess they don't like it when a woman goes on a couple of dates before she decides he's a moron, instead of deciding once she hears his first stupid joke.  

Also, they are all shy until you get to know them.  I get it, you have trouble meeting women out in public.  I have trouble finding non-disgusting men that don't try to stick their tongue down my throat after they buy me a drink, but you don't see me trying to explain-away my issues.

I think my favorite are the 40+ year olds with crap jobs that are all, "You're cute.  I wanna get to know you better."  Um, thanks.  I wanna get to know you better, too?  Age and loserhood aside, how are you supposed to respond to "I want to get to know you"?  My profiles are full are fun stuff that would work as conversation starters.  I try to make it easy for them, and instead I'm supposed to lay out my life story on a "I want to get to know you"?  Plus, why would I want some old man?  Who is fat, paying child support and making $30,000 a year.  I wouldn't and it goes to show how clueless these men are.  Or at least that they are spreading their nets very widely.  I prefer to be more selective and focus a gem or two that I locate.  

Unfortunately, if you find a gem, he lives in Virginia.