I am exhausted.  I spent a chunk of the weekend doing homeowner-ish things, like trying to finalize my paint colors (more on that later), buying light fixtures (including one that ended up being broken, which means I’ll have to haul BACK to friggin’ Ikea), dimmers, switch plates, and a towel rack and shelf for my bathroom.  I have learned some interesting things about myself, primarily that I do best with decorating when I am limited to a finite set of possibilities.  I have also learned that I need to have a deadline (like the fact that the painter is coming) to get my butt into gear.  Stay tuned!  Oh, and on a semi-related note, the Spring Apartment Therapy Cure is underway.  This time I mean business.

In response to my last post a friend emailed (he seems to like to do this more than posting in the comments) the following astute observation: "This is what people do in most other places, and this is why I’m afraid that NYC might be a shitty place to meet people. Here, we only meet people when we plan to meet them. We’re getting screwed by a lack of serendipity since we all block out everyone from our personal space."  I agree only in part.  I agree that as New Yorkers, we don’t tend to meet strangers on the subway, at the grocery store, or while walking down the street.  Note that I said "tend to."  I know of a woman who is dating a guy she met while discussing bed linens at a store, for example.  New Yorkers do, however, meet people when we are doing things like dining solo — I have a few very close friends who I literally met hanging out at Otto.  Now, of course, this could be because I am fairly friendly by nature — who knows?  If I were sitting eating alone with my nose in a book rather than half listening to everything around me, or chatting with the bartenders, I might not have met them.

I’m trying to think of other places I’ve met people, other than the typical dinner party or deliberately social event — certainly through AIDS ride training rides, but not at the greenmarket (at least not yet).  Maybe I’ll be the one who starts talking to strangers on the subway — do a little social experiment for the next week or so.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

First of all, it is DAMN cold.  I’m sure it’s even colder in NYC, so I can’t really complain, but I wasn’t expecting it.  I did not pack anything that warm; I won’t freeze, but would love to have one of my nice wooly sweaters here.  Second of all, people talk to you here.  I mean, people are friendly in New York, but twice already, I’ve been walking down the street and people have just started talking to me or made comments out of the blue.  This morning for example, on my way to the gym, I guy approaching me felt the need to tell me he had just gotten some pancakes, which he was carrying.  Not sure why.  I made some comment back ("sounds tasty!") and kept walking, confused.  As tasty as pancakes sounded, I got eggs for breakfast.

It’s Monday morning and I think I’ve still got one foot in the weekend.  I spent a good chunk of Friday afternoon cleaning up my office — the piles had gotten out of hand.  I’m looking forward to heading to work and seeing my nice, clear desk.  Friday night I ate at Kasadela with John B. and Rob — I absolutely love that place, although the dental work I had done earlier in the week made it a little challenging to eat like a normal person.  Then on to help Gabe celebrate his birthday.  Saturday morning I got off to a good start with spin class, then I met up with Mom for lunch and a trip to Janovic to buy some paint samples.  I got four different colors (still figuring out the color scheme) and really didn’t like any of them, so it’s back to the drawing board.  Saturday night I went to see Jenn R.’s comedy show — she was fantastic as usual — and yesterday I headed out to Brooklyn for a late brunch at Jimmy’s.  Afterwards, I tackled two loads of laundry and headed to Roopa’s to watch the Oscars.  And now, I’ve got to shake off the weekend and have a productive few days before heading to DC on Wednesday, but I keep thinking about paint colors, which is a little distracting.  Wish me luck.

I have to say that this article in the Atlantic, "Marry Him! The case for settling for Mr. Good Enough," was one of the most depressing and, in my opinion, completely off-base articles I have read in quite a while.  It was written by a single mom by choice in her early 40’s or so, who seems to think that, as women get older, their only chance to find happiness (read marriage) is to settle.  And so once you hit about 35 or so, you should take her brilliant advice: "Settle! That’s right. Don’t worry about passion or intense connection.
Don’t nix a guy based on his annoying habit of yelling “Bravo!” in
movie theaters. Overlook his halitosis or abysmal sense of aesthetics.
Because if you want to have the infrastructure in place to have a
family, settling is the way to go. Based on my observations, in fact,
settling will probably make you happier in the long run, since many of
those who marry with great expectations become more disillusioned with
each passing year."

Geez.  First of all, this implies that women in their thirties have a never-ending supply of dates that we are rejecting merely because we are being "too picky."  Now as some longer-term readers may recall, I have been accused of being too picky or of having too high standards — my response then, as it is now, is that it’s not like there are lines of single, available, sane men hanging
around to date me if only my standards were lower.  I meet tons of
guys, but they’re taken, hung up on an ex, workaholics, players, or, as
they say, "just not into me."  Or I’m just not into them.  The ones that don’t fall into any of those categories and end up as dates have never, not ever, been cast aside because of something as superficial as an irritating habit, or even because things don’t seem crazy passionate on day one.  Sure, I’ve got to want to kiss the guy to get things started, but they usually work out from there.  On a side note, this is why it drives me up a wall when I hear guys talk about how they’re looking for fireworks or some such — in my world, every relationship that has started out with fireworks has crashed and burned into flames, so fireworks do not equal the perfect guy.  If I’m attracted to him and enjoy his company, that’s enough to get the ball rolling in my book — I don’t think that’s being picky at all.

Second of all, anyone who enters a marriage with expectations of unflagging passion till death without an ounce of effort (the great expectations to which she refers), is an idiot.  Marriage is hard.  Don’t go into it unless you are willing to do the work and you know how to communicate with your partner.  Just this week I have heard two reports from the marriage front that were certainly not all roses and sunshine, and I don’t expect it to be that way.  I still hope for it, but I am thoroughly enjoying the single life I have now, and am even hoping that it will decrease my odds of ending up divorced in the long run when I ultimately do get married.

Regardless, I thought the article was ridiculous.

Just when you think Hugh is all bitterness, he springs something like this on you!  And on an unrelated note, in the category of love-related articles that made me smile, this story from the Times sounds slightly familiar.  As for plans, I’m not doing anything swine-related this year, just celebrating the love in my life.  Hugs and smooches, all!!