Sex in The City
Ever since I started blogging--no actually, not true. A lot of my life has been sequenced in bite-sized chunks of synchronicity. It's been awesome to look back on some events and watch the cinematic qualities of them. For instance Friday night someone either in my building or the neighboring one was playing a jazz saxophone. The echo quality of it was so clear and gorgeous, I nearly wept. The sound filled the airspace. I thought it might be my neighbor across the way--that's how clear it sounded. If so, my respect for her went up a few notches.

Onto my topic.
Last night on the A train, there were three women in HBO mode, chatting affably about dating. I couldn't hear their conversations clearly, for which I am grateful. It was more their body language which tuned me in. I did clearly hear one woman say the following;
"He took me to dinner at 11:00pm at this nice little restaurant? At 2:00am, he paid for my ride home. That's class."

...

So let me get this right. Women really do like it when a man can drop all manners of disposable money on them? This thing called courtship is economy based? Cha! If only I had known this sooner!

There too is another reason why I'm single, I guess. I'm cheap, ergo, I gots no class. I was once fussed out because I didn't want to buy my date a bottle of water at the movie theater. Do you know how much water is when it comes out of a water fountain? Right. Now compare that to the price of water in a drugstore. NOW compare it to the price in a movie theater. I've since learned that it isn't the money they want--it's the willingness to spend it on them that they want. Well, actually, they want more than willing, they want to see you do it.

Women, women, women. I think you've been sold a bill of bad goods. I struggle with thinking these behaviors and expectations are chromosonal. It's more like you've been encultured to expect royal treatment, and if a guy can't pony up the red carpet for you, then he's a scrub. Listen, everyone wants to be treated as though they are special. Women and men. It's not quite fair for women to expect the exchange to be one-sided. Now, commonly, men expect sex for this exchange. They can live with that. And many many of them have spent a lot to acheive this end. Despite the fact that this is commonly called prostitution, do whatever makes you happy.

Me? I'd settle for kindess. And a little humility wouldn't hurt.

At any rate, before this train ride back, I had an awesome New York night. Went to the gym, met my Childhood Bud (see Links) for a movie, and ate at an inexpensive restaurant right on 42nd St! (See, if it had been a date, the girl would have invented a new insult to describe my frugality).

Then on the way back, I had the overhearing episode as described above. It was funny somewhat because the train changed it's designation from Local to Express about three times. You should have seen all the affluenza dash off the train at 59th St. No WAY were they going uptown! But oddly, Carrie and Samantha and their third sister stayed on. I'd have passed out if they would've gotten off in Harlem. They didn't. They were probably Inwood or Fort Washington girls.

But you know who did get off at my stop? Another white girl with a small saxophone-shaped instrument case strapped to her back. See above!

Our orbits intersected during the walk from the station and we shared furtive glances. I was trying not to get excited. Was THIS the sax player I'd heard the night before? This pert little dark-haired beauty? I followed her into my block. She went into the building next to mine. It WAS her. (No, I still don't think she was THE neighbor, unless she rooms with her. Different body-type, I believe. Different hairstyle for sure, unless the neighbor changed hers.)

See? Bite-sized synchronicity. When I get the chance, I will make conversation with her. If for no other reason, just to tell her how awesome her sax is.

Me at 1/18/2004 08:23:00 AM

---