Para Kay... Ewan Ko.

Para siguro sa mga taong nakakaintindi.

It's eleven at night and I just got home from Manila. Since Monday, I had set foot in my own home for such a short time that it caused suspicion from the family. I slept over at Joey's house, along with my laptop and stuff, for a purpose my parents didn't understand. Truth is, I went there for an overnight Bleach marathon; and Joey luckily had a spare bottle of red wine that we shared during that early morning. Being the bunso in my family, I had to explain in detail why I was leaving again today for the metro. I actually had no reason, so I just said I'd follow up a certain job application (which I never really did). I just felt the city calling me.

During the sleepover, I was also able to borrow Pops' copy of Ricky Lee's scriptwriting manual entitled Trip to Quiapo, the Signed Copy which she and Jay won at a raffle in Trinoma. This copy, as it turned out, would have something to do with today's Manila escapade. I borrowed it because of a secret dream that's not so secret anymore. I already started with the book but stopped; because all of a sudden I thought that if I was to take Ricky Lee's writing advice, I would have to know him first. Sure, I've watched and loved a few of his movies and saw him on TV a couple of times, but I had to know, erm, understand him. So I had to read Para Kay B.

So today: When I got to the mall I love most in Manila, the first thing I did was run to Power Books for a copy of Para Kay B. Due to force of habit, I turned left towards the free reading section of the store. I admit that sometimes I am a freeloader. Immediately, I saw five copies of Para Kay B on the shelves for in-store reading and didn't even blink as I grabbed one. I immersed myself in the book for the next four hours. The Power Books crowd had changed numerous instances by the time I finished the novel. Quoting the Boy Abunda review of the Filipino novel, "Hindi ko mabitiwan ang nobelang ito maski ihing-ihi na ako." The book put a spell on me. I felt stupid thinking that it was the only reason why the city called me, that I rode the tricycle, bus and jeepney for several miles just to read this book?! Oo, alam ko, may National Bookstore naman sa Santa Rosa.

I was still in a daze from reading when I met up with two college friends during the afternoon. The meeting was short and sweet, just catching up with the latest personal events. One of them asked me, "Why are you here again?"

I said I don't know. I made the trip just because of a gut feeling. When they left, I opted to stay in the mall because I felt the day wasn't done. I began the late afternoon searching for techie accessories but found none that I need. Suddenly, the day that had no purpose became a day of searching. I paid a visit to my alma mater, specifically to a certain laboratory. It was the lab I wanted to work in. I looked for a former classmate who worked here only to find her bench unusually clean and the only hint of her presence, a lab gown, perched on the old coat hanger. I left the building, literally circled my old campus three times,  catching glimpses of med students getting busy with books and chitchat. Some faces were familiar but most were strangers.

I knew I was looking for something but didn't know what it was. I went back to the mall and walked all four levels in an hour. Then there was this urge to search for a tea shop, which turned into a search for books on sale, then for a good Japanese restaurant, then turned into a search for the best takoyaki. When I felt discomfort in my stomach, probably PMS, I settled in a Japanese cafe, satisfied a craving for takoyaki and milk tea as I drowned myself in oddly familiar J-pop music.

Even on short notice, I ended up meeting a friend who I've had for the last 13 years. We had dinner, caught up with our lives, talked about family, life, love, career and comedy. A most refreshing conversation after such a long time. The same question popped up, "Why are you here?" I was looking for something, I answered. My friend offered to help me look for it but I said it would be better for us to spend the night over dinner. We were just there, amidst plates of Italian food... talking.

I took home leftover pizza and pasta to my family, perhaps to thank them for today's freedom.

Just so you know, I didn't find it. Whatever it is.

Worm

People are always asking me what I read. I don't understand why some people really don't have any idea how to gently interrupt someone from reading; why they don't realize that reading for some people is just as deep as sleeping. I believe interruptions should be carried out with politeness.

So here's what I'm reading: this new bestseller by Sophie Kinsella, who is better known for her Shopaholic series which has recently been adapted into film. It's "Remember Me?", a chick-lit novel about a skaggy woman who suddenly wakes up with amnesia to find herself a filthy rich career woman. To be honest, I wasn't impressed by the overly slang first-person narrative style that the author used. I just continued reading it because it was my cousin's gift and it was quite effective in shaking away my initial lethargy before work starts. I began to enjoy the story eventually; besides, it was meant to be a light material. The clever plot and uniquely British humor made up for whatever flaws the novel had.

Anyway, I have a colleague who bought a book. She showed it to me excitedly but I was disappointed that she actually had to buy it from National Bookstore. It was Bram Stoker's Dracula; so I thought: If she really wanted to read a classic, she could have bought one from a book sale for half the price instead. But then, she really wasn't the type who looks at books as a hobby so I didn't mention my musings. When they asked about her sudden purchase, she replied, "Because I saw Anna's always reading. And she's good at her job; so I figured, if I begin reading, maybe I'll get a little better."

I never guessed being an antisocial nerd who'd rather read than talk to people-type-of-person could touch someone that way. It made me smirk. It was good revenge for all those times I was taunted and interrupted from my book.

Oh, Nine?

My first thought as we entered 2009: I want to have a drink, please.

Again, I spent New Year's Eve at work; a strange yet interesting way to start the year. Bosses gave away chocolates after the dreary countdown was over. People applauded and stood up to spread lousy greetings while I lazily type away in my computer. So I officially spent the last minute of 2008 and the first minute of 2009 working. Moments later, my colleagues talked about the pasta, variety of salads and leche flan (which turned out to be just delicious leche) that we were about to share for an early morning meal.

Come mealtime, we had a festive Media Noche sustained by mere initiative to bring whatever we can or had. It wasn't the worst New Year's celebration for me... because at least we were not compelled to walk a kilometer to the nearest Jolibee just to have decent pseudo-festive food, which isn't even that decent. Much better, AT LEAST we were not relatives who pretended to like each other at family reunions, or awkward friends of friends who were forced to socialize at a party. We were just people who happened to be in the same place at the same time doing the same thing. It really wasn't that bad; but I just wanted to have a drink, that's all.

I was too hard on myself for the past year, the least I could manage was finish off with a swig of liver poison. On to sober 2009 then.

Noche Buena

There are few things in the world that get my attention these days, and the holidays, don’t attract me any more than they did when I was five.

I spent Christmas eve and the first few hours of Christmas day at work. So me and my colleagues were mocking ourselves by setting a stopwatch in the computer and counting down to the official start of Christmas day. As soon as the computer clocks struck 12, people began greeting each other ‘Merry Christmas’ in a manner like strangers greet ‘Peace be with you’ in church. Applause and cheers flooded the once quiet office. Some tears were shed for those who missed their families. I was laughing through the cheekiness of it all, but I thought it was amazing: Some people actually feel it that much.

My colleagues brought food and we stuffed ourselves with pasta, doughnuts, brownies and coffee. It was refreshing to share Noche Buena with people I don’t know and who don’t know me as well. Somehow, we were not kidding ourselves.

Merry Christmas.

Five Steps

Here are five steps to guaranteed public execution on grounds of extremely unusual interest and social behavior:

1. See a beetle, rejoice.

2. Try to kick it gently with shoe but allow beetle to stick itself on the sole.

3. Pick up beetle and play with it. Jokingly (for you, at least) scare the on-lookers, especially the squeamish women.

4. Warn all other species to avoid killing the said beetle, after a merciless few attempt spraying it with cigarette embers.

5. Let go of beetle and offer a simple explanation to the curious higher species as to why it hisses.

That's all there is to it. Wait for the vile jokes that come soon after, forcing you to spit out the genus and species of the said creature for an extended moment of shame.

The scientific name is Oryctes rhinoceros. Happy now? I'm not even a friggin' Bio major (so it's not surprising if I got it wrong). BOO.

Now That's Familiar

Help me remember how it feels to hold a pipette and dispense 10 millilitres of acid into that tiny 50-ml beaker. I miss that smoke and the smell that makes you cough when it mixes with water. I'm so bored that I'd rather digest sixty samples of fecal matter inside the fume hood and risk burning myself than stare endlessly and pointlessly into that computer screen at work.

I was sitting there, rubbing my shoes against the carpet, wrinkling my forehead in frustration and typing away in this stupid computer that had been triggering my headaches. I've been in this place for just a short while but I'm starting to feel the ceiling going down on me and the glare of the LCD slowly eating me alive.

But then just when I thought I was about to drop dead inside that pit of dumb boredom, I heard something familiar. My last name.

One of the female bosses was talking to a subordinate, "I'm looking for Ofilas." There could only be two reasons for a boss to ask for me: either I did something great or I did something really wrong. I continued typing in my computer and pretended to be busy until the boss found me.

"Can I take a look at your ID?" she said in the usual boss-like tone. I showed her the tiny card and waited for a reaction. She smiled. "Look at my ID." she said again.

Again, something familiar hit me. My last name. Though her ID was the typical damaged, overused, virtually washed out card that all the bosses have, I was positive about what I read. Ofilas. Same exact spelling. "Maybe we have the same father!" she joked, as all heads turned toward us. Still recovering from the shock, I asked "Where are you from?" in a tone that almost sounded like I was actually asking if she was for real. She held that same gaze as I had and answered, "Ilocos, of course. Where else? All the Ofilases come from that place."

Of course I knew that. There's no any other region in this country that could claim that clan name. Then she babbled about how rare it is to find a namesake and if she did, she was sure to be related to that person. Well, I always knew another Ofilas existed in that office ever since one of the lower supervisors mentioned her to me. I was too lazy to make a search effort, and besides, the number of people working there made finding a specific person a daunting task. But apparently, she is a boss- which meant power- which meant access to certain lists and certain data, thus The Meeting.

Anyway, due to loads of boss work she had to do and the sick mediocre routine that I still have two hours to endure... we parted ways as she promised to have a longer talk with me next time.

Funny, because I commented on Jung's post about namesakes, saying that I will not be pursuing the search for that mysterious girl anymore. I said I'd leave it to the forces of nature. And behold the forces doing their job. Though actually, it was the magic of employee database that brought us together.

Maybe having a boss with my last name would make that place a little less boring.

Insanity

I don't know 'cause I'm not a doctor, but isn't it when they diagnose you for mental disorder they ask if you've felt or experienced anything unusual? They'd backtrack towards events in your life or previous actions that might prove your sanity or otherwise.

Okay, so let's backtrack...


*** AFTER OVERTIME***
After another crazy day at work without sleep, I accompanied my mom to the hospital for some routine lab tests; then we went grocery shopping. I usually don't stare at other people but a certain girl caught my attention. She was confidently walking with her boyfriend inside the air-conditioned mall while wearing a) an orange bra, b) overlaid with a sheer white blouse, c) skinny jeans, d) a red scarf and e) dark shades. I was stifling giggles so much that my mother wanted to hit me. Hehe.

Sorry, I don't intend to be mean... but girl, ano ba? Don't contradict yourself! I don't know if the ensemble was meant to be for summer or winter. It's okay to wear a two-piece suit with a translucent cover-up on the beach but in the mall? And fine, for the sake of fashion, it's okay that Pinoys wear scarves despite the equatorial weather, but not with exposed bright-colored brassieres. Maybe it's just me; but forgive me for this one, I had a bursting laugh anyway.


***BEFORE OVERTIME***
Everyday I get a lot of jokes about so many different things. Some are worth a little smile but most of them have been quite irritating. But behold, here's one joke that actually made me laugh for a good minute:

     Two atoms are walking down the sidewalk,
     Atom 1: “Wait! Stop! I think I lost an electron!"
     Atom 2: “Are you sure?”
     Atom 1: “Yeah, I’m positive!”

Corny, hehe. But I laughed! Maybe I just missed chem (eh?). Ironically, later that day I was teaching a kid about redox reactions. LOL


***SOMETIME MID-DAY***
Girl: Anna, question. What do you call that middle groove below the nostrils and above the upper lip?
Me: Ah, that one. It starts with PH. Wait... (2 seconds) ... ah, it's PHALLUS.

Girl: Oh, actually sounds familiar. Thanks. *she begins looking it up at Google to look for a technical definition*
Me: (Teka, why does it sound weird? Sexual. Shet!)  Wait!

Girl: Huh?
Me: It's PHILTRUM. Phallus is... erm, look it up on Wikipedia.

:)

Cosplay Debut

Supposedly.

Before it turned out to be the reunion of the bangag sisters.

It was sort of, a well-prepared cosplay... I'd be Kikyo from InuYasha, and sis would be Sunako Nakahara of Yamato Nadeshiko Shichi Henge (which was pretty easy, by the way). Without the convincing bow and arrow and a decent kimono top, I was pretty much desperate to find anything that would complete the Kikyo look. I was supposed to do Gunslinger Girl Claes, but I lacked the familiar brown dress for her character. Despite coming from Makati, from work, without sleep, we had somehow convinced Angela to let me borrow her taekwondo top. So we waited for her to come home Sunday morning so I can fetch the needed attire from her home. We were almost fully equipped - cameras, clothes, accessories, etc.

And by the way, coming from work, I had no sleep as well.

Finally, she was home as sis and I walked to their house, not to mention having to tolerate stares from the SanLo people as we passed by with the semi-anime look. But because dear Angela was soooo sleepy, we ran up to her room and raided it! Lol. Which turned out to be a bad (eventually, good) idea.

The photo that started it all:

We were only trying to see who was more bangag between the two nocturnal creatures you see above. (Sumisilip sa side yung Kikyo ribbon ko. Haha.)

A series of pictures followed, which got stranger and crazier by the minute... or second, actually.

Although natuloy pa rin yung cosplay... sa loob ng kuwarto!

 

Naisip ko, ngayon lang... mukha kang server sa ramen house! LOL

Remind me, girls... why was there a show of feet? LOL

And why were we UNDEAD? (Dahil yata yun sa paa? LOL)

Natawa ako dun sa isang pic... sayang. :)

Just when we thought we were a little less abnormal... finally...

... there came the SENSELESS  fits of laughter.

Grabe. Honestly, sumakit talaga tiyan ko dito. Hehe. Si Pops, super flushed! x_x Bakit nga tayo tumatawa ulit? May reason ba? Pero tama si Tita, buti na lang we don't work in the same office! Kawawa ang colleagues natin.

And this: (whatever it is you'd call this)

OMG.

Can you imagine we actually had the stomachs for two family-size pizzas after all this? And we were actually able to sleep and wake up sane again?

Oh well. I was kinda glad I didn't cosplay anyway. There's always another Otakon next year and perhaps 50 more years after that. I bet not even the huge otaku conventions can beat our craziness. Haha!



***credits to joeynikaede.multiply.com and wikipedia for the pics

Why Do You Ask... WHY?

"Boyfriend?"
> "None."

"Had boyfriends??"
> "No."

"Since birth???" (Notice how the ?s increase.)
> "Yes."

"Owwws????"
> "You don't believe me?"

"Why?????"
> "Well, why do I need a reason?"

This is probably one of the lamest posts I'd ever put in this blog but what the heck, when you're fed up, somethin's just gotta give. Different instances of conversation around a span of a week with different people has triggered a phenomenon called being fed up.

Tell me, my favorite people in the world, do I need a reason to be single? Is WHY that big of a deal? After frequent conversations similar to the one above, guys usually stare at me for a good 5 mins or so, girls gasp in amazement and gays push through with the seemingly endless interrogating. And puhleeease, I am not easy (so don't give me that look)... or gay (especially not THAT look)... or naive.

I don't usually mind being asked, but I DO mind having to explain. My sis said that maybe it's because our kind is becoming an endangered species. Now that's a funny way to put it. :P

So thank you. For not asking me. And for not being stupidly interested in a non-existent explanation. :)

The girl from...

UP.

That's what they call me.

There are other variations like "Ate UP", "Miss UP", "Yoopee-yoopee" but mostly it's just UP girl or simply UP. My name tent says Anna in bold font size 85 or something but they call me just the same, everyday.

It feels somewhat like being a superhero... it's either a gift or a curse. Sometimes it even feels like high school, when being smart makes you less cool and socially incapable. So what, I got 11 out of 15 in that stupid logic test. If I had been taking the same test with my college buddies, my score would have been on the mediocre standard. This is how you turn out after years of blood-draining analysis and forced quick thinking. It's not some sort of extra-terrestrial power. It's not worth replacing a human being's name with an acronym.

People have names for a purpose. My name tent (tag) is HUGE for a purpose.




If it's your first time to encounter a nerd, deal with it.


-edit-

Again. Stop making an issue of the fact that I write during break times. You do your  thing, retouch your make-up, make chika and all that... I write. It's the same. It's not an alien ritual, so stop peering on my notes and talking behind my back.

Rare Occurrences

Shopping has always been more a luxury than a necessity in the world I grew up in. Unless we're running out of stuff to fill our bellies with or use in the shower, I don't get to shop for new things. I lived on presents, hand-me-downs and company freebies. Going around while actually spending cash as opposed to staring aimlessly at shelves is a rarity. Case in point: The mom, surprisingly, took us kids out for a little shopping as her post-birthday treat.

However, I don't think I'm shopping again anytime soon. First reason- cheap, regular clothes don't fit me. I wanted to buy what I called a "Lee Da Hae" blouse but apparently, Large still doesn't fit me... when in the US I fit in petites and small moderates! In the end, I got a smallest shirt in the plus-size section. Frustrating, no? Then there's a second reason- the salesman at the men's wear section would probably remember me as the girl who was picking out boxer shorts for herself. I helped my brother choose a pair of boxers and then just as the sales guy greeted us, my bro blurted out, "May smaller size, fit sa'yo! Turo mo, ikukuha kita and then ako na sa cashier para di nakakahiya."  When it couldn't get any worse, my mom held up a few of the items and asked how I'd like it (Mommy?!). Okay, I don't mind friends knowing I like wearing men's boxers at home, but I don't like having salespersons stifle giggles about it while I'm doing some serious shopping. So I told my mother I'll stick to grocery shopping for the mean time.

Another rare thing happened Sunday midnight until early Monday morning. Gerard, our beloved brother/Oble scholar/summa cum laude/future M.D. was online and available to talk, for once! Hehe. He's in Cebu right now after their cardio module and for a birthday with his family. It was his birthday last week and I totally forgot (what's more embarassing, I greeted Hernie and had a hunch that there was another August birthday but forgot it was Gerard's)!

Anyway... UP fam: sabi nya sobrang miss na daw na tayo and laging wrong timing yung mga dinners natin sa schedule nya. He hopes to be able to see us sometime when he's not busy (yikes, in med school, who knows when that will be diba?).

Who knows what other rare events are in store for me in the next few weeks? Like me going out, perhaps? :P

Manga on Microbes?

You read that right.

A certain blogger buddy introduced me to an anime he watched recently, entitled Moyashimon: Tales of Agriculture. The screenshots looked a little boring, but what caught my attention was the anime's plot. Moyashimon is about a college freshman Tadayasu who enters an agricultural university with a gift - he can see microbes in their icky, magnified glory. And even speak to them! ... or it.


To anyone who has studied microbiology or at least have seen a lab set-up of the sort, this anime would definitely be hilarious. Upon seeing the images, I suddenly remembered our Bacillus plates... and  just imagine nagsasalita sila, ew! Hahaha.

This is now definitely on my must-watch anime list. Now that I've seen the culture plates, I can't wait! Hahaha! (Omg, may shapes pa talaga sila! May coccus tsaka bacillus... hmm, may peritrichous pa ata! LOL)

Oddities

I realized there are a lot of ways to prove how strange my household really is.

–A conversation, around 9PM–

Me: Naghuhugas ako ng dishes. Ikaw na lang mag-alis nyan.

Bro: Ano ka ba, di ako humahawak ng ganyan! Normally, I don’t touch frogs!

Me: What, you think I do?!

Bro: You have a naked frog swimming in formalin in your room! Biochem major ka diba? Kinakalikot nyo pa nga yan eh.

Me: FYI, that was years ago. (Binigay ko na kay Faye yung skinless frog.) Besides, my frogs were sedated. I don’t necessarily chase them around. Minsan lang.

Bro: Whatever, you do it. I’m not touching a frog. Nakakadiri yan eh.

The Mom: Anong klase ba naman yang kuya mo?!

 
–The Story–

During the recent rains, we discovered a frog living in our front yard. It was average-sized, wasn’t that much of an eyesore and it wasn’t destroying the plants so we didn’t mind.

One night, however, I was washing the dishes in the kitchen when my brother was suddenly yelling for me to come. Startled, I rushed to the living room thinking that something horrible had happened. I actually had a bunch of theories in my head: that maybe there was something unbelievable on TV, that he broke some stuff, or worse, that it was something electrical. It turned out that the harmless frog had entered the house as my brother came back from his yosi break outside. My brother was screaming and telling me to pick the frog up and throw it back outside ’because HE DIDN’T WANT TO TOUCH A FROG.

Let me explain this further. My 25-year old older brother is a straight, grown-up, normally adventurous male with long hair up to his shoulders, tan skin, broad shoulders and a stocky built to match… but he didn’t want to pick up a frog.

I told him I was busy washing dishes but he insisted I remove the frog before it goes any deeper under our furniture. I asked him why he can’t just do it himself; and he told me that he doesn’t normally touch frogs. (Like I do?) My mother overheard the argument and was irritated at first, but then started laughing as she took over the dishes I left in the kitchen. Anyway, in fear of the creature possibly having poisonous skin, I got an old pair of latex gloves before doing anything. To my brother’s happiness and amazement, I caught the frog easily in one grasp. He instructed me to throw it out the gate. I might have thrown it a little too far as I saw it fly towards the other side of our street. It was a just a few inches from my neighbor’s property, who almost woke up to find a smashed amphibian at their gate.

I really didn’t mind having to get rid of that frog, except that some kind of sticky, icky, yucky mucus got stuck in my gloves and my brother didn’t want to clean it either.

Oh well, LIFE IS ODD. Nowadays, baby sisters get to save their brothers from little harmless amphibians.

(Just don't tell my bro that I've been blogging about it. Hehe.)

The Lowdown on Being Legal

Only seven weeks ago, I was waiting alone in a casino lobby, with a Dean Koontz novel in hand and eight steakhouse carry-out boxes surrounding me. It was three in the morning. People laughed and pointed at me and my carry-out boxes; like I was some psycho who boxed up all the customers' leftovers from the steakhouse upstairs. I was hungry, impatient and my eyes hurt from desperately trying to enjoy my novel despite the blinding yellowish lights. I watched people go in and out of the security checkpoint barricading the gambling area. I figured that if I was just friendly enough, I'd be able to get past them and into the Vegas simulation that trapped my aunts for nearly five hours; then drag them out to the real world where they can hear me say, "Let's go home."  But then I remembered my 25 year-old brother getting detained by security in the same casino a couple of months ago due to his teeanage appearance, so I scratched the plan. I'd rather wait and tolerate being made fun of by some Asian guys than get arrested. (And yes, unfortunately, of all races, my Asian brothers were making fun of me.)

Finally, it's time to strike back.

I will no longer have to keep my face turned away awkwardly everytime I enter resto bar. I don't have to let myself go hungry in casino lobbies when I can get just drunk enough in a nearby bar to piss my relatives enough to drag me home. I will no longer have to refuse a kind uncle's offer to buy me all the wine I can drink at dinner. I will no longer have to tolerate people making fun of me because I looked like a hungry kitten left by her owner.

While silently sitting at home and watching the clock tick, last Friday I became legal. There was no fancy celebration, but his guy from Animal Planet kept me smiling all night.

Image courtesy of fondosescritorio.net

Thanks to everyone who greeted by text, IM, Multiply, and all online means possible. Sorry I wasn't able to reply to each one.

Gold Digger

I found this on Snopes, where a woman posts a message on Craigslist apparently having a problem looking for an extremely financially-able partner. Here's the thing, the pathetic message actually receives a reply. It has been posted on e-mails as "The Answer" although the truth to these messages is unknown. However, I felt like posting it too. This is so hilarious. Read on.

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 level?

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

---

THE ANSWER

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 perpetuity... in 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.