She said “No.”
And now, she’s gone.
She booked herself on a Dangerous Dames of Downtown burlesque theme-cruise to the North Sea.
I’m alone. I accept it.
Let go of all your memories of her.
Let go of your memory of the way she used to shout her fiery affirmations:
“The Universe wants to fuck my Truth because my Truth is hot.”
Let go of your memory of her angry outbursts: “Goddamnit, Bitter, a blow job is NOT sex! It’s just fucking fooling around!”
Yes, let go of all those sweet memories, Bitter. And look elsewhere.
Look uptown.

There’s a real estate boom happening in midtown. New towers are being built filled with beautiful workers.
Beautiful single women, who are all acting like they’re in their early 30’s. Thousands of them. Maybe a million.

If they’re actually in their 20’s, they’re acting more mature, thinking about buying condos and engorging their 401K’s.
If they’re actually in their late 30’s or, gasp, their 40’s, they’re rabidly working out, shopping for the hottest jeans and lying.

Look there in those midtown towers, Bitter, for the Beautiful Uptown Corporate Middle Manager.
She’s beautiful and she works in the middle of a corporation!

She’s in her tower 60 hours a week and when she’s not she’s taking a continuing-ed class at NYU.
She’s got a Singles Season Ticket to Jazz at Lincoln Center.
She takes annual vacations to St. John’s with her best girlfriend who is a very important person in her industry.
She’s got a regular share on Fire Island with a group of friends who are also very important people in her industry.
Every 3rd Sunday of the month she meets for brunch with her all-female book club.
She watches 3 Netflix movies a week. Where does she find the time?

Find her. Find her. Find her!
And invite her to the Morgan Library on Friday night to see the Irving Penn portraits of great artists.
But be sure to speak about artists in the 3rd person: “they; them; those people.”

And don’t tell her what you do. If you have to tell her you’re a writer, tell her you’re a writer for the pharmaceutical industry.
Tell her you actually enjoy the challenge of making the required disclosures on drug labels sound benign and pleasurable.

And be sure to express lots of anger, resentment and resistance to all attempts by the government to insert itself into our lives.
Tell her you believe the market should be free and unregulated. Free the market! Unregulate it! Set it free!

Tell her you believe that’s the American way.
Tell her, just look at this Morgan Library for example.
It’s a beautiful castle built by a mighty oligarch.
We wouldn’t have it now if there had been market regulation in its day.
It’s a beautiful castle built by a mighty oligarch, and today it is filled with the portraits of flakey artists.
Most of those artists drank themselves to death.
Most of those artists wore funny clothes.
Most of those artists fucked around a lot.
Look at them all now, hanging on the walls of the oligarch’s mansion!

Follow that path Bitter!
Lay those capitalism as orgasm lines down on her and she’ll swoon.
And when she swoons, catch her.
Catch the Beautiful Uptown Corporate Middle Manager in your arms.
And happiness…
Will find you.