Room for Love Read Online Free PDF

attempt to cheer me up.
    Someone turns the music back on, and everybody starts dancing around the office to “Everybody.” Courtney forgets about me and resumes her hippie dance. My desk is a mess, and I feel like I have to get out of here fast.
    I hear the IM sound from my computer. Apparently AliCat has time for one last comment, but not enough to take the trash out. The screen says:
    I’m not looking for an apartment.
    so fake it
    And then the latest: honestly it’s a good way to meet guys, easy 2 screen 4 losers, u c their gross kitchen, sweaty socks, pix of chix. one hottsy wuz in his boxers. NICE PECS
    Yeah, I think, that is a great idea for a story. I sit up straight in my seat and, typing so hard that my fingertips throb, e-mail Clancy a pitch, subject heading: “Catch!”
    Hey Clancy, I write. I just came up with a GREAT story idea! It’s about looking for a roommate as a great new way to meet guys. My sister’s apartment hunting right now and she’s got a date EVERY NIGHT! This system is better than the Internet, because a guy’s home doesn’t lie. You get right in there, see if he’s a neat freak or a slob, check out his books, his music, find out if he waters his plants, slings jockstraps on the living room floor or has pictures of his mother—or some chick—on his nightstand. You cut right through the crap, get to know who this guy really is. You’re allowed to ask him anything you want, because he thinks you’re going to be living together. It’s more immediate and intensive than Internet dating, the personals, trolling the bars … It’s an untapped market. The dating scheme of the moment. What do you think? Talk soon! Jacquie.
    Pretty damn satisfied with myself, I hit Send and check my Instant Messages one last time.
    Alicia’s last remark reads, dude, write an article and pretend ur looking for a room to rent. i have a feeling. u’ll meet your husband.

2
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    Looking for roomies!!! Two small bdrms avail in basement of sweeeet artist loft/gallery/workshop/recording studio/party space on the southside of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the best neighberhood in Nueva York! (The Burg ROCKS) Share livingroom, kitchen, ect. with artist/musician/party promoter/mellow dude. Guys, girls, your all welcome. Get ready to chill out, hang. Know what I’m sayin? Mnth2mnth OK. Call me. JAKE
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    On our way to the bar where we’re celebrating, Courtney and I stop by my apartment to do a ritual she devised for my birthday. Courtney is big on rituals—and astrology and homeopathy and green, leafy vegetables and howling at the full moon. When we reach the top of my four flights of stairs and walk through the front door—after dumping our coats on the floor, since I don’t own a coat rack and the closet is still packed with floor-to-ceiling cardboard boxes, even though I have been here for three months—Court goes into the kitchen to assemble the necessary paraphernalia and I run for the loo. We had too much sake and beer with our excessive sushi dinner. When I hit the light switch, the bulb over the medicine cabinet sparks, like it does every time the woman downstairs turns on her blow-dryer or vacuum cleaner, and makes me scream. I have to remember to do something about that. I close the medicine cabinet, which Alicia left open, toss her sweats and bra into the hamper, and scoop up the pile of makeup that is strewn on the counter and shove it into a drawer, trying not to get overwhelmed by the sight of the two neglected gallons of pink paint, brushes, rollers, and drop cloths glaring accusingly at me from the corner of the room.
    As much as I love my apartment, becoming a home owner as a single girl has its drawbacks. In addition to the bathroom, which needs a paint job (Court and I did the living room when I first moved in), there are floors to refinish and shelves to build or buy to house my millions of books that are still