I sing the praises of the office hookup. Where else but in the shadow of the copy machine can one meet a lover or a candidate for a drunken one-night stand who's likely to have been drug-tested, vetted for a criminal record and checked for gnarly, communicable diseases?
As a public service to hard-up dudes and dudettes (or people of both or no genders), The Post published a story ahead of Saturday, Valentine's Day — which I think of as the Super Bowl of sex. All you lonely folks who spend off-hours with your cats rather than practicing pickup lines or toning your abdominal muscles were warned to steer clear of potential playmates who work in adjacent cubicles.
Fifty-seven percent of American business professionals reported having engaged in workplace relationships at some point in their careers, according to a new survey by Vault.com. But Linley Taber wrote in this newspaper about some horrific instances of office coupling gone awry. These included the case of a female New York City financial-recruiting firm employee who got plastered at a company function and went home with her boss — parading her conquest right in front of the co-worker whom she'd recently started seeing. Awkward!
She must have wanted a promotion desperately.
I have to respectfully disagree with the naysayers. Whether one toils in construction or in fashion, in my humble opinion, office romance rocks.
Experts in the field of dating, and by that I mean my single and paired-off girlfriends, tell me that one's place of work is a superior setting for meeting a lover. Company co-workers have each probably passed screenings for health- and substance-abuse issues, and likely have been cleared of psychological maladies that might turn that hot guy or gal into a hot ax murderer or bed-wetter.
And, rather than wasting time with the unemployed freaks and fatties who may lurk on Craigslist.com, you already know that your office-mate has a job, and there's no mystery as to what he or she looks like after you sober up.
Twenty-seven years after saying "I do,'' I still think that my husband is the cutest thing in pants.
As Barbara of Brooklyn has learned from experience, that guy who describes himself as "rugged,'' "well-dressed'' and "sensitive'' on Match.com might actually be tattooed, metrosexual and gay.
"I was dating a guy I met on OKCupid.com for a year and he met all my criteria — he was romantic, good-looking, straight, made good money on Wall Street and he wasn't afraid of commitment,'' my pal Kathy, who lives in Manhattan, told me.
Unfortunately, that lack of commitment-phobia did not extend to my friend. When Labor Day rolled around, the man of Kathy's dreams suddenly had to go on a "business trip.'' He disappeared for a week around Christmas, saying he had to attend his grandmother's funeral in Arizona. This man sure seemed to have a lot of out-of-state relatives on their deathbeds.
Exasperated, Kathy looked up her man's Facebook status.
Married.
Duh.
Then, there are bars replete with germs, ex-cons and losers who look good through whiskey glasses, but turn into belching, mama-loving frogs in the daylight.
I met my husband (pictured on our wedding day) at the newspaper in Florida for which we both worked, he as a photographer and I as a reporter. Though I'm a Type-A Queens native and he's a laid-back fellow from Massachusetts, we were both journalistic nomads with similar ambitions and personality quirks. We also shared passions for world travel, eating liver and watching sappy movies. But I might never have given him a chance if I didn't run into him constantly at work — because he was nice.
Six months after we started dating, on Valentine's Day 1987, Mark Phillips asked me to marry him. We got hitched the following Jan. 2, and now live in Brooklyn with a daughter and a mortgage.
Twenty-seven years after saying "I do,'' I still think that my husband is the cutest thing in pants.
I'll never regret my workplace love affair. Give it a try.
Lies are all Brian has 'left'
Is "NBC Nightly News'' anchorman and managing editor Brian Williams, 55, afflicted with an acute mental/political disorder?
"Williams suffers from PLOL — Pathological Lying On Left,'' was the diagnosis that reader Mitch Madden of Florida rendered in an e-mail. On Tuesday, NBC brass aborted Williams' decision to take several days off from the tube and announced that he's been suspended for six months without pay from his reported $10 million-a-year gig. He was caught conflating a helicopter in which he rode safely in Iraq in 2003 with another one that took rocket-propelled grenade fire, among telling other tall tales. Stud muffin Lester Holt, 55, is filling in for him.
Residential rehab exists for drug addicts, alcoholics and those suffering from sex addiction. But I don't know of any 12-step program designed to offer recovery to those addicted to painting themselves as leftist action heroes.
Hamptons trailer cash
Richard Lester, 79, told The Post that he bought a .36-acre patch of land in Amagansett South in 1956 for $300, adding a $15,000, 700-square-foot trailer to the property a few years later that looks like something out of the flick "Deliverance.'' He lives in it with his wife, Theresa.
But now, neighbors on the beachy East End of Long Island include comic Jerry Seinfeld and rock star Paul McCartney, and a nearby property recently sold for $4 million. Lester has put his abode and land up for sale for the low asking price of $1.1 million, and it's likely to be scooped up by someone who'll demolish the trailer and build a posh pad on the site.
If you want to be a millionaire, remember the three cardinal rules of real estate: location, location, location.
Knife cuts both ways
Actress Uma Thurman, 44, showed up Monday at the New York City premiere of her new TV miniseries, "The Slap,'' nearly unrecognizable in slicked-back hair, dark-red lipstick and a curiously taut face.
In October, actress Renee Zellweger, 45, went almost unrecognized when she made the scene in Hollywood with a stretched-looking face that she chalked up to "happy'' living.
Female performers over 40 years of age certainly feel intense pressure to mess with their features.
But these ladies would look less scary if they sported a few wrinkles.
Farewell to a true hero
During the Persian Gulf War in 1991, veteran CBS News reporter Bob Simon was held prisoner for 40 days by Iraqi forces, who accused him of being a member of Israeli intelligence — because he was Jewish. He was subjected to torture more intense than that inflicted on the three other captured members of his team.
During a broadcast career that began in 1967, Simon covered the Vietnam War and won numerous prizes, including 27 Emmy Awards.
A "60 Minutes'' correspondent since 1996, Simon died Wednesday at age 73 here at home in New York City, after the livery cab in which he was a passenger crashed on the West Side Highway.
He was a giant among men.
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