Sunday, December 28, 2008

Who will you kiss at midnight?

I hope everyone had a Happy Hanukkah, a Merry Christmas, or cheery whatever you choice may be!

While being at home for the holidays is always relaxing, it is nice to be back in the City. And now comes the time to make New Years plans; an experience that is always stressful. All the usual questions come to mind: to pay for an all inclusive expensive party, or just go to a bar? Bar or apartment? Is it too late to make dinner reservations?? Oh the agony that is New Years. I have many friends that simply revolt and do not go out at all. I, on the other hand, secretly love New Years and the excitement that comes about with wearing something sparkly and hoping for a kiss at midnight.

I am trying to not put too much importance on this New Years' kiss, but I know, I know, 2009 is going to be a great year, so I feel like I should have a great kiss at midnight. Ideally, from a really cute guy who would want to take me to a delicious New Years Day brunch. But I will settle for a fairly attractive guy and a great kiss. Now, I will leave you with what I believe to be one of the best New York New Years kisses ever.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Its a wonderful life...unless you're an old maid.

I saw "Its a Wonderful Life" this afternoon at IFC. The New York Times recently made a big stink about how that movie was especially poignant right now in our economic situation (I think they used the description "its a Pitiful Life" - very uplifting). Anyways, although there is a dark side of George Bailey's life in that his hopes and dreams of traveling the world are squashed by having to stick it to the Man, the last scene in the movie gets me every time; "Remember, no man is a failure who has friends."

I did happen to notice in today's showing something about the film I never picked up on before. When George is granted the ability to see what life would have been like if he had never been born, he frets over how different things are and wants to see Mary, his wife. His guardian angel, Clarence, says ok, "But you won't like it, she works at the library and is an old maid!!!" We soon see Mary, who in "real life" is beautiful, but now has been turned into a smart, but sad looking librarian. Wow. My cynical self thought, come on Frank Capra, give us single ladies a break here. But then my romantic side had the thought, is there just one person out there for all of us? What if something happens to my person? Will I end up an old maid librarian?? If I do, at least I hope I will have a nice little cap like Mary. And no cats.

here is the wonderful last scene...

Friday, December 19, 2008

L'Homme Fatal

I have been duped (and dumped) by L'Homme Fatal numerous times. My problem is I live by the credo that guys are simple creatures and only want one thing. And these Hommes Fatales always send my guy radar into haywire. They are very smart and funny (and many times wearing glasses, damn them). They do not send booty call text messages at 11 pm on a Wednesday evening, but instead would send a clever email or facebook message. By attempting to "get to know you better" through creative dates (like Scrabble or tea, as this author describes) they trick you into thinking they are actually different from that jerk frat star who you don't remember making out with in college after you drank too much PJ punch.

Its the asshole in sensitive, artsy, "different from those other guys," clothing that makes preparing yourself for heartbreak from a HF impossible. These guys always use the same excuse: its not you, its me; we are just in different places right now; I'm just focusing on so many different things right now, blah blah blah.... Actually, you are lucky to get a response from an HF at all. In my experience they are immature and are scared you will assume a long term relationship if they so much as get your number. (Note: because of this, sending sketchy facebook messages to an HF including the phrase "remember that time we made out?" is not suggested).

With all this said, it is impossible not to enjoy flirting with these HFs. And life is short. Sometimes always making smart decisions is just flat out boring. So if you see a cute, but possible HF, underneath the mistletoe at your next holiday party, don't immediately run the other way. But just don't say I didn't warn you...

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

The Art of Meeting Men

This video is amazing. I would say it is circa 1987 judging from the shoulder pads. Maybe in 1987 the best way to meet men was "reading a sports magazine" or "wearing a flashy piece of jewelery." I don't know. All I know for sure is, that poofy hair is hot.

The Art of Meeting Men

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

No judgement

Mr. Moms. I'm telling you, I could never handle it. Now that does not mean I judge people who have this type of, possibly, wonderful relationship. I just know it would never work for me. I'm not sure if I ever want to get married, but I know that I do want a relationship in which both of us share the financial responsibilities. But like I said, no judgement... Ok, lets be real. I judge as a hobby.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Dating is Dead

Charles M. Blow says that while hooking up can be satisfying for awhile, women finally come to realize that it is not a great way to go about looking for a spouse. As my friend's mother used to say, why buy the cow when you can have the milk for free?

I am dismayed by Mr. Blow's attitude that dating is dead. Yes, perhaps men only ask women out for one reason in the end: to hook up. But dating still exists. Even though I easily become cynical and many times visualize myself sitting at home eating Plump Dumpling takeout for all eternity and realizing breaking up with my ex to 'meet new people' may not have been a good idea, I still try to keep the faith! So, Mr. Blow, please steer away from this negativity and your focus on lack of self-confidence in girls. The dating world is hard enough.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

My picks: Best of Craigslist missed connections

Today's picks:



And one of my favorites, a back and forth exchange between w4m and m4m both 26 beginning with:

Question - w4m - 26

Would you please explain to me what is going on between us?

Re: Question
I don't even know where to start.

re: re:

Start anywhere.

re: re: re:
I think about you constantly but one of us isn't single.

And now, the best, a random stranger:
Re: Question
1) What's the nearest park to your job?
2) Do you both live in the same borough?
3) Why not try anyway?

Here, Here!

Weekend recap

10 + guys lost to the Deadzone
2 new pseudo crushes (including one married man I just encountered a the coffee shop)
5 s'mores consumed at new favorite bar Camp on Smith Street in Brooklyn
1 ex-makeout partner stalked on facebook
1 call and hang up before he answered to ex-boyfriend from office phone on Friday (It's unlisted; boredom is dangerous).
0 texts from any suitors

I made a decision this weekend that if a guy has a beard, even just a 3 day scruff, I am automatically attracted to him. Throw on a pair of glasses and he just moved up to, "I will consider making out with you even if you tell me you want to be a stay at home Dad." My sister told me that I might like guys with glasses because they are less intimidating. I'm not sure what that says about me. But I will say one thing: I hate the cold weather, but it does bring out the beards!

Friday, December 12, 2008


I am totally bringing back the word "suitor." How awesome is that word?? Why does no one use it anymore? It is classy. It encompasses everything you want to say about "that guy I have been on a few dates with but I'm not really sure what is going on." It makes even the most sleazy guy sound a bit like Frank Sinatra.

This all came about because I was reading an old New Yorker article from 1931 called "Prosit New Years." The premise is a girl frets that she is going to spend New Years alone when suddenly an old suitor called whom she "parted from without regret last October." They end up going out, and well, I don't want to ruin it for you. Bottom line, I'm crossing my fingers at least one of my suitors calls this weekend.

"Prosit New Year"

We're in this together

Its always nice to feel solidarity with my fellow New Yorkers, no matter how strange or crazy these people may be.

This morning on the 6 on the way to work I had the pleasure of realizing I am not alone in my dating dramas. I was sitting, listening to my Happy Holidays playlist, and reading AM when a woman sat down next to me and pulled out a large file folder. She was dressed in professional clothing, but had an air of "I'm a little kooky and probably burn incense on a regular basis" look about her. Always being one to get in other people's business, I peered over her shoulder into the file folder, expecting to see resumes, work documents, etc... Instead, she was shuffling through numerous profile print outs, all covered in handwritten notes. The only notes I could read clearly were on the picture of a middle aged, slightly balding man. They said said: "Two kids, Bushwick, good soul." She got off at 28th Street before I could read more. Although my cynical self wanted to laugh, I thought, you go girl, good luck with that date. And then I secretly prayed that would never be me.

At 33rd Street a tall, lanky man with Harry Potter glasses sat down next to me and was furiously scribbling away on a yellow steno pad. Again, I peered over his shoulder. "Brunch was kaput. I realized we had been set up. Dad sat across from us smiling, but she was horrible. Bad date." This is amazing I thought - I am living vicariously through two different people's dating lives in one subway ride! I surreptitiously peered again. "Went to the zoo with Dad. Never letting him set me up on anymore dates." Ok, this guy seriously needs to get on I was so enthralled with this man's private scribbling I almost missed my stop and my purse got caught in the subway door when I was running out. But it was totally worth it.

Friday, December 5, 2008

The 6th Sense Hypothesis

I have created a dating hypothesis. Guys are equipped with a 6th sense that we ladies unfortunately do not have, or simply have not perfected. Here is how I believe it works: you meet a guy, you hit it off, he gets your number (or promises to facebook you - yuck), you part ways excited about the possibility of seeing him again. Then, four days go by without a call. A week passes, and you write him off as a dating mirage. To prove you don't care that hes "just not that into you," you and some friends hit the town. You meet a new guy. You hit it off. And just as you are having a great conversation with the new guy, BAM! (Emril style) - you receive a phone call, text message, facebook message (gross), or accidental run in from the no-call guy. It is the 6th sense that has caused this. No-call guy was holding back, making you sweat it out, until his 6th sense told him you were showing interest in a new guy and his chances with you had diminished. Now you are obviously confused. Do you text back now? Wait a day and play it cool? What is the protocol?? Perhaps this 6th sense allows guys to not overthink everything - not break rule #2. Very important...

I have created this hypothesis through experience. I was duped by the 6th sense again last night. Vig Bar guy (the one I met with Scarlett* and then saw again 2 weeks ago) had become a no-call guy. He promised to call this week. Thursday rolled around and still no call. I figured I could right him off - Deadzone material. So to shake it off (and because in this case there was an open bar involved) I went out with Eve* last night. Her swanky West Village gym was having a holiday party with a DJ and open bar - only in the West Village would this occur. My gym barely has AC in the summer. We met up with one of her friends who was with his roommate and another friend. The other friend happened to be slightly nerdy and wearing glasses - my weakness. We started chatting and just as we were really hitting it off and sharing our mutual desire to open a Pinkberry franchise, I felt my phone vibrate. When the Pinkberry guy went to the bathroom I checked my phone - text from Vig Bar guy, clearly. "Hey, how are you? Are you out tonight? How was your thanksgiving?" Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Seriously?

Monday, December 1, 2008

Facebook photos speak 1,000 words

I just looked at my work crush's wedding photos on facebook. Eek! My friend at work, the one and only co-worker who is privy to my crush, recently became friends with him on facebook. She was facebook stalking last night and noticed his wedding photos were posted - I don't think it was actually he that posted them which is good because that annoys me. No offense... So we looked at them this afternoon while listening to the Mariah Carey Christmas CD (yesss).

There he was in his tux, still wearing his cute little glasses and sporting a scruffy beard. And then I saw his fiancee, or wife. Whatever, wife, shmife. I was dismayed to see a) she actually existed b) she was not a complete troll and c) he looked like he her? I mean, where was the picture in which he mouthed, "I really love you, wait for me, this is all a hoax," to me? Perhaps they just didn't tag that one...

Now that he is married, is he going to email and phone flirt with me like in the good ole days (3 weeks ago)? I have been slightly bored without any work emails or calls to look forward to - the female temp in his place just isn't as much fun to call for no reason. I think I will find a veiled, but seemingly, important reason to call him tomorrow and see what kind of response I get. Stay tuned for my desperate calls to a married man!!

Terms/Phrases Section

I have added a new section to FirstDate - the Encyclopedia of Terms and Phrases. This is where I will define any amusing dating terms or phrases I commonly use, or have recently discovered in my dating experiences. I would love to have your input; Elaine* has already contriubted "Lets Get Out of Here." After having a guy use this phrase on her, she learned from experience that it did NOT mean, 'lets go get some ice cream.' Please add your comments so I can add your terms and phrases!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Happy Turkey Day

I am headed home tomorrow morning for Thanksgiving! 4 full days of eating, sleeping and fun family time. I will also probably fit in a trip to the skeezy local bar with my high school friends - an event that makes for beer drinking, gossiping about who is married and knocked up, and of course, the occasional make out with an old high school crush. Come to think of it, I actually just became friends with one of my old flames on facebook... Oh, how I love the holidays. You have an excuse for every bad decision - "It was all in good Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Years fun!"

Happy Turkey Day, everyone!!

All I want for Christmas is...

Last night I watched "Love Actually." What a great movie. It is set entirely during the holiday season. Christmas music abounds throughout the film. Although not everyone ends up with a happy ending, like the guy who is in love with his best friend's wife, or the woman who for gos a hot affair to take care of her sick brother, you finish the movie feeling like love and relationships during the holiday season are close to the best thing since fucking sliced bread. If you can watch that movie and not cry when Colin Firth proposes in Portuguese, well, you simply do not have a heart.

I LOVE the holidays more than any other time of the year. Especially here in New York, where the very air seems to radiate excitement for Christmas, Hanukkah, etc... So what if I have Mariah Carey, "All I Want for Christmas is You," on repeat on my i-pod. Don't judge me. All this being said, I am single and the holiday season is slowly approaching. Don't get me wrong, this does open plenty of opportunities for drinking too much eggnog and and accidentally placing myself underneath mistletoe for an entire Christmas party. Unfortunately this is not an option at my office Holiday party due to the fact it is been canceled because the "economy." And lets face it, my work crush (who is currently on his honeymoon!!!) would be standing under the mistletoe with his wife, so how much fun would that really be anyway?

There is simply something to be said for having "someone" during the Holiday season. Last year I forced my now ex-boy friend to listen to the Nutcracker soundtrack with me, watch the Nutcracker on TV (instead of a Knicks game) and go to a live performance of the Nutcracker during which an 8 year old kicked the back of his chair the entire time. Walking to dinner afterwards, I continued to pester him about visions of sugar plum fairies, until it suddently it started to snow. At that moment I stopped my Nutcracker jokes (temporarily) and realized the best part of "relationship stuff" at Christmas: being able to share the romanticism of the New York holiday season with someone you care about - yikes.

BUT - that was LAST year. I was in a DIFFERENT place. Now, THIS year, I am excited about having a holiday party and finding exciting holiday activities in New York that I never knew existed last year when I was too busy annoying my ex with Tchaikovsky. I think I am going to look into making a mistletoe headband, as well...

Monday, November 24, 2008

The Credit Crunch

The recession is taking a toll on us all -- including all the golddiggers downtown. But, as Andi* and I discussed last week, sistas gotta eat. Or have table service at Marquee in their case.

The Rules

I have very wise friends. This past Saturday over coffee I was blabbering and over-analyzing every action and event that had taken place in my love life in the past two weeks. I pondered aloud every "logical" thought: is he just not that into me? is friends with benefits a good idea? do boys not like me because I smell funny? Finally, we broke out my moleskin notebook and wrote down two simple rules to "Help Me Turn my Love Life Around." Fortunately, or unfortunately, friends with benefits was not included on this list. The two simple rules are as follows:

1) Do nothing that will lead you to getting married.

2) Think less. (period.)

Trust me, following these rules will make hopping off the train to crazy town much easier. As far as the marriage rule goes, we are referring to within the next...uhh...5 - 10 years? Other than that, there are NO catches.

To prove The Rules work, this past Saturday night I tried to think less. I stopped worrying about every guy and that had, had not or would not wanted to date me. At the bar that night, while I was just doing my own thing with my friends I ended up seeing the guy I met a month ago when Scarlett* was in town! He apologized for never getting in touch with me, got my number and asked me out. Thirty mintues later, I received a text from Bernard* saying, "Hi." Technically this was at 3:00 am - probably a 3 o'clock scramble, booty call, whatever you want to call it. But, point being, once I stopped freaking out and thinking about relationships, two of the guys I had placed deep in the Deadzone immediately popped back into my life.

Follow The Rules this week. Let me know how it goes.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Grease Lightening and grilled cheeses

Last night was my date with the Welschman. To quote one of my best friends, I was just "not in the mood." I would have been perfectly content sitting on my couch, eating a grilled cheese sandwich and watching Pushing Daisies on ABC, however I had agreed to this date and so I had to step up to the plate (ha! that rhymed). In order to pump myself up, I drank a glass of red wine and forced Andi* to listen to my "Yo Mama" playlist which includes classy hits such as "Fiesta" by R-Kelly.

"Get excited, you will have fun," she said. "Besides its free drinks nonetheless. I told John* (her long distance boyfriend) I was going to have to start going on blind dates for free food and drinks. Sistas gotta eat."

"I totally respect that. Hopefully I'll get some free wine tonight," I said grabbing my keys and cell phone. "Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!" she yelled as the door shut behind me.

We were to meet on the corner of 3rd Street and Avenue B, at 8:30, or so I thought. As the clock struck 8:40 and I continued to stand in the frigid f-ing 20 degree cold, I had flashbacks to when the Lawyer stood me up back in September. So I texted my co-worker, "He is MIA??!!" Only 3 minutes later, a cute guy popped out of the bar across the street and walked over to me. "You must be Hannah. Sorry, I meant for us to meet in the bar. I'm James*," he said in a sexy Welsch accent. Why helloooo.

We headed into the bar and he kindly ordered me a glass of red wine. Having already downed two glasses at home, I was already feeling a little chatty. "So, I hear you live on 2nd Street?" I started in, "I used to live on 2nd Street. A few blocks up. Across from the cemetery - kind of creepy. Do you take the Bleeker Street stop to work? I used to, now I walk to Astor Place. Oh, did you heard they might be doing away with the W and C trains? Not that that really affects me, but... Yeah, I like this neighborhood, I live above a burger shop so sometimes my apartment smells like burgers but other than that its wonderful!" Wow, word vommitt.

"Hmm, thats all kind of quirky, not weird, just quirky," he said.

"Ok, well tell me something 'quirky' about yourself then," I said.

"Lets see...I really, really like the musical/movie Grease. I can even tell you my favorite bit - its the Prom scene," he admitted. this was no home schooling comment, but I was not expecting Go-go Grease Lightening.

"Well, I love Dirty Dancing! Nobody puts baby in the corner!" I said energetically, trying to even the playing field.

"Oh yeah, thats a good one, too," he said.

So you are probably thinking this date doesn't sound much better than sipping pomegranate martinis over 3 pieces of shashimi. But luckily, after we trudged through the awkward beginning territory and traversed the "hopes and dreams" section, we got into a really good conversation. He explained his family holiday traditions in Wales - which pretty much entails spending the entire day at the pub. I then told him about my two favorite parts of the holiday season: "All I Want for Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey, and fried turkey. The conversation went a little deeper, but luckily he never asked me to tell him something dark about myself.

Three glasses of wine later, I was drunk and he was looking even cuter... but I was also ready to go home and eat a grilled cheese sandwich. He walked me the three blocks
to my apartment . A group of loud hipsters were outside of the burger shop smoking, making our goodbye at my front door less than intimate. "So, I had a great time. I've got your email. We should do this again. I'll be in touch."

"Great! It was fun," I said. He leaned in, gave me a genuine hug and then walked away as I unlocked my door and stepped inside.

Once upstairs, I started making my grilled cheese sandwich and rehashing the date in my head. 7.5 out of 10? Really nice, but was there a spark? Also, what the hell is up with guys and saying, I'll email you, or I'll facebook you, as opposed to just getting my GD phone number. Stupid technology. Or it is it the new way of saying they're just not that into me??

I woke up this morning with a terrible headache and a desperate need for a bacon, egg and cheese bagel. Once at work, with bagel and coffee in hand, I told my co-worker all about the date. "So it went well! That's great!" she said. "I have to tell you something though, just as a heads up. Apparently he had a date Tuesday night and has another on Friday night. One girl he met on and the other he met at a bar. But I'm sure you were way cooler than them."

Great. Competition for someone I'm not even sure I'm that into. Also, no email so far. I guess he is holding out the Friday date, just to see which girl's phone number is worthy to be added in his blackberry.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

No pomegranate martinis

I have a date tomorrow. Yes! A blind date, to be exact. While most people would cringe at this thought, I am excited. I love blind dates. You get free drinks (hopefully), talk a little about your hopes and dreams, and usually, because most blind dates are all absolute duds, you get to slip in some elaborate lies about yourself and see if the other person notices. For example, "Yes, I have been lucky enough to travel extensively. Mostly because of my unpaid internship I had two years ago with the Circus. I had to quit, though, because I realized I was allergic to lion dander. Oh the Merlot sounds nice, don't you think?"

My co-worker set me up on this date. This is creates room for a bit of fear, only because of the caliber of the only other blind date she has set me up on. It was about two months ago and the guy was her friend from high school. We met on a Friday night for sushi at a place with buy one get one free drinks. I arrived to find him drinking...a pomegranate martini. "They're really great here, try one," he said.

"Uh, ok," I said. Then, he was nice enough to order for us, but unfortunately all we ended up with was a plate of sashimi. Great, nice and filling. Four drinks into the date (he is on his FOURTH pomegranate martini and I'm onto the 3rd type of mojito on the sugary drink special menu) we get into what I like to call the "hopes and dreams" portion. Where do you see yourself in 5 years, blah, blah, etc... "Truthfully," he slurred confidently, "I really just want to be a stay at home Dad. I'd like to find a powerful and driven wife who wanted to support the family, and I would stay home and take care of the kids. I mean I have hobbies, I really like writing poetry." At this point I think I made a small coughing noise and attempted a polite, "Uh huh." I'm all for 21st Century and mixing up gender roles, but I want equality, not a husband that sits at home eating bon-bons and writing poetry while I bring home the bacon.

"And as far as my kids," he said, "I am all for homeschool, at least until high school. I can give them a much better education than any 'normal' school can. As opposed to the polite cough for the stay at home dad comment, at this point I think I made a face like I had just eaten cat poo.

To each their own, but a pomegranate martini drinking-stay at home dad-homeschooler just isn't my type. As we awkwardly hugged goodbye at the end of the night, I thought, 'Wow, this was a bad date.' But truthfully, its just another great story. Or perhaps, should have been a learning experience never to be set up by this co-worker ever again. Oh well, as long my blind date tomorrow doesn't drink pomegranate martinis, we should be off to a good start.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Love your earrings, baby

I am not so much a morning person. I mean, I can have a conversation with my roommates, put on matching socks, and walk the 6 blocks to the subway, but I really would prefer that no one talk to me until I have had at least one cup of coffee and some frosted mini-wheats. That being said, the conversation I witnessed this morning on the 6 train terrified me. A girl was standing in front of me wearing a black leather jacket and large gold earrings with blue detailing. At the 33rd Street stop a guy got on the train, gave her the once over and said in a thick Bronx accent, "So, you live in the Bronx?" Echoing his accent she annoyedly answered, "Uh, yes."

"Nice. Love your earrings, baby."

How dare he attempt flirting before 9 am! I can't even open my left eye that early let alone think about trying to turn on the opposite sex. Maybe that is my problem. Perhaps I should start taking espresso shots before I leave the house and see if my love life takes a turn for the better.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Meeting people is easy??!!

The details of this article may be from 2006, but hey, not that much in the world of L-O-V-E changes that quickly. However, to go as far as to say meeting people in NYC is easy?? HA! Maybe in the world of e-dating. I do agree with the fact that breaking out of your neighborhood is a good way to go about throwing a breath of fresh air into your love life. Staten Island, here I come!!

P.S. I am considering giving a chance because lets face it, who doesn't want to seductively ask, "Who is John Galt?" Thats right, objectivism, so hot right now.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Recession Special

I laughed out loud when I read this in NY Magazine today. I made a plan yesterday to start saving money more money, so that in itself makes this article even more humorous. All the hoopla of dating in NYC really can set you back, NY magazine tell us. So sleep with your ex and save up to $2,400 a year!!! Yes. I knew that poor decision I made last week was actually my inner frugality shining through. Say what you will, but $2,400 is a lot of dough. (A Chanel bag to be exact). I'll have the recession special, please.

Two observations

I have made two important observations about dating in the past two weeks. One, if someone is consistently going on two or more dates a week with different people it is a 90% chance they are on, jdate, etc... If you question them about their dates and they reply with a vague answer such as, "Oh, I'm just really busy, you know, I'm just busy," this brings the chance up to 99%. Two, although I have met a lot of duds recently, much more terrifying is the idea of going on a date and having the divine realization I'm sitting across from my future husband. I mean, I'm not ready for that! I still have things to do, people I still have to go to Malta and discover my destiny. Don't ask questions about that yet, its my life coincidence.

I explained this last night to Elaine* and Eve* over drinks and they fully agreed. "Yeah, I would probably F it up and then where would I be?" Eve said. Exactly. So, attention my future husband. If you are out there (and I hope you are because I really hate cats and the smell of incense), please avoid me for another, uhh, two - three years. Thanks. Looking forward to meeting you, much later.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Dating as a hobby

I have been in a bit of a cynical place recently. I counted it up and my record is 0.5 - 5 with dates, roughly. My ex-boyfriend is the 0.5; I didn't feel it was fair to give him a whole 1 since I already knew him, but the experience was not a total loss... Remember Bernardo, the guy I met speed dating? Well he never called me after we had coffee. I guess Cosmo magazine was right -- you do have to makeout with the guy on the first date to get him to call you back.

Dating is a serious hobby if you really want to invest yourself wholeheartedly. It is kind of like job searching: if you are not careful, you can make the task of dating a job in itself. I think I was responsible of doing that recently. Last night I realized I had been acting mopy and dragging my feet for no reason. "Elaine*, I need to stop feeling bad about myself and do something for others. The holiday season is a perfect time for that! Lets sign up for some volunteer activities," I said.

"Yes! I'm down," she said while doing homework at the kitchen table.

"Me, too!" yelled Andi* from her bedroom. I googled "holiday volunteering NYC" and clicked the first page that came up. "Help elderly Jewish people prepare for Hanukkah by aiding in their shopping and delivering food."

"Done -- I'm signing us up to help these old Jewish people. I'm sure they will be really cute," I said, filling in the contact information.

"I'm not going to get lots of emails from this charity, am I?" Elaine asked.

"No...but, you know who would love to get these emails?? The Lawyer from Long Island!!" I said excitedly. "We forgot to start signing him up for spam!"

"Perfect! Oh, wait, this is going to be bad for the charity because then he won't show up. We need to sign him up for magazines and stuff," Elaine said.

"There was some thing my boyfriend could never get off of, like a gym membership, or something. Or you could just sign him up for all the spam in your gmail," Andi said.

I searched around and subsequently came up with TVguide SOAP daily updates, Men's Health magazine, South Beach Diet daily updates (you CAN make it to your goal of 200lbs!), and my favorite, with his upcoming wedding day of 2/14/09. He will get daily reminders and saving tips - yes! The more I thought about it, this is probably bad karma, but it was his mistake to stalker style g-chat me. I'll also make up my karma with my holiday volunteering.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Its a slippery slope...or just a big wad of gum in your hair

My mother, a lawyer, has a favorite phrase I heard many times in high school: "Are you misrepresenting the truth?" Yesterday, I would have disappointed my mother because I misrepresented the truth not only my sister and Elaine*, but ultimately to myself.

It all started with the Phillies winning the world series. Fairly insignificant to most, except to my ex-boyfriend for whom this win was more important than his birthday, Christmas and Hanukkah combined. Deciding the time had come to reach out and make a friendly gesture (we had not spoken in about four months) I sent him a facebook message congratulating him on their big win, hoping he was doing well and perhaps I'd see him around (as a friend - ok?!). He wrote back to say thank you, hoping I was well and he would like to see me around. Hmm, tricky. As much as I did want to see him and catch up (as friends!), I knew our last three meetings since our break-up had been anything but "friendly..."

I decided to talk it over with Elaine and get her opinion. "No, no ma'am. There is no such thing as a 'casual friendship' with an ex. That is a slippery slope. It is impossible to be just friends with someone you have dated. This is bad idea. I do not condone this," she said as we were lazing about last Saturday.

"I know...but...I'd like to see him. Just say hi, have a drink, catch up, and whatever..." I said, sheepishly.

"Uh-huh. 'Whatever.' Breaking up and having an ex is like getting a big wad of gum in your hair: you start out with a really big wad of gum and the longer you go without speaking or seeing each other, you are able to get more and more gum out. Eventually all you have is a slightly sticky spot in your hair that slowly goes away. Do you want that gum back in your hair???"

"You know there is a trick where you can put peanut butter in your hair to get gum out?" I joked. "Please don't ruin my analogy. I'm looking out for your best interest." she answered.

Even with her watchful eye, my ex and I made plans to have drinks this week. Monday eventually worked out to be the best day for both of us. I spoke with my sister after work yesterday; "What are your plans for tonight?" she asked. "Uh, you know, not much," I stammered. "Ok, well dinner Thursday?" she said. "Yeah, yeah," and I hung up. I knew she wouldn't care that I was hanging out with my ex, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell her. I texted Elaine*, "Meeting up with my sister. See you later." Not a complete lie -- I had possibly planned on doing that. But I still felt guilty having to tell a white lie -- it made the guilt I had of hanging out with my ex even worse. I knew I was lying to myself about this being a good idea.

I took the train to Park Slope. The whole time I was thinking, What will I say if he has a new girlfriend? How will I react? I found the possibility of this highly unlikely, but I wanted to be prepared for everything. I met him outside his apartment (safer than inside). He looked the same as I remembered: tall, glasses and slightly scruffy beard -- all his nerdiness that I had always liked was fully intact.

We walked to a bar close to his apartment, got drinks and began catching up. How was work I asked? Good, he had been promoted. How was his family? Great, his brother was going to propose to his long time girlfriend. I blabbered on about my job, friends and new apartment, all the while surreptitiously trying to draw out if he was seeing anyone. After the third drink, from the way he was looking at me I knew there was no one new. "So what else is new with you?" I drunkenly asked. "Same ole', same ole'. Nothing at all," he answered. I realized then that although all the things I always liked about him were still there -- his goofy laugh, ability to listen to my never ending ramblings, and distinct smell of Old Spice and Scope -- all the reasons we broke up were still there as well. We were still in two totally different places in our lives and no time was going to change that. As much as he did not want to admit it, I knew he felt it, too.

"Want to get out of here?" he asked, leaning across the table so our faces were almost touching. I knew it was a bad choice. I knew 85% of me would regret it tomorrow. I knew I was ruining any chance we had at being "friends." But, as Betty* has told me, "you only have one life - might has well live it." Screw it, I thought (no pun intended). "Yeah, sure, lets go," I said to him.

I left his apartment the this morning with a hangover: a real hangover from red wine, and a bad decision hangover - the worst kind. I bought a coffee at a deli to attempt to cure the real hangover, but the BD hangover is a little bit tougher to get rid of. We left it this morning with him saying, "I'll be in touch..." and me saying, "Ok, see ya." All relationships are a bitch. Or depending how you want to look at it, just a big f-ing wad of gum in your hair.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Tell me something dark

So I got coffee with Bernard* yesterday afternoon/night. Coffee actually turned into a couple drinks which is always a good sign — things were not totally awkward. He was very nice: 28, web developer who works in publishing and dressed up as Don Draper from Mad Men for Halloween — major plus. He also qualifies the necessary categories in my "bottom tier" — over 5'10'' and brown hair.

We talked about various things: where we were from, our jobs, what we liked about New York, and of course I attempted to fill all the awkward pauses with things like "Nice!" and "Thats cool!" After the second beer he said to me, "Tell me something dark about yourself." Hmm, something dark. I am not a particularly "dark person." Yes, I have my skeletons in the closet, but I truthfully don't spend much time sitting around thinking about death. If that means I am not prepared for the eminent future, so be it. "Dark, you say?" I slowly answered. I thought hard. There was that time I dressed up as a vampire for Halloween, does that qualify? "Umm..." I fumbled. Then I had it. "When I am at the buffet at Whole Foods, I always nibble things before I go to pay," I said. "Oh, um, ok," he said, looking slightly confused. Maybe not the answer he was looking for, but I was being honest. And come on — don't we all do that? I see the BBQ tofu and think, "I like BBQ and I like tofu, but will I enjoy them together? And $7 per lb is a lot of money." So I just spoon a little in my salad box, take a taste and if I like it, I take a big spoonful. If I don't, I move on. Completely harmless. Except for the one day when I was tasting the Chicken Tiki Masala off the hot bar and it turned out to be really hot. I gave a little "eeek!" and inadvertently attracted the attention of a near by Whole Foods employee, immediatelyforcing me to sheepishly run away into the cheese and olive section. Maybe this is not exactly "dark," per se, but it is what came to mind.

Fortunately, this comment did not make the date go comepletely downhill. We sat and talked for almost three hours until the conversation slowed and I said I was going to head home. He offered to walk me. We strolled down my street and eventually arrived at my door — the awkward end of date conversation ensued. "So...maybe we could hang out sometime this week?" he asked.

"Yeah, that would be cool..." I said.

He leaned in for the kill. I turned my head and all he got was a very small peck. "Ok, so, talk to you this week!" I said, unlocking my door and scurrying inside.

The October issue of Cosmo told me that you are 75% more likely to get a second date if you makeout with the guy on the first one. Well, we'll see about that.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Coffee and...

Yesterday I got an email from Bernard*, who ended up being one of my matches from Thursday, asking what my plans were for the weekend. I emailed back to say I was going to a comedy show that night with a friend, but I was free all day Sunday. After a short email exchange, we made plans to meet for coffee late this afternoon at a place in my neighborhood.

By chance, Elaine also has a coffee date today. Her date is with a cute British guy she met on the dance floor Halloween night. They bonded over joking about his cheesy 'Where's Waldo' costume. She and Waldo texted all day Saturday and are going out later tonight for coffee.

"Its weird, I'm very lukewarm about my date with Bernard*," I said to Elaine as we strolled down First Avenue towards Whole Foods this afternoon.

"Really? Why? Do you think it is because you met him at speed dating?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess so. It just feels like it was a forced meeting, so its not like I have that excited butterflies in my stomach feeling, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess you aren't as excited to fantasize about your future holidays in London like me," she said with a fake British accent. "Ha, yeah, I feel more like I have a job interview. We'll see how it goes," I said.

Because we all treated speed dating with such a laughable attitude, I guess I have a hard time believing that any date I go on resulting from the experience is going to be just as much of a joke. Besides, I have only spoken with this guy for 6 minutes previous to the coffee date we are about to have: thats not much time. Unlike Elaine who met Waldo out in a social situation and hit it off because they had chemistry, I have no idea if Bernard and I would ever even frequent the same bars or have much in common socially past the fact we happened to go speed dating last Thursday. I am obviously over analyzing and entering this date with a very negative attitude which is never a good thing. Regardless of what happens, I will be doing something more exciting than my usual Sunday night of Law and Order watching -- I'm "getting out there." And isn't that what dating is really all about?

Details to come on coffee with Bernard* tomorrow...

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Speed dating - PART TWO

Afterwards, Betty, Elaine and I finished our drinks, mingled for a bit and then hurriedly left so we could begin gossiping as soon as possible.

"Omigosh I had so much fun!" Elaine said, looking at Betty and me.
"I have so much to say right now...I don't even know where to begin. It was really fun!" Betty said.
"Ok, who are you all going to pick? Who did you like? Wasn't Spencer so weird? Can we go somewhere and talk about this all!?" I asked while buttoning my coat.
"Yes! and I'm starving," Elaine replied.
Maggie Mae's Pub a block away was our destination. After getting a table, potato skins and beers we started our rehashing. "Ok, Bernard* was so sexual. If we go on a date....well...I'm just saying... And James*, he was cute and came to talk to me afterwards," Elaine said.

"Ok, I must record our thoughts," I said turning over a Maggie Mae's paper placemat. "Lets go through everyone and say what we thought. Oh, but wait -- can we first talk about how my date got up and left at the beginning??"

"Ha ha, yeah, I can't believe there were more guys that girls. That was a bit surprising," Betty said.

"Ok, first off, we had Tim*, the PhD student at Columbia. Definitely nerdy and super short, but he was sweet! I think I am going to match him," I said.

"I know, he was really sweet. I am going to match him too," Betty replied.

"Ok, how about 'The Greek?' He was possibly one of the weirdest. He told me that 1/7 of the world was Greek and so that since we were both Greek at least one other person in the room was Greek as well. Ek, no way, he was super creepy," Elaine said with a disgusted expression.

"Ha! I told him to look out for you. I said he needed to pay special attention to you, Elaine, because you are one of his people and that you, Betty, lived right by the Cloisters which he said really liked going to," I said, laughing.

"Geez, thanks a lot," Betty said, "but at least he wasn't as bad as Jonathan who simply said 'I'm in stocks' and was silent half the time."

"But by far Spencer was the weirdest. Come on, I'm pretty sure he was gay. Why was he there?" I asked.

"I don't know about him being gay, but he was...special...I think," Elaine said slowly.

"Well he told me about the advertising projects he was working on," Betty said, trying not to laugh, "he is working on a cream that you rub on your chest and shoulders that increases testosterone. And also the HPV vaccine, Gardasil. But I think I'm going to match him!"

I laughed so hard I choked on a potato skin. "What??" Elaine said.

"Yeah! I mean...he was nice," Betty reasoned. I was laughing so hard I was having a hard time writing on the placemat.

"Truthfully, I think you should be obligated to match everyone," Betty said looking at me. "I mean, you can consider it research for the blog."

"Hmm, you make a good point. I will try and match everyone, except maybe Mike the Russian from Coney Island - I just got a weird vibe from him," I said.

"Oh yeah, he bought me a drink at half-time. Does that mean I have to match him?" Elaine asked.

"Good question," I noted, writing her question on the placemat.

It was at that point that I noticed a group of three guys at the bar giving us strange looks. Granted, it is not as if all the other girls in the pub were huddled around a placemat laughing and taking notes, so perhaps we did stand out a bit. Finally after three or four incidents of awkward eye contact, one of the guys came over to the table. "So do you ladies mind if I ask why you are writing on the back of a placemat?" he asked.

"High confidential," I answered, attempting to be coy.

"She is a famous writer, don't worry about," Betty tried.

"Lets just tell him the truth and then he'll probably leave us alone," Elaine hissed at me. "Hi, actually she writes about dating in New York and we just went speed dating and so now we are talking about how it went," she concisely answered. Well done, Elaine. She made me sound so professional and legit. "Speed dating?! I need to hear more about this," he said, pulling up a chair next to me. "Was it how I imagine it -- just like in 40 Year Old Virgin?" Great, I am now being compared to a character in a movie that is sexless for 40 years. Just what I need.

"Sure, whatever," I answered, rolling my eyes.

"Did you meet any cool people, or were they all really weird? I am so intrigued as to who goes speed dating," he asked.

"No, there were some cool people. But definitely some crazies," Elaine answered.

"Hey, guys come join the group," he yelled to his lingering friends at the bar. A tall and lanky guy with glasses and a roundish guy wearing a NY Rangers hat walked over to the table.

"I'm sorry to be lame, but I'm going home. I have a long subway ride ahead of me," Betty said. "Here, one of you take my seat," she motioned to the guys as she gathered her coat and bag. "Ok, well, I'll call you tomorrow!" I yelled as she headed out the door.

The guy wearing the Rangers hat took Betty's seat and the lanky one sat down next to Elaine. We soon learned they had just come from a Ranger's game and that the lanky, glasses adorned guy was the originally guy's brother. "By the way, I never caught your name," I turned, asking the 20 questions man to my left. "Its Jim*," he said smiling, and beared extremely white teeth. We went through all the pleasantries of where are you from, what do you do, etc... It turned out Jim was slightly against my home state due to the fact his ex-girlfriend went to college there. Apparently his ex was a bit of a bitch: she accepted a job in Brazil while they were still dating, moved and abandoned all her belongings in their apartment for him to deal with. "Yeah, after we broke up I got on," Jim told me, "so I can't really judge you for speed dating."

"What was it like, I made a profile but have never gone on any dates," I said. I decided to leave out the part that I was too cheap to pay the monthly fees.

"Well as a guy, you wink at every girl you find remotely attractive, bottom line, and then you go from there. I went on 3 good dates, 3 bad ones. To tell you the truth, and I'm only saying this to you because you are a perfect stranger, I got on because after my ex and I broke up I had absolutely no self-confidence to talk to girls in person anymore. But after I got over that, I deleted my profile and got off."

"Wow. So you think some of the guys I met tonight are going through the same thing? Lack of self confidence? I was really surprised at the amount of guys that would turn out for speed dating. I mean I knew there were desperate girls...but guys willing to go through speed dating...," I said.

"Look," Jim answered, "guys are willing to go through almost anything if they think the outcome means they are going to get some with a girl. Speed dating gives them a pretty good chance."

"Well I think this and speed dating is all bullshit," Jim's friend said. "You just need to have the balls to ask a girl out in person. Bottom line. I don't care what your problem is."

"What if you are too shy and you would rather use than just meeting someone in a bar? Maybe you don't have that great of social skills -- would be helpful, don't you think?" Elaine countered.

"No. Be a man. Just go up to the girl and say something," he answered back drunkenly.

"So you're telling me, for example, that even if I can't ice skate, I should go try and play professional hockey and get my ass kicked?" Elaine asked, obviously getting worked up.

"Yes! Get out there and do it! If you want to learn to skate you can. Give me 2 weeks, I'll teach you how to skate," he said, looking around at the table for recognition. His friends gave him the bro-nod and he seemed satisfied and calmed down. Elaine, however, still looked a bit huffy and was giving me the eye like she wanted to go. I gave her the 'Ok, let me finish my drink and then we can go' look and she seemed satisfied and calmed down. "So Elaine says you write a blog on dating -- you have to give us the address! Especially since we probably helped you come up with some great information," Jim's brother said to me. I shot Elaine a death look -- I don't like to let guys I meet know right away that I right a blog about dating. Makes for an awkward conversation of "Oh, are you going to write about me?" Anyways, I wavered and finally decided not to give them the blog address. I told them they had to earn the right to read it. We did, however, all swap contact information. After Elaine and I left I received a text from Jim: "I better be top billing on your blog or else I will feel really bad about myself." Everyone wants a piece of the e-limelight.

Friday, October 31, 2008

Speed Dating - PART ONE

I read once that Dannish people are the happiest in the world because they go into all life experiences with low to no expectations (don't ask me how they survey this -- just roll with me). Because of this, they are never let down and are usually pleasantly surprised. So it was for me with speed dating.

Last night after work Betty*, Elaine* and I met at Tillman's on 26th Street and then headed over to Vesta, the destination spot on 8th avenue, fairly close to Penn Station.

There was a large crowd outside the bar which let me know we were probably in the right place. "Are you here for the speed dating," a short, skinny asian guy with a clipboard yelled to me. I wanted to hiss at him, Hey buddy, keep your voice down!, but then I remembered everyone was here for speed dating so I relaxed. "Head to the back of the bar and down the stairs for speed dating," clipboard boy said. Did he feel the need to keep saying speed dating? We all three checked in and headed inside. Bob Sinclair's "Love Generation" was blasting and there seemed to be some sort of crazy girls gone wild thing going on, so we headed downstairs for our...event.

After stopping Elaine from falling head first down concrete stairs, we made it to the basement of Vesta. There was mood lighting that was a tad bit too low and there was very loud techno music. "Hey ladies!" a cherry voice said from the end of the bar. "I'm Pam*, I'll be your hostess for tonight. Please come pick up a nametag, scorecard and pen. Your table number is on your scorecard. The guys will be rotating so feel free to leave your coat in your seat while you get a drink."

"Yes," I said looking at Betty and Elaine, "a drink will be necessary."

The bartender was wearing a tank top that said "BUFF" in which she had cut a slit from top to bottom and was held together by only a very small piece of fabric at her boobs. "3 vodka sodas, please," I said. As we sipped our drinks we looked around the room — no one stood out against the crowd. At least there weren't that too many blonds, but then there were also some guys with receding hairlines.

Then came the sound of a loud GONG! (yes, litterally a miniature gong that she hit witha paddle) "Ok people, we are going to start things up. Please head to your numbered tables," Pam said.

I moved to table number 3. A slightly attractive Asian guy came and sat down across from me. "So this is pretty crazy, right?" he said smiling. I assumed he meant speed dating, so I nodded. "OK people," Pam said again, "We have a slight issue. There are more guys than girls. So what we can do is make each date shorter and at some points some of you guys will have a bi-round, or I can let some of the guys have the option of coming back to another event when you'll have the chance to talk to the ladies for longer. Please come see me if that is what you prefer."

"YES, I would prefer to come back to another event," my date said, getting up from our table and walking toward the bar. "I'd like to reschedule." Whaaaaat? I thought. I didn't even give him the chance to not like me and he already left! Great, great start.

After about two excruciating minutes, another guy finally came to my table. "Hi, I'm Tim*. What's your name?" And so it began. Nine dates and then a fifteen minute break to get more alcohol, and then 3 more dates. There was Tim*, the shy and short PhD student; The Greek, who we will give no name but "The Greek;" Sean, the army dude from Long Island; Andres*, the British guy; Marc "with a c" older, banker; Bernard*, the latin lova from Miami; Spencer - gay?; Jin* "in your personal space" guy; Jonathan from Queens; Pete*, the Carolina fan; James*, cutie who works in packaging (I had to ask what that was); Michael, the Russian from Coney Island; and finally, Sam*, the native New Yorker.

Each date was six minutes. Six minutes is actually a lot longer than you think. I googled it and six minutes is actually the length of time it takes to learn the Federal Fire and Safety Test - or six minutes is how long you can torture yourself if you listen to the Jonas Brothers' song "Six Minutes." For most dates, it was too long. Only for some was it not long enough. I wrote one word notes after each guy (see above) so I could remember who they were. But I also could not wait to compare notes with Betty and Elaine.

As an interesting aside, NYeasydates did not kick me out when I decided at "half-time" to tell an inappropriate joke to a group of people. Andres was attempting to explain why he believed speed dating to be a lot safer than just meeting a random person in a bar. I disagreed; "I could have just killed someone, washed my hands and come in here," I said.

"Yeah," said Elisabeth, who had been seated next to Betty, "I mean for all you know I could kill orphans or something." Hmm, I like this girl.

"Exactly, I was the murderer, in the kitchen, with the candelstick," I said. I looked around and everyone was laughing - ha ha good times. "Yeah, and we all know how you murder orphans with a candelstick?" I attempted, "Not quietly!" Betty was laughing, Elisabeth looked at me like she had definitely underestimated my weirdness, and Andres said, "I am surprised that as a woman, you find that funny. Just surprising." Geez, tough crowd.

Afterwards, Betty, Elaine and I finished our drinks, mingled for a bit and then hurriedly left so we could begin gossiping as soon as possible.

to be continued....

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Speed dating - an introduction

Expenses today:
grande black-eye from Starbucks: $3.45
Diet Coke from vending machine at work: $1
Fee for tomorrow night's speed dating event: priceless

Yes, I am going speed dating tomorrow. It has been on my "goals" list for about 2 weeks (yes, I have a goals list - it also includes things like 'buy a pumpkin,' 'sign up for arabic classes,' and 'stop wasting time fantasizing about engaged co-workers...'). So far, I have not achieved any of these goals, especially the third one. Last night I was explaining to Elaine* how I was a little down. "I'm 0-3 with my dates, I haven't met anyone I have really liked recently and earlier today ate an entire bag of candy corn." Needless to say, it didn't take me long to guilt her into coming speed dating with me. I also took the liberty of signing up, Betty*, another single friend. Safety in numbers.

"Help me practice my conversation starters for tomorrow night," Elaine* asked while eating nachos and watching Pushing Daisies. "We only have 6 minutes with these guys, we need to make a good impression."

"I know, right? 10 to 12, six minute dates -- you have to be seriously memorable," I said slightly disinterested; I was staring intently into my empty facebook message inbox (the boy from 2 weekends ago still has not messaged me).

"Am I allowed to lie? What if I really don't like the guy, I could tell him a lie, right?"

"Of course!!" I said, shutting my computer. Forget that guy from last weekend -- I was doing speed dating to meet new people and not be pathetic and I needed to get my head in the game. "You are totally allowed to lie. Tell them you play professional mancala and enjoy a man who is not afraid to wear women's clothing."

"Oh, oh, or," Elaine* added, " 'I'm Elaine, I hope you don't mind I've brought my imaginary friend George along.' "

"Or, 'Sorry, I hope its not a problem I have herpes!'" Andi* said.

"If you answer incorrectly, please sit quietly until the next round: do you have substantial back hair? Past the age of 12, have you considered yourself a blond? Do you enjoy pomegranate martinis?" Elaine* and I composed.

In retrospect, neither of us really have really considered the idea that we might meet someone attractive, or score a possible second date. According to, we choose our matches at the end and post them on our "profile" on the website. The guys we meet tomorrow night do the same and if any of us mutually choose the other...the rest will be history! Details to come Friday.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Your search has yielded one million confusing results

Have you seen that new T-Mobile commercial for the G1 phone? Its the one where they do tiny vingettes of people asking really random questions like, "Do sharks have eyelids?" and, "What is my carbon footprint?" T-Mobile wants you to think that if you buy a G1 phone, you will be able to answer tough questions such as these with the push of a few buttons. This commercial always entertains me. Maybe its because I am curious and like to know the answer to such questions, or perhaps it is that I know it will take at least 5 google searches to come up with a satisfying answer, and in the end you may actually never find what you are looking for.

Finding the answer to questions in the realm of dating is a little like googling. You have to sort through all the crap, apply your best judgment, and in the end, use what you've got to come up with the most logical and correct answer to the question.

For example, "Reasons why the Venezuelan never called," would be an appropriate googledate search. (Of course the first answer would come from wikipedia: we all know to take answers from wikipedia with a grain of salt — one of my Art History professors in college was listed as deceased — needless to say, he was not.) "Reasons why Miguel*, the Venezuelan, may not have called you after your date ("date" is defined as when a pair can meet and engage socially) comes down to an amalgamation of your actions. While you made a good impression the first time, the second time, your binge drinking, purloining of a pleather jacket and all around sketchiness led him to believe you might be on the train to Crazy." Dangit, if its on wikipedia its probably 90% true. "The Venezuelan did not call because we have discovered he is totally Penelope Cruz's baby daddy!!" Page Six tells me. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? That's why he hasn't called, you hussy!" I read on a blog. Hey, that sounds familiar...ahhh...the author of is really my best friend's mother.

With all these possible answers, what the heck am I supposed to think? I guess when it comes down to dating, I can overanyalze every action I made, I can go with the stock "Hes just not that into you," or simply realize, if he doesn't call, it is totally his loss.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Don't call me, I'll text you

Yesterday at work I was discussing with a co-worker how texting has completely changed parenting. "I don't worry so much about my sons because I know I can always get in touch with them, even if its just through a quick text message," she said, describing her 7th and 9th graders. "But it has made them more weary to pick up the phone and call their friends. I think my sons are actually nervous to talk on the phone!"

Great, I thought. Just what we need. Another generation of boys who are scared to call girls. But, by the time her boys are in their 20's technology will be so advanced they'll probably be saying things like: "Don't worry, we have a mutual friend who'll help me telepathically message you this week." Yeah, right.

As I saw through my dreadful experience with the Lawyer, texting and facebook have changed relationships as we know them. It is now acceptable not to call someone you are interested in — a text message (or even a facebook message, for the love of God) have become the norm.
To me, texting and facebooking used to be something used in the early stages of the relationship. But, now it seems to be replacing calling all together! (All this being said, I am not a phone talker. In all honesty, after fifteen minutes on the phone I like to make long silent pauses so the other person feels awkward and hangs up). Regardless, because of this forced trend, if you called someone after meeting for the first time the response would be, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa...why is she calling and not texting me? The only person I talk to on the phone is my mom. Stalker..."

For example, my friend CC*met a guy about a month ago through mutual friends. They were into each other and hung out and hooked up a couple weekends in a row. He even told a mutual friend he was really into her. Then, he went out of town, she went out of town, and this past weekend was the first time they were in the City at the same time. "I mean, you think I can text him tonight, or is that too forward?" she asked over drinks last Saturday afternoon.

"Geez, if a text message to a guy (especially one that has proven his interest in you) is too forward, we are all screwed," I told her. Or at least I am, I thought - drunk texting is my forte. It also does not help my phone is from 1980 and does not save outgoing text messages. I either wake up in the morning with a responded message that says, "Umm, who is this?", or just a general feeling of dread.

But, my point is, if texting has replaced calling, and internet dating is slowly replacing meeting people in the "real world," where are we headed next? Telepathy dating? Meet that special someone without either of you leaving your couch! Oh dear - I think I'm going to have to learn to talk on the phone.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Spotted: Scarlett in the City

My best friend from high school, Scarlett*, came to visit this weekend. We had an action packed itinerary ("my number one priority being going to Canal Street for a fake purse," Scarlett had told me). "If I am going to Canal Street tomorrow morning to help you support child labor I better have lots of coffee" Elaine* said to her Friday. We made plans to get up at 10 am Saturday to start our busy day of shopping, eating and frolicking in Central Park.

"Scarlett, if we are going to be busy tomorrow we can't get too crazy tonight," I told her over dinner at EU on Friday. "We can meet up with people for drinks and come in at one-ish, cool?"

"Yeah, whatever is cool," she shrugged.

"Ok, good," I sighed. I felt myself sounding like a grandma, but I had worked late the night before was Friday, I tried to rationalize. I should learn that each time I have uttered the words, "Ok, I'm not going to get too crazy tonight," the opposite happens. This past Friday was no different.

Elaine had to stay in to work on sketches, so Scarlett and I headed out and met up with my friend Eve* and some other girls at Lit in the East Village and then headed to SoHo. We went to a few places and ended up at Vig Bar, Eve's choice because of its great top 40 music and accordingly to her, cute boys. We arrived to find a line. Let me say, without sounding like an asshole, I hate waiting in line. I just never feel like a place can be cool enough that is worth waiting the cold. "Ummm, so about this line," I whined, looking around at everyone. I looked Scarlett and she also looked less than pleased. "Ok, I could go either way right now," she said, "I could go home and get a good night sleep, or we could just wait and give it a shot for a little while."

"Uhhhhh, fine. Lets wait in line," I said.

Luckily, the extremely large and unnecessarily scary bouncers let us in about 2 minutes later. While I had been in line complaining, Eve had been chatting with a fratty looking guy through the window. Once we got inside, I headed to the bar and Eve and Scarlett went to talk to the mystery man. Drink in hand, I went to meet them. "This is Chris*," Scarlett said. He smiled and we all stood chatting. It turned out he is friends from home with one of my friends from college. Also, over 5'10'' and brunette, I noted.

Long story short, we started flirting, Chris Brown started playing, and dancing ensued. At this point Scarlett was having a very aggressive conversation with Chris's friend, to the point that I thought she was having a bad time and I felt guilty that I wasn't being a better hostess. "So I feel like a douche bag using this line," he said, "but I live really close by and we could all go there and drink beer for free."

"Uh, ok. Let me grab Scarlett."

We walked up to Scarlett and Chris's friend and let them know the party was moving locations. "High five!" Scarlett said. "Low five?" Chris attempted. "Uh, RUDE," Scarlett said. Hmm, awkward.

We walked out and headed down Spring toward Lafayette, me still feeling guilty about dragging Scarlett to late night because I could tell she was not into Chris's friend. "Here, take my jacket, you look freezing," Chris said to Scarlett, who was only wearing a sleeveless dress and pashmina. He was not the first one to ask if she had lost her coat that night — the bouncer at one bar we went to let us in because he thought for sure he had left her coat inside. We finally got to Chris's apartment and immediately start playing Chris Brown "Forever" again. "So, who wants go sit outside on the back patio," Chris said, giving me a wink (trouble). "You," Scarlett yelled at me, "GO. I'm not moving."

"Uh, so it looks like she is staying here," I said, looking at Scarlett who was still having an aggressive conversation with Chris's friend about the use of the word ya'll. Chris and I went and sat out on his sweet back patio. "This is nice...," I said, attempting to sound sexy and coy, but actually coming off just plain awkward. "Yeah," he awkwardly replied. And then maybe we did some middle school style making out! That was until I was about to pee in my pants and absolutely had to go inside to the bathroom — we found Scarlett and his friend still talking. "So you're pretty crazy while in this state," I heard Chris's friend say while I was just sitting down on the couch next to Chris. "WHAT? What did you say?" Scarlett yelled, obviously misunderstanding anything he was trying to say. "Thats it — I'm out of here!" Throwing off Chris's jacket, Scarlett grabbed her clutch, turned on the heel of her Ugg boot, and sprinted out the door. "So...your friend is a bit of an irrational drunk I'd say," Chris whispered as the door slammed. "Yeah...she does this from time to time," I tried to explain. "I'd better go find her." Knowing the level of Scarlett's drunkenness and the fact she had no idea where the hell she was, I quickly grabbed my things and started to walk out. Chris walked me to the door. Not seeing Scarlett in the hallway or at the bottom of the stairs he said, "So yeah, you better go find her." Ok buddy, I thought — get my number, come on. "We're both friends with Mary* (our mutual friend) on facebook, don't worry, I'll find you," he said with a wink, a kiss, and then a goodnight. Find me on facebook, I thought as I ran down the stairs to find Scarlett, is that what we're doing now??? I walked out the door and looked down Lafayette both ways — no Scarlett. Damnit, I thought, shes run away. Suddenly I saw her little face peer around the corner of Spring Street and give me a big wave. F-ing A. "What the hell Scarlett!," I yelled,"come on, we're going home," and flagged a cab.

In the cab home, Scarlett attempted a deep conversation. "I really like his friend. Do you remember his name? Oh my gosh I have no idea what his name is. But I really like him. What is his name? We really hit it off. I can't believe we didn't make out. He was so cute. I really like him."

"Excuse me?" I squeaked, "You were arguing with him all night. I felt bad because I thought you were having a bad time. You liked him??"

"Oh my gosh I really like him. When we get home I have to find him on facebook."

What is with people and facebook tonight? I thought. Why not just get the phone number?? After grabbing pizza at the 24 hour place a block from my house and witnessing Scarlett almost get in a fight with two of the regulars, we walked in my door at 4:30 am. "Damn, I'm tired. I am going to bed," I yawned, eating the last bite of pizza and feeling like I might vom. "NO - first we have to find my guy on facebook," she said opening my laptop. To make a long story short, we ending up finding Chris on facebook, Scarlett friended him, she searched his friends and then friended 3 possible guys who could be her true love. "Ok, bedtime," I said.

Last night, in the clarity Sunday brings after a world wind weekend, I realized what a mistake the 5 am friending may have been. I called Scarlett who was back in Atlanta to scold her — "No, its all good" she said. "He will laugh, no worries! Then it will give him an excuse to friend you!"

I told Elaine* about the situation. "Ehhh, yeah, she blew it for you," she said with a wince. "This was probably what happened: he woke up Saturday at noon, got on facebook, saw a friend request from Scarlett Jones*, thought "who is Scarlett...ohhh," then he thought "whoa they friended me last night at 5 am... (because you know he knows it wasn't just Scarlett) thats kind of weird," and now he is freaked out. Well done."

"Damnit! Our only communication was to be through facebook and now drunken facebooking has ruined a non-existent facebook relationship."

"Well, if he doesn't facebook you this week I think it would be acceptable to facebook him next week and explain the situation," Elaine said.

I realized that facebook is now so crucial to dating (damn technology and its power to change the world) that a test should be installed in order to make sure you are in a sound state of mind before friending or messaging a person. That one friend request might make the difference! Oh wait, gmail already created that capability. Mark Zuckerberg, you are totally behind the times.

Friday, October 17, 2008

Well it made me laugh

For all you ladies out there who love the power-hungry, money making, "models and bottles," banker type, I suppose you have been looking elsewhere these days. This dude's book, about that type of man, is also being published at just the wrong time. My favorite quote from this article is:

"One of the most trying aspects for them, Mr. Chatwani explained, was the loss of 'perceived prestige' with women. 'A lot of my dude friends when they meet a girl in a bar, they've stopped talking for once about what they do,' he said. 'If you tell a girl you work at an investment bank, that gets you a sympathetic pat on the back. That’s not the response you’re looking for.'"

Check it. And the link to the blog the book started from

This is a great post:

Thursday, October 16, 2008


So as many of you smart readers may have already deduced, I have not been in contact with the Venezuelan since our last date two weeks ago. Yes, he did say he wanted to see me that week. And yes, he did say he would call. But have I heard from the Latin liar? No, I have not. Bastard. What really burns me is the fact I was not even that into him – like I said, there was no “zsa zsa zsu,” if you will. That means I wanted to be the one to say, “Oh gee, I’m sorry I just don’t feel the same way. I know you’re madly in love with me, but heart break happens. You’ll pull through this – be strong.” Or in reality, screen his phone calls and return them with awkward text messages like, “Sorry, can’t tonight! But had so much fun!!!!!”

This humiliation is the risk you take with dating. Luckily in New York (please refrain from comparing me to Carrie Bradshaw with this sentence) there are enough men that chances are I will not have to see this mentiroso (that’s liar for you lay people) again and be embarrassed by his rude ways. Hell, I haven’t even run into my ex-boyfriend of 8 months since we broke up (except those 3 times I “accidentally” went to his apartment at 3 am). So, now it is onward and upward. But I’ll be avoiding all Venezuelan restaurants and discos, just in case.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Flaw-O-Matic

John Tierney, writer for The New York Times, wrote a column in 1995 about his tested and developed theory of human behavior which he calls the Flaw-O-Matic. In the simplest of terms, it is a device in your brain which immediately spots a flaw in any potential partner. I found this article when I googled "best speed dating in New York City" (don't judge me -- I am just doing research here). Tierney did his research using personal ads and speed dating which is how I stumbled upon the article.

While the Flaw-O-Matic is used in the noggins of people outside of New York, it appears single New Yorkers are the most affected. It makes sense: if you live in a place like Garner, North Carolina you realize that your pickins' are slim and you are not allowed to have a 3 tier system by which you choose your possible dates. However, in New York, with millions of smart and attractive people, we are understandably picky. We have lots of choices. I am no different. I was recently describing to my friend at work the prerequisites a guy must have for me to even consider going out with him. "Ok, so we are looking at the 3 tier system here. Bottom tier contains the 'must haves.' He has to be over 5' 10'' and have brown hair. I would consider a red-head if he were over 6'. Absolutely no blonds. And no girly drinks (I had a bad experience with a date that ordered only pomegrante martinis). And sense of humor, of course. And its a plus if he wears glasses and has a slightly scruffy beard. And...thats about it for the bottom tier!"

"Ummm...I hope you enjoy being single because you're being ridiculous," he said.

"Untrue! This is completely realistic! And that is just the bottom tier. I haven't even mentioned tier 2..." I said.

So maybe I am being a bit unrealistic. I skimmed Tierney's article again. At the end he explores a possible idea of whether or not single New Yorkers actually use this Flaw-O-Matic as a defense mechanism to remain alone. WHAT! I took a deep breath -- does this mean I should be giving blonds a chance in order to not end up an old rotting spinster with cats and incense?? Yikes.

I googled Tierney and found a 2007 article in which he looks at the scientific side of the Flaw-O-Matic in more depth. He explains how a person's Flaw-O-Matic is altered during speed dating because of the much smaller pool to choose from. Interesting... would I be attracted to a short blond during speed dating? I think I will have to make this experiment happen.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Attn: REAL women of NEW YORK

This is amazing. I'm not sure who or how this guy was burned, but his pain has now made for my entertainment. I think he is angered by the deadzone, too. His rant also made me realize that my new pet peeve is when people RANDOMLY use ALL CAPS to get THEIR POINT ACROSS! I added the responses I found to his post below. My favorite is the one with only two words.


Sunday, October 12, 2008

When a Blond is not a Blond

Friday night I had a "Bienvenido Fall" Dinner Party. The event was technically a "plus one," but seeing as how I am plus one-less, by Wednesday I was coming up short (and not having heard from the Venezuelan, he was not an option). "It doesn't matter, no one is going to be bringing anyone unless its their significant other anyways," Andi* said. "No! I put plus one on the invite and people need to stick to the rules," I pouted. By Thursday I broke down and texted my co-worker who was at home for Yom Kippur. "Shalom -- I am still minus-one. Please bring as many of your cute friends tomorrow night as possible. We need more boys. Mazel tov." I crossed my fingers one of them would be cute. At the least this would even out the ratio of girls and boyfriends to single guys. Well, the boys came, but no future husbands appeared. But they did bring the Patron! Large amounts of this is probably why at a later point in the night everyone broke out into song of "Kissed by a Rose" by Seal. It set the tone of the weekend...

Saturday night Elaine* and I met my good friend from college, Clarissa*, and her boyfriend, Brian*, and some of their friends at the bar 230 Fifth. The bar's main draw is the rooftop deck, with amazing views of the Empire State building, Chrysler building, NY Life building, etc... While many people I know have been there and seen very attractive people, last night it was more of a combination of foreigners, B&T (Bridge and Tunnel - signifying Long Island and New Jersey folk), and girls in sequiny dresses that I cannot place into any category at all. Also, I have not even had the opportunity to mention that 230 Fifth gives you complimentary red velvet robes with hoods to wear if you are cold out on the deck, so there was an entire "Eyes Wide Shut" scene intertwined with everything else. (All this being said, the bar itself is super cool and the views are amazing -- we watched them turn off all the lights of the Empire State building at midnight). Elaine and I made a lap of the deck after getting our second glass of wine. It was so crowded in some areas that we couldn't even move; poor Elaine got a Long Island Iced tea poured on the back of her head at one point. "Cute guys!" Elaine finally said, while wiping LIT off the back of her neck. "Ummm, they are totally blond. And we all know how I feel about blonds," I sighed. "No, no, they are Finnish or something, that means it doesn't count. They're Nordic blonds." I pondered this. "Yes," I slowly agreed, "Everyone there is blond. We have found a loophole to the 'blonds are shifty' rule! It would be a brunette your would want to watch out for in Finland." As we approached these 2 non-blonds, two girls in sequins side swiped us and moved in first. Damn those sequins!

Earlier in the evening, I made plans with my sister to meet up at some point in the night. karaoke was discussed, as it usually is, but I tossed out the idea because, well, I never end up making it to Korea Town for karaoke. But last night, for some reason, when my sister texted me "Kareoke in K-Town?" I texted back, "F Yes!" So I dragged Elaine, Clarissa, Brian and his friends to 32nd and Broadway to WOW Kareoke to meet my sister and her friend. Now, let me explain. This is not a kareoke bar. This is a place where you pay $10 a person and receieve a complimentary beer and your own private kareoke room for one hour. While we waited for a room to be available, I watched the employees of WOW run into the rooms and clean them when people left. I soon gave more thought to the fact that two people could probably pay the $20 to reserve a room, receive their 2 Coors Light tall boys, go sing R-Kelly "Bump and Grind" to each other for an hour, leave, and then the WOW employees would "clean" the room. "Eck," I thought. Mark this down on things that gross me out, like Metrocards and movie seats. Needless to say, this did not stop me from singing my song of choice, "Kissed by a Rose" by Seal.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Deep Thoughts by DatingGirl

When a man and woman become engaged, customarily the woman is given an engagement ring.  The man does not follow this custom.  Not to say there are not exceptions, I am just generalizing here.  An engaged woman's ring says, "Hoe, no! Hands off! You can look but not touch.  I am on a one way street that leads straight to the altar so I am definitely not available.  Can't you tell by this rock on my finger??!!"  An engaged man does not wear such a telling piece of jewelry; I find this unfair.  Engaged guys have all the same freedoms as a fiance as they did as a boyfriend.  I think they should be forced to wear some sort of symbol to show they are also permanently off the market.  A sparkly sticker, temporary tattoo, or even a lanyard bracelet?  

This all comes about from my pseudo crush at work.  We had been shamelessly flirting (in my mind) since I met him, until the fateful day I found the truth (who am I kidding, I still try and flirt with him now).  I was doing some work at his office and talking with a girl he worked with.  "I can't believe its almost Fall.  Its so weird Steve* is getting married so soon," she said off hand.  Skkkeeeeeeerrrrrrttt (slam on brakes noise).  Steve.  Engaged?  Marriage? Soon?  I was flabbergasted.  If he had been a girl, he would have been wearing a ring and there would not have been this confusion.  Now, about these lanyard bracelets...

Monday, October 6, 2008

Oh, Please

"Sure-fire" dating convo tips. My favorite parts of this article are the quotes from the women that apparently have been swept off their feet by these 10 never-fail tactics.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Natty Shermans, $4 and some vaseline

Friday night one of my best friends from college, Renee*, was in town. Never wanting to be a dull hostess, we made plans to go out dancing on the Lower East Side. Pianos was our first destination -- known for a high percentage of hipsters and sweaty sweaty bodies on the upstairs "lounge" dance floor, it promised to be a good time. It turned out that it really was a high percentage of guys that stood behind us like paper weights and attempted to slowly grind up on us, along with crazy Spaniards with spastic dance moves. I decided Pianos is only good for people watching. Elaine* did meet a slightly cute guy who followed us to Ray's pizza (my favorite destination for late night food -- last time I was there two guys got in a fist fight over parmesan cheese), convinced he was going home with her only to meet the end of the night with, "well I guess the closest Path station from here is 14th street...," she told him.

Saturday night I went out with the Venezuelan. I was pleasantly surprised to receive a text message from him on Friday asking me what I was doing during the weekend. We finally made plans for Saturday night -- his friend was having a party at Plumm and I planned on meeting him there. After staying out until 4 am on Friday night, Saturday afternoon I was feeling pretty lazy and the idea of having to be cheery and possibly speak Spanish with a guy that I didn't know was not amusing me. Even after showering and obsessing over outfits for the night, the nervous energy was still not coming. To make matters worse, Elaine* and Andi* were lying on the couch eating peanut butter crackers and watching Law and Order: my idea of a perfect evening. Yet, I somehow managed o peel myself away from Stabler and Benson to get in a cab and head to the westside. Because I had only met the Venezuelan once, I was nervous a) that I might not recognize him b) he might have super swanky friends that would notice my blazer was from the Gap c) he could possibly stand me up like the Lawyer if I was 2 minutes late. Luckily, everything went well -- it usually does when there is bottle service and lots of loud Rhianna involved (please do not think I go places with bottle service on a regular basis -- usually "bottle service" signifies me bring a flask into the bar). In fact, we had so much fun dancing, that I threw my non-designer Gap blazer down on a couch so we could hit the dance floor. When we turned to leave, I went to get my jacket wasn't there. In a more rational state I probably would have been mad and then left the bar, but in the haze of Saturday night I thought, "well, guess I have to take someone else's coat then!" The next morning, I went to grab my blazer so I could go to brunch with my sister and instead of a black velvet blazer on the floor there was a black, fake leather, hooded bomber jacket. "Ahh!" I shrieked, and grabbed a cardigan instead and ran out the door.

Later that day, recounting the evening to Andi* and Elaine, I tried on the strange coat. It was made of polyurethane and smelled of old cigarette smoke. "That is the nastiest jacket I've ever seen," Elaine said, "couldn't you have at least stolen, like, a Chloe blazer or something attractive?" I put the hood on and reached in the pocket; a slim box of Nat Sherman naturals mint 100's, $4, and Vaseline appeared. Yuck. "Well I don't care. I am going to wear this f-ing coat everyday of the winter, just watch me. I don't care! And $4 - thats dinner!!" I yelled. I mourned the loss of my blazer, but then realized the "leather" jacket perhaps represented my recklessness Saturday night. Oh well. But, did mention I'm probably going to see the Venezuelan this week? Vamos a ver.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

A Venezuelan, A Nerd and A Jew

This past Tuesday I somehow ended up at a socialista/upper east sider owned magazine party. The invite came from the magazine's owner who I had been working with on an upcoming work event. I asked him if I could bring a "colleague" from the office and in turn dragged my delighted co-worked along. My boss was so excited I was going ("You could really meet someone special at an event like this -- no more internet boys!") that she loaned me all the David Yurman jewelry she had on and told me to go put on some makeup because I looked tired. My co-worker and I headed to the party at 6:20 (fashionable late, of course). After one cocktail (love an open bar, grey goose and soda for free ninety-nine), I started skimming the room for men under 40. "See that cute guy," I asked my co-worker, "the foreign looking one?" She nodded, "I think I heard them speaking French," she said. With this I dragged her to the bar where they were standing: a group of men that were attractive, possibly French, in a sea of mostly socialites, 40s and married, or plastic-surgeried ladies were definitely worth pursuing. Once I had sidled up close enough to slyly listen to their sexy foreign conversation, it turned out they were speaking Spanish! Although I don't speak French, I hablo flirting en espanol enough to make things interesting (what do you think studying abroad is all about? experiencing the "culture"). Learning from experience that my wink is not my best option, I went with the eyebrow raise. Well ladies and gents, that is my new trademark! I got an immediate handshake and a, "Hello, I am Miguel*. This is my friend David*." Well hola Miguel! I introduced myself and my co-worker and exchanged pleasantries which is how I found out he was from Venezuela (oh la la). "Where are you from in Venezuela," I asked Miguel in Spanish. My co-worker rolled her eyes and stood looking annoyed at Miguel's amigo David who was less interesting and attractive. "Soy de Caracas," Miguel answered, "y ahora vamos hablar en espanol." I learned that although Miguel spoke perfect English, he wanted to speak Spanish with me, and even better would love to help me practice my Spanish. At this point my co-worker walked away to send text messages on her i-phone and continue drinking heavily. After hablando en espanol for a bit and him learning where I lived (neighborhood, not exact apartment number), he told me there was a great Venezuelan restaurant near me on East 7th Street and he would love to take me this weekend! Dios mio! Then he got my number and gave me his card and gave me the two besos on the cheek! I was floating -- a lovely South American, how dreamy. But then later, in the cab at 8 pm on the way to Elaine's* birthday dinner at Rissotteria, I reflected on my time spent in South America. How many men had I met and made plans with only to have them turn out to be super flighty, or simply never call at at all? They did not have the best track record. I would give this Venezuelan the benefit of the doubt, but as of now he was penciled in for Saturday, lightly.

Today I decided there is definitely a 5% chance my nerdy work crush has a crush on me too. He sent me an email today and included at the end "thanks for returning my tape." See?? L.O.V.E. Oh, and of course as fate would have it, this afternoon while I was pining away for him, this other guy at work asked me out! I don't really know him -- he works in IT which is on the other floor. I was returning a wireless internet card to him when the awkward interaction occurred. "So, what do you do on Tuesday nights?" he asked. Cue me making an awkward, "uhh, well, emmm...I've been really busy with work events..."
"I wanted to ask because I go to Temple in the East Village. People go and just really chill out and then there is a delicious feast after. I'll send you an email about it."
"Um, thanks!" Has there been some miscommunication? Mazel Tov, but thats not really my scene dude.