After a bit of a hiatus from bitching about dating... I'm back! The nerve.com chronicles POST 1: "Tapas" has an "S" on the end for a reason!

Okay, so I've taken a bit of a breather from my incessant bitching about being single in the city because I was actually having a little bit of luck on the "scene".  Clearly the fact that I'm back on my blog "The Island Where Women Go to Die Alone" might give you some inkling that things didn't work out as I'd hoped..... but at least I have this little forum to rip my recent Mr. Wrongs a new a**hole or at least wax poetic about "what could have been" as I scratch my head wondering why it 'aint.

Whilst I have still yet to catch you up with my present day dating life (so so many past horror stories yet uncovered), I'm going to just skip ahead to my most recent conundrums--- after all, I'm still kinda smarting from them so it might help me to air my grievances.  It might be entertaining for you, at the very least.

A few months ago.... 3 exactly (and I know this because my 3 month membership JUST expired)

my co-worker and friend, who recently got engaged to a brilliant and lovely woman he'd met on nerve.com had talked me into giving it a whirl.   It's an alternative to match.com for those on either coast (as I think it's only available in NY and Cali) and needless to say, I jumped at the chance to try something new.  If my friend, a confirmed bachelor at 42 was getting hitched, hell, maybe luck was on my side.  

Let me just say, that I met exactly 3 men in my 3 months on nerve (all 3 were 6'4 so at least I got to put my high heels to good use).  I received many more emails but these were the 3 that I chose to go out with.  In all honesty.... I prefer quality to quantity, and I've gotta admit.... these guys were quality--- but that's not going to stop me from ripping on them and/or getting my rocks off by belittling them on my lowly little blog.  It's not like they'll ever see this..... I HOPE!  ;-)  And, let's be honest, my idea of quality is a little shaky to say the least. 

Nerve Bachelor # 1: The Architect;  Tapas ends in an "S" for a reason!!!!

Boy, was he a dream boat. He was actually the reason why I signed up in the first place. Yes, my friend had talked up the site but it wasn't until I laid eyes on his picture that I signed over my credit card.  He was, and I'm not even kidding, a hotter Matt Dylan with light brown hair and green eyes and 6'4!!  SO dreamy AND he actually wrote me a sweet emailed within literally like 2 days of my signing up!! It's fate, I thought.  (I can't tell you how many times I think that though, so fate begins to kinda feel like an everyday thought when you are a romantic such as myself, living in a city of seemingly missed opportunities of the heart). 

We played "email tennis". That's kind of how I think of the beginning stages of internet dating... just like tennis--- to and fro.  You just have to wait til they serve up an invite.... which he did. 

It was literally for the day before Valentines day...... Feb. 13th, a Saturday night.  He asked me what I wanted to do.  This is always awkward, in my opinion.  I prefer if the guy has a game plan before he calls you the day of.  I, myself, get all meshuggeneh when they want me to make the plan because I don't like to plan in general, AND I have no idea how much they are looking to spend.  "Let's do something casual" I say..... knowing full well that on the night before Valentine's day, every restaurant in the city will be a Prix Fix menu & very expensive.... AND too much pressure for a first date!  "We don't need rose petals strewn about on our table" I joked, "We haven't even met yet!". 

He mentioned a Tapas place not far from Union Square.  "Great!" I said, "See you there!!"

Wooooohoooo, I was so excited.  I hadn't been on a date in quite some time.  I'd been busy blogging to you all about my failed past dates, but until this date it had been many many months since I'd been out to dinner with a new man.

I love that whenever I tell my parents that a date is taking me to a "Tapas" restaurant they both maniacally rant into the earpiece on my cell phone ,"TOPLESS???"  (yes they both talk on the land line together just like the Seinfelds).  This has happened more then once, I kid you not.  What?? Tapas are trending you know.   "Yes, mom and dad, my recent date has decided to take me to a topless strip club on our first date, is that not alright?"  I usually say wittily.  

I decided to look super hot since I hadn't been out in forever.  You know how that goes.  I wore a super tight belted black sweater dress with liquid leggings and  5 inch boots... and a bib ribbon necklace to add a bit of class.  I hopped out of the taxi and saw him sitting in the window.  HOLY CRAP, was he hot!!!  I was SO excited that he looked exactly like his pic which looked exactly like Matt Dylan!!  I nursed the first drink (as per usual) enjoying the conversation.  When he got up to use the men's room I even texted my girlfriend a smiley face... it was going that well.  WAS is the operative word. 

After about an hour of nursing my chardonnay... I literally took that last little sip at least 10 times, no joke,  he says "oh, would you like to grab a table, are you hungry?"  Ummmm, I kinda thought that was why we were meeting at a Tapas place but whatevs.  "Sure", I say.... but at this point there was a long list & we now had about an hour wait for a table.  Silly me, I thought he had put our name in before I got there.  Finally, he asks "Would you like another drink?" 

 "YES!!!!!!! please.... thanks".  Now, I'm not one who enjoys when a guy is obviously trying to get my drunk by buying me drink after drink but I really don't like having to fake like I'm drinking imaginary wine while I suck the very last drop from my glass over and over again.  

I nurse the second chardonnay knowing now that the next one might be few and far between. Finally they take us to our table.  Now,  I will never, REPEAT: NEVER go on a first date any where near or around Valentines day ever again!!! It was a sea of red-topped wearing, googley-eyed love birds, and quite frankly, it was making me kind of ill.  The only way to expose yourself to that kind of romantic bliss is to actually be feeling it yourself, kinda like second hand smoke.  I only want to smell a cigarette if I actually get to smoke one too.... you get my drift.  

Anyhooo, at this point, I am still enamored with my 6'4 architect and enjoying the date, but that is all about to change, very quickly....

The waiter hands us both a menu to which I open and start perusing.  Yum, everything was looking sooooo delish!! At this point, 2 hours into the date, I was famished.   "Do you like chorizo?" he asks?  "Yes, I love it!!" I respond.  

"Because, they have really good chorizo and it's really filling because they bring bread with it" he adds.  

"Umm, okay".   

The waiter comes back over and my date orders the chorizo tapa and tells the waiter that will be all.  The waiter collects our menus.  WHAT?? I am thoroughly confused, I think to myself... doesn't TAPAS have an "S" on the end for a reason?? They are small plates, you are supposed to order a few of them!!! And this guy is 6'4--- meaning, he can probably eat a lot of chorizo.  

Red flags are a flyin' at this point.  He's talking about how poor he is, how the economy has effected his work... or lack there of.  He basically sounds like he is barely scraping by--- just what every girl wants to hear on the first date.  He also goes on to say how hard it has been for him to get laid, basically. Eww, this guy is really starting to gross me out. 

After what seems like an hour at the table ordering only one small plate of chorizo much to the waiter's chagrin, I offer the idea of me buying a nightcap up at the bar.... I always feel bad for taking up the table space if we are not going to order any more food (and at this point, I'm dying for another glass of wine).   

We sit up at the bar for one more, which I bought... and then it was the bartender's turn to keep asking us if we needed anything else.  "No," he said repeatedly "we're fine, thanks!"  without even asking me if I did.  At this point, the bar was getting crowded and I felt badly taking up her space without ordering anything so I suggest we go somewhere else.  He suggests a cup of coffee, not my typical preferred beverage for a Saturday night at midnight, but clearly he was hell bent on only spending $1.50 more on our date.

We head to a diner where we proceed to talk for another hour over coffee. At this point, I've had it. I don't care how hot you are.... if you mention how poor you are one more time I'm going to scream!!!  And note to men (even hot ones) all over the world: please please please don't even try to take a girl out if you truly can't afford it.   It's just awkward for everyone.  I haven't even gotten to the worst part yet!!!!!  After I paid the diner bill...  we went outside and in an awkward state of dementia I suggested we split a taxi uptown.  He lived about 30 blocks north of me but he could drop me at 59th, I said.... forgetting that I'd have to walk another 3-4 avenues home (we were driving up Park Ave. and I live at 1st) at 1:30 in morning all by my lonesome in 5" heels.......... we jumped in the cab.  

"I was just going to take the subway but great idea" the oaf says.  

After an annoying 30 block jaunt, I pull out $7 fully expecting him to rebuff my offer of cash, but what does he do?? He takes it!!!!!!! And let's me walk a half a mile home to get raped and sodomized while he comfortably gets dropped off curbside.... and my $7 covered the bulk of the ride!!!!!!!!  I was FUMING!! He actually said, we should do this again sometime to which I kind of grunted an unidentifiable answer. It wasn't a yes or a no and I was comfortable with that.

I cried my whole walk home (mostly 'cause my boots hurt) thinking of how pathetic I was.  I didn't think in a MILLION gazillion years that going out on a date the night before Valentine's Day could actually make the "day of love" be even sadder and more lame than it was already setting out to be but I was wrong.  At this point, it was Valentine's Day, and I felt like just about the loneliest girl on the planet.  Looking back, I am giving myself a hug. It's these types of situations that make us stronger, and I'm convinced will make me hold on to love and truly value it once it is finally bestowed upon me!!

ps. Come to think of it, it was this VERY date that got me started blogging about my trials and tribulations of dating in this city.  If you don't laugh, you'll cry--- as my mom always used to say!

 

Karma Schmarma, the prick already found a new chick?!?! ... my moment to grieve

So... the truth is that I was planning on taking a moment to grieve him anyway. It was this very week 7 years ago that I met my ex boyfriend (and perhaps broke a mirror simultaneously?) I know this because he just had his birthday on Sunday. Okay, so I get that we are never supposed to regret things in our lives. After all, you are only able to handle whatever life throws at you as best as you possibly can at that time... but looking back, I wasted a whole crap-load of time on a lost cause. I was 27 when we met. Now, I'm looking 35 in the eye, and it 'aint pretty.

Though I moved out into my own place over 2 years ago and have been "dating", or at least trying to ever since then... I have to admit that a part of me has always held out a wee-bit of hope that things might somehow change. That he might realize that he does want to get married and make a few babies with me after all. For all intents and purposes, we have spent the greater part of the last 2 years "single" with one another. I was seeing him "platonicly" at least twice a week until only a few months ago. Seeing him was a comfort after a horrible match.com date or a career set-back--- a feeling of comfort that was hard to give up, even though security was the last thing I felt during the relationship. I had been strung along by this man for so long, I couldn't find to strength to cut ties.

An emotionally unavailable 50 year old now, I was pretty sure that he'd be a life-long bachelor. If he wasn't going to marry moi, how on earth would he find someone better to settle down with?? At the very least, surely I'll meet someone before he does, I thought. His karma must be burning in hell right now after breaking my heart so badly (and I wasn't his first to say the least). I just knew that fate wouldn't make me face a day when, I, completely and utterly alone still, would hear that he'd found someone new. Until the day before the day before yesterday.

I hate to admit that I've been crying a lot lately. I can't sleep either which is probably not aiding my mental state. I keep picturing her in my bed. Okay, I know it's not my bed anymore... but it was once, for 5 years, and it's hard to picture someone else in it. Oh, I've known that he's probably had a few skanks inhabit it in the past few months, but that has only made me laugh at the prospect of him getting some sort of treatable STD.

To be honest, I've come to terms with the fact that my life will be better off without him. I know that at some point, I'll be so happy that things ended this way. But for now, with the knowledge that he's found an attractive mortgage attorney, who runs marathons and has a ski-lodge/time-share up in VT, I am admitting that I'm sad. Why, after being the one who was so blatantly hurt from our 7 years together, am I the one who is still alone? Perhaps that is exactly why.

Sometimes we think we are ready to move on... then we move a few steps forward and look back at how far we've come in those tiny few steps. Periodically along the paths of healing from a broken heart we think to our selves "I'm ready now"... and then it grows increasingly more apparent that we are not. I thought I was getting over him. They say that it is supposed to take half of the time spent together to get over a love. After 5 years spent "together" and now 2 spent "apart", I'm still mildly on track. But, why is it, that especially after an ex has moved on with someone else, your brain begins to wax poetic about the finer things that person brought to the table and how you will no longer be the one partaking in such things? Never mind the horribly icky characteristics your ex may possess, once they have a new love... you only remember the good. (Actually, I've found this to be a problem throughout the breakup. I am tediously reminding myself of his bad points but for some reason, my mind always pictures the great ones.) For every wonderfully fun time we had, surely there were 3 or 4 really sucky ones, but that all goes out the window when you are pining.

Now, she'll be the one taking road trips with him and his pooch up the Hudson to upstate NY for weekends of hiking and antiquing, and motel pools in the summer. Frisbee on a lazy Sunday in Central Park (I still can't go there alone without breaking down, it just makes me too sad) after brunch along the way. Skiing in VT (hey, now they can use her time-share! awww), biking & boating in the Hamptons and on Shelter Island (where I used to dream we'd have our wedding someday-- pathetic, I know). Bi-yearly trips to Europe or St. Barts... now, this new svelte brunette attorney will be filling my shoes. And I must move on. Once and for all. Game over.

I think the hardest part about all of this is that I feel so ready to fall in love. I'm so over being lonely. I am perfectly okay being alone for the first time in.... ever! But I am just sick and tired of the lonely. New York is an isolating city. The fact that my ex was able to find someone to spend the last 2 months (yes it took 2 months to make it's way through the grapevine) with and is now calling his "girlfriend" while I am still utterly alone just further strengthens my purposes of writing this blog. The Island Where Women Go To Die Alone is just my "subtle" stab at some dark dating humor, but in a way, part of it must be true! That prick already found a chick! The balance of this city simply must hang in favor of the male, numbers just don't lie. "Laugh so you don't cry" as my mom always said. I will not let it keep me down, I will try and remain positive....

For example, my biggest problem leading up to the revelation that my ex has a new love was that making out with a hot model is making me totally shallow!!! (I am going to revisit this very important topic at a later post). Just so you don't feel too badly for lowly little ol' me, below is who I've been "easing the pain" of my lonely heart with recently. Yes, New York is full of beautiful models, and they aren't all just women! And much to my pleasant surprise, most male models are actually *GASP* straight!!! So, I'm trying to remain positive. After all, positive auras attract other positive auras. I want to meet a happy person, so I am finding ways to make myself happy in the interim!! Writing this blog and focusing on my career are helping too. It's tax season again so that is also an oddly welcomed distraction. No, I won't be considering this model my "boyfriend" any time soon, but he is helping me maintain a positive attitude in certain respects... even if it is making me a bit shallow when surveying my match.com inbox.

Needless to say, the pretty brunette lawyer can have my ex.......

Match Post #2: Beware of the bottomless glass, and has anyone seen my chicken cutlets?!

It is time, once again, to revisit match.com in a new "match post"! Yayayayay! Try to contain yourself. I've been on match several times so it will take me, at the very least, a few weeks/months just to catch this blog up to my present-day dating nightmares. This is yet another cautionary tale of a first date gone awry, are you noticing a theme yet?

His username name was retardo1. That should have given me a clue, but what can I say? The dude was hot. He had dark brown hair and light blue eyes. This happens to be my favorite combo. It makes me weak at the knees, and apparently act like a total nimrod.

This was sometime in the late winter/early spring of 2008; I had been on match.com for a few months since I'd moved out from my ex's apartment. So, I'd been scoping out "retardo"1 and he"d finally emailed me. After a little small talk, he'd cut right to the chase and asked me out for that Friday night. I hadn't been on too many dates since the breakup yet, so I was oddly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. about the whole thing On Friday, he texted me:
"Date Night! ;-)"
I thought that was cute. He called that afternoon, as he said he would, and told me we had a reservation at a place just south of Houston St.  He suggested that we meet at the place around the corner first for drinks. Said they had a "fun" drink list. That should have triggered caution in me but, like I said, at the time, I still was not jaded yet from 2 and a half years of the dealing knee-deep in dick heads that I have endured since.

This story isn't pretty. It doesn't paint me in the most appealing light. I'm not going to sugar coat the night's events... I learned a shit-ton of lessons from retardo1... and so, at the prospect of sounding like a total naive hoe-bag, I'll continue. I will, however, preface this by reiterating that I had just gotten out of a 6 year relationship. I really had no business even trying to date but my heart was so severely in pain, I was just grasping for ways to comfort it. A self-admitted serial monogomous who had gone through life jumping from long-term boyfriend to long-term boyfriend, I really did think that I was just going to find my next "victim" right away like I had done so many times in the past. Sadly, of course, in my naivete, I failed to account for the city in which I was living: The Island Where Women Go to Die Alone!

I wore my favorite first date dress...a mod-print stretchy velvet halter (sounds so much uglier than it actually is!) Its my old stand by. At the time I had lost a considerable amount of weight due to the "heart break diet". Unfortunately, the first place that I tend to lose weight is in my chest. SO not fair considering the first place I gain it is in my ass! At any rate, I decided to enhance my decolletage with my trusty bra-inserts, also known as "the chicken cutlets", a decision I would live to regret. A decision that lives in infamy... well, with me and my girlfriends anyways.... but one that always elicits a chuckle.

I walked into the appointed "fun" drink destination and was pleasantly surprised that retardo1 was as hot as his pictures. He was, of course, at least an inch shorter than the 6'0 his profile listed, but that had long become a given. Either way, very hot, very kissable= me, very happy... at that point. Immediately, I was handed the "fun" drink menu. Now, normally I don't tend to stray far from chardonnay. At the very most, I'll partake in a few bloodies over brunch or margaritas with my mexican, but normally, I'm your run-of-the-mill white wine kinda girl. I'd stopped drinking hard alcohol shortly after college, for the most part. I should have listened to my gut. The tricky part about dating, especially 1st dates, ergo BLIND 1st dates, is that you are already nervous. Having a plethora of fruity strong drinks slung at your disposal is the immediate yet not recommended fix... but one that most men will encourage. Remember, they will typically weigh a LOT more than you, let them have a "Double Wicky Wacky Woo".... trust your gut and stick with what YOU know... this night taught me that lesson.

I succumbed to the peer pressure of retardo1 and the "fun" drink bartender and picked something off the outrageously long list. Of course it was garnished with something outlandish. He ordered me another before I had yet finished the first. This is warning #1: He is trying to get you drunk. Never let them order for you. They should ask you if you would like another.

After finishing our 2nd fruity-yet-hard beverages in record time, we rushed off for our dinner reservations. A cute little neighborhood Italian place where he knew the entire staff. Clearly he was a regular, "Oh, you live around the block?" Hmmm, interesting, I lamented, through the haze of my syrupy pre-dinner refreshments. Note: something else I learned from this very date (yes, though his name was retardo, I did learn so much from him... but only what not to do!) Never meet them in THEIR neighborhood. Not only should they come to YOU, or at least meet in the middle, but it makes you easy target for all the asshole pricks out there who use sites like match.com just to try and get girls drunk and take them back to their apartments!

His little ploy worked all too well for him..... "muah ha ha". I'll explain. At dinner, which was amazingly scrumptious, (nothing like some good Italian eats) we were getting along so swimmingly. I really did feel a connection, which isn't hard to do when you have a bottomless glass of chardonnay (yes, NOW, I'd switched to my old stand by, oh boy) at the ready. He was ordering them, once again, before I was even done with the last. Unfortunately, I didn't keep track, as the waiters poured and poured, but I was having fun, liking him and feeling great! At one point, I recall fondly, it will be the only thing I'll really recall fondly about retardo1; he got up to use "the john" and bent down and kissed me on the forehead. " Wow, he was really liking me!!" READ: really wanting to get into my pantaloons!! Players are so smooth when they need to be.

We went to a club afterwards. Now that I think about it, it seemed more like a make-out haven... a virtual den of iniquity, if you will. Picture a very dark narrow room of strobe lights and swanky, synthesized music where couplings of people were sitting atop tall, chrome stools that aligned the walls on either side... & all totally going at it!!! At one point I looked around and literally every place I turned I saw couples playing tonsil hockey! " If you can't beat them, then join them" was clearly my motto... as I planted one on retardo1. He was a great kisser, I remember that.... it is, however, about the last thing I remember from the evening with him.

There's a big window lurking above and a grey burst of dismal rainy morning "light" shining through, this, I can see through the little crusty slits that were my eyes that next morning. Ouch, my head. Where am I?? Think, Sarah. Okay, I was kissing retardo1 at that club... I'm at his apt.... on his living room sofa.... with my dress around my waist, leggings still intact!!! (You've gotta love tummy control liquid leggings... they are the chastity belt of the modern era!!) I sat up, wondering where retardo1 was and a bit chilly, you know- what with my chest exposed. What is that weird feeling on my back?? My chicken cutlets had nessled perfectly into place on my back... the heat of my skin crushing them had caused them to perfectly mold to my bone blades! They were literally stuck!! OMG, retardo1 must've discovered them as he slid into second base!!!!!! Where is he now?! Time for damage control. (And, now my back ta-tas were bigger than my front ones, OOOH the Horror!!!!!)

I found a skinny winding staircase just to the left of the sofa. ("Found" might not be the right terminology... this is New York City, so "stumbled over after standing up from the couch" is more like it!) I climbed the stairs.... literally had to climb them. They were like a spiral scary ladder to nowhere and not what I needed after the night of imbibing that I'd had! It lead me to his bedroom, or like they say on MTV cribs "the place where all the magic happens".... you know, except when your date passes out with her fake boobs stuck to her back and all.

"What happened?" I asked him as I sat down on his bed next to him. His room wreaked like stinky, smelly sleeping boy. Girls, you know what I mean!!~ Its alright to deal with that when you are actually laying asleep next to them all night, but to stumble upon that stench with a huge hangover.... I nearly tossed my Biscotti!!

"You passed out while we were kissing" he said bitterly. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I said... he quickly got up. He now, ever-so- conveniently, had a breakfast date planned with his brother that he had to rush off to. He washed his face, threw on a tee shirt with some sort of chauvinistic undertone and we began to part ways.

As I was gathering my things, I mentioned something about my match profile, to which he promptly replied "I never actually read those things. I only go on there when I have nothing to do for the weekend and am bored."
Oh, okay then prick. I was growing increasingly more exhaulted in the fact that he'd shelled out a cool $250+ to get me good and drunk and didn't even get to reap the benefits of his constant flow of my $12 chardonnays. Don't get me wrong, I take full responsibility for my drunkard self that night... but he really made it easier than it should be.

We exited his apartment and as we walked outside and into the musty chill of the morning, I realized I'd left my FAVORITE black hat up in his apartment, one that I never saw again and it's really the only thing that makes me sad about this date.

What I did take away with me, aside from my favorite black hat of ALL TIME, is that
A. make sure that you are not meeting the gentleman on his turf. This gives him an unfair advantage, and they should always have to travel a bit to see you anyway, it is only fair. We all have busy lives.
and
B. if it seems like he's trying to get you drunk by ordering drink upon drink upon drink for you, he probably is! Take heed and STOP the madness before it is too late. Interrupt him when he's saying "she'll have another" with a nod to the waiter, "yes, I'd actually like a ginger ale please". I've learned ginger ale is SO yummy from the tap!!

So, thank goodness retardo1 was not an axe murderer, I'll give him credit for that.
It is very sad when that is the guy's only up side!

Pillsbury Dough Boy?? What's next, the Stay-puff Marshmallow Man or the Michelin Tire dude?

I hadn't seen my friend G in years. She and her hubby had been "living the life" out on St. Thomas in the U.S.V.I. since College. I'd been to visit once a few years prior; awesome time. It didn't take me long to figure out why they'd been living there. You can't get much more relaxed or care-free than when living an Island Life..... but this weekend they were coming to NYC for a wedding! I was so stoked! It must've been late summer 2008 at the time.

I met them and all their UCLA buds down at a place in SOHO. It was so great seeing her. So many fun people too. Out on the periphery I had noticed a very tall, very handsome boy lurking. He clearly knew some of her friends... G and I spent the greater portion of the night trying to figure out how to talk to him without having to make the first move (girls, you must know what I mean). I needed gum, she said (always trust someone when they tell you this)... so we put out an APB. Funny--- within the first few moments of finally making contact with the hot boy, G's hubby comes in from outside (with all the smokers and tokers) and puts a pack of stick gum right in my face "G says you were needing gum?" Hahaha, timing, as they say, is everything. Nothing like wearing a sandwich board that says "I have bad breath" but I might as well have been!

We exchanged numbers that night. He worked in finance and lived on the west side. Subsequently, we exchanged a few emails and made a date for the following weekend. I was very excited. Tall dark and handsome.... yes, please ;-) Sign me up!

I had decided to take things slow after dealing with Southerner7 (previous post). I was going to take things VERY slow with this new guy. AND, at 6"4, I was SOOOO excited to be able to wear my heals with him. I may seem obsessed with tall, but I can't help it. I simply don't like being with guys who are shorter than me... it makes me feel so Amazonian.

Let me cut to the chase... we went out on 5 dates before I even remotely "put out". We had been dating for over 3 weeks before this kid even got to second/third-ish base. In that time, I had found out that his maternal grandfather was the founder of Pillsbury. Yes, his mother's maiden name was Pillsbury as was his middle name... and the dude went to an Ivy league. He was hoity toity with a capital HT!... and he owned his own place on the UWS.

After many many dinners and a little kissing... I learned that not only was he very fond of making sure everyone knew his middle name was Pillsbury.... he liked to act like it annoyed him when people actually acknowledged it. It seemed to me that a good way of avoiding the latter was by keeping his "pie hole" shut about his legacy in the first place!! I can't stand those people who act burdened by the very things that they brag about themselves.

By something like our 7th or 8th date, I had decided it was time to see what he had goin' on down town. He had successfully waited and though I was still not prepared for a "homerun" I was definitely ready to "get my man on third", if you will. He had taken me to a Mets game that night... so these baseball puns are somewhat apropos!

I wore the preppiest outfit that my armoire has ever seen! A little white pique polo with a navy crest on the back, little blue seersucker shorts and white gladiators. I topped it off with my faux Louis Vuitton Beverly wristlet. I actually wondered if wearing faux LV would be a total turn-off for a such a blue-blood? Part of me thought, "if he knows this is fake, then he is way too gay", and also," who would wear a real Louis to go mets stadium any way??" I kid you not, on the subway on the way there, he asked me if it was real!!!! What a snobby f*ck, I thought! (To this day, I truly think this shallow m.f. never called again after this date because of that fake Louis... but it could also be what happened in the latter part of the evening as well... more on that in a moment. The good news is that I really did not want him to call!)

After the game ended (by the way, no shock that he had "box" season tickets...) we decided to head to my neighborhood for a late bite. I wanted to change out of my shorts. After dark, seersucker shorts feel more like "hot pants" and I wanted them off!

We made out at my apartment prior to heading to Merchants for a little din-din.... or shall I say "dessert" ;-) ... no, we didn't go all the way... but let me put it this way, he had a man on third at this point. This is an important tid-bit to this story because once we sat down at dinner he was becoming increasingly distracted by his cell phone. Then, at one point, he shoves his phone in my face with a bewildered look and said "my friends all keep texting me this, do you know what it means???" and I looked down and see "BBBLLLLOOOWWW JJJJAAAAYYY" That was the text!!! Was this guy freakin' kidding me?!?!? Clearly he must have JUST texted his friends about our intimate exploits at my apt. a mere 5 minutes earlier and then inadvertently shoved it in my face!!!!! And he had no idea what it meant!? Clueless prick. What a total and complete c*ck-sucker!!! (no, not me, him!)

I was so appalled. I could not get away from him fast enough. I never confronted his faux-pas (unlike he'd confronted my faux-Louis a few hours earlier), I just knew I never wanted to see him again. How crass!! After dinner I said "sayanora" and he went on his merry and perverse way. Thank GOD I never slept with him, I thought.

A few short weeks later, I was attending an Indian friend's bday bash down off Houston St. with my friend E (the same gal pal I was with when I ran into the chef on the night of the prince concert - see previous post) and HE was there!!!!! (Now that I think about it, maybe E has some sort of telekinesis that brings my old loser dates out of the woodwork!!) I have said it before and I'll say it again, it never ceases to amaze me how often you run into the very people you "NEVER want to see again" here in NYC! Either way, amidst the beautiful blanket of brown skinned partiers, I saw his tall white ass. He barely even acknowledged that he knew me. He was with a new tall blonde du jour.... I took pity on her.

I guess no amount of blue-blood upbringings at posh private schools & summers in Santa Barbara can buy you class. This Pillsbury boy might have had dough, but the buck stopped there... he had very poor manners.

It is getting abundantly clearer to me how important WAITING and taking things slow is to this dating scene. It took literally 8 dates for his true colors to shine through... I can't say it enough: make them wait, ladies!

Sometimes you'll find out they really aren't worth the wait before it is too late!

Match Post #1: "Southern Gentleman" is an oxymoron

Ever since I joined match.com for the first time in Fall '07, I thought it might be a great idea to form a forum of sorts for women (& men too, I guess) to post their opinions of their dates. After going out with a few creepy peeps off the site, I wished that someone had alerted me to said creepiness prior to my getting involved with these specific guys. "Matchpost.com" is what I wanted to call it, but of course that url had a cyber-squatter. Unwilling to waver on the name (I thought it was so perfect) I abandoned the idea altogether, as I'd abandoned match.com several times as well... only to join again after I'd forgotten how much I'd hated it the last time I'd been on.     

Internet dating in this day and age is a necessary evil, in my opinion. An article in New York Times recently ranked meeting people via online dating and social networking sites is the #2 most common way that people get together these days, second only to the old fashioned "meeting people through friends". I, no matter how much I put the good word out, am never ever set up on dates by friends. I'm not exactly sure why especially since I set friends up with one another whenever I possibly can. In fact, a lovely couple that I introduced a mere 2 years ago were married last July and are expecting their first child in just a few weeks!. My most recent therapist was a sweet Jewish man who told me that if I introduced 3 couples who then went on to get married, by Jewish law, I would instantly hold a place in heaven. With only 2 couples to go, I keep trying to get my spot reserved up past the pearly gates. I have set up a few couples that have dated for a bit (only to have one break the other's heart... a downside to this type of endeavor). One person my matchmaking skills rarely seem to work on: myself.     

Case in point. This story is about my first incursion into match.com. There will be several to follow sometime down the line. Many many more creepy, annoying and/or disappointing stories.... but I'll just start with this one. I'll warn you that it's not very entertaining and somewhat anti-climactic... but I did learn a lesson from it all the same- and that is why I'm sharing it. Venting, if you will. Bare with me.    

 His username was Southerner7. I won't say this guy's real name, but I will gladly mention his pseudonym to prevent any other girls who might read this from falling under his "sweet as pie" spell. This was a few months after my horrendous craigslist experience so at this point, I had learned to meet the person swiftly after email communications began. No sense in wasting each other's time. He was absolutely adorable in his pics and after a few correspondences betwixt us, we agreed to meet at Central Park at 3 that Sunday.

 Fannie is always a good icebreaker... I hadn't realized that we would virtually need an ice breaker that day. What began as a fairly mild February afternoon quickly turned into a hailstorm. I had even worn heels (I like to do this when the person I'm meeting claims to be 5'11 or 6'0 because I can quickly detect when they are lying about it... that may be mean but I don't care)... and he wasn't 5'11 as his profile stated but he was cute enough to over look the fib. He was darling. Such a polite & handsome gentleman, or so it seemed. Ended up being a bit of a wolf in sheep's clothing, but at the time, I was easy prey.    

After determining that a hailstorm was not an appropriate environment for a first date, we decided to meander towards my apartment and drop off our "third wheel", Fannie. Fortunately I am a quick jaunt away from the park. Once home (I made him wait down on the corner so as not to know my exact address- still wasn't sure if he was an axe murderer etc. Better to be safe than sorry!) I promptly changed into flats.... after all, I felt foolish walking around in wedges amidst the hail and all... plus, I was dwarfing him.   

At any rate, we went for a little aperitif at a local place in my hood that has a jazz band on Sundays. It was a nice little date. He told me about his home in S. Carolina. He was recently starting his own business and moving from Chicago to NYC while maintaining a house just near the beach in Charleston. He told me that Charleston was the new "hot spot" for weddings and the number one choice for destination weddings. Wedding talk on a first date?! I was even starting to like his Southern drawl, which admittedly has not been my the most enticing accent in the past. I was pleased with this new boy and excited that he said he'd like to get together again as we kissed goodbye.   

We went out to a lovely dinner that next Friday. He was coming from a work meeting (he worked in finance technologies) so he was wearing a sexy dark suit and tie (love a man in a suit) and we met at the W hotel lobby for drinks. He was such a gentleman and very chivalrous throughout the night. It was only our second date, but I was feeling very close to him. He sounded like he was from a similar background to mine, was Catholic and spoke very highly of his family & many siblings.  

One thing led to another, as these things tend to do, and there we were, making out in my apt.! It was fun, but I realize now that I probably trusted him way too much way too soon (a mistake many women make in this day and age). My grandmother used to say about men, "they can promise you the stars and the moon but they'll never be able to give them to you". He used "we" and "us" right away and we began to see each other every other day or so for about 2 weeks.   

He traveled for work on a regular basis and had a business appointment set up in my hometown of St. Louis, of all places!! It was during this business trip that his texts started to fall off..... and we rarely spoke on the phone anyway. I have learned to grow wary of a guy who can't ever talk to you on the phone. Texting can be so impersonal and in genuine; it is can be difficult to judge the tone of comments made via texting and email. A good old fashioned conversation vis-a-vis speaking is always nice... and one should see a red flag if a budding new relationship doesn't include this type of communication in the beginning stages.   

After a few weeks of sparse contact which saddened me greatly I began to see the cracks in this knight's shining armor. In hindsight, I realize that giving someone of yourself wholly before they have even proved themselves worthy is one of the biggest mistakes women can make in this dating scene. I realized now that I thought I was falling in love with him... but in reality, I was subconsciously using a behavioral technique of displacement as my broken heart had still not healed (I had only moved out from my ex's about 3 months prior). I was looking to end the pain through someone else. "Band-aids" like this seldom help the healing process... they only temporarily mask the pain. Letting the wound heal via time is the only solution.   

Anyhoo, many weeks passed and we finally spoke on the phone... he, like most men I've known, was all too capable of turning everything around to make himself seem like the innocent party. He didn't feel like it always had to be the guy to call, he, as chivalrous as he had always appeared, was now an enormous proponent of women's lib!!! It was MY fault that I hadn't called enough. He didn't think I was "serious" about really getting to know him. After clearing up what had gone with our little love affair, read: I was not aggressive enough... we made a date for that upcoming Sunday afternoon.   

It was tax season and my accountant had given me a Monday morning deadline for my book keeping... so I texted Southerner7 to see if we could meet a mere one hour later than originally planned! I even said I was looking forward to seeing him! I, I had since surmised, would really shove my feelings in his face as clearly I had been too subtle with him in the past. I waited for a response & never got one. I never heard from him for the rest of the afternoon. I had been stood up. I, with my ego in shambles, tried for weeks to forget about this jackass. I was probably really still reeling from the recent end of my long-term relationship anyways. So to add fuel to the fire, I began hanging out more with my ex to dull the pain of Southerner7!!.... a coping mechanism I have unfortunately and unsuccessfully used all too often in the recent past, and viscous cycle that I have only recently learned how squelch.  

At any rate, after not hearing from him in weeks with no explanation, and I had determined that he was now MIA. I simply had to get to the bottom it... I couldn't take it anymore. My ego couldn't handle the element of rejection without knowing what had caused it. I emailed him one day, in a moment of weakness: 

"Hi there. Against my better judgement and at the risk of appearing like a desperate loser, I thought I'd attempt to contact you to see how you were doing etc. I must admit that I was a bit baffled and disappointed by the way things turned out.... I thought that you seemed like a genuinely nice guy whom I could at least be FRIENDS with when all was said and done. I totally understand if you weren't interested in me in "that way", but did I do something to vastly offend you at some point? Please do let me know if so! At any rate, best of luck with your business and with finding what you're looking for, Sarah"   

To which I received this:

 "Hi Sarah. Hope you are doing well. Thank you for the email. To be honest, I don't really know how to respond but, here goes. I too was baffled and disappointed by the way things turned out. I also thought and still think you are a very genuine and nice person. Someone whom I really liked. Though, I did mention during our last call that I had some reservations considering it took you a week to respond to my email from the previous week. Either way, we talked through that point and I was excited to see you the upcoming Sunday.    

At least until I received your text messages the day before (Sat.) asking if we could push getting together off until later in the day/early evening. Not that your request to push schedules back was a big deal, though it did make me question the situation considering we had not seen one another in a wk or so. Guess I started to feel felt as though getting together was a burdon to your schedule, or that you always had to fit me in somewhere between everythng else.  

Please know, moving the time back was not a big deal! However, I never want to feel like anyone had to be burdoned themselves with fitting me into a schedule. Maybe I misinterpreted your text message incorrectly though, considering we're both so busy with our lives (especially me lately with starting the business and traveling), neither one of us should have to question the social areas of our life (such as be excited about getting together with someone you like).   

In regards to that Sunday, I didn't know until the day passed that we wouldn't get together. To be honest, I was truly hoping you would call to discuss our schedules/plans, and when your call never came (as had been the case the most of the time), I felt as though my concerns were right on target. I always enjoyed your company and always looked forward to seeeing you/getting to know you better. However, if our primary means of communication are via text, something is very wrong. Additionally, if the only time we do talk via phone is when I call you, something is wrong. Do you agree? If we can't communicate via phone, when busy or away via business, it makes it hard to get to know someone better.  

Prior to that weeknd, I had gotten the feeling you really weren't into the possibility of us knowing one another better, only that getting together was something to do when nothing else was going on. And for the record, that's not what I'm looking for at this stage of my life. I do like you and I am interested in being friends though, only if we are willing to communicate better. What are you thoughts?"  

Drats!! He'd done it again! He'd found a way to turn it completely around and blame me for his standing me up!!! This man had some serious talent!!! He could win Olympic medals for deflecting blame! The "email it took me over a week to respond to" is utter horseshit, by the way... I had immediately responded, and he had subsequently & very conveniently never recieved that lone email! And FYI, he never called me! He makes it sound like he was always calling and I never responded... when in reality, I was literally waiting by the phone. This email, though it may not appear so, is the biggest load of malarky I'd ever read!!!! and could not be further from the truth.  I had told him on the phone how much I liked him.  He literally made all of this up... like I said, Olympic medals.  They need a new event for him in 2012: "Breaking up with someone while making it seem like you were the one hurt."  It is serious insanity.

In the end, I'm glad things didn't work out. He was kinda puny (not even the 5'11 he believed he was) and had a very slight physique. I just simply can't date a man who wears a smaller jean size than myself. Call me shallow, but it is unnerving, in my opinion, thinking you might crush your man. His Southern accent was also highly annoying especially when his douche bag tendencies started to present themselves. (An asshole with such a gentlemanly inflection is such a stealthy contradiction; a sheep in wolve's clothing). Things happen for a reason, or don't happen for a reason. 

What I learned from all of this was to take things s-l-o-w, get to know a person before you instantly presume that you want them to be your boyfriend.  I  found a tiny little screen capture of his profile, which I think I might post just for fun. Hell, this story is over 2 years old, what's he gonna do? I have since learned not to trust men who wear bow ties in their photos. There's an air of smugness about a guy in a tux with suspenders holding a cigar that might have given me a little hint about who I was dealing with... 

More importantly, I learned that no man is worthy of you until he proves it. You've really got to make them work for it, after all... you are definitely worth the wait, and if he can't see that, then he most certainly, is not!!  

ps. Laughing that he actually wrote 5'12 and athletic?!?! hahaha, there is no such a thing as 5'12! And athletic? I could have bench pressed his measley ass!  

Never burn a bridge... you never know when it might lead you to an intimate Prince concert!

My next little tale is one about a boy I met the old fashioned way--- while I was out to dinner with my ex boyfriend! I can't believe I just referred to a 39 year old man is a "boy". Clearly, in my head I am still 15 and so are the guys I date. Ewww, that came out all wrong & highly illegal but hopefully you get what I meant. In NYC, the "Peter Pan Complex" is not only accepted and expected, in some cases it is highly revered. No one acts their age; that's probably part of my problem with this dating scene! (And also one of the reasons why I often see 80 year old women dressed like someone out of the movie "Desperately Seeking Susan". Oddly it is actually kind of sweet... in a Betsey Johnson sort of way).

I digress.... sometime over the summer of 2008, I was out to dinner with my ex-boyfriend who I was still pining whole-heartedly for. We were still "seeing" each other on a regular bi-weekly basis, purely on a platonic level of course, much to my chagrin. We were seated up at the bar of our favorite neighborhood Mexican joint. See, the bar is where "couples" with intimacy issues regularly situate themselves. The hum of the sporting events on the tele mixed with the stench of last night's afterglow & the bustle of people waiting for their tables (couples lacking intimacy issues) make for the perfect environment for pretending that all the problems you have with one-another don't exist. That, and having the bartender on hand with an ever-ready flow of margaritas w/salt & tortilla chips really helps dull the pain of unrequited love.

Next to us, sitting alone in the corner of the bar, was a rather good looking, very tall man with a thick Long Island accent. After many years in Manhattan, I've come to find this pattern of speech to be somewhat endearing in a rough-around-the-edges sexy fireman sort of way. He was by himself & quickly we struck up a conversation with him. After some small talk about what was going on in sports at the time...funny, I am just now remembering that it was this very night that Phelps (no, he's not my cousin) won his 8th medal In Beijing. That would make the date June 29, 2008. I just looked it up.

After some fun cheers of glory in Phelps's honor, we continued chatting with the jovial young stud. He was 39 and from the North Fork of L.I. He said he was the Regional Chef of the China Grill management for NYC & Chicago and had opened their restaurants in Miami as well. I'd been to many of his establishments, and was a big fan of his food! He also told us that he had formerly been the Executive Chef at the United Nations. How cool is that? We spent the entire night with him and even brought him along to our favorite haunt (the Irish Pub at the end of my former block) for a nightcap... or 2.

Towards the end of the night, we were like the 3 amigos. Surely we were going to hang out with our new found friend again so my ex told me to exchange phone numbers with him (the ex is technologically challenged) which I agreed was a grand idea. After that night, the chef and I exchanged many friendly texts back and forth. My ex had proclaimed in the days following that the "dude must be lying about his resume" but I cyber-stalked him, and he wasn't! It was one of the rare times when I actually saw the green-glare of jealousy all aglow in my ex's eyes. It was a most beauteous site! I enjoyed it, almost as much as I enjoyed informing him, "No, I looked him up, he really is that successful!"

It wasn't until Sept. that I decided to "up the ante" and make my texts a little flirtier. It was probably during one of my moments of clarity with my ex where I was realizing that I needed to get my head out of my ass and move on... it was growing evident that the ex's head would be firmly shoved up his ass for the rest of his meager life here on earth.

At any rate, we decided to meet at a Mexican restaurant in my new neighborhood for our little reunion. I was nervous to see him again, after all... would we still have chemistry without our third amigo? He was cute and really tall, just as I'd remembered. Probably like 6'5 or so. I like me a tall drink of water. After several Internet dates with guys claiming to be 6'0 (I'm 6'0 in heels) it was refreshing, not dwarfing him.

The conversation was flowing as was the tequila. We had a really fun night! Or so, I thought. We kissed each other goodbye and texted a bit later that night saying how much we both enjoyed the evening. The kiss was not too shabby & I was excited at the prospect of seeing him again. After all, he mentioned going out again, so surely we would--- right?

Well, days turned into weeks, as they tend to do when you are waiting for someone to call you again. I never heard a peep from him. I, still in a questionable state of self-acceptance and stinging from my healing broken heart, played the night out in my head over and over. Maybe I shouldn't have said this? Or maybe he got scared when I mentioned that? Oh, maybe he just didn't think I was cute enough? Whatever it was it burned me a bit, I'll admit. I was a little peeved. I hadn't yet come to the realization that this type of thing happens all the time in this god-forsaken dating world. Asshole, I thought. Ewww, however talented and successful a chef he was, he still had that hideous Long Island accent and was so tall-- like an oaf or something! (Yes, I know those were things that I had liked about him earlier, but he never called!!!) I never ever wanted to see him again. EVER!

The funny thing about the Island of New York, is that though it is geographically a very small area of land, there is said to be some 8 million+ people living in Manhattan (20 million if you include the outer boroughs). With so many freaking people, it is amazing how often you bump into the very people you might be trying to avoid at the time! It never ceases to amaze me.

Case in point, several weeks later, on Friday, October 14, 2008 (I only know this because I just googled it, you'll soon see what I mean) my girlfriend E and I had started the evening out on very low note. After a glass of wine at her apt. I had to rush home before we set out for the evening just to make sure I hadn't left Fannie's bone on the floor for her to choke on. (I'm very OCD about my dog. If Oprah's pooch can die from getting a toy lodged in it's larynx, who's canine couldn't? I simply could not take the chance). Besides, how could I enjoy the evening with that ever-present visual in my head?

We really had no set itinerary. After making sure Fannie was "safe & sound", and with the roll of my friend's eyes when the bone wasn't even within her grasp *ooops*, we set out for Tortilla Flats in the West Village. Sadly, because of my incessant worrying, which then caused our poor timing, the joint was already packed and out of control and now, crossed off of our list of fun possibilities for the evening. So, we walked a few blocks and settled on the Brass Monkey. A annoyingly young & somewhat seedy club that we made do with because we were both in 4 " heels... after all, the music was pretty fun--- blisters, however, are not.

After a few short minutes there, we were already bored and convinced the evening was doomed.
Not wanting to continue walking in our heels we did what any proper New York girl does, we grabbed a drink and bobbed our head to the blaring 80's music.... it gave me the appropriate moment to step back and survey the possibilities. Were there any cute guys over the age of 30 in this place?! After doing a complete 360º, I'm somewhat like an owl when this type of dexterity is needed.... I saw him! There he was, all 6 feet 5 inches of prime chef meat. He was hard to overlook amidst the waves of teeny-bopper 20-somethings who probably "weren't even born when this song first came out!"

"Holy shit!", I said to E, "the chef is standing right over there, mother effer, what is he doing here of all places?!?!?!"... or something to that extent. Of course she knew exactly who I was talking about because we had been gabbing about his not ever calling me all evening!!! My first inclination was to run like the wind. (This visual reminds me of that 90's TV commercial for Easy Spirit pumps where the girls are playing basketball in high heels while a cheesy voice-over sings... "Looks like a pump but feels like a sneaker!" I'm a glutton for old commercials. Why are they constantly popping into my brain on a regular basis?? Was it too much TV as a child? Why didn't I go into advertising????

Again, I digress, fighting my initial instincts to get the hell out of dodge... I didn't want this guy to see me, after all he'd snubbed me just a few short weeks ago! I assessed my options... we could walk out the door into the dark dismal abyss with no fun venue in mind or I could swallow my pride along with a swig of my chardonnay, and walk over to him to say "hello". Yes, I could be the bigger person (not an easy endeavor with someone of such tall stature)... after all, he was still a nice guy even if he didn't realize what an awesome girl he'd passed up... and clearly the only decent flirting prospect for the night.

So, I did just that. It wasn't as bad as I thought, and we ended up hanging out with him and his pals for a few drinks. Turns out, he was out with his live-in girlfriend's brother! OOOOH!!! That's why he didn't call... he has a girlfriend. It was re-assuring to find that sometimes these types of behaviors are not attributed to you at all. There may be situations beyond your control preventing him from asking you out again... though most of the time it does just mean that he's not that into you. Either way, "why would I want to go out with someone who would do that to a live-in girlfriend anyway" I thought to myself... but he'll do for the night all the same...sometimes you just want someone cute to flirt with, you know?

After the swelling in my feet had gone down and we were sufficiently bored with the Brass Monkey surroundings, the chef decided to join my friend and I on a quest to find a place with a more entertaining vibe. A new set of 3 Amigos! He suggested the roof of the Gansevoort Hotel... after all, it was pretty mild out for mid October and he was the executive chef at Restaurant Ono there so we wouldn't have to wait in the usual line that wrapped around it's block on most weekend nights.

Why not? We didn't have any other suggestions. Well, thank God we did, because it ended up turning into one of the best nights of my life!

I hadn't noticed the line outside the Hotel being any longer than it usually was on the weekend... when the weather is nice the rooftop bar is the perfect place to party late-night. Apparently it helps when you show up with a hotel executive because they actually shuffle you past the masses waiting in line for the 1 or 2 elevators available for use.

When the elevator doors opened to the top floor I literally could not believe my eyes. There, right in front of me, on a slightly elevated make-shift stage, was Prince wailing away on his guitar. All 5 foot 2 inches (well, 5'8 if you count his heels) of him in his cream cowl-necked angora dress, ahem, I mean sweater. Well, it seemed like a sweater dress, are you surprised? This was the craziest & most unexpected sight I have ever seen!! The bouncer led us out a door to the deck outside where we followed the chef passed Dave Chappelle who was outside smoking and into a side door... only to re-enter to a spot literally 5 feet from Prince himself. We were standing in front row, if there was such a thing! It was insane! (Make-shift stage & heels put together, our tour-guide chef was virtually looking him square in the eyes!)

Apparently, he was playing an intimate party for industry insiders in honor of the release of his new book. I only know this because I read a press release the following day to find out why the hell he was playing for such a small group! Unfortunately there were handwritten signs up saying "no photos" otherwise I would have snuck one & posted it instead of making my own for posterity. Howard Stern was there among others... and Dave Chappelle did stand-up during set breaks. He was freaking hysterical. I love that guy!

A smoker at the time, I inadvertently joined Chappelle outside on the deck for a cigarette right after he finished one of his routines. Thinking I was "one with the celebs" and with the liquid courage of my chardonnay... I walked right up to him and said "Dude, you totally killed it!" He looked at me with that look of fear he often does, like the cat who ate the canary, and said nothing. I think it might have been the first time a blond white biyatch had told him he killed something... and I don't necessarily think it jived with him. I walked away feeling a wee bit crestfallen, returned inside in time to hear Prince blaring "Purple Rain" and all was alright with the world again.

The moral of this story, (yes, there is one) is that had I not swallowed my pride and went up to Chef Douchey McDoucherson I might have missed out on one of the most exciting nights of my life thus far! So, even if a guy acts like a total dick munch asshole, you never know when you might be able to use him for his connections!!

No, he was not to be my Knight in Shining Armour, but he did lead me to Prince!