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!

Craig's list..... it 'aint just for finding used entertainment systems... but it SHOULD be!

Now that I feel I've given a somewhat informative, if not fairly condensed synopsis of my dating situation/history.... I feel that I can begin to start tackling some of the more entertaining, hilarious and/or horrific accounts of what I have experienced in the 2 and a half years of living as a single woman in the dating world of Manhattan! Giddy up, it has been quite a ride!

Since my organizational skills have always been a wee bit lacking, (hello, that's why I went to art school!) I'm not going in any specific order... just writing stories off the top of my head. The one I'm going to start with is by far one of the more bizarre encounters of my life thus far, and ever-- I certainly hope!

Let me start by saying, in my defense, that this occurred in early 2008 before any of the craig's list murders began to spring up in the news on a weekly basis. Actually, never mind, there is no excuse for perusing the personals on craigslist.com PERIOD. But it started innocently enough... so NO, I was not moonlighting as an exotic erotic masseuse, mom and dad... no worries. I was merely searching for a used DVD player and/or something to house such a contraption. It was President's Day and I was working for an Orthodox Jewish company with a strict business calendar at the time... now, normally I would not be using company time for such personal use (mom & dad) but since the employees at this company were all disgruntled about the fact that we never ever got bank holidays off... we all decided that on such days, we were allowed to use the internet for just such type of purposes. I'm not proud (mom & dad) but I was also not alone.

Now, I highly doubt any of the other 500+ employees there were dumb or bored enough (well, maybe the latter) to actually get sidetracked from the "for sale:appliances" section by the
"personals:misc. romance" page, but I certainly was just that dumb & that bored (and fresh off the heals of a heart broken to pieces, desperate to find someone to make the pain go away... whhaa whhaa whhaa, but sadly its true).

For the most part, every single ad was just as you would expect... GROSS! I think that many of the posters had mistaken it for the "casual encounters" section if you catch my drift. Entertaining all the same though... I can't imagine the type of people that actually post stuff looking for a "lunch hookup" or even worse... the kind of people that actually answer them!!! Ewwww!

At any rate, I looked at about 10 ads before coming across "his". I wish I still had a copy of it word for word. I kept all his emails which will come in handy towards the end of this little parable. Yes, I'm calling this a "parable" in hopes that if any one is reading this, you might just learn a little something... not that any of you would have been dumb enough to actually answer such an ad in the first place, HA! Reminder: I was literally dying of a broken heart at the time!
Anyhoo, his ad said something like this (I am paraphrasing):

"Tall midtown Attorney, 35, with brown hair & blue eyes, just getting over a serious relationship & not ready to jump back into anything serious but looking for a friend to fill the void. Will send photo if you send me yours."

So... I skeptically wrote him a little email... and reluctantly attached my latest myspace.com profile pic (WHAT? this was before facebook took off, & yes, I was a loser with a myspace page ;-) What was the harm in a little internet interaction to pass the time? cue: horror flick instrumental.

He replied back right away with a very cute picture and we began to email back and forth all day!
It was either that or look at more boring old DVD players and ugly TV stands! What else was I supposed to do? Actual work??

At any rate, I was surprised by his wit... he was seriously hysterical. He was very smart and well spoken. I was enjoying our to & fro. It was like a game of tennis with someone who's prowess equaled your own. It made you want to play (or write) better, funnier, wittier. I love those kind of email connections. They make me want to use a thesaurus to come up with better ways of saying ordinary words you don't think about that much. For instance, "great" becomes "fantastic". Not that I'd need a thesaurus for that one, duh. It was just a little example. Either way, the dude seemed cool.

One REALLY odd thing about this scenario, was that his name (and I'm not disguising it for the sake of anonymity here, if this guy ever reads this it means he's violating his restraining order--- KIDDING, kinda. More on that later) was actually Craig!! WHAT? I met a guy on Craig's list named Craig? Sketchy at best already. But, one thing you (if there is anyone actually reading this) will come to find out about me it is that I am an expert cyber-stalker. I don't use it in an icky way... I just use it to validate that the people with which I am communicating via internet social networks are, in fact, who they say they are. This skill probably stems from this very story, but needless to say, I verified, he was in fact a lawyer named Craig. (I'll leave off his last name but be assured it was not "List". I'm not THAT gullible).

We emailed back and forth for several days. He was a novice photographer and I use "novice" in a very loose fashion here because his photographs were amazing. I work with a lot of photographers and for an attorney, he was downright awesome to say the least. Most of his photos were images from Central Park of nature or of different architectural structures shot all around the city. I loved his work. He also had a dog named Hudson, which I think is an adorable name. It was a darling Australian Sheltie with one blue eye... much like Jeffrey Dauhmer. I should have heed this warning.

Over the course of roughly about a week, we exchanged about 90 emails with one another. I was really beginning to think this guy was "too good to be true"... and as my father always said, "if something seems too good to be true, it probably is". I should have heed that warning too. He just seemed perfect. He literally had me rolling on the ground laughing with some of his little quips. I'll give you an example... Friday afternoon we had agreed we would meet on Saturday early evening at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was psyched!! Not too many guys would want to suggest such a meeting spot for a first date. Here's a little sample of his charms, and this is verbatim:

"So you, me, and some none-too-sexy mummified old guys? You'll be clawing all over me if that's my competition for the evening ;) I'll look gooooood (mostly just 'cuz I'm alive and still have my skin 'n stuff)..."

Well, needless to say, that kind of self-deprecating humor works magic on me. I was a smitten kitten at this point. I could not wait to meet this guy! I thought for sure he might be soul mate material... or a good way to get over my broken heart at the very least! What I hadn't anticipated (how could I have... this was literally my very first foray into internet dating. Okay, I guess I am kind of going in some sort of chronological order here...) was that such a connection that we had over our emails might somehow NOT translate to a physical connection. DUH! The thought had literally not even crossed my mind. That is until I hopped out of my taxi in front of the Met at about 3:30 that Saturday and ran up the stairs to be greeted by Craig's list Craig.

Now, don't get me wrong, for all intents and purposes, the guy was not horribly disfigured or unattractive. There simply was no chemistry on my end. Not to sound shallow (oh, hell, I don't really care if I do) he must have mugged Jerry Seinfeld in 1989 and saved the outfit off of his back specifically for our date. Yes, there he was replete with stiff dark "mommy" jeans and ginormous spanking-white marshmellow sneakers. He even had Jerry's hairstyle... from 1989. It literally hurt my eyes. I know they say that you can fix those types of things... and that's what I told myself to fight back my tears... but the little piece of spinach that was covering his top left canine (and stayed snuggly there all afternoon so I never was sure if it was really spinach or a bad tooth!) was too hard to justify. Plus, what kind of person eats a slice of pizza right before a date, doesn't he know I love pizza, I wanted a slice too, we could have had one together. Yes, these were things I was thinking... just to try and convince myself that it was in fact spinach! It's very rare when spinach on a tooth is the upside. A black tooth is something that I could probably not have spent the afternoon with... and it wasn't in any of his photos.

Okay, so at this point, I knew it wasn't a connection. It was instant. I decided to begin to wax poetic about my ex and ask him about his so we spent the better part of 2 hours walking around the Met seething in pain over our exes. What else could I do?! What I learned was that his ex, Heather, was a very sick girl. I mean physically sick. She had some sort of rare disorder that had her in the hospital for weeks on end. He would spend long jaunts of time there with her comforting her... I thought this was very very sweet of him... but the spinach was still there. Jammed into place on his canine. Couldn't get past it.

Anyhoo, he told me that after 2 years together, of him being her primary care-giver and just before they were to get engaged (and her prognosis was not good mind you) she left him for some older, richer man she had been seeing behind his back!! This will come into play in just a few paragraphs... we're getting to the sad sad end of this little tale.

I'll skip to the part where I'm totally over walking around the Met feigning interest in his favorite parts (I should have guessed... the mummies)... and I suggest "Why don't we go grab a drink" and he responds "Well, its not my favorite pastime but...okay." *GASP* okay, now I know we have absolutely no connection if I have to literally twist your mummified arm to join me over a glass of vino! To further concrete this utter lack of common interest, we were passing a beautifully lit up apt. house on the way to the gin mill and he pointed up and said, "Ewww, who would ever paint their living room Pepto-Bismol pink?" And, I replied, "I would, I actually did, about 3 weeks ago..."

So, after 2 drinks we walked a block, I haled a taxi, quickly pecked him on the cheek, thanked him for the date and jumped off to my awaiting Pepto-Bismol pink living room to get cozy with Fannie and wonder how the HELL I'd let my hopes escalate so ridiculously off the charts?!

I wish the story ended there, but it doesn't...
The rest is sort of sad, and pathetic and reading the emails that I am about to share awakens both the fear and pity that I was feeling back then.

The next day, Sunday, I awoke to find a very sweet email with a picture attachment of a beautiful flower. It was written late Saturday night, just after our date and read:

"Cypripedium calceolus - the yellow ladyslipper orchid... One of the rarest orchids on the planet. I actually photographed this in Central Park in May.

How about, if you're interested, I buy my new beautiful new friend the biggest cup of hot chocolate we can find, we bundle up some (hat optional, hair twirling mandatory) and I show you where I found it...? Mark and Heather stay at home and you & I unwind together and have some fun. Hey, I don't only "take charge" with large, bald bartenders ya know!! You in? ;o)"

The saddest part is that if I only felt the same way, this would have been the sweetest and most well-received email I think my in box has ever known. I didn't know what to do. I am horrible at telling people flat out when I am not reciprocating their feelings (though I am getting better at this with time... not sure if this is a good thing though) so I did the only thing I know how... I kind of avoided him all morning. I said that I slept in late, then spoke to my parents on the phone for a few hours, then, I said that I was feeling a bit down about my heart break. Of course, he had to turn around and be nice about all of that! Ugh!

After stalling a bit more over with my sadness (it wasn't really a lie) he responded:
"Neither of us is even close to being ready for some sort of involvement so we can stop worrying there but I AM wicked attracted to you - your humor, your sweetness, even your freakin' eyes so yeah, I'd like to spend more time making you laugh and maybe even giving you that kiss you dashed away from last night ;) It would suck if depression made you miss out on all that :)"

Here's a hint guys, if there are ever any of you reading this: If a girl dashes away from a kiss... she probably does not want it!!!! *spinach tooth*

That sounds mean but I feel compelled to be a little mean. You'll see why.

Finally, on Monday, I got up enough courage to write this:

"Hi! Happy Monday--- or is that an oxymoron? I hate Mondays. So, Craig, it is not that I don't find you very cute and very nice, because I do. I'm just not sure we have very much in common... You said it yourself when you asked me if I was a "party girl" and although I don't think that title defines me 100% accurately, I think we may have different ideas on fun. Now, I wouldn't be so bold as to state that I know this for fact, but it is just my initial assessment. After all, you'd probably puke if you saw my pink living room!!! I agree that our emails last week were VERY fun, but sometimes these types of cyber relationships don't translate well and I think once
you really got to know me, initial attractions/flirtatious emails aside... you might not truly enjoy me as much as you think.... Either way, it's not that I wouldn't want to hang out again, but I think easing into any kind of friendship etc. is more appropriate either way. We've both been through a traumatic situation in the last few months and we wouldn't want to risk any sort of "replacement therapy" as I feel that with that sort of "band-aid",you just end up shooting yourself in the foot, as I've found from experience...."

Too harsh? You be the judge... but what transpired directly after really knocked my right out of my cubicle. I never emailed Craig again but I received these preceding scathing emails right in a row, one after another:

"Wow, you're a bigger flake than Heather is. Honestly, DO NOT REPLY TO ANYBODY ELSE until you get the stick out of your ass about Mark because all you do is use and then drop people once they become a reality to you. Fucking pathetic, that is all I can say. I am a REAL person, not some cyber game. I get that you're fucked up but that is NO EXCUSE to use someone for your amusement and that is exactly what you have done here. And the bullshit excuses you're trying to make up about why we suddenly wouldn't be a good team are insulting. If that's the best you can do to justify your flaky change of heart then stick to the dumb pretty boys who won't be offended that you're so goddamn shallow"

Followed directly by:
"I'm deleting every word you've written. Try to contact me again and see how ugly things can get in a hurry "

And then:
"If you fuck with anyone else's head like you did mine, I wish you all the pain you have coming... You are CRUEL"

And lastly, and this is the kicker, for me anyway:
"Seeing your true colors now, I commend Mark for letting your ass go"

WHAT THE F*CK??? Is he kidding? We shared some emails, a two hour date at a museum, a couple of glasses of wine (me) a few sips of beer (him) and a peck on the cheek! Perhaps I am the delusional one here, but I just did not see how the punishment fit the crime. I was worse than Heather!?!?! She cheated on him after he devoted himself to a life full of hospitals & spent two years trying to nurse her to health! I also didn't see how someone so seemingly harmless could start to make me fear for my safety! I actually forwarded the most threatening one to my good friend, who in turn mistakenly responded to HIM!!! OMG!
She said something like paraphrased: "Oh my god, this guy is a psycho!! How dare he threaten you like that!!" in which he promptly responded to her "FUCK YOU!!!!!!"

I really was worried. I had told this guy the intersection that I live on. I know a city block is big but not big enough. I remember looking over my shoulder for a few weeks, and what's funny now but wasn't then is that my mother was coming in for a visit within a week of this transaction. My brother, who had heard the story through the Phelps grapevine (we aren't related to that Phelps Vineyard out in Napa, unfortunately, our grapevines are purely just for gossip) called and said to me "Don't you dare let mom get killed." I laugh at that now, but it wasn't funny at the time!!!

I guess the moral of the story is to never let your hopes escalate to the point that you are no longer seeing things on a realistic level. That and NEVER peruse the personals on craigslist.com!!! In our emails, he seemed like the man of my dreams. I should never have wasted so much energy before actually meeting him in person, this is the lesson I take with me, really. I never exert any energy via 2 dimensional connections... it sometimes just doesn't translate in the 3-D world.

What I thought was "kismet" didn't even result in a kiss at the Met!!
There's some ever-so-artistic irony to smack me in the face.

I don't think I've really been on craigslist since... I just go to Ikea.

What red flags??? Hindsight is 20/20 & not so color-blind!

Since I am new to blogging, I may be breaking a cardinal rule by actually blogging twice in one day? I don't care... I have always been a bit of a rebel. Throwing caution to the wind has always been my style & that sadly didn't escape my dating life.

I'm going to try to begin to outline how I came to be 3o-something, single and utterly alone. (I have a ton of girlfriends in NYC in a similar "situation", if you will, so I do feel like a member of a secret society for the stylishly forsaken). Yes, for a city stocked full of people, make no mistake, the Island of Manhattan is one of the loneliest places on earth.

Now, let me start by saying that I would consider myself to be, thus far in my life, a serial monogamist. I have jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend for as long as I can remember with very little time in between. Meeting new boys was always my forte and came easy to me. Hell, anything is easy when you have low standards... which is allowed when you are not looking to get married. Oh, you are currently unemployed??... That sucks but are you free Friday night?? Oh, you don't have a car---- well, I'll just pick you up!

Yes, my motto had always been if they are cute & fun, that is all that mattered. I never really saw myself getting married til my mid-30's anyways so what did I care?! Well, now I am there: my mid-30's and I do care, yet in large part it is in vain. Now, the seemingly "little things" that mattered very little to me in the days of yesteryear are the very things that I find of utmost importance. Like for instance, is there anything sexier than a man with a good health insurance plan???

I'd say that for the most part, the men in my life leading up to my last 2 serious relationships were all just "fluff" in a way. Just fun ways to pass the time so I didn't have to be alone. God forbid I ever actually spent some time by myself working on my dreams and goals and enjoying things like creative writing. Okay, in my defense there was no such thing as blogging back then to pass the time. (Oh god, is that what we'll be saying to our grandkids??? That is if I ever get a chance to have the kids in order to have the grandkids........oy vey! Yes, kids there was life before reality television, facebook & blogging! Holla'!)

So, I guess you could say I was scared to be alone, and that was pretty apparent by the guys I was dating at the time. I'll never forget the summer I stayed on campus to attend summer school at KU. My parents were visiting & stopped by to take me and my new boyfriend out to dinner. Aforementioned new boyfriend literally pulled up on the SIDEWALK on a shovelhead Harley Davidson. He was the one who wanted to buy me a tattoo gun so I could put my artistic abilities to some "good" use. That was one for the books... my dad still never lets me live that guy down.

It wasn't until my mid 20's when I began to date guys that I could actually imagine procreating with. Yes, my last 2 serious boyfriends were sufficiently "husband material". The problem with the first guy, aside from the fact that he was a bit of a control freak with whom I had nothing in common (seriously, not one single thing) was that he did not want to move with me to Manhattan. I could not foresee myself settling down without ever having taken a chance on my dream of moving to New York. To this day, I am so happy with my decision... so very happy & still so very alone.

Once I moved to "The Island Where Women Go to Die Alone" which in all fairness is also known as the "The Island Where All of Your Artistic Dreams Can Be Realized", I set forth to maintain a long distance relationship with the aforementioned "husband material". After all, there really was a lot of love between us, but after all... not enough to make it work with 1150 square miles in the way.

At 27, I was newly single, in a scary new city and as I have stated previously, utterly afraid to be alone. I lasted under 6 mos. before meeting "husband material" #2. At 15+ years my senior, and never-married, no one had ever told him that he was or ever wanted to be "husband material". Much to my chagrin there were warning signs/variable red flags a' flappin' left and right.... warning signs that I inadvertently chose to ignore. Fast forward 6 years together (I may or may not fill in those gaps at a later vulnerable time), and the 2+ years it has taken me to get over the fact that he did not want to marry me.... and wah-lah! Here we are!

Now, I have been alone for almost 2 and a half years now (much of which I was besotted with trying to get over the fact that "husband material" #2 (HM for short) did not currently or ever want to be my husband) and am finally coming to terms with the fact that being alone is not so scary! It is actually a wonderful opportunity for me to fall in love with someone I hadn't thought much about falling in love with in the past.... myself!!

So, now I've filled you in on the nitty-gritty of how I came to be entering this NYC dating scene at 30-something with a new-found love of myself and a security in the idea that being alone is not so bad! I feel healthy for the first time in entering into a new relationship. I feel like I will be bringing a well-rounded person to the table. I think, for the first time in my life, I have the capability to be a healthy loving partner..... now, comes the hard part. Finding someone to unleash this new found healthy lovin' on!

I've been internet dating, meeting boys out at bars, joining social groups etc etc etc to no avail. I'd say I've been out on at least 30+ first dates in the last 2 and a half years.... but very few second dates. I would begin to think the problem may lie with me, had I not had such a healthy new awakening about what a well-rounded loving person I am! So, I am coming to the conclusion that the problem is that there are just too many gosh darn beautiful, talented, charming 30-something women in this city (thanks a lot SJP and the women of SATC for beginning the pilgrimage!) and not enough equally endowed men (not that kind of well-"endowed", get your mind out of the gutter)! Not to mention, with so many beautiful, talented, charming 30-something women on this Island, how is a guy supposed to choose just one to settle down with????
Awwwwwwww, poor fellas.
Hand me my violin---- so I can beat them over the head with it! "Bitter, party of one, your table is now ready"!
Hey, sharing all of this really does seem to be helping me!!

Where to Start? My Love Affair Begins......

Okay, okay... so you might think that the title of my new blog sounds like I'm turning into a bitter, desperate surly hag on the verge of a nervous breakdown in this nightmare of a dating scene that inhabits NYC.... and you'd probably be correct!

Fortunately, this is exactly the reason why I've decided to start such a blog. I don't expect anyone to actually read this and therefore I will be expressing my heart out, using this platform as a way of dealing with my anguish over said nightmare dating scene in hopes to grow from these hellish experiences. Perhaps, I'll even find the funny and entertaining upside to the atrocities and monstrosities that I've commonly referred to as "last night's date". Yes, I am setting out to chronicle the hardships of being a 30-something single woman in this city... a journey of self-awareness and self-acceptance and perhaps a little self-deprecation too. (What? Every thing is funnier with a little sarcasm, isn't it?)

Let me take a few steps back to start... let me examine the love affair that brought me to this place of anguish and despair. It began many moons ago.... whilst I was just a High School girl replete with my Catholic school plaid, my frizzaliscious hairdo (or shall I say hair "don't") & my mouth full of tin. I was doomed from the start. Once I laid my eyes on the prize I never could get it out of my mop-topped head. My love affair was with the Island of Manhattan!

Excelling in Fine Art, and not much else (don't get me wrong, I was pretty decent at
creative writing and gym class but the general basics of math & science eluded me and still do to this day) and with a flair for wearing a "one-of-a-kind" wardrobe .... I dreamed of a place where one could excel with these types of unique talents. I dreamed of moving to New York City, where seemingly all of the socially-stunted, artsy-fartsy "diamonds in the rough" were to migrate to escape the bowels of a sedentary, mundane existence. I just never really felt that I fit-in in the Midwest; like I was born somewhere else and a stork really did fly through the air and drop me smack-dab in the middle of the country. I'm adopted (and gullible) so you never know- it could have happened!

That did not stop me from attending school in Kansas. Oh, what a fine experience it was too. I absolutely loved College! I'd have lived out my days there but realistically, how many degrees does one person really need? After getting just one (that's all my parents would pay for)... I found myself with a BFA (Bachelor of Fine Arts for those of you out there with a "real" degree) living back at home in St. Louis and scratching my still-frizzy head wondering how the hell I'd get myself to New York. How does one find a job as an artist? How does one find the money to move to the most expensive city in the world?

It was during this time that a little known HBO show starring Sarah Jessica Parker was just beginning to gain a following (me!). It was based in NYC and focused on the lives of 4 independent, beautiful 30-something friends. Always dressed fabulously and uniquely (thanks to Patricia Fields) it followed their inexplicably messy and unsuccessful love-lives. I was sold from the moment I saw "Carrie" get splashed by a city bus that actually had her own picture on it! Oh the irony! and OH! such great clothes!

Never mind the fact that the entire series is based on the impossibility of dating in New York & the trials and tribulations of said dating scene.... never mind that every single episode outlines the sheer and utter dismay these women face day after day as they strive to find what seems like it should be a basic human right: LOVE. Never mind the main message of the entire show! I was blinded by fabulous clothes and cherry red Cosmopolitan martinis. I simply had to get there. Besides, where else is an artist supposed to go to actually make a living doing art? If you can make it there, you can make it any where, isn't that what Frank said? And has anyone ever actually seen God and Frank Sinatra in the same room? You get my point.

Well, here I am, Manhattan, almost 10 years later.... "making it!" ...along with the other 15,000+ extra single women than men in this city (who were surely fans of SATC as well)! Yes, there are said to be 15,000+ more single women than men in NYC and that statistic even includes the gays! How do we stand a chance???
Yes, wearing fabulously unique shoes, I walk your beautiful city streets lined with shiny angular buildings a' plenty and the most interesting people you'd ever want to see..... alone. Yes, I walk alone.

I still love you, Manhattan... but I think I should start dating other people.