When I say psychos, criminals and pervs are the only ones who contact me online…
I’m not kidding!
Was on the train early the other morning in my usual half daze. Somehow managed to squeeze myself into a seat and started to slowly enjoy my steaming hot Starbucks Venti. Most mornings I’m so engaged in my morning ritual of AM NY or Metro, the free newspapers given out by homeless men which satisfy my need for a. a small paper to hold while balancing my purse, coffee and whatever crap I’m dragging into the office b. a quick read of the hot news topics and c. my daily horoscope – but today the near comatose speed baristas killed a solid 10 minutes to make my damn coffee so I had to wiz by the paper boys, only to have to stare at fellow passengers and the Dr. Zizmore skin or teeth ads on the train (I’ve been looking at his ads for years and still not sure exactly what it is he treats).
Two stops in, and a well dressed guy gets on the train or at least moves in front of me…directly in front of me but with his back facing me. I see a portion of his face and I think….shit…..I’m pretty sure….it’s Hurricane Man. Only his hair is grown in (he had randomly shaved a really luxurious head of hair for absolutely no reason). I feel my palms began to sweat and a flush comes over me. I’m patting down my forehead in a panic…..do I say hello? Randomly look off into empty space or try to find an old Con Ed bill in my bag I can fully engross myself into and look engaged for the remainder of this twenty-five minute ride downtown??
Shit, but what if it’s NOT him?! How dumb do I feel then?! But I also don’t want to give him satisfaction of him thinking I’m avoiding him….what to do….what to do…what to….ooops……he got off at 42nd Street. I know he works downtown but maybe he switches trains there…..or…..he saw me and figured he was getting off that train regardless of where it stopped next. Who knows.
I had to confront him….in the most non-confrontational way of course. I sent him an email simply asking him if he was wearing green cords today? As awful as it sounds, this guy (whomever he is) was actually quite dapper and well put together – in spite of or because of the green cords with the snazzy blazer and debonair scarf and stylish carry/bag. And no, I don’t think he was gay….but nothing surprises me – so who knows.
He responds…“No why” and then we went back and forth and I told him which train I saw the guy from afar (lie) on and he responded “I was on that train this morning” to which I replied “that’s why I think it was you.” This went back and forth a few times to the point where he actually seemed unsure if this was in fact him when I finally answered “wouldn’t you know if you were wearing green cords?!”
“How are you? How you been?” and a bunch of other bullshit questions trying to be polite ensued and then I eventually stopped writing. He clearly has or had limited interest in me but the last thing I need is to have someone in Manhattan (no less my neighborhood AND work neighborhood) that I’m trying to avoid.
Because in all my years living here I can say without question……if you try to avoid someone in this city of 8 million….you will without question bump into them.
Dating a guy in your neighborhood has its definite drawbacks.
I always thought wanting it all and having it all were simply by-products of hard work and determination. What scares me is, now after all these years of life, I’m really wondering if that entire concept actually exists. Or if it is supposed to be a concept we use as a tool to constantly strive for something. Something more…or something else.
For pretty much the entirety of my adult life, I have found myself seeking and searching for something I don’t have and yet still want. I think Carrie Bradshaw once remarked about how New Yorkers are always looking for a job or an apartment….or a man. And if she didn’t say that, then perhaps it was me – because it has truly been the story of my life. One out of three. Two out of three. Two and a half…..no wait, I hate that fucking job, we’re back to two. What do you mean you think I’m great but you don’t want to be in a relationship asshole? Whoops…..back to one! Is it me who can’t seem to have it all or does everyone go through this? Or do most normal people not torture themselves with this and just have lower expectations? Am I tortured by my own hopes and dreams? Quite possibly yes.
So I’m in the back seat of a cab, making the long trip home after an exhausting day at work, looking out the window, at all the sights and lights of the city – feeling like I should feel happy and grateful and yet I find myself feeling worried, anxious, stressed, tired and wondering if I can have my cake and eat it too. Can I and will I ever have the career, the man, the relationship, the security, stability and the “things” be it material or emotional, that I’ve always longed for? I yearn for balance of work and personal life but I seem to merely swing like a pendulum back from one extreme to the other.
Work= stress=money=no life/no time.
No work=free time=stress=no money=feelings of inadequacy.
Fuck me! I swear the people I watch on tv seem to have it all, why can’t I?!
Some days I enjoy the hopeful prospect of meeting new people in the search for the man…well the man I’ve been searching for. Other days I’m just so spent I wish I could simply come home to someone to cook me dinner and rub my feet. Instead I have to figure out how I’m going to look fresh and act enthused about a first date I don’t want to be on with someone who doesn’t know a thing about me. I work all day and then have to put on my Meryl Streep to appear all breezy, fun and just so full of enthusiasm with someone who’s life story I’ll be subjected to over the course of a glass of wine and nachos.
I’m not sure if I’m feeling down per se, or simply reflective. Maybe I’m just too complex to be happy. Maybe I need better meds. Maybe I need to start drinking. Maybe I need to start studying eastern philosophy. I worry too much, I think too much, I care too much and I put too much pressure on myself. These qualities are reflected in every pore of my being at work and in my personal life. I am truly my own worst enemy.
I know I’m lucky in many ways, but that doesn’t ease the stress. Does writing help? Sure. And I don’t have time for real therapy anyhow. Will tomorrow be a better day? Who knows. All I know is I’ll feel better about it all for about 10 minutes when I get home and open up the box of new boots I ordered online.
Thinking of my fellow New Yorkers (even those I’ve dated), as well as the rest of the East Coast communities that have lost so much.
As the news and media fades away, so many will be forced to rebuild and repair, starting anew. New Yorkers have a certain resilience, and I’m constantly blown away by how times like this can bring out the best in people.
Give time, give clothing, give money and give prayers….all needed badly.
p.s. Hurricane Man and still haven’t met. That clock is a tickin’
Here I am, back in the Big Apple to resume chapter 643 of my life. So far so good, albeit it’s been a whirlwind with moving, new job, unpacking, head cold etc, etc. Oh and did I mention Hurricane Sandy?
Just now getting things sorted out and trying to ease myself back into the dating scene. So far I gotta say, it’s a bit grim. All the women over 25 in my office are married and the men are gay. Pretty standard protocol. So I started snooping around online and somebody must have posted my profile on seniorcitysingles.com because the only men writing me are over 50. Well over it.
I’m optimistic simply because I have to be, but also I’m in a new neighborhood, a new job and surrounded by friends so already I feel good. Then the storm hit. I’m locked away indoors for less than 24 hours and my ass hurts from too much couch and tv time. I showered this morning and I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting dressed until the subways open and I’m forced to go back to work. I’m enjoying my nesting time as long as I have power, tv, cold beverages and the internet. I’m all good, with the exception of this awful sugar crash I’m having from breaking into the Halloween candy and Armageddon food I’ve been wolfing down.
I received what one would think was an enticing email saying “Hello, My name is Francois and I am a French surgeon….” I knew before even opening that sucker it was bad news. Call me psychic, call me jaded, call me an experienced dater. That was a red herring. Hours later, and in no rush to read this or any of the other wretched messages, I eventually went online to see what was happening. Then it hit me……this is like a bar at closing time. Everyone lurking around, looking around, possibly seeking someone to share the end of days or at least the next few hurricane rain days with. Holy crap, I just stumbled on a dating gold mine! Nobody is working and we’re all bored, horny and trapped indoors!
Sent out a few emails and heard back right away from someone else who was surely in the same mindset as I. We chatted briefly and then when we discovered we don’t live too far from one another he asked if I wanted to hang out tomorrow afternoon during the storm. In theory this sounds fun and eventful, but I gotta say, this hurricane is pretty much ensuring I will not be moving much off my couch unless it’s to the kitchen to make more ice and grab another diet coke or Twizzlers. If I lose power, I immediately switch to wine and goldfish crackers. Advance planning is imperative here.
So Hurricane Man is a cutie but I’m going to insist we meet when no lives are at risk and I come down off this sugar high.
When I used to read comments or messages or even see pictures on Facebook of or from Still Married Guy, at first it would hurt me…or I’d feel jealous…or sad….and obsessive. But instead of deleting him, (because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting the best of me), I decided I would exercise restraint and just not go to his page or read his posts. But I still thought of him – often.
When the focus in my life switched to my career and my love life was officially on hold, the pain gradually lessened and the anger began to build. I’d much rather be angry than hurt. Albeit, apathy would be the preferred emotion, I’m not quite there yet. I’ve been tempted many times to send him one of my famous “fuck you” emails just to make him feel like shit for how he treated me and make him aware that he surely had no idea how much he hurt me. But I didn’t. Maybe I want him to see me flourish without him, and then feel like shit. Now I read his comments or messages and simply say (out loud mind you) Fuck you asshole, shut the fuck up! So I suppose I do still care, but it’s peppered with hatred…a step in the right direction!
So my career is once again taking me back on the road and I’m heading back to New York again. I’m not expecting any miracles, but I’m moving for work and hoping the love will fall in line after that. I’ve taken a look online and sure, there are plenty of familiar faces. Funny how these guys don’t seemed to have aged (some even turning back the hands of time) and some lame-asses are still using pictures that were old 2,3, 4 years ago. What’s old is always new again.
I wound up meeting with the Right Up My Alley dude. He picked a really cute but pricey townhouse bar/restaurant and greeted me at the door with oversized hipster glasses and a big smile. He was adorable, super cute, sweet, fun. We sat for about 2 or 3 hours talking about everything under the sun. We had a lot in common and similar backgrounds. Needless to say the man-child alert flag was at full staff, but that didn’t surprise me a bit. 40 never married, living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn but I was digging him nonetheless.
We wrapped things up and walked him to the subway and me to a cab. He made no mention of seeing me, calling me or speaking with me again. Oh but he did wish me luck on my interview the next day! Yup, a great date that I’ll never see again. So I ask myself, what’s worse, a shitty date that I never want to see (i.e.: Iced Tea douchebag) or a great date that is just that…..ONE great date. The lesser of two shitty things I suppose.
Chapter 642, my new life….again!
In addition to watching and reading female oriented material like Sex and the City, Tough Love and yes, I’ll admit…Fifty Shades of Grey, I like to get into the male brain every so often, just out of curiosity. Before I go off on that tangent, I’d like to shamelessly plug the new HBO series “Girls” an original (albeit somewhat derivative of SATC), as an entertaining and more realistic version of single young women working, drinking, dating and finding themselves in New York City.
Although I’d hardly describe it as gritty – writer/director/producer/star Lena Dunham, a 24-year-old wunderkind, puts herself out there emotionally and even physically, exposing her insecurities and far from perfect body for all the world to see. As much as I applaud her bravery, I certainly could do without the weekly ass-fucking scenes. Although I don’t know what it’s like to be a recent graduate in this economy, trying to find a job, no less yourself, but certain life passages never change. Hardly glamorous, these “girls” may be sexually independent, while financially tethered to their parents in order to get by. It’s both awkward and funny, and I’m hooked.
On the flip side, I recently read the book “The Average American Male” and rented “I Melt With You” — both very good (or bad) examples of men behaving very badly. The book, supposedly a fictional account (although this is highly disputed by the alleged ex-girlfriend of the author), accounts the life and times of a 20-something misogynistic L.A. douchebag who can’t seem to think of anything but how big his girlfriend’s ass is and when he’s getting his next blow job. Once I got over the initial asshole factor, I found myself actually amused and entertained. I will admit however, at the disappointed of the lead character not being run over by a bus or contracting a rare strain of genital warts. In the end (spoiler alert) he realizes every girlfriend of his turns out to be the same and he actually can’t do any better and there actually isn’t something better around the corner waiting for him.
I saw the trailer for “I Melt With You” while watching some indie flick and to be honest, I had no idea what it was about, only that it told the story of four college friends getting together after 20 years and three of them were Rob Lowe, Thomas Jane and Jeremy Piven. (Sorry, unknown fourth guy)
This movie was awful. And I’m not sure if I was offended more by their ridiculous behavior or the ridiculous plot of the story. 2 drug over doses and 1 suicide after a few nights of debauchery, excessive drugs, teenage girls and what we’re supposed to accept as general “boys being boys” even at 47 was neither amusing nor entertaining. I thought they were idiots, and if that is a true account of what happens when guys get together, well then thank God I’m a woman!
And if this still interests you, check out the trailer.