Due to an increase in readers (Thank you!), Darcy has decided to move a bigger site with her very own address. Please visit me at www.darcydates.com
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Friday, May 14, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Townie-rific
One weekend, one spring, I went to visit my friend who lives in "the country". She is a dear friend who I love spending time with. Our friendship developed when my ex-husband and I owned a house in this "country" town. We have remained friends ever since. I love to visit her and our children have remained friends throughout the years. It's always a nice time for us to catch up and for our children to run wildly through the fields.
On this particular visit she informed me we were going to a party.
We arrive at the aforementioned party and the house is beautiful and even more beautiful at night with the strategically placed lights that light the house and the pond just so. There is a bonfire in the backyard, ducks on the pond, candles and tiki torches lining walkway. The host and hostess are the best looking couple I have ever seen. After a good hour chit chatting around the fire I tell Lizzie I need to get back home. I wanted to make sure my child, Bear, was okay with the babysitter and I had had all the chartucherie one girl could eat.
I grabbed my jacket and was getting ready to leave when the host comes running up to me.
"You're leaving??" She asks, and actually seems genuinely disappointed.
I am so flattered. I hadn't met her up until today. Was I actually the life of the party?
"Yea, I have to be getting home, I have to wake up early and.."
"Don't go! Stay! Please!" She cuts me off. Is she pleading? Really? Now I felt very important.
"Oh, you are so sweet. I really enjoyed meeting you too!"
She squints at me for a second with a guilty smile.
"OK! Here is the thing. I texted a guy. A single friend! I told him you were here and I thought he'd really like you."
I am shocked. I glance around and suddenly realized everyone was in on it. Its like I had a Scarlett letter, except it was not an A, it was an S for single, which in the country is a rarity. I was like a unicorn. I was flattered and felt awkward all at the same time. This must be what it feels like to be a single Jewish lawyer visiting your grandmother in a Boca old age village, I thought to myself.
"Oh. Okay. Thank you?" I was not sure what the correct response was in this awkward situation. I re-loaded a plate of chartucherie (what non-Jews feed party guests) and I sat back down with a flock of antique dealers and landscapers (country jobs, in case you were wondering).
I feel my way through the dark to find Lizzie. I see her face illuminated by the bonfire.
On this particular visit she informed me we were going to a party.
We arrive at the aforementioned party and the house is beautiful and even more beautiful at night with the strategically placed lights that light the house and the pond just so. There is a bonfire in the backyard, ducks on the pond, candles and tiki torches lining walkway. The host and hostess are the best looking couple I have ever seen. After a good hour chit chatting around the fire I tell Lizzie I need to get back home. I wanted to make sure my child, Bear, was okay with the babysitter and I had had all the chartucherie one girl could eat.
I grabbed my jacket and was getting ready to leave when the host comes running up to me.
"You're leaving??" She asks, and actually seems genuinely disappointed.
I am so flattered. I hadn't met her up until today. Was I actually the life of the party?
"Yea, I have to be getting home, I have to wake up early and.."
"Don't go! Stay! Please!" She cuts me off. Is she pleading? Really? Now I felt very important.
"Oh, you are so sweet. I really enjoyed meeting you too!"
She squints at me for a second with a guilty smile.
"OK! Here is the thing. I texted a guy. A single friend! I told him you were here and I thought he'd really like you."
I am shocked. I glance around and suddenly realized everyone was in on it. Its like I had a Scarlett letter, except it was not an A, it was an S for single, which in the country is a rarity. I was like a unicorn. I was flattered and felt awkward all at the same time. This must be what it feels like to be a single Jewish lawyer visiting your grandmother in a Boca old age village, I thought to myself.
"Oh. Okay. Thank you?" I was not sure what the correct response was in this awkward situation. I re-loaded a plate of chartucherie (what non-Jews feed party guests) and I sat back down with a flock of antique dealers and landscapers (country jobs, in case you were wondering).
"He will be here in 10 minutes."
"Great!" I don't know about this.
I am sitting on my adirondeck chair gnawing on some type of salami/pepperoni/date/parmesan chunk when I decide to gather up the facts.
"So Michelle, tell me about your friend. Does he live in the city?"
You see, this particular area is mostly city folk with weekend houses, so chances are he was only here for the weekend.
"No, actually he lives in Pleasantville." Pleasantville is not really the name of the town, it's changed for privacy reasons, and there is nothing pleasant about it. It's one town over from the town I was visiting (which by the way is amazing and my own private heaven). Pleasantville is a place where no one really lives. Well they do, but not people I date, per se. It's hard to describe Pleasantville and maintain diplomacy, so I will skip this part for now.
"Oh, what does he do?" I ask. Hoping for the best, but predicting the worst.
"He is a model!"
Crickets
"A model?" Now keep in mind we aren't in NYC or LA or even Miami. We are in the country. I didn't know people model in the country.
"I don't know if he is your type but i figure its someone to kiss at least."
Where is my Binaca when I need it? Did she just really just offer up someone for me to "kiss"? I actually think it's kind of cute and funny. I love her immediately. I wonder if she met her husband when she was 16 and hasn't dated since then.
"Oh! Here he comes." She gets very excited.
With that I see some type of pick-up truck/mustang/Saturn extravaganza pull up to the house. I die a little inside. I know this is going to be bad. I am sitting in a dark field waiting for my model to show up. My model who lives between an A&P and a Stewart's.
I see him walking towards me.
"He is also a body builder" She adds quickly. I wonder if she thinks that's a good thing.
Was it too late to get trampled by a deer? It's too late. He is getting closer fast and sees me. He is wearing a members only jacket and dress pants. By dress pants, I mean pleated parachute pants for some type of desk job in 1984. He has a ton of hair, but for reasons I still can't explain his hair is shaved an inch above each ear. We are basically in the woods so there is no oncoming traffic to throw myself in front of. DAMN YOU COUNTRY LIVING. If i'm lucky, maybe a falling tree will land directly on my head. Is that a helicopter I hear hovering over my head waiting to airlift me to another location? Nope. Dead silence. We are in the country.
"Hi!" I say politely.
"Darcy this is Skylar." Michelle says. Of course it is. I picture him to have a sister named Kayla and a brother named Braden.
Skylar smiles at me (kind of) and immediately looks at the ground. Michelle disappears into the night and I am pissed. I have no idea what to say to this man.
"So! You're a model?" I realize how ridiculous this sounds, but its all I could muster up.
"Yea, I am. I am also a body builder. And an actor." Skylar doesn't look up at all. He continues to look at the ground. He suddenly rattles off a string of some type of automotive certifications he has. Something about coolant and rotor rooters. I wonder if Skyler is autistic.
I look down at what I am wearing. A cream cable knit sweater and a Barbour coat. I wonder why Michelle thinks we would be a good match. Maybe it's because I am alive. That could be all they require in the country.
"So! You live in Pleasantville?" I am wondering why no one, particularly Lizzie, is rescuing me from this situation.
"Yea. I live with my parents."
"Yea. I live with my parents."
"That's sensible." I say
TAXI!!!! I want to scream. I keep it all inside. I am in the forest and there isn't another car for miles.
Skylar tells me he is acting in a movie. About Zombies and bodybuilders. He tells me about all the famous people in the movie, and by famous, he means the understudy for Mr. T in DC cab. Before I know it Skylar, who still has yet to make eye contact with me pulls out an IPhone and is showing me his modeling pictures, shots of his abs, and a power point presentation of the proteins vs. carbs he eats in a day. WHERE THE FK IS LIZZIE?
I tell Skylar I really need to run. It was so nice chatting and the five minutes seemed like an eternity. Well, I left that part out.
"You on Facebook?" He says.
"Yes"
"Okay, well friend me and we can hook up in the city. I am there a lot for my movie."
"Will do."
Skylar starts to spell his last name for me so I can find him on Facebook. He kept spelling, and re-spelling. He changed the spelling several times.
Skylar starts to spell his last name for me so I can find him on Facebook. He kept spelling, and re-spelling. He changed the spelling several times.
"No, that's not it" and he would start again. Does he not even know how to spell his last name? I am confused. Can it be this bad? My next thought is that I can kick Skylar's ass in Scrabble.
I feel my way through the dark to find Lizzie. I see her face illuminated by the bonfire.
"You ready?" I ask.
We say our brief goodbyes and on the way to the car I ask Lizzie if she could believe what just transpired.
"I didn't even see him. It was so dark. What did he look like?"
I couldn't believe I had no one to share this experience with.
When I got home I googled Skylar. After all he was a model/actor, he had to be somewhere on the Internet and I could show his pictures to Lizzie. Sure enough, there he was. Actually he was everywhere. Although Skylar wasn't famous for his movie, Skylar was famous for being some type of beef cake model popular with the gays. He was a gay icon of sorts. There were blogs written about Skylar and his hot body with dozens of men commenting on Skylars good looks. Skylar was kind. He would respond to all of their posts. I never friended Skylar, but I friended the hostess who wanted to set me up. She is reading this blog. Thanks for trying Michelle. I really do appreciate it.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Real Texts From Real Men
A man that has been asking me out on a third date made a donation to a charity I am involved with. After first sending me an email that he made a donation, he sent me the following:
"By the way, I had my brother make a donation too. I told him if he made a donation I might get in your pants. He said sure."
Cannot. Be. Real.
"By the way, I had my brother make a donation too. I told him if he made a donation I might get in your pants. He said sure."
Cannot. Be. Real.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Cinco De Mayo
On Cinco De Mayo I had a date with a Mexican. A Mexican Jew. It sounds like a made for blog story, but I assure you it is not.
Roberto was handsome in an intellect kind of way, but more importantly, he was tall. We decided to meet for drinks, coincidentally on Cinco De Mayo.
"We will stay away from any Mexican places" he says.
What fun is dating a Mexican if you don't get tequila on Cinco De Mayo I think to myself. He tells me Mexican restaurants will be too crazy tonight. I think we may not be a good match.
Roberto walks in a couple of minutes after I do. Is he carrying a murse? I panic.
Phew, it's a backpack.
He says hello. I like Roberto's accent. We walk to our table. Roberto is not typically my type, not that I have one, but if I did he would not be it. Roberto has a great smile, which I like.
"What are you having to drink?" He asks.
"I'm just going to have a glass of wine." I say.
"I'm going to have a fruity drink." he says.
Not sexy, I think to myself. I wish he would ditch the word fruity.
As I watch Roberto peruse the menu for his fruity beverage, I see it. Glaring at me. Roberto is wearing MAN JEWELERY. It is a necklace. With something hanging off of it that is more big than small. Like a car wreck I want to look away but can only stare.
The waiter approaches our table.
"I will have the Pinot Grigio" I say.
"And you sir?" the waiter asks Roberto.
"I want something fruity. I want a fruity drink."
I cringe. I wonder how many times Roberto can fit the word fruity into a sentence. Apparently a lot. I picture Roberto's drink to arrive with a ton of umbrellas. Possibly a cabana perched on the top of the glass.
"What is your best fruity drink?" he asks. Twenty seven...I silently count the word fruity.
The waiter suggests a drink with limoncello and 100 of the bars other fruitiest ingredients that may or may not come with skittles and sprinkles on top.
"No, I don't like that." Roberto says. He doesn't smile. In fact he was rude. The waiter must have thought so too because he responded in a huff "Well what do you like sir?"
"Fight fight fight", I silently chant (In my head).
Roberto tells the waiter he would like a fruity martini. Thirty eight...
While we are waiting for the drinks to arrive I notice Roberto is not talking. At all. He is just sitting back watching me. I squirm. I think Roberto must dislike our date. Maybe I am not fruity enough for him. I ask Roberto about his job. He answers in one sentence. I quickly look through my bag for a set of pliers as I realize this entire conversation will be like pulling teeth. Damn it. I left them at home. Sigh.
An hour into the date I realize Roberto has probably said 120 words, 95 of them being "fruity".
I tell Roberto that I used to speak Spanish nearly fluently after studying it for years, but I don't speak it anymore so I have lost it. Roberto tells me I will re-learn it with him and we can speak it together. I wonder what date he is on. I also wonder if I would only learn the word fruity.
I tell Roberto a story about my uncle, to which he responds, "I hope you introduce me to him one day." Roberto is having fun?? He thinks there will be another date? I have already counted how many tiles were on the floor of the restaurant and played I spy with myself 4 times, all to prevent me from lighting myself on fire with the votive on the table.
Two hours, two drinks and two appetizers later I tell Roberto I really need to get home to the sitter (thank g-d I had a curfew). We walk out of the restaurant, Roberto clutching his murse, I mean backpack.
When we get outside Roberto says, "Promise me I will see you again." I am confused but smile politely. Roberto seems like a nice guy even though I know next to nothing about him. I can't understand why he would want to see me again as he just stared at me the whole time and didn't interact with me whatsoever.
Roberto compliments my necklace. I do not return the compliment about his. In fact, I am wishing it away. I say goodnight and begin to walk away. I am not even down the block when Roberto calls me on my cell phone. I panic. I don't answer. What did he want to talk about? We had two hours to talk and he didn't say a word! He doesn't leave a message but sends a text:
"You looked so sexy walking away from me down the street. I hope I get to see you again."
I am surprised. Where was this Roberto in the restaurant. I wonder if Roberto is just shy and I am being hard on him. He seemed like a wonderful father. Maybe there was a language barrier? Whatever the case, he didn't watch reality TV (I have very low standards) or make me laugh.
Mañana is another day I think to myself. Seis De Mayo here I come.
Roberto was handsome in an intellect kind of way, but more importantly, he was tall. We decided to meet for drinks, coincidentally on Cinco De Mayo.
"We will stay away from any Mexican places" he says.
What fun is dating a Mexican if you don't get tequila on Cinco De Mayo I think to myself. He tells me Mexican restaurants will be too crazy tonight. I think we may not be a good match.
Roberto walks in a couple of minutes after I do. Is he carrying a murse? I panic.
Phew, it's a backpack.
He says hello. I like Roberto's accent. We walk to our table. Roberto is not typically my type, not that I have one, but if I did he would not be it. Roberto has a great smile, which I like.
"What are you having to drink?" He asks.
"I'm just going to have a glass of wine." I say.
"I'm going to have a fruity drink." he says.
Not sexy, I think to myself. I wish he would ditch the word fruity.
As I watch Roberto peruse the menu for his fruity beverage, I see it. Glaring at me. Roberto is wearing MAN JEWELERY. It is a necklace. With something hanging off of it that is more big than small. Like a car wreck I want to look away but can only stare.
The waiter approaches our table.
"I will have the Pinot Grigio" I say.
"And you sir?" the waiter asks Roberto.
"I want something fruity. I want a fruity drink."
I cringe. I wonder how many times Roberto can fit the word fruity into a sentence. Apparently a lot. I picture Roberto's drink to arrive with a ton of umbrellas. Possibly a cabana perched on the top of the glass.
"What is your best fruity drink?" he asks. Twenty seven...I silently count the word fruity.
The waiter suggests a drink with limoncello and 100 of the bars other fruitiest ingredients that may or may not come with skittles and sprinkles on top.
"No, I don't like that." Roberto says. He doesn't smile. In fact he was rude. The waiter must have thought so too because he responded in a huff "Well what do you like sir?"
"Fight fight fight", I silently chant (In my head).
Roberto tells the waiter he would like a fruity martini. Thirty eight...
While we are waiting for the drinks to arrive I notice Roberto is not talking. At all. He is just sitting back watching me. I squirm. I think Roberto must dislike our date. Maybe I am not fruity enough for him. I ask Roberto about his job. He answers in one sentence. I quickly look through my bag for a set of pliers as I realize this entire conversation will be like pulling teeth. Damn it. I left them at home. Sigh.
An hour into the date I realize Roberto has probably said 120 words, 95 of them being "fruity".
I tell Roberto that I used to speak Spanish nearly fluently after studying it for years, but I don't speak it anymore so I have lost it. Roberto tells me I will re-learn it with him and we can speak it together. I wonder what date he is on. I also wonder if I would only learn the word fruity.
I tell Roberto a story about my uncle, to which he responds, "I hope you introduce me to him one day." Roberto is having fun?? He thinks there will be another date? I have already counted how many tiles were on the floor of the restaurant and played I spy with myself 4 times, all to prevent me from lighting myself on fire with the votive on the table.
Two hours, two drinks and two appetizers later I tell Roberto I really need to get home to the sitter (thank g-d I had a curfew). We walk out of the restaurant, Roberto clutching his murse, I mean backpack.
When we get outside Roberto says, "Promise me I will see you again." I am confused but smile politely. Roberto seems like a nice guy even though I know next to nothing about him. I can't understand why he would want to see me again as he just stared at me the whole time and didn't interact with me whatsoever.
Roberto compliments my necklace. I do not return the compliment about his. In fact, I am wishing it away. I say goodnight and begin to walk away. I am not even down the block when Roberto calls me on my cell phone. I panic. I don't answer. What did he want to talk about? We had two hours to talk and he didn't say a word! He doesn't leave a message but sends a text:
"You looked so sexy walking away from me down the street. I hope I get to see you again."
I am surprised. Where was this Roberto in the restaurant. I wonder if Roberto is just shy and I am being hard on him. He seemed like a wonderful father. Maybe there was a language barrier? Whatever the case, he didn't watch reality TV (I have very low standards) or make me laugh.
Mañana is another day I think to myself. Seis De Mayo here I come.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
He Will Boil Your Bunny
What is it with these needy men? Is this a new thing? Was it always this way? Are men becoming women because of Oprah and Dr. Phil? Isn't it supposed to be the women that are needy?There are a gazillion books on dating that state women should be elusive, bitchy even.
The one common theme is basically to never ever under any circumstances contact a man or show the slightest bit of interest. EVEN after you are married. DO NOT MAKE THE MISTAKE OF BEING AVAILABLE EVEN AFTER YOU ARE MARRIED they claim. WTF? "I'm sorry I can't be home Saturday night with you and the kids. I have plans. With who? Oh, that's not important." That would go over swell.
These books are insane and I am concerned people might actually listen. There are some different schools of thought in this book genre. Some will tell you to basically wait in silence in a closet somewhere until the man you are involved with comes looking for you...when he feels like it. He may or may not have some sort of animal he just hunted hanging over his right shoulder. In the meantime you should be taking up hobbies like knitting in a group of local women, you should be taking up some type of meditation, maybe have a spa treatment. You should be volunteering with charities (the proverbial "they" are very into recommending charity work to single people (See Supermarket Aisles and Charity Work, April 30, 2010).
I picture soup kitchens and clothing drives to be filled with single people walking around aimlessly. Does anyone else do charity work? Or does everyone go by their match or Jdate moniker as they offer up another serving of potatoes?"MustLoveDogs, can you hand me that stack of plates?" "Sure JewCan'tTouchThis, right after I stir the gravy". "ShabbatShiksa can you help you help me fold these sweaters that we just received?" "Sure Hot2Trot, right after I fax this press release. By the way, I'm willing to convert." But, I digress.
These books will tell you to let them go into their caves, men are like rubber bands, and so on and so forth until ultimately they are actually living on Mars and you on Venus and you never get to see each other because the commute is way too long. I like to call it locationally undesirable dating.
Then there are the aggressive books like "Why Men Love Bitches". They will tell you not to call a man back, leave your laundry at his door with a mere note telling him to do it and then tell you to set his house on fire, kick him in the face, and when he is left bleeding on the floor with no house and a bloody face and as he is calling for help, lean in close and give him the finger. It is only then that he will love you, and maybe even put a ring on it.
Let me tell you what I have learned in the modern dating world: Men are needy. They are clingy. If they like you they will actually stalk you. The guy who wrote "He's just not that into you" has a point. If he ain't callin' he doesn't like you. Because if he does like you the WILL hunt you down (see: Real Texts From Real Men, May 4th, 2010- Specifically Buck Hunter text)
If you don't call them back they will send a follow up text, possibly a piece of certified mail requiring you to sign for it. They will call again. They will then send another follow up text confirming you received their voicemail, they will have their lawyer subpoena you for a mere response of whether or not you want to be in a relationship. Just when you think you have blown them off and they should be getting the point and you haven't spoken in two weeks you will receive an email: "Are we going to go out again or are you moving on?"
WHAT IS GOING ON HERE??? I thought the women do this and it was completely against "The Rules". I thought it was horrifying and you are never, EVER, under any circumstances whatsoever, to show you actually LIKE them. I thought it was the women want commitment. Guess what folks. It's the men. I have gotten bitched out by guys for my disinterest in something more than a casual date or two. Between the invites to meet the parents, to the "who are you texting?" to the "who did you have dinner with?" to the "why can't you see me more than once a week", sometimes I feel like I am actually hearing "Now? Now? What about now? Do you want a relationship now? Now? How about now? Are we exclusive now? Now? Maybe now? Are you ready now? Can we go out again now? now? now can we? nooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww?" That's what I hear. And when I do I shut down. Wait a second? Am I becoming a man? Are all the hormones in the non-organic processed food I eat making me a man? This is not good. Note to self: Check if you are becoming a man. Kidding. Kind of.
To be completely honest, I like a man that is not afraid to tell you he likes you. I like a man who emails the next morning and says "That date was incredible and I can't wait to do it again ASAP" and then actually puts a date on the calender. I like hearing that he is interested and not having to "wait it out and see." Life is too short for games, for waiting, for rules. Live life for today, as you never know what tomorrow brings. If you like someone, tell them. If they don't call you back, leave them alone.
The one common theme is basically to never ever under any circumstances contact a man or show the slightest bit of interest. EVEN after you are married. DO NOT MAKE THE MISTAKE OF BEING AVAILABLE EVEN AFTER YOU ARE MARRIED they claim. WTF? "I'm sorry I can't be home Saturday night with you and the kids. I have plans. With who? Oh, that's not important." That would go over swell.
These books are insane and I am concerned people might actually listen. There are some different schools of thought in this book genre. Some will tell you to basically wait in silence in a closet somewhere until the man you are involved with comes looking for you...when he feels like it. He may or may not have some sort of animal he just hunted hanging over his right shoulder. In the meantime you should be taking up hobbies like knitting in a group of local women, you should be taking up some type of meditation, maybe have a spa treatment. You should be volunteering with charities (the proverbial "they" are very into recommending charity work to single people (See Supermarket Aisles and Charity Work, April 30, 2010).
I picture soup kitchens and clothing drives to be filled with single people walking around aimlessly. Does anyone else do charity work? Or does everyone go by their match or Jdate moniker as they offer up another serving of potatoes?"MustLoveDogs, can you hand me that stack of plates?" "Sure JewCan'tTouchThis, right after I stir the gravy". "ShabbatShiksa can you help you help me fold these sweaters that we just received?" "Sure Hot2Trot, right after I fax this press release. By the way, I'm willing to convert." But, I digress.
These books will tell you to let them go into their caves, men are like rubber bands, and so on and so forth until ultimately they are actually living on Mars and you on Venus and you never get to see each other because the commute is way too long. I like to call it locationally undesirable dating.
Then there are the aggressive books like "Why Men Love Bitches". They will tell you not to call a man back, leave your laundry at his door with a mere note telling him to do it and then tell you to set his house on fire, kick him in the face, and when he is left bleeding on the floor with no house and a bloody face and as he is calling for help, lean in close and give him the finger. It is only then that he will love you, and maybe even put a ring on it.
Let me tell you what I have learned in the modern dating world: Men are needy. They are clingy. If they like you they will actually stalk you. The guy who wrote "He's just not that into you" has a point. If he ain't callin' he doesn't like you. Because if he does like you the WILL hunt you down (see: Real Texts From Real Men, May 4th, 2010- Specifically Buck Hunter text)
If you don't call them back they will send a follow up text, possibly a piece of certified mail requiring you to sign for it. They will call again. They will then send another follow up text confirming you received their voicemail, they will have their lawyer subpoena you for a mere response of whether or not you want to be in a relationship. Just when you think you have blown them off and they should be getting the point and you haven't spoken in two weeks you will receive an email: "Are we going to go out again or are you moving on?"
WHAT IS GOING ON HERE??? I thought the women do this and it was completely against "The Rules". I thought it was horrifying and you are never, EVER, under any circumstances whatsoever, to show you actually LIKE them. I thought it was the women want commitment. Guess what folks. It's the men. I have gotten bitched out by guys for my disinterest in something more than a casual date or two. Between the invites to meet the parents, to the "who are you texting?" to the "who did you have dinner with?" to the "why can't you see me more than once a week", sometimes I feel like I am actually hearing "Now? Now? What about now? Do you want a relationship now? Now? How about now? Are we exclusive now? Now? Maybe now? Are you ready now? Can we go out again now? now? now can we? nooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww?" That's what I hear. And when I do I shut down. Wait a second? Am I becoming a man? Are all the hormones in the non-organic processed food I eat making me a man? This is not good. Note to self: Check if you are becoming a man. Kidding. Kind of.
To be completely honest, I like a man that is not afraid to tell you he likes you. I like a man who emails the next morning and says "That date was incredible and I can't wait to do it again ASAP" and then actually puts a date on the calender. I like hearing that he is interested and not having to "wait it out and see." Life is too short for games, for waiting, for rules. Live life for today, as you never know what tomorrow brings. If you like someone, tell them. If they don't call you back, leave them alone.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Do Not Touch
On the subway today I saw an ad placed by the MTA in regards to sexual harassment being a crime in the subway:
"A crowded train is no excuse for an improper touch."
Neither is a date, I think to myself.
PSA to all my dates:
"A date with me is no excuse for an improper touch." I contemplate running this announcement in the NY Post.
I am onto something here. Women everywhere should band together and form a charity to raise money for this cause. Maybe Jill Zarin can get on board between her fundraising for her orphanage in Africa and for teen tours for her daughter's friends whose parents lost all their money with Madoff.
I can picture her saying "Help me and Bobby save Ally's friends and get them the teen taw's they deserve. Oh! AND help us help Dahhcy"
"A crowded train is no excuse for an improper touch."
Neither is a date, I think to myself.
PSA to all my dates:
"A date with me is no excuse for an improper touch." I contemplate running this announcement in the NY Post.
I am onto something here. Women everywhere should band together and form a charity to raise money for this cause. Maybe Jill Zarin can get on board between her fundraising for her orphanage in Africa and for teen tours for her daughter's friends whose parents lost all their money with Madoff.
I can picture her saying "Help me and Bobby save Ally's friends and get them the teen taw's they deserve. Oh! AND help us help Dahhcy"
Real Texts From Real Men
These are actual texts from real men.
Remember Andre? Andre, by the way, holds two advanced degrees. He plays in a basketball game on occasion with friends I introduced him to. My friend sent Andre a text inviting him to play in a Sunday night game. Andre responded:
"No can do, I am headed to Brooklyn tonight to see BJork. Chicks dig Bjork and I like to F**k chicks."
"Good luck with the sex", My friend replied, than called me immediately to ask what the hell was wrong with this guy.
Andre, apparently, also holds an advanced degree in being an idiot. Not that we didn't already know that. (see: Can You Be Friends After a De-Friend, April 30, 2010)
One CFO of a very very large company asked me out for Thursday night. I said I could not go as I had a fundraiser to attend. This is his actual response. Not doctored in any way. Swear on my Blackberry:
"Can I please come to this fundraiser? I want to put my d**k in a puff pastry and lay in on a platter and than serve it to Muffy Jane Dusty C**t and see if she ups her donation. It's for the kids."
I am speechless, which is rare.
Who is this Muffy he speaks of? This is wooing? How does one even concoct such a text or idea for that matter? WTF??? This is how he asks me on a 3rd date?
I tell him I am horrified, which takes a lot.
"Does this mean I don't get a 3rd date?" He asks.
Crickets
Note to self, stay away from the pigs in a blanket.
Very big lawyer sends me a text that he is out with an old friend playing "Buck Hunter" (video game involving shooting and hunting down bucks- I explain because why would anyone ever know that) He invites me to come along:
"I just shot and killed three bucks. I called them all Darcy."
"Um...Hmmm" I respond
"Are you scared?" He asks
"A little?" I say
"You should be. I'm a mighty buck hunter!"
**See ("As Long As You Are Happy", May 3, 2010) about how I am becoming a lesbian.
Remember Andre? Andre, by the way, holds two advanced degrees. He plays in a basketball game on occasion with friends I introduced him to. My friend sent Andre a text inviting him to play in a Sunday night game. Andre responded:
"No can do, I am headed to Brooklyn tonight to see BJork. Chicks dig Bjork and I like to F**k chicks."
"Good luck with the sex", My friend replied, than called me immediately to ask what the hell was wrong with this guy.
Andre, apparently, also holds an advanced degree in being an idiot. Not that we didn't already know that. (see: Can You Be Friends After a De-Friend, April 30, 2010)
One CFO of a very very large company asked me out for Thursday night. I said I could not go as I had a fundraiser to attend. This is his actual response. Not doctored in any way. Swear on my Blackberry:
"Can I please come to this fundraiser? I want to put my d**k in a puff pastry and lay in on a platter and than serve it to Muffy Jane Dusty C**t and see if she ups her donation. It's for the kids."
I am speechless, which is rare.
Who is this Muffy he speaks of? This is wooing? How does one even concoct such a text or idea for that matter? WTF??? This is how he asks me on a 3rd date?
I tell him I am horrified, which takes a lot.
"Does this mean I don't get a 3rd date?" He asks.
Crickets
Note to self, stay away from the pigs in a blanket.
Very big lawyer sends me a text that he is out with an old friend playing "Buck Hunter" (video game involving shooting and hunting down bucks- I explain because why would anyone ever know that) He invites me to come along:
"I just shot and killed three bucks. I called them all Darcy."
"Um...Hmmm" I respond
"Are you scared?" He asks
"A little?" I say
"You should be. I'm a mighty buck hunter!"
**See ("As Long As You Are Happy", May 3, 2010) about how I am becoming a lesbian.
As Long As You Are Happy
This is why I love my mother:
After a string of gross dates and deciding that I no longer had any interest in dating men, I send my mother a text.
"I am becoming a lesbian."
"Haha. no you aren't" she writes.
And like any good Jewish mother, who wants to factor in the slight chance I was telling the truth and she would never want me, for one second to think I would not be the apple (dipped in honey) of her eye she writes a follow up text:
"If you do become a lesbian I will love you the same and you and your girlfriend are always welcome in my home."
Phew. SO glad we cleared that up.
Thanks mom.
My mother has always lived by the "as long as you are happy" motto. But she really means it. I love you mom.
After a string of gross dates and deciding that I no longer had any interest in dating men, I send my mother a text.
"I am becoming a lesbian."
"Haha. no you aren't" she writes.
And like any good Jewish mother, who wants to factor in the slight chance I was telling the truth and she would never want me, for one second to think I would not be the apple (dipped in honey) of her eye she writes a follow up text:
"If you do become a lesbian I will love you the same and you and your girlfriend are always welcome in my home."
Phew. SO glad we cleared that up.
Thanks mom.
My mother has always lived by the "as long as you are happy" motto. But she really means it. I love you mom.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Hello, Old Friend
One of my early post divorce dating ventures involved a membership to a special online club for "the chosen people". JDate. If you want to make it fancy like tar-jay you can pronounce it jah-dah-tey, as in je'nate but different. No matter how you choose to pronounce it, its the same embarrassing mess. Or hot mess as they now say. They being other people that aren't me.
It didn't take long to realize that when people posted "Tanzania" as their location, they weren't being funny as I had originally thought, they were just married or dating someone and didn't want to come up in any of the New York City searches. It also didn't take me long to write "please be the age and height you say you are" in my profile. I never could have imagined people would lie about such things, as you will eventually meet them in person and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell that you aren't really 6' but 5'9 and the pictures from this past summer, were really from the past summer 11 years ago. But i was a newly single person and in this century, online dating was as normal as organic milk and google. Only painful, creepy and embarrassing.
For reasons unbeknownst to me I am quite popular in the under 30 bracket. I explain to them that while I am a mom, I am not Stiffler's mom, and then I turn into a mom and ask "aren't I too old for you?"
I remember one day getting an email on jah-dah-tey from a man named Nate. 39, Never married. Tall. Cute. A money manager of some kind. After a couple of emails Nate asks for my number. He calls me immediately. After Nate told me he lived in a very fancy co-op on CPW (he told me the name and then asked if I knew it and then explained to me that living at that address is like living in a private members only club that only few people can understand- to which I reached for the nearest lamp and tried to strangle myself with the electric chord) and a number of other nauseating details about his financial status which Nate wanted to portray as very good (at one point he may have asked for my fax number to fax me tax returns from years past). I was trying to politely excuse myself from the conversation when Nate exclaims "Oh my g-d, I am looking at your profile. I didn't realize you had a child".
"Yes. I do."
"Oh. That's not going to work. I'm sorry. I wouldn't be very good with a child. You see, I smoke a lot of pot and..."
"No problem. Thank you for being honest. It's good to know this right off the bat. Nate, I enjoyed speaking with you. Have a good night."
"I feel sorry for you" He says.
Huh?
"Dating is hard enough, but to have a child and have to date. That must be really hard for you." He says.
I almost die after suddenly stabbing myself in the eye with a fork. I want to stab him, but I can't get to him through the phone. Instead I stab myself.
"Interesting that you feel that way." I say, "I have never found that to be the case. In fact, my child is my greatest joy and asset and I am so fortunate to have my child, so you see, I have already hit the jackpot." I cannot believe I am still on the phone with this loser. "Nice speaking with you Nate."
Two weeks later I met someone fabulous. A divorced dad with a child and we dated for a year.
Fast forward two years since my first encounter with Nate. I hadn't tried Jdate in about that long and decided to go crawling back and try to give it the old college try. Or in this case the old Yeshiva try.
After a slew of emails from people named "MotleyJew" , "PSILoveJew" , "DontJewWantmeBaby" and so on and so forth, I see a blinking IM. Someone is trying to instant message me. The user name is NateNYC41 (ah he is older now) and I recognize him immediately. I ignore the IM. I figure he doesn't remember me from 2 years ago. The next day I log in again. NateNYC41 is trying to IM me. That loser, I think to myself, he probably doesn't even remember that we spoke 2 years ago.
I decide to accept so i can remind him of our first encounter two years prior if he tries to pick me up. As g-d as my witness, and we are talking about JDate, which is religious, so I would not lie, this is the conversation that ensues. Verbatim. I copied the entire thing:
NateNYC41: Hi Mom, how have you been?
(HOLY SHIT! He remembers!)
DarcyDates: Excellent, you?
NateNYC41: Awesome thankfully.
DarcyDates: Good to hear. (always take the high road)
NateNYC41: You know, you are so freakin' hot. Why didn't I try to meet you before? I can't remember, but I am an idiot.
DarcyDates: Because I had a child and you said you felt bad for me.
NateNYC41: Man, what an ass hole.
DarcyDates: I know, its my favorite JDate story ever. I tell it all the time. (this was a lie, it was really a tie with my other favorite JDate story ever when someone looked up my address through some type of court records and sent me tons of CD's because he thought I would like them. He was a stalker and we will get into another time)
NateNYC41: Oh man, I'm sorry, my statement was completely misinterpreted, whatever it was I said. You are way too hot to feel sorry for.
DarcyDates: Don't be sorry. I laughed (at you), and then met someone two weeks later who I dated for a year.
NateNYC41: are you kidding?
DarcyDates: Whats up with you? Still no kids I see?
NateNYC41: Kids? I can barely take care of myself.
(at least he is honest)
DarcyDates: Well, I have some names of some good babysitters
NateNYC41: What is your number?
DarcyDates: No, sorry, we have been down that road before. We are old friends at this point.
NateNYC41: Okay, but your favorite Jdate story needs a postscript.
DarcyDates: Thank you, but I can't. I don't want to ruin my favorite story with a lovely dinner.
NateNYC41: You are so meeting me it's not even funny.
DarcyDates: Cute, but no can do.
NateNYC41: Here is my number. Please call me. I must take you to dinner. 212-555-jdont
DarcyDates: Goodnight Nate. Nice catching up.
Maybe Nate had matured with older age, who knows. In the two years Nate was trying to date every single girl under 35 without a child, I was raising my child. I had watched my child learn to read an entire book, and watched as my child learned to dive in the deep end. These things and all the smaller moments in between were a zillion times more rewarding than any guy I could possibly meet. Like I said, I had already hit the jackpot. I already had my Bashert. I, as far as I am concerned am the luckiest lady alive.
Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for Nate.
It didn't take long to realize that when people posted "Tanzania" as their location, they weren't being funny as I had originally thought, they were just married or dating someone and didn't want to come up in any of the New York City searches. It also didn't take me long to write "please be the age and height you say you are" in my profile. I never could have imagined people would lie about such things, as you will eventually meet them in person and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell that you aren't really 6' but 5'9 and the pictures from this past summer, were really from the past summer 11 years ago. But i was a newly single person and in this century, online dating was as normal as organic milk and google. Only painful, creepy and embarrassing.
For reasons unbeknownst to me I am quite popular in the under 30 bracket. I explain to them that while I am a mom, I am not Stiffler's mom, and then I turn into a mom and ask "aren't I too old for you?"
I remember one day getting an email on jah-dah-tey from a man named Nate. 39, Never married. Tall. Cute. A money manager of some kind. After a couple of emails Nate asks for my number. He calls me immediately. After Nate told me he lived in a very fancy co-op on CPW (he told me the name and then asked if I knew it and then explained to me that living at that address is like living in a private members only club that only few people can understand- to which I reached for the nearest lamp and tried to strangle myself with the electric chord) and a number of other nauseating details about his financial status which Nate wanted to portray as very good (at one point he may have asked for my fax number to fax me tax returns from years past). I was trying to politely excuse myself from the conversation when Nate exclaims "Oh my g-d, I am looking at your profile. I didn't realize you had a child".
"Yes. I do."
"Oh. That's not going to work. I'm sorry. I wouldn't be very good with a child. You see, I smoke a lot of pot and..."
"No problem. Thank you for being honest. It's good to know this right off the bat. Nate, I enjoyed speaking with you. Have a good night."
"I feel sorry for you" He says.
Huh?
"Dating is hard enough, but to have a child and have to date. That must be really hard for you." He says.
I almost die after suddenly stabbing myself in the eye with a fork. I want to stab him, but I can't get to him through the phone. Instead I stab myself.
"Interesting that you feel that way." I say, "I have never found that to be the case. In fact, my child is my greatest joy and asset and I am so fortunate to have my child, so you see, I have already hit the jackpot." I cannot believe I am still on the phone with this loser. "Nice speaking with you Nate."
Two weeks later I met someone fabulous. A divorced dad with a child and we dated for a year.
Fast forward two years since my first encounter with Nate. I hadn't tried Jdate in about that long and decided to go crawling back and try to give it the old college try. Or in this case the old Yeshiva try.
After a slew of emails from people named "MotleyJew" , "PSILoveJew" , "DontJewWantmeBaby" and so on and so forth, I see a blinking IM. Someone is trying to instant message me. The user name is NateNYC41 (ah he is older now) and I recognize him immediately. I ignore the IM. I figure he doesn't remember me from 2 years ago. The next day I log in again. NateNYC41 is trying to IM me. That loser, I think to myself, he probably doesn't even remember that we spoke 2 years ago.
I decide to accept so i can remind him of our first encounter two years prior if he tries to pick me up. As g-d as my witness, and we are talking about JDate, which is religious, so I would not lie, this is the conversation that ensues. Verbatim. I copied the entire thing:
NateNYC41: Hi Mom, how have you been?
(HOLY SHIT! He remembers!)
DarcyDates: Excellent, you?
NateNYC41: Awesome thankfully.
DarcyDates: Good to hear. (always take the high road)
NateNYC41: You know, you are so freakin' hot. Why didn't I try to meet you before? I can't remember, but I am an idiot.
DarcyDates: Because I had a child and you said you felt bad for me.
NateNYC41: Man, what an ass hole.
DarcyDates: I know, its my favorite JDate story ever. I tell it all the time. (this was a lie, it was really a tie with my other favorite JDate story ever when someone looked up my address through some type of court records and sent me tons of CD's because he thought I would like them. He was a stalker and we will get into another time)
NateNYC41: Oh man, I'm sorry, my statement was completely misinterpreted, whatever it was I said. You are way too hot to feel sorry for.
DarcyDates: Don't be sorry. I laughed (at you), and then met someone two weeks later who I dated for a year.
NateNYC41: are you kidding?
DarcyDates: Whats up with you? Still no kids I see?
NateNYC41: Kids? I can barely take care of myself.
(at least he is honest)
DarcyDates: Well, I have some names of some good babysitters
NateNYC41: What is your number?
DarcyDates: No, sorry, we have been down that road before. We are old friends at this point.
NateNYC41: Okay, but your favorite Jdate story needs a postscript.
DarcyDates: Thank you, but I can't. I don't want to ruin my favorite story with a lovely dinner.
NateNYC41: You are so meeting me it's not even funny.
DarcyDates: Cute, but no can do.
NateNYC41: Here is my number. Please call me. I must take you to dinner. 212-555-jdont
DarcyDates: Goodnight Nate. Nice catching up.
Maybe Nate had matured with older age, who knows. In the two years Nate was trying to date every single girl under 35 without a child, I was raising my child. I had watched my child learn to read an entire book, and watched as my child learned to dive in the deep end. These things and all the smaller moments in between were a zillion times more rewarding than any guy I could possibly meet. Like I said, I had already hit the jackpot. I already had my Bashert. I, as far as I am concerned am the luckiest lady alive.
Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for Nate.
The Bait and Switch
I always believe people have pure intentions. Some would call this nice. Many would call it naive. I like to think of it as positive.
This year I made a career change. I will not say what industry I am in for fear of outing myself but what I can tell you, is when I got my new job I updated my Facebook work information and some people took notice. One person in particular is a very old friend, or should I say an acquaintance, who I met on a family vacation when I was a sophomore in college. At the time he was older, and in law school. My mother thought he was cute. I did not. She told me I was just not ready for a nice guy. She still tells me this. I should also state for the record, as it will probably come up in another post, my mother too always believes people have pure intentions. She is worse than I am. But that is for another post. Mom, I know you are reading and I love you. You are the best mother ever.
So, my old friend/ acquaintance, Marc, contacts me and informs me that he is a lawyer in the very same field and he thinks he can refer me some clients. I am very happy to receive this email. It turns out Marc's office is only 10 blocks from my own and suggests we have lunch and talk about it. "Lunch it is I say, " and with that, Marc is my first lunch meeting at my new job. What a nice guy that Marc, I think and start to fantasize a lifelong partnership. Me and Marc referring business to each other. Two nice people who just want to help each other out. In business. I always thought Marc was a little dorky, but that doesn't mean he isn't nice right? As the days pass I can be overheard saying to people "oh, I can't do Wednesday at 1, I have a lunch, for work." I send an email, "sure, lets see if I can fit you in, I have a lunch Wednesday but maybe after." Wednesday arrives. I get dressed for my lunch. Professional, yet fashionable. Oh, and I wore my belt (see "Supermarket Aisles and Charity Work", Friday April 30th, 2010).
The day of my lunch, I can be overheard in the office "Oh what Susan? Sure I can do that for you, I just have a business lunch and then I will be back.", "Shoot, I can't make the meeting Tom, I have another meeting. 21 Club. Yes, work."
I told everyone I passed on the way out of my office building. The mailroom guys, the doormen, someone from another company entirely on the 5th floor. At some point I am pretty sure my colleagues fell into a figure 8 behind me, doing some type of choreographed dance routine as I walked out of the building to the song "who's that lady." By the way I was describing this lunch, it might as well have been with the President. In fact, I may have taken a car with bullet proof windows to get there, but that part is blurry now.
Marc suggests I first meet him in his office and we will walk to the restaurant together. His office is one block from the restaurant. I arrive and tell the receptionist I am there to see Marc. I am expecting to meet some of his partners. Maybe some other people in the office. Why else would he have me come there if we were about to have lunch.
"Hi Marc, Darcy is here to see you. OK." She looks at me, "Marc will be right out."
I wait.
"Hey Darcy! Marc says as he grabs his coat from a closet behind her desk.
That's it? I think. We are leaving? No introductions? No referrals around the office?
Till this day, I will never understand why Marc had me come up to the office.
We head to the elevator. I am distracted by my persistent wondering why I came upstairs to get him. I can't really think of anything else at that point.
"You look great Darcy. You haven't changed at all since I saw you last!" That was maybe 14 years ago. I would say he was being kind, but he hasn't changed that much either.
We head down in the elevator and we make nervous small chat trying to fill the awkward silences. We didn't have that much to talk about, since we were never good friends.
We walk towards the restaurant. Marc regales me with tales of his wife and two children. He didn't get married until he was 32, he and his wife and had dated once earlier, lost touch and reconnected. He is in love with his two girls. It sounded like the Cleaver family, I thought to myself. I am glad Marc is so happy.
I can't wait to get to the restaurant. I want to get down to business and be out of there ASAP.
We get to the 21 Club and Marc gives his name. "Right this way Sir!". The host basically takes us over a bridge and through a tunnel to the most desolate table in the restaurant. Did he plan this? I thought to myself, but quickly suppress the thought.
When we arrive at the table, the host asks Marc if he wants to sit on my side of the table,
"I would if I were with such a beautiful woman." The host says. I am grossed out. Marc doesn't immediately say no. He lets the idea hang in the air a little longer than he should have and stands next to me. I vomit a little in my mouth.
"NO! we are good. I will sit on this side and he will sit on that side." I say quickly. I give my most phony smile. I am super confused why I had to answer the question at all.
I look over the menu. I love the 21 Club. I am planning my meal. A lettuce wedge to start? Maybe tuna tartare? I am interrupted by Marc suddenly telling me most of the men he knows cheat on their wives. Huh? I am scared to look up from my menu. "But not me." He says.
I am glad we cleared that up?
He continues, "But I haven't been married 7 years yet. Talk to me after this summer when its seven years." I not sure what prompted this as we were not talking about anything near this topic. Note to self, don't contact Marc at all after the summer for any reason.
I am suddenly incredibly uncomfortable and want to go home, or at least back to my office. I suddenly would rather stuff envelopes. PLEASE Susan, may I collate your papers? I silently pray the gross host returns to kidnap me.
Let's get down to business and get off this creepy train, I think.
"So, you are a lawyer in my industry?" I ask casually.
"No, not really anymore."
I heard the sound of a record screeching to a halt.
I want to scream ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? WHAT THE FCK??? WHY DO YOU THINK I AM HERE CREEPY MARC? But I keep it inside. I want to say "But you said you were a lawyer in my industry and we could refer each other business and you had all these clients to refer me." But i was so floored I couldn't even formulate the sentence.
Crickets.
"Oh." was all I could say.
I lost my appetite. I didn't know where to go from there. Do I run from the table screaming? Do I call him out on it? What is the etiquette here?
The waiter arrives. "I'm just going to have a salad" I say, knowing it doesn't have to be cooked and I will be out of there in ten minutes. Marc orders a 17 course meal including a well done steak. I pray for an power outage in the kitchen.
I can't tell you what happened next, because I went numb. Marc talked and talked about his life and the law career in a field that was not my own. Of course he ordered dessert.
At the end of the meal I basically long jumped out of the restaurant and told him I had to get to my next meeting. I walked back to my office nauseated by Marc, but thankful I had the sense to not date him back in the day when my mother told me he was a nice guy and I just wasn't ready for a nice guy.
Wah wahhhh
.
This year I made a career change. I will not say what industry I am in for fear of outing myself but what I can tell you, is when I got my new job I updated my Facebook work information and some people took notice. One person in particular is a very old friend, or should I say an acquaintance, who I met on a family vacation when I was a sophomore in college. At the time he was older, and in law school. My mother thought he was cute. I did not. She told me I was just not ready for a nice guy. She still tells me this. I should also state for the record, as it will probably come up in another post, my mother too always believes people have pure intentions. She is worse than I am. But that is for another post. Mom, I know you are reading and I love you. You are the best mother ever.
So, my old friend/ acquaintance, Marc, contacts me and informs me that he is a lawyer in the very same field and he thinks he can refer me some clients. I am very happy to receive this email. It turns out Marc's office is only 10 blocks from my own and suggests we have lunch and talk about it. "Lunch it is I say, " and with that, Marc is my first lunch meeting at my new job. What a nice guy that Marc, I think and start to fantasize a lifelong partnership. Me and Marc referring business to each other. Two nice people who just want to help each other out. In business. I always thought Marc was a little dorky, but that doesn't mean he isn't nice right? As the days pass I can be overheard saying to people "oh, I can't do Wednesday at 1, I have a lunch, for work." I send an email, "sure, lets see if I can fit you in, I have a lunch Wednesday but maybe after." Wednesday arrives. I get dressed for my lunch. Professional, yet fashionable. Oh, and I wore my belt (see "Supermarket Aisles and Charity Work", Friday April 30th, 2010).
The day of my lunch, I can be overheard in the office "Oh what Susan? Sure I can do that for you, I just have a business lunch and then I will be back.", "Shoot, I can't make the meeting Tom, I have another meeting. 21 Club. Yes, work."
I told everyone I passed on the way out of my office building. The mailroom guys, the doormen, someone from another company entirely on the 5th floor. At some point I am pretty sure my colleagues fell into a figure 8 behind me, doing some type of choreographed dance routine as I walked out of the building to the song "who's that lady." By the way I was describing this lunch, it might as well have been with the President. In fact, I may have taken a car with bullet proof windows to get there, but that part is blurry now.
Marc suggests I first meet him in his office and we will walk to the restaurant together. His office is one block from the restaurant. I arrive and tell the receptionist I am there to see Marc. I am expecting to meet some of his partners. Maybe some other people in the office. Why else would he have me come there if we were about to have lunch.
"Hi Marc, Darcy is here to see you. OK." She looks at me, "Marc will be right out."
I wait.
"Hey Darcy! Marc says as he grabs his coat from a closet behind her desk.
That's it? I think. We are leaving? No introductions? No referrals around the office?
Till this day, I will never understand why Marc had me come up to the office.
We head to the elevator. I am distracted by my persistent wondering why I came upstairs to get him. I can't really think of anything else at that point.
"You look great Darcy. You haven't changed at all since I saw you last!" That was maybe 14 years ago. I would say he was being kind, but he hasn't changed that much either.
We head down in the elevator and we make nervous small chat trying to fill the awkward silences. We didn't have that much to talk about, since we were never good friends.
We walk towards the restaurant. Marc regales me with tales of his wife and two children. He didn't get married until he was 32, he and his wife and had dated once earlier, lost touch and reconnected. He is in love with his two girls. It sounded like the Cleaver family, I thought to myself. I am glad Marc is so happy.
I can't wait to get to the restaurant. I want to get down to business and be out of there ASAP.
We get to the 21 Club and Marc gives his name. "Right this way Sir!". The host basically takes us over a bridge and through a tunnel to the most desolate table in the restaurant. Did he plan this? I thought to myself, but quickly suppress the thought.
When we arrive at the table, the host asks Marc if he wants to sit on my side of the table,
"I would if I were with such a beautiful woman." The host says. I am grossed out. Marc doesn't immediately say no. He lets the idea hang in the air a little longer than he should have and stands next to me. I vomit a little in my mouth.
"NO! we are good. I will sit on this side and he will sit on that side." I say quickly. I give my most phony smile. I am super confused why I had to answer the question at all.
I look over the menu. I love the 21 Club. I am planning my meal. A lettuce wedge to start? Maybe tuna tartare? I am interrupted by Marc suddenly telling me most of the men he knows cheat on their wives. Huh? I am scared to look up from my menu. "But not me." He says.
I am glad we cleared that up?
He continues, "But I haven't been married 7 years yet. Talk to me after this summer when its seven years." I not sure what prompted this as we were not talking about anything near this topic. Note to self, don't contact Marc at all after the summer for any reason.
I am suddenly incredibly uncomfortable and want to go home, or at least back to my office. I suddenly would rather stuff envelopes. PLEASE Susan, may I collate your papers? I silently pray the gross host returns to kidnap me.
Let's get down to business and get off this creepy train, I think.
"So, you are a lawyer in my industry?" I ask casually.
"No, not really anymore."
I heard the sound of a record screeching to a halt.
I want to scream ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? WHAT THE FCK??? WHY DO YOU THINK I AM HERE CREEPY MARC? But I keep it inside. I want to say "But you said you were a lawyer in my industry and we could refer each other business and you had all these clients to refer me." But i was so floored I couldn't even formulate the sentence.
Crickets.
"Oh." was all I could say.
I lost my appetite. I didn't know where to go from there. Do I run from the table screaming? Do I call him out on it? What is the etiquette here?
The waiter arrives. "I'm just going to have a salad" I say, knowing it doesn't have to be cooked and I will be out of there in ten minutes. Marc orders a 17 course meal including a well done steak. I pray for an power outage in the kitchen.
I can't tell you what happened next, because I went numb. Marc talked and talked about his life and the law career in a field that was not my own. Of course he ordered dessert.
At the end of the meal I basically long jumped out of the restaurant and told him I had to get to my next meeting. I walked back to my office nauseated by Marc, but thankful I had the sense to not date him back in the day when my mother told me he was a nice guy and I just wasn't ready for a nice guy.
Wah wahhhh
.
JDon't 101
This entry I do not have to write myself. These are actual lines from JDate profiles.
"I am an investment banker, but not a douchebag"
"Manhattan girls only, no Murray Hill please"
"I like my job so much I want to hump it"
"I am an investment banker, but not a douchebag"
"Manhattan girls only, no Murray Hill please"
"I like my job so much I want to hump it"
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Wink Not, Want Not
He was tall. It's really all that mattered to me from the get go. He also had a cool interesting job that wasn't the typical wall street, lawyer, executive job. It was cool. It's something you wanted to tell people about. It was a blind a date.
We met at a cool restaurant in the Meat Packing District. I love the Meat Packing District. For one, it is not my neighborhood, so it seems like a vacation from the mundane. I remember years ago, when i was in high school, all that was there other than prostitutes and meat carcass's hanging on steel hooks was my very first nightclub I had ever been to. Mars. But now the Meatpacking is a completely different place.
I met Craig for our date. He was as tall as he claimed to be and cute, if you looked past the hair gel. He was a little too "outfitted" for me, and spared no mention that his "outfit" was from John Varvatos. I didn't want to know that much about what he was wearing, other than, i was hoping he would remove his jacket, which he didn't, because apparently it was part of the "outfit".
The moment we sat at our table, the DJ, yes, there was an actual DJ with turn tables in the restaurant, started to increase the volume of the music. Craig informed me that he wanted to "kick the guys ass" and "shove his headphones down his throat". I was taken aback. Is Craig trying to be funny and falling flat? Or does Craig have an anger problem? Craig was very twitchy and I casually asked if he dabbled in any recreational drugs. He assured me he didn't. "Good. Drugs are a deal breaker for me." I said.
Craig was also divorced, but had no children. Craig and his wife lived apart for work reasons a year into their marriage and Craig's wife picked up a new beau. Craig was still angry about this, even though he pretended not to be. Craig quickly bragged that he got to keep all his money and got the ring back. These were things that I felt he should keep to himself, and made me a bit uncomfortable.
Soon a large party was seated next to us. One of the guys at the table went to take off his coat and Craig got pissed that the guy took his coat off so close to our table. "HE HAD TO TAKE HIS COAT OFF RIGHT NEXT TO OUR TABLE? WTF" Craig said in a huff. Ah, anger problem, not trying to be funny, I thought. My next thought was I wish Craig would take his jacket off too.
Craig then tells me we will be going to another hot spot in the Meat Packing District for dessert. Craig knows every word to every song the DJ is playing. He sings along to every song and break dances with his upper body. I find it very uncomfortable and wish he would stop. Not so much the singing along, because I myself like to sing along with every song, and I would say I am almost an idiot savant of song lyrics, but I could do without the re-enactment of Breakin' 2, the electric bugaloo the entire meal.
Then the winking starts. Just a PSA to any men (or women) who may be reading this: If you must, a strategically placed wink in a conversation is acceptable. Several winks during said conversation is awkward and borders on socially unacceptable. Craig tells me after our dessert and the next location, we will go dancing. I am trying to formulate excuses to extract myself from the situation.
We get to our next destination. A very hot spot right now where it is nearly impossible to get a table. Craig knows the "bouncer" or "host" or whatever he is. Maitre'D maybe? Who he gives a big bear hug too. He quickly shows Craig our table. As he walks through the restaurant all of the staff, waiters, hostesses, and bus boys are slapping his hand. It is a scene from Goodfella's, Craigs hair gel included. Craig tells me he brings people there for work all the time. Craig works with celebrities. That explains it.
We sit and Craig orders us dessert. He continues to wink at me incessantly, it is not a tick, he just thinks he is being sexy, and I ask him to take off his coat. He tells me it is part of his outfit and again mentions John Varvatos, but this time mentions that he spent 4k there earlier that day. I cringe.
The funny thing is, anger problem, hair gel and winking aside, Craig is a nice guy. Certainly a good looking one. I felt like i was being hard on Craig. Craig tells me he has a confession to make. At this point nothing can shock me. He tells me he has a roommate. I am too tired to find it off-putting. He explains that when he moved back to the city post divorce he had his best friend live with him, "But I have the Master Bedroom, and Master Bathroom." Of course, I think to myself, wondering why he would ever think that made a difference. Craig was a few years younger than me. Maybe this is what young single people do these days, I thought. I begin to yawn. Craig tells me he would never want me to take a cab this late at night and insists on driving me home. I think that is sweet and certainly makes him a gentleman. His apartment is literally on the corner and we can go pick up his car after dessert.
Craig asks me if I want to see his apartment which he is very proud of (obviously forgetting he is a grown man with a roommate). Out of morbid curiousity I oblige, "only for a second" I say. When we walked in, it was exactly how I expected it to look. It looked as though Huffman Koo's threw up in his living room. Black leather couches, faux modern art in shades of brown and taupe, also probably bought at Huffman Koo's or won on The Price is Right. "Very Nice", I said through my teeth and said "we should leave before the roommate returns." Craig drove me home, lip syncing and break dancing the whole way home. Craig keeps trying to book another date. I have yet to accept.
Wah wahhhhh
We met at a cool restaurant in the Meat Packing District. I love the Meat Packing District. For one, it is not my neighborhood, so it seems like a vacation from the mundane. I remember years ago, when i was in high school, all that was there other than prostitutes and meat carcass's hanging on steel hooks was my very first nightclub I had ever been to. Mars. But now the Meatpacking is a completely different place.
I met Craig for our date. He was as tall as he claimed to be and cute, if you looked past the hair gel. He was a little too "outfitted" for me, and spared no mention that his "outfit" was from John Varvatos. I didn't want to know that much about what he was wearing, other than, i was hoping he would remove his jacket, which he didn't, because apparently it was part of the "outfit".
The moment we sat at our table, the DJ, yes, there was an actual DJ with turn tables in the restaurant, started to increase the volume of the music. Craig informed me that he wanted to "kick the guys ass" and "shove his headphones down his throat". I was taken aback. Is Craig trying to be funny and falling flat? Or does Craig have an anger problem? Craig was very twitchy and I casually asked if he dabbled in any recreational drugs. He assured me he didn't. "Good. Drugs are a deal breaker for me." I said.
Craig was also divorced, but had no children. Craig and his wife lived apart for work reasons a year into their marriage and Craig's wife picked up a new beau. Craig was still angry about this, even though he pretended not to be. Craig quickly bragged that he got to keep all his money and got the ring back. These were things that I felt he should keep to himself, and made me a bit uncomfortable.
Soon a large party was seated next to us. One of the guys at the table went to take off his coat and Craig got pissed that the guy took his coat off so close to our table. "HE HAD TO TAKE HIS COAT OFF RIGHT NEXT TO OUR TABLE? WTF" Craig said in a huff. Ah, anger problem, not trying to be funny, I thought. My next thought was I wish Craig would take his jacket off too.
Craig then tells me we will be going to another hot spot in the Meat Packing District for dessert. Craig knows every word to every song the DJ is playing. He sings along to every song and break dances with his upper body. I find it very uncomfortable and wish he would stop. Not so much the singing along, because I myself like to sing along with every song, and I would say I am almost an idiot savant of song lyrics, but I could do without the re-enactment of Breakin' 2, the electric bugaloo the entire meal.
Then the winking starts. Just a PSA to any men (or women) who may be reading this: If you must, a strategically placed wink in a conversation is acceptable. Several winks during said conversation is awkward and borders on socially unacceptable. Craig tells me after our dessert and the next location, we will go dancing. I am trying to formulate excuses to extract myself from the situation.
We get to our next destination. A very hot spot right now where it is nearly impossible to get a table. Craig knows the "bouncer" or "host" or whatever he is. Maitre'D maybe? Who he gives a big bear hug too. He quickly shows Craig our table. As he walks through the restaurant all of the staff, waiters, hostesses, and bus boys are slapping his hand. It is a scene from Goodfella's, Craigs hair gel included. Craig tells me he brings people there for work all the time. Craig works with celebrities. That explains it.
We sit and Craig orders us dessert. He continues to wink at me incessantly, it is not a tick, he just thinks he is being sexy, and I ask him to take off his coat. He tells me it is part of his outfit and again mentions John Varvatos, but this time mentions that he spent 4k there earlier that day. I cringe.
The funny thing is, anger problem, hair gel and winking aside, Craig is a nice guy. Certainly a good looking one. I felt like i was being hard on Craig. Craig tells me he has a confession to make. At this point nothing can shock me. He tells me he has a roommate. I am too tired to find it off-putting. He explains that when he moved back to the city post divorce he had his best friend live with him, "But I have the Master Bedroom, and Master Bathroom." Of course, I think to myself, wondering why he would ever think that made a difference. Craig was a few years younger than me. Maybe this is what young single people do these days, I thought. I begin to yawn. Craig tells me he would never want me to take a cab this late at night and insists on driving me home. I think that is sweet and certainly makes him a gentleman. His apartment is literally on the corner and we can go pick up his car after dessert.
Craig asks me if I want to see his apartment which he is very proud of (obviously forgetting he is a grown man with a roommate). Out of morbid curiousity I oblige, "only for a second" I say. When we walked in, it was exactly how I expected it to look. It looked as though Huffman Koo's threw up in his living room. Black leather couches, faux modern art in shades of brown and taupe, also probably bought at Huffman Koo's or won on The Price is Right. "Very Nice", I said through my teeth and said "we should leave before the roommate returns." Craig drove me home, lip syncing and break dancing the whole way home. Craig keeps trying to book another date. I have yet to accept.
Wah wahhhhh
Jonathan, 40, is Really 47.
It has happened to all of us at one point or another. We want to believe something is as good as it seems, even if there is information telling us otherwise. Sometimes when we see red flags, we ignore them, for one reason or another. We have all been there, and have made excuses for things we know deep down are clearly bad news. I myself have been guilty of ignoring them. It's as though I am a pro flag football player. I collect as many as I can, but in most cases, the only person going down is me. At times I have not only ignored flags, I have ignored banners, bonfires, forrest fires, and volcanos. One time, and I have never shared this with anyone, I had men in hazmat suits come to rescue me in an emergency vehicle, yet I waved them away. "I am fine!" I screamed as they looked on in horror. I have clung onto ships sinking faster than the Titanic, and I have gone down trails with avalanche warning signs during avalanche season. It's been me, it's been you. It's been all of us.
In this case it was me. Jonathan, 40, investment banker shows up to meet me for our Thursday night date. I am waiting at the bar when he walks in the restaurant. In the light (or at least a more bright restaurant than where I had first met him) he looks older than I realized he had, however, our first meeting was so romantic he was built up so much in my mind George Clooney may have been a disappointment. We say hello and i immediately ask him the burning question.
"So. You're 40?"
"Actually I'm 47."
Awkward silence.
"I thought you said you were 40."
"I know. That was the first time I have ever lied about my age."
Suddenly the tiny referee on my shoulder raised his first red flag.
"I don't know why I did that", Jonathan continues, "I have never ever done that and couldn't believe I did!" He says, trying his best to convince me, although it seemed like he was working harder to convince himself.
We walked to our table and just like that, I ignored my first red flag.
Something about Jonathan seemed feminine. I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was his affected accent that was a cross between queens english and gayness, but whatever it was it earned him the moniker, GBF for Gay Boyfriend. Oh yea, flag number two.
We sit down and I ask Jonathan what he does, actually, I now thought Jonathan had ruined his credibility, so I was checking his new answers against his original ones. He mentions he is a very high level exec (he doesn't use these words, he uses the actual title, but for privacy reasons I will keep it to myself) for a very very large bank. I am actually shocked. He then continues that he was on the board of directors of another large, very public company. Huh. What I was impressed with is how subtle the references were and if you weren't knowledgeable about wall street careers, you might have even missed it. This impressed me. I have dated a lot of men who like to pepper the conversation with references to their private planes, their drivers, how powerful and successful they are, stories about their lunches with Don (Donald Trump) and so on and so forth. Jonathan did none of these things. I liked that. It impressed me more than his career and the fact that he was obviously incredibly bright.
Jonathan asked me what I did. I gave him "my story" and suddenly he tells me he knows that story and he knows me. I am perplexed. "How?" He tells me he met me online dating. My memory is like an elephant, if not better. I didn't remember Jonathan. Jonathan wants to prove it to me. He takes out his phone. He looks in the address book. Sure enough, there it is. DARCY with the name of the dating site right next to it. He tells me he really wanted to go out with me, and after we spoke on the phone I told him I wasn't into it. WHAT? I remember none of this, but what I can tell you is that I screen online dating candidates more than Homeland Security screens people for the terror watch list. If I have given you my number and we spoke, I asked the right questions, and something you said got you put on the Nix list. I sat there racking my brain. What put him on that list??? What did I know then that I don't know now! Darcy!!! Remember!!! Now I couldn't concentrate on the dinner. I had to know. What was the flaw. Was it his voice? Did I think he was a little fem in that phone conversation? Some girls would have thought the fact that this was the second time he asked me out, not knowing I was the same person, may have been fate. I knew that it meant more flags, I just didn't know what they were yet.
I asked Jonathan how long he was married for. He said two years in his early 20's. I did the math. He was 47 and not yet again married. Super handsome, super successful, seemed very kind. Suddenly an entire strand of flags unfurled from my mind and the restaurant looked like a grand opening for a used car dealer. I couldn't control myself. Don't ask Darcy. I could not help it. I turned to him.
"Are you gay?"
"What?"
"Gay? Are you gay?"
"No I'm not gay!"
I didn't let it go.
"Do you ever get asked that?"
"I have been asked that before" He admits "But I am definitely not gay."
It wasn't comforting that I wasn't the first to ask this.
He tells me he was engaged again in his early 40's but called off that engagement. I didn't know how I felt about this whole thing. But the oysters came and for the time being I was occupied.
Jonathan was clearly incredibly well read, and had a socially awkward habit of quoting books and poems and random things that I knew nothing about, other than they were probably famous. I am not a "lit" person, unless we are talking about chic lit, and in that case, I am an expert. Many of the references were lost on me and made me cringe a bit. I dislike poetry but love rap.
Fifteen minutes into dinner Jonathan asked if he could kiss me. I said no. I found this request odd. We hadn't even gotten half way through our first drink and the restaurant was not dark AND I had already asked if he was gay. It seemed that Jonathan was not good at picking up social cues. Of course I looked past this too. I would have made an excellent WASP the way I just sweep things under the rug and look the other way. That or a great mafia wife of some kind.
As dinner continued I found myself liking Jonathan. He was still cute, a little gay, but seemed like a gentle soul. Jonathan told me he thought the date was great and asked me out for the very next day. I said I could not go then and set a date for a week later.
Our next date was great. We had dinner at 8 and closed out the restaurant at 11:45 not before dancing the hustle together (don't ask- long story- involving a drunk restaurant manager with an excellent Ipod playlist). Jonathan seemed straight, more laid back than I had originally assessed and we had fun. Jonathan dropped me off at home and sent me a text that basically said he was excited about the prospect of someday having children with me. It was crazy I thought, but he was a little crazy so I just chalked it up to eccentric and crazy (read ignored more red flags) and smiled myself to sleep. We set a date for the following week. He was headed to LA for a long weekend.
I thought it was odd I didn't hear from Jonathan for a few days. For someone that wanted to have children with me, he certainly didn't want to speak to me. On our next date I asked him about it. It didn't take much for Jonathan to come clean that he was visiting a woman in LA, but he broke up with her, because he would rather date me. Because I could give him children and I was what he was looking for. I could give him children? Was Jonathan mistaking me for a cow? Had Jonathan been playing too much farmville???
My mother called me when I was out to dinner. Jonathan took the phone from me and told her he was sorry he had lied to me (again) and he hoped someday she would be his mother-in-law.
Jonathan asked me to come home with him that night. I told him his penis had had too much action that week and no thanks.
Jonathan now tried to woo me even harder. The next day he delivered flowers. He also messengered over a book he bought me. It was a serious book by a serious author with small print and big words. A topic he knew I would find interesting (if it was a movie?) I panicked. UGH. I have to read this now I thought. Oh, but no. Jonathan informed me that he wanted to read it to me. Oh boy. Help me. That could be worse than having to read it myself.
The next day Jonathan called me. "Do you have a minute?"
"Sure, hi."
"OK, I am going to read to you for a bit."
"What? Now? On the phone?"
"Yes, I bought the same copy of the book I bought for you. I can read it to you. Do you have the time?"
"Um, hi? how are you? how was your day? Please don't read to me."
"Come on, just for a minute."
I put the phone on speaker and began to do things around my apartment as Jonathan read this book. He read with a monotone voice. He could have at least done the character voices with some inflection, I thought to myself. After basically cleaning my whole room and possibly shaving my legs I heard a lull in the reading.
"Is that the end of the first chapter?" I asked.
"NO! It's only the end of the second page!" He laughed.
"Listen, this is really sweet and cute, but please don't read me another page. I am distracted."
"By what?" He asked.
"By every single thing that comes into my line of vision!" I said.
Jonathan let me off the hook and was a sport about it, but told me that he was going to be reading to me soon. Yay! I thought.
Overtime I discovered that Jonathan had been engaged a couple of more times and called each one off. He was a classic commitmentphobe. Peter pan syndrome maybe. I also discovered that he didn't sleep with his bed in his bedroom, his bed was in his living room so he could sleep in front of the fire place. His apartment was littered with classic literature and Audrey hepburn Dvd's which i found incredibly disconcerting. Oh, I should also mention that every time we tried to be intimate he told me he was unable to because he still had feelings for his girlfriend Roberta in LA. which prevented him from being intimate. One of my best friends was sure Roberta was really Robert. After a few weeks of Jonathan telling me I was the best girl he ever met and wanted to have all these children with me, Jonathan called me from an airport in Brazil to end it. Bullet dodged i thought to myself as i politely got off the phone.
This was a perfect example of ignoring flags, which I say I will not do anymore. Jury is still out.
Wah wahhh.
In this case it was me. Jonathan, 40, investment banker shows up to meet me for our Thursday night date. I am waiting at the bar when he walks in the restaurant. In the light (or at least a more bright restaurant than where I had first met him) he looks older than I realized he had, however, our first meeting was so romantic he was built up so much in my mind George Clooney may have been a disappointment. We say hello and i immediately ask him the burning question.
"So. You're 40?"
"Actually I'm 47."
Awkward silence.
"I thought you said you were 40."
"I know. That was the first time I have ever lied about my age."
Suddenly the tiny referee on my shoulder raised his first red flag.
"I don't know why I did that", Jonathan continues, "I have never ever done that and couldn't believe I did!" He says, trying his best to convince me, although it seemed like he was working harder to convince himself.
We walked to our table and just like that, I ignored my first red flag.
Something about Jonathan seemed feminine. I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was his affected accent that was a cross between queens english and gayness, but whatever it was it earned him the moniker, GBF for Gay Boyfriend. Oh yea, flag number two.
We sit down and I ask Jonathan what he does, actually, I now thought Jonathan had ruined his credibility, so I was checking his new answers against his original ones. He mentions he is a very high level exec (he doesn't use these words, he uses the actual title, but for privacy reasons I will keep it to myself) for a very very large bank. I am actually shocked. He then continues that he was on the board of directors of another large, very public company. Huh. What I was impressed with is how subtle the references were and if you weren't knowledgeable about wall street careers, you might have even missed it. This impressed me. I have dated a lot of men who like to pepper the conversation with references to their private planes, their drivers, how powerful and successful they are, stories about their lunches with Don (Donald Trump) and so on and so forth. Jonathan did none of these things. I liked that. It impressed me more than his career and the fact that he was obviously incredibly bright.
Jonathan asked me what I did. I gave him "my story" and suddenly he tells me he knows that story and he knows me. I am perplexed. "How?" He tells me he met me online dating. My memory is like an elephant, if not better. I didn't remember Jonathan. Jonathan wants to prove it to me. He takes out his phone. He looks in the address book. Sure enough, there it is. DARCY with the name of the dating site right next to it. He tells me he really wanted to go out with me, and after we spoke on the phone I told him I wasn't into it. WHAT? I remember none of this, but what I can tell you is that I screen online dating candidates more than Homeland Security screens people for the terror watch list. If I have given you my number and we spoke, I asked the right questions, and something you said got you put on the Nix list. I sat there racking my brain. What put him on that list??? What did I know then that I don't know now! Darcy!!! Remember!!! Now I couldn't concentrate on the dinner. I had to know. What was the flaw. Was it his voice? Did I think he was a little fem in that phone conversation? Some girls would have thought the fact that this was the second time he asked me out, not knowing I was the same person, may have been fate. I knew that it meant more flags, I just didn't know what they were yet.
I asked Jonathan how long he was married for. He said two years in his early 20's. I did the math. He was 47 and not yet again married. Super handsome, super successful, seemed very kind. Suddenly an entire strand of flags unfurled from my mind and the restaurant looked like a grand opening for a used car dealer. I couldn't control myself. Don't ask Darcy. I could not help it. I turned to him.
"Are you gay?"
"What?"
"Gay? Are you gay?"
"No I'm not gay!"
I didn't let it go.
"Do you ever get asked that?"
"I have been asked that before" He admits "But I am definitely not gay."
It wasn't comforting that I wasn't the first to ask this.
He tells me he was engaged again in his early 40's but called off that engagement. I didn't know how I felt about this whole thing. But the oysters came and for the time being I was occupied.
Jonathan was clearly incredibly well read, and had a socially awkward habit of quoting books and poems and random things that I knew nothing about, other than they were probably famous. I am not a "lit" person, unless we are talking about chic lit, and in that case, I am an expert. Many of the references were lost on me and made me cringe a bit. I dislike poetry but love rap.
Fifteen minutes into dinner Jonathan asked if he could kiss me. I said no. I found this request odd. We hadn't even gotten half way through our first drink and the restaurant was not dark AND I had already asked if he was gay. It seemed that Jonathan was not good at picking up social cues. Of course I looked past this too. I would have made an excellent WASP the way I just sweep things under the rug and look the other way. That or a great mafia wife of some kind.
As dinner continued I found myself liking Jonathan. He was still cute, a little gay, but seemed like a gentle soul. Jonathan told me he thought the date was great and asked me out for the very next day. I said I could not go then and set a date for a week later.
Our next date was great. We had dinner at 8 and closed out the restaurant at 11:45 not before dancing the hustle together (don't ask- long story- involving a drunk restaurant manager with an excellent Ipod playlist). Jonathan seemed straight, more laid back than I had originally assessed and we had fun. Jonathan dropped me off at home and sent me a text that basically said he was excited about the prospect of someday having children with me. It was crazy I thought, but he was a little crazy so I just chalked it up to eccentric and crazy (read ignored more red flags) and smiled myself to sleep. We set a date for the following week. He was headed to LA for a long weekend.
I thought it was odd I didn't hear from Jonathan for a few days. For someone that wanted to have children with me, he certainly didn't want to speak to me. On our next date I asked him about it. It didn't take much for Jonathan to come clean that he was visiting a woman in LA, but he broke up with her, because he would rather date me. Because I could give him children and I was what he was looking for. I could give him children? Was Jonathan mistaking me for a cow? Had Jonathan been playing too much farmville???
My mother called me when I was out to dinner. Jonathan took the phone from me and told her he was sorry he had lied to me (again) and he hoped someday she would be his mother-in-law.
Jonathan asked me to come home with him that night. I told him his penis had had too much action that week and no thanks.
Jonathan now tried to woo me even harder. The next day he delivered flowers. He also messengered over a book he bought me. It was a serious book by a serious author with small print and big words. A topic he knew I would find interesting (if it was a movie?) I panicked. UGH. I have to read this now I thought. Oh, but no. Jonathan informed me that he wanted to read it to me. Oh boy. Help me. That could be worse than having to read it myself.
The next day Jonathan called me. "Do you have a minute?"
"Sure, hi."
"OK, I am going to read to you for a bit."
"What? Now? On the phone?"
"Yes, I bought the same copy of the book I bought for you. I can read it to you. Do you have the time?"
"Um, hi? how are you? how was your day? Please don't read to me."
"Come on, just for a minute."
I put the phone on speaker and began to do things around my apartment as Jonathan read this book. He read with a monotone voice. He could have at least done the character voices with some inflection, I thought to myself. After basically cleaning my whole room and possibly shaving my legs I heard a lull in the reading.
"Is that the end of the first chapter?" I asked.
"NO! It's only the end of the second page!" He laughed.
"Listen, this is really sweet and cute, but please don't read me another page. I am distracted."
"By what?" He asked.
"By every single thing that comes into my line of vision!" I said.
Jonathan let me off the hook and was a sport about it, but told me that he was going to be reading to me soon. Yay! I thought.
Overtime I discovered that Jonathan had been engaged a couple of more times and called each one off. He was a classic commitmentphobe. Peter pan syndrome maybe. I also discovered that he didn't sleep with his bed in his bedroom, his bed was in his living room so he could sleep in front of the fire place. His apartment was littered with classic literature and Audrey hepburn Dvd's which i found incredibly disconcerting. Oh, I should also mention that every time we tried to be intimate he told me he was unable to because he still had feelings for his girlfriend Roberta in LA. which prevented him from being intimate. One of my best friends was sure Roberta was really Robert. After a few weeks of Jonathan telling me I was the best girl he ever met and wanted to have all these children with me, Jonathan called me from an airport in Brazil to end it. Bullet dodged i thought to myself as i politely got off the phone.
This was a perfect example of ignoring flags, which I say I will not do anymore. Jury is still out.
Wah wahhh.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Supermarket Aisles and Charity Work
When you are single, they always say you will meet someone fabulous walking through aisles of a supermarket. They claim if you join a group of some kind, do some type of charitable work, possibly plant a tree in some sort of community garden, he will be there. Your soul mate. He will approach you in a parking lot (creepy), you will meet him in a bookstore (lurking behind a shelf somewhere), you will lock eyes in a coffee shop somewhere and he will approach your table...the people that give this dating advice have never been to New York. Okay, okay, so it does happen. Sometimes. People meet people in public places. In fact, it happened to my mother, but it is rare.
It happened one time early on after my divorce. Out to dinner with my family for my sisters birthday I locked eyes with a very handsome stranger. He was very cute, and very not-my-type. After a virtual staring contest and 2 appletini's later, I summoned up the courage, with the encouragement (albeit inappropriate) from my sister to send this handsome stranger a drink. The waitress informed us he ordered a beer and when we asked if he was cute she told us he had a thick accent like he was not from NYC (I believe red-neck was the exact term she used), and she had assessed there was some type of missing tooth. Figures.
Minutes later he approached our table. He said he was not from New York City but was here for work. "What type of work do you do?" I asked this toothless hick stranger. "I play hockey for a team in Pittsburgh, we are in town to play the Rangers". Are you kidding me? a Penguin? It explains the missing teeth! He asked for my number and asked if I wanted to come to the game tomorrow. I told him I would be cheering for the Rangers, but I would go. As I left the restaurant an hour later he and his teammate suddenly had a posse of groupies or prostitutes of some kind surrounding their table. I waved awkwardly and he said he would call me, which he did, at 12 midnight and asked me to hang out. What? Was this real? I was getting booty called by a player for the NHL? I said no thanks, but was a bit flattered and quickly erased him from my mind. 3 months later i read in the paper that he got married. Engaged no doubt when he called me. Men are gross I thought, and the stereotypes regarding pro athletes was obviously true!
Well, it happened again. The dating unicorn, as I like to call it, an urban myth if you will, when a man and woman meet by coincidence in a public place. Where drunken bar talk is not involved and you lock eyes and everything falls into place, whether it be while picking cereal in the cereal aisle, working in a soup kitchen, or praying in some type of religious establishment. Only this time it was at a swank restaurant on the Upper East side.
I had met a male friend for dinner and went to the back to use the bathroom as I was returning to my table the hostess was escorting two men to their table when i locked eyes with one of them. He was insanely handsome and I flashed my greatest Darcy smile at him without even realizing I was doing it. He stopped in his tracks and smiled back. It was exactly as you picture it to be, only better, because it was real. I quickly prayed he wasn't married, promised to go to services on the high holidays this year if he wasn't and returned to my table. An hour or so later he was leaving the restaurant and had to walk past my table to exit. Again, I summoned my inner light and shot him my most dazzling smile. Quickly eyeing my dinner date he asked if we knew each other.
"I don't know. Do we?" I asked coyly, knowing that we did not, but hoping we would soon.
"I'm Jonathan" He said, again eyeing my male dinner partner with suspicion.
"I'm Darcy. Do you know me?"
He smirked and said he wasn't sure.
"Did we date?" I asked, knowing that we didn't, but at this point i couldn't control my shameless flirting.
"I don't know, did we?" he said.
"For six months, I think." I giggled at my own joke. It was shameful. I had to suppress the voice in my head that was screaming "thank you, thank you very much, I'll be here all night"
But like every other New York story where boy smiles at girl, girl smiles back, boy gets off the subway and it becomes nothing more than a craigslist missed connection, he said to have a good dinner and i watched him walk out of the restaurant.
Just like in back to the future when peoples faces start to disappear off the of the pictures as history starts to change, the same thing happened with our imagined relationship. Sigh. Back to my sushi and my dinner date.
My dinner date's cell phone rang. "It's my girlfriend, be right back" He stepped out of the restaurant to talk to her in a quiet place, when suddenly the hostess appeared at our table.
"Are you Darcy?" she asked. Couldn't be a stitch past 24 and not a wrinkle in sight.
"Yes?" I said, not sure where this was going.
"You have a phone call."
I didn't know what to make of this. Who knew where I was. Was my child okay? Oh my goodness. My child. is there some type of emergency? It quickly dawned on me that if there was an emergency they would try my cell phone first and not some random restaurant no one even knew I was at.
I followed the hostess to her stand and she handed me the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Darcy? It's Jonathan, from 5 minutes ago".
Was this really happening? Was I really the star of my own private romantic comedy? These things only happened in Sandra Bullock movies. I could not even fathom this to be real.
"Oh yes, hi Jonathan." Yea, hi Jonathan, like I had already forgotten who he was.
"Hi, listen, I wanted to ask you to dinner, but wasn't sure if you were there on a date with that guy. If you weren't and you would like to have dinner with me I'd love to take you out. I couldn't let this night pass without trying everything I could to see you again"
"Sure, that would be great" Is really all I remember saying at first. But then it happened. Barbara Walters invaded my body and a barrage of questing ensued right from the hostess stands telephone. "are you married? how old are you? 40? oh divorced. Do you have children? No? oh, I do, yes one. yes. What do you do? Investment Banking? Huh. where are you from? I see. What is your last name? Oh! You're Jewish?!" Like any diligent woman, I was collecting my facts and assessed that Jonathan, 40, Jewish, investment banker, divorced with no children would be a suitable dinner date. I gave him my number and walked back to my table feeling like the hottest girl in town. I was sure it was the new belt I had been bullied into buying at big drop only a week earlier. I never owned a belt, but it had to be good luck, or a good look for me. It was definitely the belt. I couldn't remember Jonathan's last name, so I was not able to do my run of the mill google-facebook-zabasearch-ecourts extravaganza. But he texted me and just like that, we had a date for Thursday.
It happened one time early on after my divorce. Out to dinner with my family for my sisters birthday I locked eyes with a very handsome stranger. He was very cute, and very not-my-type. After a virtual staring contest and 2 appletini's later, I summoned up the courage, with the encouragement (albeit inappropriate) from my sister to send this handsome stranger a drink. The waitress informed us he ordered a beer and when we asked if he was cute she told us he had a thick accent like he was not from NYC (I believe red-neck was the exact term she used), and she had assessed there was some type of missing tooth. Figures.
Minutes later he approached our table. He said he was not from New York City but was here for work. "What type of work do you do?" I asked this toothless hick stranger. "I play hockey for a team in Pittsburgh, we are in town to play the Rangers". Are you kidding me? a Penguin? It explains the missing teeth! He asked for my number and asked if I wanted to come to the game tomorrow. I told him I would be cheering for the Rangers, but I would go. As I left the restaurant an hour later he and his teammate suddenly had a posse of groupies or prostitutes of some kind surrounding their table. I waved awkwardly and he said he would call me, which he did, at 12 midnight and asked me to hang out. What? Was this real? I was getting booty called by a player for the NHL? I said no thanks, but was a bit flattered and quickly erased him from my mind. 3 months later i read in the paper that he got married. Engaged no doubt when he called me. Men are gross I thought, and the stereotypes regarding pro athletes was obviously true!
Well, it happened again. The dating unicorn, as I like to call it, an urban myth if you will, when a man and woman meet by coincidence in a public place. Where drunken bar talk is not involved and you lock eyes and everything falls into place, whether it be while picking cereal in the cereal aisle, working in a soup kitchen, or praying in some type of religious establishment. Only this time it was at a swank restaurant on the Upper East side.
I had met a male friend for dinner and went to the back to use the bathroom as I was returning to my table the hostess was escorting two men to their table when i locked eyes with one of them. He was insanely handsome and I flashed my greatest Darcy smile at him without even realizing I was doing it. He stopped in his tracks and smiled back. It was exactly as you picture it to be, only better, because it was real. I quickly prayed he wasn't married, promised to go to services on the high holidays this year if he wasn't and returned to my table. An hour or so later he was leaving the restaurant and had to walk past my table to exit. Again, I summoned my inner light and shot him my most dazzling smile. Quickly eyeing my dinner date he asked if we knew each other.
"I don't know. Do we?" I asked coyly, knowing that we did not, but hoping we would soon.
"I'm Jonathan" He said, again eyeing my male dinner partner with suspicion.
"I'm Darcy. Do you know me?"
He smirked and said he wasn't sure.
"Did we date?" I asked, knowing that we didn't, but at this point i couldn't control my shameless flirting.
"I don't know, did we?" he said.
"For six months, I think." I giggled at my own joke. It was shameful. I had to suppress the voice in my head that was screaming "thank you, thank you very much, I'll be here all night"
But like every other New York story where boy smiles at girl, girl smiles back, boy gets off the subway and it becomes nothing more than a craigslist missed connection, he said to have a good dinner and i watched him walk out of the restaurant.
Just like in back to the future when peoples faces start to disappear off the of the pictures as history starts to change, the same thing happened with our imagined relationship. Sigh. Back to my sushi and my dinner date.
My dinner date's cell phone rang. "It's my girlfriend, be right back" He stepped out of the restaurant to talk to her in a quiet place, when suddenly the hostess appeared at our table.
"Are you Darcy?" she asked. Couldn't be a stitch past 24 and not a wrinkle in sight.
"Yes?" I said, not sure where this was going.
"You have a phone call."
I didn't know what to make of this. Who knew where I was. Was my child okay? Oh my goodness. My child. is there some type of emergency? It quickly dawned on me that if there was an emergency they would try my cell phone first and not some random restaurant no one even knew I was at.
I followed the hostess to her stand and she handed me the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Darcy? It's Jonathan, from 5 minutes ago".
Was this really happening? Was I really the star of my own private romantic comedy? These things only happened in Sandra Bullock movies. I could not even fathom this to be real.
"Oh yes, hi Jonathan." Yea, hi Jonathan, like I had already forgotten who he was.
"Hi, listen, I wanted to ask you to dinner, but wasn't sure if you were there on a date with that guy. If you weren't and you would like to have dinner with me I'd love to take you out. I couldn't let this night pass without trying everything I could to see you again"
"Sure, that would be great" Is really all I remember saying at first. But then it happened. Barbara Walters invaded my body and a barrage of questing ensued right from the hostess stands telephone. "are you married? how old are you? 40? oh divorced. Do you have children? No? oh, I do, yes one. yes. What do you do? Investment Banking? Huh. where are you from? I see. What is your last name? Oh! You're Jewish?!" Like any diligent woman, I was collecting my facts and assessed that Jonathan, 40, Jewish, investment banker, divorced with no children would be a suitable dinner date. I gave him my number and walked back to my table feeling like the hottest girl in town. I was sure it was the new belt I had been bullied into buying at big drop only a week earlier. I never owned a belt, but it had to be good luck, or a good look for me. It was definitely the belt. I couldn't remember Jonathan's last name, so I was not able to do my run of the mill google-facebook-zabasearch-ecourts extravaganza. But he texted me and just like that, we had a date for Thursday.
Can You Be Friends After a De-Friend?
Dating in a world with so many mediums is tough. If you have seen the movie "he's just not that into you" you will remember the scene when Drew Barrymore is explaining that there are so many complicated ways to figure out if you are getting dissed, you have to check your email, your texts, your voicemail, your Facebook, your twitter...And it's true. In a world with so many new and exciting ways to keep in touch, comes major trouble for dating.
Let's look at the facts. You meet a great guy. He sends you a Facebook friend request. You look at his pictures. He's cute! You realize you have friends in common. He can't be that bad! He is randomly friends with your best friend from 3rd grade. He has to be a good guy. She was nice. She let you play with her cabbage patch kid when you couldn't yet obtain one because they were sold out everywhere. He has pictures with his nieces and nephews and it looks like he is being nice to them. Awwwwwww. So cute. His status updates are witty. He is funny AND smart. To be witty you have to be smart. He is a freakin' genius. Did he actually just quote Tribe Called Quest? He is cool too! You could love him. You could one day have your facebook status set to "Darcy is In a Relationship with New Facebook Guy".
Suddenly he adds a new Facebook friend. Its a girl. She is cute. Who is she? Why weren't they friends last week? How did he find her? Do they have friends in common? When he said he was going out to dinner with his grandma last night was he really having drinks with his new Facebook friend? Suddenly someone tags him in a picture. He is at that new place in the meat packing district that has a list. How did he get on that list? Is he cooler than you thought? Maybe he is too cool for you. He is sitting with girls in the picture. Who are they? What? One of them just planted an apple tree on his farm. Are they moving in together? Why are they milking each other's farmville cows? Wait! He just responded to an event next Thursday. It is in an art gallery and 114 people are attending. Guess you aren't seeing him next Thursday. Who are the 245 people that haven't responded yet? Why weren't you invited??? And so on and so on and so on.
Let's call him Andre. He just moved back to the city from Texas. Southern guys are nice right? Gentleman? We have our first date on Valentines day. I send him a text before the date:
"I know it's Valentines day, but please don't propose. It will be awkward and I am not ready for the commitment" He responds "But I love you". He gets my humor so the date won't be a total disaster. We meet for margaritas. Tequila always makes me fall in love, or at least in like. On our first date we plan our wedding in Vegas and name our unborn children. I like him. Not enough to actually marry him, but I will go out with him again.
Andre really likes me. He emails the friend that set him up that it was basically the best set up ever. We set another date. Dinner and Jay Z at MSG. It's fun, but I realize he isn't for me. He seems stubborn and controlling. He isn't Jewish. We go out a few more times, as he is funny and I am bored. He even brings me to dinner with his mother. A lovely woman. Now I am starting to like him. He seems like a really nice guy. He is patient with my crazy schedule. I tell myself this is who I should be dating. A nice guy. From the south. Who likes Obama even though he is from Texas. He thinks I am beautiful and funny. He tells me I am one of the smartest girls he ever met. I know he is dead wrong but nod and agree. When he picks me up for our dates he smells a bit like liquor which strikes me as odd and a bit alcoholic, but I tell myself that is what Texans do. He introduces me to all his friends, and constantly complains to me that he thinks he likes me so much more than I like him. I decide this is must be what its like to be dating a girl.
A month and a half into dating Andre, we go to dinner. On the way to the restaurant I write something funny about Andre's facebook status on his wall. Andre and I are best facebook friends. We might even hit each other with the comfy pillows.
My brother in law calls. I answer at the table. Andre yells at me and tells me I am rude for taking a call during dinner. It creeps me out that he got so angry but the Martinis are numbing the fear. Soon we are sharing a sea bass and kissing at the table. We made up. I decide to sleep at his house for the first time. In the middle of the night I am awoken by Andre doing things around the house. I glance at the clock and its 4 am. Where is my phone?! I need my phone. i always sleep with it next to me in case of emergency. I go into his living room and look by my bag and coat. No phone. I know for 100% certainty I left it there. I ask Andre to call my phone cause i can't find it anywhere. He tells me he will find it. He returns to me holding the phone and tells me it was on his kitchen counter. I know for 100% certainty I had never stepped foot in his kitchen.
I look at my phone. I notice some emails that were read that i didn't read. I think my mind is playing tricks on me and I had possibly had more to drink than I realized. Andre tells me to get back into bed and gives me his favorite blanket. I fall asleep and wake up at 7 am. Andre is already awake and on his computer.
"good morning gorgeous, you look so beautiful. Can I make you coffee? Breakfast? I will make you whatever breakfast you want." I think to myself that I am proud of myself for sticking with Andre. Finally I chose a nice guy. I agree to a cup of coffee that turns into two. Andre gives me the paper and asks me to hang out. I realize I have to run. I need to get to work.
Less than a half hour later I am home and on the phone with one of my best friends. I tell her I just spent the night at Andre's house. I tell her he yelled at me about using the phone at dinner but other than that he was a total gentleman. I tell her I will email her a picture of him. I log on to facebook and go to his page so I can copy and paste a picture from his profile.
It gives me the option of adding Andre as a friend. Huh? He is my friend. I just got back from his house 10 minutes ago. Confused I refresh the page. It is staring at me mockingly. "ADD AS FRIEND". I text Andre "Defriended?? Ouch." Andre explains he gets the sense he likes me much more than I like him and that I don't take him seriously. I am confused beyond belief. What about the blueberry pancakes he was just offering to make me? What about my second cup of coffee he was squeezing out of a french press? "what are you talking about???" i ask. He tells me its how he "feels". I realize Andre might be watching more Oprah than he leads on.
I don't hear from Andre for 24 hours when I finally ask him if we are on for the concert that night we are supposed to attend. He tells me he is tired and going to watch basketball with his friend. I am knocked off my feet. BUT ANDRE, YOU WERE CRAZY ABOUT ME. There is more to this story but I don't know what it is yet.
After two days of not hearing from Andre he sends me a drunk text at 1 am. He confesses to me that he went through my phone when I was sleeping (I KNEW I HADN'T LEFT IT IN THE KITCHEN) and that he saw some risque texts between me and a guy, we will call Adam. Little does he know Adam is a very old dear friend with whom I have never even come close to an inappropriate encounter with, we just share the same raunchy humor. Andre had taken my TEXT out of conTEXT and ruined everything. Gone was our farm, gone were our tagged facebook photos, gone was our "friend"-ship. He wrote me some apology manifesto emails. I told him for the first time in 6 years since owning a blackberry, I now had a password on it. And the password was Andre. 3 Weeks later Andre was listed as being "In a Relationship" on his Facebook page, which by the way, he never realized was public.
Wah Wahhh
Let's look at the facts. You meet a great guy. He sends you a Facebook friend request. You look at his pictures. He's cute! You realize you have friends in common. He can't be that bad! He is randomly friends with your best friend from 3rd grade. He has to be a good guy. She was nice. She let you play with her cabbage patch kid when you couldn't yet obtain one because they were sold out everywhere. He has pictures with his nieces and nephews and it looks like he is being nice to them. Awwwwwww. So cute. His status updates are witty. He is funny AND smart. To be witty you have to be smart. He is a freakin' genius. Did he actually just quote Tribe Called Quest? He is cool too! You could love him. You could one day have your facebook status set to "Darcy is In a Relationship with New Facebook Guy".
Suddenly he adds a new Facebook friend. Its a girl. She is cute. Who is she? Why weren't they friends last week? How did he find her? Do they have friends in common? When he said he was going out to dinner with his grandma last night was he really having drinks with his new Facebook friend? Suddenly someone tags him in a picture. He is at that new place in the meat packing district that has a list. How did he get on that list? Is he cooler than you thought? Maybe he is too cool for you. He is sitting with girls in the picture. Who are they? What? One of them just planted an apple tree on his farm. Are they moving in together? Why are they milking each other's farmville cows? Wait! He just responded to an event next Thursday. It is in an art gallery and 114 people are attending. Guess you aren't seeing him next Thursday. Who are the 245 people that haven't responded yet? Why weren't you invited??? And so on and so on and so on.
Let's call him Andre. He just moved back to the city from Texas. Southern guys are nice right? Gentleman? We have our first date on Valentines day. I send him a text before the date:
"I know it's Valentines day, but please don't propose. It will be awkward and I am not ready for the commitment" He responds "But I love you". He gets my humor so the date won't be a total disaster. We meet for margaritas. Tequila always makes me fall in love, or at least in like. On our first date we plan our wedding in Vegas and name our unborn children. I like him. Not enough to actually marry him, but I will go out with him again.
Andre really likes me. He emails the friend that set him up that it was basically the best set up ever. We set another date. Dinner and Jay Z at MSG. It's fun, but I realize he isn't for me. He seems stubborn and controlling. He isn't Jewish. We go out a few more times, as he is funny and I am bored. He even brings me to dinner with his mother. A lovely woman. Now I am starting to like him. He seems like a really nice guy. He is patient with my crazy schedule. I tell myself this is who I should be dating. A nice guy. From the south. Who likes Obama even though he is from Texas. He thinks I am beautiful and funny. He tells me I am one of the smartest girls he ever met. I know he is dead wrong but nod and agree. When he picks me up for our dates he smells a bit like liquor which strikes me as odd and a bit alcoholic, but I tell myself that is what Texans do. He introduces me to all his friends, and constantly complains to me that he thinks he likes me so much more than I like him. I decide this is must be what its like to be dating a girl.
A month and a half into dating Andre, we go to dinner. On the way to the restaurant I write something funny about Andre's facebook status on his wall. Andre and I are best facebook friends. We might even hit each other with the comfy pillows.
My brother in law calls. I answer at the table. Andre yells at me and tells me I am rude for taking a call during dinner. It creeps me out that he got so angry but the Martinis are numbing the fear. Soon we are sharing a sea bass and kissing at the table. We made up. I decide to sleep at his house for the first time. In the middle of the night I am awoken by Andre doing things around the house. I glance at the clock and its 4 am. Where is my phone?! I need my phone. i always sleep with it next to me in case of emergency. I go into his living room and look by my bag and coat. No phone. I know for 100% certainty I left it there. I ask Andre to call my phone cause i can't find it anywhere. He tells me he will find it. He returns to me holding the phone and tells me it was on his kitchen counter. I know for 100% certainty I had never stepped foot in his kitchen.
I look at my phone. I notice some emails that were read that i didn't read. I think my mind is playing tricks on me and I had possibly had more to drink than I realized. Andre tells me to get back into bed and gives me his favorite blanket. I fall asleep and wake up at 7 am. Andre is already awake and on his computer.
"good morning gorgeous, you look so beautiful. Can I make you coffee? Breakfast? I will make you whatever breakfast you want." I think to myself that I am proud of myself for sticking with Andre. Finally I chose a nice guy. I agree to a cup of coffee that turns into two. Andre gives me the paper and asks me to hang out. I realize I have to run. I need to get to work.
Less than a half hour later I am home and on the phone with one of my best friends. I tell her I just spent the night at Andre's house. I tell her he yelled at me about using the phone at dinner but other than that he was a total gentleman. I tell her I will email her a picture of him. I log on to facebook and go to his page so I can copy and paste a picture from his profile.
It gives me the option of adding Andre as a friend. Huh? He is my friend. I just got back from his house 10 minutes ago. Confused I refresh the page. It is staring at me mockingly. "ADD AS FRIEND". I text Andre "Defriended?? Ouch." Andre explains he gets the sense he likes me much more than I like him and that I don't take him seriously. I am confused beyond belief. What about the blueberry pancakes he was just offering to make me? What about my second cup of coffee he was squeezing out of a french press? "what are you talking about???" i ask. He tells me its how he "feels". I realize Andre might be watching more Oprah than he leads on.
I don't hear from Andre for 24 hours when I finally ask him if we are on for the concert that night we are supposed to attend. He tells me he is tired and going to watch basketball with his friend. I am knocked off my feet. BUT ANDRE, YOU WERE CRAZY ABOUT ME. There is more to this story but I don't know what it is yet.
After two days of not hearing from Andre he sends me a drunk text at 1 am. He confesses to me that he went through my phone when I was sleeping (I KNEW I HADN'T LEFT IT IN THE KITCHEN) and that he saw some risque texts between me and a guy, we will call Adam. Little does he know Adam is a very old dear friend with whom I have never even come close to an inappropriate encounter with, we just share the same raunchy humor. Andre had taken my TEXT out of conTEXT and ruined everything. Gone was our farm, gone were our tagged facebook photos, gone was our "friend"-ship. He wrote me some apology manifesto emails. I told him for the first time in 6 years since owning a blackberry, I now had a password on it. And the password was Andre. 3 Weeks later Andre was listed as being "In a Relationship" on his Facebook page, which by the way, he never realized was public.
Wah Wahhh
Your Vagina Has Cancer
It was a beautiful spring day. I had just had lunch with one of my current beau's, a man i am casually dating whom I am taking it incredibly slow with and whom I see once every other week or so. On the off weeks, we schedule dates, but i usually cancel. Having texted all morning in between appointments with a new client in the village, he invites me to an impromptu lunch date by my office to where i have just returned.
I pick a nice restaurant, that will remain nameless, which has excellent food, a great atmosphere, but is a bit more low profile than some of the other high profile lunch haunts on Madison avenue where I can possibly run into someone at any time. Dating as a mom in New York City is funny like that. I don't want to be very public about it, especially since Manhattan (read Manhattan Jews) is such a small world and everyone knows everyone and everyone has gone to camp, college, teen tours, their kids are in the same class, etc, etc, etc. Before you know it, your date is over before it even began because your best friends cousin dated this guy when they were 20 and he never called her back and has been forever labeled a player and everyone absolutely FORBIDS you to even go for coffee with this terrible man.
I sit down at the table and wait. wouldn't you know some friends are suddenly seated at the very next table. I smile politely and plant my face in the menu, hoping that they don't notice I am meeting...gasp...a date. My date shows up and as always its very "nice". we exchange some witty banter, I tell some inappropriate stories. He looks at me in admiration as I sprinkle my conversation with the word tits and polish off my glass of Savignon Blanc, which is really his chardonnay but i didn't want to make a big deal about it (even though i don't love chardonnay). He asks me out for next week. I say yes, knowing inside I may possibly cancel.
He is a bit short for me and when I wear heels he seems exactly my height, if not an inch shorter which is usually a deal breaker for me. I will divulge this early. I am tall and I love to wear heels on a date. I am used to dating very very tall men, above 6'2" so my short isn't always someone else's short, but everything is relative. I would prefer borderline obese to short when it comes to the men I date, but this is a nice guy, and surprisingly funny. He has an unexpected tattoo and for an upper east side lawyer that is rare. i am pleasantly surprised to learn this at dinner one night. It makes me like him more since I believe it gives him the edge I think he is missing.
I say goodbye to him outside the restaurant and head down Madison to my next appointment with my new client. I have a spring in my step. Maybe its the new client, maybe its the chardonnay. I just had a surprisingly good lunch date with a guy who really likes me and I don't totally dislike. Either way, I am feeling good and nothing can bring me down.
Suddenly a woman walks by me. She is dressed sensibly, in her late 40's. She takes 2 steps back and stops me. "Excuse me!" she says. "Your aura! It's incredible! I can see it all around you shining bright!" Now, I am a believer of the supernatural and have regular psychic readings, so she happened to pick the right girl. "Really?" I say. Beaming. Maybe things are looking up for me, I think to myself.
"Yes! They are sending me so many messages for you!" I am not sure who this proverbial "they" is, but I like it just as much. I will take any "they". I will take "they" the doorman's union. I will take "they" the people that play farmville. I will take it. It sounds positive.
"I am India! What is your name?"
"Darcy!" I say, hoping this will send more messages from the "they"
Before I know it she shuffles me to the side on the sidewalk. "The messages are so strong! They are sending you messages. I need to get them to you. They said you are here on this earth to do incredible things! They said you are here to break new ground and this world hasn't seen the best of you yet"
I eat of each spoonful of crap she is feeding me, trying to decipher its meaning even though somewhere deep inside she is a whack job. Suddenly she reaches into her fanny pack, yes, she had on a fanny pack, which now makes me wonder why I describe her as sensibly dressed, though fanny packs are hands free and in a sense sensible no? She takes out a tiny black bag. I can see where this is going. its some sort of stones, I think psychics call them ruins, but maybe I am confusing psychics with archaeologists at this point. She tells me she is going to give me a quick reading.
"Is this going to cost me money?" I ask.
"Well people pay me, if you want you can." She says with her intense smile and crazy eyes.
"I have no money and I am actually on a way to a meeting. I should get going." At this point I realize this is all a scam and I am trying to extract myself from the steps of the church I am somehow sitting on at this point. I always think I would not help the man try to find his puppy, but maybe I am that girl.
"That's okay" she pleads, "I will walk you to the nearest ATM machine."
Is this woman kidding me? We have gone from Madison avenue to deliverance in 40 seconds flat.
"No, I am fine, you aren't walking me to an ATM machine"
Suddenly India goes from dear lady you would like as your nanny to crazy grifter with a fanny pack in a flash. She screams to me in desperation "They are sending me messages you need to hear, you have an infection inside that is turning into cancer in your vagina! I can't believe they did this to you."
"listen up!" I say "this started off very positive and is suddenly more creepy than carneys. I am walking away and don't want you to say another word.
"This is positive. I am telling you how to cure yourself of the cancer in your vagina."
She keeps screaming to me about my cancerous vagina as I walk away as quickly as possible, knowing she is crazy but thinking I need to call my gyno asap.
Fitting I think to myself. It's all fun and games til someone tells you your vagina has cancer. And as I heard many times before, the SNL theme song of Debbie Downer plays in my head. Wah wahhhh
I pick a nice restaurant, that will remain nameless, which has excellent food, a great atmosphere, but is a bit more low profile than some of the other high profile lunch haunts on Madison avenue where I can possibly run into someone at any time. Dating as a mom in New York City is funny like that. I don't want to be very public about it, especially since Manhattan (read Manhattan Jews) is such a small world and everyone knows everyone and everyone has gone to camp, college, teen tours, their kids are in the same class, etc, etc, etc. Before you know it, your date is over before it even began because your best friends cousin dated this guy when they were 20 and he never called her back and has been forever labeled a player and everyone absolutely FORBIDS you to even go for coffee with this terrible man.
I sit down at the table and wait. wouldn't you know some friends are suddenly seated at the very next table. I smile politely and plant my face in the menu, hoping that they don't notice I am meeting...gasp...a date. My date shows up and as always its very "nice". we exchange some witty banter, I tell some inappropriate stories. He looks at me in admiration as I sprinkle my conversation with the word tits and polish off my glass of Savignon Blanc, which is really his chardonnay but i didn't want to make a big deal about it (even though i don't love chardonnay). He asks me out for next week. I say yes, knowing inside I may possibly cancel.
He is a bit short for me and when I wear heels he seems exactly my height, if not an inch shorter which is usually a deal breaker for me. I will divulge this early. I am tall and I love to wear heels on a date. I am used to dating very very tall men, above 6'2" so my short isn't always someone else's short, but everything is relative. I would prefer borderline obese to short when it comes to the men I date, but this is a nice guy, and surprisingly funny. He has an unexpected tattoo and for an upper east side lawyer that is rare. i am pleasantly surprised to learn this at dinner one night. It makes me like him more since I believe it gives him the edge I think he is missing.
I say goodbye to him outside the restaurant and head down Madison to my next appointment with my new client. I have a spring in my step. Maybe its the new client, maybe its the chardonnay. I just had a surprisingly good lunch date with a guy who really likes me and I don't totally dislike. Either way, I am feeling good and nothing can bring me down.
Suddenly a woman walks by me. She is dressed sensibly, in her late 40's. She takes 2 steps back and stops me. "Excuse me!" she says. "Your aura! It's incredible! I can see it all around you shining bright!" Now, I am a believer of the supernatural and have regular psychic readings, so she happened to pick the right girl. "Really?" I say. Beaming. Maybe things are looking up for me, I think to myself.
"Yes! They are sending me so many messages for you!" I am not sure who this proverbial "they" is, but I like it just as much. I will take any "they". I will take "they" the doorman's union. I will take "they" the people that play farmville. I will take it. It sounds positive.
"I am India! What is your name?"
"Darcy!" I say, hoping this will send more messages from the "they"
Before I know it she shuffles me to the side on the sidewalk. "The messages are so strong! They are sending you messages. I need to get them to you. They said you are here on this earth to do incredible things! They said you are here to break new ground and this world hasn't seen the best of you yet"
I eat of each spoonful of crap she is feeding me, trying to decipher its meaning even though somewhere deep inside she is a whack job. Suddenly she reaches into her fanny pack, yes, she had on a fanny pack, which now makes me wonder why I describe her as sensibly dressed, though fanny packs are hands free and in a sense sensible no? She takes out a tiny black bag. I can see where this is going. its some sort of stones, I think psychics call them ruins, but maybe I am confusing psychics with archaeologists at this point. She tells me she is going to give me a quick reading.
"Is this going to cost me money?" I ask.
"Well people pay me, if you want you can." She says with her intense smile and crazy eyes.
"I have no money and I am actually on a way to a meeting. I should get going." At this point I realize this is all a scam and I am trying to extract myself from the steps of the church I am somehow sitting on at this point. I always think I would not help the man try to find his puppy, but maybe I am that girl.
"That's okay" she pleads, "I will walk you to the nearest ATM machine."
Is this woman kidding me? We have gone from Madison avenue to deliverance in 40 seconds flat.
"No, I am fine, you aren't walking me to an ATM machine"
Suddenly India goes from dear lady you would like as your nanny to crazy grifter with a fanny pack in a flash. She screams to me in desperation "They are sending me messages you need to hear, you have an infection inside that is turning into cancer in your vagina! I can't believe they did this to you."
"listen up!" I say "this started off very positive and is suddenly more creepy than carneys. I am walking away and don't want you to say another word.
"This is positive. I am telling you how to cure yourself of the cancer in your vagina."
She keeps screaming to me about my cancerous vagina as I walk away as quickly as possible, knowing she is crazy but thinking I need to call my gyno asap.
Fitting I think to myself. It's all fun and games til someone tells you your vagina has cancer. And as I heard many times before, the SNL theme song of Debbie Downer plays in my head. Wah wahhhh
Darcy Dates
I got married young. At the tender age of 23. To a great man. But i was young. And having been so young (in college) when I met my husband, i had never really been on the adult dating scene. 7 years of marriage and one child and one divorce later, I find myself out there dating in New York City. Sometimes my experiences are so insane, and after sharing them with friends I realize what I great story I have to tell. So here it goes. I will write what I can, when I can, so dear friends and strangers, or whoever reads this blog (if it is even public on line- I still don't understand what a blog is) can enjoy this wonderful crazy journey with me.
While my dating stories that pre-date this blog adventure are incredible and at times often unbelievable and they need to be written about, I am starting on this wonderful April 30, 2010 where I can only hope to have more dates going forward to write about. For now, I will write bits and pieces of what i have learned from my experiences. Names and locations will often be changed to protect the identity of my dates, who are often crazy and rather than need the protection of a changed name on a random blog, are in greater need of a padded room in bellevue. But i digress.
While my dating stories that pre-date this blog adventure are incredible and at times often unbelievable and they need to be written about, I am starting on this wonderful April 30, 2010 where I can only hope to have more dates going forward to write about. For now, I will write bits and pieces of what i have learned from my experiences. Names and locations will often be changed to protect the identity of my dates, who are often crazy and rather than need the protection of a changed name on a random blog, are in greater need of a padded room in bellevue. But i digress.
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