A Realization.

Recently, I've come to a conclusion.  I'm beginning to realize that apparently single, "normal" (ie non-ax murdering), good-looking guys above the age of 28 in this city are like unicorns, or dragons or the tooth fairy. They simply do not exist.


I find this to be quite puzzling.


Although, if I'm truly honest, the onus could partially be on me.  As much as I love my 20s friends, and as much fun as I have with them [when I remain conscious], it's pretty clear they are leading me to all the wrong guys.  Which, thus far, has been pretty fun. But ideal? Not so much.
However, this calls to mind an email exchange I had recently with my friend, Lisa P (or "P" as I like to call her.)


P is a sassy, successful, no BS type o' chick, and is in my age range.  Here are some thoughts she had on the places we should/shouldn't be going:


1) The higher the bar tab, the more age-appropriate the dudes. (ie) You need not frequent spots with 2 for 1's or happy hour specials, or free food in general for that matter.


2) Just say NO to wine bars - unless you should decide to play for the other team for awhile and are looking for lonely, single chicks.


3) Fish where the fish are.  Ironically, this would be steak/meat-oriented joints, sports bars, low-key hangs, and scotch/cocktail/cigar-type locales.


4) Just clocking in more time in Tribeca and/or the Financial District in general may not be a bad idea.  


#4 makes me think I should probably just hang out on Wall Street in a pretty dress with a sign that says "I'm single. And I'm the best investment you'll ever make."

Thoughts?

Dating story #6, a lesson in not going Brooklyn.

Or, as MIM calls it, Brookland.


Brooklyn is a vast, spacious region that has continued to perplex me for 10 years. It always seems like a "cool," "different," "adventurous" thing to do when the idea is posed.  Then, you find yourself on the L train for 40 minutes, and walking another 20 minutes and/or miles. Just when I think I'm cool with it, I'm not.  


Yet it was the stage for the scene last night.  A mutual friend's balcony party, followed by [a 25 min walk to] an insane, debaucherous party at a warehouse.  Yes, a warehouse.  Complete with some "artistic" tranny queen show at midnight.  Dubs was there along with his brother (brogunator).  I couldn't quite gauge his interest level in me last night, but brogunator was not subtle in his willingness to 'hit this.' So, thanks to brogunator plying me with countless (ugh) whiskey shots, the night started to get a whole lottta blurry.  And in a dark warehouse party...yeah.  Apparently at one point I thought I was dancing with brogunator, but looks like I ended up with his stunt double in the same shirt. Or just a black shirt. Or...something. At least this is what I deduced based on the explanation I received when I woke up in Flatbush (or as I'd like to call it, "where the F am I???).  So I turned to the guy next to me and said "...and you are...?"  We'll call this one Abe the Jew.  
{note, I am allowed to bestow this moniker and it's not racialist because I, too, am a Jew.}
Yet I do not wear a large David Yurmin Star of David around my neck.  Luckily, Abe the Jew does!  
Regardless, I owe him a lot since he clearly took care of me in my "state" and was a really sweet guy. Although he was drenched in that nose hair-stifling scent, FIERCE by Abercrombie & Fitch.  That scent pretty much makes me want to die.  I can hardly walk past the store, where I've confirmed they do blast the scent through the A/C ducts.  Bleech.


Sigh...it's posts (and adventures) like these that only re-affirm my decision to NOT share this blog with my family members.  Especially when you repeatedly find yourself involved in shenanigans that make you say "my mother would kill me..." 


Shalom, Abe the Jew.  Thanks for the memories.  


Lesson:  Don't go to Brooklyn.

Dating story #5, a lesson in the art of a quick medical survey and/or scan

Hello Friday Friends!  

It appears we've made it to the weekend, and not a moment too soon.

Last night saw me n' MIM out with friends of MIM at the hot, new Meatpacking spot, {Villa Pacri}.  Now, I'm really not the biggest fan of the Meatpacking District and its pretentious, trying-too-hard, "be on the list" situations.  That was so 8 years ago for me.  But, we had an in.  So, I was IN!  It's beautifully designed and there was some nice tunes crankin'.  I would like to give a special shout-out to the gilded couches that practically begged for this to happen:

However, at 11pm it was still too early for the place to be hoppin.  So, we took more.  See: Subsy n' MIM just chillin' on the subtle decor.

But, after awhile, and with no prospects around, I decided it was time to bounce.   

On the way home, I got a txt from The-bro telling me to meet them at an East Village bar. Torn between knowing I should go home and actually sleep some in my lifetime, yet also not wanting the night to be a total waste of a good outfit, hair and makeup, I obviously decide to go.  (duh)

Turns out, tons of my friends are at this bar, including Dubs. Yeehaw, now the outfit is definitely not a waste!  Especially because he repeatedly referred to me (in his McConaughey-type drawl) as "hot babe" most of the night.  Giddy-up. 

Now, I'm somewhat impatient with a short attention span. That, coupled with my new "I don't give a f'k attitude" of late, inspired me to have this conversation.

Me:  "Do I intimidate you?"

Dubs: "Not at all."

Me: "Really? Well I heard a rumor you asked for my digits."

Dubs: "Yep."

Me: "Well, what exactly are you planning on doing with them?"

Dubs: "Waiting for the right time."

Interesting. So I let up. And me, Dubs, and The-bro ended up as the last men standing and clearly decided it was pizza time, or as I like to call it, 2nd dinner time.  But The-bro left us at pizza in search of other "hot babes," so then it was two.  We decided to move the party back to my apt for a night cap and I was like FINALLY!  So we have a fun 'ol time, laugh our asses off, and keep playing DJ for each other.  Yet, NO MOVES.  I'm seriously wondering what the hell is going on here.  Finally, after a trip to the bathroom, he comes back and announces to me that he's been kind of sick all week (I knew this) and, in a related story, he has some kind of cold-sore situation that's bringing him down.  AH-HA!  

It's all starting to make sense.  Lack of moves, the "waiting for the right time" comment...  

I tell him it's totally fine and no pressure.  But I also said I really couldn't see anything on his face. Then again, my apt is glowing with mood-lighting. So naturally I excuse myself and come back a minute later with my mini-mag flashlight.  I then proceed to jump on top of him and shine the light in his face to examine why we are not making out.  Mostly, because I find this to be HILARIOUS, and because I really didn't see anything there in the first place.  Luckily, he thinks this is funny too.  A sense of humor goes a long way for me.

We end the night spooning and laughing on my couch, and...it's actually really nice.  Sometimes when you take your eyes off the prize, you get something even better.

Lesson:  Always remember to do a quick once-over and even throw in a few subtle medical history interview questions into your conversation for optimal health maintenance and/or avoiding oral herpes.

I'm MAJORLY obsessed...

...with Minor Obsessions.


It's a brand spankin' new line of 10k gold charms, bracelets, necklaces and studs brought to you by the stylistas (and my good friends!) who created the tough, luxe and celeb-popular line FINN.  


Minor Obsessions is a fun, flirty 'cessories line with a little edge, much like big sister Finn.  The charms are seriously something to pine for (hence the name obsessions.)  It's true.  Color me addicted.  I'm currently sporting the evil eye WITH sparkle and am already evil-eying my next prospects to add to it.  

See?? I'm not kidding.  Prepare to have a problem.  
{the good kind}


Maybe my evil eye will even ward off the 
22 year-olds....

A gig, a chew toy, and a food fiasco

So have I mentioned that I used to be in a rock band called

{Macho Grande}?

Yep, that happened.

Classic band story...Jimmy quit, Joey got married, shoulda known we'd never get far... Anyway, we've been defunct for awhile but I've been playing music lately with my BFWB {boyfriend w/o benefits} Brendan. He's really my bff and an insanely talented musician. So we got asked if we wanted a gig at the cool, divey east

village 11th st. bar last night and we decided to go for it. Not bad for our first bar gig and all our peeps came out to show the love.

{cue warm fuzzies!}

Amongst the crew was Dubs, who came to see The-bro but also moi, since he wrote me a note asking if he could a) come watch and b) be the bro who drops his pants in the front row. {swoon!}

Actually, I really have one motto in life for my friends/acquaintances: DBB.

Don't. Be. Boring.

Dubs is definitely not boring. In fact, homeboy even has his own language. His friends call it Dubsingo. Some examples include:

Bro's UP! -- Let's go!/Sweet!

Bro's down -- no bueno/not good/bummer

SWANZ! -- yes!/AWESOME!

Bicepulates-- apparently this is just "biceps"

Yeeeah. Thanks for taking that journey with me. Now you can say you've learned something today. I think I may need a Rosetta Stone to decode his emails...

Anyway, it was cool that he came out and he was very complimentary about my singing. He even told me I looked hotness in my Chuck T's (Converse hi-tops) the other night at his party. Bro's UP!

So, chewy ended up leaving early. Okay, it WAS 12a on a tuesday...but the rest of us did not seem to realize this. He hasn't been feeling well this week so it was nice that he even stayed as long as he did. And, fine with me, as I haven't been in the best of shape either, with my newfound diagnosis of acid reflux and, as of this week, slightly high blood pressure. (wha??) But I refrained from having this medical discussion with him, so as not to achieve Golden Girls status.

I'd love to say I ended the night in a classy, responsible way. But alas, I ended up here:

Ah, the illustrious Crif Dogs.

Here's a tres flattering shot of me getting my tater tot ketchup'd.

Don't worry friends, I also downed a Costco-sized corn dog. I'll refrain from posting that shot of me- not my classiest moment.

This should undoubtedly do wonders for my reflux.

It's not all just about dating...

So, when I'm not dealing with my dating MISadventures and/or accidentally self-sabotaging them, I'm generally thinking about one thing:

My copywriting job?

nope.

My voice-over job?

nah.

SHOPPING. SHOPPING. SHOPPING.

I simply can't help it. It's always been a sickness. And living in soho/nyc? Please.

The world is my boutique!

Shoes, bags, jewelry ('cessories!) are my ultimate kryptonite.

Alas, Friday found me wandering into my favorite shoe store,

Belle by Sigerson Morrison.

And (oopsie!) wandering out with these:

One hot, sexy, tough bootie, 2 ways to rock it.

And might I mention, check the sensible heel ladies!

Already ran in them this morning.

[late for a VO job. no cabs! AH!]

Ok, so they're a wee bit 'spensy. But they are BUTTER!!!

And should you invest in one sick pair of

"perfect for all occasions" situations this season, these girls are IT.

My fellow fashionistas approve.

Find them {here} if you dare...

Besides, I clearly need something to wear on

my next MISadventure.

Stay tuned...

Dating story #3, a lesson in the benefits of gathering more information

This past weekend, I met my friend S-bomb in Bklyn to be her wingwoman at a party called "Baller's Eve." (No, I'm not kidding). I had no idea what to expect, but it was actually just a party at a cool dive bar with seemingly normal people.
And, out of these normal people, I noticed an EXTREMELY tall guy who was pretty cute. I did a drive-by to confirm and he definitely checked out the goods. [Score!]
My friend then somehow persuaded me to wait with her in what had to be the world's longest bathroom line. I'm talking football game/state-fair long. So essentially, we were halfway into the bar still and I ended up right next to tall guy-- now to be known as 6'7" Kevin. Yeah- he's 6'7," and named Kevin (duh).
He was chatting with some semi-thick chick who was gazing up adoringly at him, but somehow I got briefly involved in their conversation. The bathroom line then moved and so did I. As I reached the front, he cruised by to talk. He said "My friends and I are leaving, but I figured I should get your number." To which I replied, "Um, well I figured I should get your NAME first?!" But we exchange and he bounces. I appreciate his bold move.
He calls the very next day-- another bold move. I like this too. And, sets up a date for Monday night after work. So far, you can color me impressed.

So I put on my high heels, excited to wear them without intimidating guys (often the case, as I'm 5'9") and head out to meet 6'7 Kevin. He takes me to a very cool bar that I have not yet been to, which impresses me yet again.

We know nothing about each other. So the questions start. I soon understand that this guy is a gigantic cornucopia of genius. Computer science...MIT...grad school...hedge fund... Um, hi, I make commercials and sometimes can't calculate the tip after a meal.
But I put on my smartest act and move on to wondering "how old is this guy?" I really have no idea. I'm guessing late 20's, and doing the math with college, grad school etc puts him at least at 26. Still on the tad young side for me, but whatever.
Finally, at dinner [and after several cocktails] I can't take it any more:
Me: "Okay, please just tell me how old you are."
Him: "How old do you think I am?"
Me: "Ugh...I hate this game. 27?"
Him: "Let's go with that."
Me: "Oh god. C'mon, just tell me."
Him: "22."
Me: (choking) "Hmmmm? How is that even possible?? Are you some kind of Doogie Howser??!!!"
Him: "Yeah, I graduated [everything] early. How old are you? I'm gonna say 28."
Me: "Excellent guess!"

Note, I said 'excellent guess' because it was an excellent guess. Not a correct one mind you, but still excellent all the same. I tried to continue the evening and have fun, all the while continuously musing "I am a DECADE older than this kid!!!"

Lesson: When meeting men out and about, always ALWAYS pre-screen.

Dating story #2, a lesson in avoiding CELEBRITY musicians

My amazing friend, Nat, whom I met on the subway
[true story], is an awesome Broadway performer.

And, she's friends with Uncle Jesse. Señor Juan, as she likes to call him, often plays drums with the Beach Boys. And, I was lucky enough to accompany Nattie to a show of theirs out in Coney Island this summer. VIP all the way. Backstage with the band, including original members M. Love {see image}.

Where does the dating story come in? Don't worry, it's not with one of the octogenarian Beach Boys. But M. Love has a son in the band, C-Love.

We determine C-Love to be HOT. And quite the talented musician. After the show, he removes his hat and we re-asses a bit. Definitely Hotter With Hat {HWH}.

I digress.

C-Love had some busted girl there with him we presumed to be his gf. We were wrong. And he flirted with us in the van all the way back to their hotel where we were going to post-party, as his non-gf sat in ugly silence.

We never did party with them that night, but we did become Facebook friends with C-Love (Nat's genius idea). He then wrote me an FB message the next week asking when I was going to come to another show. Flattered, I asked when I should come

to one. He gave me 2 dates and I could only make one of them-- which turned out to be a non-show night for them. So, he asked if I could "show him around the city" and left his phone #. I was somewhat tickled, but remained cool. (As far as he was concerned).

Showing him around somehow ended up with me meeting him and the band uptown at Rosa Mexicano, or as I like to call it, the "Disneyland of Mexican Food." [El Barfo.]

They were at a huge table and I was late, due to work. C-Love did not even save me a seat next to him, and none of the bandmates offered to switch. Biz-arre!

So I ate next to some random roadies and eventually moved next to C-Love when one got up. He proceeded to "flirt" with me by poking me in the ribs repeatedly. You know, normal stuff. It was becoming clear that homeboy had ZERO game. But I wasn't totally convinced. I mean, he is: 42, in 3 bands, and has a casanova father who, even in his 70's managed to sexually harass Nat and even quasi 'finger-bang' her curly hair.

The night ended with us having solo drinks on the sexy roofdeck bar of the Empire Hotel. [No moves]. Then, I showed him back to his hotel since he is not NYC-savvy. We had a 15 min walk alone in the streets of NYC. [No moves]. In front of his hotel, he then gave me an awkward impromptu shoulder massage. This made me sleepy and and confused, so I announced I was getting into a cab. He did manage to give me a decent kiss good-night. [Sidebar: waiting for the goodnight kiss is SO passe. Pull a Goodwill Hunting and do it impromptu at some earlier juncture, please.]

So, C-Love continues on tour and also continues to keep up with me sporadically over txt and Facebook (which he seems to be ALWAYS on). One day, he comments on a beach photo I posted with the caption "Welcome to my happy place."

Nat comments that this pic is "dirty." I ask "dirty" like dirt or like "naughty."

C-Love then pipes up with "naughty." So, deciding to be flirty, I inform him that is nowhere near a naughty picture. He challenges me, and I accept. I send him a self-

portrait I once took of myself. Yes, it's a tad naughty, but still classy and, I'd like to think, artistic. {see image on right}

He tells me he can beat that, at which point he sends me a txt--at 9am California time, please note-- of his pecker in his hand. {don't worry, I'll refrain from posting that one.}

I open it while I'm in a business meeting.

Way to keep it classy, C-Love.

Lesson: From a poker to a pecker, even if someone is a cute {HWH} quasi-Beach Boy with a celebrity dad, he can still turn out to be a total douche with absolutely NO game.
[Also see: don't date musicians.]

Dating Story #1, a lesson in avoiding musicians and the service industry in general

Mid-summer, 5 of my best girlfriends and I were having a lovely Sunday night dinner at 'inoteca. We happened to have a seriously hot waiter, and since I was at the end of the table closest to him, funneling him all my friend's concerns and dietary issues, we had some flirty banter going. High on my feeling of newfound freedom and equipped with my new "I dont give a f#@k" attitude, I decide, in a super ballsy move, to leave my digits on the credit card receipt for him. I tried to be casually discreet and hide this from my friends. EPIC FAIL.

Below, see the picture my friend KK took of it.

In case you can't read it, there's an arrow from my signature and the note says "Girl in the turquoise dress. You're cute! Call if you wanna have a glass of vino!"

I tried to be cool and breezy about it, but my tipsy friend Em insisted on walking it up to him, so he didn't miss it. (Cue me running down the street in horror).

Lo and behold, he texted me that night. Well, morning. Like 3am. I should have seen this one coming. So we proceeded to text back and forth a bit, neither of us having any time to meet up that week. I did, however, discover he was also a bass player in a band. My initial reaction: "Ooh!" Secondary reaction: "Oh sh*t."

See, dating musicians is rarely ever a good idea. Yet I continue to do it. This is what some believe to be the definition of insanity.

I digress.

We've named this one "Teca."

I finally meet up with Teca for a drink one Friday night...at 3:30a. Yep. But, he's SO cute. And fun. And 28. I'm honest about my sassy age,  he doesn't seem to mind. And we end up back at my apartment. Fun ensues.

Summer got a LOT more fun. And I liked this hot little fling that I had going on. Although it kinda turned out to be a tad more than a fling, but clear to me nonetheless a relationship with no future, or as a friend once said "It has an expiration date."

But we had lots of summer fun. And drank a lot.
And stayed up waaay late, since he basically keeps vampire hours.
He even came to stay with me in Kismet, FI (aka heaven) for a few days of gluttonous, beachy fun.

I had been really hoping to see his band play, and finally scored the invite. They were playing an outdoor motorcycle fest in Williamsburg on a Sunday. He told me about it a few times, and even took the time (yes, for him this was a big deal) to email me the day before with the details. I was IN and very excited. Even had a posse of ladyfriends heading out with me. And, they did it in the pouring rain to boot!

So we get there, I see him. He looks stressed, undoubtedly due to the rain situation and it being an outdoor stage. So I chill with the girls, and even bring the band beers as they set up. (Cool girl points for me!) They finally play their set and I'm pretty impressed. And, he looks smokin' hot on stage.

Afterwards, my friends leave and I ask if I should stay for a bit. He says "Sure! Hang out." And then, as Teca and I are watching some bizarre chainsaw performance "art" later in the day, he turns to me with a horrified/stressed look as he tells me he's also seeing another girl...who happens to be standing about 60 yards from us. She's got greasy bangs, bad skin, gross makeup, neon green knee socks with Doc Martins, and is covered in tattoos. Oh, did I mention the armpit hair I noted on hear earlier in the day? Not the kind you try to grow, per se, but the kind you miss shaving...4 or 5 times. Uh-huh.

I still can't decide if I'm more floored by his idiotic DOUBLE-BOOKING or HER.

I knew we weren't exclusive by any means, but HELLO KITTY!!! wtf.

Needless to say, this was the untimely (but probably rightful) end of Teca, the dumbass hottie. Who I've now deleted from my cell phone. 3 times. Hopefully this one will stick.

Lesson: Try not to get too attached to 28 year old stoner/waiter/bass player flings, even if they are insanely hot and/or the best spooner you've ever known.

Welcome to my dating chronicles.

I am a dating newby.

I haven't really done this...ever.

Now, I find myself single in the big city. No rules. Newfound freedom. And many [MANY] interesting things seem to be happening.

I've said many times that I'm having my 20's in my 30's. So naturally, most of the people I seem to meet and hang out with are 20 somethings.

Don't get me wrong, I love them. And they are good for many things. But there's also a lot of things they just haven't quite figured out yet...