Upholstery and Speed Dating

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My aunt had a bench, it was spray painted sometime in the early 1990s a dusty gold color and upholstered with cream, green and blue floral. I believe it was a hand me down bench from one of her neighbors who passed away years ago. That’s what happens to things in Penn South, they get passed around from apartment to apartment as people move on, literally and figuratively. This bench isn’t special by any means but I’ve always loved it and felt my aunt under-used it. It was usually a resting place for stacks of crossword puzzle books and building-wide newsletters. Needless to say, I’m keeping the bench.

But I don’t want this old raggedy looking bench in my new apartment so I decided to use some of my free time constructively and take on a redecorating project. I would re-paint and reupholster the bench. How hard could it be? Well, actually the reupholstering parting wasn’t that hard, nothing a flathead screwdriver and a staple gun couldn’t handle. What was hard was selecting the fabric.

With the support of a dear friend and her little dog, I went to a Project Runway approved fabric store with 3 floors of cotton, and linen, and tweed, and organza and… more fabrics that one could imagine exist. There really wasn’t any time restriction, other than their business hours, but you feel the pressure as you walk the aisles piled to the ceiling of fabric in every hue. Obviously, I was looking for something in blue. But how do you choose?  The light one with shapes? The darker one with block print? The brocade? The soft and fuzzy one, the blue one? It took me awhile to decide, I even took swatches home and let the colors simmer in my mind.

I tell you this story, because it did not escape me that there was a metaphor somewhere here. As it so happened, I had just gone speed dating for the first time the night before. Suddenly, all those men where fabric swatches I had to choose from, if you choose the wrong one – lets say at $40/yard – you have to love it, you have to upholster your bench with it and live with it, at least for a little while…

Or maybe you can just reupholster it again.

Last Friday I woke and felt a mad need to find a mate. The holidays are coming! I’m not a desperate woman but I do live life with a sense of urgency about almost everything. It’s just the kind of person I am, right or wrong, I like to work towards having the things that I want, when I want them, like right now! I haven’t had much luck on the dating front recently as I, um, haven’t actually been dating…

I received a coupon for $5 off a Speed dating event, I thought, “oooh! A date and a deal!” who doesn’t like a discount? Somehow I wrangled the courage, put on a dress (blue) and showed up at a bar on the east side I would never in a million years walk into on my own. There were 15 chairs and I was directed to one. The way this works is every 5 minutes they ring a bell and the men rotate clockwise until everyone has met. Before the first bell, the biggest black guy from the Bronx comes and sits across from me. It’s a pheromone I must give off that always attracts guys from the Bronx the size of basketball players (I wonder if that would work for the NBA…). This guy began speaking to me, starting with “you look beautiful tonight” and continuing with “you are the only woman here who doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable considering this is speed dating…” I thought he seemed nice. We chatted for 15 minutes before they rang the first bell.

“Hello! My name is… , I live in Brooklyn, I like pizza, I work in the movie biz, how about you?”

“My name is…, I live in Queens, I like whatever you like, I do something blah blah and I want to know –“ BELL!

That was how it went for the next hour and change. Pretty much the furthest one could get into a conversation was “What do you do?” A few of the fast talkers made it to, “where are you from originally? Or how do you feel about this speed dati- BELL!!”

At the end of the evening, everyone is given a list of the people they have met. Each person is supposed to circle the names of the people they found interesting, then you hand in your paper, the company takes a tally.  The next day, they email you your results – that is if someone circled you on their list and you circled them on yours, you have a match! I figured, how can you really know if you want to know someone after only 5 minutes! I circled 5 people I would like to meet again. Surprisingly enough, 4 of them circled me (of course not the hot one though… I’m sure he went for the blond.)

Since the guy from the Bronx was sweet and funny, I figured I go out with him first – he actually was the first of my matches to ask me so points for that. He also broke the ice with a joke:

Why did everyone want to invite the mushroom to the party?

Because he was a Fun-guy!

He took me to Grimaldis (since I opened my 5-minute pitch with “I like pizza”). We were both on time-ish but he didn’t wait for me at the restaurant which I thought was strange. He texted me just before I arrived saying he would wait in the Duane Reade across the street. I sat down alone and ended up waiting on him. He was super nervous and very well dressed. I had put no effort into my appearance other than eye-liner and a tinted chap stick – that might have been a subconscious choice regarding how I actually felt (feel) about dating in my current state.

We ordered pizza and root beers as if we were 15 and going to A&W at the mall. (He didn’t know what A&W was…) Then we talked about our weekends, about movies (He’s never seen The Goonies!!) and his hopes to attend law school but in all of 10 minutes we have run out of things to talk and then he tells me he’s saving up for a new video game. Oy vey. I ask him, politely, how old he is…. He says “23” (!!!!!!) but he “likes older more mature women” (The speed dating was supposed to be a 25-35 age group but they don’t tell you ages upfront, that’s rude). Um, do I look old!? I get carded all the time! And he looked a lot older than 23… but ewwwww. Not that there is anything wrong with a 23 year old finding me attractive but I can’t date someone the same age as my little brother – I mean, I changed his diapers! (I am laughing about this now).

The rest of our dinner conversation involved me gently putting the guy down – stroking his young ego and telling him how sweet he is and how flattered I am. How he has all the time in the world to find someone and I’m not it. I let him walk me to the train in the rain and watch him pout off into the darkness.

Then I think, what the hell am I trying to rush for too? Sure, my biological clock is ticking (and loudly) but I have time just like that kid does. I know there is at least one man left, in his 30s!, waiting for me too.

Just because I ended up with the first swatch of fabric I fell in love with at the store, doesn’t mean it has anything at all to do with dating. Upholstery is not a metaphor for love, though love can change and be changed over time too…

The Giving, Away (and nothing to do with Dating...)

This is the time of year when we reflect and are thankful for the things we have been given in the year that is almost past. Often, we show our thankfulness by giving back to others, our communities, our friends and families, or to strangers. I imagine, we are rarely thankful for this opportunity to give and more thankful for what is given back to us.  What is it that makes giving so difficult? Are we afraid to give away something we think we need, or want, or was given to us and we don’t want to insult the giver by re-giving? Maybe we’re all just too material, maybe we want tokens to hold onto to show the kind of giving or receiving person we are? Maybe we just don’t want to give things away because it feels like goodbye.

For me, it’s not about saying goodbye that makes giving these things away hard. It’s that they aren’t my things to give to begin with, not to mention, the person to whom they belong isn’t even dead yet. It’s ironic to me that I have taken on the task to dispose of my Aunt’s property during this time of year. I didn’t necessarily choose this moment, as things in my life have a tendency to do, moments collided all at once and now I am living (squatting) amongst her things, sorting through and trying to give them away.

There are people who would do this for me, people you can pay to take all your loved ones things away, sell them, trash them… but I’m too stubborn to let someone help me. I’m too connected to who my Aunt once was and to what her apartment means to me.

My aunt was always an incredibly charitable person so it seems only right that I give her stuff to people who need it rather than try and sell it. Sure, I’ve tried to sell a few items to make up the cost of eventually moving all the stuff I can’t let go into my own new place, but I thought it would be easier to give the stuff away for free. People like free.

People will come and take things for free and even be grateful for it. First there was the hospital bed. A woman came with her husband to see it and take it away.  Her father had a stroke like my Aunt but his insurance wouldn’t cover a hospital bed for them to care for her father at home even though it would cover a portion of a nursing home, they couldn’t afford the remaining balance. And although the free hospital bed would not cure her father or relieve their grief as he deteriorates, it lifts a financial burden just before the holidays. The woman cried as she told me her story but I was just grateful they were taking something away that could be used again.

Then a man from the Bronx came and took the aide’s twin bed for his son who sleeps on a futon in their living room. He too was thankful. What luck I had to have things others need and to want to be rid of them!

And then came Goodwill. They took everything else I didn’t want to keep – the couch I slept on that first summer I spent in New York working on my first movie.  I would come home at 4am and my aunt would call from her room “Gilana, is that you? Did you have a good day at work? Get some sleep now.” She would wake at 6am and eat Cheerios in the kitchen with her coffee, she’d read the paper – I could hear every time she folded a page. Then the sun would fill the living room and sleep would be impossible.

They took the dresser from the balcony, the one filled with menus from neighborhood restaurants that closed in the 80s. They moved into the bedroom and took the hutch shelf that matched her desk, well they took the desk too, but it had these great sliding compartments that hid the costume jewelry she never wore and a few jars of buttons to sweaters I threw in trash bags for their donation bin. They forgot to take the dishes, which was probably my fault for not packing them up ahead of time and then getting distracted. They took the end tables, the broken brocade chair, the small buffet with built in wine rack that stored adult diapers… Then they left.

And I was alone, blowing up an air mattress for the floor and going through a box of photos. Photos you can’t just get rid of, can you? You can’t give those away. They are part of someone’s life but someone else’s life who can’t remember who they are and in the end there will be someone, like me, who has to go through them and throw them away. This huge box of photos of other peoples’ kids – not my cousins, not my siblings, but the babies of my aunt’s friends and neighbors, their kids and grandkids. Halfway through filling the second trash bag I find a photo of a baby I know. Me. On my Aunt’s lap in 1984, we both have the same matter of fact satisfied half-smile. My Aunt’s not dead yet but it hits me that she will never hold my baby on her lap. My kids won’t get to nap on her couch in the middle of the day – it’s gone. They won’t learn solitaire on her card table – it’s gone. They won’t eat cheerios with her, sitting on a stool scooted up to the kitchen table because there wasn’t any room for a chair. All that stuff, it’s been given away.  

I lay on the floor; the living room rug is filthy. I look over and think I cleaned her puke off of that spot over there just two years ago when she had her stroke. If I hadn’t cleaned it, I wonder if it would still be there. The spot is gone.

I get up and stand at her kitchen hutch, I take the key in and out of the doors – I’m keeping this I say out loud to no one. I turn around and open every door of the buffet. It’s empty, I already cleaned it out a week ago and gave its contents to Goodwill or the recycling bin downstairs. I’m keeping this too. I start searching for more things I must keep. I’ve already taken every book pre-1960 from her shelf and boxed them to keep. As if I will every read the entire collection of George Bernard Shaw or need an Atlas pre-1958.... I wipe the dust off the bookshelves, I want to keep these too. I want to keep all these things because these are the things that are left. After a person dies, it’s the things we get to keep. Let’s be honest, the memories don’t last. My Aunt only knows who I am 50% of the time though she won’t admit it; does she even remember this bookshelf?  When my grandmother died, I was heartbroken. But now the only things I remember is how much she smoked, watching “Murder, She Wrote” from her sunken in gray couch, and how tiny her hands were when they reached for mine.

My Aunt filled that grandmother void, she doted on me with bagels and lox every Sunday for years, always told me I worked too hard and was happy for me when I was happy even if she didn’t understand why. 

Last weekend when I saw her, I said I had good news! She immediately asked if I was pregnant – would it be a boy or a girl? I laughed. Far from it, I told I had a new job, she was lucid and excited for me. She said that was good, it would be good for me, and then her mind wandered away… maybe she’d get to leave if they would just fix the damn overflow problem. I had no idea what she was talking about. What overflow?

Oh, the overflow upstairs.  Like into Heaven?

Or all this stuff we need to give away, all these things holding us back, holding us down, keeping us from moving on. The overflow. So I’m giving all these things away, to stop the overflow because you can’t take anything with you when you go. They will never fill the void of someone who is gone, they will only take up space and collect dust and you won’t remember them anyway… And in the end, someone else will have to go through and give them away.

10 Wishes

A little over a year ago, I took a yoga class with a good friend of mine. It was one of those long meditative yoga classes where you hold positions until you’re in pain and listen to the instructor tell you to breath and find your inner peace. Come to think of it, it was probably one of the last yoga classes I ever took. I gave up the sport.

But in this particular class, the instructor asked each of us, deep in downward facing dog, to make a wish. It could be one or many, but to wish for something for the sake of wishing, to breathe it in deep and let it go. We were supposed to take control of the wishes, master them and make them a part of the space we were taking up.  In that moment making the wishes wasn’t about having them come true, but knowing they were out there for us to bring in and out like a breath and only we could make them true.

I made ten wishes. I held my breath, closed my eyes and wished my way out of downward dog.

Maybe that’s not what I was supposed to take away from that class, but I made ten wishes and wrote them down. I believe in them. I said to myself “I am wishing that I can make these wishes come true for myself.”

1.     POC. I had just completed my first production-coordinating gig. It was short but I carried the credit with pride. I would NOT go back to being an assistant anything. I was making the leap and I wished to stay there. I wished to knock POC out of the park and never look back. (A year later all I can wish for is to be a Supervisor. The world is not enough.)

2.     RB. Rhet Butler. Love is like Gone with the Wind. One minute it’s beautiful Tara and then next it’s a freaking Civil War. It’s confusing, impractical, and can’t decide what it wants. Neither can Rhet Butler and Scarlett, they hate each other, love each other, can’t stand to be together and yet they can be with no other. This was a wish for everything to be as lovely as Tara before the war but to have Rhet come back to me instead of Ashley.

3.    Irma. Somehow my Great Aunt Irma and I are connected. To the point I cannot sleep. About the time of this yoga class, it had been a year since her stroke and really the moment when my true Aunt Irma died, she has never been the same. Also around the time of this yoga class, she jumped out of her wheelchair and ended right back in the nursing home she was a year before. I wished for her peace. She still hasn’t found it but every week I visit her she tells me the day is near, as I clean out the apartment she’ll never come back to, I know she’s right. I wonder if I will be surprised when my wish finally does come true, though I will be no less sad for knowing.

4.     CC 1, 2, 3. If this yoga class hadn’t be free via my friend’s gym membership, I wouldn’t have been able to afford to go.  I wished for friend from my own credit card debt – all three of them.  Wishing that financial debt to go away is like wishing to win the lottery to pay it off, you can’t win unless you buy a ticket. I don’t gamble so I just starting paying my credit cards every week.  I’m actually 1 payment away on the 3^rd and final card from freedom.

5.     Savings. I wished for a savings bank account. Like the one my parents opened for me when I was 8 and wanted to put away my allowance that was always spent before I event earned it. I mean, I was going to be 30 and didn’t have a savings account with any money in it. Opening the account itself was an easy wish to come true, Chase bank was more than happy to charge me to open it. Putting money in it, another story. Though, now I’m 30 and I have both the account and a few piggy banks worth of change in it.

6.     Travel. I really want to go everywhere. I want to see everything. But the older we get, the more responsibilities we have and the harder it is to escape. I’m overly fortunate that I have family abroad and almost every year I get to visit Paris to see them. I love Paris. Paris is boring. I want travel adventures. I want to see others worlds lost within our own. I went to Iceland. Sure, I spent the savings to do it but I wished for that too and it came true.

7.     NSP. (NouveauStar Pictures). Back in 2007 I started a film company. I thought I was going to produce a feature in the first year. I’m so glad I didn’t or I’d have even more debt. I wasn’t as smart back then as I think I am now. But I still wish for this company to do great things, I know I am and it will but I’d like them to happen together, and soon.

8.     Family. I don’t know why I didn’t just wish for easy things, like a car or a chocolate candy bar with a golden ticket. Instead, I wished for things like bringing my family closer together. My family is crazy and I love them and they are my strength and the best thing in the world to me and I just wish for them to always be safe and together and I know at the end of the world when it’s us against them, we are totally winning.

9.     Home. I wished for a home. Not a house but a home, more than what I carry with me from place to place. Sure, I was in a yoga class with my best friend and roommate, and after class we stopped for frozen yogurt (maybe I made that up) and went back to our Williamsburg apartment “home”. It was a safe place, ours, we could walk around in our underwear and eat ice cream at 4AM, but it wasn’t really each of our own homes, it was a place we piled our stuff, and emotions, anxieties, baggage… I think wished for my own home more specifically and that wish is coming true.  Of course once I’m alone in it for a week I’m sure I’ll start thinking of filling it with a stay-at-home husband who does dishes and a few screaming children who will knock over all my keepsakes.

10.  Book. At the time, I was working on a cookbook. I wish I’d finished it. I wish I would already. With all the other wishes I wished into being, I think this wish can wait. Who knows, maybe I’ll write ten books!

30 is the same me, only better.

I'm back! Never say never because sometimes a new beginning is all we need. 

A year ago, that awesome hip accountant guy I mentioned last time I wrote in this blog (in January of 2012), and I, broke up. He turned out to be everything I thought a grown up relationship should be and more, except he wasn't ready for what it could be, wasn't sure what he wanted, and I - in typical me mode - said it was OK.  

Looking back, personally and professionally, I make that mistake a lot. I want so badly for everyone to be happy, I want to make them happy and often bank my happiness on caring for others happiness. So when he told me he cared for me but wasn't sure what the future would hold, I held and consoled him and I lied to him for the first time when I said it was OK that he was breaking my heart.

Ironically, three weeks before this happened, I had been in Paris, at my favorite cafe that has now since closed, day dreaming about spending Sunday mornings with him and our future hypothetical son, listening to records, eating pancakes and watching them play basketball in the park in the afternoon... For much of this past year I have wondered how I could have been so wrong? 

The truth is, I wasn't entirely wrong, or even wrong at all. That could have been an alternate life we could have had and so much about being with this person was remarkably wonderful, exciting and empowering. But it wasn't necessarily the life I/ we were meant to lead. 

Apparently.


And although it wasn't OK at the time, or pretty much any time during this past year when I longed for him and he would come into my life just to leave again... Although none of that is OK. It will be, I will be, I am.

Which brings me to today, as ready as I'm ever going to be, to meet someone new. Someone who will love me for all the reasons I loved him and more, someone who will want to spend every Sunday with me and our hypothetical future selves... 

Oh, and did I mention I'm 30 now? And awesomer than I was at 27? And single again.... so.... dating world beware! I'm back! 

DATE #25, 26, 27 and... 28...

I never should have called him a hipster. He's not a hipster, not even close. And he's not really an accountant. He has his own business, he does his own thing. He's not like any other guy I've dated, probably ever. I mean, he doesn't look like them or act like them or speak like them and he's forever not what I imagined I'd go for, but what the hell do I know? Except that I'm totally sweet on him right now...

There are no types, no standards, or rules or guidelines or need for explanations. What's to explain? If I told you how he wooed me, you'd be bored (or maybe not... but I actually don't want to share this story). I mean, you already know I kissed him on the 2nd date - there was something there and I couldn't help it, but it took 5 more for him to kiss me back... and now I think about it and I don't care. What I care about is one day at a time, that he makes me laugh today, that he looks at me in his own way, that I don't have to been anyone else but me. Whether that's the sarcastic bitchy me, or the sweet and tender me (yep, surprisingly she exists).

Maybe we're trying to build something or maybe we're just two boats passing through the same stretch of sea, doesn't matter. Here there are no expectations, no desires for white weddings and ducks in suburbia. It's all about the now, and being with someone who is nice. Imagine that, a nice guy who doesn't spend more time in the mirror than me, who doesn't want to split the check, who could care less about hanging out in the swankest of bars with the lousiest of company... but a nice guy who wants to just be with me. Go figure.

On February 9th 2012 it will be exactly 2 years since I started this mission. Six months ago I'd have said, or actually did say, that I failed. But what is failure if not a chance for a new beginning? A fresh start to succeed?

Six months ago, I met this nice guy, three months ago we went out for drinks on a snowy Halloween and he's texting me right now to have sweet dreams... I feel like I can finally put this blog to bed. I may not have set out to catch a fish for keeps but at least now I'm not afraid to navigate the seas (though I'm not fishing anymore, haha). No matter what happens, I can say I gave dating a chance, I opened the doors to opportunity and in that my mission was a success. I'm maybe a better person for it, maybe nicer, maybe less judgmental (but probably not), but definitely more open-minded and still a ridiculous romantic at heart.

I greatly appreciate those of you who have followed along, have read this blog from time to time, who have urged me to date more or sent men my way... it's bizarre looking back to think of all this personal information I have spilled out on the web for the world (or all 12 of you). I'm not sure I'll ever do this again, but I'm glad I did. So, thank you for being there for me (and all the hims...)

Signing off,

no longer single G*Star

Errors And Omissions...

I think I've been going about this all the wrong way. I think I've spent the last two years trying to date men I didn't want to date because, well, I thought at my age I should be dating them. If you've read my blog at any point in the past 23 months, you probably noticed long ago how wrong I was and just didn't want to say anything - I appreciate you reading anyway. When your heart isn't 100% in something, of course its going to come out half ass and as I've mentioned before, I'm not a 99% percent person, that's just not good enough, and yet, I've spent all this time not giving my all to my own self-enforced mission.

Here I was, in this two year period working over a dozen jobs: 5 TV shows, 7 movies, 10 music videos, 2 short films, trips to Paris, Vegas, Rome, Venice, Kentucky, Baltimore, New York.... trying to date guys who just wouldn't make the cut on any normal G*Star day. Not that these were bad guys, but per my dad, what guy would ever be good enough for me? What's enough?

I thought I wanted to date the suave business-suit-wearing man who works for some big corporation, who can afford to take me to fancy restaurants, who had the "in" at swanky bars, who liked to travel, had all his ducks in a row and might one day want to raise a bunch of brats with me in some suburban house somewhere. Isn't that what I should want? Stability, Security, Confidence... Good looks and nice clothes? Someone to settle with one day?

But damn. If there is anything I have learned in these two years, it's that I'm not the settling type (or the type to settle soon). I couldn't be more thrilled for all my marrying friends but the more weddings I go to, the happier I am that I'm not ready for it. I don't want to settle down yet, I don't want to date the guy that wants to settle, I'm not ready for stability or security or squares.... I want to date someone who wants to have fun, keep things light, have adventures with no white-picket fence dreams.

I think I was trying to date a type. To find my type, or the man I thought fit the profile. But after stupidly falling for a friend (Date #21) who wasn't my "type" at all, I realized there is no type. We can't help who we like or when we like them or how they sweep us off our feet. I say "we" and "our" but I really am referring to me. It was pretty obvious to everyone (myself included) that none of the men I was dating struck my fancy. They didn't have whatever it was I thought I was looking for and then, I just stopped looking. If you remember, it was about six months ago - right around my birthday (almost to the day). I stopped looking, I canceled my online subscriptions, I stopped eyeing boys at bars, I vowed to be single at every future wedding and to own it in every way. And I did. I still do.

But it's true what they say, when you stop looking is when you are most able to be found...

DATE# 24: And then again.. if not now, when?

Our first date was just drinks so there was no way to know what our second date would be. I didn't even expect to go out again for a month but he had texted me

I was having one of those weekends (like every weekend) where I tried to cram too much in too short a time. We tried to schedule some time to meet up but I had to keep pushing it back and I figured we'd just cancel and reschedule. But he said he'd meet me anywhere and have a lousy Sunday I looked forward to a late afternoon drink.

We met up at Grey Dogs in Union Square, he was late because he decided to stop at a nearby store and by some ski caps. He made a point right off the bat to ask my opinion and I scoffed that dont wear clothes with brand names tattooed across them. This started a grand debate about brand names in society, merchandizing and why people buy into commercialism... why I will never own a Louie and why he isn't afraid to shell out for a Gucci belt if he really wants one. After over an hour of friendly debating we waltzed over to Best Buy to look at TVs, I need one, he needs one and what better second date activity than discussing personal expenditures...

Of course we couldn't get a damn sales rep to answer any of our questions so after wandering around trying to compare TVs ourselves and discovering an alarmingly similar taste in movies while visiting the DVD/Blu-ray aisles, we decided to head back to Brooklyn.

He'd actually drove in Manhattan, he's one of the few that owns a car in the city, and so we spent another 45 minutes stuck in NYC traffic trying to drive the 2 miles to my neighborhood. He was supposed to meet some friends at 8 but he parked near me at a quarter to and decided we should do dinner instead. He's a vegetarian and you'd think that would be easy to find in Williamsburg but apparently the Roebling Tea Room doesn't feel they need to cater to the hoods' veggies. We'd already sat down when we discovered the menu had limited/no options but he refused to leave. We did have a great table.

We ordered salad and mac' and cheese. Halfway through dinner I had to step out and receive some packages for work (even on a Sunday I rarely seem to have time off to date). The mac'and cheese was mediocre but we shared some good work horror stories, some personal revelations and the meal took a dark turn when he said he wasn't a traveler. I thought about getting up and leaving right then - how could I date someone who wasn't dying to run away to some exotic locale with me at a moment's notice!? Just kidding - well not about the him not loving travel part - but I think that's a trait to be worked on...

It was almost 11 on a school night when we left the restaurant and he walked me home around the block. I actually really enjoyed myself and kind of didn't want the date to end, so, we walked slow. When he dropped my at my door, we kind of stood there a moment. He mentioned something about seeing a the new Cronenberg next week and I said I couldn't wait! But he didn't start to leave...I thought for sure, before I put my keys in the door, he would lean in and kiss me. He didn't. Instead, with my arms full of office paperwork, I stepped towards him and gave him an awkward hug.

He started to walk away and I hung by my front door which is situated in such a way that I couldn't watch him walk down the street. I suddenly didn't want to end our night this way.

"Wait a second!" I shouted out and turned out my door and headed towards him down the street - he'd just about reached the cross walk when he turned back to me.

"Wha-?" he started to ask. I walked right up to him and grabbed him by the shirt, stood up on my tip-toes, and well, planted one right on his lips. Dammit, I wanted a good night kiss and I just stole one right there out in the wide open streets of Williamsburg.

And then I turned around, without looking up at him or back at him, and I walked to my apartment. I heard him say, "Ok. Goodnight!" just as I was putting the key in my door. I opened it, walked into the hall, and sighed a sigh of relief.

I think I like this boy.

"Nevermind, I'll Find Someone Like You", Or Hopefully I Won't....

Adele is the master of emotive singing, she's got the most perfect voice to listen to when you want to bring yourself down or lift yourself up... but, she's so damn indecisive. She doesn't know if she wants to be loved, be just a lover, quit her man or take him back. She can't walk away, but she can't stay and she doesn't even know if she's happy or sad. As much as I'm obsessed with her music and it's graceful ability to make me feel things... I'm so thankful I don't have her love life!

I've recently had a lot of time to listen to her song "Someone Like You" on repeat in my pimpin' minivan while commuting back and forth to work upstate. And the more I listen to it, the more I love it and yet the more I think I actually DON'T want "Someone Like You", obviously referring to any and all of my exes.

As she mentions in the song, I too have heard that my exes have settled down, that they're happy now, married, all their dreams come true... Sure, I wondered once upon a time what it would be like to run into them again years later - would I really be happy for them? Would I wonder if they ever regretted things didn't work out between us - would they still think of me? Would they wonder if I was happy now? Do I even really care if they are happy now? Am I still bitter it didn't work out... was I ever? Nowadays, I can't remember.

All I can think is how THANKFUL I am it didn't work out between us and then I add to that... "I hope I NEVER find someone like you", what would be the point? Obviously if it didn't work out then I need someone who is NOT like you (him). I need someone who is different. I need someone who doesn't remind me of how an Ex ran his hand through his/my hair, or how he cut a steak or laughed at my bad jokes. I need someone with whom I can write new stories and not be reminded of old ones. Sure, Adele is right that it's 'bittersweet' to say goodbye to the past but it is so necessary, so freeing. What I need is to stop comparing every new guy I meet to one of the skeletons still strung up in my closet.

This should not be a new revelation. It's not really. But it feels good to say it out loud. "Nevermind. I won't find someone like you. I won't waste time wishing you the best. Please forget me I wish I'd said, but I hope you still think of me when my memory of you is dead."

DATE #23: Hipster Accountant

After a quiet summer, well one full of work and no dating, I sort of forgot about my mission. I forgot about forcing myself to date and I've just been enjoying being 28 with no strings attached. And during this time, I barely noticed that someone had taken an interest in me and on the last day of work asked me for my number. Which was kind of stupid because my number was listed on the crew list all summer but he wanted it straight from me, and although that seems stupid, it was totally the right thing to say.

That was back in August and I didn't hear from him for a month which is more than enough time to forget someone or just vaguely remember them so their eventual phone call is a surprise. Then there was almost two months of trying to get together but my priorities changed, well, they didn't actually change - the dating thing was never a priority as we previously established - but other elements of my life were taking precedence so how could I possibly make time for this guy?

And what guy keeps trying to court a girl for two months who says she's interested yet can't make time for a coffee on a Sunday afternoon? I think we scheduled outings and canceled 5 times before Halloween and I suddenly wondered where the summer went? How was it Halloween? Why the heck was this guy still trying to see me? I could hardly remember his face.

We finally did go out, that Halloween night, after along day of work I trekked to a far part of Brooklyn and we met for drinks. He picked it, it was a great choice - quiet but not empty, good wine list and NO costumed ghouls. We sat at the bar and I looked at him thinking, really?

He's kind of a "Yo" boy, in stereotype. He wears his pants Justin Beiber low, his shirts are all striped and slightly too big, his hat is slightly to the side. Well, maybe he wasn't wearing a hat this night but if he had been... He says "Yo" alot, and "boy" and "you know" and ends his -ing's with -in'. But he's smart in an unexpected way. He runs his own business on the side of our business and, well, so do I - yet another thing in common that doesn't seem right. He thinks I'm funny, and charming and after two+ hours of talking on a school night, he walked me to the train and immediately asked when he could see me again.

The weirdest thing about this night was how normal it was, I guess it helped we already knew each other a little bit so there was no need for the "so, what do you do?" "where are you from?" questions. There was no pressure, no expectations, just good clean conversation and lots of laughs. Why wouldn't I see this guy again?

28 is Great, ?

It feels so good to have made it to 28, I can almost see my emo-18-year old self cheering "Wahoo! We're making it!" from the sidelines of some depressing ball game (not that I ever went to any in high school...). It feels like I'm over the hump, out of the seemingly endlessly painful transition period from childhood to adulthood and I couldn't be happier about it. It's not what I pictured of course, I don't live in LA, have loads of money, a husband, a baby, a car, a house, a steady job... so really I don't have anything I imagined I would except maybe, finally, an understanding and an appreciation for not having all the things I thought I would.

Sure, I'm at a constant crossroads... Where am I going to live next? What job will I take? How will I survive as "the single friend" as my friends all get married off? But it all feels like I'm in a good place. Looking back on this year, I realize I've only been on 8 dates and I wonder "what went wrong?" but I should be asking myself, "what went right?"

The fact that another year has passed and I once again have been unable to fulfill my mission of 27 dates (or 28) does not discourage me like I though it might. The truth is, a much as I want to date someone, I really made little effort this past year to make room for someone in my life. It's not like I cleared time in my schedule (even when unemployed) to allow for dating. And if a date offer was inconvenient or uninteresting, I never rushed to reschedule and generally didn't even try. I might have been/said I was mentally prepared to date but physically never put myself out there - it's not like I'm getting dolled up on Friday and Saturday nights hanging out at Bungalow 8 or the Gansevoort Hotel. I'm usually home trying to write witty stuff, producing music videos or catching up on whatever TV shows will still allow you to stream online.

I've been heard saying "I'm trying to date, I'm trying!" but, I probably wasn't, not really anyway. And I'm the kind of person who, if I put my mind to do something - if I really want to do something, I do it 200% and more than likely I can't be stopped. So I guess I should apologize to all of you for not putting my all into dating - maybe it's just not my time, I'm just not ready or maybe I'm just sick of being the one putting myself out there at 50%. Maybe, just maybe, Prince Charming can make an effort to find me, cause right now, I'm busy trying to conquer the world and I just don't want to have to hunt him down in the middle of it.

This doesn't mean I'm going to turn down a date with a half-decent guy if he asks me tomorrow, who knows, my door is open and maybe if I stop pretending like I'm trying so hard, it will happen all on it's own.

(dated August 2011)

unDATE#22: Lumbering Jack

I met this guy a few years ago and everything rational inside of me said "run the other way," maybe that's why I was so drawn to him because it felt so wrong to know and want to be with him. But some magnetic force destined us to be friends. It wasn't just any kind of friendship that developed, it was a tumultuous, stormy friendship with no known direction and no destination but unexpected and exciting and the kind of friendship you don't want to let go you just want to hang on and see where it takes you.

Of course, a girl like me isn't good at holding on and hoping. At a certain point, I need know where my road is going to take me or I need to lead the way. Sometimes even good friendships dissipate if someone won't hold on to it, if one party doesn't make the effort to reach the other, it can all fall apart. And often, it's because we just get older and we get tired of being the only one on the road. I got tired of not knowing what this friendship was or wasn't ever going to be and so I went on hiatus. It took more force than it should have but some friendships run deeper than others and trying to pull the roots out hurt more. This sounds silly, but it's true of any friendship - I've done the same with girlfriends when sometimes you need to sever the bond just to see where it might grow back, if it's even supposed to.

But what do you do when it's a guy, a friend, and you suddenly want it to be more?

You wait, you let them come to you. And maybe, 5 months later, they do.

He harassed me for a week to hang out, like old times, like friends who haven't seen each other in a long while. The tension I felt left in the air couldn't be cut by a thousand knives if they tried.

We were supposed to do lunch, but he was late and I was sick. So we met for a movie. And the moment I saw him, it all came rushing back. That feeling that if he asked me to run away to the Amazon with him tomorrow, to learn a dead language, live in the trees and watch him take pictures of unknown birds, if he asked - I would go. And a feeling like that makes me feel foolish and not like the strong-willed woman that I am, but it also... feels really good. Like he and I, we could do anything.

He bought two tickets to "Tree of Life" and made some stupid jokes with the ticket seller that made me blush. He offered popcorn, which I bought and he thoughtfully asked for a second empty bag so we wouldn't have to share my sick germs, which was kind of sweet. We sat in the theatre, he let me pick the seats, and caught up on 5 months in the 20 minutes before the movie started. We even talked through all the previews. Halfway through the film I was cold, he gave me a shirt and I wondered, while some mundane voice-over was being said in the film, what about him has changed that I can't place?

I used to tell myself, if I'd met this guy three years from now, instead of two years ago, we'd have a different story.

At the end of the movie, which lasted a lifetime, we both walked out with a feeling of "What the F-?" I guess that's Terrence Malick for you... but looking back the film is a perfect surrealist metaphor for relationships with the unknown, just like our friendship. The whole feeling of "this is nice, this feels good, this is beautiful, this is terrible, why are we like this, but I can't stop being" sums up the three hours (so save yourself).

After the movie we went for a quick dinner. I had a soup and he graciously offered to share his pad thai, he even made a plate for me in a sweet, compassionate way. I never would have described him as compassionate - selfish yes, egotistical yes, slyly charming absolutely. But this time I believed his kindness was genuine not sarcastic like mine, and all I could think to say was "damn this bizarre friendship we have..." and he shrugged like he already knew everything I was thinking and feeling as any true friend would, no doubt. He paid before I had time to reach for my wallet.

We walked to the corner for trains in different directions. He offered a cup of coffee so he could charge his phone somewhere but I needed to get out of there before splitting in two. We said our goodbyes 3 feet apart in the center of a busy Manhattan street corner as people walked between us and around.

"So, this was nice"

"We'll get together again soon"

"Yeah, we won't wait so long next time"

Actually, I don't remember what we really said or who said what, I remember a hug and half pat on the back and having to reach over his backpack with my arm trying to pull him towards me. We both walked backwards in opposite directions crossing separate streets. And I hated him again as soon as I turned away. It's a self-preservation thing.

As I walked back to the L, I thought, if this had been a real date, it would have been great. It would have ended in a kiss, I would have gone for that coffee and I wouldn't have walked away so confused. I told myself all the same excuses as to why I couldn't make a move. The only one with any value is that if I lose this friend, no matter how stormy the friendship is, I'd be devastated. There are some friends for whom it's worth fighting, even yourself, to keep, and I can count them with 3 fingers.

DATE# 21: Beer Bellies and Muffin Tops

***This post is from mid-March 2011. It was never posted previously (after reading you might understand why).

It was a long winter, one of the longest since I can remember maybe because the snow was piled mountains high, I was unemployed for a bunch of it, winter when you're too poor to buy booze is sad, or because March continues to be rainy and gloomy. I don't know, it was long. I spent a lot of it baking, then eating what I baked and not going to the gym since I wasn't working and couldn't afford it... needless to say, I earned some winter weight and deserved to suffer the inability to slip into my skinny jeans, or hardly any jeans for that matter.

Winter also doesn't help motivate one to date, I mean who can stand the thought of sharing chocolate brownies on a date when in a month Spring might come and then a tank top season you can't bare to show your arms? I'm afraid to look across at a guy while I'm wearing my winter layer and imagining how terrified he'd be to see me removed my coat next month when the sun comes out, maybe he's thinking about it already and thus must avert his eyes.... But I've started a crazy job on a ridiculous pilot and know once we start filming next week I may not be able to go on a date again until Summer - that is if I manage to see an treadmill between now and then and shed the winter mashed potatoes...

This particular guy and I were set to see the Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney, I've been waiting all winter to see it. Hopper is one of my favorite painters because he's so cinematic... of course I think it's best if I can share the experience with someone and argue about what Hopper was trying to convey in is triangles of yellow street lamp light. I always think museums are a good way to test the waters with someone you don't know because there is no lacking in subject matter - its a good judge a character too, if the Renoir portrait frowns you know it's going to go south or if the date wants to skip the Egyptian exhibit at the Met, or the Planetarium at the Natural History - all important notes to take. But I have made the mistake of waiting around for someone to share an exhibition experience with me and then be disappointed because I realize later I've gone and missed it in all my waiting.

Case in point. I waited. We were supposed to go on a Sunday afternoon pretty much the last weekend of the Hopper exhibit but an hour before our meeting time he texts me and says he's running late - working (on a Sunday?) - and can we just grab coffee. It's almost 2 and we were set to meet at 3, I'd never make it to the exhibition and back in time to meet him at some coffee shop in the East Village by 4. Exhibit blown.

I settle for meeting him for coffee, actually I have a tea, and he orders a muffin. He looks like an ex-high school football player who drank to much in college and now works for a big banking firm but still doesn't know how to tuck in his shirt so the buttons lay straight. I think he lied about the working, he looked hung over. But he wasn't horrible looking and he had shown a common interest in Hopper, of course we didn't get a chance to discuss him. It was apparent in a matter of minutes that we didn't actually have anything else in common to discuss. So we sat and stared into space asking the scripted questions of first dates.

As he explained to me about his worked, my mind wandered to his midsection - it was a long winter for him too I think. And I got a little grossed out at the thought of his huge beer belly rubbing up against my muffin top if we ever got close enough to kiss(no matter how I tried to suck it in, that winter bulge couldn't help spill over the top of my jeans. I think it's important to admit when you have a problem... ). Two beautiful, skinny women walked into the coffee shop while I was talking about the TV pilot I'm working on with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, he didn't care and I watched his eyes follow them across the room. It crossed my mind how the social expectation of body image has polluted me and I suddenly didn't care if this guy thought I was cute or not, it's still winter in my book and at least I'm warm. Then I thought, you know, those girls could use a muffin!

Forty-five minutes went by and it was time for a polite goodbye, no hard feelings about the fact neither one of us was interested in dating, or even looking at, the other. As I stood and shook his hand, lying about going to meet my sister for dinner, I noticed he had only eaten the top of his muffin. He'd left the bottom half still wrapped in its parchment. Normally I hate when people do that, in the office it drives me crazy, but here I couldn't help but see the irony. Some people do like muffin tops and I'm sure there is someone out there who will like mine just fine.

As I walked down the street towards the train, I put my headphones on and music started in the middle of a song, it said "Baby, you're a Firework!"

Happy Valentines Day.

When I was a kid, I loved Valentines Day. My parents would spoil my siblings and I with little gifts - heart chocolates for breakfast, wind-up heart toys that would race across the kitchen table, hugging teddy bears... Then we'd head off to school and exchange hand made valentines with the kids in our class, alright sometimes they weren't totally hand made, but we'd have to hand write all the names of our classmates and that took time! At school, everyone would always get a valentine, no one left out, no one lonely and often you'd get one from a "secret admirer", in 4th grade mine was from a boy named Jeffrey... but the "holiday" was always so much fun as a kid.

As we get older however, we change and Valentines day expectations change. By the 9th grade it's about who's sending you a secret rose from the student council fundraiser? That is, if you're lucky enough to get one. Maybe you do and you go on a date to see the new Star Wars movie and have your parents drive you to the theater. You hold hands and share a popcorn.

In college, if you're in a couple, it's a fancy dinner and chocolates and lots of grown up smooching. But college is also when being single starts to have... meaning? Significance? Weight? Yeah, the freshman 15 don't necessarily help the single ladies change their status... But if you're lucky, you've still got a few single girlfriends to weep at a Rom Com with, share a bottle of wine to drown your sorrows and load up on cupcakes and chocolates.

As one gets older - as I get older - friends start to couple off in a more permanent way, parents stop sending heart-shaped gifts and Valentines day becomes the Hallmark holiday from hell that I've dreaded as a single lady. There aren't classes to go to where I can be surrounded by people, at work friends have roses from loved ones or talk of their romantic evening plans and Facebook too is full of sharing love for one another. It's gross.

But now, it's been a year since I started this whole mission to, in a sense, truly find a man through relentless dating. To find one with whom I can share this vapid holiday. One who will surprise me with roses, pour me a glass of wine, cook me dinner, rub my hair and tell me everything will be fine... In the twenty dates I've been on though, I realize the thing I like best, the thing I cherish most when on a date with some guy, is me and not any of them. Selfish as that may be, it makes celebrating this Valentines day alone rather refreshing and not so depressing. Sure, I'm still going to watch a sappy flick and stuff my face full of chocolate, but I'll like myself more for it because I've spent a year seeing all the things I don't want and redefining maybe what I do.

So I'll continue, because moving forward and facing challenges is what I do best. We'll see if I can make 8 more dates happen and re-title this blog 28 Dates, before 28. That leaves me a good chunk of 5 months forward and who knows what can happen.... At least hope doesn't die with Valentines day, if nothing else the amount of chocolate I'll be eating alone will raise the serotonin in my brain today and make me feel happy. So to all you out there still hoping - Happy Valentines Day!

DATE#20: The Parisian Financier.

A Financier is a small sweet spongy French pastry that usually has a light and a dark layer. This Parisian Financier was just as spongy and dry as a banker should be.

I fell in love in Paris once, it was the real romantic French movie kind of love; the kind you read about in books. And when I left it, I knew it would never happen again and over time I feel ok about that. However, that doesn’t mean that my French family will ever stop trying to hook me up with a French man (though that love was an Italian…) just so they can finally call me one of their own (that and the plus of an EU passport).

I go to Paris once a year to visit my grandparents and the first question out of every relative’s mouth is: “When are you going to get married?” My answer is always “Why rush?” Which they find ironic since the American sentimentality is rush, rush, rush… And of course now that the last of my generation of cousins is getting married, it leaves me as the next youngest left in line for the Huppa.

So the last week of 2010, my Aunt arranged a little dinner to introduce me to some nice young French people and more specifically the son of one of her friends. No matter that he is younger (sure not by much though you’d be surprised at the difference 2 years makes sometimes), he works in Finance and is not ugly (fine by French standards) and drives a motorcycle – oh! and wants to live in America – what’s not to like? I figure it can’t hurt to see a Frenchman, just for the fun of it, for one night in Paris. Plus, Paris is uber expensive right now that the dollar is so low in comparison with the euro, I’ve got no problem letting him pay! Thus, when he called just after the New Year, I said, “Mais! Bien Sure!”

He said he was going to show me the “Petit coins inconnue de Paris” (the little unknown corners of Paris), but then he set a rendezvous at the Arch d’Triomphe at the top of the Champs Elysees– the most tourist spot in Paris besides the Eiffel Tower. It was a little after 6pm on Sunday, January 2^nd 2011.

We met on the corner, he carried two motorcycle helmets and was severely under-dressed for the freezing temperatures. I thought right off the bat we were going to take a ride but he hadn't really made a plan. We walked along the Champs Elysees while he contemplated our evening, I did my best to make polite small talk, he mostly wanted to know about how awesome it is to live in New York. After about 45 minutes of wandering in the cold he decided we should take ourselves inside but where, oh where could we go?
He didn't really know but the next best thing to a decision would be a motorcycle tour of Paris.

I'll be honest, wearing a helmet is not hot - you head gets smushed into this giant plastic can, thank goodness the visor goes up so you can breath. It was a fun ride though, speeding through the city, streets lite up for the holidays, whole buildings covered in lights. We stopped briefly in front of the Opera house and I just wondered how it was every built to be so beautiful. We looped around and continued north, jumping the curb to park right outside of the Moulin Rouge.

Of all the places in Paris we could have gone, of all the places I haven't been, we ended up in Pigalle, next to the Moulin Rouge in the district of cabaret dancers and sex shops. We had drinks in an Irish pub, an Irish pub that couldn't have been more American and full of tourists too. I threw my date a curveball when I ordered a Guinness and he ordered a girlie blond beer with peach falvored syrup. In a room beyond the bar, we discovered a night club hosting salsa lessons and dancing and apparently this motorcycle-driving French banker was also a salsa dancer.

We finished up our beers and he picked up the check, I started to collect my stuff to move to the club for a dance lesson when he turned to me and said:

"Do you have 4 euros?"

I looked at him and thought, "Really?" but I said sure in a very nice American accented French. But Seriously? He couldn't pay for a 4 euro beer? I know I shouldn't have expectations, but a certain amount of politeness should be standard - he invited me, he's a French banker, he has euros in his pocket which are worth a heck more than a dollar these days...and it's 4 euros? At the worst his mom, whom I'm sure pushed him to go out with the adorable Jewish American French girl, could have given him the extra 4 euros if it was a problem? Golly.

After we each paid our shares of the beer, I dipped into the ladies room and said I'd meet him in the club for dancing. On my way to meet him, I was stopped at the door and asked for the 10 euro cover charge. I said I was sure my friend paid already but when my French date came to meet me at the door he said he'd only paid for himself. I just smiled and nodded "ok" then pulled a 10 euro bill from my wallet reluctantly.

I'll say he was a good salsa dancer though much to serious, I couldn't stop laughing at how ridiculous we both looked. I used to like salsa dancing, I used to be good at it, back when I danced with the Italian.... But my date this night was insanely rigid in every dance move trying to be perfect and I was like a bouncy ball being pushed around, trying to be relaxed. We both realized how unaccustomed I am to following someone else's lead. It could have also been that he wasn't a very good leader, so worried about his own movements that he couldn't guide mine, he laughed at me once and blamed my ineptitude on my American mentality and a need to be in charge - he wasn't entirely wrong there.

I tired of dancing and I think he tired of my hysterical laughter. We went back to the bar and he ordered two glasses of wine - included in the 10 euros entrance fee we paid for dancing. Keep in mind we were in an Irish pub that had salsa dancing, the only wine they had to offer was a house red that tasted as if it'd been shipped from the US (no disrespect to American wines, but we were in France after all).

At 10:30 I had to call it a night to make it back for curfew - staying with grandparents has it's ups and downs - I figured my date could give me a ride so I wouldn't have to spend an hour on the train. But no, alas, after a short walk past some sex shops, we hopped back on his motorcycle and he dropped me at Opera, a good 45 minute metro ride back to my place. We said goodbye the French way, with a kiss on each cheek, but in such a way that it seemed colder than a handshake.

In the end, I gained the experience of riding a motorcycle through Paris, a reminder of how good I had it with the Italian and an unbelievable sense of pride in myself for who I am now, despite being American and all. Not all together a bad way to start 2011.

Date #19: The Setup Part 2

He asked me out through Facebook. It's not like he couldn't have asked our mutual friend for my number but he didn't. He found me on Facebook and proposed an evening out which I thought was kind of tacky but what the hell.

I headed to meet him at a bar in Williamsburg known for its overpriced Manhattan-esque cocktails. On my walk over I was thinking about another guy completely, but when I walked into the bar I figured the least I can do is give this guy the benefit of the doubt - at least this place he picked is nice.

I sit at the bar and flirt with the bartender until he shows up. He's not late but right on time. We take a look at the menu and I realize we're just in a bar, not a bar/restaurant, so at least it seems that there's no pressure for dinner.

I order my cocktail first but before I can finish getting the words out to the bartender, he's stopped me with:
"Hey, that's what I was going to order"
"So, you can order it too"
"Well, no I can't. On principal I can't order the same thing of someone else, ever."
"Hunh?"
"Well, I don't like to do the same as other people. And if we get the same thing, then we can't share."
"Who says I want to share my cocktail with you anyways? We just met."

He ends up ordering something different and requests the bartender to put 1/4 of the regular amount of alcohol in his drink. I think it's strange he'd order 1/4 the alcohol- I mean, I'm sitting here drinking the full amount, is he judging me for that? He admits he is, but then tastes his drink and finds its alcohol content suddenly too low then strangely asks the bar tender for only another 1/4 more alcohol.

I try not to think about it and our conversation takes a more interesting turn into architecture, bacon, concentration camps and books about human lampshades...

Somehow I past the test of drinks and he invites me to join him for dinner. We walk around a couple of blocks, a little out of our way so he can walk down a block he's never seen before, to check it off his bucket list. We decide on Thai and go into another too-swanky for Brooklyn, overpriced restaurant. We wait for a table at the bar and I insist on letting him order first so he can't base his order on mine. He doesn't ask the bartender to alter the ounce of alcohol like before, maybe he just needed to pace himself...

We sit at a table towards the back and start to review the 20-page menu. I mention my like of Pad Thai and he jumps saying that's what he was going to order, but of course he won't if I do. I tell him how stupid it is that he wouldn't order something he wants just because someone else wants the same thing... He confesses its because he wants to just try new foods and really wants to share. Share my food? To me it's a reflection of his inability to make decisions, or to stand his ground.

In the end, we decide to order some appetizers and one main dish to share, it turns out to be more than enough food. Our conversation takes a strange turn to discussing Ayn Rand, pheromones and the laws of attraction. We talked about some scientific theories a friend of mine shared with me about why and how men and women are attracted to one another. The subconscious desires we have for certain kinds of the opposite sex, the reasoning behind why women makes babies with one kind of man but then choose another raise those children with... It seems logical, make babies with Brad Pitt raise'em with Bill Gates or Brad Pitt too I guess. The whole Pro-creator versus Provider relationships...maybe not the best 1st date conversation but interesting and enjoyable none the less.

After 10 minutes on the subject of panna-cotta and me explaining why women liking chocolate has nothing to do with sex, we decided not to order desert. We continued to talk for the 15 minutes it took the waiter to return with the check. All the while, my date is looking stressed and annoyed that the waiter is taking so long with our check - as if I'm suddenly no longer interesting or he has some place else to be.

I do my duty as a good date and offer to split the check, he doesn't take me up on it but then thanks me a little too profusely for offering, as if he's never had a girl offer to pay her share. He explains to me that all girls just expect the guy to pay - as if we still live in some pre-feminism 1960s society. I told him point blank I didn't need him to pay and I wasn't look to marry him so he could relax. I thought he laughed.

Pretty quickly after he paid, we left the restaurant and he walked me to the train. He shook my hand and kissed my cheek and did the whole "nice to meet you, we'll do it again soon." But as I got into the train I had a feeling, somewhere along the evening, we both decided it wasn't going anywhere, subconsciously maybe.

At about 4:00am that night/morning, I awoke with food poisoning and figured that was a sign. Not sure if it's a sign that in Williamsburg on should stay away from too-fancy-for-Brooklyn places or that we just had bad chemistry. The next day the guy emailed me, said thank you again and pulled the "I'm really busy in the coming weeks but..." and "by the way, did you get food poisoning too?"

Date #19: The Setup, Part 1

A couple of weeks ago I attended a birthday party for a friend of mine. She had given me hints ahead of time about another friend of hers (an ex-friend who happens to be male) who would be also attending and, well, according to her I just had to meet him.

We met subtly at my friend's birthday dinner along with a bunch of other folks. On first glance, I'd say I judged him pretty thoroughly in his crisp leather jacket, overpriced jeans and patent leather shoes. I thought, this is a guy who tries too hard and is maybe a little too comfortable with himself and his metro-sexual-ness.

Somehow we ended up sitting next to each other at the end of the table and over hibachi and cocktails we filed through the typical first date questions. Fortunately, being as it wasn't a date, I could easily turn to my right and speak to someone else when I got bored.

It's not that our initial conversation at the dinner was boring, but even after a cocktail or so I kind of didn't care what he had to say - I was there to celebrate my friends birthday not flirt with her ex? Maybe that's what bugged me, knowing my friend dated this guy? He was charming enough but knowing her what was it that brought them together and what does this guy suddenly find so interesting about me?

We talked about his job, and how much more interesting mine is that his. We discussed favorite TV shows and movies and a mutual sexual attraction to Jon Hamm.

I'd say we enjoyed dinner, singing happy birthday and laughing at the precision with wish our hibachi chef threw shrimp into his hat.

On our walk outside as a group we all said goodbye, he hopped on his motorcycle and head back to his deep Brooklyn apartment. I had a feeling he'd ask me out, he was just too polite. But he didn't then and didn't ask for my phone number so the girls and I just walked to the train giggling as girls do...

DATE# 18: Well...it almost counts...

I really didn't think I would have time this week for a date. I've been busy, I'm producing a movie for goodness sakes. And, honestly, after receiving a bit of grief over the summer for dating for the sake of dating and not for the seeking of a mate, I've slowed down. It could also be that turning 27 ages one some...

But this week I found myself wanting to do something to get over the feeling that I can't date someone I might like to date because it's just not possible. Does my rambling express well enough my sentiment? I mean, it's not really fair that I meet someone I might like to even consider dating and I can't try to date him because of elements out of my control. Everyone knows I'm someone who needs to be in control.

I found this guy on one of the dating sites I still belong to and he proposed an afterwork trip to the farmers market. We exchange a few emails about it but my schedule is kind of packed. I'm only in the city for a week before I leave again for 2. I tell him I'll let him know if a day frees up.

Miraculously, it does. I email him (we never exchanged numbers) on the train back from visiting a friend in Tarrytown, and he responds even though he's still at work (he does computer marketing.) I tell him I'm headed to Union Sq, does he want to join for some market shopping? He suggests we meet at Barnes & Nobles (typical 'I got no game plan' plan) and I say great, I'll see you there.

I obviously get there before him, the cafe is packed but I squeeze into a shared table and work on my iPad, being very productive. Every now and then I look up but don't see anyone that looks like what I think his picture looks like. I try to remember his face but really just hope he remembers mine. I told him I just cut my hair, short short, but didn't think that makes a difference, does it?

I think it does. When he was 20 minutes late and not responding to my email of "hey, you still coming?"

I was working and didn't notice the time pass or how late he really was. Just a few moments after I sent him that "you're late asshole"-esque email, I saw someone who looked like him standing just beyond the cafe area. He looked up and right at me. I smiled thinking it was him, and started to stuff my crap back into my bag. But when I looked up again, he was gone. Was I mistaken? Was it in fact, not him? Or was it and had he changed his mind upon seeing my magnificence?

I'll be honest, I was more than a little perturbed at this chain of events. I had half the mind to run after him, grab him by the arm and ask him who the bloody F buckets did he think he was? I didn't, mostly cause I shop at the Union Sq B&N alot and wanted to be welcomed back... I just left feeling even more superior than the rest of the world, I mean, I'm awesome, I'm the bomb, I'm producing a f--king movie (sure, a short but still...) and still manage to look halfway good despite being stressed out my eyeballs and not sleeping. Who the f--- did he, or anyone, think they were to walk out on me!? Or stand me up? Livid is too calm a word to describe me in that moment.

He did, however 10 minutes later, respond to my email with: "So sorry. I left you a message, I'm held up at work. Raincheck!" So maybe it wasn't him I saw in the B&N, or maybe it was and this was his polite way of backing out, covering his ass... Of course, I never gave him my number directly but it's on my email signature... But I never got that voicemail, and I've played that game before too: "Sure, I totally left you a message, it must be the fault of AT&T, so sorry!" Uh-hem: BULLSHIT.

He Calls When He Says He Will....

If you read Date # 17, you know I met another perfectly good guy I have no idea what to do with. Sure, a decision to return this fish to the sea should be easy seeing as he lives 8 hours away but just a few short days after we parted and I was on my way to forgetting his name, he called. Yeah, he called when he said he would and it surprised me.

I know I shouldn't allow myself to be surprised but that was the whole point in throwing expectations out the window. When you don't expect anything, of course you'll be surprised! And life is much more exciting when it's full of surprises.

A phone call shouldn't be so exciting, or even a dozen of them over a few week period, but lets face it, this is how girls think. They sit around filing their nails, drinking cosmos and wonder with each other as to why a guy hasn't called, if she should call him or text him or what the F? And if/when a guy does call, we have no idea what to do or think and basically we are genetically scarred.

I was recently out with one such girlfriend who couldn't understand why her boyfriend hadn't called or texted her with plans. Why had he not responded to her calls or texts? How disrespectful, what a douche, who does he think he is? And why on earth isn't he thinking of me? I thought - should I be thinking all of these things too? It's too stressful! However, later that same night, Pittsburgh guy did call me out of the blue, unexpectedly, and I had all the answers to my friends questions.... Your boyfriend probably isn't thinking about you for a whole 5 minutes and that's why he hasn't called, because if he wants to call he will. How do we, as women, not know this?

Of course I'm stressed out about not caring if this guy calls or not. I mean, it's super nice, but I don't know if I remember what he looks like let alone how he kisses. We aren't Facebook friends (how could we be with all the shit I'm saying about him?), we don't email, we don't really text - maybe twice... We talk on the phone like we're in the 7th grade and our parents are downstairs listening in, it's all PG, he's never even asked what I was wearing. And then I totally forget that we haven't spoken for a week until he calls and I let it got to voice mail just so I can hear how he pronounces his full name all over again.

And for the record, I'm not going to Pittsburgh so whatever this isn't, it's going to stay that way until he comes to New York, if he ever comes. But I will admit, I do wonder what it would be like, to get to know someone who laughs at your bad jokes AND calls when he says he will, and sometimes even when he says he won't...