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• I Have a Boyfriend: Cue Freak Out

Posted in Relationships & Dating, Single and Fabulous, tagged , , , , on April 23, 2013 | 19 Comments »

I have a boyfriend.

I have a boyfriend.

I have a boyfriend.

I have a boyfriend.

I have a boyfriend.

Nope, no matter how I say it, it feels weird. I don’t know how to have a boyfriend. I have been single for so long it became part of my identity. With that suddenly gone, there’s a bit of a re-evaluation of who I am. I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. These are things I never considered in my search for love.

Is my boyfriend going to hold my hand and hail cabs for me from now on?

Is my boyfriend going to hold my hand and hail cabs for me from now on?

From where I sit today, I am someone’s girlfriend. I better figure out who that girlfriend is.

She is someone who had an imagine of her future love imprinted in her head for years. “I’m waiting for the man of my dreams.” This was a truth she never spoke aloud, afraid to utter words so grossly cliché.  Like so many women, she disregarded scores of men with, “they aren’t my type”. The ones she gave a chance, sometimes for several months, were all “her type”. So why weren’t they worth her time?  After four years of dating in New York with no serious relationships, she was becoming increasingly aware of a glaring fact: “I pick the wrong men.”

Then one summer, a man came along. He certainly wasn’t her “type”, yet there was something about him. His eyes sparkled and his smile was sincere. One night in late August they danced like no one was watching until humidity got the better of them. Then they spent hours staring at the stars. There was something about the way he looked at her. She felt beautiful in his eyes, in a way she never had before.

She had rules. #1: No dating boys born in the 90s. He missed this cut-off by two months. #2: No newbies. He had just moved to NYC, just graduated college. This was obvious from first glance.  His long brown hair reached far down his back. He wore tye-die shirts that made her nostrils flare with judgement. All the shorts he owned were too big on him, sometimes he even wore a kilt. A tattoo inked on each tricep and two small hoops pierced into each earlobe. This wasn’t the person she saw herself with.

He was persistent, she couldn’t help herself. She enjoyed every minute they spent together, their conversations burrowing farther and farther below the surface. His constant kindness started slowly eroding her preconceptions. He had so much that so many before had lacked. He was passionate, had a better handle on his career than many 30 year olds, and carried a fierce sense of loyalty. She had always thought herself “chill” and “go-with-the-flow” by nature, but next to him she seemed next to neurotic.

She had never considered herself a shallow person, but now the thought plagued her constantly. Here was a man who genuinely cared about her, who cared if he looked like a hippy cliché? She was all about clichés, wasn’t she? She shuddered one night when he showed up for a date wearing a “drug rug hoodie”. “It’s comfortable!” he claimed. “It’s hideous,” she replied, praying they wouldn’t run into anyone she knew. Many New York women have ended budding relationships over smaller offenses. It could have the deal breaker. Would have been the deal breaker had it not been for a truth that was becoming clearer every day. She liked him. She might hate his clothes but she certainly didn’t hate the person wearing them.

Hippie_barney

You could get away with it in college, but here in NYC no one who wears a “drug rug” gets laid. No one. Not even Barney Stinson.

It took four months for her to finally call him her boyfriend. He had made it known that he wanted her to be his girlfriend in half that time. She couldn’t do it, not ready to let go of her single self, her life alone. A life she had struggled to be content with and become quite fond of. She was honest. She made up imaginary boyfriends instead of committing to a real one. He was patient and understanding, content to wait as she fretted over misgivings.

◊

I am someone’s girlfriend. I have a boyfriend who is worth my time. It’s already the longest relationship I’ve ever had- we’ve been dating since December. Maybe since September, if you count our first this-might-be-a-date as a date. He’s never had a relationship last less than a year. I keep thinking it’s going to end, because they always have before, and even catch myself in moments of self-sabotage. At least I know I’m doing it? I know I’m scared. But I also know I deserve something good, something real, something wonderful. Maybe this is it. Finally. Which is terrifying and terrifically exciting all at once. Two feelings I’m not used to feeling. I’m out of my comfort zone- I’m someone’s girlfriend. It’s a learning process. Here’s to seeing just what kind of girlfriend I’ll be.

Have you ever been single for so long it felt strange when you became attached? Or the other way around, which is no doubt more difficult and painful, coupled so long you had to learn what it was like to be single? I’d love to hear your experience. It may help me as I embark on mine! I need reassurance I’m not the only one who’s had difficulty with the transition. I always thought it would be easy- how silly that seems now!

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• Thousands, Including Love Interest, Show Interest in Blog

Posted in Relationships & Dating, tagged , , , , on January 29, 2013 | 13 Comments »

The day I got a (imaginary) boyfriend my whole (online) world exploded. As an actor, creating characters is my bread and butter. I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised that my darling, completely fabricated “Joe” caused such a stir.

My last post, “I’ll Make Up a Biker Boyfriend If It Makes Life Easier” was Freshly Pressed. Every day Wordpress (my blog host!) selects 10 blog posts to feature on their home page. Says WordPress: “Freshly Pressed posts can be about anything, but they all have a few things in common: they enlighten us, inspire us, entertain us, and get us talking.” This is the “big break” of the blogosphere.

The day after I was featured, newyorkcliche.com received more views than it usually receives in an entire month. I’m still basking in a radiant  glow of overwhelming and exciting. Thousands of people (can you believe it? Thousands!) read my words- it’s my blogging dream’s come true. Y’all left incredibly insightful comments which I vow to respond to (in the next day or so)! It is truly incredible to receive so much positive feedback. Thank you ever so much.

ThanksMe&Met

And then there was one, one in a thousand, for whom my words brought waves of dread, confusion, hopelessness and fear.

When I wrote about my imaginary biker boyfriend, I had no idea any of this would happen. I wrote it with no regard to whom would read it. I thought it was funny and would make an enjoyable read. Period. Never in my wildest dreams did I consider WordPress editors would read it. I did consider however, that the real, live, anything-but-imaginary dude I’m dating might read it. But that didn’t stop me from mentioning him outright- the fella seemingly interested in labeling himself my boyfriend. Yeah, he could read it, I thought to myself, but he probably won’t. And if he does, I didn’t say anything bad about him. I dismissed the idea without a second thought.

“Of course I read it,” he said not long after, “I mean…you used the word ‘boyfriend’ in the title, how could I not?”

“Attention grabbing title: check.” I replied, trying to ignore where this conversation was about to go.

“I dunno who this guy is suppose to be, but I’ma gonna fight him,” he said, adding a smiley emoticon at the end of the sentence.

My internal monologue churned: Does he know I was talking about him? Maybe he doesn’t! This is so awkward! Why didn’t I actually consider what it would be like if he read this? Me and my big blog! I wish I hadn’t written it- no that’s not true! I’m so glad I wrote it! I’ve always wanted to be Freshly Pressed! AH I’M CONFLICTED.

Betraying none of this, to him I said, “You’re going to fight my imaginary boyfriend?”

fightclub

image: gifbin.com

“No, not him, I don’t think I would win that one,” he responded. I smiled. I had made “Joe”, the epitome of biker badass, a formidable foe. “I mean the dude at the end, who ever it is, I think I stand a chance.”

I couldn’t help but imagine the Fight Club scenario, “Haha, that’s a fight I’d like to see,” I mused and quickly tried to change the subject.

He didn’t want to change the subject and pressed on,”I can safely say that you’re not making it up. The last part in that post.”

The last part of that post? This had been an attempt at denial- “Maybe he’s not [interested in being my boyfriend]! He hasn’t exactly said as much…I’m probably making it up!” I did not want to deal with the reality of the situation. I wasn’t ready. I was a coward. But now it was inevitable. I pulled a blanket up to my chin, a little girl seeking comfort, wanting to hide from decisions, feelings, and uncertainty. ”That’s not safe! It’s scary!” I replied, my throat tightening. “We’re not having this conversation, are we? Warning: I might start crying. I feel strangely on the edge of tears right now.”

uterusCute

image: memejelly.com

A strange cocktail of fear, anxiety and hormones brought the tears to my eyes. “Here’s a guy who likes you!” Said my brain to my heart, “He is a good guy! We’re trying to pick a good guy for ONCE! Why can’t you just make this easy? And you do like him, I know you do!”
“But I don’t know!” wailed my heart, “Do I like him enough? I’m not sure! Shouldn’t I be sure? And, and, I’m scared of getting vomited on again!”
“JUST HAVE A BABY!” Cackled my pre-menstral besieged uterus, “You know I’m going to attack you with mind-numbing cramps and hormonal rampages for as long as you deny me!”
“And did you see that gorgeous specimen of manhood we passed on 5th Avenue today?” giggled the area slightly below my uterus, “You’re gonna give up the chance you might kiss someone new tomorrow?”

After this ridiculous conversation between parts of my body, the conversation with the boy wasn’t so bad. Still, I really didn’t want to have it. But I knew he did. The reason I was avoiding it was fear, never a good reason. “How many times have you called yourself brave?” I asked myself, “You suck it up and you have this conversation, young lady! Dread, confusion, and fear, all those things you’re feeling now? He had all those feelings whilst reading that post you wrote. Karma, baby!”

And I was honest. I’m not ready to be a girlfriend. Maybe I will someday soon. Maybe I won’t. I did cry and he handled it perfectly supportive and understanding. No judgment, no coddling, no getting “weirded out”. We talked for over two hours. At the end nothing had changed on paper or Facebook status. We’re still just casually dating. Yet, things have changed. A level of trust like never before. Support. Ease in honesty. Hope- this could be something…special.

I just have to wait and see, and thus so must you, dear readers.

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• The Man I Met at Goodwill

Posted in Relationships & Dating, tagged , , , , , , on August 16, 2012 | 6 Comments »

I go to thrift stores in search of designer dresses priced by people who think Betsey Johnson makes packaged desserts. I go to find garments that are almost too hip for me to pull of- like a blue suede tunic with fringe around the plunging neck line. I do not go thrifting to meet men. But if anyone in New York City is going to get picked up in a Goodwill, of course it’s going to be me.

I earn my living by being friendly and approachable. Sometimes I forget to turn this off. Therefore I am often asked for directions, drawn into random conversations, and asked for my opinions in dressing rooms. The last one is the weirdest. Does the overweight woman really think I’m going to tell her the truth (that she should go up a size) when she asks me what I think of the dress she’s tried on? Maybe she asks me because she knows I will lie: “Perfect for a wedding.” Does the middle-aged woman really think I have a valid opinion on the beige sweater she is trying on? “Looks cozy,” I say aloud, leaving my true thought, “and shapeless” to myself.

One Sunday morning I’m browsing the racks of the Goodwill on the Upper West Side when I hear a man’s voice, “What do you think of this jacket?”
I turn to see a guy around my age wearing a bright blue jacket with the name STEVE embroidered on the breast pocket. “Is your name ‘Steve’?” I ask.
“No. It’s Peter,” he replies.
“Well, it would be cool if your name was actually STEVE.” Were he a woman my reply would have most likely been, “Looks great!” but since he’s a man…in Goodwill…asking a pretty girl for fashion advice…I feel invited to be something of a sassy-pants. Besides, my true thought is it’s a dorky looking jacket.
steve-name-patch-with-merrow-border-red-white

While I’m not a fan of dorky jackets, the same is not so true of dorky men. Especially when they’re kind of cute, which Peter is. Besides, there’s something bizarre but intriguing about a man who makes a move at Goodwill. Shortly after, “So I told you my name, you should tell me yours”, a conversation about grad school, and a confession that he’s about to move to the neighborhood, Peter leaves Goodwill. He’s purchased the dorky jacket and procured my phone number. He’s been told if he wears the jacket on a date, I’ll immediately walk out. He thinks I’m kidding.

Alas, the moral of this story is “Don’t meet men at Goodwill.” Shocking, I know. Peter asks me out to a movie. My least favorite first date option. On the plus side, he doesn’t wear the jacket. We meet at the theater, with barely enough time for a conversation before we are sitting in silence in front of the big screen. This is not how you get to know someone. In the middle of the movie, Peter puts his hand on my leg. This is not how you get to know someone, and it’s certainly not how you attract someone. I remove his hand and think, At least he paid for the movie.

Perhaps I should have left right after the movie, but then I wouldn’t have a great ending to the story. I give him some benefit of the doubt, he didn’t persist being handsy, and we go get coffee. Over a chai latte it becomes more and more clear we have little in common. He’s dull. My wit may attract him (doubtful, probably just my legs) but it leaves him in the dust. I’m now looking for my exit.

throwing trash basketballHe finishes his drink and aims his cup at the garbage can by the door. “Do you think I can make the shot?” he asks.
“Do you play basketball?” I counter.
“No.”
“Hm, no. I don’t think you’ll make it.”
“Well let’s make this interesting,” he says, “If I make it, you give me a kiss.”
“Ok,” I say, hedging my bets, “And if you don’t make it, I leave.”
“High stakes.”
“Go big or go home.”

He didn’t make the shot. True to my word, I walked out of the café. Perfect exit. I never saw him again.

I’ll still look for love in Goodwill, but only in the shoe selection.

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• Bad Date and Everyone (But Him) Knows It

Posted in Relationships & Dating, tagged , , , , , on January 28, 2010 | 2 Comments »

One would think when you’re on a bad date, you’re aware of it.  Right? While I can see misinterpreting an Okay Date as a Good Date- I’ll admit that has happened to me on both ends- it’s a much harder stretch from Bad Date to Okay Date. I’m lucky to claim I’ve been on a small number of Bad Dates. None of them horror stories. I’m well aware when I’m on them and I make it pretty obvious (though never in a mean or rude way, I’d like to think) that there will be no future there. Like the time I fell asleep on a first date (yes, during a movie, but still- FELL ASLEEP). It could be argued that was rude, but it was completely out of my control and a very good indication of how I felt about the whole situation (zzzz).

You know you’re on a Bad Date when you’re not having fun- conversation is strained, you are just not connecting with the person you’re with. At best. At worst you’re repulsed, offended, nauseous, questioning your sexual orientation etc. You know. Another way to know you’re on a bad date? You’re sitting at the bar and the woman seated near you is getting up to leave. As she puts on her coat she taps your shoulder and says Is this yours? indicating the floor area between your chair and hers. You turn towards her, looking at the floor, thinking your scarf or other cold-weather-accessory has fallen from your chair. Before you fully realize nothing has fallen, she hisses in your ear Honey, it’s not going anywhere. Leave now. This guy is just going to bore you all night. You stare at her with bewilderment and amazement, she gives you a knowing look, her eyes speaking the wisdom of the decade of experience she has on you.

She leaves and you continue the charade she started, still hunting for a phantom scarf thinking “Aaaw fuck, did the guy hear that? Agh this is Awkward with a capital A.” Though you’re 90% sure he heard the whole thing, (he says “What was that about? Was I boring her?”)  you pretend it didn’t happen. You’re probably not convincing, but damn it if you didn’t try. Instead of using this perfect exit “Yeah, actually she’s right, I’m gonna go”, turns out you’re an actress who hates conflict more than she loves dramatic exits (something you didn’t realize until this very second). You end up staying 1/2 hr more so no one goes home with their self esteem in shreds.  You’ve always been bad at ending things. You’ve always been too nice? Due to lack of wisdom and experience? Maybe, but you’re okay with it. Better Too Nice than Too Jaded. At 23 anyway.

Apparently some New Yorkers see it as their Civic Duty to inform you when you’re on a Bad Date.

My response in retrospect? 80% a guenine New York: “Who the fuck asked you?” 20%: “Thank You Phantom Scarf Lady”.

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• Break It Up (Into Beats)

Posted in Relationships & Dating, tagged , , , , on November 19, 2009 | 1 Comment »

[This is Part Three of the Trader Joe's Guy Series: click for Part One and Part Two and Part Four]

When I first met you, I had doubts. You’re homeless, you’re an actor. I was afraid the age difference would be a problem. But I couldn’t dismiss you just on that, I had to actually get to know you. And I’m so glad I did because you’re truly one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve met. Ever. But.. we’re at really different places in our lives. Which is a grossly cliché thing to say, but it’s true. I’m not feeling what I need to feel to be in a relationship with someone.

I have lines again? Yep. A monologue in fact, from my one night only performance of a little theatrical piece called “The First Time I Ever Initiated a Breakup Myself.”

Deliberate, premeditated, perhaps painstakingly planned: I imagine most breakups of this “it’s just not working” sort sound scripted, peppered with vague to blatant clichés. (We’re not a good fit. We want different things. It’s not you, I think you’re great.)

“Uh…last time I checked, you went on half a date with him,” I see you thinking, “Why all the drama? Actresses.“

If only it were that simple (she says, dramatically). Let me catch you up.

Two roads converged on a New  York night and I? I took the one less traveled by.  Yep, I gave my 20 Year Old, Actor, Trader Joe’s Crush a chance. I realized I couldn’t write him off without actually getting to know him- beyond the labels- first. And so that first date we did go bowling. Turned our backs on The Gutter’s nostalgic charm and vintage prices in favor of a typical animated screens, dozens of lanes, non-carding, bowling alley. And had a lot of fun. And I solidly kicked his ass all three games. Which he didn’t seem to hold against me because at the end of the date he made plans to see me again. And I was pleased. He’s my crush after all.

This continued for the next several weeks. A movie here, a meal there, a few long romantic strolls. I met some of his friends. (Surprisingly a huge confidence boost. I never met any of Cute Theatre Boy or Central Park Guy’s friends- truth be told they didn’t have many. Trader Joe’s Crush’s friends showered me with complements. I was called pretty, stunning, witty, adorable, and told I had awesome dimples. All by men who were obviously not trying to get in my pants. Ha, I was “approved”, fun date.) My roommates gave their blessing (“He seems cute, goofy, and super sweet. I like him.”)

We’d only been on a handful of dates when I got terribly sick. Your cliché New York guy (hell, any cliché guy) would respond to such sickness along these lines: “I’m so sorry you’re feeling like shit, but um.. we haven’t dated enough for me to want to see you like that, so…give me a call when you feel better?” Not Trader Joe’s Crush. He took care of me, brought over soup and movies, told me stories- filling my silence when I couldn’t talk, kissed my possibly infectious lips, and cuddled with me when I couldn’t sleep. It was without a doubt the nicest thing a guy has ever done for me. Top 5 nicest things anyone (who’s not my parent) has ever done for me.

Seems like I have a pattern, doesn’t it? Some traumatic health issue befalls me in the early stages of a romance and accelerates the relationship to a place where it really isn’t ready to go yet (I’m talking about my Cute Theatre Boy episode, of course). Was I thinking this? No. This is pure hindsight. I was thinking how nice it was to have a distraction from the intense pain in my throat. Was I thinking about what it must mean that he was being so nice to me? No. I was thinking how safe it feels to have someone share your bed when you are bedridden.

They say in relationships, timing is everything. They are right.

Before I got anywhere near better, he was gone. On vacation to visit family in the sorta-South for 2.5 weeks. Which confines all communication to the phone, very hard when your throat is so inflamed you can’t talk. Every phone call is basically the same on my end, a slow progression: mmhm ouch, still can’t talk;  it’s getting a little better; well my voice still sounds like shit; yeah, still hurts but not too bad?; Yay, I can talk! While he is all talk of Home this, My-Mom’s-New-Kitty’s-So-Cute that, Brothers! Sisters! Nephews! Childhood Friends!

I got to know him a little better in these 2.5 weeks apart. No visa versa. I got to know his entire family knew about me. Got to know that he really missed me and wanted me to know that. Began to suspect we were not on the same page. Didn’t know,  but strongly suspected. Until he came back. Then I knew. Knew he was much more into everything than I was. Realized I didn’t like that. Knew that when I had missed him it was for all the wrong reasons. Began to suspect the end was swift approaching and I would be the one to end it. Didn’t know, but suspected.

Then came Halloween.

(to be continued. It’s taking me forever to finish this entry! But it wont be 2 weeks again, promise!)

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• Meeting Men at the Grocery Store: I Know My Lines

Posted in Relationships & Dating, tagged , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2009 | 18 Comments »

[This is Part One of the Trader Joe's Guy Series: click for Part Two and Part Three and Part Four]

I have a tendency to wait for people to come to me. It’s not something I’m proud of but until this past year there was little incentive to change. In college people need friends; I never had to put in the inciting effort of friendship- they would come to me. This is not the case in the real world. Outside of school, people pretty much only come to you if they want to sell you something or fuck you (which is sort of “selling” themselves to you if you think about it).  In New York making friends is no easy task. “It’s super hard” might be even closer to the truth.

I was surprised when I realized dating is so much easier than making friends. It makes sense. Everyone already has friends, not everyone already has dates. And sometimes dates turn into friends- a convenient little short cut. I’ve succeeded this year at putting myself out there for dates- no small feat as I didn’t really date in college. The same is much less true with friendships. Both are still a work in progress, conscious deviance from my passive nature.

It was in this frame of mind that I decided to do something about a crush I’ve had for almost two weeks. He works at Trader Joe’s where I do the majority of my grocery shopping. I quickly fell for his adorable smile, 6+ frame, curly black hair (I’ve always been a sucker for white guys with black hair, with the exception of Harry Potter), and genuine friendly banter as he rang up my groceries. He handed me my shopping bags, addressed me by name from my debit card, and wished me a pleasant evening.

This is an instance where my personality seems contradictory: I can be very quick witted with snappy come backs and clever one-liners (and blog posts? and flattering myself?) but then kinda slow when it comes realizations. I was well out of the store before my brain went Hey! You should’ve asked that guy out, gotten his number, something! I paused in the street for a moment and actually considered going back. Then I decided I shop at TJ’s all the time and would see him again.

I was right. Next grocery run I am accompanied by my roommate. Which might have made me brave and ballsy but alas, no. I’m approximately 500 times more easily embarrassed when in front of people I know.  She doesn’t know it, but my roommate’s significantly decreased the chance I’ll ask this Trader Joe’s Crush out. But there’s still a chance. Walking down the isles of the store, one eye is looking for my crush. The other for tahini humus. I find the humus, last thing on our list, and we make our way to the end of the infamous line of the Manhattan Trader Joe’s.

If you’ve never been to Trader Joe’s in New York, it may be hard to imagine. Understand: this is only location on the whole island of Manhattan. In a city where exhorbant prices are given, TJ’s- where prices do not vary by location- is a godsend to starving artists, to any one trying to eat not-crap on a total-crap budget. Now this makes shopping there very strategic. Go at the wrong time and you’ll be stuck waiting in line (New Yorkers say “on line”, San Franciscans say “in line”- I’m very conflicted on which to use) for a good hour. I once tried to go on a Sunday afternoon and was informed by security I would have to wait on line (maybe I’ll use both, switch when ever I feel like it- “in line” paragraph, “on line” the next) just TO ENTER the store. Since then I try to go on Friday or Saturday evenings. I’m serious. There’s never a line then. Plus it’s funny to watch the weekend preparations/rituals of the NYU freshmen who swarm the area.

Knowing all I know (and have just shared with you), I’ve timed it well: the end of the line is not intimidating. Wait. I do a double take. Not intimidating except for the fact that o-m-g my crush is there at the end of it! Eep! Turns out being with my roommate, basically my best friend in the entire world, puts me in rather-severe-school-girl mode. Perhaps an inevitability when you’ve known someone since you were ten. Hey you were in here the other day, weren’t you? he smiles at me. I don’t remember too clearly but I’m fairly positive I turn pink, say something idiotic, and continue talking to my roommate in a massive attempt to deny any kind of butterfly action entering my stomach. Complete-five-star-school-girl-fail.

I vow that next trip will be different. No friend to make me giggle. Nothing but resolve and sheer nerve to ask for a boy’s phone number under the guise of grocery shopping. Victory will be mine!

Of course the next trip he’s no where to be found. Not in the store. Must have the night off. I curse Cupid, Aphrodite, the fates- all those assholes- taking solace only in the fact that I must eat and will therefore buy groceries again.

The next time I’m in Trader Joe’s it’s been more than two weeks since our initial encounter. There is no way this guy remembers me. I see him at his register and sort of watch him as I wait in line (hey, it’s not like there was anything else to do!) He’s extremely friendly to every customer, never denying anyone his killer smile (did I mention dimples?) As I wait and watch I become increasingly convinced I imagined any kind of “connection”. It’s obvious he flirts with everyone, hell it might even be Trader Joe’s protocol. He’s at 1 of 20 registers. That’s a five percent chance he’ll check me out. The odds are stacked against me. Damn.

I’m almost at the front of the line, about to just give the whole thing up as a stupid, hallucinated crush when our eyes meet. Gulp. A look of recognition passes across his face (score!) followed by a big smile and a mouthed “Hi! How are you?” I then watch him quicken the pace on his check-outs and he manages to time it so right when my turn in line comes, he’s free. Coincidence? Not a chance.

I was kinda hoping you’d check me out- I mean my groceries.

How’s that for a line? (I think it may be right on par with the aforementioned ridiculous check-out line. On some sort of homophonical/pun scale?) Can you believe I actually said that?  I’m next to positive that being a woman helps a lot when it comes to pick-up lines. Being cute (sometimes I doubt other things, but this is near solid fact: I am cute) probably helps even more. Or maybe my line just falls into a “so bad it’s good” category. All I know is this: it is a Total Hit. A Smashing Success. I should use it on all the guys. He writes down his number before I can even ask for it and asks for mine. At the risk of his job no less.

He calls a few days later to make a date. I suggest bowling. Yes, I am a dork (as this entry’s 1000+ words have more than proved) and I’ve wanted to go bowling for months. If he’s my-kind-of-guy it’ll make a good date. I’m school-girl excited and letting all feelings of butterflies fly.

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• Oh Boy(s), Oh Online Dating

Posted in Single and Fabulous, tagged , , , , on October 19, 2009 | 3 Comments »

I know what it’s been like. For weeks you were on the edge of your seat, dying to find out what was going on between me and Cute Theatre Boy. After my last words on the subject, really, how could you not have been? After months of no updates, you gave up, accepted you would never find what happened between me and this new-york-cliche-defying non-asshole.  Perhaps you thought, it certainly fits a cliche, that I was so head over heals that I became one of those girls who abandons everything (including her blog?) for her beau.

No, let me assure you that is not the case. Our relationship happened to be one of those that peaks in an emergency room. The entire debacle- head injury, ER, fainting, and recovery- occurred when we’d been involved for just a little over a month. It brought the two of us together insanely fast, and then stood still. We never got closer to each other after it, and not for lack of trying.  I had a lot of fun with him but in his words (and I agree) it was “good not great.” “We weren’t a good fit” as a couple. He broke up with me when I was least expecting it, I cried, then got over it. Now he’s easily the best friend I have made since moving here. We’ve gotten close as friends, we’re a much better “fit” as friends, everything’s just worked out for the best (ha, cliche!)! My only disappointment in the whole thing is, alas, it’s not much of story!

Following Cute Theatre Boy I decided no more actors. Sure, it’s nice when he understands the stress of Hell Week, obscure references, and why the direction in a play we saw together sucked. However on the whole, the actor-on-actor thing adds an element of judgement and competition which I am point blank not fond of. Ok then…uh…where does one meet non-actors? In Central Park? Fail. On the Subway? No. On the street? Never. In bars? Hahaha yeah right. So what’s a girl living in NYC to do?

In the interest of pursuing the cliche, and sheer curiosity, I set up a profile on a (free) online dating website.

I know, I can’t really believe I did it either. With my biting wit and professional headshots that make me look, as one auditioner awesomely put it, “stunning” (as they’d better- I paid my awesome photographer a pretty penny so that would be the reaction), I had no shortage of responses. A few of them seemed possibly worth meeting. And why not? I don’t have many friends here, kidnapping someone in a public place seems extremely difficult; maybe I’d get a free meal, and a good story. Well, I didn’t really get any stories worth mentioning. Nothing Blog-worthy. Instead I did meet interesting people, even made a friend or two (and yeah, got a couple free meals- hey when  money’s tight, free food is not to be undervalued).

I learned most of these guys are pretty normal. Some a little shy, some hate the phone, some might be on the boring side, but they aren’t the creepy perverts stereotype suggests. (I don’t know why this comes as a surprise- I’m pretty normal at worst, super cool at best, and not desperate or socially retarded by any stretch.) They mostly look like their pictures (except the bald one, and your heart must go out to baldies under 30) and almost everyone I met was quite sweet, a few even had a lot going for them.

Despite all this, I’ve found I have a stigma against online dating that I just can’t shake. Something that just doesn’t feel right, that “this is not how it’s done” or at least not how I want to do it. The perfect guy for me (ha, what a statement) could easily be floating in some cyberspace profile somewhere, waiting for me to click the right link. I won’t deny that’s completely possible. But I know, at the very least, I would never get over our answer to the question inevitably asked of all couples, “So where did you guys meet?” “Online” is the absolute most unappealing answer I can think of. I don’t like it.

So I’ve decided to cease the virtual and focus solely on reality (she says, typing in her online, virtual medium…). And for starters, I have a crush! He works at Trader Joe’s. I haven’t had a real crush since Cute Theatre Boy, so it is a smidge exciting. I’ve decided the next time I need groceries I’m going to ask him out, face to face. How’s that for reality? Asking a boy out is something I have extremely limited (read: I’ve done it once!) experience in so this will be no small feat. I’ve mastered the first date, it’s time to become proactive in making them happen for myself.

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