Rockefeller Ice Skating Date Fail (PART 2)

Lines and waits are as common on Saturday nights in NYC as taxis and alcohol intake. That’s where I felt you last post, on a fourth date, standing in line for ice skating in Bryant Park. Date Plan A, Rockefeller Rink, was foiled due to extreme crowds. This was Date Plan B. My date seemed miffed by the change in plans. Or by the cold. Or by the obnoxious people in back of us. Truth is, I had no idea what he was miffed about.

I’m a professional entertainer, I entertain hundreds of people every week. If there’s one thing that I’m an expert at, it’s putting a smile on someone’s face. I coax laughs out of hesitant people 20 times a night. Looking for someone to delight and put you at ease? I get paid to do just that. This Saturday I obviously had the night off from work, but oh I worked my ass off in that line, trying to make this date not suck. Do you know how hard it is for me when I expect a laugh and hardly get a smile? It’s like you telling my sense of humor to go fuck itself. It hurts. Especially from a guy I’ve spent 3 dates getting to know, a guy who’s supposed to be on my team.

You know what? I still didn’t get it. I still thought he was just in a weird mood, that I could snap him out of it. When we get to the front of the line a security guard informs us the rink will be closing in 30 mins. Wow, nothing is working in our favor tonight. A sign from the universe? Yep, the universe always knows what’s up.

Unlike me.

“Well, ice skating is a complete fail,” I’m optimistic, “But we can still do something fun! Drinks? We could go see a movie? What do you think?”

My date looks at me, “I think we should just call it a night.”

Excuse me? I only met you half an hour ago. It’s NYC, we could literally do one million other things but no, you’re bailing on me?

“I’m exhausted,” he says, “I actually don’t feel well. What I really want to do right now is go home.”

Well okay. I’m not going to argue with that. Is this why he’s been acting weird? He feels sick? Oh! Poor guy! Yeah, those were my thoughts.

You’d think after 6 years of dating in NYC I’d know better? But no, I never assume someone is a coward until it’s written on the wall (screen) in front of me.

He offers me a ride home. In fact, the sole reason he drove into the city was to give me a ride home. Aw, that’s sweet. We walk to the parking garage where his car is (hey, I’ve learned how to date guys who have cars!) and wait for the valet to bring the car around, I get in the passenger seat, click my seat belt, and then the thought clicks in my brain.

“You know, if you’re not feeling well, you don’t have to drive me home.”

“Really?” he says.

“Yeah, I can just take the subway.”

“Are you sure? You won’t be mad?”

“I mean, then you drove the car into the city for nothing, but yeah, it’s fine.”

“I’m an idiot,” he says.

Yes, yes you are! He lets me get out of the car. He gives me a hug and drives away.

Well, I’m never seeing that guy again. What the hell just happened?

I get out my phone, desperate to call a friend to drink with and bitch about this horrible date. I’m a little in shock. I’ve never had a fourth date that was this bad, I’ve never had anyone ditch me like this. It’s caught me completely off guard. Then my phone dies the moment after I access my address book. Really universe? REALLY?

So now I’m stuck with no other option than to take the subway home, alone on a Saturday night. Alone with my thoughts in the dim light of the D train.

This had nothing to do with me. I try telling myself that over and over but I can’t shake the other thoughts that creep in: Was it something I said? Is it the way I looked? Did I try too hard to be funny? Did I insult him without realizing it?

Shut up, Mary Lane, this had nothing to do with you! Stop with the negative bullshit thoughts!

….

BUT WHAT DID I DO WRONG?

I was never going to contact him again. He’d made it crystal fucking clear he never wanted to see me again. But never contacting him again would let him off so easy. I wanted him to know that what he had done was shitty. That he had made me feel really shitty. That it wasn’t okay.

Here’s our text exchange.

He invited me ICE SKATING to tell me he was seeing someone else? Seriously!?

What was his plan? When I reached to hold his hand was he going to say, “Oh no, sorry, I have a girlfriend, actually. Oh oops, sorry you just face planted on the ice.”? We’d only been on 3 dates, he’d never seen me naked, he didn’t even know my last name! He should’ve sent this text BEFORE completely wasting my Saturday night and making me feel like shit.

Oh well, I never had to see him again! I felt sorry for the chick who’d just attached herself to such a shmuck.

Rockefeller Ice Skating Date Fail (Part 1)

When he asked me to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center for our fourth date, I was thrilled. It’s a little known fact that should be more publicized: I adore an ice skating date. From strapping on skates to holding hands. From daring each other to skate faster to dodging little kids. From cold, sore feet to hot chocolate. Ice skating really has all the makings of a perfect date: fun, romantic, revealing (does he try to make you fall or save you from falling?).

Though it was our fourth date, I still wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about this guy. It certainly felt like we were still getting to know each other. He was a little reserved, a little quiet, a little serious. But he was also very cute, very intelligent, and I saw the possibility for very fun if I could just get him out of his shell. I was also impressed he’d picked up my hint. When he asked if I was into any sports I replied, “Bowling and speed skating,” cutely suggesting date ideas. “He must like me if he’s inviting me ice skating!” I thought, “Yay!” We made our date for Saturday night.

Saturday night, I emerged from the subway station to find the streets a mad scene. It was a Saturday night in December, why the hell was I surprised? Everyone and their entire family was in town to see the Rockefeller tree and the 5th Avenue holiday decorations. Oh yeah, and go ice skating! I’m no stranger to crowds, I’m often in Times Square when all the Broadway shows let out and I’ve recently been commuting to midtown, but this was the most densely packed place I’ve ever seen.

It should have taken me 5 minutes to get to my date but in the cattle-like crowd it took 15. When I finally found him, he had the same look on his face as me. How did we think this was a good idea?? So we got the hell out of there. Bryant Park was only 8 blocks away- they have and ice rink but no world-famous Christmas tree. We figured we’d try our luck there.

I lead the way down 5th Avenue to Bryant Park. I also led the way in conversation. Something felt a little weird. Had he been demoralized by our Rockefeller failure? Overwhelmed by the crowd? I felt I was struggling to make this fun and was flailing. That’s never a feeling you want to have with someone.

We made it to Bryant Park and of course there was a line. It wasn’t long but he was clearly not into waiting. “It won’t be bad,” I said, “Did you ever play games on road trips to pass the time? We can come up with some to play in line.” Yes folks, that’s the level we were at. His contributions to conversations were so lacking I felt the need to suggest playing “I-Spy”. Look at me! I’m peppy and adorable and fun! I can get you out of this weird mood or whatever it is!

Did I ask him if something was wrong? Yes, yes I did. Did he give me any kind of real answer? No, no he did not. We continued waiting in the line.

And you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get the rest of this story! Spoiler Alert: it’s in the running for worst date I’ve ever been on!

Click here for Part 2

January 26, 2015

Snow Love for NYC Snowpocalypse 2015

Blizzard! Snowmageddon! Snowpocalypse! Winter storm Juno!

Chances are you heard the east coast is getting slammed with significant snow fall. The worst of it is supposed to start tonight, but that didn’t stop people from freaking out today. I’m currently temping at a recording studio in midtown and pretty much no one came in today. When it started snowing in the mid afternoon, I ran out into the courtyard and took a series of snow selfies.

Hey, I grew up in San Francisco. Snow still gets me excited. This is my 10th east coast winter, so just think of yourself at age ten and the level of fun still derived from playing in the snow. That’s about where I am.

By mid-afternoon, I made a snow man. I could really use some snow man making tips. This guy was maybe a foot tall and it was a struggle to have him hold together. This company was sorely lacking in office supplies- I wanted to give him push-in eyes or paper clip arms. Alas, I could only find white push-pins, and white wasn’t going to fly. Fortunately I had a baby carrot left over from a snack so at least he got a good nose.

When the only other person at work finally left for the day, I put on my coat and ran outside into the failing light. No, I wasn’t going home. I threw my onto the untouched, pure white snow of the courtyard. I looked up to the tops of the surrounding skyscrapers and for a few seconds watched the snow fall from the white sky.

It was peaceful. Then I thrashed my legs and arms up and down, then jumped up giggling. A snow angel, I made a snow angel!

I could also use some snow angel making tips. Probably a couple more inches of snow would’ve helped too. Still, it was magical to be alone in the small courtyard, the only one who would ever touch that snow. That’s a winter first for me!

post snow angel selfie — Post snow angel selfie. The adrenaline was pumping because I almost slipped and fell after creating my master piece.

After my snow angel, I shook off the snow, retrieved my hat that had come off in the angel-making process (was replaced by a halo?), locked up the building, and stepped out onto the icy streets of the city.

No pure, unadulterated snow out here! Still, freshly fallen snow is beautiful, even in New York City. Then thousands of cabs run over it and it gets gray and gross.

My iPhone just let out a startling, long buzz. Emergency Alert: all vehicles must be off the streets by 11PM! Whoa. The city that never sleeps is shutting down tonight!

Don’t worry, I made it home just fine after work and have no intention of leaving my apartment any time soon. We’re stocked up on wine and Trader Joe’s dumplings. I have Pip the cat for snuggles. I’ll wake up like a kid on Christmas morning, hoping to get a sight of the roads before the cars come back- how magical would that be?

harlem snow — I made it back to neighborhood, Hamilton Heights with no delays! Happy to stay here until the snow lets up!

Stay safe and warm all you east coasters! And anyone else in the world dealing with storms!

January 25, 2015May 19, 2016

Sunshine Sunday #4 in the East Village

This season I’m devoting every Sunday on this blog to SUN! (See previous weeks here.) What our skin lacks in Vitamin D we will make up for with our eyes! Together we will combat the winter blues, living vicariously through pictures of greener, sunnier pastures!

Saturday night at a karaoke bar in the East Village, we belted our lungs out in honor of Miranda’s birthday. When we stumbled out of “Sing Sing” the hour was closer to dawn than midnight. Elaine’s apartment mere blocks away, I happily accepted her offer to crash on her couch. That’s how I woke up this morning, hundreds of blocks south of home with not a whiff of a hangover- miraculous. Thus when I stepped outside onto the single-digit streets I happily greeted the sun and patchy blue skies.

It was warm enough to enjoy the walk, so I took the long way to the D train, enjoying a bit of an urban art tour along the way. Sunshine and art: color me happy. Hope you all enjoyed your weekend!

A burst of art created around road construction just makes traffic congestion so much easier to live with. Plus blue skies and yellow taxis (and dirty snow).

Bloodshot eye, pierced heart, slimy NY but I still love it. Perfectly put graffiti/mural artist.

This is my kind of motivational quote. I should assume “bunny” is a euphemism, but I’m unfamiliar so I’m just gonna pretend this is about the long-ear, fuzzball creature.

I wish I knew what it said under that tear in the quote, but I think we can guess. Love these.

So many things I love, honestly: contrast, abstract colors, church steeples, and pretty clouds!

January 22, 2015January 22, 2015

Fashion Bro-spective: Casual Date Outfit

When I first moved to my neighborhood, my bro-bestie Walter lived across the street. Those were the days, my friends. Much beer was quaffed and even more dish was served (“dish” is a more gender neutral term for “gossip”). A typical scene was me rooting through my closet, getting ready for a date, Walter sitting in on the armchair across from my open bedroom door. Walter sipping a beer, me yelling, “Tell me what to wear!” It was awesome to have a male perspective handy.

About a year ago, Walter moved to Florida. Six-packs last much longer in my fridge than they used to. My cat no longer has a male role model in his life. I’ve had to “approve” my date outfits on my own. Or with the help of my roommates, who are the best but likely clueless as me when it comes to men. I miss my bro-bestie!

Walter is probably this blog’s biggest fan. Every time I publish an entry, he sends me an encouraging text. It’s so supportive and sweet and really means a lot to me. He especially likes it when I write about him. The other day he was bemoaning the fact I never write about him any more. I was bemoaning the fact I don’t know what to wear on dates. Our moans mixed together and BOOM- blogging inspiration blossomed!

I have an idea! If you’re into it! We can get some male perspective on my blog! And fashion! At the same time! Yes, crazy I know!

I went outside in my neighborhood, snapped some quick shots of an outfit, and sent them to Walter.

I started super casual. Something I’d worn on a bowling date earlier that week. Jeans and a top, flat boots. I chose this outfit because I wasn’t sure about it. The jeans I knew were great, because a random, normal looking woman on the subway once told me so, “Those jeans fit you perfectly. Where are they from?”. Answer: The Gap! Anyway, I thought the top was cute, but part of me also wondered if the dots made it look clownish. And the boots were comfortable with a heel small enough so I’m not towering over men of average height. But were they cute? Eh?

Here is Walter’s, unfiltered, (mostly) uncensored response to my outfit:

Mary said she wanted me to look at her date outfit, as she often has in the past. She thinks I am a good opinion to have, or at least Another Opinion….so I thought it best to have a few cold ones and review tonight’s collection of attire that will dazzle and amaze the men in New York. I’m typing on a tablet in a room I’m renting in a weird part of Florida…so….(sic)

Picture one: “oh I’m just casually walking by this fence pretending I’m a prison guard”
Even mid stride I can tell you are attractive in this outfit. I get a good sense of “she has a good body” with the very important “she DID dress up a little, she IS serious about this date”. I personally like how the little sleeves on this blouse (this is a blouse, right?) remind me of Batgirl, and the hoop earrings tie the whole thing together. Men. Love. Accessories. (Also the subtle grip on the cast iron fence remind us of our penises.)

Picture two: “the Stoop-Kid”

At this level of detail I can see the dots and the colors, this shirt has a sassy “Southern California, I’m only a hipster when I choose to be” look. This is the type of shirt I would like to see on a picnic date with wine and a wicker basket, or holding hands and attending a sort-of-white-people sort-of-cultured event, like a corn maze/pig roast near a big farm house.

Picture three: “an excuse to stare at your butt. Great butt, btw”

Holy shit this shirt is sheer and I see the appropriately tight jeans from the view that God intended. This is perfect for men….perfect. Walking behind you up the steps of the subway just got more awesome, and I also don’t know how sheer fabrics works! The hair looks sexy and effortless, which is the sort of thing that you advertise early. On the inside I know that you DID toil (and you got your drunk friend in Florida to help you decide on it). The date-girl with a sheer shirt is such a thing of beauty your date will parade you around the entire night. Do these things wrinkle, even!? Are they walk-of-shame friendly? I’ll bet it is so soft! Oh, hey, there are shoes in this picture. I like those too.

Picture 4: “the girl next door”

DSC_0022 (1) — Blouse (good job Walter): thrift|Jeans: The Gap|Boots: Nine West

How you are single right now I don’t understand. Go with this shirt for sure, but DONT waste it on a guy that picked you out of a virtual line up. He doesn’t deserve the sheer, nor the hot boots. Nor the boob pocket that I’m SURE you won’t put anything in (fashion-waste-of-pocket). Also your hair is so good in this picture that I want to jump in it and go down it like a slide at Typhoon Lagoon.

I’ve said enough….go with this outfit, unless you have something sluttier you would like for me to see first.

So is it weird I requested my best dude friend to kinda objectify me for the sake of fashion blogging? Are we glad he complied? Did we learn anything from this male perspective? Bro-spective? Is the opinion of my bro-bestie (who you can see get more drunk as he continues in his asides) interesting? Should I make him be sober for the next one? Should there be a next one?

I think we definitely learned something we may have suspected from the start- men think women are attractive. Surprise, right? Obsessing over what you wear on a date is silly. Will I stop doing it? Doubtful. Is validation on outfit choices comforting? Yes. Is it always fun to see a male perspective on female fashion? I think so.

I also think there are some things to be learned here about pictures to use for online dating profiles. Like, if you are holding anything even vaguely phallic in a picture, dudes will be thinking about their penises. Thanks, Walt, for the knowledge.

January 21, 2015January 21, 2015

20 Places I’ve Met Men in NYC

I totally fail at cliché when it comes to meeting men. I’ve never met a man at a bar. Never been introduced by mutual friends (will one of you please meet someone perfect for me already?). That said, if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I’ve met (and blogged about) plenty of dudes.

I know I have, this blog is written proof!

After a bad date (2 actually, I’ll tell you about the other one soon), too many lack luster OKCupid messages to count, and weather that forces me to wear a puffy jacket that obstructs any hint that I have boobs….I need the reminder.

So I compiled a list of places I’ve met men. I came up with 20.

See, Mary Lane? You’re good at meeting guys! Okay, fine, I guess I am. And you know what? There’s gotta be ONE dude in this city of 8 MILLION who will laugh at my jokes, think I’m adorable, and won’t be a bohemian man-child.

I have absolutely no clue where I’ll meet him, but maybe it’ll be place #21. Hm…seems like that should be a bar…anyone want to be my wing person?

So where does a goofball like me meet all these boys?

Here’s my list, in no particular order. For most of them, you can click to get the full story.

A bench in Central Park
The after party of Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical
Trader Joe’s
Elementary School
Walking up 9th Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen
Walking down Lexington Avenue in midtown
The sidewalk of Times Square whilst promoting a Broadway show
Again on the sidewalk of Times Square
Online
Goodwill
Bodies: The Exhibition
Strawberry Fields in Central Park
On stage
Back stage
Company Christmas party
A New Year’s Eve party
My best friend’s boyfriend’s surprise 30th birthday party
A Soul Rebels concert in Brooklyn
A friend’s show at a super hipster venue in Williamsburg
The subway

What’s the most interesting place you ever met someone? Have you ever met someone on the street (it’s not as weird as it sounds!)

January 20, 2015May 23, 2016

In Which I Drink to Make a Lousy Date Better

There are certain activities that go from barely tolerable to fun in direct correlation to my alcohol intake. Sporting events, clubbing, waiting for the start of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade– to name a few examples. The newest edition to this list? Dating that guy I met on New Year’s Eve.

You were wondering how that date went, right?

“YES! Why has it taken you so long to blog about??”

In case you forgot, I spent NYE dancing with a man who was both fun and totally my physical type (read all about it in this post). I was absolutely sloshed when I met him (“New Year’s Eve parties”- also on the list), absolutely sloshed when I, uh, ran down the street at 3AM on New Year’s morning to give him my phone number. BUT I was absolutely sober when we texted the entire first weekend of the year, absolutely sober when I accepted his invitation for drinks and oysters. It was a date I was absolutely excited about.

I texted him that I was running 7-9 minutes late. As a chronically tardy person, I figure it’s a good idea to set this precedent on a first date. Fine, I didn’t plan on being late, I just truly am always late. Smile and call me fashionable, or roll your eyes and call me rude- I won’t disagree on either account.

When I arrive- eight minutes late exactly- he’s standing outside the restaurant waiting for me. Another woman might find this was sweet, oh he’s waiting for me so we can go in together! I find it weird. Is he crazy, standing outside in the January cold? Can he not handle sitting alone at a restaurant for ten minutes? He could’ve been productive in my time of tardiness and gotten a table, but no he just loitered outside. Yes fellas, I judge what you do while waiting for me. It’s just another piece of the first-date-compatibility puzzle.

Of course, if I actually liked the guy, I wouldn’t give a shit that he waited outside for my little late ass. But when we finally sit down in the crowded and loud West Village restaurant, it readily becomes clear our chemistry on the dance floor doesn’t translate to conversation. When last we met, he was the one picking me up and spinning me around, our energies matched. Now I’m the one picking up every lag in conversation, spinning out witty batter that he either doesn’t comprehend or care for.

I’m putting effort into staying engaged. At one point tells me he cooks packaged Ramen, that it’s really good if you add a can of tuna fish, that I should try it. He says this with total sincerity. “So you’ve maintained the same palate since undergrad?” I tease, “Is your diet exclusively Ramen, hot pockets, and pop tarts? Oh and oysters?”
“I dunno,” is his reply.

Ramen, hot pockets, pop tarts, pizza, and beer: the food pyramid of the cliche, male undergrad.

I dunno what to do with this conversation.

Well I don’t have to know what to do because our conversation is interrupted by loud, repetitious dings. A man behind us at the bar is holding out a bell to a little girl and dinging it over and over again. She doesn’t appear to be enjoying it, the kid actually looks embarrassed. The man doesn’t stop, he rings the bell about 40 times, laughing, acting like the kid’s crazy about it.

By ring 3 we realize the bell-ringer is wasted. By ring 10 my date and I finally discover something we have in common: We both hate this guy ringing the fucking bell. By ring 25 we learn that he’s the owner of the restaurant. Ohhhh so that’s why no one’s told him to STFU! Great.

Finally the bell-ringer stops, the little girl and her family leave the restaurant. The man sits down at the table next to us great. The next thing I know he’s making fun of how my date eats oysters. Don’t embarrass my date in front of me. It’s not okay.I HATE this guy. My date isn’t cool about it, he gets defensive. Oh fuck. No. Please just let it go. Please don’t embarrass yourself, and by proxy me.

The owner-bell-ringing-douche-bag responds by buying us drinks. Phew. Situation diffused. And that’s when I become inspired. I totally had fun with my date when I was drunk on New Years…maybe I should be more like the owner of this restaurant and just get sloshed on a Wednesday night.

That, my friends, is exactly what I did. A beer later I’m leaning over a table full of oyster shells to kiss him. He’s much better at kissing than talking. Another beer and I’m attempting to text a friend while my date is in the bathroom but actually text my date instead.

I didn’t drink enough to go home with him, but I did drink enough that shortly before midnight I’m making out like a teenager on Bleecker Street. Shortly after midnight I’m falling asleep on the subway and missing my stop.

My friends, I’m not proud. You’re welcome to judge me for all that the way I judge men for waiting for me outside restaurants.

But at least I learn my lesson. Two in fact:

Do not drink to make lousy dates tolerable.

Do not take inspiration from drunken-bell-ringing-douche-bags.