Tag Archives: new york city

The road signs of dating: The roadkill that was kissed at midnight

5 Jan

It is always my dream on New Year’s Eve to have a date, someone to kiss. In my fairytale world the guy who takes you on a date on new year’s is a guy that really likes you. right? Unfortunately not necessarily.

When I was spinning my most recent tale of relationship catastrophe to my father last night his response was, “I doubt he wanted to hurt your feelings. Guys don’t want to hurt girls, they just want them on their backs.” Excellent dad. In fairytale world that just can’t be true. In reality I am afraid it might be.

I should have known. The signs were there, but I did it, I decided to go to NYC to escape the doldrums of my current city with the added benefit of seeing the guy I have been dating long distance for now over 8 months.

The Hazard Signs

No passing lane: When I texted him initially that I might come up to the city. His response was not to respond to that, but to talk about something else.

Slippery When wet: When I asked him why he ignored the previously mentioned text he said he didn’t

know what he was doing yet and so far he had no plans and might not do anything. Nothing screams “I am really excited to see you like first getting ignored and then getting noncommittal.”

Mexican family crossing the Highway (one of my favorite all time roadside at the Cali/Mexican border):  We both get a group text from a mutual friend asking us to an evening of splendor and extravagance that I am immediately incredibly uninterested in. He actually texts asking if I am going to do that. When I say I would rather not he says that we can hang out together and he will ask some friends and we can do something more low key.

10% grade (your brakes may fail): He does let me know he is making plans but then doesn’t return my attempts at contacting him the two days before New Year’s Eve. I texted twice in 36 hours asking what our plans were.

Dip: I end up texting on New Year’s Day (when he finally answers the texts from above) asking him if we are going to spend the night together (just so you know I blushed with humiliation as I type this). In my defense, if there is one, I really didn’t want to be the dirty stay out in the cab the next morning. My sage, married sister suggested that I just come home. Who would have thought of that? Not me, the dirty stay out (or as we abbreviated it in college: DSO).  Also you would think after 8 months it would be assumed.

Do Not Enter: He says I have made our relationship “too easy” and “should have played hard to get”. He then asks me if I am sleeping with one of my friends saying he wouldn’t be upset. I would almost rather have had him slap me… twice.

Road worker with a stop sign: When we wake up New Year’s Day he says he wasn’t into our date at first and always prefers hanging out with a large group of friends on NYE but had a good time. “It worked out for the best.”

Red light: New Year’s Day when my flight is changed to the next day also known as my birthday, he says he already has plans to watch bowl games with 3 girls and doesn’t really feel comfortable asking me to come although he has invited everyone he has even had half of a conversation with all day.

So I lived my New Year’s Eve dream. I got kissed on New Year’s at midnight for the 2nd time ever and the first time in over 10 years, and for that 30 seconds it was amazing and I was able to ignore all of the signs and just feel like I was in a movie (like When Harry Met Sally) and I was the star; not a moment I have had very often. And while I was in my land of beautiful and romantic delusion, I loved it. The difficulty then becomes how do you keep one foot in reality while you float in the dream?

The date: New Year’s Eve dinner, rum, a concert, and a New Year’s midnight kiss.

The Boy: I rarely think about anyone or thing other than myself unless it directly affects me. This will result in oversharing, harsh thoughts and ideas and a general dissolution of any warm fuzzes that you are trying to conjure up in your mind.

Stay tuned for: Birthday Bowl

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The skinny on the skinny in New York City

7 Dec

I recently lost weight (intentionally, but also as a result of just getting my life back in order). This, however, has made me recall a particularly memorable dating experience from several years ago.

Looking back with that scathing 20/20 or maybe even 15/20 clarity that one always possess with the luxury of hindsight, I would now flee the scene and deem the boy undateable for his transgressions. Unfortunately then I was blinded by the promise of romance and boy-friend-age.

We all have skinny friends. The girls that can wear the most absurd runway fashions and make them look exactly as Valentino, the house of McQueen, Calvin Klein, or even the Gap/Old Navy intended. I have never been one of those girls, but like many of my compatriots have dreamed that maybe one day I would obtain such glory.

I almost even got there once with a nasty bout of extremely restricted eating.

Unfortunately I like things that aren’t on the Kate Moss “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” list (even though I think we could probably make a strong argument that at definite points in time Kate’s wispy frame could have been assisted by illicit drug use. This being said the super model size of skinny that somehow occasionally maintains double d breasts is about as obtainable as the truth behind Kim Kardashian’s recent nuptials.

I digress. Back to the incident at hand. This boy was a boy I had known for a long time. We had reconnected at a bar when I was in grad school and he was in town for the weekend on business. One thing had led to another, at the time I would have naively claimed that it was because I looked so stunning in my new trendy off the shoulder shirt and designer jeans further compounded by my witty repartee. Now I understand (as recently as today after reading a post about online dating), that all men are likely socialized to hit anything that moves. He had gone home with me that weekend to my townhouse. We (and by we I mean I) had refrained from crossing any major bases; there were of note some hands under some garments.

I like most sappy girls who loosely cling to the idea of the fairytale had imagined amazing things happening as a result of this new and fun “thing” that was likely happening to high schoolers simultaneously all over the world. And then… Wow! He actually called. This could be going some where right? when the out of towner calls post make out, heavy petting session?

Not too long after I was visiting his sister (for other reasons of course) and we arranged to meet up, get a drink, see where the night led us (he actually didn’t arrange for the last bit per se, but I did in my overly active imaginative brain, and if you believe the “Hit it if it

moves” theory about men he at least considered it). We ended up (after enough drinks to lose our inhibitions, approximately 2 for me and I think about the same for him (warning bells to that)), in a cab continuing our last meeting.

I should probably take a moment to apologize to all cab drivers out there, even though best case scenario is they are actually amused by such behavior as sucking face. This cabbie in particular didn’t seem to be concerned about our personal safety as we were knocked around like jumping beans sealed together via lips and various appendages. We eventually arrived at his place stumbling out of the cab, not due to inebriation, but more due to the treacherous conditions of the cab ride. We entered his building and in a moment which is likely as close to romance novel as I have gotten, he threw me on the stairs and jumped me with every intention of having his way. Music was swelling in my head, I saw fireworks (which could likely have been from the impact on the wood, but hey), and he whispered what I thought would be eluding to his unbelievable attraction and respect for me, “You are the biggest girl I have ever brought home.”

ummmmmmmmm…….. What?

And he repeated himself this time further explaining that he usually preferred a skinnier kind of gal.

And we have a swing and a miss.

Did I sleep with him?

No, thus avoiding definitive tragedy and an even larger hit to my already wilting self esteem.

Did we ever go out on a formal date?

No.

Will I ever understand what possessed him to utter such anti-sweet nothings?

I highly doubt it.

The Player: The Modelizer 

Take home message: The “modelizer” that is discussed in Sex and the City does exist, and that guy if he opens his

mouth can kill a mood faster than Lindsay Lohan can violate her probation (Kombucha tea anyone?).  Any guy should also have enough wherewithal to realize that no chick is actually going to want to shed clothing after such a misstep. The only problem is I still think about this incident any time things are about getting steamy. Is the new guy a skinny girl pedestalizer? Will he be disappointed once the outer layers are shed?

letmeshowyouapictureofmycats

and other awful dating dilemmas.

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