Alone with People, on the Lower East Side

Photo by myself at Ludlow and Rivington Streets, on the Lower East Side.

Mikey's Burgers specializes in burgers and shakes, on the lower East Side. There is just enough room inside to sit around the bar.

It's a common paradox of life in the city - you can be up against people all day long but still wind up feeling very much alone.

--
I don't mean to be a downer, but I want to be honest about living here. Of course, everyone has different experiences. I'm sure some people run around single and fancy free.

Speaking of fancy free, I overheard one guy on the subway not long ago speaking loudly about the women he knew, objectifying each one. He announced that he would 'upgrade' soon (that is, trade his current girlfriend in). It was absolutely outrageous. And just when I was ready to record him on my phone, he and his friend stepped off the train.

I'll post some happy photos, of course, never fear.

Related posts: A Moment Alone in the East Village, Sun Salutation, in the East Village and Before the Game, in Alphabet City.

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Urban Couples, Part Six, Or, My First Date with Mark

Due to overwork and various moodswings, I never got around to writing about my first date with Mark. He was the fourth in the series of dates that took place over five days more than two a half years ago.

Ahem.

[For the earlier parts of this series, click here:
(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five)]

When I first saw Mark's profile on the dating site, I thought whoa. He sounded verrry different from every other guy I've dated. His profile was chock filled with stuff. He was an avid music collector. He was an unabashed media whore. He'd traveled just about everywhere. He sounded effusive and confident and outgoing. He worked in tv.

As a cavewoman who didn't have cable and knew almost nothing in terms of pop culture, I found the concept frighteningly odd. It was like the hip, popular guy asking the geeky girl in the corner on a date.

But I was going along with the whole thing, open to anyone, as my friend Lucy had instructed. After meeting the tango fiend and the (cheap) teacher guy, I was not afraid. It would only be one drink, after all.

There were a couple emails back and forth. He wrote one that was very long, describing himself, his childhood in Lawn Guyland, his travels, his thoughts on things. Every word was spelled correctly, all the grammar was correct, and it was funny. I was impressed.

So I wrote back and we planned on a drink after I returned from my week in California. But before I returned, there was an accident. While playing kickball, Mark slid into home plate, leaning into one side. There was a loud snap as all his bodyweight landed on his right wrist, breaking it. Yowch.



Cut to date night, a Monday. We meet at Union Square. There he was, leaning up against one of the railings, his right arm in a cast. He wore a blue dress shirt the color of blueprint paper and jeans. He gave me a little smile and a kiss on the cheek, and then we walked to a nearby bar.

'What'll you have?' the bartender asked.

'Oh, a gin and tonic,' said the cavewoman.

'Make that a top shelf gin,' Mark said. 'Tanqueray, or Bombay Sapphire, one of those.'

The bartender looked at me. 'A Tang and tonic,' I must have said. I was too consumed with being impressed to know whether I was speaking English.

The evening skipped along quickly. There was light-hearted, animated talk, but I don't remember a thing we said. We hopped to a second bar nearby. And then the worst thing that could have happened happened. Mark asked me out for a second date.

'So I'd like to see you again. What are you doing this weekend?' he asked.

Lucy had instructed that one should always be busy when asked for the second date. But what if you're tipsy in mid-drink and caught off guard? What if you're a horrible liar when face to face with someone? What then?!?!

The poor cavewoman could do nothing but say um, yes, this weekend sounded great.

And that was that.


Photo by myself, of one of the many coffee carts littered about the sidewalks, in Soho.

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Urban Couples, Part Five

It was a low energy day yesterday. I would've preferred to stay home, but I stumbled in to work because there's so much to do. Just about everyone is coughing and sniffling (take care of yourselves!) due to the cold or the overdrink.

Last night I skipped a birthday dinner to rest at home. I was riveted to Top Chef
(Season Three Finale rerun, the Holiday Special) and Project Runway. All I want to do is cook, sew and write, except that there's no time. It's inspirational and lazy to watch so much effort and creativity from the comfort of the sofa.


Well, here's another installation of my blind date saga.

This is a several part series. For earlier installments, click here:
(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four)

Sunday rolled around, and it was good I'd had a day off from being 'on'. This would be my third date in four days. I was starting to think of these dates as experiences to be survived, rather than enjoyed.

I'd seen Teacher Guy's photo on another internet dating site a couple years before, when I'd gone on a few non-dreadful, non-eventful dates. (There are stories from those dates, too). I remembered Teacher Guy's profile for the grainy photo and byline about academia.

So when I received an email with the same photo a couple years later on a different site, I was curious. Curious that this guy would have no other images of himself, curious that he was so persistent on the internet dating scene. Maybe he was picky, maybe he had very bad luck.

I met Teacher Guy at the bar of a great British pub on the West Side. Having a Sunday day date was perfect way to take the pressure off.

TG was sitting at the bar, which had flung its windows wide open to the approaching sunset. He was wearing a windbreaker, tee shirt and slacks. He looked like a non-grainy version of his photo, a little like Harrison Ford after being tumble dried. After TG shook my hand, I noticed that he didn't offer me a seat or a drink. Hm. As we started talking about the usual things (what we did, where we lived) I hailed the bartender for a beer.


The conversation drifted about, looking for common ground. He taught something like philosophy or cultural studies at a public college. With my working knowledge, I can do okay with such topics and soon the discussion became very, uh, cerebral. Some people might be flattered with such cerebral conversation, but I find it boring and impersonal.

As the conversation continued, I reached the bottom of my glass. I noticed that Teacher Guy did not offer me another drink. Hell, he didn't offer me the first drink. His eyes flicked to my glass and he just kept motoring on, talking about this or that.

This leads me to a corollary to my friend Lucy's Rule #3, about manners: when a guy asks you out, he asks you out, meaning you are his guest. As a female, you must not ask a guy out. You might think so-and-so's picture looks nice but you must not be the one to initiate contact. He has to do the asking (email you first, suggest a time and place) and therefore he should foot the bill.

The bartender swung around and TG did not order another drink. Following his lead, I did not order another drink. The conversation sputtered on, while dinner dishes started pouring out of the kitchen. People were being served beautiful pork chops with wilted greens, things with sauce, things with garlic mashed potatoes. I didn't expect dinner, but my stomach was growling.

The bartender swooped by again and asked to settle the bill. A line had started for seats. Here's the good part. There was a grand pause before Teacher Guy made the move to pay for my drink, a six dollar beer.

Okay, I can understand that he was on a teacher's salary. I can understand that he might have already spent hundreds of dollars for years of internet dates. I can understand that my expectations might have been outdated. Seeing that hesitation was not so nice. Maybe he was not so impressed with me, but the gentlemanly thing would be to pay up.

We parted ways somewhere near Battery Park. There was a handshake, thank you's and no promises. I'd survived blind three dates already. The week loomed ahead, and I had those mixed Sunday feelings in my throat - is it Monday again already, why does this week look so gapingly open (in a good and bad way), do I have to do this again, and what's next?

Little did I know I'd meet Mark the next day.


Upper photo by myself on Atlantic Avenue, Brooklyn.
Lower photo by myself in Long Guy-land.

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Urban Couples, Part Four

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)
The saga of some time I spent internet dating, continues.

After the dinner with Tango Fiend, the second of four blind dates in five days, I had a day to regroup. I hadn't been out there that long, but already I feeling discouraged by the internet dating world.

Lucy was my muse during this period. She had a set of rules for me to follow, and the structure was reassuring. She and Brit, friends at the time, were fooling around with their male roommates (Uh-huh. I did not approve, but both gals were in slightly messy, non-relationship situations with guys they saw every day).

Looking back, following Lucy's direction may not seem wise. At the time, it was all I had.

Lucy's dating tips (for women) are simple and familiar:

1. Date anyone who asks
This will increase your confidence and make you feel desirable. Instead of weeding people out, you have many, many dates. The one glitch is that there are tango fiends out there.

2. Always be busy
If your date asks for a second date, be busy at the time he asks. Of course, if you're dating anyone and everyone, chances are you will be busy and you won't have to lie. Being busy and desired by others increases your desirability to the other person.

3. Seriously note how he treats you on the date
Manners count. If he treats you well, that's great and to be expected. If he treats you even slightly badly, things will only go downhill.


The night after the date with Tango Fiend, Lucy, Brit and I went out to the East Village. We sat at the bar and ate, as we sometimes did, and chatted with the bartender.

Brit was feeling more tipsy and opinionated than usual. She lectured at length how the steak could have been cooked better. I nodded, bleary-eyed, and quiet. I was thinking about my date the next day, and how I'd just rather stay home.


(Don't worry, the story gets worse and then much better).
Photo by myself of Lower Broadway.

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Urban Couples, Part Three

(Part One) (Part Two)
So back to our comic-tragic story.

The second date (of the four blind dates in five days) was a doozy and a half. This was a date I was not looking forward to. He was way out of my age bracket, for one, a good 14 years older than me. He also sounded much too conservative for my taste.

I suggested meeting for a coffee or a drink, to keep things casual. This guy (I'll call him Max) offered dinner in the West Village. And not just dinner but tickets to a dance performance at the Joyce Theater.

And not only that, but he sent me poetry beforehand. Thankfully the poetry wasn't written with me in mind, someone he'd never set eyes on. This was poetry that he'd written at an earlier date. Oh boy. Way to make my heart sing.

I'm not a poetry person. I respect the art, but I don't even have the patience to skim through it. I can't say the poetry was a strike against Max, but it was not a positive thing. (Note - do NOT send poetry to someone you don't know. Like root beer or licorice or Marmite, it is an acquired taste).

The date with Max was on a Friday, the night after meeting Nameless Guy. I'd dreaded the date the whole week, but I told myself I was doing this for the good of humanity. No matter what, I could not back out.

I met Max outside the Joyce, on 8th Avenue. I was polite, dread-filled and dressed up for the occasion. To dress up for someone I had little interest in made me feel absolutely horrible inside.

I felt like a child bride in the 18th century, about to commit her life to scrubbing pots and shoveling coal. My thought bubble was filled with ampersands and exclamation points. Now imagine my despair when we bumped into a married couple whom Max knew, while waiting in line?! (Insert internal withering scream).

Max introduced me to the couple as his 'date' and they promptly exchanged surprised, smiling looks that said 'Oh my, Max, you're going to have to tell us all about your secret ladyfriend'. Oy! What I go through for the good of humanity!

Cut to dinner.

It turned out that Max was a fervent lover of dance. He was taking two different tango classes, sometimes dancing for hours on the weekend. He could not stop talking about tango. Tango, tango, tango. This was the conversation for most of the evening.

The enthusiasm was charming, I guess. I mean, it's better than no hobbies at all. However, there was not one question directed at me. Hm. I'm fine with chit chat and just kept asking questions about tango to pass time - the steps, the history, the other tango students.

Finally, as dinner came to a close, Max got around to asking about me. So what had I studied in school? What was I doing now? I told him simply that I'd started out as a serious musician. I'd fallen in love with architecture my freshman year. I was working on houses for extremely wealthy people.

After my two sentences, there was uncomfortable silence. I'd like to think that Max realized that he'd gone on about tango for half an hour and only then were we getting to me. I'm not sure what his thought bubble said.

I must have said something about how late it was getting. We parted ways under streetlights; Max hailed me a cab and I made the long trip up to the Upper West Side.

Along the ride, I felt wretched for a number of reasons - for possibly leading this poor man on, for enduring the evening, for another one in a string of dating disappointments. I did my best to tell myself that the summer was just beginning. It was June, and though I had nothing to go on, there were bound to be at least a few warm, happy days ahead.


Photo by myself in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

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Urban Couples, Part Two

(Part One)

So, back to the four dates in five days...

Just after I submitted my ad, I went to LA for a week to see my parents. It's restful, visiting them. The main event might be going to one of the several malls, or going all out and visiting the fancy outlet mall. Woohoooo.

I always drive, my mom riding shotgun. She grabs onto the handle of the door whenever the car is remotely close to any other car. Between the grabbing and driving with those crazy Californians, I am cool under pressure. I could drive a tank in warfare. Through a minefield. In the dark.

The trip was perfect timing. It was great to relax with the parents, and when I returned to New York, the dates were planned. Then it was just a matter of getting them over with.

First date was with a copy writer. I don't remember his name, but he was tall-ish and had dark curly hair. His emails were very nice and polite (which counts) and having a drink with him seemed like a good way to start what I assumed would be a summer of dating.

My thinking was - hm...copy writer. Somewhat smart, a little on the creative side, probably quiet, detail-oriented (which can be good or bad). Probably not obnoxious.

At my suggestion, we met at Paladar, a fun Cuban place on Ludlow, on the Lower East Side. They serve great mohitos and caipirinhas, perfect summertime drinks.

I must have been slightly nervous beforehand, but I had zero invested in the evening. I was expecting to be proven right again, that the world was a big, lonely place, that in a city of so many single people, I was destined to stay single, that guys weren't to be trusted. So after work that night, I scampered across town. I didn't tell a soul about where I was off to, and I didn't expect a thing.

When I walked in, Nameless Guy was sitting at the bar, looking like a nervous version of his ad. There was an awkward handshake and the immediate ordering of drinks. Since it was early, we were the only ones there, so it wasn't too obviously weird (like 'Hi, nice meeting you for the first time ever after exchanging a couple brief emails. How interesting to see you in real life. Thank goodness you're not 10 years older than your photo').

Nameless Guy had gone to an arts school for his degree, and I had photographer friends who'd gone to the same school. We talked about that. We talked about the freelancing life, living in New York, writing, etc., etc.,...and then realized there was absolutely no chemistry whatsoever. None.

After a while, we were groping for conversation. Talking to a complete stranger can go either way. I'm usually pretty good at chit chat, but that night it was like trying to suffer through Chem class, or worse, Physics.

I felt bad because Nameless Guy was obviously a nice person. But in the end, what can you do. It wasn't about either of us being nice or interesting. It wasn't personal. And this was exactly the kind of mindset I needed for my dating adventure.

Nameless nice guy and I shook hands at the end of the evening, and it was understood that nothing more was expected. I walked off feeling slightly blue, but generally okay. I hadn't gained anything, but I hadn't lost anything either.

I just kept my chin up and kept walking.


Photo by myself, in Hell's Kitchen.

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Urban Couples, Or, How I Met Mark

For unknown reasons, it popped in my head tonight that I should post about my dating experiences in New York and how I met Mark.

Mark and I met....(drum roll) on the internet!

Yes, we met on a dating site. Internet dating is common now, and I know many serious couples (some married) who met this very way. It's a handy method for busy professionals to meet available people when they've exhausted all else.

I'd done the internet thing a couple times without any terrible experiences. Some entertaining stories (that will have to come another time), but nothing utterly horrifying. I'd given up hope a couple years ago, and two women I hung out would go on internet dates intermittently, to get out of their comfort zones.

Lucy lived in the East Village, Brit lived in Williamsburg and I lived on the Upper West Side. Of the three, I was the most petite and the most shy. We'd meet up in bars and I was essentially the unglamorous, ugly step-sister of the bunch. Guys would sidle up to us and pretty much push me out of the way (well, practically).

Lucy was a fun, pretty, sweet administrative assistant at a large bank. She's one of the only bloggers I've ever met. She single-handedly ushered me back into internet dating. Lucy insisted that I date anyone who responded to my ad.

'Old ones, young ones, fat ones, skinny ones, bald ones, hairy ones...' she said. The point was to get out there, to make the world seem bigger, and by doing that, change my self image. Once that happened, she reasoned, I was bound to meet someone.

To humor dear Lucy, I went through the motions. I spent a couple nights dreaming up my ad. I kept is short and sweet and slightly playful, which Lucy recomended.

I took a picture of myself, and I followed her protocol. Almost. I didn't lie about my age (she did. She was 32 and advertised herself as 26). And I couldn't help but weed out a couple guys (here is where I get struck by a lightning bolt for being slightly picky). But I was still relatively open-minded about emails I received, much more open-minded than I had been in the past.

Since internet dating wasn't entirely new to me, I wasn't too nervous. I was slightly curious about who was out there, but I was beyond jaded. I knew the city. I knew the guys out there. Who could I possibly meet? Anyone who really wanted an honest relationship, rather than just a fling? The most I expected was some entertainment. A few funny stories, some drinks, maybe a dinner. That's about it.

Within a couple weeks of putting up my ad, I went on four dates within the span of five days. The last date was with Mark. More on that later. I was tremendously lucky. Beyond lucky.

The time eventually came, however, to tell my parents how Mark and I met. We'd been seeing each other seriously for several months, and one night while talking to my mom on the phone, I thought it was time.

'So Mom, I wanted to tell you how Mark and I met.'

'Oh yeah?' She sounded expectant. I could tell she was holding her breath.

'Well, we met on the internet.'

'What? The internet?'

'Yeah, Mom. There are these dating sites where people place ads. I placed an ad.'

'I didn't see your ad.'


Apparently Mom thought I blitzed the internet with emails titled 'Please Date Me!!' with my mug, stats and contact info.

Well, almost.


Photo by myself in Brooklyn.
More on dating in New York, later.

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