My little social experiment to assess whether the notches in my bedpost were actually just notches or rather grooves of deep-rooted, hidden love got off to a bangin’ start—quite literally. It was a bottle of red, a bottle of white, me, Alejandro, and Mrs. Alejandro who was fresh off the boat from Spain at a cozy French restaurant in the East Village. Mrs. Alejandro was a character straight out of Notting Hill with her hair in a banana clip square on the top of her head and a fondness for date pudding. After we dropped off the slightly tipsy Mrs., it was off to the Upper East Side by way of an inappropriate cab ride that may or may not haunt that cab driver forever. One broken bed later and I knew that Alejandro would never just be another notch in my bedpost—but what about the other men I had dated over my past six years on the Upper East Side? Had I missed my Romeo in a haze of Jameson?
As I sat in my parent’s garage in the dark, locked out after a night of drinking with my college girlfriends, I had a lot to contemplate. Should I go “haute homeless” and sleep in the backseat of one of the cars or get down and dirty Little House on the Prairie-style and call it a night on the tool bench? Were the notches of my date-capades past worth revisiting or should I go back to the Brooks Brother-banker dog and pony show of fresh meat? Or should I just ride it out in a garage and wait for Professor Plum and his lead pipe to come put me out of my misery?
So I put together a list of the past twenty men I had gone on at least one date (or something to that effect) with over my 2,190 days on the Upper East Side. It was an average of 3.33 dates per year, with some of the men being boyfriends of one year plus, some of the men being one-time, never-speak-to-again dates, and the rest being something in between:
20. Alejandro
19. The Young Pup
18. Miggy Fuego
17. J.R. Corduroy
16. Andre from the Corner
15. Johnny the Sake Enthusiast
14. The Fonz
13. Jason
12. Billy Blue
11. The Accountant
10. Benjamin
9. The Trader
8. Jeremy
7. Hershey
6. The Realtor
5. Jimmy Bats
4. The Attorney
3. The Valentine
2. Brady Follows
1. The Englishman
After compiling this very diverse, inter-continental, multi-occupational list, I realized there were quite a few I just couldn’t justify indulging in, even if they were my own sloppy seconds. It was time to check this list twice, Christmas-in-July-style and find out what qualities I really was looking for in a man--and more importantly, qualities that I wanted to steer beyond clear of. Nothing like a little naughty elf-work to start off the summer…
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Blasts from the Past
It’s been a slow spring in all things dating and love for this Sex & the Upper East Sider. Sure, there had been a few dates here and there, and that one notable middle-of-the-bar makeout session with a twenty-six year old last weekend, but Susan Miller (unfortunately) wasn’t lying when she predicted that my May would consist of a lot of couch time—alone.
As it turned out, April dates don’t bring May orgasms. April started with Johnny who was a radiologist by day and a drunk, divorced dad by night that got smashed Samurai-style on our sushi date. I’d never seen sake consumed with such speed and enthusiasm, but he put Asian drunkenness to shame that night after consuming an entire rice paddy’s worth of Uncle Ben’s favorite stuff. Not to mention that he lived in Brooklyn, and as we all know, long distance never works out—my ass isn’t leaving Manhattan for a man who is highly likely to blackout within the first forty-five minutes of our date. That’s just bad sex waiting to happen.
Then there was Andre who picked me up on the corner of 82nd and Third on his way to Pisa Pizza. While I wasn’t sure if being picked up on a street corner was better or worse than being picked up in a bar, Andre did deserve a little street cred for being the first man in 2011 to buy me flowers. But the fact that Andre was slightly man-orexic, didn’t drink, and was in the middle of finalizing his divorce led me to decide that my adoration of food and alcohol, in addition to my predilection for legally single men, wouldn’t exactly mesh with Andre’s current lifestyle. Needless to say, Andre didn’t make it to May.
Then May hit. First, there were the emails from Alejandro. Then came BBM’s from The Realtor, followed by texts from Miggy Fuego and J.R. Corduroy—all blasts from the past. I had been seriously considering taking off the month of May from dating to focus on drinking with my girlfriends and of course, focusing on my couch as Ms. Miller so eruditely suggested, but then I saw the preview for What’s Your Number?, a romantic comedy starring Anna Farris that’s trailer is surely going to be far funnier than the actual movie itself. In the movie, Anna Farris’ character contemplates whether she overlooked her one true love in all of the men she had dated, and as a result, revisits her twenty ex-boyfriends to determine if she had made a wrong choice somewhere along her merry dating way.
There was no intricate storyline or complex characters here, and definitely no Academy Award nominations in the works, but it was food for thought for my little Sex & the Upper East Side world. Suddenly, four men of my last twenty relationships had come out of the woodwork in less than a week’s time. Coincidence or aligning of my astrological moons? There was only one way to find out.
As “they” say (they being a non-existent, ersatz group of allegedly very wise and all-knowing people), everyone deserves a second chance, and as Jean Nidetch once said, “It's choice--not chance--that determines your destiny.”
Although Nidetch was probably talking about making proper food choices in an effort to lose weight considering she is the founder of Weight Watchers, I’m almost positive that her wise words can apply too to my verge-of-pathetic dating life. Perhaps I had made some wrong choices in the past, just like Nidetch’s overweight followers who order Big Mac’s rather than grilled chicken salads with the dressing on the side. And perhaps some of the schmuck’s from my relationships past did deserve a second chance. Maybe I shouldn’t dump someone just because they wear terribly ugly shoes or say “aks” in stead of “ask”. One drink with each couldn’t hurt, right?
As it turned out, April dates don’t bring May orgasms. April started with Johnny who was a radiologist by day and a drunk, divorced dad by night that got smashed Samurai-style on our sushi date. I’d never seen sake consumed with such speed and enthusiasm, but he put Asian drunkenness to shame that night after consuming an entire rice paddy’s worth of Uncle Ben’s favorite stuff. Not to mention that he lived in Brooklyn, and as we all know, long distance never works out—my ass isn’t leaving Manhattan for a man who is highly likely to blackout within the first forty-five minutes of our date. That’s just bad sex waiting to happen.
Then there was Andre who picked me up on the corner of 82nd and Third on his way to Pisa Pizza. While I wasn’t sure if being picked up on a street corner was better or worse than being picked up in a bar, Andre did deserve a little street cred for being the first man in 2011 to buy me flowers. But the fact that Andre was slightly man-orexic, didn’t drink, and was in the middle of finalizing his divorce led me to decide that my adoration of food and alcohol, in addition to my predilection for legally single men, wouldn’t exactly mesh with Andre’s current lifestyle. Needless to say, Andre didn’t make it to May.
Then May hit. First, there were the emails from Alejandro. Then came BBM’s from The Realtor, followed by texts from Miggy Fuego and J.R. Corduroy—all blasts from the past. I had been seriously considering taking off the month of May from dating to focus on drinking with my girlfriends and of course, focusing on my couch as Ms. Miller so eruditely suggested, but then I saw the preview for What’s Your Number?, a romantic comedy starring Anna Farris that’s trailer is surely going to be far funnier than the actual movie itself. In the movie, Anna Farris’ character contemplates whether she overlooked her one true love in all of the men she had dated, and as a result, revisits her twenty ex-boyfriends to determine if she had made a wrong choice somewhere along her merry dating way.
There was no intricate storyline or complex characters here, and definitely no Academy Award nominations in the works, but it was food for thought for my little Sex & the Upper East Side world. Suddenly, four men of my last twenty relationships had come out of the woodwork in less than a week’s time. Coincidence or aligning of my astrological moons? There was only one way to find out.
As “they” say (they being a non-existent, ersatz group of allegedly very wise and all-knowing people), everyone deserves a second chance, and as Jean Nidetch once said, “It's choice--not chance--that determines your destiny.”
Although Nidetch was probably talking about making proper food choices in an effort to lose weight considering she is the founder of Weight Watchers, I’m almost positive that her wise words can apply too to my verge-of-pathetic dating life. Perhaps I had made some wrong choices in the past, just like Nidetch’s overweight followers who order Big Mac’s rather than grilled chicken salads with the dressing on the side. And perhaps some of the schmuck’s from my relationships past did deserve a second chance. Maybe I shouldn’t dump someone just because they wear terribly ugly shoes or say “aks” in stead of “ask”. One drink with each couldn’t hurt, right?
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