The Brit that ruined accents forever.

Did Heidi and I ever mention that we joined OKCupid one night while we were being drunk and silly? Well I've hardly ever logged on, but the tricky part of that site is that people instant message you while you are on, so it's very hard to not speak to at least one of them.

This guy, we'll call him The Brit, messaged me, I checked his profile, and I wasn't so into it, so I ignored him. Well then he pulled the "Did I not pass your approval test?" line which made me feel like an asshole, so I said hello back, and it went from there. His picture actually was cute enough - he looked like a dark haired, kind of serious but possibly suave British guy with blue eyes.

Boy, can pictures lie.

He asked for my gchat, and we decided to grab drinks that upcoming Tuesday evening. He gchatted with me throughout the day Monday and Tuesday, and we actually got along quite well in conversation. I was actually a little nervous going into the date, hoping that I looked okay and making sure that my hair and make-up were all fresh.

I arrived at the bar at the Ace Hotel and saw him from across the room. I had been worried he might be a little short for my taste, but I could fully see his height upon walking in and was relieved that he was at least 1-2 inches taller than me. Crisis averted.

Til I rounded the corner and got the full view. You know how we ladies sometimes have weight challenges in the 'love-handle' area? Well, I think that the male equivalent is the 'spare tire' zone. And boy, was he packing a spare.

I had never been on a date that had turned out to be chubby, so I was caught off guard for a split second. It looked like he had attempted to be put-together, but something about it all just read 'sloppy' to me... Ugh, no bueno.

So we have our drink at the hotel bar, and then he immediately interjects that he has planned our next destination. Oh goody.

We walk a couple of blocks to an Italian wine bar on E. 28th Street - a cute place, but I totally was over this date already. There just wasn't a physical attraction, even I could admit that, and I don't know what it is, but when someone continually is telling you that you are 'lovely' all throughout any of your conversation, the whole thing just feels awkward.

Of course, The Brit insisted on ordering a bottle at this wine bar, and as I was with Volleyball Guy, I didn't feel badly when I made an excuse to run to the restroom right at the time that I knew the bill would come. Maybe I'm a jerk, but I did not opt for this second destination or a bottle of wine.

He had a third destination planned apparently, but I cut him short and told him that I had to be at a work meeting bright and early and had to get home - it was already pushing 11 pm at this point, and I felt that I had been polite for as long as I could possibly muster.

We left the wine bar, and as I was reaching up to dig in my purse for my Metrocard, he took the liberty of grabbing my left hand and interlocking our fingers. Ew. Hand holding to me is actually somewhat intimate - I'd first make out with someone before I opted to hold their hand even - and I was completely grossed out that he made such a ballsy move. I pulled it away slyly, and kept digging for the Metrocard.

We finally reached my train stop, and I tried to make a quick escape, but of course, The Brit had other plans. He grabbed my hand again and then asked, "Might I kiss you?" in that British accent that I was now completely turned off by. I pulled away and kind of giggled, "Oh nooo, I'm a good girl...I don't kiss on first dates." (Such a lie.)

He accepted defeat, asked for a next date, I eluded that question, and dashed into the subway.

I arrived home to a text, "I had a lovely time. When can I see you again?" I slept on it, figuring out what to do, and I decided to continue with my attempt at positive karma and wrote back, "Thank you so much for a nice evening. I really appreciate your asking, but I just don't think that I felt a romantic connection. I'd be interested in keeping in touch and being friends, if you'd like."

Gosh, I thought that was nice of me. At least I didn't ignore him, which he had mentioned on the date was one of his biggest pet peeves.

His response? "Well that's one bloody way to say good morning."

What a sore loser.

The biggest let down of the date? I think that he single-handedly has managed to ruin any of the Queen's accents for me: British, Australian, S. African...they all just sound annoying to me now. Bummer.

Update: The Student

I was thankfully let off the hook on the whole putting-up-The-Student situation. He ended up being able to stay with a friend of his for the entire week, so I don't have to stress over being on my best behavior or having an immaculate apartment - phew.

He is still coming to town, however, and will be staying in the neighborhood, so chances are that I still might see him. He had originally expressed that he wanted to see me while he was here regardless, but things have been a little weird communication-wise since that conversation, so it's kind of up in the air at this point. I think that the problem lies in me not wanting to make myself vulnerable to a) a guy and b) a 21-year-old guy, so I've been acting somewhat standoff-ish, which is totally not how we have ever communicated with each other in all the time that we've known one another.

Anyway, there was some passive aggressive Facebook flirting that went on last night that is so dumb that I'm hesitant to share, but hey, I think we're all operating on full-disclosure mode here, so feel free to feel awkward for me as you read this:

The Student's Facebook Status: "New York City tomorrow."

Other people commented, and then...

Diana: Are you so excited? Prepare for the heat!

The Student: I'm bringing a good amount of shorts and a mickey mouse water fan to cope with the heat.

Diana: You know you're a native New Yorker when...you personally own a Mickey Mouse water fan. :)

The Student: Hahahaa very funny Di

That's it? Really?

This is what I get for making out with a 21-year-old in his dorm room.

just what i wasn't looking for.

I met the Jamaican two months ago. On paper, he's all wrong:

- He's 3 years younger than me. I alway date my age or older. (the 23 year old b-bar hookup doesn't count as dating!)
- He lives in - gasp - Brooklyn. with a roommate.
- He's a paralegal and I think a secret romantic. Polar opposite of the last few I've actually dated, not just played with: overachievers with graduate degrees, Audis, and commitment issues.

We clicked pretty much instantly and it's gotten better every time we're together. I'm not even going to go into the sex, but it's insane. Maybe the best I've ever had, all things considered. (FYI ladies, the thing about hitting our sexual prime in our 30s is no joke.) I've even spent a few nights in Brooklyn and actually liked it.

So...I'm not sure if this is just one of those things triggered by amazing sex, or if it's real, but I think I'm a little bit in like with this one. He's even met some of my friends and been referred to by his real name, not just "the Jamaican". (With my girlfriends, this is major. We always use monikers, real names are reserved for seriously special occasions.)

I wasn't looking for this at all, and I'm not really sure how to react, but I've gotta admit I kind of like it. I'm actually even debating stopping seeing other people. OK, fine, if I'm being honest, I haven't gone out with or touched or really even thought about anyone else in over a month.

And I'm hanging out in Brooklyn and liking it. Whatttt is happening in the world.

Too close for comfort?

I'm not quite sure what I've signed up for, but I have a feeling that this might not go so well...

I received a text last night from The Student telling me that he'll be in New York at the end of July, and asked if he might stay a couple of nights at my apartment. (I can't blame him for asking- I did repeatedly offer my air mattress through my drunkenness the night we hooked up.)

Me being the weakling that I am, I told him that he could stay for two nights and only at the beginning of that week, as I will be quite busy toward the end of the week. Whether or not he decides to definitely stay remains to be determined, but I think we all know that he won't actually be using that air mattress.

It's been over two years since I've had a boyfriend and spent extended amounts of time with a man, so I'm not too sure what I think about being in such close quarters for two straight days.

Volleyball Guy

It took me about a week to think of a moniker for Volleyball Guy so that I could write about him. And really, I don't know that Volleyball Guy is even the right one to have decided upon. It was either that or 'Natural Gas Analyst', since that's what he does for a living, but to be honest, this guy was so nondescript that I just found myself fumbling to come up with something good to call him. So we'll just use the name that he chose for himself on his Match.com account.

VG was an okay looking guy in his Match pictures, and he was super nice in his emails. (I really need to always remember Heidi's advice for me and stop being drawn to the 'nice' guys. Nice = boring.) We met on Tuesday night in Union Square, and the moment we met I could tell that this was not going to go very far. His khakis were just a size too big, but he had belted them quite nicely, so that he had that illusion of having a FUPA, and he looked like a really unfortunate combination of Jewish and Italian. And to have sealed the deal on my becoming immediately disinterested, he spewed sarcasm from the moment that we said hello.

He also ended up not having a plan of action for once we met up (such a date foul), so I ended up leading us to a wine bar that I knew semi-nearby. I tried to order just a glass of wine, but he insisted on a bottle. $70 and 2 rounds each later, I snuck into the bathroom to text Heidi to escape, while I let him pay the bill. Hey, I didn't want a bottle to begin with, so I felt little to no guilt for that one.

I ended up ditching out early, offered some lame excuse when he asked to take me out again on Friday (I mean, who in New York really has to pick up a friend from the airport on a Friday night?? I don't even have a car. Hello, Diana, think quicker on your feet next time.), and headed out to meet friends.

On Friday, the dreaded follow-up text came: "Hey! I forgot I was going to dc to visit a friend late next week and weekend but would you like to get dinner with tues or wed? :)"

I dwelled on my next move for a good four-and-a-half hours before finally deciding to promote good karma and to do something that I'd never done before. Instead of just rejecting him with a rude silence, I texted him to let him know I wasn't feeling it: "Hey, thank you so much for thinking of me, I really appreciate it, but I didn't feel a chemistry the other night. I wish you the best of luck in meeting someone great though. :)"

I have to say it was much better of a move than having to dodge a couple more days of text messages, and hopefully he'll pass on that same respect to the next girl he isn't interested in. Because doesn't it just totally suck when the guy you were crushing on just doesn't answer?

The Student, via Facebook Flirtation

With The Student being the 3,000 miles away from New York for the Summer, we have had slim contact thus far. We did BBM back and forth for the last few days of his residency in the city before he flew back to LA for Summer Break, and I did wake up about a week ago to a BBM from him, which turned into an all day back-and-forth conversation.

Today, his Facebook status mentioned hanging with his family (who I know pretty well, seeing that we were all formerly neighbors) at the beach. In my champagne haze, I 'liked' it to incite a little bit of "well hey there, how YOU doin'" flirtation.

And upon his logging on hours later, I dorkily got giddy to see he'd 'liked' one of my Mobile Photo Uploads right back.

Oh, Technology, what have you turned us all into?

you can't make this shit up.

This is what was delivered along with my chicken parm sub for lunch today. Evidently I made quite the impression on the guy who answered the phone at Manhattan Pizza.

booty call.

nothing like waking up to 2 missed calls and a text, all from the 3 am hour. why hello Red.

is it wrong that my first thought was, "shit, I wish I'd been up"?

Irony. Not that they would get that.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a total stickler for grammar and spelling. I may or may not even have been the District Spelling Bee Runner-Up in both the 3rd and 4th Grades - and might have been the winner if not for "righteous" and "semaphore".

So - explain this: I have not had any sort of sexual relationship or chat with a man who speaks/texts/emails/IMs in proper English for months. If you looked at the text history on my phone, you'd think I was dating 15 year old high school dropouts.

Punctuation? They're not interested. Spellcheck? What is that? The difference between your and you're? Get real.

Clearly that's how I like it, so it's my issue. And one that I need to figure out, since I really couldn't get serious with someone who doesn't know when to use "its" vs. "it's". But I'm seeing some irony here. And wondering if any of them know what that word means.

Delaware: Mystery Solved.

Heidi and I ran into Delaware last night, and in the middle of our tequila-induced dance fest, Heidi leaned in and asked Delaware what the deal is with his inability to touch me. In 2.5 seconds, he spilled to her that he had just gotten out of a 7 year relationship. Something he couldn't manage to communicate to me in 2.5 months.

I think I would've been less annoyed with him if he really was a virgin.

Meet: The Greek.

Meet: The Greek. Explanation may or may not follow, but this is why I generally don't let boys Facebook friend me...I made an exception,and this is what I get.

has it come to this?

Online dating is endlessly amusing. Truly. Most of the guys are weirdos, but that's pretty much like real life, if you ask me. But the "wink" I just got on Match...took it too far. I thought it was a mug shot, but I guess that's just his blinds. Either way, this one was too precious not to share. Meet my new boyfriend.

Run in with Big Red

Friday night, the girls and I headed downtown to a bar that none of us had ever been to before to attend one of Heidi's friend's birthday party. We were there for no more than 60 seconds, when I queued up to the bar to order a drink, and I do the swift little room-check for cute guys, and I do a double take at a tall, red-haired man to my right. Shit, a guy I'd met on Match.com.

He totally saw me double-take, so I turn toward him and do the polite, "Hello, how are you? Diana, remember? We went out a few months back." Introductions of our friends ensued, and then a nice, "Alright, well nice seeing you," from my side.

I turn back to the bar, where Muffy and Heidi are eyeing me suspiciously, wondering how I already intro'ed myself to a stranger at a bar in 5 seconds flat, when I whisper, "That was Big Red. You know, the one that bored me to death on our date back in January or February." At which point, I do a sly little glance his way, just in time to see his 6'5'' red-haired frame ducking out of that bar as fast as he could.

If he bored me on our date months back, I must've really freaked him out to make him want to flee, regardless of how full his cocktail still was.

Another one bites the dust.

It's going on two and a half months since Delaware resurfaced and we started our little dating affair. Walks in Central Park, movies in Union Square, dinners in Soho, dinners on the UES, drinks in the East Village, wandering through the Upper West Side, and after each and every date, a return to whoever's apartment was closest. The apartment-return would see us watching movies, sitting on the roof taking in the NY skyline, sipping some more wine, talking, making out, making out, making out.

Which can be fun. When you're 16.

However, these days, I'm a twentysomething professional living in New York City, on my own, in an apartment of my own, and I would seriously appreciate, especially after the two month mark, even just the slightest of a boob graze. (Because let me tell ya, Delaware, your love of dry humping really does not turn a girl on.)

I really don't get it. I've tried to further the situation myself, and managed to make a little bit of progress, so I thought. But only he reaped those benefits, let me tell ya.

The girls and I have had many a discussion on what the issue here might be. Shy? Maybe. Physically incapable? No, shot down that theory the night I took it upon myself to be a bit aggressive.

So after long, careful observation, we've come to the conclusion that I just can't see him anymore. I can't take the torture, and at the end of the day, I do not want to be the aggressor in a relationship.

Therefore, I must say, Sorry, Delaware. I hate to be mean, but I just can't date a 28 year old virgin.

Update: Red.

So, Red resurfaced a couple days ago with an attempted booty call. I declined in a pitiful attempt to play hard to get, then reciprocated last night.

I don't think he's my Prince Charming, or even that I will know him a month from now, but I'm glad I saw him semi-sober. Although I am still trying to figure out why he slept in my bed in full body Under Armour, right next to me, and didn't touch me all night or morning long. (After we already had had sex a couple hours earlier...so it wasn't some attempt at being a gentleman. wtf is that.)

On the plus side, he rolls giant blunts, has a now confirmed super hot body, and is a very oddly sexy combo of ghetto and smart.

I was kinda hoping for a better connection, but I'm not kicking him out of the rotation yet.

30 something's Labido

Whats wrong with me. My Gina is a screamin' "do me now" "do me now" its cray cray!

Honestly. If this doesn't settle down soon, Im gunna have to call in the troops, as in old booty calls to handle the job.

The Good Girl.

For starters:

• To lie and say it wasn't alcohol induced wouldn't be fair.
• To lie and say we knew each other pretty well as we came barreling inside of his apartment at 5 am would be stretching the truth.
• To lie and say I knew his name the next day (and by day, I mean Sunday afternoon) wouldn't be fair either.
• To lie and say I had the best of intentions wouldn't really be lying. Honestly, I did.

It's Saturday night, and I've accepted an invitation to a dinner party with an entire cast of gay men and myself. 6 guys + 1 girl? Who in their right mind would ever turn that down? Exactly.

A few bottles of red and 3 Cher CD's later, I get the call from Heidi that my attendance is needed at some downtown bar. It's 1 am and it's mandatory. My sober self would've toyed with the idea of heading home, my not-so-sober self didn't think twice. It seemed like seconds from the time I got the text to the moment when I slammed the cab door shut. It was pouring rain, the streets were overflowing with drunk twentysomethings. It was the perfect night for a bad decision.

Shortly after I make my way inside, Heidi arrives with boys in tow. We do the usual meet and greet, I decided none of them were cute and question why I trekked downtown at 1:30 in the morning for quasi-cute and semi-charming. Then I retorted because it's not the boys I was after, it was quality time with H, which is always a damn good time. Shots come, beers are poured, photo booths are found. That's right, ladies and gents, WE HAVE PHOTO EVIDENCE. Photo evidence that proves we were at the bar, but no photo evidence of the man you're about to meet.

I'd now like to introduce, Older Not Wiser, to my saga. Wish I could tell you more about how we met at the bar, but it's all kinda grey. Wish I could tell you how he swept me off my feet while crossing the street to catch a cab, but I'm pretty sure I stumbled in on my own. Wish I could tell you how I ended up at his apartment, but I don't really remember being invited.

What I do know is that we spent all of Sunday morning getting to know each other - completely naked. Believe it or not, he is charming. And hilarious. And amazing in bed. I should know. I didn't leave until 8pm the following evening. Either he wasn't sure how to kick me out, or he hadn't had a woman in his bed in a long time. Regardless, I overstayed my welcome and he didn't mind.

I should add that if this had been a male New Yorker in his twenties, I might of been a little more nervous that he "had done this sorta thing many times before." But, with Older Not Wiser, I felt at ease and safe. Like, he's older, more mature. A man that has his shit together wouldn't just do something like this all the time. (Just what any parent wants their daughter to assume, right?)

The day was great, it flew by actually. I will spare you the sexual details, as I'm sure we've all been in this situation with a first timer. And if you're wondering how I caught his name before we jumped in the shower for the next hour - I will share my secret. It was lunchtime-ish(?), we decided on take out, I opted to grab the menus, and there it was. I was hoping for a bill of some sort, an old pay stub, a bank statement...anything but a birthday card from his parents. Two birds with one stone. Name and Age. As I waltzed back to the bedroom, you would've thought I had just broken the DaVinci code. I'm just that good.

So, it's been two weeks. He's been calling. A few casual dates here and there. One more romp around his place. I'm not in love, or remotely even in like, but a girl has to have her backup plan.

Plus, I kinda like it when he smacks my ass and tells me "I'm being such a good girl."

Meet: The Student

The Student and I met when we lived next door to each other in the same Los Angeles apartment building during our high school years. I was 16, he was 14. According to our latest conversation (had this past week), we both mutually have had a crush on each other since those high school days. But I was a Junior, and he was a Freshman, so obviously that was never gonna happen.

Until I moved to New York a year and a half ago, and he got into NYU for Film School.

We've been messaging each other for the past year trying to arrange some sort of New York City rendezvous, but nothing had ever come about. Partly due to my busy work schedule, partly due to his crazy list of film deadlines, but mostly due to his being underaged and not able to get into any of the bars that I always ended up in in his 'hood late night.

Thursday night was one of those evenings that I found myself down in Greenwich Village with friends, so I made sure to text the newly-21-year-old to come meet us. He meets me at the bar, at one point I end up sitting on his lap, we leave together, and I walk him home to "make sure he got there safely". Next thing I know, we're standing in front of the NYU Dorm Building, and I ask him what his dorm room looks like. Do I want to see it?, he asks. You betcha I do.

I had to walk through a turnstile and give my West Coast University ID to the guard at the door, as well as sign some waiver, but I'd say it was worth all that to end up making out like crazy (and such) in his dorm room for the next three hours. I was impressed that that was what I had been living in such close quarters to all these years, and missing out on.

I would say that this could turn into some hot, steamy Summer affair, but as all collegiates do, The Student returns today to Los Angeles for his summer vacation. If New York weren't such an endless opportunity of hot Summer affairs, I might be a bit more disappointed. But he'll be back in the Fall, at which point I fully anticipate a sexy Autumn affair.

I, of course, texted Muffy & Heidi during my 4 am cab ride home from the dorms to fill them in on the setting of my evening, and I fully heard back the jokes (which I obviously found fitting, seeing that I haven't lived in a dorm in over five years). Until I showed them The Student's Facebook picture, at which point, the girls might have given me a little high five action. And then continued to joke about the rumored Chick-fil-a on campus at NYU.

Breakup Sex without the Ex

Too Soon.

This was bad bad bad.

So, here's the back story: I met this hottie around the same time I met my EX. We shagged a lot but my ex won the battle of wits. Now that Im confused and missing him like crazy, of course Im gunna call the hottie for a little "make me feel better" (que Halle berry in Monsters Ball) session.

We smoked a joint- me a little too much. Started making it out. Which was foreign and strange but mechanically nice. Then we got into the mix, this is where I felt like a filthy S-L-U-T.

It was too soon. Too much weed, too much booty too soon.

I have since made a mends with the ex. Being single doesn't necessarily mean get back into qusi-dating one-night-stand-mode. I actually have to be an adult about this break up and deal with it.

Barf.

make a sweet love? really?

really, seriously.

how did I get myself mixed up with a guy who keeps texting me that he wants to 'make a sweet love' to me?

I think I need to go to therapy.

texts from last night.

Last night...was....a shitshow. Could and probably should be its own entry, but let's just say it led to me jumping out of a cab to projectile vomit at 9:30 this morning.

Apparently Pseudo was having quite the night too, and feeling amorous because I woke up to 12 new texts, along with a whole conversation that I don't remember. From the beginning.....skip to the end if you just want the extra fun late night segment.

10:15 PM:
P: How goes Heidi
Me: Hi :) I may or may not be wasted on the UES. How are u?
P: I'm good :) A little drunk too. More wine than I'm currently used to.
Me: Ah, I see. At the bar next door?
P: So u've been good?
P: No. Home working/drinking. But headed there soon.

10:49 PM:
Me: I've been good :) having kinda ridiculous night but good :)
P: At bar now. Ahh jersey girls suck! Its who u are but I wish u weren't so complicated :) but then again I'm a mess too. Pbly easier this way I am really tired of hurting people. I don't have the constitution for it.
Me: Wait u mean is jersey girls who are complicated or me? Confused :)
P: lol. ure complicated. Jersey girls are simpletons.

11:02 PM:
P: But maybe not. I accept the fact that I may have created all the complexity in my mind.
Me: w me or u? (or both?)
P: Obviously I'm drunk. Just add it to the entertainment fee you owe me :)
P: No with me to answer ur question.
P: I know how you came to your positions
P: Usually understanding the others positions is enough to make a decision

11:32 PM
P: K Ignore me
P: Like for real
Me (via Diana, I couldn't type at this point): I'm way confused
P: Seriously ignore me
P: But if u want clarification
P: :)
P: Ure beautiful
P: Check
P: Smart. Check
P: And as much as my better self knows I shouldn't I'd come see u in a second
P: Not sexual just hi Heidi
P: And pbly obvioulsy a little drunk
P: Check
P: Hope ure enjoyin the show :)

11:47 PM
P: Ignore it all tomorrow

Easter, according to Pothead

"Too bad you're not in town [for Easter]. I'd be your chocolate, you could be my bunny."

-Pothead

Romancing: The Match.com Way

I received a message from a guy on Match.com asking me about my week, telling me about his, and then rounded out the nice-enough message with: "I have a theory about you, by the way. :)"

Upon reading that last line, in stepped the side of me that gets defensive when people think that they know me before they actually do, so I responded with a short: "Hi, what's this theory that you've got?"

His response: "My theory is that you like men who are optimistic and upbeat because you like those qualities in yourself but at the same time you feel those qualities lacking in yourself and so want a man to fill them. How did I do? :)"

This, of course, brought out my I-don't-need-a-man-to-fulfill-me side, and I got too annoyed with his lame psychoanalysis to even answer.

I kinda feel sorry for him now that I retype all of this... I mean, was this the best pick-up line he had???

I am a terrible TWI'er.

TWI = Texting While Intoxicated.

Saturday night, the girls and I were all out til about 5 am... Needless to say, I was a good bit intoxicated. And apparently, when intoxicated, I regress. Lots.

I decided to text Pothead:

Me: "I heard that you were hitting on one of my best friends, Muffy. I thought I was your girl?"

He answered the next morning:

"Haha, and what happened to your boyfriend? Lol, you're sexy from head to toes, but Muffy does have a nice booty :)))"

And then later Sunday night he followed up with:

"Now how come you only talk to me when you're drunk? You wouldn't happen to be one of those white girls with a repressed jungle fever now would you? Ha."


At least he has a great sense of humor in dealing with my drunk texting/teasing him!

dilemma.

I may have engaged in some irresponsible behavior on Saturday night. But - I swear - it wasn't for lack of *trying* to be responsible.

So - here's my question - because it isn't the first time that this issue has come up (pun fully recognized) - would it be weird if I had magnum condoms at my apartment?

I kinda think it would be REALLY weird, but, I don't know........I'm feeling like this is a no-win situation.

Regression Complete.

It's official, my regression is complete.

Things that I did last night that I haven't done since college included:
- made out on the dance floor before getting a name.
- smoked pot at a bar and didn't think twice about it.
- kinda got seduced and super turned on dancing to an r.kelly song.
- totally had a one night stand. with a guy with huge blingy earrings in both ears.

A few comments/questions:
- no clue how old this guy was, but somehow i am thinking sub-25. oops.
- WHY do i like the ghetto guy thing so much?
- the motion of the ocean wasn't so great but when the ship is that big, it kinda doesn't matter.

injury on the field.

So I am working at Starbucks this afternoon and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror....and, weird, I have a coffee stain on my lip. I mean, I just drank two ventis, stained teeth would be normal - but my lip, so weird?!

I go to the bathroom to clean it off - rub a little water on it...but so weird, it's not coming off! I lean in and look a little more closely...it's not a coffee stain, it's a big PURPLE bruise. On. my. lip.

Suddenly I remember yelping in pain on Sunday night sitting outside karaoke when Ivory tried to molest me and bit me - hard. I seriously think he might have popped a blood vessel in there. I didn't even know that was possible. Wow, just, wow.

Sunday Funday.

A lot can be said about a weekend that starts with mojitos in Central Park at 4 PM Friday and doesn't really stop from there. While there are quite a few stories to share...here's Sunday's action.

Met up with Muffy around 4 for "brunch" AKA our first meal since the 5 AM pancake and grilled cheese feast we shared that morning. We were both in seriously rough shape from the night before and were planning on a nice quiet Sunday meal, maybe watch a little basketball, maybe talk to some boys, no biggie.

Then, after a bloody and a few beers, Ivory starts texting. I'd agreed a few days before to see him on Sunday and didn't really think I could bail. Muffy and I were having too much fun, though, and I didn't really want to deal with Ivory alone so....Muffy and Pothead were invited! We head over to the old standby, hereby renamed J BBQ.

Ivory.....was in Gigglemonster Stage 7 when we arrived. Swinging back and forth between semi-normalcy and So Loud The Whole Bar is Looking at Us Gigglemonster. Fuck. How to deal with this situation? Um, shots. From the hot bartender, please.

Fast forward 2 hours, 2 shots, 2 beers....Ivory is shitfaced, Pothead is hitting on Muffy, I'm....wondering how the fuck I am in any way involved with this character. What next? Karaoke, of course. We head to the next spot. Take a shot from Asian bartender chick who I think may moonlight as a call girl, and is of course friends with Pothead...and we head to the back.

I can't really even explain Ivory's behavior in the karaoke room...but, suffice to say it was positively insane....involved a LOT of stumbling around the room, covering his face with his shirt repeatedly, and a loud, swaying attempt to serenade Muffy from the stage without a microphone.

Muffy and Pothead were gearing up for their duet when the karaoke machine broke, and Ivory was getting more ridiculous by the instant, so we were out. He had now asked me to come home with me at least thirty times, so I proclaimed that Muffy is sleeping on my couch, we are exhausted, and we have to go - NOW.

After a small goodbye struggle, we head out. I make Muffy walk with me to keep up appearances, then a half a block away.....brilliant idea...back to J BBQ and the hot bartender! Done. We play some skee ball, Muffy woos the hot bartender into giving us a free shot of Patron and.........out of the corner of my eye, I see someone swaying and falling and - it's Ivory! FUCK. As I try to break the news to Muffy...Pothead appears behind us.

Ohhhh nooooooo. Ohhh noooooooo this is bad. We have no words, I don't even say anything to Ivory, the bartender gets a good laugh out of it all, and Muffy and I decide...time to GO. Again. For real this time. We ungracefully stumble outside, have a quick chat with a very bizarre little man perched on top of a car like a spider monkey, and sit down to have a cigarette. We're talking about love, lust, and the evening we just had when...what? I am soooooo about to throw up. Apparently my earlier weekend conversation about how I never vomit anymore was a curse, because next thing I know, I am getting the hairy eyeball from an Upper East Sider walking her dog, as I am throwing up on the street. Wow. 32 years old, Sunday night, puking in a planter. C-L-A-S-S-Y.

If you're wondering if I heard from Ivory today, why yes I did:
11:03: "Morning my baby - miss you..."
12:25: "Heidi Heidi :)"
1:15: Missed call.
2:48: "Are you avoiding me or what???? Hope you are having a good day :)"

Apparently I am his princess for-e-va. I need to figure out how to make all men love me like this.

Date with Delaware

Delaware and I got busted last night by the Po' for making out in a park at like 1 in the morning. What am I, 12 years old???

Obviously it was a great date though... Dinner at a cutesy place in the East Village, followed by drinks at The Bourgeois Pig (one of my new faves), a little make-out sesh in the park, followed by a little make-out sesh at his apartment.

I didn't get home til 3 am, and on a school night! I can't really say that there's anything funny and juicy to share, because the date was actually just a really good one. No abnormal behavior, no ridiculous outbursts or pathetic attempts to get my pants off. Just a good night.

I had pretty much forgotten what that looks like up to this point...

"Beardo = Weirdo"

While translating to Muffy & Heidi today the various texts I'd been receiving from The Beard, all Muffy had to say was:

"Beardo = Weirdo."

She might be onto something. But then again, aren't they all kinda weird in their own peculiar ways?

I'll let his communication speak for itself:

6 AM Him: "Hey"
(Who the hell starts texting at 6 fucking AM!?)
815 AM Missed call.
(And then follows up 6 AM texting with an 8 AM phone call?!)
10 AM Me: "Well someone was calling & texting bright and early... whats up?"
155 PM Him: "Was celebrating after work. Figured if I was awake everyone should be."
205 PM Him: "Come hang out!!"
214 PM Me: "Wish I could...have to work though."
215 PM Him: "When do you get done with work? I don't have to work til 7 tonight."
I ignore.
320 PM Him: "Play hooky!!!"
445 PM Me: "Can't, so sorry! Have fun!"


I kinda think I'm a bitch sometimes....

Weekend Excursion Update.

So, maybe I was a little too wrapped up in hanging with my best friend and her hubs OR maybe I got wasted. Either way, this is the most action I got all weekend :

Saturday, 11:34 PM
Him: You are in.
Me: Are we scheduled?
Him: For?
Me: Miami?
Him: Fuck yeah. I am on point for Ultra.
Me: Done. Call me.

Sunday, 2:46 PM
Him: Wooo.

Monday, 10:52 AM
Him: Hey, completely forgot who this is, and I guess you are going to Ultra as well?

Final Notes on the Failure of a Possible Long Distance Romance :

A) After storing his number, I never got his name. HAVE ANOTHER, MUFFY.
B) I wouldn't know what "Him" looked like, even if "Him" came and smacked me in the face.
C) Yes, I'm going to Miami in a few weeks, but...
D) WTF is Ultra?
E) I really need to stop giving my phone number to complete strangers.

Mid-Atlantic boys are cute, but I drank them under the table. I told all the cute ones I was from NYC every chance I could. (As if that would make me more attractive. Which it does.) I had such an amazing weekend with my best friend and her hubs I could really care less if I made out with a boy at the bar or not.

SIKE.

This weekend better turn up something good or else...I might actually use this okaycupid account I signed up for.

It's not you, it's most definitely me.

I had a realization today: I pick some fucked up guys to date. It's been almost a year since I've started dating again post-commonlaw marriage of my 20s....and it's been a bizarre cast of characters. I feel like I am missing a few early ones but I can remember most of them, in order of appearance:

Taye Diggs Lookalike: HOT. HOT. HOT. A perfect re-introduction to dating and sex. Huge muscles and other things, ouch actually, and he broke my bed, literally. But....the guy's a weirdo and a sketchball. Should probably have known he was sketch from the start since his texts come from a weird string of numbers, not his name or number. Among other things, he's also attempted a 9 AM booty call and was eliminated recently with the whole "sexy slut" comment. Too bad. I really liked him at first.

The Roofying Asslicker: Yes, you read right. Pretty sure he roofied me - either that or I got shitfaced from 2 glasses of champagne, which is simply impossible - then took me to Harlem and tried to lick my asshole all night. Enough said.

The Pseudo Boyfriend: As previously mentioned, we pretended we were bf-gf for a bit, he even met my sisters for a beach weekend. He's really nice and was really fun when he was a big drinker. When the drinking stopped, so did the fun. And the sex...me on top for 5 minutes, missionary for 5, me on top for 5, and...done. IF I was lucky. Predictable sex is almost worse than no sex, if you ask me.

The High School Crush: Possibly the best of the lot, so naturally also the one I have seen the least. Met up fifteen years post-high school at a reunion, stayed up and out together until 6 AM that first night. Have been hooking up and getting the occasional beer every few weeks since. Great guy, perfect anatomy, amazing sex. That's about all we do anymore, the every few weeks night of crazy sex. In large part because he LIVES IN FUCKING BROOKLYN. And thinks it's the greatest place on earth. Like I said, they all have fatal flaws.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell: AKA the one with the wedding ring. Not much to say about this one except that I clearly shouldn't be involved in this but can't seem to feel guilty about it. Crazy physical chemistry and a few crazy adventures. I won't say more at risk of grossing out Muffy and Diana. Have been slowing down with this one in a too-late attempt to fix my karma, but can't seem to cut it off completely.

Bloated Tiger Woods: Met this one online. All good, talked for a week, then we met......40 pounds heavier than his profile picture. Tiger Woods lookalike, if he was blown up like a balloon. Literally. He kept looking at me and saying "damn...you look good." While I do think I am better in person than pics, I don't look THAT good. I can only surmise that he assumed I'd be 40 lbs heavier too? Either way, sorry, I'm shallow, but I don't date fat guys and that one pissed me off. That's just deceptive.

Shawty: Previously mentioned. Why I think it's OK to meet men at Brother Jimmy's, I don't know. He was OK wasted and sitting, not great wasted and standing, and completely unacceptable sober in any position. And on our first and last date, the "you can sit a little closer, you know!" and "your lips look soooo soft" comments did not help his case. Nor did the attempted phone booth molestation. Ew.

Joepa: Another online date, possibly my last. SO nice, but also giant and awkward. Feel a little bad, I agreed to a second date and never responded to his last texts, but I just was 100% unattracted to him. Bad karma on this one too, he didn't deserve to be straight dissed. I am bad at getting out of situations gracefully.

Ivory Coast: I don't need to say very much about this one at this point, right? The giggling, the bringing the friend on the dates, the track jacket, BROOKLYN, the sonnet texting, the list goes on. So why have I not stopped texting him? Issues I tell you. Issues.

And of course, no summary would be complete without a mention of the bizarre Ex Common Law Husband situation. Still very tight, still talk and text all day every day, and he may or may not have bought me a $400 DVF dress the other day. I watched the last episode of Friends last night and he is Ross to my Rachel. Best of friends, really not terribly attracted to one another.

But, through the adventures of the last year, I've become smarter than Rachel - I've figured out that the attraction part is just as important as the friendship part. Every successful couple I know has both and I'm not willing to settle for one or another. I'd rather wait - I almost said I'd rather be alone, but I've got friends, family, an endlessly amusing cast of characters in my bed, and I live in the most amazing city in the world. Somehow I don't feel alone at all.

(I still probably need to work on my choices. Suggestions and setups with tall, dark, and handsome men are always welcome.)

I think I need to work on my choices.

I don't know why, but I do find Ivory Coast to be somewhat endearing, despite the bouts of the giggles, the rooftop incident, and the time he tried to follow me home. The first two hours of both of the dates we've been on have been really, really nice. They've also both ended with Pothead showing up, some giggles, and some molestation attempts....so, yes, I clearly need to put an end to this.

For some reason, though, I still kinda like him. I really can't explain it, and he keeps doing really weird things that are making it difficult.

Case in point: an hour ago, my phone rings, Ivory's number. We usually text, not call, but OK. I pick up.......it's Pothead. Chatting with me on behalf of Ivory, asking me to come hang out.

So, either:
a) Diana's little sexting bit the other night got them thinking about a threesome.
b) They really are secretly 14 year old girls impersonating French African men.
or
c) Pothead is secretly Ivory's agent/bodyguard, who pretends to be his friend as to not freak me out.

or d) they are just fucking weirdos.

I don't know. It's all very strange. I am thinking about all of the men I have been out with in NYC and my track record is really not looking good. I'm starting to think it's me. Full rundown coming later, maybe someone can help me figure out the pattern.

Like This Isn't Obvious.

The Beard texted me tonight. He works at the bar around the corner from my apartment on Mondays and Tuesdays, so I can safely say that he is looking for a little after-work bootay.

His pickup line for the evening: "Hey whats up".

Riiiiight. Because that one will get me into bed every time.



(He should know by now that I need a couple of shots and a few Blue Moons in me, and then a "hey whats up".)

Update: Ivory

I went out with Ivory last night. Yes, even after doing the 50-yard dash out of Brooklyn last weekend, we've been texting all week and I agreed to a Sunday night date because a) I *did* have fun with him on the first date and b) my karma is all fucked up after the Brooklyn incident and I need to set it straight.

As on date #1, everything was good at the first spot, a nice tapas bar on the Upper West Side, then en route to the second...the requests to come home with me began, and continued every five to ten minutes. Now, I'm not sure when I became such a prude, but I've decided to make this one wait a while.

So...at some point I decided to share my dating secret with him. He was telling me about some girls hitting on him at school....so I nicely suggested that maybe he should start fucking one of them so that he wouldn't be so horny and we could just chill a little.

I don't think he liked that suggestion so much? He told me that he didn't want to do that, he only wanted to be with me...at which point I told him that I am not monogamous. I don't think he liked that either.

Anyway, at least I'm honest. But, I do believe what I told him. Heidi's Secret to Dating #1: Keep a fuck buddy on the side at all times.. Any woman who's woken up at 7 AM with a snoring naked 3rd date in her bed knows that sexual frustration doesn't usually lead to good places.

Lesson #492: Take Notes.

Shit. So here's the problem. In the midst of google-stalking Delaware tonight (hey, we have a date in four days... a girl's gotta be prepared), I realized that even after the six hours that we spent talking (okay and not talking) last weekend, I can't remember much about what we talked about. I made a point to remember his last name for aforementioned google-stalking purposes, but other than that... And to be honest, it's not really even that I don't remember, per se, it's more that I can't figure out what bits of information actually belong to Delaware, and not any of the other Dates of Recent Past...

Okay, wait, I remember his birthday is coming up next month, okay so that makes it in April. Right. Is it the twenty... No, not the 22nd. Oh, I know! I told him that it was his Golden Birthday this year, and I know he is 27 right now, so that means he'll be 28, so okay April 28, got that down. And then the siblings... I think that he said the older brother still lives at home, but wait- no, I think that was Midwestern Boy. So okay, I think his older brother lives back near his hometown though in Delaware. And I think he's married? Delaware's brother, not Delaware. Oy shit. And he has a sister, a sister...what was it that he told me about the sister? Did she live in Vermont? Ugh, no I think that was The Principal. In fact, I know it was The Principal. And The Principal got a little offended when I didn't recall that detail on that glorious first date of ours. Okay, forget The Principal. I think that when Delaware mentioned where his sister lived, I remembered thinking that all three kids had stayed in the Mid-Atlantic and New England regions, and that his parents must appreciate that. So maybe she lives in Boston? Or crap, maybe Philadelphia? Ohhhkay, now I'm starting to wonder if I made this sister up. No, no, there is a sister. Because he's the youngest of three. So then if he's 27, almost 28, and he's the youngest, then he might have mentioned nieces or nephews. If he did, well, sorry Charlie, I am a total shit for brains apparently. And the worst part is that I wasn't totally drunk, so what's my excuse when I ask him again if he's an only child and what state he hails from? "Oh, I'm sorry, Delaware. I just am such a frequenter of Match.com and meeting random men in bars that I can't keep all you boys straight." Now that would go over fantastically, I'm sure.

Obviously, I'm getting no where with this, and really, really for the sake of my beauty sleep and making sure that I wake up with my alarm clock in the morning (6 hours and counting), I need to get my stalker butt off the computer, stop letting myself think so hard (one would assume that keeping a written record of the details of all of these dates would help jog one's memory, but no), and try to close my eyes and not dream of anything man related.

Ha... tough luck. But here's to trying...

It's been a quiet last couple nights...

I grounded myself for the rest of the week after waking up Wednesday with my head refusing to balance correctly on my shoulders. I mean, Tuesday is just the beginning of the school week for goodness sake. I gotta slow it down a little.

The real reason for the update though is that Delaware and I have been texting (not to be confused with sexting) throughout the week and have scheduled our next date for a week from today. A Thursday...not too shabby. We're meeting at a really cool bar that Muffy, Heidi, and I actually wrapped up my birthday at a few weeks ago. Like it.

I'm actually looking forward to it.

Ugh, don't let me start falling in crush mode...

Although I secretly maybe do love crush mode ;)

This just in:

Apparently, like tequila and texting, tequila and being sexually frustrated don't mix either.

I just received an order confirmation email from Rabbitvibrator.com.

Apparently, I felt a little online shopping was necessary last night. And apparently, I felt that I deserved only the best, because I ordered the $100 one.

Fantastic.

Tequila and Texting do not mix.

Texts from last night:

Him: Hi Diana, its Pothead. How are you?

[six hours later] Me: I'm well thanks, how are you?

Him: I'm a year older, 27 now. We should go for a drink at The Wine Bar sometimes.

Me: I'm sorry, I hate The Wine Bar.

Him: Oh ok, you got a place you like to go for a drink?

Me: Well I mean I do have a boyfriend though... Does that matter to you?

Him: Well, he's your bf, not mine, i digged you that night, you're really cute.

Me: Well thanks. I have a question. What was the guy doing on the roof with just suspenders and boxers but no pants?

[thirty minutes later] Me: Pothead my love...please tell me the suspenders story

-Pothead calls. I don't recall the conversation, just that I know I really egged him on even further. We hang up.-

Me: It was so good to hear your sexy voice.

Him: Hehe, really? Glad you like it babe.

Me: You speak french, can you tell me what menage a trois means?

Him: It means me, you and another cutie.

Me: How about you me and another guy?

Him: Lol, you're funny, you're game like that? I never done that, but i'm like that energy bunny, you only one of me ;)

[I think he meant, "you only need one of me"...]

Him: I'm back home, we should meet up, i'll teach u more sexy french.

Me: Hm, menage a trois. What about you and Ivory Coast?

Him: What??? You're serious? i don't know about that ...come on babe, let me drop by and say hi, i haven't seen you in a while.

Me: I'm actually really serious. Is that a problem?

Him: Ok, let's meet up and talk about what you want to do, imma take a shower, let me know, if you serious, i can seriously drop by and get down to some serious business... Nope that's not a prob ...just say the word, i'll be right by your doorstep, coming to put some dick between your legs, just say the word. Lol, we can alternate...seriously u got me in the mood, i wanna tear your ass apart babe...

-At this point, The Beard was listening in to us girls laughing so hard at the text messages that he grabbed my phone, and decided he was going to answer Pothead for a while. I didn't argue and let him text away. I'm seriously going to hell. The following messages sent from "me" are actually The Beard...-

Me: The only thing you'll be putting in me is a serious bout of nausea.

Him: Ok, i get it...but you started with this, i just played along. i didn't think you were serious at first, that's why i asked you, but think what you want to think.

Me: Take it easy buddy I'm sure there are women lined up around the block to have your awkward sexual advances texted to them.

Him: I didn't make any advances until you teased me about having a sexy voice and wandering about menage a trois ...i called you see how you were doing and if you wanted to meet up, that was it...anyway, it doesn't matter now.

Me: [this was Heidi taking the phone back and trying to wrap the convo up] Dude pothead I'm just drunk and was playin'. Dude its all good.

I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell.

An Open Letter (not from) the Heart

Dear Single Men of Manhattan

I don't get sloppy on a Tuesday night to NOT get taken advantage of. Come on. If you see a girl, like me, dressed to the nines with polish on the nails, drinking her way through (yet another) margarita on a school night...take notice. I CAME TO WORK. (And by work, I don't mean a 9-to-5er.) There's some country and western song that says, "Tequila makes her clothes fall off," and guess what? They ain't lying.

Since you, Single Men of Manhattan, can't seem to find the time right now, I'll give you some time to think. Think about what you're missing out on.

Hope you miss me a lot this weekend. I can't wait to give the Mid-Atlantic boys a run for their money.

hugs&kisses!

m.

The Beard

Several interesting things happened last night. They may have been a bit of tequila/sangria/beer induced, and yes, my head is still spinning this morning, so I may have to share these stories throughout a couple of posts.

Back on my birthday, I met a bearded bartender that I thought was kinda cute, we exchanged numbers and a few texts, and then... yah, you guessed it. MDFM Phenom. Whatev.

I apparently had no shame last night after downing a few drinks, and Heidi, Muffy, and I headed back to the bar that The Beard worked at. He recognized me, I jokingly asked him what happened with hanging out, and we ended up texting back and forth while I was sitting at the bar. I asked when he got off, he said 4, it was only 1, so we left.

As I arrived home, I received a text from The Beard asking for some dirty sexting.

I was drunk. I could play this game.

It went on for over an hour, I told him to come over after work, and I finally passed out around 230.

I woke up this morning at 9 AM to 2 text messages and three missed booty calls. Oops.


The best part: I turned my computer on this morning to find that I had googled "Tips on How To Talk Dirty".

Wow, I'm juvenile.

Karma & The Principal

After diagnosing my MDFM situation to be a direct result of my bad karma, I have made a conscious effort over the last few months to right my wrongs and leave a good, I dunno...vibe or something, out in the dating world.

I had pretty much set everything in a positive direction until a quick little slip of the Blackberry occurred this weekend.

Let's rewind to Friday, where I had a planned date with The Principal (as in, of a school). We had met on Match.com, and because he lives in Brooklyn (aka Geographically Undesirable), we decided to meet at some beer bar in Union Square. Because Muffy and Heidi were heading out for what sounded like way more fun than my Principal-date, I met them prior to heading downtown, and admittedly got a little drunk.

Three martinis and a $17 cab ride later: I met him, he was okay cute, we had a semi-boring conversation, I diagnosed that as good of a job as I was doing being able to pretend that he was entertaining me, he was doing a poor job of pretending that I was amusing him, and we mutually cut the date short about an hour and a half in. Cool, no big deal. Then right at the end of the conversation at the bar, I do a little head-tilt at something he says, and I try to re-evaluate if he actually is indeed interested in me. Either way, we leave, we walk toward the main street where I can catch a cab and he can catch his train to Brooklyn, we stop for a moment for me to mention I need to head to the left, and he looks, and says: "Okay, nice meeting you. Good night." And turns and walks away.

I was a bit taken aback at his super abrupt farewell, although admittedly not disappointed to escape the lame date and head back to the girls, but at least I then felt positive in his lack of any interest in me.

Until Saturday.

The girls and I were a few drinks in, making fun of his abrupt exit and decided to make light of the situation. I sent The Principal a quick email from my Blackberry:

"I had such a wonderful time meeting you last night. I'd love to see you soon.

Diana"

I said "wonderful"? "Love to see you soon"? I was sure that this would make his eyes bug a little that this was my response to our Friday night meeting.

Fifteen minutes later the good ole Blackberry beeps with a response:

"I had a great time too and would love to get together again. When are you free? How was your night tonight? Hope you had fun!"

Whaaaaaaaaaat? You have got. to be. kidding me. And more than anything, because I decided to mess with his head and in all honesty make fun of him, does this mean I have to work on karma reparation all over again??? Unreal.


....But now that I reflect on this situation and the juxtaposing evening with Delaware, I'm thinking that it may be quite possible that the MDFM Phenom really is taking a turn-around...

Anywhere But Brooklyn.

Single women everywhere re-hash male behaviors and determine that most guys are assholes. The male version of this conversation apparently concludes that most women are crazy bitches. Last night, I was the crazy bitch. For sure.

Once we sent Diana safely off on her dreamy date, Muffy and I decided to go ahead and head to Brooklyn to Pothead's birthday party. We left the fine island of Manhattan around 2:30 AM....25 long minutes later, the lights disappeared, the shops disappeared, the people disappeared...and we'd arrived at the "house party" in Brooklyn. On a deserted and scary block.

We weren't feeling it, but at this point, we'd spent 25 minutes and 25 bucks getting there, so decided to head in. In a moment of brilliance, Muffy begged the cab driver to wait five minutes "just in case" since our chances of finding a cab once there were none to none.

We go in to find 8 people hanging out in a bright, quiet apartment. Um, OK. We say hello and happy birthday to Pothead who tells us that Ivory Coast is anxiously awaiting my arrival on the roof.

Then the fun really begins. We head to the roof to find Ivory Coast, dressed to the nines in a track jacket and beanie, so stoned that he can only giggle like a Japanese schoolgirl....sitting alongside Suspenders, aptly named because he was in his boxer shorts being held up by suspenders. Um, what? Yes, underwear and suspenders.

We're not really sure what the fuck is going on at this point, but we are positive that we need to bounce. Muffy signals to the cabbie from the roof that we're coming back down, and we tell Ivory and Suspenders that we're out. They ask me where we're going - my answer: "Anywhere but Brooklyn." They are down, I guess, because they say that they are coming with us. Suspenders scampers away to put on his jeans, and Ivory Coast scampers to...put on another track jacket? Not sure. We tell them we are heading down to have a cigaratte and we'll see them in the cab.

Somewhere between that conversation and the door of the cab, we think better of it, and decide it's time to bolt - solo. We jump in the cab and tell him to step on it.

The best part: Ivory still asked me for a "walk and dinner" tonight.

I gotta work on my dating karma.

Muffy is here, ya'll!

I've been working on my introduction for awhile now, trying to pin down the perfect combination of words to tell my story. I've wanted to tell the truth, but not the whole truth. What I'm looking for, what I've experienced and what I hope to find. It's hard to beat around the bush. So, here it is. Uncensored. Full of color. Sometimes funny. A little bit awkward. Extremely optimistic.

- - - - -

I'm a new New Yorker. Four months and some change. I haven't even gotten one full season of New York City under my belt, and I'm already in love. 25 (okay, fine. Almost 26) years old, single, and I'm falling in love with a city. Not just any city, it's New York FUCKING City, but shouldn't I be married by now? Atleast in a committed relationship and talking about tying the knot? Dreaming up the most fabulous of reception venues and gushing over Vera's new collection? I'm from the South, I'm invited to atleast 10 weddings per year, this is not abnormal. This is also one of the many reasons why I chose to get the hell outta dodge. And, just so I don't sound superficial, may I also add that I was in dire need of a new career path, a new lifestyle, a change of scenery, and of course, a new dating pool.

It's impossible to move anywhere without some baggage. I came here on a one-way ticket with only two suitcases. One interview lined up and a temporary place to stay. Some call it "the right place at the right time," I call it fate. There was no time for goodbyes and good lucks, for the most part I didn't even tell anyone I was leaving. So I left and have yet to return. This may present a problem to some, but I found it to be the most perfect and sound escape. It wasn't neat and clean, nor organized or well executed. But the second that plane took off, I knew my life would never be the same.

Okay enough of me reliving my glory day, back to the baggage. Mine comes in the form of The Ex and The Best(Lover)Friend. Honestly, I'm not sure why The Ex is still in the picture. It was 6 years in the making, and I did the breaking up. He was great in college, bad in the post-grad world. Great as a first love, terrible as a forever love. The sex was great...for about a month. About 3 years and one lover-on-the-side-in, I realized I had perfected the most amazing of fake orgasms with him laying beside me. This is a horrible realization. Why didn't I get out then? Your guess is as good as mine. Regardless, move forward all these years and he's still in the picture. For some ungodly reason. He has a girlfriend now, and I still get giddy when he sends me a text telling me that I'm on his mind. It's sick that I enjoy it, and is more than likely bad karma. Whatever. I just like the reminder of how far I've come. Not to mention I haven't even laid eyes on him in 2 years? He'd die if he saw me now.

And then there's The Best(Lover)Friend. I'd love to give a brief synopsis. But, I think I'd rather let you figure things out on your own. Because honestly, I have no fucking clue with this one. Are we friends? Or battling our way through the most confusing and inconvenient of relationships/friendships? I forever question if I like him like that or if he likes me like that? I mean, doesn't everyone communicate (in some form or fashion) with their best guy friend everyday? That's normal for friends, right? Of course it is...not. I'm not stupid. It's a bizarre relationship - just wait and see for yourself. Sometimes you'll want to cry for me, most of the time you'll laugh your ass off and then sometimes you'll be on the edge of your seat waiting to see if his oddly worded 2am weeknight e-mail followed by his mid-morning USPS delivered mix tape means something or nothing at all?

- - - - -

It's only fitting that I include this song recently sent from The Best(Lover)Friend. Click here. And yes, I already know what you're thinking.

Would love to spill more, but I've got some "googling of boys I met this weekend" to do.

xoxo - m.

Delaware: Four Months Later

Muffy, Heidi, and I headed downtown last night for a hopefully eventful Saturday evening... We started out at a bar in the East Village, where I strategically texted Delaware to let him know where we were and hopefully have him stop by for a casual bump-in. He did end up joining us soon after we had arrived and went through quite a few rounds of drinks with the girls and me. He was definitely able to hang with my girls, laugh with our jokes, and even managed to squeeze some good laughs out of us as well.

Muffy and Heidi decided to head to Brooklyn for a party hosted by Ivory Coast, his friend Pothead, and some others, so it gave me a great chance to escape with Delaware and get to chat one-on-one. We headed to a little divey joint in Alphabet City, had a beer, and he pulled me in for a first kiss: nice, definitely with a sweet tinge to the whole thing.

He asked then if I had ever gotten his call back in the Fall after we had met. I told him no, that I hadn't. He told me that he had thought that I just wasn't interested, but that after four months had passed, I still crossed his mind, so he decided to take the chance and send me that text message. Exact words: "I hoped that if I still remembered you and had thought that you were so great, that maybe you remembered me also."

I mean, I tried not to melt there on the spot.

I was pleasantly surprised all evening by his straight forwardness and cute shyness- definitely two qualities that the men I tend to go for never possess.

We ended up heading back to his apartment (did I mention that he conveniently placed us at said divey joint directly across the street from his place?) so that he could play me a song on the guitar. We made a quick detour to his rooftop deck, kissed there a bit more, headed to his room where he played for me, and then - surprise, surprise - ended up making out on his bed for an hour. Don't worry though, I was a good girl and insisted on heading home by 4 am.

Here is where I do have to note that I called the girls immediately upon my departure to fill them in, and definitely made the bold statement that he may possibly have been the best kisser of my life thus far. Corny, but I realized that I've never made out with someone who just completely exuded passion, and believe it or not, I think I could tell from the make out sesh that he may actually be one of the few left in New York City that believes in... dare I say it? ...romance.

(Even I tend to just believe that romance one day ran off with chivalry, only to never return.)

Who knows? I'm definitely interested in seeing where this one might end up...

To Lube or Not to Lube

Ok, so here's the thing my kitten's been dryer then the sierra desert lately. Actually I don't like kitten, let's call her GINA from now on. So Gina's been dry and after carefully assessing the situation I decide to do what every other professional does in time of crises, take on a partner! Meet the proverbial LUBRICANT. After buying each variety I could get my anxious little hands on I end with DUREX, K-Y and Amirex brands of "feminine moisture aid." Really? Feminine moisture aid, just say it like it is, "this shit wets your whistle." Wait, did I just read one which boasts "warming lubricant? Um, you have my attention.

Let's give her a whirl.

So I'm playing kissy face with my sweetie and I'm really trying to get hot enough to wet the old whistle and there's entry level wetness but not enough for me to ride him like a quarter pony outside of Kmart, which is of course the desired result.

So I reach for the ol' bottle or warming lube, squeeze a healthy portion in my hand and slather is all over GINA. He enter's, meanwhile my inner dialogue is going a little something like this:

"ok, this is good, there seems to be enough for me to work with after the initial wiggling into position, I think I love this stuff!" Mmm maybe I should have started out with a smaller amount cause I think I'm tingling a little too much..... wait I'm sort of burning... oh shit, that's a good spot... "stay there hunny"... wait my GINA is really tingling... uh oh... I better wrap this up...holy moly my GINA is ON FIRE!!!!! Ok gunna fake the O, have to.... Oh ohohohohohohoooooooo, "you rock my world." AHHHHhhhhhh

Thank God that's over, now I need to go pee all this shit out of me!!!!

So what now? I have a GINA that's in fuego so there's no way for another round. This blows.

So there you have it, my first experience with warming feminine moisture aid and the result is a 4-star yeast infection.

Fucking disaster.

A week in text messages.

OK, I can't lie. I do sort of like Ivory Coast, despite the 2nd Avenue Groping Incident. But, more than anything, I'm highly amused by his texts. A few choice excerpts from the last 5 days(bear in mind that we have now hung out twice: when we met at a bar and one subsequent date)....in order of receipt:

"Heidddddi I really love you :)"
"Relax and think about my pretty smile for an hour and then you great :) Heidi really I like you"
"...I want to see you again so bad :)"
"Are you the most wonderful girl or what??? Cuz I really like you :)"
"You will have fun times with Ivory Coast :)"
"...hope that tomoro we two lay sleeping in our nest in the churchyard sod w our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast n our souls at home w lord"
"...and I am sitting in this boring class daydreaming about you..."
"I think I am a prince :)"
"...we will make a great couple :)"
"hey princess :)...I am getting plenty of rest for only you my princess :)"

footnote: typing all of these things out just freaked me out a little. and I didn't even include the funniest one of all as it deserves its own post. maybe this isn't so amusing???

Introducing Delaware

So in looking back, I believe that the "Man Dropping off the Face of Manhattan" Phenomenon (we'll call this the MDFM Phenom) began sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving of last year.

That means I'm going on about four months of this totally unsuccessful streak of either:
a) meeting someone that I am interested in that feigns interest for a while, at the very least, before halting the phone calls and date requests, or
b) meeting someone that I'm totally uninterested in that apparently is also totally uninterested in me, because he doesn't even attempt to call for the second date and give me the option of rejecting him first.

Let me tell ya, Fall '09 and Winter '10 have definitely given me an ego thrashing.

Rewinding back to one of the first cases of MDFM, a girlfriend and I bravely ventured to Brooklyn for a party where we really knew only the host. We ended up quickly making friends and gravitating to the cute boys of our choice, and I managed to having a super flirty game of Beer Pong (how romantic) with a somewhat-shy but pretty adorable guy from Delaware.

The night wrapped up with Delaware and I being the only two left in the back yard with him serenading me and playing my requests on the guitar. (Sidenote: I normally find the whole guitar-playing, boy-serenading shenanigans super unappealing and insanely corny, but this time, I found it surprisingly sweet...) 3 AM rolled around and Delaware's friends started hollering for him to leave, so he took my number, and texted me right away to tell me he had a great time meeting me. I don't remember exactly what happened after that. I do know that there was texting back and forth for a couple of days and that he had said he'd call by the end of the week for us to plan a date.

He apparently got wind of the MDFM Phenom and never called.

Until..... two days ago? (Note: we met in the Fall, and it is now almost Spring.)

I received:
"Hey Diana, it's Delaware. We met at [Redacted]'s party a few months back. We had a musical night and I still remember how much I enjoyed meeting you. I'd like to get together if you're up for it."

It was such a nice message, and I was definitely curious to eventually hear what caused his four month hiatus, and his subsequent reappearance. I waited a good 48 hours before responding, but ending up texting back and forth with him again all night last night. I made no mention of hanging out and am going to wait to see if he can actually follow through on solidifying the plans this time...

If the MDFM Phenom has taught me anything thus far, it is to not hold my breath, but I am definitely intrigued... and eager to see if the Phenom is finally ready to throw me a fucking bone.

Male Logic

Another special date last night. By the numbers...

Inches taller than me: 2
Attempts to kiss me at the bar: 11
Vodka sodas I sucked down in an attempt to make it better: 3
Times I said "OK, I am going to go.": 7
Requests to come home with me: 7
Times I was shoved into a phone both outside for attempted makeout: 1
Minutes it took him to text me once in the cab: 4

So, what I don't get here is - how can this poor guy not take a hint? Or, say, 25 hints?

Discussed with a male friend this morning and got some good insight into male logic. He said it's very clear - because Shawty knew I wasn't interested, he figured he might as well give it all a shot, just keep trying, get as much as he possibly could out of the date. Very interesting. At least he went for the gold. Too bad it kind of makes me want to bathe in bleach this morning.

Texts from Last Night

Last night, I used the excuse that I was having an argument with my "boyfriend" and therefore could not go meet Pothead, who is a friend of Ivory Coast. I thought that the commitment aspect of that would give the not-so-subtle hint that I wouldn't be interested in visiting with Pothead.

Apparently, there were still gray areas.

Text received:
"Hey, I'm sorry to hear that you are having bf trouble. Come out have a drink, let me put a smile on your cute face :)"

Umm....I'll take a rain check.

let me clarify.

I've said before that passion is important - and sometimes I just want a man to throw me up against a wall and rip my pants off.

I didn't mean while we are walking down 2nd Avenue.

Am I getting Punk'd?

2 texts that I just got in the last 10 minutes:

From Pseudo Boyfriend, who I have been pretty much avoiding since the night of 5-minute lovin and the introduction of Marriage Plan 2011:

"I'm so hating on these people with their relationships right now."

From Ivory Coast, who I met at a bar THREE NIGHTS AGO and am supposed to meet at a wine bar in 2 hours - upon confirming our plan:

"Cool--xoxo"

Pseudo: This is not going to help the me avoiding you situation.
Ivory: Are you secretly a 17 year old girl?

Who sends these texts? Do. not. understand.

Casual Sex v. Committed Sex

Maybe I Shouldn't Have Said That...

Sooo... I'm thinking that telling the woman that set me up with Kevin(*) back in November that I think that things between us didn't work out because, long story short, I think that he couldn't get it up, might have been slightly inappropriate.

Now that I've typed it out, I think it might have been thoroughly inappropriate.

Reason #439 why ending things with a girl in a cowardly way, instead of communicating what the issue might be, might not be the wisest of ideas.

(*)Name has been changed to protect the erectionally disabled.

Isn't there a golden girl rule about this?

So what do you do when one of your bff's has been Match.com winking/messaging with the one and same Platform Cutie/Midwestern Boy? And made it somewhat obvious that she is from the same hole-in-wall town and lives on the same street as me?

This is going to make for awkward first date conversation.

Life is not a porno.

So don't call me a "sexy slut" when we are doing it. Ew.

I think this is grounds for being eliminated from the rotation. Goodbye, Taye Diggs lookalike and your giant muscles too. It's been fun. Really.

today's lesson: the golden rule

Step by step instructions on how to be a big asshole:

1) Decide to break it off with Pseudo Boyfriend because you are bored, the sex is bad, and he is talking about wanting to be married - not necessarily to you, but married - next year, which totally freaks you out.

2) Passive aggressively stop texting him when you go away for a long weekend.

3) Find it a little curious that he isn't texting you either, but figure that you are involved in the fun dating came of Text Chicken - and he was the last to text so it probably is your turn.

4) Finally feel sort of bad, give in, text him.

5) Find out that - actually - the reason he hasn't been texting you is not due to Text Chicken, but is because his body went into shock 12 hours after he last messaged you, and he's been in the hospital for the last 4 days.

I mean - wow. Doesn't change the ultimate situation, we are not compatible, but this one did make me feel like a big jerk. Nice guys don't deserve to be alone in the hospital for four days and simultaneously suddenly ditched by their pseudo girlfriend.

Lesson learned: don't forget the golden rule, even if you're bored and the sex is shitty. It's just not cool.

back to the game.

I headed to the suburbs for the last few days, to escape from my life with my sister and her brood. I was on a specific mission to detox from both booze and men...no texts, no calls, no sex....but, that doesn't include online dating, right?

So - because I apparently have issues and can't completely cut off contact with men for 72 hours - I, completely sober and feeling inspired to put myself out there in an honest way, hit up Match. (The lovely Diana inspires me here!) Sent a wink and a few just-witty-enough emails...while I did get a wink back from a very attractive man, he hasn't replied to my subsesquent email. Neither have the other two who I emailed.

And.......this is precisely why I have to advocate for playing the dating games. When you don't reach out to them, they want you. When you do, they ignore you. (There is a Match-specific game, by the way, it's called the "who's viewed me" shuffle...but that's another entry.) I'm so not naturally inclined to roll this way, but I get the same outcome every. single. time. that I don't play along. So...back in I go.

UPDATE:

Midwestern Boy (aka Platform Cutie) called last night. No mention of our psuedo-meeting on the 6 Train.

Phew.

Date is set for Thursday. I know, a whole five nights away. But in all fairness, I am one busy girl.

Lessons from the Battlefield

Lessons from the Battlefield this Week – Read and Learn.

1) Be wary of talking to a guy who sits at the bar the whole three hours you are there. It’s entirely possible that you will talk all night, do lots of shots, make out, then get up and leave to go to the next bar – and find out he is 5’5”.

2) Men in their 30s can still have 5 minute sex. And I’m talking in the bed, not an airplane bathroom. I’d still like someone to explain this to me, please, because I am pretty sure this was supposed to end somewhere around 19.

3) Doing sketchy things in sketchy places is even more fun than you think it’s going to be. I’m just saying. Do it. Life is too short for inhibitions.

4) Be careful when Google stalking someone who you met a few shots in. You may become convinced that you found him, get thoroughly freaked out when you think he is a wannabe vampire…and 2 days later, discover that you have Google stalked the wrong person entirely.

5) Run, do not walk, away from a man who sees that you have a Brazilian and asks you “why you do that.” It’s not a good sign of what’s to come.

6) Your doorman will probably not respect you in the morning.

It's a small, small world.

If it's true what they say about this being such a small world, then I am certainly correct in telling you that this city of 9 million people... is even smaller.

Case in point:

After a string of dating guys that decided to simply drop off the face of Manhattan (what am I doing wrong?), I decided to just suck it up and really start initiating that ever-so-brave first email via my Match.com account.

Enter: Midwestern Boy(*). We've had some pretty good emails back and forth to each other for the last week, and tonight's email is the one that I expect to hold my invitation for dinner or a drink this upcoming week. I decided to send my latest reply to him today right before I headed out to my exercise class in Union Square, and even took the time to mention to him at the end of said-email where I was headed for the evening.

Fast forward a couple of hours: I leave my class feeling fab, super energized and like I'd had a great workout. Sweaty? Yes. Hair in a pony and bangs pinned back? Check. Dance leggings, loose t-shirt and a sports bra? You got it. I've got the iPod in, some tunes blasting and I make my way underground to catch the train home. While standing on the platform, I do the ritualistic scan of the crowd to see if there are any cute guys lingering, and lucky for me, there is one. I don't have my contacts in, but I recognize that he's nicely dressed, probably in Finance like the rest of the male population in New York, and about six feet tall (my height minimum). Even though I'm schleppy looking from my workout, I decide to mosey his direction, and as I step through the same train car as him... Shit.

Oh yah, you guessed it. Platform Cutie was one in the same as Midwestern Boy. The subway car was fairly empty, so there was no ducking behind anyone or pretending that I didn't see him. I held my breath for the 20 blocks before his stop (the stop that he had mentioned in a previous email that he lived at, by the way), trying to figure out what the hell the odds of something like this really happening are (like 1 in 50 bazillion, I think), and hoping that he wouldn't glance at me for long enough to put two and two together and realize that the sweaty, messy haired and make-up-less girl across from him might actually be his date Friday night. He stepped off of his exit and didn't look back. He did check my online profile immediately after he got home though...

So, if that chance encounter hindered my chances for a weekend date, well, there might go another one... right off the face of Manhattan.

(*) Names have been withheld to protect the unsuspecting.