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.

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.

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.