Dating is hard;dating in NYC is harder

Dating is hard, and dating in New York City is harder. The reason: no one actually dates in NYC. It’s more like auditioning for a Broadway show or a television series.

I think of dating as kind of an innocent thing, where two people meet and they go out to dinner and decide if they like each other and try it again before something more blooms. That kind of dating, I only see in romantic comedies staring Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, Renee Zellwiger or Colin Firth.

My fling with Elizabeth was no exception. It was fun and fast. We did things that I never thought about. It was surreal. She was very strong and very appealing. I couldn’t believe how much I liked being with this beautiful woman. She liked to push me up against walls and kiss me or we would make out in Victoria’s secret dressing rooms, while trying on underwear. But the romance was short lived. She wanted a serious relationship and there was no way I was going to make that sort of commitment with a woman I had just met. Plus, I felt kind of funny about being with a woman at all. I felt like I had a big old scarlet letter L on my forehead and any minute rocks may be thrown at me.

The way I felt wasn’t right, but it was just the way it was. I felt some sort of self hatred. I really loved being around Elizabeth the few days we were together, but at the same time I hated that we couldn’t walk down the street hand and hand without guys gawking at us and screaming, “You two are together!? Awesome. Can I watch? You want a threesome?”

It was humiliating and I felt weird telling Frankie that I was seeing a girl too. So when she asked about this mystery date for Valentine’s Day I used pronouns such as “they” and”we” in order to keep her from knowing too much. God, what would my family say if they knew?! I didn’t even want to go there.

Elizabeth and I went to Zen in Union Square. We had a great dinner, purely vegetarian. After a few drinks, we both decided that it would be best if we remained friends because she wanted a relationship with another lesbian and I didn’t know what I wanted. So like at the end of an Ally McBeal episode we parted amicably and I walked home underneath the street lights, in my own solace, happily single. -Ruby

Secret Agent Stoopid

A few years ago, I introduced my friends Sascha and Derek; now, Sascha feels a need to return the favor by setting me up with her colleague. Though I know I was successful in my matchmaking and she is happy with Derek, Sascha enjoys vicarious thrills courtesy of my experience on Manhattan’s dating scene. Dense Brosnan was a candidate for the C.I.A and though he would have made Jessica Simpson seem like a Rhodes Scholar, he did have 8-pack abs and a sweet new B.M.W. This man was not really someone who I would ever consider dating seriously, though what harm could there be in having dinner? Plus, I had to do it for my friend; she was curious to discover whether all that packaging could deliver or if it was just for show.

I agreed to let D.B. take me out one Thursday evening; correction, THE most romantic Thursday evening of 2008-Valentine’s Day. Thursday is a good first date night, as many people are out and about on payday and the possibilities are limitless. If the date is amazing you could stay out all night, go to work Friday, and then recover on Saturday. If you are hoping to hear someone yell, “FIRE!!”, from the kitchen by the time appetizers arrive, you may then just call it an early evening citing your need for at least eight full hours of sleep on school nights. We arrived at Josie’s, a cute place in Murray Hill, which caters to the healthy set. All this man-child cared to discuss was his favorite person…D.B. How he attended Rutgers, though didn’t fare well academically due to his dedication to extracurricular activities, i.e. supporting women’s rights (to move into his bedroom) and Chemistry Club (discovering which liquors mix best to produce the best shots). Don’t get me wrong, I have enjoyed many late night games of Asshole, though, I didn’t major in Strategies to Acquire the Golden Beerpong Ball and Plastic Cup Trophy either. Oh my, his shirt did complement his pecs so nicely. Yes, fine, his pecs…and biceps…and ass were all tight and healthy; though every time he opened his mouth I wanted to fill it with a steamed organic Belgian potato & broccoli dumpling! He must have thought I was entirely too generous with my appetizer, though truthfully, I couldn’t stand listening to his insipid tales of debauchery from college and wrestling pseudo-presidential-attackers to the ground from the academy.

After dinner, we made our way to Snafu, which is a bar I frequented with friends during college and though I no longer spend many evenings there, I still return occasionally for happy hour. Though I passed by the bouncer without a problem, D.B. was stopped and asked for identification. I noticed a New Jersey license sitting conveniently inside a photo pocket, though D.B, of course, HAD to fish for and then, after a good two minutes, produce his MIGHTY AGENT I.D. I believe it was Shania Twain who once said, “So you’re a C.I.A. probie…That don’t impress me much…”-Oh no, that was MY LINE! D.B. and I sat on a sofa in a dark corner upstairs overlooking the bar area. He began kissing my neck and nibbling on my ear, “Damn”, I thought, “that feels amazing”. Somewhere between Dirty Martini #2 and breathtaking kiss #3, I realized D.B. lacked in conversational skills what LimpDick lacked in sexual prowess. From what Ruby and I had discussed, LimpDick was her intellectual equal, though she could no longer be the sensual instructor to his dunce of seduction. I sat here with Secret Agent Dodo, enjoying an electrifying, passionate kiss and when we stopped I wondered if Ruby and I would have to choose between sexual and intellectual satisfaction?? Oh good grief, if that is the case, then I will never settle down…such a dilemma is one that I should not have to consider…I want it all damn it!!!!!!!! Furthermore, I DESERVE IT ALL!!!! I finished my drink, savored the olives soaked in Grey Goose and asked D.B. to drive me home…it was, after all, a school night.–Frankie