(First) and other (attempts)

It is not the question of being easy why a woman should not sleep with a guy on a first date. It has nothing to do with that.
It is a question of idiocy.
The truth is as follows: a man will say anything, absolutely anything, to get into a woman's panties. For example: you are even more beautiful than your profile picture; you are so beautiful, but I like your brain more. And a little more direct: I took a shower before coming to meet you, just to be cleaner, just so you know. Or: They say that eating and having sex are correlated, I do eat very quickly, but I don't act in bed the same way, you will see.
Etc.
Now, the other side of the truth is that a man will say absolutely anything to a woman after he has been inside her. Why is that? I am still unsure. It might be because they are being grateful for the pleasure received, or perhaps they are setting the turf for next time around. It might be that they really do mean it at that precise moment. Only they know, or probably they don't really don't.
The danger? Women before sex know that everything is BS but decide to believe it for the sake of their bodily pleasures. So that's fine.
The real danger? post-orgasmic women will believe absolutely everything they hear. So if the guy in question starts talking about future meetings, future activities that involve the both of them... she will believe him. It has to do with dopamine and other such evil chemicals but it is true. Women will believe anything after sex. It is a fact.
So there it is. If a woman has sex on a first date or too early to establish the amount of bullshitting there exists in the other, she won't be able to have real perspective anymore, hence the whole relationship could be based on nothing but post orgasmic chemicals and half truths.
Should women stop having sex on first dates? Absolutely not. Women should have sex whenever they feel like it. But they should just know that the aura of loveliness that surrounds the other after pleasure has been given, well, it is not real.
Nothing after an orgasm is real.
Except for the body.
The body you can trust.

(A piece of advice: never believe what a man tells you in bed... unless he says it three times on three different occasions... you know, just to give them the benefit of the doubt.)

old date - "why" is disgusting

this date took place two years ago, but it is very appropriate for this blog:

He promised a wine bar. When she got there he said they should go somewhere else, something about the noise and the lovely day and the heat. Of course he wasn’t dressed appropriately (kaki shorts for a date, really?) but she was. They walked. He commented something about her attire and how funky or something it was. She dismissed his comment.

They ended up in a coffee house. Coffee? Really? Instead of wine? Well, she thought, let him do, let’s see were this gets us.

It is usually the first 5-10 minutes in a first date, that’s when you know its going to be another disaster and you just stay for the anecdote. Bad dates make the best anecdotes.

They ordered bruschettas. He said something about his tomato, no salt he said. But when they came there was some vinegar on top of them. He got angry, she said she would eat them while the waiter brought some others.

“The thing is, what I simply cannot stand, is if I ask a question and the other person asks in return, why? I find that disgusting…”

“Disgusting? “ she asked, “That’s a strong word.”

“Yes, disgusting. Because if I ask a question, I want an answer. If you don’t want to answer, just say so, but don’t ask why… “ he was turning aggressive, his whole body posture had turned towards her and was hovering over half the table. She had to lean back just to breath. Ten minutes of this.

She smiled, half smile. “But what if I asked you right now how much money you make… you would ask why, you wouldn’t say it’s too personal or you don’t want to respond, would you..?” he fell quiet. Didn’t know what to say, mumbled a bit.

“What about if I asked you how many sex partners you’ve had, would you answer me? No, but you would ask why? Yes, why I want to know that. Its obvious and not rude, its obvious. Right?”

“Uhm, yeah, I guess you are right. So some of the time asking why is not disgusting. But most of the time it is.”

And she wanted to run out of there but didn’t know how.

“So, have you been married?” she asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I hate it when people ask that, as if it’s not normal for a 44 year old to be single and never been married. I haven’t found the right one. It should be more normal to never be married like me, more people should be like me than when you meet them and they are divorced and with a kid…”

She just nodded.

“And have you been married?”

“Me? No.”

“And why not?” He tried to be defiant, like her, but the question was nonsensical, especially with that tone.

“Well, it’s not that strange. I am 15 years younger than you.”

Silence.

“But do you believe in marriage?”

“Do you?”

“And do you like where you used to live? Your country?”

“Yes, do you like yours?”

“Yes”.

“And what kind of family do you have…”

At this point she was beyond exasperated, “this is not a job interview, so stop interviewing me. I am not applying for a job. We can talk, we can chat, but stop interviewing me.”

The date continued. She planned her escape.

When he returned from the restroom he asked about other dates she had gone on from the same website.

“Oh, that’s where I’ve had some of the worst dates of my life.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But it’s ok. I write about them.”

His eyes wider than his mouth.

“Don’t worry, its just for me. I don’t publish them.”

Little did he know. Thank god the check had come and gone. They parted ways half a block later.

date 9 - the socialist hungarian "professor"

There are those dates that you know beforehand will not aspire to much in the future tense, but they will at least entertain you. These date will at least be a good conversation, time well spent, something you didn't know and now you do...
And then you get disappointed.
Such was the experience with the pseudo intellectual.

False advertising
We all do it, don't we?
We can say a few words in a certain language and we claim we speak it fluently.
We can do creative things with a few vegetables and tofu and we claim that we are great cooks.
We were in some exotic place a few years back and we claim we are world travelers.
We all lie.
A little.
It's expected.
That is why once I set up to meet someone from the dating site I never return to their profiles to memorize their fantasies...
(Once, a friend told me, a friend of hers went out with this guy with a Masters, several languages, etc. When she met him it turned out he didn't have of the things he claimed. He said that he saw the profile filling like goals to achieve. She is still with him.)

Anyhow, we met at Cafe Olin. I got there half an hour early so I ordered a glass of white wine and read. I sent him a message telling him I was sitting outside. I noticed he had visited my profile at least five times in the previous hour.
I saw him come in and not see me. After a few minutes of mirth I asked the waiter to tell him where I was. He called me from his table, claiming it was more comfortable (it was).
He ordered a bottle of wine. And he could never stare me in the eye.
Here I thought I was meeting an Eastern European with several languages, a lot of knowledge and a very entertaining and smart conversation. We can all have  a little bit of expectations, no?
He was not a professor, as he claimed, or at least not in my books. Someone who teaches others how to pass standardized tests... well... that is very low on the scale of professorship. It is even below teaching high schoolers, even bellow middle school!

He was amazed at my languages, and, as usual, he wanted to guess where I was from. He, of course, didn't.
We ordered some food. Food! wow, this is the first date in a long time in which there is something solid, which will enter our mouths! (no pun intended!)
So a salad for me, a sandwich for him, lots of wine for both of us. Expectations rise!
And the conversation didn't flow. There was something there that just made it very difficult to engage.
We spoke of my classes and of his appearances in the telly (he was raised in London) in the Russian Channel. Mostly he spoke of anti-americanisms and the difficulties of going to academia.
He was very happy by the way the waitress uncorked our wine and he kept not looking at me.

At one point of the conversation, with the stumbling on topics without flow, he asked and asked questions, and I... started to lie.
I knew I would never see him again, he was too boring to waste another evening, and, why should I tell him real things about my life anyway? Who was he? Why did he, out of the rest of human beings in the world at that precise moment, deserve to hear bits and pieces about my life? What would it do to me to share something with him? Nothing.
So I lied. About my brothers' jobs, and about a trip I am about to take, I lied about my father and about my past... It was incredible how easy it became! He would never know and I, well, I continued to play with my fiction to take me thru the rest of the wine and the check so I could go home...

(Before I finish this one, he was very surprised I had a metro card even though he knows I live in this city. I found that very bizarre  And, when we stood up, finally, I was much taller than him, much. No more Oompla Loompa - Hobbits situations for me! (check post 1)

You are not (that) special

You think you are unique, you fill the blank profile. You will find love. You express yourself in ways that make you special. You do your best to stand out. You point out to attributes you possess which make you different from the rest. You acknowledge interests that you think very few others have. You are sure that those of the other gender (or the same) will distinguish your awesomeness. You are unique, you are out of the ordinary, you are uncommon and unusual...

or so you seem to think.
And then you start browsing others' profiles and the truth hits you...

Everybody loves to laugh.

Everybody is passionate.

Everybody's eyes are the first thing people notice.

Everybody has their passport on hand or is eagerly planning their next trip.

Everybody loves to cook at home or go out to eat (exploring restaurants).

Everybody loves a good time out or could snuggle inside with a movie (and you!).

Everybody wants to have adventures in this city.
Everybody is a great friend.
Everyone is a little funny/ witty/ inappropriate.
Everybody is working hard in something they love or in something that hate which enables them to do what they love. 

Everybody is living life (some to the fullest!).

So, if everybody is not so special, is that why it is so hard to find 'that special someone'?
He (She) simply doesn't exist.
Perhaps if you were happy with a mediocre someone who is very similar to everyone else then... but, really?

best profile quotes (1)

In the website where most of my dates are coming from there is a section in which you ask, like in a cybernetic wishing well, what it is you want the other to be like, look like, think like, etc. You write that in and throw a penny over your left shoulder in hopes that only those men (or women) will find you because they are what you are looking for.

Here some of the most amusing 'wants and needs' I have found so far...

A professor from Europe (he mentions his Continent of origin several times in his profile, as well as in the message he sent me) mentions how much he likes women al'naturel. He quotes Germaine Greer "Men who do not want their women shaved and deodorized into complete tastelessness are powerless against women's own distate for their own bodies." So there, the teacher adds.

A 41 year old tells of his story as a PhD in English, a Shakespeare professor and then his uphill change into a trading stocks at home so he could afford his addiction to, uhm, Italian shoes.
He keeps changing what you should be if you are honored enough to message him. Today is more demure, like talking about Roxy music and whatnot. A few days ago he had posted a link to his Flikr account and you should only message him if you looked like his girlfriend, who was on the pictures in the flikr url he posted. eery? He also mentioned that you should message him if you dress, yes, like his girlfriend or some other woman, and if you don't, he will buy you clothes soon, including Valentino when you marry.
Yesterday he posted a few links to some porn websites stating that you should only message him if you look like that and are into that.

A 33 Christmass tress salesman claims that you should only message him if you believe the dude abides.

A 40 year old has, as his main profile picture, himself as an undernourished karate-pose child. He speaks of his independence and fun life, and then he quotes Twain: "to have the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with".

A 30 something ex actor asks to be written to as long as you don't mind him taliing about Shakespeare characters as if they were his close friends.

A 40-year-old quotes Emilly Heller: I've been single for a while an I have to say it's going very well... Like it's working out. I think I'm the one".

He then concludes this part of the profile claiming he does have space for one or two, as long as they are respectful of his original attachmet. ( polyamory and your primary relationship is with yourself! love this!) 

date 8 - the actor / bartender

We met on a Tuesday night at the Whisky Ward. I was running late. He texted that he was sitting at the bar with a camouflage hat. As soon as I got there I was glad I had been lazy enough not to change from my comfortable summer cotton dress. He was wearing shorts. The bartender was appalled I didn't drink beer. I had a "four roses" bourbon instead.
I asked him if he knew my name, as I don't reveal it very soon on-line. He did.
He then said he didn't know where I was from.
Of course he didn't.

Excuses
For on-line dating I have discovered you need to create an excuse for a conversation. You post something about yourself on your profiel which is not completely clear, something which pikes interest and is a good conversation opener, hence the mystery of my nationality.

We played the 'where are you from' game for a while and I gave him huge hints.
It was clear this night was not going to go anywhere.
I knew he was an actor from his profile so I started to ask him about that. Nothing special, a Stanislavsky sort of method, not hitting it big, bar-tending at forty, you know the drill.

I did learn about agents (only take 10%, really?), and other nimieties of an out-of-work-actor.
When did he get into it? As a child.
He attended a christian school which did not believe in Halloween, instead they had a Founding Fathers Fest. They all dressed up as a Founding Father and prepared a presentation. The best ones would get to present it in front of the entire school, parents, teachers, the whole enchilada. He was five. He got the part.
Most of the other children had two liners, his was a whole five minute tirade. He told me about this with pride. That is when he got into acting.
It is a shame that thirty-something years later he still looks back at this episode as the peak of his career.

Conversation was non-existant. It was me asking questions and then silence which followed.
I claimed a work excuse and excused myself after 45 minutes and one drink.
I do believe 45 minutes is enough to know.

Good luck with your acting!

(un) date 7 - the sub

He asked, very bluntly over a message, if I would wip him into submission.
I responded only if he was lucky.
He said he was only joking.
I said, so was I.
Then he said, well sorta. I said ditto.
We were both out of the closet.
How did this happen? My nick.

Nicks and other naming

The world today is one of nicks. Once upon a time I used to use very different ones for my different cyber lives. Then I didn't. I was done with remembering what my Twitter, or Tumblr, etc. were. Once upon a time someone discovered the same nick in two very different pages...
anyhow. My nick nowadays is the amalgamation of two novels with a very distinct female character. One of them is just called O. The other one is called Venus.
You can unravel the rest.
My nick has oftentimes opened up the gate for very interesting communication. Men wanting me to partake in threesomes, polyamory, foursomes, orgies, or, as this was the case, they wanted me to show them what it was they needed to learn.

Back to the story...

He continued to communicate with me. He really wanted to meet. I told him patience was a virtue.
One Thursday I e-mailed him: today. He was eager and ready. At noon I asked what he was doing at that moment. He took forty minutes to reply, too long for my patience, I was already at a movie.
Afterwards I told him it was not convenient nor allowed to take so long to reply. I had chosen that day to allow him to massage my feet. He addressed me as 'Ma'am', which I, playing along, appreciated.
He said massaging feet was not what he had in mind. I asked him for his cellphone and told him he needed to be at my beck and call whenever I wanted. He agreed. Then he said he wasn't looking to be allowed to touch my feet. He wanted to be my 'boy', he wanted a mommy figure or someone to fuck the shit out of him with a strap-on.
I smiled and put his number away, to be used on a day when I had nothing better to do.

Rejection and other inconveniences

You write or are written to.

It amazes you the messages you get from individuals you have no interest in... Some are boring, some are ugly, some are dumb and others are just plain blunt... Asking to be part of a polyamorous whatever (of that, probably later) or to be their sexual slave, et al. 

those messages remain unanswered... 

Then, why am I so aware of those messages I send with an empty inbox as a response? Is it because I consider myself a catch? Because anyone whom I approach should feel attracted to me by the personae i portray on my profile? "They should feel utterly lucky you wrote your two letter approach: hi. They should feel honored and try to woo you immediately, my alter ego murmurs..."

Why? Aren't those men also allowed to say no? 

Why can rejection (from a person who only exists on your screen), in its passive silent mode, be so uncomfortable? 

(A man who is so pompous I actually find sexy finally responded today. He said I have written to him three times. If he were interested he would have responded from the start. He only wants 26' waists. I don't tell him but mine is an inch wider than that... Not a deal breaker inch.

I access another man's profile. He sounds interesting. He is cute. A musician. I want to write him. I realize I already have. A few weeks ago I asked him about his music. A few weeks in online dating time is months.

He never replied. )

date 6 - the geek

A man slept in my house. He is the first man who sleeps in my house in a long time. He slept on the couch.

I found his profile early in the morning. His main picture attracted me. I started reading and found him funny, a bit cocky (just enough), very smart (so sexy) and... he lived on the other side of the country.
I reached out. "You sound amazing. Shame you live so far away..."
He responded quite quickly. "You sound pretty cool too. And I am in town for a few days..." And so it was that within twenty-four hours we were face to face.
For some reason I felt this date was going to be special, I did a little dance while I was putting on makeup and as I was at the door I turned back to review my outfit and decide if a change was in place or not.
I was the one who chose the meeting place. Blessed be 'Yelp' and its advanced search features.
When I got to the bar he had sat in the outside area and his face was in shadows. I ordered a drink and we started to talk right away. It was so easy and fluid. We spoke of the French class I had come from and I cursed "Fuck the plus perfect". He laughed and tried to figure out which one that was. He tried to guess my nationality and gave up very quickly.
We spoke of what we both our doing in our lives at the moment. We digressed into our areas of expertise. His: coding. Mine: literature.
I confessed my weakness for coders and how sexy I find Ruby and Python. He was extremely well read for, well, a geographer. He is also a linguist, by the by.
We had to move to the inside part of the bar. We did.
His face was no longer in shadows and we sat and talked some more. There was the genealogy talk, and the geography discussion. God, the universe, religion and Douglas Adams; astronomy, rock climbing, martial arts and hackathons; erotic literature, Ecuador, Academia, my teaching and dating.
Before midnight he said he had to go, he didn't want to but the place he would be spending that night (his cousin's couch) had an expiration date. I said fine. We walked out.
And then I did something I never really do: I invited him to my place for a drink. I said I had a couch where he could sleep and that way we could talk some more. He thanked me and we set off to my apartment.
The drink invitation was clearly an excuse because my alcohol pantry is a very sad one. I have mezcal, wine, ice wine and, uhm, yes, hard cider in the fridge. That is it. Rubbing alcohol does not count.
We got to my place, we walked my dog. He told me about his year squatting in London with his ex-wife and how, years later, he hired the father of his ex-wife's child. We came back and we sat on the couch and talked. He had water as did I.
I offered him my magic box. We both inhaled. And laughed.
He told me about Apple's conspiracy (and the reason he still has no iphone), and my secret desire to learn how to code. We spoke about hoodies as an essential clothing item in his world.
We shared music. I introduced him to my fun music, trying to get a laugh or a smile out of him. He introduced me to some of his music too.
At two in the morning we were both done. I showed him his bed and I leapt into mine.
We both slept soundly, separately.

Why didn't it go anywhere else? I don't know. He didn't try and I didn't try.
I felt we could be great friends and sex could have been awkward. It could have also been great. Buit it could have also been a disaster.
Also, he wasn't as cute as his profile picture. His voice was extremely masculine and his brain extremely sexy.
In the morning I walked him towards the Public Library where he was going to give one last workshop. We exchanged cards. We exchanged a long hug.
This was my most successful Internet date yet.

date 5 - the accountant

It happens on a Sunday afternoon in the Theatre District.
We had postponed meeting a couple of times. Or, rather, I had postponed meeting because I had met others instead! (oh, the pleasures of being sought after!)
He chose a bar called Rum something. I don't really do Rum but hell, this has been all about experimentation.
He is attractive. He is also wearing a jacket/ blazer in a very hot day. He is drinking a glass of wine, he asks me what I want. I tell him to order something light and fresh. He does it well.
He is an accountant at JP Morgan. I ask him to explain to me what he does.
He basically sees movements in the market and follows those movements, and then he creates names for patterns. So, I said, you are like a philosopher. You see things that happen with things that don't really exist, and you name them. I doubt he has ever seen himself that way.
He works out, sometimes. He has never been to BAM. He is learning how to play golf. He sprints from hole to hole, he says, so he makes it less boring.
He tells me about his Internet dating, how some girls are just boring and you can't really move the conversation anywhere. I tell him about my nightmare dates/ funny anecdotes. He asks me if he will now be the guy in a blazer on a hot summer day. I smile and I know he is right.

His longest relationship lasted five years. Many of those years it was a long distance relationship  She finally moved to NYC so they could be together. They lived apart for another year or so and then they moved in together. It was a disaster. But not the kind of disasters I can imagine, with flying plates and yelling and hot-make-up sex. His disaster was more of an uncomfortable feeling that it just did not work out. They separated. She moved back to London.
I wish I could write more about him, but he is boring, very very boring. There was really nothing we could talk about because he is one of those human beings who just passes thru life barely breathing life in. I did feel tenderness towards him.
He is still texting me, he wants a repeat. I highly doubt I could do a whole dinner with him.

date 4 - kosher punk

His profile is very very long.
His messages are too.
We set to meet during the day.
I emerge from my martial arts class in a black dress. My colleagues look at me and one asks where I am going to. I say to meet a friend. He asks, looking like that? that is a special kind of friend. I laugh it off.
As I walk I realize that the dress I picked is a little see thru, and the underwear I am wearing is red so you can actually see it thru the thin material. Who cares. It is a very hot day anyhow.
I was running late. I stopped for an ice-cream. "I am running late. I needed ice-cream" I texted him. 
We met in the south-west corner of Madison Park. He had a bike and a very thin black tie. I had an ice-cream.
We went towards the grass. We sat. We talked.
He talks, a lot. I am a great listener, especially on first dates.
He is a Punk, a Jewish Punk who keeps Kosher. He used to keep other things too, but not anymore. He has tattoos all over his arms. He found it very enticing that I had mentioned "The human centipede" in one of our e-mails.
He had been married and was separated for two years but not divorced because his ex-wife is very sick. His father is dying. He works with unions. He is a dominant. He has a masters in sociology. He has dated seven different women since he separated. One of them was so submissive as to say that if he didn't bruise her she wouldn't be happy. He doesn't believe in condoms, not for pleasure's sake, but because of some intimacy something. He has a sister who is childless. He hopes she doesn't conceive because their genes are messed up. 
We talked about horror movies and his passion for camping out in the middle of winter. Anal beads and Minnesota  He liked my dress and thought the age difference would be a problem (as he is in his mid forties). He was very happy to realize I was very mature, as he put it. He kept moving towards me, slowly, in the grass, while I leaned back. It was highly entertaining, if you paid attention. He is thinking of going back to school, maybe.
He kept saying how he is looking for a long term relationship and the things that would be an issue between the two of us and the things that wouldn't. He kept repeating how all the girls he had dated since he separated wanted to keep him and he had cut it short. I told him I was a goddess in bed. WHich is true. He later commented how amazed he was by my statement and how true it rang. 

He has offered me a punk tour of NY, I might take him up on that. Soon. 

date 3 - poop man

We met at night, in a corner. Lexington and 50 something. He got there first. He then said he would be at "Crumbs". A commercial cupcake place (and not even good cupcakes!) is not my idea of a good date, but hell, all for the sake of adventure, right?
I had tea, he had decaf. He had a red velvet and thought we would share. I said I only use those kind of calories with things that are worth it. I tried a forkful and was assured by my own decision.
We sat down in this brightly lit cupcake place while the only man attending was starting to clean up so he could go home. It was, clearly, not a romantic date.
A lawyer, 32, with a masters in Math from Harvard. Very sexy brain. Again, damn those profile pictures, he was not as cute as his photogenic self. He had been back in the city for a few months. He had worked in some underdeveloped country where he was setting up some non-profits to give free legal aid of some sort. He was leaving in a few months to Ethiopia to do the same. 
After the 'Crumbs" man kicked us out we just walked around Lexington and then moved to Park Avenue. 
It had been raining all that day so I was wearing my very bright orange rain boots. I was also feeling great so I was wearing a very short blue dress. He was impressed, I could tell.

He told me how he calls his brother-in-law up to tell him his sister is ovulating. He had overheard a conversation regarding her sister's eggs during the wedding time so now he, as a good mathematician, remembered her cycle. Now he really wanted a niece or nephew. He harassed his brother-in-la.
This guy was funny.
His mother was in Film Production and his family reunions sounded like something I would be very entertained by. He mentioned his twin brother and we discussed their looks, the obvious question being: "who is the handsomer of the two?"
He told me that the thing he talks about the most with his brother is poop. I understood. Somehow poop turns into a topic of conversation between my brothers and me. Poop seems to be a sibling-theme.
We sat by a sculpture on Park Avenue and I told him, between bursts of laughter, the story of the 'Great Poop' (I can't really repeat it, but it has to do with a parent, their back surgery, and a poop so large that as it was pushed out, it broke bone).
I let him walk me home. We discussed his trips. He is 32. In about five or seven years he will be just right. He still has a lot of movement to do before he feels comfortable in his own skin. But then again, there aren't many people with whom you can share poop stories at midnight on Park Avenue, right?

date 2 - violent dude

Him I found from another website. It is a very specific dating website for a very particular sector of the population. If it is so specific you would expect great things from it, right? Wrong. The worst dates (and best anecdotes) have originated there. I will discuss this probably in a later post.

the date:
He told me where we would meet: an hotel lobby in the Flat Iron District. 
I got there early and walked around. The lobby/ bar was very loud and very dark. On the right side there was an entryway and a little art show. Beyond that there was an oysters bar.
I walked around and mingled in the art show. A woman spoke to me, we laughed, I don't remember the specifics. I walked around some more and then I saw him come in. I went towards him and, awkwardly, we said hello. I told him it was too dark and loud, he agreed.
We went to get oysters instead.
He is a 38-year-old lawyer who is working at a startup of some kind. (As I have mentioned, or maybe I haven't yet, I get flustered by startups, .coms, coding, etc... don't ask).
He got us drinks, we ordered oysters too. We were both hungry. He had come from drinking somewhere else with someone else. I got he was funny but not very smart. I asked the waiter for things in our native language, creating some kind of kindred intimacy between us two.
I decided to have a good time and tried to provoke him into speaking with his southern accent. He did, but just a little bit.
I asked him about his previous relationships and he said he had never had a long term one. I asked him why and he asked me to guess.
- So, are you gay like your brother? (we had established his brother's sexual preference further back into the conversation).
- No, I am not.
- Ok, so, what is the longest you've ever been with someone?
- Two or three months.
- Mmmmmh.... and you are 38?
- Yes.
- So, that is not normal. Or doesn't sound right. I think you are afraid of commitment. That would be my guess.
- Uhm, I don't know. I do like to be free. Maybe you are right. I don't know.
And we left it at that.
A second round of drinks came in. The oysters, albeit delicious, are never enough food unless you have a gazillion.
He went to the bathroom. Then I went to the bathroom.
As soon as I sat down he started:
- So, you are about to leave aren't you?
- What?
- Yes, your whole demeanor is saying you are leaving. So you are, aren't you?
- No, I never said I was. I don't know where you got that from.
He continued with this harangue for a little bit longer, his tone and violence elevating with each word. So I turned to him and said.
- You know what, I am leaving. Thank you for a lovely evening. Enjoy your night.
I grabbed my bag and I left.
Good riddance. 
So now we know why he's never had a long term relationship, right? (the crazy in him, obviously).

date 1 - almost trumpet

I started to get seriously into this online dating thing a couple of weeks ago. Something to do with a recent breakup (Is it time to write about my one-"successful"- dating-story?
Fine, better now than whenever....

The Oompa Loompa story
He was smart, he was sweet, he was introduced by a sibling (extra-brownie points after you turn 30s), he had a real job (we will discuss real jobs later), he chose good places to go to, we had a lot in common, it made sense and... I fell in love. 
So did he.
Problem? height.
Seriously. I am a couple of centimeters (about two) taller than him. I thought it was cute, he didn't. 
Oh, and he felt too much or whatever. Ok, so he broke my heart, I had a pretty sucky month and he was mature enough to leave it open ended so I could still hope and not get over him fast enough. So, yeah.


Back to the first date:
Not the usual guy I would go out with, but why not? You never really know, right?
It was on a Saturday, I was writing my Final Papers. I was very busy and also very eager to procrastinate. We were going to meet at the Neue Gallery (little did I know how significant that place would be!) but it was raining and I was busy and I switched the place to someone closer to home.
I went. 
He had seen me walking there (from his subway stop). So he had identified my behind before anything else. (Not sure what to think of this).
He is a trumpet player, or was a trumpet player or has a trumpet in his abode and knows how to play it but doesn't really want to play (because you need to practice every day). He teaches trumpet playing to children, but he isn't very happy about the trumpet part. He does like teaching.
He has a passion and love for Vienna. He thinks about pursuing an academic career that has something to do with Vienna (now you understand the Neue Gallery part?). 
I asked him why he doesn't move there. A woman. It is always a woman. He had stayed with her on a previous trip. She would stay with him now. Something could happen. Or not.
At a party or something of the sort she met another man. He lived in a more convenient place. She said she was going to go with him. Almost trumpet player got his Vienna invaded by a Manhattanite.
Brooklyn was too far away.
I ate my pain au chocolat. I drank my coffee and 45 minutes into the conversation I said I had to go. I was very bored.
 I already had his life story. I had some Final Papers to write. 

Why? why not!

So, how is your Dating life in NY? Isn't it fun? Isn't it grand? Isn't it great? aren't you having the best time?
NO. 

I am in my early thirties and I moved to this city about two years ago. Dating in this city sucks!
Firstly, it is so hard to find who to date! How does one meet people? Yes, I know, the age-old-question. But, it shouldn't be so impossible, should it? I mean, people have been meeting people since, well, forever. So, why is it so hard to meet people now?
Is it the city? We are all so busy that we don't have time to look up from our smartphones or kindles or any other electronic device at our disposal. Or is it just the way we interact? We walk around (I walk around) with headphones. I listen to the news, or music, audiobooks, or have long distance conversations with my friends from faraway lands. Is it unusual that no one actually speaks to me because my earphones say: unavailable, please come back at a later date and maybe I will give you a minute of my attention.
No, it isn't that, or maybe slightly that. But even if I walked around without any electronics, would I meet guys to date? probably not. Or rather, no.
Is it that the guys feel that because there are more of us and less of them they can act in whatever way their mother didn't teach them right and get away with it? Probably... but still, to meet these douchy guys, how does one go about doing that? oh, right, bars. I don't do that. SPending time and money sitting alone in a bar expecting to be 'picked up' like the good catch of the day... Not my idea of a good evening well spent. 

So what is left? the Internet! obviously.

I have belonged to a dating site for years. It has proven to be the worst dates I have ever had, and the most anecdotic ones too.
I always say: a bad date makes a great story.
Now I have joined the gazillion others who peruse the web in search of a-long-term-relationship / activity-partners / casual-sex/ short-term-relationship / la-di-da...

And not only have I joined, but I go on dates. I am meeting very strange men. And if I am meeting such strange individuals, why not write about it?