Date 13- A Latin Lover

Saturday night in the East Village, and the natives are restless. My tribe is having sushi and 2-for-1 bottles of Pinot Grigio, but there are hordes of New Yorkers in the streets, looking for adventure, cocktails, love, or all of the above. Saturday night brings with it endless possibilities to meet the right man, or possibly have a few thrilling hours with the wrong one.

After dinner, my posse and I retreat to Eileen's nearby apartment for more cocktails and chit chat. I tell everyone what has been happening in my life lately, relating the Marcello blow off in gruesome detail and the Vanilla Boredom. Marcello has texted throughout the week, with cryptic messages saying, "Still so sick!" but I ignore him and move on. Tonight he wants to see me, and despite that fact that I am wearing the most bewitching and painfully tight black dress with a deeply set lace vee, I know I can't. I am tipsy and will want to fight and talk about how devastated I was to be blown off, and I never win with him even in the best of circumstances; additionally I would like to be my loveliest self and I fear too much wine and sushi might have already set me over the edge. But I am restless and hungry; I want a handsome man to tell me I'm beautiful tonight. I call in a secret reinforcement plucked from my former life as a bartender at an upscale Italian restaurant, a handsome Chilean manager names Juan Carlos who salsa dances well and is almost as tall as I am...but not quite.

As a single girl, I find the Juan Carlos types to be useful in a pinch and incredibly liberating; he is an impossible match, which means I can text him when I feel like it and never worry about the games. He could never be a boyfriend because our worlds and long term goals are so different, but for a sip and twirl he is perfect. I sneak out of my friend's apartment, telling her I am heading home on the subway to be a good girl and get back to clean living ways. About two minutes after I walk out of her apartment, a taxi pulls up and a dark eyed South American beckons to me with a smile. I hop in and we head to the Lower East Side for Negronis. He talks about opening a restaurant in Queens and we both know he will never open this restaurant in Queens because he is a good looking man living for the good times. While this might be a debauched Saturday night for me, this is every night for him, as he loves the ladies. He confesses he has a 10 year old child, and from his tone I gather he isn't particularly thrilled about this. He plays the role I needed him to play, holds me close for a dance, tells me I am gorgeous in two languages and looks good. Our conversations are casual and open, because his opinion matters very little to me and I am not worried about impressing him; he says "You are incredibly sophisticated". I don't recall what prompted the comment, but thought to myself, "Yes, I am sophisticated as shit, and I gotta move on". And that's what I did.

DATE THIRTEEN- EL AMOR PROHIBIDO

COCKTAIL LIST- STRONG NEGRONIS AND HANDSOME MEN OF WEAK CHARACTER

PARTING GIFT- WICKED HEADACHE