Date 1- Nantucket Red

Eli and I texted steadily over Memorial Day weekend; he seemed perky, intelligent and music loving. He revealed that he plays in a cover band with old lawyer friends and sent me Youtube videos of himself playing guitar.  I agreed to a Wednesday evening drink in the middle of an intensely busy market week- I am committed to trolling for Internet dates!

I walk from my office, vibrating and nauseous, and almost turn back five times.  Like a teenager, I  get a pep talk from a girlfriend- what exquisite torture the first Tinder date can be!   I slyly circled the block, groaning audibly to myself (I do the same during pap smears) while I walked, and spotted him standing in front of the hotel where we were due to have rooftop drinks.   I realize quickly he spotted me first, and in what will become a common theme in these Tinder dates, he catches me circling the block.   He is wearing Nantucket red chinos and brand new Adidas, and will later show me his very spiffy socks.   He didn't lie on his profile- he is Tinder 5'10",  which is actually 5'8" in real life.

As we head into the elevator that is sure to take us to paradise, a young urban fellow with face tattoos looks at Eli and says, "Dude, is this neighborhood dangerous?  Do I need to bring my gun?  I don't want to have to kill no one."   To Eli's credit, he is completely unratttled and calmly says, "No, man, neighborhood is fine, but do what you got to do".   The young urban fellow looks impressed that a short Jewish lawyer doesn't sweat for a second.

We have mediocre wine at a very odd rooftop bar that uses a boombox to funnel in music, and he begins to talk about himself.  He recently moved from the West Village to Chelsea and is hoping that the neighborhood will be as lively.  He is visibly worried that he will not have his creature comforts in this new backwater area-  I nod and assure him that he will most likely survive.  He shows me pictures of rugs he is thinking about buying and quickly scrolls past endless photos of boobs and vaginas and various tan body parts.   After two hours of listening to Eli talk about his marvelous self, I tell him I really must get home but I sincerely enjoyed meeting him.   At a minimum, I ripped off the band aid and got myself back in the dating scene.  He tries to kiss me and I just barely dodge his advance.   I hop on the subway, and immediately begin swiping up fresh meat.

DATE ONE-  Showed up, and didn't throw up!   I call this success!

WEATHER REPORT- A fresh and fragrant evening in Manhattan, enhanced by low clouds of electronic cigarette fumes.

WINE SELECTION- When one can only select from Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio, one realizes that there is no winning selection.    

The Lonely British King

This blog took a hiatus when I met Pedro.  Our relationship felt so precious that I couldn’t and wouldn’t tarnish it with my acidic snark.  I could turn the rest of the Tinder fellows into caricatures, but my Pedro, my love, I would not.   If I briefly sum up our 18 month relationship, turn the highs and lows and happy and sad tears into a quick summary, it would look like this: 6 months of inquisitive bliss in a bubble.  Big blow up. 6 months of doubt but furiously treading water and hoping for sunnier skies.  Bigger blow up.  6 months of trying to end it but never wanting to.  I am so envious of that couple in the first 6 months- they had it all.   But isn’t that always the case?  Ignorance is bliss until it isn’t.  I am so sad and regretful for the downward spiral of the final 6 months.  I should have cut him loose when I really had doubts instead of keeping him close to me and constantly chipping away at him, at us.   By the end he said I had worn him down, exhausted even his romantic heart.  We needed to break up, but so much of my behavior towards the end was unnecessary and shameful; we degraded something that was once special.   This unfortunately seems to figure in my thoughts much more prominently than the logical reasons why we ended everything.

And now here I am, 5 months after our final night together, still turning over what this means in my head.  My grief hits me like waves of nausea- a moment, a conversation comes back to me and sends me into a tailspin.  I haven’t seen him since the morning I left his apartment, but my eyes deceive me and I see his ghost everywhere.   I am terrified I will see him on a date and skirt restaurants we once frequented.  I never realized how many bald men were in New York until I broke up with one I ached for.    

A friend sent me an article on Lifehacker that suggests little Tinder flings are like paper cuts- they don’t get the sympathy that broken marriages or cohabitations receive (rightly so) but they hurt.   It wasn't the longest relationship I had been in, but it rocked my world and brought down my defenses.  I know Pedro never felt that way and wanted to keep pushing past the boundaries, but for me, at least for a year, I let them down.  I gave him a key to my apartment and loved finding him there.  We spent every night together, and bathed each other every morning.   He scrubbed my back, then I scrubbed his, and always rinsed off the soap so I  could press a kiss to the shoulder I loved.   We had an intensely intimate relationship, and I miss it.

This relationship was a tease.  I saw a preview of life with a man who loved to bake bread and spatchcock organic chicken, then take me to bed and make love all night long.  I found him intensely attractive, loved his body and how our bodies moved together.   He made me laugh and he brought passion to my life.  In this movie trailer, you don’t see the problems and wounds, or the nature of two fractured persons struggling to trust each other.  But how will I find someone like this again, who shares my interests and humor and makes me weep with pleasure?  

A friend of a friend gave me his unused extra bed from an apartment he sold in Dubai- a very comfortable and luxurious British King.  Every night I roll to the middle of my big bed, and throw my arm across a pillow.  In my most secret thoughts, I imagine this is him, and he pulls me close into the nook of his chest and arms.  I don’t know if its still Pedro, or the faceless person I hope will come along sooner rather than later, but I wonder how many people in Brooklyn are living in their little apartments, moving through their lives, imagining that someone is holding them at night.     

Back in the Saddle

Dear friends,

After a two year hiatus (to be addressed at a later date when I've had far more Muscadet and feel like reopening a wound), I am back on the Tinder. I'm looking for love in the only place I know, because if I wait for this man to just arrive himself in my life, I will grow old and bearded while waiting. If I am perfectly honest, I am not ready to be doing this- I don't feel good about myself right now and am in the mental state that I can't quite discern why anyone would want to date me. Every previous break up felt like a liberation- back on the scene! Partying with my people! Tearing up the town! But I don't feel that way this time. I miss my boyfriend and can't seem to shake this sadness.

Prematurely or not, I'm hitting the app and swiping aggressively because sometimes I think its a numbers game. I'm weeding through these men knowing they will be a treasure for someone, trying to get better with first date jitters and not lose my mind in the process. But these are shark infested waters, as everyone knows. In the two weeks since I downloaded the app, I have:

a) been asked if I enjoy spanking.
b) been asked if I am a sub or a dom, after being called "cold". (He slipped his own status in a subtle way- "I enjoy healthy cooking, running in the park, sailing, I'm a dom, enjoy Crossfit and make time for charity work.")
c) received suggestive images of torso and nether regions (ok, I egged him on a little).
d) received a fully nude picture of a man proudly displaying his ding dong (different man from above- I did NOT egg this on).

I would call this a fruitful two weeks, if unsuccessful in the actual pursuit of meeting someone kind and normal.  When the spanker first proposed his question, I burst into tears at my desk.  This is what is out in the world? This is what I have to look forward to?  I buried my head in my hands for a few minutes, then shook off my sorrows and kept swiping.  Up the food chain!