He Probably Just Wants to Sleep with You...

As soon as I moved to New York, people constantly told me, "dating in New York is hard." Well, no shit. There are twice as many women as men and I now have to compete with models. Real models that grace the covers and pages of fancy fashion magazines. In addition to these sex on stilts, most of the other women in New York weigh as much as my right leg. Walking around the Meat Packing or West Village neighborhood really kills any ounce of self esteem I was holding on to and then I go back to cramming my Magnolia cupcake down my throat. I eat my feelings.

What straight man wears mardi gras beads during
his entire birthday dinner? This guy. 

And let's not ignore the fact that I suck at dating. I sucked at dating in Ohio, New Haven and Chicago. In Chicago, I hung out with gay men so much that I actually thought I could date them. I met a guy on my gay volleyball team and we dated for a few months. Red flag #1. He claimed to be straight. My pet name for him was "Crazy." I only called him this behind his back of course. I met his parents very early on and his mom just loved me. Parents generally love me, but she REALLY loved me. She had already planned out our summer tennis matches. It was January by the way. After a few weeks, I came to the realization that she was just overly excited that I had a vagina. At the Super Bowl party that year, Crazy wore a shirt from baby gap and his skinny, bedazzled ass jeans were tighter than mine. Red flag #2. He didn't drink. At all. Red flag #3. He worked out at the gayest gym in Chicago - LVAC in Boystown. Gay men used to ask him out at the gym. Red flag #4. This was our correspondence about that encounter:

Crazy: I got asked out today at the gym by a guy. He wanted to meet up for coffee.
Me: Hmm. That's interesting. What did you say?
Crazy:  Well, I told him that I had other plans.
Me: With a woman? Why didn't you just tell him you're straight?
Crazy: Because I don't want to ruin my game at the gym.

Red flag #5 - #1,000. Things went downhill fast after that.

I have had slightly more success in New York, only because I vowed to stay away from trying to convert gay men. I dated my first Jewish boy last summer. He was really cute but really boring. I dated the Bible Banger and Body Builder (same person) and he was a mess. I dated Peter Pan who just wasn't ready to grow up. There has been a handful of other non-interesting dates here and there. But, no gay men (that I know of). Success. Yes, I realize that it's probably not the men, but me. I suck at dating. I admit it.

Does something ever happen to you and you have an immediate flashback to a movie scene? That happened to me last week from the classic movie, He's Just Not That Into You. You know you really have it going for you when you can relate to this movie.

The scene is where Gigi and her friend are at a bar and Gigi is talking to this guy:

Douchebag: Well, ladies, I guess, I have to get back to the office.
Gigi: You go back to the office after happy hour? What's happy about that?
Dbag: I met you. I would love to call you sometime. Do you have a card?
Gigi: Of course.
Dbag: Here is my info. Nice to meet you. Look forward to hearing from you, Gigi.
Gigi: Oh, wait. So...how are we doing this? Are you hearing from me or am I getting a call?
Dbag: What?
Gigi: You said you'd love to call me...but then you said, "Look forward to hearing from you," and..you see how that's kind of confusing?
Dbag: Yeah, look, we'll talk. We'll get in touch.
Gigi: You did it again. Very vague. You know what? Let's just say that you'll call me...and then we can skip all the nonsense.
Dbag: Goodbye, Gigi.
Note: I am quite not as pathetic as her.

A friend of mine had a birthday party a few weeks ago. I met a native, Italian New Yorker. I am always leery of the natives - there is something very intimidating about them. After the bar, we took a walk around Soho, touched tongues and exchanged numbers. He texted a few days after our MOP (make out party).
After flirty exchanges:
Chooch: What does your week look like?
Me: I am free outside of tomorrow, Friday and Sunday.
Chooch: Let's try to rendezvous again soon. Let me know when you're free.
Me: I just did.
Chooch: Ok, got it. Maybe Saturday. Can't believe you're not going to invite me to your beer club.
The end. No further communication. Are you surprised? Because I am not.

At beer club, I was telling my good friend, D-Ro, this story. (See, I can't invite guys to beer club because that's where I talk about them). After a little facebook stalking, our exchange went something like this:

why do I listen to her?

D-Ro: Ok, wow. So let's break this down. He is in his mid-30's. Single. He is good looking and probably has a lot of ladies. He is your typical, native Italian New York chooch. He is not dating material.

Me: I agree.
D-Ro: I mean, he probably just wants to sleep with you.
Me: I know, but I am sticking by Patti Stanger and there is no P in the V until monogamy. Well, who knows..maybe he is a nice guy. Maybe he isn't an asshole after all. (Always the optimist).
D-Ro: Maybe.
Me: Maybe we're just jaded?
<insert laughter> and both of us nodding in agreement.
(..yes, I know. He's just not that into 'me'. I am optimistic, but also a realist).

Side note, D-Ro and I are on to new dating adventures / interests. More to come soon...