The way to a man's heart is through his...

As I write this post, there are four dozen freshly baked gingerbread cookies still warm from the oven, covered in crackly sweet sugar, cooling on my kitchen counter. Food Network is muted on the television and I now have visions of homemade chocolate pudding dancing through my head. Giada and Ina both made cous cous which I take as a sign from the foodie gods that I should imbibe in some Middle Eastern cuisine for dinner tonight. On the bucket list for normal people are things like travel to Hawaii, go sky diving, and learn to ski. On my bucket list are things like eat the tempura fried bacon at The Red Cat, try the toasted marshmallow milkshake at Stand, and indulge in something, anything, by Eric Ripert.

Some people eat to live. I live to eat.

I don't have too many memories in my life that aren't directly (or in some cases, indirectly) connected to food. There are the more obvious ones like devouring my way through the cheese cart at Picholine, a dining experience I'm still paying off - but was worth every penny. There was the birthday dinner at Le Cirque where my date and I actually forgot to talk to each other, a very rare occasion, because the food was so damn delicious. Or the time my boyfriend and I drove all the way to Boston for lobster bisque in a bread bowl. Pure heaven!

Every New Year's I've ever spent with my parents has been rung in with lobsters, champagne, shrimp cocktail and crab dip. I work hard trying to re-create my mother's crab dip recipe: I'm sure she's holding out on her secret ingredient! Her "mushy chicken" can drag me out of the deepest depression and I'd rather eat that than any gourmet meal a superstar chef could prepare. My grandmother's Swedish meatballs are famous in our family and it took her hours to roll out hundreds and hundreds of them. She'd probably roll over in her grave knowing we buy packages of frozen Ikea imposters now, so please don't tell her! My grandfather's tomato garden was a legendary summer tradition, one that my father and I still painstakingly carry on year after year. He insists on peeling them the way his father did - first a dunk in boiling water, then shocked in an ice bath. He does this with his bare hands which I am never brave enough to do, seeing the skin peeling effect the process has on the tomatoes. Yet I tend to the herb garden (with all fourteen herbs) and my father and I both pray that just one batch of our sauce comes even close to his dad's Sunday Gravy.

Food, to me, represents love, tradition, family and friendship. It is a religious experience - one to be shared.

Every time my little brother comes home from the Coast Guard, he asks for my parents to make him Chicken Parmagiana and for me to make him chocolate chip cookies. The chicken dinner is always delicious - after all, what could be bad about crispy breading and melted cheese? I must admit with deepest shame though dear readers, that the cookies I make him come from a bagged mix. Betty Crocker to be exact. I've made a lot of desserts from scratch in my day and nothing comes close to these cookies. I put my own spin on them of course, but it's warms my heart knowing that my brother and I share a bond that cost me $1.79 and 12 minutes in the oven! We don't have much together but he and I demolish a tray of these with every visit. My little way of saying I Love You to my military hero.

Even my fondest memories of being overseas are flooded by the food I was eating. I can tell you where to get the best gelato in Rome (Il Giolitti - right by Piazza Navona), the best crepes in Paris (walk away from the Champs Elysees and tourist traps - head towards the parks), the best churros in Barcelona (the little breakfast place near the flower market with the huge orange tree outside that they actually make your orange juice from), and the best deep fried Mars Bars in Edinburgh (the chip shop with the tin ceiling imprinted with roses and thistles - on the corner near Prince.) My London food memories are a little less pleasant. Not being able to find a turkey to celebrate American Thanksgiving, curry powder in everything, and paying $14 for one box of Oreos. Oh, and if someone could please explain to me why they butter the bread on EVERY sandwich, I'd appreciate it.

*Note to England: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are delicious. Peanut butter and tomato is fucking weird!*

Of course, not every food experience is a good one. I have been attacked with surprise peppers enough times that I am terrified of even the "best" restaurants now. You don't really know an establishment until you've thrown up in their restroom. There was the amazing seafood place that didn't put peppers in the crabcakes (YES!!!) but chopped them in with the corn relish on the side and "forgot" to mention that. Kinda put a damper on the evening. There was the week in New Orleans that I managed to survive five whole days without getting sick in the gumbo / jambalaya capital of the world before Emeril LaGasse's restaurant hid cayenne in a macadamia nut cookie. That sucked. The worst one had to be at Disney World when my cinnamon cream cheese hot pretzel was accidentally switched for a jalapeno stuffed. That tied my stomach in knots worse than three straight rides on Space Mountain!

Yet despite the imminent danger at every turn, I crave excellent dining experiences the way most people crave sunlight. I feel like good food is not a luxury for the elite, rather a necessity for the fulfilling enjoyment of life. It catches me offguard when I meet a person who does not share this same view. Someone who thinks Kraft Mac n Cheese isn't just for kids. I'm as big a fan of comfort food as the next guy but having sampled Daniel Boulud's truffled mac n cheese, I fear I may never be able to return to simple life. Having eaten real Italian pizza while sitting across from the Trevi Fountain means that I can never go back to Domino's ever again. Food is a part of me, my family, my culture, my life. It is essential to my well-being. I don't know how to be with someone who does not understand my passion.

You see, I've rather harshly judged men in the past based (partly) on their concepts of food. Frankly, the guy who showed me the picture of himself on a billboard brought about his own demise! Everyone else I have gotten to know slowly and usually over conversations about food. Michael and I discussed bacon on our first three dates! Spidey Watch got a second chance because he showed me the best place to get tapas and chocolate martinis. Both the Jewish historian and the "100 pounds heavier than his picture" guy tried taking me for chain Italian. Sorry boys, but if it's in a Rite Aid shopping center, I can make better at home. Trekkie virgin was too nervous to eat anything in front of me and I can't have that. Oh, and don't even get me started on the man who would only eat brown food. That guy needed serious therapy.

Perhaps it's because I've been reading so many cookbook memoirs lately. Perhaps it's because I want to write my own. Perhaps it's because I've been dating men who just don't "get" me in the kitchen. Or perhaps it's because I haven't found my culinary soul mate yet. Something in bugging me in a way I can't describe. Yes, I want to be with a man who loves me but I also want to be with a man who loves what a crazy baker I am and how I cannot imagine life without lasagna. I want a man who thinks it's adorable that I eat ricotta like it's yogurt or that I stash chocolate truffles around the house for emergency cravings. I want a man who understands my deep seeded need for all things hummus dipped and feta stuffed and phyllo wrapped. And why sometimes, just sometimes, I have to make fudge at three o'clock in the morning.


If you need some late-night reading / love stories, might I suggest:

A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg - her blog Orangette led to both her book and her husband

The Gastronomy of Marriage by Michelle Maisto - her marriage is one of Southern Italian vegetarian pledges I Do to years of Chinese tradition

I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti by Guilia Melucci - one failed relationship equals one great recipe and there are so many to choose from

Lunch in Paris by Elizabeth Bard - when an American girl falls in love with a Frenchman, cheese and pears are sure to follow

My Life from Scratch by Gesine Bullock-Prado - what happens when Sandra Bullock's sister gives up life in LA and moves to Vermont to start her own pastry business? Yumminess - that's what!

Speed Dating, the Final Chapter

By now, you've all read my Ode to Speed Dating - my first (and last?) attempt at poetry on this site. It was based on the evening before Valentine's Day when four girlfriends and I attended an event in the Meatpacking District in the hopes of some laughs and free Popburgers. The sliders have all been eaten, the fries and ketchup are gone. All that remains is the list of names with a few notes jotted down from each of us. I'll let the girls speak for themselves.

Kimberly: I just popped the button off my jeans. Am now being held together with a paperclip. Bad sign?

June: Alright, I'm prepared for this to be a whole bunch of losers. Can we just get started?

Millie: Who cares how dumb the dates are? There are free sliders!

Chelsea: This is my first time. Do I talk first or do they? How does this work?

Alli: I'm so excited, I'm nauseas. Does anybody have a mint?

Yup, here we are. Just five girls waiting to go on fifteen dates. Not gonna be awkward at all...

*Note to the Readers: I have written my first hand accounts of each date and where applicable, and included my girlfriends' comments about each one. Cocktails while rehashing the evening were a necessity!!!*

1) Will - sits down and I wish him a Happy Mistress Day. For those of you wondering, it's the official holiday the day before V-Day (Google it - I promise!) He laughs and says that he's not married but he wishes he was so I could be his mistress. I'm too pretty to be a wife, but I'd make a damn good mistress.
June said: Did he tell everybody else he was married?
Chelsea said: He kept making jokes about his wife and kids in Connecticut.
Millie said: Inappropriate!!!
Alli said: He sat down and introduced himself to me as "Hi, I'm Will and I'm drunk. You can say anything you want to me." Awesome!

2) Jostein - introduced himself as Justin but the name is really pronounced Yo-Stine. He's from Norway so we bonded over my bff in England who came from Trondheim. He was impressed that I knew a little about the country and traditions. Came to the US on a three month training program and was looking for nice women to spend time with while in New York.
Chelsea said: If his name is Yo-Stine, why did he say Justin?
Alli: He was wearing a Cookie Monster sweater.
Millie: Oh, he definitely looked like a weird sort of Muppet.

3) Kunal - has lots of personality. He's got a big grin and shining eyes and all the confidence in the world. Came from India when he was nine but speaks perfect English and loves New York. Especially loves New York women.
Alli said: I fully expect a match with him. He was sooo nice.
June said: Very cute. Really nice. Pretty much my type.
Chelsea said: At least he was fun to talk to.

4) Kamil - tells me that his name is Arabic for "perfect" - and it is. I looked it up. He's a corporate lawyer and loves his job. It's nice to see someone who enjoys his occupation although he doesn't shut up about it and I don't really get a chance to talk. Oh well.
Alli said: His breath stunk to high heaven.
Chelsea said: Was that the guy who smelled bad?
Millie said: Oh no, honey. Two words: personal hygiene.

5) Guru - alright, I know what this name means but Guru tells me he's not a teacher even though he's always wanted to be. Says that it would be too obvious if "Guru" was a teacher. He can't even do yoga because he feels he'd be made fun of. Poor thing.
Millie said: I think it's awesome. His name is Guru!
June said: Um, yeah. No.

6) Paul - asks me what I prefer: showers or baths? I say showers to be efficient, baths to read in (I'm a huge bookworm.) He counters that any book worth reading is not worth reading in the bath because if it's exciting, you'll flail around and inevitably drop your book at the best part, thus ruining it and never knowing how it ends. I ask what was the last "splash worthy" book he enjoyed? He retorts "Fiction? Non-fiction? Memoir? Be more specific!" and then goes on a diatribe about Black Swan - which is nothing related to the Natalie Portman movie - it's about how unpredictable huge events will impact Earth but we'll never see it coming and we're all going to be destroyed anyway so what's the point of all this in the first place? Pessimism at its finest!
Alli said: He has some sort of home brewing in his basement. Does anyone else think that's creepy?
Millie said: What was he? Like 12?
Chelsea said: That was the boy who looked like a 10 year old? Oh yeah, no.

7) Michael - I wrote nothing down for him. I literally took no notes. And even with my ridiculous memory, I couldn't tell you anything about him. Good thing I brought girlfriends!
Alli said: That was the pastry chef who sat down and started name dropping all the bakeries he's worked for. Little does he know I haven't got a clue who any of those people were!
*Note - I WISH he told me he was a pastry chef. I LOVE baking!*

8) Alex - is from Chicago and works in the trade show business which he really enjoys. He's a sales guy and gets to travel all the time. Talked about work the whole 4 minutes. I didn't get a word in.
June said: I don't care about trade shows.
Millie said: Does he ever shut up?
Chelsea said: Self-absorbed. But cute.

9) Hamad - tried to shock me by saying that he was from Kuwait. This is a Globetrotters event - it's like the United Nations of dating. Nothing shocks me. I kept dropping funny bomb after funny bomb, one-liner after one-liner. He laughed so hard and said "You're so funny, you should be a comedian. What do you do?" Dead serious, I replied "I'm a comedienne." He laughed even harder and when our 4 minutes were up, he kissed me on the cheek. Time well spent?
Alli said: He told me he was from Kuwait and then waited for the over-the-top shocked reaction. He didn't get one. I think he was disappointed.
Chelsea said: I didn't get a kiss. I'm kind of disappointed.

10) Stan - is a banker in charge of acquisitions and mergers. He assured me that it's not as boring as it sounds. I think he's lying. I tell him I'm a writer. He thinks that this is the most fascinating thing he's ever heard. I'm so lucky. How amazing! Wow, to be a writer is the coolest job in the world. That must be so awesome. Etc. Etc. Etc. He never recovers.
Alli said: I'm definitely putting him down for a match. He was fun.
Millie said: That guy was overly excited to be at speed dating.

11) Kevin - introduces himself as being new to NY. I ask where he's from. He says "a place I'm sure you've never heard of." Try me! "It's a small island in the Pacific Ocean." My first guess is Mauritius. He almost falls off his chair. Stunned. I smile smugly back at him, arms folded, legs crossed, eyebrows raised. "I told you I was good at geography!" He's in awe that I have not only heard of his island, but I know where it is (off the coast of Madagascar), and how to spell it. I have a friend from Mauritius. Living in England is good for diversifying your cultural associations!
Alli said: Did you know that his friends signed him up for this event because they're tired of hanging out with him?
June said: No, but I believe that.

12) Marco - is way skinny for my taste. He has a weak handshake and a quiet voice. I try to make him comfortable but this boy is in over his head. There's nervous and then there is shoulda-brought-a-barf-bag-to-speed-dating nervous. He's the latter.
Chelsea said: Marcos was cute-ish.
Alli said: I think it was Marco S. Not Marcos.
Chelsea said: Oh, I thought Marcos was a weird name.
Alli said: Was he the one with a handshake like a limp fish?
June said: Yup, that was him.
Millie said: Marco. Did I meet him???
June said: Exactly!!!

13) Oleg - and I know you won't believe this but it was a DIFFERENT Oleg!!! At this point, I'm thinking: What are the chances that I have never heard this name before and suddenly I meet two guys named Oleg, both at speed dating events. WEIRD. Wait - it gets better. Oleg tells me that he's in New York doing research as he's originally from Uganda where he works as a buffalo scientist. I have never heard of anyone being a buffalo scientist but he recounts how it was a career change for him as he originally studied big cats. Tigers? Leopards? Cheetahs? Nope - Lions! How lions are missing a certain gene found in other cats that correlates to fear so he came to NY to study mice and alter their "fear gene." According to Oleg the buffalo scientist, there is now video on YouTube of the first set of mice without the fear gene. One walked right up to a cat and smacked it in the face! Experiment complete! What comes next? They took that cat, altered its "fear gene" and it slashed a crocodile in South Florida because it wasn't afraid of the crocodile. Wow, this is some serious messing with nature!
Alli said: Oleg, that was the guy from Russia, right?
Chelsea said: Yeah, the mathematician.
Me: No, no, he was the Ugandan buffalo scientist.
All four girls: stare at me blankly.

14) Dave - is friends with Stan. He's from Taiwan and was in Egypt for the first two days of the riots. He loves that I do improv comedy and asks where I perform. Actually writes it down on his notepad and says he's always wanted to take classes there. Maybe we'll run into each other soon!
Millie said: Which one was Dave again?
June said: Exactly.

Overall impressions for the night?
June said: It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be.
Millie said: I was charming and I got free burgers. This was fun.
Chelsea said: When can we do this again?
Alli said: I'm definitely not meeting the love of my life here but that was a blast. Let's do it again. This time, maybe Single
Professionals night. That way, I'll know nobody's looking for a Green Card!!!

As for me, I think this is my last speed dating event. It's fun but I don't have the energy to keep smiling like that all night. Gonna save my enthusiasm for the stage from now on. On the plus side, the host Rob was really cute. So maybe this wasn't a complete waste of time...

Ode to Speed Dating

Twas the night before V-Day and all through the bar
Speed daters had come from near and from far
They came from Manhattan, from Brooklyn, from Queens
They came wearing dresses, or t-shirts and jeans
They ordered their beer, their wine and mixed drinks
To calm down their nerves and nausea, methinks
Girls came in groups of two, three or four
Each one was hungry and looking to score
I went in a cackling coven of five
Everyone stared at us once we arrived
For it sucks when someone likes you - not your friend
But we do not fight over trifles like men
It was time to begin, the host rang the gong
Four minutes each date - for some, that’s too long
For others, too short but those dates are few
When you wish he would just stop staring at you
Hello, nice to meet you, let’s make one thing clear
My breasts are down there - my eyes are up here
Smile, shake hands, and make some small talk
Then the women stay put and the men have to walk
Seventeen speed dates we had all in all
Ranged between thin, fat, short, and tall
Light-skinned and dark-skinned, blonde and brunette
Everyone wonder’ng how many “matches” they’d get
Halfway through the evening, there’s some time to mingle
The question arises: So why are you single?
You’re pretty / You’re smart / There’s no one like you!
Excuse me, I have to go use the loo
I meet some more guys: in sales, social work
One is a banker, one’s just a jerk
There are men from Chicago, Kuwait and Norway,
India, Canada and Sheepshead Bay
There are men who love reading, animals, travel
Each is a mystery I try to unravel
Some enjoy Scuba, trade shows, flying
The buffalo scientist is definitely lying
I smile at all of them, fingers crossed for one match
For I know in my heart that I’m a great catch
I’m here for the evening to have lots of fun
I don’t expect to find love or meet “the one”
It’d be great if tomorrow I wasn’t alone
But I have Netflix, wine and chocolate at home
I know I’ll survive another Valentine
Just in case though, I’m asking “Would you be mine?”

A Look in the Mirror

As I get a little older, a little wiser, and up to my eyeballs in loser juice, I realize more and more things that I need from a relationship. Dating so many men in a short amount of time really puts things into perspective for a girl. The concept of not settling for anyone who didn't make me extremely happy was a foreign notion to me until a year ago. I just thought that guys gave whatever they wanted to and I was stuck accepting it. In the battle of "take it or leave it," I ALWAYS took it because I didn't know any better. Scratch that, I truly didn't believe that I deserved any better. If this is you, if you are thinking that your man is treating you like crap and you don't deserve any better, please do us both a favor right now: stop reading this blog. Step away from your computer and go take a good, long look in the mirror. Stare really hard into your own eyes and ask yourself "If this is as good as it gets, it that good enough for me???"

Go ahead, I'll wait.

Oh good, you're back! Well, what did you think? Are you willing to compromise who you are to stay with someone who doesn't make you laugh? Doesn't treat you well? Doesn't make you feel like the best you that you can possibly be? Before this project, I would've told you that I was the same way. Not demanding. Not looking for anything more than someone was willing to offer. Not anymore. Life is too short to wallow in your own unhappiness, especially if someone else is the source of it!

Let me ask you another question: if one of your girlfriends talked crap about you, was always in a pissy mood, didn't make you smile, refused to take care of you when you needed a shoulder to lean on, never initiated contact, etc - would you still call her a friend? Or would you muster the courage to walk away?

Dating is the same way! There are some really great guys out there if you're patient enough to wait for one to come along. I know it's hard, believe me. Many, many times I've found myself doing exactly what I tell you girls NOT to do. I sit by the phone waiting for some dipshit to call. I get aggravated when he doesn't and yet I find myself equally annoyed when he does. Or a boy I thought I was super interested in breaks things off with me and I cry about it because I let my feelings get hurt. Yet what was the real loss there? If he didn't want to be with me to begin with, then I have zero reason to be upset. Any man who makes you cry isn't worth ruining your mascara over in the first place.

You see, I don't want to be with a man who thinks that it would be "nice" to be with me. I don't want to be with someone who could "take me or leave me." I want to date someone who really, truly WANTS to date me. Someone who appreciates me, enjoys spending time with me, thinks he's lucky that he's the guy I'm dating. I want a man who loves waking up each morning and sending me a little 'hello' text and smiles when I'm the last person he says 'good night' to. I want a man who craves contact with me, giving each of us space to live our own lives, but also intertwining as much of ourselves as possible. I want to be with someone who adores me with every fiber of his being and doesn't freak out when I feel the same way about him. I know I deserve this just like I know I'll find it someday. And you, my dearest readers - you will too.

Dinner for One

Singledom has distorted my views on life.

I now believe that stuffing is a food group. If I eat dinner standing up at the kitchen counter, it doesn't count as "eating alone." If I have a midnight snack but there is no one to catch me doing so, it never happened. Frozen chicken kievs, frozen blintzes, and frozen pasta are staple ingredients on my shopping list. Hors d'oeuvres can be baked all at once, thus making it feel like there's a party in my mouth and everyone is invited. Pudding has milk in it, therefore it constitutes my dairy intake for the day. If I consume an entire bag of chocolates but bury the bag in the bottom of the garbage pail, that bag never existed. Throwing together dinner means finding some old cold cuts and not-yet stale bread with the last-ditch scrapings of the Hellman's jar and the unmoldy half of a tomato from the vegetable crisper. I could easily survive for a week on Kraft singles and Wheat Thins.

My single life has taken over food as I know it. I was once a happy housewife (yes, they do exist) cooking dinner for myself and my husband every evening. I made pot pies and lasagnas and meatballs and eggplant parmesan and salads and soups and breads. I owned a Crock Pot. I owned a breadmaker. I owned several corkscrews and served wine at meals. I set the table with placemats, bowls, plates, glasses, napkins and utensils. We did not dine in front of the tv, even for mac n cheese. I made a dessert for every occasion: crumbles, cobblers, cakes, cookies, pies and pastries. It was a regular joke in our house about who else was coming for dinner because I always cooked enough for a small army. I loved having leftovers in the fridge for him to take into work the next day. His colleagues ran to the store on their lunch break but my husband had homemade meals waiting for him to heat up. It made me feel special sending him off with more than just a turkey sandwich. Like I was doing my job as a wife.

My mother visited us at our home in Surrey, England for a few days. It was our one year wedding anniversary and we planned a huge celebration and renewal of vows. Each night of her stay, she stared at me moving about the tiny British kitchen: hair curled, apron on, face made up, making dinner for my small but loving family. I must tell you that in 37 years of marriage to my father, my mom has not once worn an apron to make dinner. Not once. She hardly recognized this young, ambitious girl making tea in the electric kettle and washing dishes by hand. I had reverted to the perfect 1950's textbook woman - not quite the educated, world traveler she knew!

Our semi-detached house in one of the Home Counties was a big step up for us. We had a big backyard (by English standards anyway) which my husband mowed on weekends in nicer weather. We had a sunroom which served dual purpose as both a dining room and an office. We had one and a half bathrooms, unheard of in London. This was all spread out over two floors, quite spacious considering where we'd come from.

Our Catford flat was an open square of a thing. The bedroom was in an odd L shape, making it impossible to position furniture without injury. I managed to break my little toe twice on the corner of a wall while trying to avoid bumping into the dresser. It was on the seventh floor of an apartment building in the center of town, overlooking a McDonald's, a KFC, and a Domino's pizza. If it wasn't for the fish and chip shop and two horrendous Chinese take out places, one would not be able to tell this town from any other in the US. I live in New York though where we have good pizza and good Chinese take out. I therefore ate at none of these establishments.

The real reason we moved though was the kitchen. It was three cubic feet with a mere four cabinets - all too tall for my poor hubby to reach - and room for only half a fridge. I was at the grocery store every day seeing as we had no room to store more than one meal's worth of food. Forget having people over to eat! The sink wasn't even large enough to wash up in. We could dunk precisely one dish at a time and heaven help you if someone else wasn't doing the drying! Suffice it to say, counter space wasn't much better.

Despite our lack of culinary accommodations, I managed in that place until we finally moved to the suburbs. Yes, it was a longer commute and the rent was slightly higher for a two bedroom place, but having a garden and adopting two precious kittens was surely worthwhile. We hosted an American Thanksgiving meal for all my foreign friends since I now had room to cook a multi-course meal.

Once back on Long Island with a gorgeous home of our own, we continued the tradition of dinner on Sundays for friends and family. I spent six days at a time planning what to serve, fidgeting over menus and grocery budgets, several hours tidying the mess before company came, and one glorious evening eating and drinking with people we loved...only to throw everything in the dishwasher that night and look forward to a week of rest before doing it all again.

Now I am single, I find myself craving those parties, those dinners, those people to cook for. I watch Food Network religiously and have hundreds of recipes bookmarked but it feels hopeless with no one to appreciate all my effort. There is a cookbook specifically detailing The Pleasures of Cooking for One - this is essentially the single gal's guide to cuisine - but I can't be bothered. Why make a whole meal when one can have powdered mashed potatoes or shrimp cocktail? Is there really a reason to put on an apron and slave over sauces and stews when you know for damn certain that no man will come wrap his arms around you and tell you how beautiful you are?!?!

Besides, it's not like I'm completely alone. Tonight, I'm sleeping with a box of Girl Scout cookies. Calories for a cause! They don't count, right???

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Days like today fill me with dread. Being single has its ups and downs throughout the year but there is one particular time of year when a girl needs a boyfriend / husband more than ever...Snow shoveling day.

The actual, physical act of shoveling snow sucks BIG time. I understand that as a resident in the NorthEast region of America, winter blizzards are par for the course. Although the accumulation rates have skyrocketed in the years since my divorce. Coincidence? I think not. Mother Nature is an angry beast who clearly had her heart broken in the past and plans on doling out retribution to the rest of the world. How better show one's disdain than blasting Arctic winds and burying vehicles and homes alike under mounds and mounds of heavy, wet demon fluff?

The after-wrath of such a storm wreaks havoc on a single girl mentally, physically, and emotionally. We all hope the the magical snow-moving elves have secretly dug out our cars and sidewalks for us, not to mention a pathway out the door to get to said places. We hide under our dark covers, secretly wishing that a task force of gorgeous men with snow-blowers, shovels and plows appeared in the night and that maybe, just maybe, if we stay in bed long enough, they'll have time to finish the job. Most likely however, unless you are plying your neighbors with freshly baked cookies and / or sexual favors, you are left to do the drudgery yourself. You come in after hours of back-stretching, muscle-burning, wind-swept hell to defrost a little and regain feeling in your outer extremities. You have to peel off layer after layer of cold, wet clothing, only to find the stray piece of ice has broken loose from your hair and slid down your one remaining layer of protection. There is no one to share a warm shower with, no one to indulge in a steaming mug of chocolate with extra marshmallows and whipped cream, no one to massage your tendons back in place.

This sucks.

During a January storm, single girls can be found on the couch, curling up with a bag of Lindor truffles and Mrs Doubtfire on cable television. While I appreciate the alone time, I occasionally make the mistake of glancing in the direction of my hourly news source: Facebook. The status updates from my coupled friends are all the same: "So lucky I have a wonderful husband to keep me warm tonight," "Cuddling with my baby in the blizzard - sooooo romantic," and my personal favorite "The power hasn't gone off yet but we're gonna light candles and pretend it has! Ooh, it's cold outside but it's hot in here :-)"

This really sucks.

It's not so much that I want a boyfriend really badly. It's just that I took for granted all those times I had one. Being single has made me appreciate being in a couple that much more. Times when I didn't have to do certain things for myself. There are women in my life who are strong enough to handle everything on their own and then some. They put my to-do list to shame. I admire their unwavering courage and aspire to imitate their brave outlooks.

Yet I cannot help thinking that winter would be much more manageable with a boyfriend and a snowblower!

You Scared Me At Hello

"You're so great! Why are you single?"

Dear coupled-off people,

When you begin conversations with phrases such as this, it does NOT make me envious of your two-by-two life together. It makes me want to punch you in the face.

"I know this fantastic guy. If you can get over the ever so slight hunchback, he's an absolute sweetheart."

Again, you arrogant assholes, please stop trying to set me up with the scraps at the bottom of the loser barrel. Just because he's single and I'm single does NOT mean we are compatible in any other way.

"Oh my gosh, my friend just finished dating this man who secretly has a wife and kids in Poland. He was hiding them from her for months. She couldn't deal with it but I think you're a much stronger woman and now the cat's out of the bag, right? Do you want me to give him your number?"

Once more, a ring on your left hand makes you superior to me in no way, shape or form. If I wanted to swim at the shallow end of the gene pool for mating purposes, I can find my own way there. Thanks.


Fast forward to present day and I find myself asking everyone I know if they have a single guy friend to set me up with. He's still living at home in his parents' basement, watching Family Guy and working at Stop N Shop? At least he has a job! He's had no long term relationships in the past and a penchant for watching porn on a nightly basis? Great, will probably be very creative in bed! He's out on probation for a crime of unknown specificity? I'll take it! Standards have not just been lowered, my friends. They've been thrown out the proverbial window!

This whole concept of saying "yes" to everyone led me into some very unfamiliar territory. I've had to instill a whole mess of trust into acquaintances who've offered up their unattached male specimens for further investigation. One such male creature I managed to frighten off in less than ten seconds, a new record for me!

One of my fabulous improv teammates and her boyfriend love to read my blog and chuckle to themselves about not missing life as a single person in New York. I don't mind this because they're both totally supportive of everything I do and read my blog religiously. (Much appreciated!) She came to practice one day and said "Ok, my boyfriend has this co-worker he wants to set you up with. I'm just warning you - don't do it! He thinks this guy would be great for you because he's English and your ex-husband was English. That's the only connection and I'm just saying: Disaster. Waiting. To. Happen!"

*Note to self: while the accent is always appealing, I really must stop falling for foreigners.

The intriguing part of this scenario for me was how dead-set against it my friend was and how excited about the prospect of setting me up with someone her boyfriend was. After four years of dating and two years of knowing me, how could they have such differing perspectives? It made me all the more itchy to find out about this guy.

Attempt #1: I am driving my friend into rehearsal when she says "Wanna have a four way?" Ummm, ok this is new but sure! "No silly, not like that! I'm gonna call my boyfriend and he's at work with his friend. This way you two can talk!" Alright, hold on. Let me put on lipstick! (Yes, I know it was over the phone. And yes, I was kidding...sort of...) She puts her boyfriend on the phone and I say hello. He grabs his friend to talk on speakerphone and there is dead silence. I say hello again. No response. Boyfriend comes back on the phone to say that friend froze and had to excuse himself to the men's room. Wow, I scared him at "hello" - Failed.

Attempt #2: Friend and her boyfriend are out at a fancy company dinner. Co-worker guy is also there. As we are all in the city, I suggest meeting up for a drink after. She mentions this to him, he grabs his coat and hails a cab, not to be seen or heard from again until Monday morning. Failed.

Attempt #3: Friend and I are performing in a show this coming Saturday. Her boyfriend will be in the audience playing the supportive role (as he should be!) I asked if he'd be inviting co-worker guy and the response was: "I asked him, but it's too social. He doesn't do well with people." Failed.

Strike 3 dude. Sorry but you're out. Guess I better keep the hunchback as a contingency plan?

Curious George

The holidays are the perfect time to meet someone new, mostly because your friends are all having parties. I have figured out the exact science behind these meetings so here it is: When your coupled-off friends throw a shindig, it is both their right AND their responsibility to invite as many single people as they know in the hopes that some of them will pair off together. This dynamic duo may last for one drunken make-out session or might form an actual relationship in the future. Either way, couply people LOVE to see more people being couply.

You see, when you're single and the rest of your friends are paired off, they don't really know what to do with you. You're this weird mystery they can't figure out. You're a great person; you're funny and smart and good looking. I mean, you have to be otherwise why would they even be friends with you? But couples don't understand why their "great" single friends are still single, so they play matchmaker at every available turn. What better time to get set up than during an egg nog induced stupor?

I was at one such party just before the changing of the years. There were a few cool people I knew and even more that I'd never met before. One guy we shall refer to as Curious George came right up and introduced himself to me. Took my hand and held it for a moment too long while staring into my eyes. I assumed that the chardonnay had thrown off my sense of time so I smiled graciously back at him.

Curious George asked what I did for a living (standard opening question) to which I replied that I am a writer. He said, "Really? What do you write about?" I didn't have time to answer because the peanut gallery behind me religiously follows my blog and informed Curious George that I was going on 100 first dates this year and writing about the experience. He replied (all the while looking me straight in the eyes) "Oh, so you're single?" I nodded yes. He asked what constituted a first date. I said, "Usually there is some sort of meeting spot. Possibly food or just a shared activity." He then asked if I'd like to go on a date with him. Um...sure, ok. "How about right now?" Um...sure, ok.

At first, we headed into the kitchen which had magically cleared out, but there was nowhere comfortable to sit and chat so he asked if I wanted to go for a walk. I checked with my hostess first to make sure this guy wasn't a total creeper and could be trusted to stroll around the block with. She assured me he was a little intense but otherwise, perfectly normal. I grabbed my coat and another shot of liquid courage and out the door we went.

He shivered when we got outside, remarking how cold it had gotten (duh, it IS December in New York) and suggested we drive around for a while instead of walking. All of my "don't get in the car with strangers" lessons kicked in and I would like to personally thank my third grade teacher for instilling this concept into my brain with such urgency. I said that it was definitely chilly but an otherwise beautiful night so we should get our blood pumping with a good walk as planned. (I had also told my friends that if I wasn't back in 10 minutes, to come out and find me!)

We looked at the houses with Christmas lights up and Curious George said, "I've always admired how the lights shimmer and twinkle against the dark night sky. There's something really magical about them, you know? Like crystals shining in each and every snowflake."

Ok, first of all, WHO TALKS LIKE THAT??? You are not Lewis Carroll and this is not 1864. Yes, it's all very poetic and I'm assuming you're trying to impress the writer girl but come on! If you're also trying to get laid, you need a new approach, my friend.

We moved on to a few more houses and he asked me what styles of decoration I like. I prefer classically elegant, more Victorian and simplistic in appeal than all these plastic reindeers and blow up Santas. I have never been a huge fan of the inflatable moving snow globes that adorn lawns these days. A few green garlands, red bows and white lights will do just fine for me, thanks. He then launched into a diatribe about wanting his own home with a beautiful wife and family inside, the warmth of love around each of them, keeping everyone warm.

Dude, CUT IT OUT! You're scaring the poor girl who agreed to a walk around the block, not a future planning session with a total stranger. PS: What's with holding my hand? Keep your mitts in your pockets where they'll be warm and kindly stop suggesting marriage while you're at it!

Finally, we got back to the party after what felt like the most ridiculous ten minutes of my week (definitely a trip down the rabbit hole.) He thanked me for my time, lifting my hand to his lips to kiss it. He admired my fingertips for a second before saying "You have a lovely manicure."

SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?!

I left my coat on when I got inside, thanked the hostess for having me over and told my friends to call me with plans for the New Year. I couldn't keep a straight face long enough to say good-bye to Curious George as he promised to call me so we could go on another date again soon.

Whoops, I forgot to give him my number. Oh darn...

New Year, New Losers

Just wanted to share with you a few of the emails I've gotten this week. Apparently, every loser in the Tri-State area has now signed up for online dating and most of them have messaged me. Hand-selected for your enjoyment:

From Dart42:

I'm the Prince of Persia. And I totally don't do drugs. Like ever. Except for tons of cough syrup. Cuz that like legal and stuff.

From Not2Serious:

I like you. You're fun, lighthearted, and goofy. You don't take yourself so seriously, and don't have a stick up your ass about life and people. If you do have a stick up your ass about life and people, message me anyway. I'll probably just annoy you though.

From LOTR36:

Me: So what are you doing with your life?
Him: Contemplating Nobel Prize winning sexual algorithms.

From Ahmed:

You cute. I like get to know you. You want talk me too? We good together. I see you soon cutie.

From Luvable_Dork:

I like to watch movies, go for walks, read books, read comics, play video games, shoot pool, play mini-golf, shop. I'm looking for that special someone. Someone to settle down with and have kids. Now I'm not looking to get married on the first date or anything, but I want something long term and serious. I'm quite funny. I can be goofy and silly at times, but hey its fun. I currently work at Walgreens until I write a book, make a movie, or develop time traveling technology.
My favorite things are: Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Slaughterhouse 5, Alice in Wonderland, Harry Potter, Twilight, Sherlock Holmes, Shakespeare and Poe, Star Wars Trilogy, V for Vendetta, Alice in Wonderland, Across the Universe, What Dreams May Come, Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, The Runaways, Watchmen, Mallrats, Shaun of the Dead, Halloween, My Name is Bruce, The One, Casablanca, Monsters vs Aliens, Dazed and Confused, Harry Potter, Twilight, Wallace and Gromit, Ricky Bobby, Anchorman, Nirvana, The Offspring, Green Day, Taylor Swift, Luke Bryan, Lady Gaga, Glee, Weird Al, Coheed, Tenacious D, Brad Paisley, Beatles, Ozzy, Johnny Cash, Dethklok, Flogging Molly, Foo Fighters, and Blink 182, Glee, House, Law & Order SVU, Modern Family, Buffy, Angel, The Office, Batman TAS, Ed Edd N Eddy, ATHF, Harvey Birdman, Robot Chicken, Family Guy, Venture Bros, Futurama, One Life to Live, Ace of Cakes.

Gee...I don't know who to write back to first!!!

Peppers of Death

We could not be any more opposite than if we were literally Night and Day.

This is what I'm thinking as I get to know a man I really like. There are so many redeeming qualities about him, so many wonderful things I look for in a partner. He's generous and kind and considerate and sweet and thoughtful and funny and smart and has amazing friends and a great family and a stable job... and we do not have one single thing in common. Not. One. Thing.

Exhibit A) He loves spicy food. Burn your mouth off hot food. Mexican restaurants. Red pepper flakes, chili and cayenne in every dish. I am allergic to peppers. Should I ever attempt to walk into a Chili's, please have 911 on speed dial cause the only way I'm leaving that place is in an ambulance. Hopefully with the ability to breathe and a cute new EMT boyfriend.

Exhibit B) He's influenced by Eastern tradition and cuisine. Loves Thai, Indian and Asian cultures. I am very Mediterranean, fond of French, Italian and Greek ways. He prefers to eat his meals with chopsticks. I get nauseas at the thought of sushi, curry, or bubble tea. He hates chicken parm. I will eat anything with melted cheese on it. He wants to travel around the world. I need look no further than Europe. Perhaps a hot man with an accent will take me home with him and teach me how to make fresh pasta?

Exhibit C) Netflix: In my queue are Valentine's Day, The Tudors, The Other Sister, Sabrina, and Babies. In his queue is Zombie Strippers, Bitch Slap, and Tron. On my iPod is country music. He's convinced that all country music is about one's truck, wife, dog, and gun (NOT true btw!) Marry Me by Train is my new favorite love song. He would like to punch Pat Monahan in the face if given the opportunity. I have an iPhone. He has a POS. Something tells me that romance was easier before the invention of modern technology.

The list truly goes on and on and every time I ask a question, I get the exact opposite answer to what I was hoping for! We can agree that Frankie, Dino and Sammy were the best of the Rat Pack but beyond that, there seems to be no compromise. He cracks Wookie jokes left and right while I have never seen the original Star Wars. I laugh every time someone makes a "ruckus" whereas he doesn't know who the basketcase, the princess, the nerd, the jock and the rebel are! (Bonus points if you do.)

Is this a case of disparity in upbringing? Is it the timeless battle between the sexes? Or do some equations simply lack a common denominator?