About Me

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Two five-ten blondes fighting against the stereotype to find love, success, and a way to pay the rent. *** We're passionate about our seriously stressful careers in the apex of the luxury fashion world. (No, it's not like the Devil Wears Prada- our Devils only wear custom and pay for their anonymity.) *** We're on the search for the elusive 'great' guy (who must be intimidated because we can't find him anywhere). Being 5'10" and blonde is a double-edged sword. Our stories are fucking ridiculous. *** Fortunately and unfortunately for us, we share the same story as millions of women who have been violated: we are determined to make a difference in the lives of women who have seen too much. *** WELCOME TO OUR WORLD.

Monday, January 31, 2011

Too Close for Comfort

Friday night, after watching Archer with my brother and his girlfriend, (and frantically realizing I couldn't take the car to Boston as it was buried in two feet of snow), I threw on a Club Monaco sparkly mini and Valentino wing top and slipped & hopped my way to Bubble Lounge to meet Mark. Mark and I had one previous date, an impromptu lunch last Thursday. I was a teeny bit late due to said car troubles, which I had explained to him on the phone. When I arrived, he had made friends with a married couple at the bar. Awkwardly, and quite drunkenly, the couple decided to guess our ages. Mark is 39. The couple were 43.... When the husband correctly guessed my age on the first try, his wife shot me the meanest look. Not a great way to start the evening. Dating older men can sometimes be so ... uncomfortable. My spangled miniskirt did little to relieve me of the feeling that I was perceived as his bit-of-stuff.

My concerns were somewhat mollified when we headed over to Macao Trading Co. for dinner:

Mark had reserved the absolute best table nestled in a corner, but still in the center of the room. A self-described champagne connoisseur, he ordered a large bottle of Dom. I was too distracted by the slight rudeness in his voice when he was asking for an ice bucket from the waitress to notice the year. I tried to be extra charming to her to mitigate his sense of superiority. I might have been a bit too sensitive, because he then became quite kind to her.

We ordered a massive fish on the bone for two (no idea what it was since he ordered). I usually don't mind when a man orders for me, as long as he asks my preferences first. I happen to really dislike fish, but when I mentioned that, he told me I would love it anyway. Hmm.

It's hard for me to recall the next few hours... except for to say that every time I started to say something, he interupted me. Perhaps it was his enthusiasm at what I was saying, but I got the impression it was more that he liked the idea of me. Whatever I started to say fit in line with his concept of who I was, and so he didn't feel the need for me to finish. It got a bit annoying, so I drank more.

Suddenly it was 11 PM and I was supposed to meet Jason at my apartment, so he could drive me to his friends house for chocolate souffle. I told Mark I had to get back as I was driving in the morning (no need to mention those plans had changed - we were now taking a bus). Mark insisted on walking me home. My heart skipped a few beats... Jason was driving over to my apartment as we were walking.

I started to get a bit nervous. I expected him to grab a cab as it was quite cold and he was all the way uptown, but he was quite the gentleman. We were nearing my block, I had suggested twice that he get in a cab. He said, "You don't want me to know where you live?" I said, "It's just that cabs are scarce on Friday night and I wouldn't want you to be stranded." He still kept walking with me. I realized, I could not walk down my block with him. What if Jason were waiting in his car and saw me? So I turned up the adjoining street and pretended I lived there. Luckily, another cab came by just as I was about to fake-turn into a building. Even more lucky, he got in. Whew.

I walked the half-block back to my place and ran upstairs. I quick changed and brushed my teeth. I hadn't eaten much at dinner and needed to sober up a bit. Jason was too important to risk hurting. Not two minutes later, he was at my door. It was great to see him again, but I couldn't help feeling a cloud of guilt.

He was in a great mood as he drove me to the apartment. When we got there, we played with the dog a bit as he finished up the chocolate, joking around in French as he pulled the perfect pieces out of the oven. We sat on the couch and talked until 2 AM. It was easy being with him, I didn't feel nervous or on edge at all... until he said it was time for bed.

It's always a little nerve-racking being with someone new, even if it is (mostly) sleeping. I went through the pretense of changing for bed, even though I knew my shirt wouldn't last the night. We crawled in and immediately started making out. It was great to just kind of roll around with him and feel close. But, he's different than the guys I usually date... not nearly as 'take-charge'. Still, I could tell he was really thrilled to have me there. We were both on the same page without having to talk about it - everything stayed above the belt. I'm definitely enjoying taking it slow... and once we were done making out, he said as much. He likes to enjoy every stage and doesn't see the sense in rushing, which is kind of great. I can't remember the last time I was with a guy in bed and he didn't push for anything. It made me feel safe.

We curled up together & fell asleep, spooning. In the morning, he drove me to the bus & briefly met my girlfriends.

The girls and I spent the next two days collapsing in fits of giggles about everything & anything while in Boston. It was a great, restorative weekend with old friends - just what I needed after weeks of being with mostly men.


Saturday, January 29, 2011


I am glad Scorpio has been busy and entertaining our readers because I have been cocooned in my new silk down comforter since Sunday night. Of coarse this lovely and extremely expensive duvet cover has now endured hours of feverish chills and night sweats. I have been confined to my "layer" by THE FLU, the real deal that they warn you to get shots for. The last time I recall being this sick was back in the 5th grade. I noticed myself longing for my mom to appear with fried egg on toast, Advil, Gatorade, anything. Instead, I realized a big downside to being single is not having anyone really have your best interest in mind. I was so weak it took me 4 hours
to will myself out of bed to walk half a block to get more water and juices. Luckily, there is Seamlessweb.com. Like a true New Yorker, I have been ordering in all meals.

My one big adventure out of bed was to get to the doctor's office, the day AFTER a giant snowstorm! I was literally climbing snow banks just to get to the end of my block.

The few cars that were on the roads ended up gliding on the ice and snow. I had to get from the West Village to the Upper East Side by foot and subway, when I barely had the strength to stand for 5 minutes. I had to kneel on the subway platform twice because I felt like I was going to faint. I reflected on the book I was reading Even Silence Has An End by Ingrid Betancourt, where Ingrid reveals her mental strength and anguish towards her physical surroundings. Obviously, walking to the doctor's office in the snow is not the same as being held in the jungle for 6 years, but in the grips of a severe flu any movements can feel like your life or death. I was really put to the test when they told me I had to walk 12 more blocks (the long ones) to get an x-ray. I was suddenly thankful that my parents never took me up north as a child. I was walking in a winter wonderland with disgust, even sneering at a snowman that someone built in the middle of Park Avenue.

I finally made it home and collapsed in my bed, where I remain still (2 days later). I took pictures out of boredom waiting for my prescription at Rite Aid. I usually go to Duane Reade, but couldn't walk that far. I had to sit in the store for 45 minutes because I knew if I left I wouldn't be able to walk back. So I picked up a few items that actually sounded good (Lucky Charms, Twizzlers, Goldfish) and winced at the smooth jazz that buzzed in the speakers above my head. I can still relive the moment like a flu flashback....me bundled in a down coat staring blankly thru my massive shades, sitting in a sad little pharmacy "waiting room". The BeeGees were squealing their way thru some song about emotions while I entertained myself by looking at Christmas wrapping paper, that was now 90% off, and an employee fighting to stock the Valentine's Day candy. That was really the only outside action I can share from my week (depressing).

I am finally feeling the light at the end of this miserable germ ridden tunnel. I just missed a week full of opportunity. I had something important to do every night of this week, but that was probably my downfall to catching the flu in the first place. I have been going out every night without eating due to stress. At this point I could be 10 pounds lighter? So it caught up to me and my body basically took a mandatory vacation from my damaging ways. Lesson learned, although I have been cooped up for so long that in my excitement for socializing I have already started filling up next week.


Friday, January 28, 2011

On Caipirinhas & Chemistry

Last night was the season premiere of Archer, my all time favorite (scratch that, only) adult cartoon. And yet, I sacrificed watching it to go out on my third date with Johan. Totally worth it.

We met at a Brazilian restaurant called Berimbau in my neighboorhood. I heard they had great caipirinhas, and I wanted a quiet place where we could hang out and not feel rushed. It was perfect really, because we were one of three couples in there.

Every time I see him, I am surprised to see how cute he is. That doesn't mean he's not handsome (he is!), but his mannerisms and personality just make him really ... adorable? Endearing? I'm hunting for a non-emasculating word here, and falling short. Anyway, we spent the first two hours laughing and trading witty quips. We spent the next hour talking about healthcare reform and our educational system, and the differences between them in Sweden & America. The last hour of our four-hour dinner was spent discussing our ideal last meal if we were on death row, our favorite movie, and golf. I say 'our' because (again!) we like the exact same things for the exact same reasons.

At one point, he leaned over the table and said, "You know, it would be so much fun to read the NY Times with you and discuss it. I really like hearing your perspective." If you know me at all, you know I have been dying to hear those words since my first relationship. Instead, I usually got, "You think too much." Cue: death rattle.

We hopped through the snow to Vbar for a glass of wine and more intimate conversation. We entwined our legs at a table in the back and Googled our signs to see if we were compatible. Turns out, Cancer & Scorpio are like, the perfect match. We're supposed to compliment each other's weaknesses quite well. I'm not gonna lie, it's kind of awkward to be reading about your sign's awesome compatibility while on a date; I definitely blushed, and we were both smiling as we pointed to traits we thought we embodied.

He finally put his hands on my legs (first time, ever!) and kissed me right there in the bar. We were leaning so close to each other, we were practically cheek to cheek. He whispered that I smelled amazing... and his scent was so intoxicating it was hard to not get lost in his neck. I could just feel the heat between us, and yet we only kissed briefly once or twice. It was kind of torture, but also kind of great to just enjoy those exquisite moments of being so close, and... wanting.


Thursday, January 27, 2011


At a certain point yesterday, I realized I'd gone over capacity and into the world of diminishing returns. Luke called me asking for a date this weekend (this baby shower is really getting in the way of my dating life!) When I told him I was out of town, he asked me out for tomorrow night... but I was busy. Then he asked about tonight... I was busy. I said, "I really do want to see you again, how's early next week?" Then I realized, I am booked through Wednesday of next week!

Jason, on Tuesday, asked me to come over on Friday to sample his French cooking. I said I would try, only before realizing that I can't exactly cut and run on my date midway through the meal.

I had two dates last night because Johan wanted to see me this week - double booking in a snowstorm is NOT recommended.

I've realized, I'm turning down dates with the guys I really want to see (the three above) for guys I don't even know yet (the two below). This is crazy! I end up spending those dates thinking about the guys I want to see & I am no longer able to have the same stat-sharing first date convo any longer. I felt like I was totally phoning it in on the second of my two dates last night... not good for anyone, and it certainly doesn't make me feel like a good person.

I have some rather difficult phone calls ahead of me...

But on to the dates!

The first one, at 6:30 was Daniel. I actually met him in person (imagine that!) and he tracked me down via Facebook. After friending me, he asked for a date, which I finally got around to making last week. I met him at Reuion Surf Bar for some insanely delicious apps (try the fish tacos, otherworldly I swear!) It was fun to be in a surf bar during a snowstorm, and he turned out to be a rather charming date. He produces television - think Amish documentaries and reality TV. It was definitely fun, and he certainly has some imaginative ideas: corn maze, anyone? Plus, he's quite tall. I'm just not sure if the attraction is there for me.

Then I dashed off in the snow to the second date, Andrew, at Monday Room. When I got out of the delayed subway, I got a call from SAVI telling me that I was on-call tonight. I told the woman that I was called in on Monday and that we all only work once or twice a month, tops. I'm on the phone with her as I'm walking to the date, and of course by the time I get there I am totally frazzled. I have to make a series of phone calls to figure out why I am on the list and if in fact I have to go in, while he waits patiently. I felt so badly about being rude, but I didn't want to ignore my responsibilities. Turns out, I was right and didn't need to go in. Still, not a great first impression.

We sat down to a dirty martini - but before we did I noticed that while he said he was 6'2", he was actually, maybe 5'10". What is going on!??? It's like, they lie about their height no matter what? I'm now patently refusing to date anyone under 6'4". Still, he was quite attractive and obviously very successful, but I was exhausted and ended up barely bringing my B game. Poor guy. We left about an hour later and the entire street was different... covered in snow, and totally quiet. We walked in the freezing snow for a while before he gallantly chased down a cab for us. I thanked him for the martini and the ride, but I doubt he'll be calling me again!

When I got home, I texted with Luke about his show - which apparently was only a block from my house. I found myself once again wishing I weren't wasting my time when my heart is obviously already preoccupied!


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Get Me To The Greek

Last night was my third date with Jason. He'd just returned from Sundance, and it kind of felt like he was gone for too long - even though it was only a week.

He picked me up at 7 and we drove to Astoria, to have a night of Greek culture. First, we checked out a Greek Orthodox church (where I learned all about the Catholic/Greek Orthodox schizm of 300 AD). Then we popped into a local Greek shop and taste tested different olives while he spoke Greek with the owners. I even learned a new word: Kalinixta (pronounced Kal - lee -NEE - hta). It means 'Good Night'. I learned a few others, but I don't have his aptitude for language and promptly forgot them. So 'learned' is a relative term.

Then we sat down to an incredible Greek dinner at this super-packed restaurant called Kuklades, where he picked a bunch of things off the menu and surprised me. We started with Saganaki-Tiri, this awesome baked cheese with lemon (so freaking good!). Then we had Htapothi sti Skhara, which is grilled octopus with cucumber... I was a little nervous to try it, but it was quite good, not at all chewy like it is in sushi restaurants. We finished up with Garides Santorini, which is grilled shrimp in tomato and feta. Of course, there was also pita and tzatziki.

We lingered over the food for three hours (until we were the last people there!), talking about our families, travels, and relationship issues. Since he's the son of therapists, he's able to really express himself emotionally - something I'm not used to in a partner. As a result, we end up having these really honest and compelling conversations. I told him about my fear of commitment and proclivity towards dating the emotionally crippled. He said he did the same thing - and then we analyzed why. To some people that might be like having a root canal, but it's so fun for us... and so refreshing. He ends up expanding my mind in so many ways. And he said that he loves that I am not in his field, and can teach him new things about the fashion world. I started talking about the couture exhibit at the Met and how it was my all-time favorite. He asked when it was, and when I said April, he didn't skip a beat when he said, "Great, we should go! I would love to see that with you."

In the car on the way home, he mentioned that he'll be in town this weekend, puppy sitting for a friend. Since our big problem is where we can go to be alone together, this seems like a great opportunity. (Plus, he said he'd cook me French food!!) Unfortunately, due to my insane dating schedule, I am busy on Friday night. Still, I'm seriously tempted. I told him I would be over for dessert... he's making ramequins fondantes au chocolat. In the morning, he'll drive me to my car so I can begin the roadtrip with my girlfriends up to Boston.

I'm a lucky girl.



"You know you're in a gay relationship when you meet, date, hookup and breakup in less than a week"


(Also, when they have the best bodies ever! Happy hump day, all)

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Gender bias

On Monday night, I was on-call with SAVI. While I can't go into specifics, I will say that it was a different challenge, since the survivor was a man.

I was initally nervous that he would be angry or ashamed - since female to male violence is more rare. I couldn't have been more wrong. He was such a sweet and mild-mannered man, and he seemed genuinely glad to have me there.

At one point he asked, "Is this a serious crime? When the police came I thought they were going to arrest me since it's usually the man."

I explained that it is definitely a serious crime because no human should be treated that way, and he had the same rights as a female. At that point, I felt foolish for having been nervous - just as I had told him, the gender doesn't matter.


Monday, January 24, 2011

Sunday Funday

Sunday's date was Luke. He was actually a bit hard-to-get, he ended up disappearing for a week in the middle of our exchange, which left me a bit bummed. So I was happy to hear from him once he was back in town.

The Stats: 6'4", 30, writer for a cable show, rower, UWS, seriously fun. His tagline was, "Do you get invited to weddings because of what you can do on the dance floor? Are you so fun your friends whisper about your adventures? You're the girl for me" I mean, I'm not that fun, but I have been known to bust a move or two (and I've certainly had some adventures!) plus I liked the challenge.

When I got there, he stood up to greet me. I had worn low heels (having been burned on a few previous dates, ahem) and he disclosed that he was actually SIX SIX. Finally!

Turns out, he's also incredibly smart (that was my one concern with him). He went to Brown and we spent the first thirty minutes talking about Dali, Whitman and the environment. I stood up to go to the bathroom, and I could feel him checking me out. When I came back, he suggested we ditch Ditch Plains and head to a tequila bar. There he told me that he's been doing stand up for a while, and proceeded to unfurl his comic genius. I could not stop laughing.

We also talked about what was important to us - and I saw him looking at me intensely when I was briefing him on my parents divorce. He then leaned across the table, pulled me toward him and kissed me deeply. So hot. After a few margaritas, I found myself on his side of the table, leaning into his massive chest.

Around 1, he drove me home in his car, playing my all time favorite music (fastest way to my heart). While we were kissing in his car, he suggested we watch this movie we had been talking about at his place. I saw right through it, of course, but I was tempted. Feeling emboldened, I said yes and dashed upstairs to grab a change of clothes.

We arrived at his place and proceeded to make out intensely in his foyer. It was just at the point where I almost lose rationality, when I took a deep breath and slowly pushed him away a bit. I asked for the grand tour, which of course culminated in his bedroom.

Instead of tearing each other's clothes off, it was sweet and slow and deliberate. I felt like he was really looking at every part of me - he even mentioned my toenail polish! We basically just rolled around in our underwear and tortured each other. He even told me at one point that even if I had asked to have sex, he wouldn't have done it. I love that he wants to go slow (even though I did end up in bed on the first date!)

I barely slept through the night, of course. I never sleep well in a new bed. But he spooned me and covered every part of me, which is so rare and felt so good. In the morning we cuddled a bit before I absolutely had to leave.

Later that day, I Googled him. One of his stand-up acts talks about how now that he's 30, he's not going to do the 'dry humping' anymore. I laughed uproariously... obviously we're breaking all sorts of rules for each other.



I had been talking to this Italian on IM for the past week. His picture was only of his profile, but it looked promising. We made each other laugh and worked in the same industry. I reluctantly made plans to go out with him instead of watching the Jets game at a local bar.

The night was not off to a good start because I started to feel horribly sick. I dragged myself out of bed and started the long cold walk to West 8th street. I was just passing the new sports bar on Charles, when two of the hottest guys I have seen to date in New York City got out of a cab and walked into the bar. My initial reaction was to ditch the date, but I just kept walking.

When he showed up he looked at least 10 years older than his profile. He was also not 6'0 and very skinny. I instantly knew it wasn't going to go anywhere, but thought I would at least have a nice time talking about Italy. After two drinks I was ready to go. When the check came, he immediately reached for it and took it up to the bar. The waitress came back and said the card was not working. He fumbled through his wallet and handed her another card. She came back and said that card was not working, but she was going to try a different machine. On her third approach she said the card was just not working. My date is suddenly typing slowly into his Blackberry. I asked him what he was doing and when he answered "trying to transfer money into a different account" I grabbed my purse and paid the bill in cash.

We walked outside and he put his arm around me and started to walk me to another restaurant for dinner. In my head I thought his move was tacky and I wasn't about to go to another place to pay the bill. I told him I was going home and jumped into the nearest cab. I am glad that I did because I have been sick with the flu ever since!

I should have followed the other American boys into Charles to watch a good ole game of American football.


Sunday, January 23, 2011

Slow & Steady

I met Johan for our second date (see last Thursday's freaking awesome make-me-smile-on-the-subway date). We hit an Irish pub in his neighborhood (incidentally TWO blocks from my ex's place).

He's cuter than I remember and I am just so drawn to him. Still, I have to remember he's a bit damaged because of his recent divorce. We ended up talking for six hours (again!) about some incredible things. He's so funny but also really soulful-- at one point he told a story that made us both tear up. And I made him laugh out loud a few times, which he said is pretty rare. He was like, "You're really funny." I liked that, a lot.

He had mentioned last time that he had "trust issues"... so I followed up on that. He said that he basically doesn't believe that relationships can work out. (I'm actually the exact same way: does not bode well). Still, he got married, so at one point he must've gotten over it. I need to find out more about this before I throw my entire heart at him.

He asked me about my ex, again. I was still cagey. It's almost like, I spent two goddamn years talking about him, I really don't want to anymore. But I guess we'll have to trade stories eventually.

He's definitely deeper than the others - I asked him why he didn't kiss me the first date. He said he actually usually moves really fast but he didn't want to with me. (Which is KILLING me by the way - but also totally sweet). We finally left the bar at 4 AM and he walked me to a cab. We kissed again, a little bit longer than the first kiss but he still left me wanting more.

As I was getting in the cab, he asked to see me again this week. I said, "I'm quite busy this week but next week for sure!" (The bonus of dating so many guys, you don't have to play hard to get, you just ARE).

When I got home, he texted me. "Had a really good time, I'd love to see you again this week if possible." I liked his persistance... so I quick checked my schedule and moved some things around (including double-booking Wednesday night, not sure how that's going to work). We settled on Thursday.

I'm excited!


Saturday, January 22, 2011

Om...not quite

I was looking forward to Friday's date. Tyler, though only 6 ft, had an awesome approach to life and was quite smart. I met him at St Dymphana's for a hot toddy.

Still quite cute in person, but thinner than I wanted. At only 6 ft he has to be more muscular (again, so I don't feel like Godzilla). Regardless we had a rather nice conversation about art and psychology and family. He had mentioned he was into meditation - I soon found out that meant he went on retreats with a motivational speaker.

(I couldn't stop thinking of Dexter's Jordan Chase, honestly)

Then he mentioned his sister had a 16 year old child that she had given birth to at age 17... and that his parents were both quite overweight. I just felt in my bones that our families wouldn't get along, so I filed him away as temporary.

Still he was fun to talk to, and soon he was convincing me to go to Affaire with him.

After a couple strong cocktails, we started dancing. He was so much fun to dance with... I started stripping off layers becuse it was so hot on that floor. But of course, I was wearing a nude bodysuit under my 16 layers (because dating in 3 degrees is never sexy). He totally noticed, but we were both so carefree at that point. Then he kind of looked at me intensely, pulled my hair back gently, and kissed me.

It was a great kiss.

Too bad I'll never see him again.


Never Go In Against A Sicilian...

... when a date is on the line.

So my great luck was bound to run out sometime. That time happened to be 8 PM Thursday. I should've realized when he took his profile down immediately after asking me out (a week and a half prior) that something was up.

I got to Brinkley's about five minutes late. He said he was already there... but as I walked around I couldn't see the 6'1" quite handsome man who'd been making me laugh with his texts all week. I finally realized it was his twin (and by twin I mean the Arnold Schwartzenegger/Danny DeVito type). This guy was all Danny.

He was 5'8" on a good day, and about 30 lbs heavier than advertised. I was exhaused from my grueling dating schedule but managed to take a deep breath and steel myself for the longest hour of my life.

And then it got interesting. He mentioned he had a 44-year-old sister in Conneticut. I said, "Married, with kids?"

"Actually, she just got out of jail, for the fourth time. She's a pretty big time drug dealer."

I'll let that sink in for a moment.

It then became obvious during his retelling of the events that he was not so innocent himself. He taught me some facinating things: How to bury money in the yard so it doesn't rot (Hint: Lyme and dryer sheets) and how to transport goods across the US (UPS).

He also told me about a great weekend he'd just passed in Vegas at Rehab with his friends. They had a whole bag of X and a few strippers who went above & beyond the job requirement.

At that point I stiffled a yawn and said I had to get home. He asked if I wanted to wait for him to close out, and I said, "No, I really have to be going, but thank you."

The shocking thing is - he thinks it went well. He asked me out again.



Friday, January 21, 2011

A Day of Expression

At the MoMA last Sunday

Willem de Kooning, Painting, 1948

Ad Reinhardt, Number 107, 1950

Jackson Pollack, Echo: Number 25, 1951, 1951

I had the best day at the Abstract Expressionist exhibit at the MoMA on Sunday. Abstract Expressionism surged in the 1940's as a reaction to the atrocities of WWII. It was the first truly American art movement - the artists were focused on expressing basic human ideals while avoiding form. Many of them formed The Club, which boasted over 150 members at it's peak. They met in Greenwich Village (where I live!) and basically changed the concept and definition of art. It was an incredible time of great creativity and it spanned the entire 1940's, dying out in the early 1950's.

Willem de Kooning has always been a favorite of mine, perhaps incongruently since his later work is widely known for being hateful towards women. More kindly, it's interpreted as a manifestation of modern man's sexual fears - the interpretation to which I give credence. Painting was created in 1948, two years before he attempted his first and most famous work, Woman I. He's kind of the bad boy of Abstract Expressionism (no wonder I like him!) since his work toed the line between human form and abstraction. With his Woman paintings I - VI, created in the 1950's, he caused quite the sensation and pretty much divorced himself from Abstract Expressionism. He's still always referenced as one of the founders of the movement, however.

Ad Reinhardt does incredible things with color - most of his paintings are too difficult to convey online, since he experiments with very subtle color changes. Some of his best work looks like a large black canvas from afar, but when you get up close you can see the subtle differences in the blacks he used... The way he describes the different shades of black is so beautiful. "There is black which is old and a black which is fresh. Lustrous black and dull black, black in sunlight and black in shadow." Of course, I'm a fan!

Jackson Pollack was one of the few artists to experience fame while still alive. He created this painting in 1950, at the height of his fame. He'd modified his style from the earlier and quite famous 'drip' paintings of which we're all familiar. I love what he wrote to his friend about his new style, "I've had a period of drawing on canvas in black - with some of my early images coming thru [sic] - think the non-objectivists will find them disturbing - and the kids who think it simple to splash a Pollack out." There's nothing I find more distasteful than people who say, "I could do that!" when viewing a famous work. I love that Pollack was aware of his detractors and confronted them. Standing in front of this work, you see the incredible talent he had for manipulating the paint. There are so many different textures conveying an incredible shape and movement and power. Go see it in person!

And finally, this. Sadly, I do not recall who created it, but I freaking loved it. My photo does not do it justice - it's a 3-D sculpture created out of a fishing line type string, illuminated from above. Just beautiful.



Mark wrote me almost as soon as I joined Match. I was a bit overwhelmed at the time and his email kind of slipped my mind. Last weekend, I was doing a hard edit of my potential dates, and his email popped up again. It was compelling enough for me to write him back - after all he said he'd love a woman who was great in a ballgown and on the remote island of Vanuatu (which until recently still had cannibals!) I mean, that's me in a nutshell... except for the whole people-eating part. He was in London for work so I carried on with my insane dating schedule.

He made the classic older-man mistake of leaving me a voicemail, which I didn't check for four days. I finally texted him back yesterday saying as much. He called me at the office and we chatted for a bit. He then said, "Listen, let's meet for lunch at Osteria al Doge in two hours." I paused for a minute... a spontaneous lunch? My schedule was a bit insane - I wouldn't be able to see him till mid-next week, earliest... and I was wearing my all-time favorite Dolce & Gabbana dress. I said yes.

Stats: Mark, 39, 6'1", Columbia & Harvard Law graduate, corporate lawyer, certified scuba diver, skier. Plus, he said the last book he read was Disgrace by JM Coetzee.

We met at 1pm outside of the restaurant. He was more handsome than his photo let on - in fact he kind of reminded me of a member of my family, which was reassuring. We ended up having a three-course lunch complete with a bottle of red. There was so much to say; he took an 80% pay cut after 9/11 to work for the State Dept. (He's since returned.) He's traveled to incredible places - and the remote island of Vanuatu is next on his list. By the end of the lunch, he had booked me for next Friday, invited me to see his new apartment, and essentially requested that I travel with him. The date went well, to say the least.

We had a rather chaste kiss outside of the restaurant (it was mid-day after all.) I kind of floated back to the office... although the wine may have had something to do with that!

Twenty minutes later, I was in our CEO's office working on a major project. Who says I can't do it all?


Thursday, January 20, 2011

Texts from Last Night

So here is the back story....

I was waiting for a friend by the bathroom in Boom Boom Room when out of nowhere this guy is suddenly standing in my face. He simply says "You are beautiful" and kisses my hand. I am still in shock that a person just appeared out of thin air and could not grasp that he was flirting with me. He didn't waste any time asking for my number. I looked at him and thought...sweet....young....gay.....born and bred in New York....harmless. So I gave him my number expecting a call down the line to go out for a fabulous night on the town with his other fabulous boy toys.

Two seconds later he texts me his name.

Cut to literally five minutes later...

I am back at the table and look over to see the sweet Gossip Girl type guy trying to suck a girl's lips off of her face. I had to do a double take before I just started laughing hysterically. Here are the texts that followed:

Aries: "Well played...but erase my number....as I see u.....ciao!"

8 hour later......

GG: "I'm sorry about last night. When I met you I was on a date. You are very beautiful and seem interesting. Would like to take you out. :)"

Aries: "The date seemed to be going well..haha. I found it funny and have done the same thing. Maybe...but would have to be late next week or more realistically the following."

GG: "Eh, I don't have much in common with that girl. I will not be seeing her again. Next week sounds great."

GG: "Sorry about meeting you that way tho"

GG: "Never met anyone while on a date. So this is the first for me...."

Aries: "Pls don't take this the wrong way, but how old are you? You both looked young? That could determine how much we have in common, you know..."

GG: "I'm 25"

Again I found myself hysterically laughing at the thought of a date with a 25 year old. I am not even 4 years older (yet), but still I felt like Mrs. Robinson. He continues to text me! Part of me admires that he has such confidence and the other part just laughs at the thought of ever seeing him again.


The British Crown

We met at Rm 55 at 8pm. Thanks to the relatively balmy weather I was able to wear my favorite lipstick red Valentino pencil skirt with bare legs, and a Masayuki Marakawa black top with artful white button-down details at the forearms and wrists. I topped it off with an Iosselliani necklace, Louboutin shoe booties and my Burberry trench.

The Stats: Martin, British (in NY six months), 39, Divorced, 6 feet, Central Park South apt, runs his own hedge fund, adventure junkie. He and I had started talking when I first joined and hadn't yet realized that men tend to embellish their height. Nevertheless he won me over with his joie de vivre and sense of adventure, so I kind of forgot about the height thing. When he walked up, it was obvious my Loubs made me taller than he. We sat down rather quickly on one of the large couches and sipped vodka martinis.

Almost immediately he launched into oration about his myriad adventures around the world- scuba diving in Thailand, snowboarding (and cracking two ribs) in Jackson Hole, playing rugby with a dislocated shoulder, and surviving a mid-air collision-- in his own glider plane.

(Sidenote: I have been enthralled with glider planes ever since my favorite movie, The Thomas Crown Affair.) Nevertheless, an hour and a half had gone by and I had perhaps said five words: Wow, Interesting, Hmm, Really? & Hahaha. I was wary of the vodka kicking in too much as I wanted to make a subtle exit. When he got up to use the restroom after thrilling me with photos of his dislocated shoulder (!!) I texted my BFF, "This was a total waste of Valentino!" I was gathering my resolve to wind down the evening when he returned.

"You know, I have a weakness for blondes and for heels, and when I saw you I knew I was done for. I've been a bit nervous..." he said. It then occured to me that he hadn't been rambling on because he was a narcissist, but rather because he was trying to sell himself to me. (Note to men: the plane worked, the macabre shoulder sugery pics did not).

We then settled into a easy banter. He opened up quite a bit, and seemed much more relaxed. We both talked about our attitude towards life, and realized we're quite similar. We both believe in taking the harder path, making the difficult decision, throwing yourself into something and refusing to let fear hold you back. We also talked about authenticity and how rare it is on this island of posturers. We then both started smiling at finding the counterpoint in the other. At that point, he leaned in, "How do you not have a boyfriend?"

I told him, "Anyone can have a boyfriend, I want the boyfriend. I'm looking for some very specific characteristics." (I left out the part about commitmentphobia) When I told him I needed both intellectual discussion and debate on top of a sense of adventure, he lit up. Obviously, he thinks he has both. There's no doubt he's intelligent, but I need intellectualism as well - a love for questioning social mores. (And, I hate to say it, but I was kind of missing Jason at that point. Forget the swanky shit, I wanted to feel like I could be myself.)

We lounged a bit longer, and the vodka must've kicked in because we started kissing. He showered me with compliments (points to him for them not all being about what I looked like -- but a hefty percentage of them were). In true British form, he noted my 'crackling personality' and said that he couldn't wait to see me again.

I'm going to give him one more shot. After all, I wouldn't necessarily mind a ride on that gliderplane...


New York, New York

There are some New York nights when you just sit back and enjoy the ride.....

1. started out at Boom Boom Room with endless glasses of Champagne and tequila shots

2. socialized with an eclectic group of city dwellers

3. walked by Andre Balazs who didn't even come up to my nipples...on a good day

4. played "who is that designer?" while standing behind Eve (Ruff Rider...bitches)

5. was picked up in line for the bathroom by a major metro sexual male that I wrote off for gay, before watching him make out with some chic for the rest of my time at Boom Boom

6. scattered into cabs to 1Oak

7. Danced at the table before being pulled to go dance at Leonardo DiCaprio's table

8. made eyes with Leo closer than arms reach for maybe 15 minutes in between dance moves

9. realized I had no desire to meet him for some reason...maybe LA scars are still there?

10. Again...who is the designer standing to my left!!???

11. acknowledged that the glass of straight vodka was not a good idea, yet kept drinking from it

12. avoided the "sharks" to actually go home around 4am

13. woke up this morning to my phone vibrating underneath me, realizing I passed out on my bed around 5am

14. feeling hungover for the 6th or 7th time in less than 2 weeks


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The Saying Goes...

"Once you go black you never go back"

The phrase white men hate and black men love to throw in their face. At one point in time I thought that I could really relate to this saying, but after much drama and pain it found new meaning. Like Scorpio, I somehow decided to go down the wrong path with the wrong man every time. I would like to think I had some sort of phobia. I had absolutely nothing in common with them in any capacity. I was in some sick and twisted cycle of only dating men with little education, even less money, and a toxic past.

That has now changed after much reflection and two Match dates. Both men where incredibly sweet, polite, intelligent, successful, cultured...etc. It was so nice to have real things to talk about. The second date invited me to Gramercy Tavern, where we drank many glasses of wine and shared the most amazing mushroom lasagna. Then he dropped the black card. My eyes glanced down for a moment and instantly recognized the black Centurian American Express card.

The next day I was texting with Scorpio and decided "once you go black you never go back" now applies to dating men with the bank account to support a Centurian Amex, nothing less! I think Scorpio sums it up best with "That's totally a panty dropper".


Second date/ First kiss

If I thought Thursday's date was amazing - Friday's blew him out of the water. I met Jason - The Stats: 29, 6'5", Princeton PhD, Fulbright scholar, speaks 7 languages.

We met at a little grad student bar near NYU and talked for 5 hours. His parents are both psychologists like mine, so he and I speak the same language - we're both always hypothosizing about people's motives and motivators. I've never found anyone else who is interested in thinking about things the way I am - it was just so relaxed. He's a feminist, as close to his family as I am mine, and he's a skier!

Honestly - as I said before, the reason I joined Match was to re-educate myself about choosing the right men: good men, with kind hearts and a great education. For years I've chosen men the opposite of me (another form of commitmentphobia) and I just realized I need to cut it out and date men worth my time. I don't need to be explaining basic concepts to my dates anymore. I don't need to suffer under the pressure of a man who thinks women are stereotypes. And I really don't need men holding me back, intellectually, emotionally, etc.

So, in true nerd fashion, I made a list of traits I'm looking for an ideal partner. And Jason, he fits ALL OF THEM. Even the silly ones like 'plays guitar' and 'has a younger sister' (I find men with sisters are more comfortable with intimacy - and a younger sister means he knows how to be protective).

At the end of the evening, I didn't even kiss him. He and I had already planned our second date, and I just kind of felt like, we have all of this time... (Plus, I'd kissed every other date, and it kind of felt cheap to be kissing him after the previous nights).

Fast forward to last night - our second date. Jason drove down from Princeton, with a sprained ankle (from basketball) in the "wintery mix" storm to see me. He brought me a book we had been talking about last week. I made him some of my favorite homemade chocolate chip cookies. He took me to this great coffee shop in Brooklyn where we sank into the couches and talked and laughed for hours.

At one point, he was in the middle of telling me about how Homer may not have written the Iliad and Odyssey - and in fact he may not have even existed - when he stopped mid-sentance.

"What?" I said

He turned a little bit red and looked away for a second.

"You're just really so beautiful" he said earnestly. "I lost my train of thought"

Say it with me, "Awwwwww"

You can bet I kissed him after that!


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

The Boy in Blue

The Stats: Joel, 27, 6'4", 3 sport athlete, Cornell grad, police officer. He hooked me by asking immediately about my volunteer work when he emailed me. Out of the 150+ emails I recieved, he was the only one to talk about that aspect of my profile. Also, I couldn't resist the 6'4" stong man...Yum. I love feeling small.

We met on Monday night at a little Mexican place near my apartment. It was absolutely wickedly cold outside. Even my forehead hurt from the freezing temperature... and yet, he still waited outside for me. Love that.

We sat down to sangria and salsa and he started telling me about all of the crazy things he's seen on the job. He works the Harlem area that's most known for 'the best heroin in the US' so you can imagine what he's experienced. It was so interesting to get a police officer's perspective - especially of domestic violence. I've often felt like the law doesn't do enough to protect the battered - often times a restraining order isn't effective, and following the arrest, the perp is re-released (often to disastrous results for the battered). He told me that in Manhattan, they almost always make an arrest, both to protect the women and to protect themselves in case the violence escalates.

It was hard to hear that he couldn't be compassionate - he explained that it's too hard to feel something for everyone because of the sheer volume of fucked up shit they see. I can understand that, in theory, but it was unsettling to see a 27 year old already so protected.

We talked about my volunteer work in Philadelphia (another heroin hotspot) and how the commute is the killer. When he first started, he was on foot. Apparently you only get a car after one year. He was headed back after his shift in Queens, in plain clothes, with his female partner. They were on the subway at about 4 AM, all alone save for one older Manderin gentleman. At the next stop 7 young black men entered the car. They surrounded the Manderin man and asked him to give up his cell phone. The poor man did not speak one word of English. Growing frustrated, the guys grabbed the phone and then knocked the man to the floor. Joel's partner did not have her gun on her. They began beating him severely. Joel stands up and brandishes his off-duty gun (smaller, with only 9 rounds). He tells them in a severe voice to stop - and thankfully they do. Joel was nervous because, with only 9 bullets for 7 guys, if things got out of hand, or god forbid, they had a firearm, the odds were not in his favor.

His partner pulled the emergency exit while Joel held the seven guys with his gun. Two police officers enter, and since Joel is wearing street clothes, they point their gun at his head and start yelling for him to get down. He immediately dropped his gun and got on the floor with his hands behind his head. I asked him why he didn't just say he was an officer, and he said, "I was just staring at that barrel, and knowing how quickly things could change it was better to not make any movements or protests." They quickly figured out who he was, and arrested the seven men. Joel told me the Manderin man was quite badly beaten - apparently they had stomped on his head and he had a knot the size of a baseball on his cheek. Joel didn't sleep very well the next few nights.

He also taught me something - he said that it seems to him in domestic violence cases that the man is hitting to control, not to hurt (not that it doesn't also hurt.) For example, Mike Tyson & Robin Givens. One real punch from Mike would be lethal, and yet she survived many years of abuse. So he obviously had self-control even when angered. This means the argument of "I got so angry/drunk I couldn't control myself" is complete horseshit. I thought back to the girl I met on New Year's Day. They had been physically fighting for hours and while she definitely suffered internal damage to her eardrum, she didn't look beaten. He was obviously still in control even when hitting her - which just makes it all the more sick & twisted to me.

Anyway! Back to the date. After a few hours of these uplifiting topics(!) he walked me home - at midnight, in the freezing cold. He kissed me outside of my door and it was so great to lean into this tall, muscular man with the great lips. I am definitely physically attracted to him. I'm just not sure I can date a police officer... after all, I have been known to bend the law from time to time ;)


Sunday, January 16, 2011

Man Child, aged 45 years.

After my fabulous Thursday night date with Johan, I did something a little bit bad... I went over to Stuart's place (the 45 year old playwright/banker). He's usually up late working and was thrilled to hear from me, so I grabbed a cab up to Chelsea at his behest.

I walked into his apartment expect to see an adult man's place. That was NOT what I found. His apartment was filled with books and papers - ok fine, he's a writer, that can be charming. We fell asleep after kissing for a while - I just wasn't ready to do anything else, and he was respectful. In the morning, I made the mistake of going to the bathroom... I will spare you the details, but suffice to say I felt as if I were in a frat house. In the harsh light of day, I noticed he also had clothes and underwear kind of lying around everywhere.

I am a neat person. I always have been. Even in college, my bed was made and my clothes were hung properly. I hate dirty dishes in the sink. I love my place to smell clean. I don't think these are weird things - after all, I am an adult woman! Every bone in my body was recoiling. I physically felt my interest level sink.

I realized, there is no way I can have a relationship with this person. He obviously didn't even tidy up after inviting me over. (Or, horror of horrors - he did!!)

I mulled over it for a day or so, after all, he was brilliant and interesting and charming... but I just imagined my life as his girlfriend, constantly picking up after him, never feeling comfortable in his home, and I realized it was a dealbreaker.

On top of that, he called me three times on Saturday. I hate that! Wait for me to call you back, ugh. My interest level sank lower, and I felt myself getting annoyed.

I called him back and met him out. I kindly explained to him that "the age difference is just too great" (which it is!). I feel like my honesty shouldn't extend to insulting his living space. It took a while - he definitely kind of pleaded with me. AWKWARD.

I finally leave and go meet my friends at a bar. Later that night I get a text from him: "Can we just be friends with really great benefits?"

Gross!! A 45 year old man wants a hook-up buddy? Obviously it's not only his cleaning habits that are juvenile.


No More Mr. Nice Guy

In the last 24 hours....

I had a run in with the ex, who literally stalked me like prey in the dark corners of a club. He then followed me outside and physically prevented me from getting into two cabs. I finally told the cab driver to just start driving with the the ex still clinging to the door. It sounds dramatic because it was. His eyes widened with fear when I told him I went to the police, so hopefully it is now all over.

This morning I woke up late and licked my wounds. I then decided to go all over New York to celebrate a birthday and quality time with amazing girlfriends. After a wonderful night with the girls, I came home to an intimidating message from some Scandinavian asshole on Match who refuses to believe I do not want to give him my number after one email. I had gone back and forth with him earlier today and then received this message. At first I thought about deleting it, but then the song hit me "No more Mr. NICE GUY" and I decided to write exactly how I felt. I told him if he couldn't respect that I do not just give my number out, there is no point in trying to get to know each other as the respect is obviously not there.

So here is a toast to my amazing friends and a kick in the balls to all of the men who seem to not understand the word "NO".


Friday, January 14, 2011

Wild Optimism

I had the best date last night. The best date in a long time. (Maybe, ever?) He's 30, works in consulting and has been back in the city for about a year. We met up at 7:30 to have a drink at Zengo, but it was super packed so we moved to Rare. It was one of those dates where you basically spend the time saying, "Me, too!" to everything. We like the same scotch the same way (single malt from Islay, neat), have the same silly favorite number and same silly reasons for loving that number (16), love the same 90's bands (Counting Crows - forever and always), adore spending Friday nights alone, AND in an insane twist, he went to high school with Aries!!

Needless to say, we were at Rare from 7:30 to 12:30. We had awesome rare truffle burgers and fries, and really great conversation. I found myself at one point not being able to concentrate because I was thinking about how much I wanted to kiss him. I never, ever feel this way - especially not after only one date. I'm more of the 'slow burn' type. Hell, even with my ex whom I loved, I didn't feel much for him until many dates in.

We walked outside afterwards and I leaned in to kiss him, actually. That point has me a bit paranoid (like I said, I've never felt this way before!) but hours earlier the bartender had asked if we were heading out, and he said 'no, let's have one more' so it's obvious he was enjoying himself, too.

Ok, to pull myself down to earth here, there are some red flags. The divorced thing - he moved out in February, and they signed the papers in November. So it was not that long ago. My parents are divorced, I know that it does a number on you no matter how long you were married or what assets you shared. Second, he mentioned he had 'trust issues'. I asked if it was from the divorce and he said, "No"... so I don't really know what that means.

My mom, of course said, "No wonder you like him - you always date the unavailable man because you have trust issues, too". Nothing like a phone call to Mom to totally burst the euphoria bubble.

Oh well, I was grinning like a fool on the subway this morning. That was a nice feeling.


Thursday, January 13, 2011

Not quite...

Last night, I had a date with Daniel. He's a born & bred New Yorker, grew up on 5th Avenue, did the boarding school thing, and now runs his family's real estate business. He also looks like a Ken doll.

We exchanged a few witty emails, and talked on the phone for an hour a few days ago. I was excited to meet him, and then I glanced at his profile once more. He said he was 5'11". From what I've just heard, men tend to lie by about 2 inches on their profile. I actually AM 5'11". Even in flats, the physical difference had the potential to be awkward. Some guys love taller women. Good for them. I don't love shorter men.

We were supposed to meet at Bread at 8:30. I dashed home from work, had a quick workout and even quicker manicure (I've never seen someone paint so fast!) and was dressed and ready to go by 8:20. Then I get a text from him, "Looks like it's going to be more like 9, I'm on an emergency call." This is a classic New York move. I think perpetual lateness is just ingrained in us. After all, I was a little bit late to my date with Stuart last week.

I pass the time making some networking calls for grad school and FaceTime-ing with my mom and pup (love the new iPhone!). Nine o'clock comes and goes. It's now 9:10. I guess I am still a little scarred from the 'fadeout' I suffered in June, so I text him and say, "Looks like you're tied up at work, let's reschedule." I'm about to call another guy that I had turned down for tonight, when Daniel texts me three times and calls within a span of 20 seconds. I guess I made him a litte nervous. (Nothing wrong with that!)

Apparently he was already at Bread, there'd been a series of mishaps including a leak at work, a sick subway passenger and a technical issue with his phone. I walked over to meet him, laughing about our miscommunication. He looked great and was super kind. We ended up ordering a huge amount of food and casually chatting about everything from work to our families. While half of me was engaged in conversation, the other half of me was bored. My mom had been telling me earlier that I tend to date men who can teach me something - usually that manifests in a man with a completely different background than myself. Ironically enough, our different backgrounds ultimately spell our demise. The whole point of this Match thing is to re-train myself to date men like me, and also date men that are kind and good and sweet (sad that I haven't dated a man like that in a looooong time).

But still, I couldn't fight the boredom. He, on the other hand, seemed enamored. We moved over to the couch and I got him to kind of open up and relax a bit. He ended up kissing me on that couch. His hands moved up to my jawline (love that!) and thats when I realized it - he had SMALL HANDS.

This does not bode well.

We stood to leave. I was in my Hunter rain/snow boots. He was NOT taller than me. He was almost my height... I felt myself recoil inwardly. I don't like feeling BIGGER than the men I date. I want to feel small and delicate and feminine... not like a monster. Plus, I only have one other pair of flats. This relationship is obviously doomed.

Still, he was such a gentleman to walk me all the way home. Thank goodness for the freezing weather - I was deftly able to avoid holding his hand. That would've been too much.


WTF kinda day

Today I woke up with this child like enthusiasm that it would be a great day. The sun was shining into my room, my down comforter was nice an cozy, and I had crazy amounts of energy. I actually left my apartment on time and played around with bits of soft fresh snow as I walked down the block. I really had high hopes that today would be a great day.

The minute I stepped foot into the office the day took a nose dive, burst into flames, and turned to smoking ash right in front of me. It was one of those days when you feel like you need 5 clones to survive the amount of work thrown at you. Everyone's mood swings created a game of emotional dominoes. When one person lost it on another, that person carried the energy into another conversation, and so forth. Everything I did today was apparently wrong, yet no different from any other day. Every task was a priority, but because I am only a human with two hands I was apparently too slow.

One perk in fashion is the fabulous gay coworker. I have one who always manages to cheer me up and build my self esteem back up after days when people try their best to tear it down. He always says "I wish I was you, tall, blonde, smart, and GORG!" I always find this amusing as he has a fabulous life, while I feel I am always struggling.

Two hours before the end of a banker's work day I found myself standing in front of one of the world's most prominent fashion designers taking the brunt of his massive meltdown. I tried to smooth it over and help him see that I was just a messenger. In the end, the messenger was basically assassinated. I walked like a puppy with it's tail between it's legs back to my boss, who simply dismissed me. I then found myself in a closet mouthing "Italy, Italy, Italy" like I expected an Italian Beetlejuice to pop out of the filing cabinet. I was barely able to hold it together as all of this pressure fell on top of the stress of an ex's harassment. I have been getting constant calls and texts from the ex I wrote about in "Nightmare Before Christmas". I have spoken to police, only to find out they can do nothing. So he text me that he was going to wait at a restaurant on my block and later called to tell me I didn't show up. It is getting out of hand.

Cut to 8pm and I am finally leaving the office in search of a strong cucumber Kettle One martini.

11pm I am riding home in a cab that smells of dead squirrel

11:30pm I actually manage to eat something

It is now almost 1:30am and I am exhausted.

Another glamorous day in fashion!


Wednesday, January 12, 2011

La Vida Dolce

As Aries mentioned, I joined Match.com to jump start The Year of The Man. I joined last Tuesday. By Thursday, I had 150 emails.

When I was younger and living in the city, I had very little physical confidence. Looking back, it was obviously due to the fact that I was hanging out with models and the men who date them. Of course I felt fat and plain. But, at the time my lack of confidence was very real. It made it hard for me to have fun and be myself. As a result, I wasn't meeting anyone. After all, who wants to talk to the desperate looking chick when her carefree friend is right there? It became a vicious cycle.

Something happened with the advent of the new year. Sure, I entered it totally humiliated by an ex. But surprisingly, in joining Match, I realized how much I'd been selling myself short. There are men out there who read the same novels I do, who have the same ambition and energy, who come from happy families. I was having brunch with my friend on Saturday and when I said this to her, she looked at me quizzically.

"What kind of men have you been dating that you didn't know this?!" she exclaimed.

What men, indeed...

So, with the influx of emails, I've realized I can be picky. Quite picky. Otherwise I'll never get to the bottom of my Sisyphean inbox.

Since I've spent the last... oh I don't know, TEN years dating men of different ethnicities, cultures and religions, I think it's high time to date someone - gasp - like me!

So, here's the (admittedly) incredibly ridiculously picky list.

Over 6'2"
Graduate degree
Lives in Manhattan proper (I sacrifice a lot to live here, he should feel the same)
A good family (meaning he's emotionally close to them)
Reads novels
Highly verbal
Loves his job
Embraces life's challenges/curveballs
Well traveled
Skier/snowboarder (it's my family's religion)
Some version of Christian, Catholic, Agnostic, Spiritual but not religious
Age 30 - 36 (I'm 28)
Kind-hearted (would love if he volunteered)

So I put all of these criterion into the search, and I found 18 men who fit it! Yes, only 18 out of the thousands in Manhattan. Haha!

Obviously some of these are more important than others, but it was fun to be as picky as possible and see what happens.

I went out on a date on Saturday with a man named Stuart, who according to my list, is too old and Jewish. But he was so interesting and lovely and kind and intelligent. I just may go out with him again...

Tonight I have a date with a 'good on paper' guy. Great family, great job, great education, looks like a Ken doll. I'm going to wear my secret weapon Dolce & Gabbana dress. Modest neckline, curve hugging silhouette.

We'll see...


Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Oh Match

So Scorpio's optimism (along with repetitive commercials) was contagious and made me attempt online dating again. The last time I made this decision I swore I would never do it again! Looking back I have no idea if I even had a screening process?? I mean my last online date started with me ice skating with Billy Crystal's ugly cousin and later shutting myself in my room for 2 days.

I have actually come into a great place in life, a place of happiness, so what does a month or two really matter?? It is better to flirt somehow than completely go dark in winter hibernation.

Well, it is now day 2 and all I do is delete...HAHA. I have realized that I am a catch and will settle for nothing less than another catch. I am looking for a nice guy, but have become increasingly picky. A picture with an arm band tattoo, bad shirt, or gummy smile is an immediate NO. Then I laughed because I started to search on the west coast. Just as I imagined the gorgeous, sensitive, TALL men are hanging out on the beach over there. Meanwhile, I continue to get winks and stupid one liners from short Jewish men, divorcees, or complete lanky social nerds.

I am happy that this only makes my new life plan only seem greater! Everything lately is showing the path I have chosen is meant to be.

In the new issue of Harper's Bazaar notorious single gal, Jennifer Aniston, interviews happily married mommy Nicole Kidman. I have always admired Nicole for the way she carries herself and really love her answer to a poignant, yet simple question:

Jennifer: "What would you tell your 20 year old you?"

Nicole: "I would tell myself to have more fun, enjoy this. There was a lot of unnecessary angst. You may as well enjoy things. You're going to turn 30. Are you going to dread it? No, it's happening. This is awesome! Don't worry about something going away, enjoy it while it's happening. Don't worry about something that's not even real".

Prior to this question Nicole admitted her loneliness in life and fear of being alone forever. Her words are SO true for single women everywhere!! I think we all go through hell in our 20's and sometimes feel life will never change. She had her ups and downs and now has the life she always wanted at the perfect time in her life. I have actually heard of this phenomenon happening to my friends after they turn 30. Does life really know when it should come together?

I have learned my lesson! Here is to living up the last 2 years of my 20's!! I hope all you other 20 somethings out there will join me!


The Need for Speed

This is my new gym, this morning

I was originally thrilled with finding a gym so close to my house that is not that expensive but still nice - until I started running on their treadmills. I run pretty fast, alternating between a 6 and 7 minute mile. Apparently the machine could not keep up with me. About halfway into my 6 min mile sprint, the TV screen FELL OFF of the treadmill. It didn't hit me, but it did break my stride. Undeterred, I quickly switched to another open machine and began to ramp up the speed. Just as I was reaching my pace, I noticed the machine was vacilating wildly between speeds of 10.0 and 7.0. I kept on running into the front of the machine whenever it would decide to slow for no reason. So frustrating!

Of course, I run downstairs to tell the front door guy that now two of the treadmills have failed. He basically barely looked at me and mumbled something. By the time I ran back up the stairs to try yet another machine, I could only do a few minutes. I was just too exhausted - and yet I felt like I had barely gotten my runner's high. I didn't even make it to the good Rihanna song on my playlist!

I tried to resurrect the morning with a little weight lifting:

Not nearly as fun

I have never had this happen to me before! The machines are built to go up to 10.0 at least - so I really hope it's not my speed. I love running fast. I get into the Zone where I'm breathing very evenly and lightly and barely sweating; it's the closest thing to flying I can imagine. And the satisfaction that comes with finishing a hard run is unbeatable. It makes me feel alive.


Monday, January 10, 2011

Bill Zeller

I was speaking with my father about this last night, trying to understand the darkness Bill speaks of so eloquently. I could not - and I guess, for that I am thankful.

For those of you who don't know, Bill Zeller was a 27 year old Princeton programming prodigy. He killed himself last week, after struggling for years with demons that manifested after being raped repeatedly as a young boy.

We talk often of the horror of female rape - his heartwrenching record of his life of silence about his abuse reminds us that no matter how underreported female rape goes, male rape is almost unspeakable.

I'm thankful he had the courage to write of his ordeal - even if it was moments before his death.

Read this article for a bit of background; even his closest friends had no idea.
I have the urge to declare my sanity and justify my actions, but I assume I'll never be able to convince anyone that this was the right decision. Maybe it's true that anyone who does this is insane by definition, but I can at least explain my reasoning. I considered not writing any of this because of how personal it is, but I like tying up loose ends and don't want people to wonder why I did this. Since I've never spoken to anyone about what happened to me, people would likely draw the wrong conclusions.

My first memories as a child are of being raped, repeatedly. This has affected every aspect of my life. This darkness, which is the only way I can describe it, has followed me like a fog, but at times intensified and overwhelmed me, usually triggered by a distinct situation. In kindergarten I couldn't use the bathroom and would stand petrified whenever I needed to, which started a trend of awkward and unexplained social behavior. The damage that was done to my body still prevents me from using the bathroom normally, but now it's less of a physical impediment than a daily reminder of what was done to me.

This darkness followed me as I grew up. I remember spending hours playing with legos, having my world consist of me and a box of cold, plastic blocks. Just waiting for everything to end. It's the same thing I do now, but instead of legos it's surfing the web or reading or listening to a baseball game. Most of my life has been spent feeling dead inside, waiting for my body to catch up.

At times growing up I would feel inconsolable rage, but I never connected this to what happened until puberty. I was able to keep the darkness at bay for a few hours at a time by doing things that required intense concentration, but it would always come back. Programming appealed to me for this reason. I was never particularly fond of computers or mathematically inclined, but the temporary peace it would provide was like a drug. But the darkness always returned and built up something like a tolerance, because programming has become less and less of a refuge.

The darkness is with me nearly every time I wake up. I feel like a grime is covering me. I feel like I'm trapped in a contimated body that no amount of washing will clean. Whenever I think about what happened I feel manic and itchy and can't concentrate on anything else. It manifests itself in hours of eating or staying up for days at a time or sleeping for sixteen hours straight or week long programming binges or constantly going to the gym. I'm exhausted from feeling like this every hour of every day.

Three to four nights a week I have nightmares about what happened. It makes me avoid sleep and constantly tired, because sleeping with what feels like hours of nightmares is not restful. I wake up sweaty and furious. I'm reminded every morning of what was done to me and the control it has over my life.

I've never been able to stop thinking about what happened to me and this hampered my social interactions. I would be angry and lost in thought and then be interrupted by someone saying "Hi" or making small talk, unable to understand why I seemed cold and distant. I walked around, viewing the outside world from a distant portal behind my eyes, unable to perform normal human niceties. I wondered what it would be like to take to other people without what happened constantly on my mind, and I wondered if other people had similar experiences that they were better able to mask.

Alcohol was also something that let me escape the darkness. It would always find me later, though, and it was always angry that I managed to escape and it made me pay. Many of the irresponsible things I did were the result of the darkness. Obviously I'm responsible for every decision and action, including this one, but there are reasons why things happen the way they do.

Alcohol and other drugs provided a way to ignore the realities of my situation. It was easy to spend the night drinking and forget that I had no future to look forward to. I never liked what alcohol did to me, but it was better than facing my existence honestly. I haven't touched alcohol or any other drug in over seven months (and no drugs or alcohol will be involved when I do this) and this has forced me to evaluate my life in an honest and clear way. There's no future here. The darkness will always be with me.

I used to think if I solved some problem or achieved some goal, maybe he would leave. It was comforting to identify tangible issues as the source of my problems instead of something that I'll never be able to change. I thought that if I got into to a good college, or a good grad school, or lost weight, or went to the gym nearly every day for a year, or created programs that millions of people used, or spent a summer or California or New York or published papers that I was proud of, then maybe I would feel some peace and not be constantly haunted and unhappy. But nothing I did made a dent in how depressed I was on a daily basis and nothing was in any way fulfilling. I'm not sure why I ever thought that would change anything.

I didn't realize how deep a hold he had on me and my life until my first relationship. I stupidly assumed that no matter how the darkness affected me personally, my romantic relationships would somehow be separated and protected. Growing up I viewed my future relationships as a possible escape from this thing that haunts me every day, but I began to realize how entangled it was with every aspect of my life and how it is never going to release me. Instead of being an escape, relationships and romantic contact with other people only intensified everything about him that I couldn't stand. I will never be able to have a relationship in which he is not the focus, affecting every aspect of my romantic interactions.

Relationships always started out fine and I'd be able to ignore him for a few weeks. But as we got closer emotionally the darkness would return and every night it'd be me, her and the darkness in a black and gruesome threesome. He would surround me and penetrate me and the more we did the more intense it became. It made me hate being touched, because as long as we were separated I could view her like an outsider viewing something good and kind and untainted. Once we touched, the darkness would envelope her too and take her over and the evil inside me would surround her. I always felt like I was infecting anyone I was with.

Relationships didn't work. No one I dated was the right match, and I thought that maybe if I found the right person it would overwhelm him. Part of me knew that finding the right person wouldn't help, so I became interested in girls who obviously had no interest in me. For a while I thought I was gay. I convinced myself that it wasn't the darkness at all, but rather my orientation, because this would give me control over why things didn't feel "right". The fact that the darkness affected sexual matters most intensely made this idea make some sense and I convinced myself of this for a number of years, starting in college after my first relationship ended. I told people I was gay (at Trinity, not at Princeton), even though I wasn't attracted to men and kept finding myself interested in girls. Because if being gay wasn't the answer, then what was? People thought I was avoiding my orientation, but I was actually avoiding the truth, which is that while I'm straight, I will never be content with anyone. I know now that the darkness will never leave.

Last spring I met someone who was unlike anyone else I'd ever met. Someone who showed me just how well two people could get along and how much I could care about another human being. Someone I know I could be with and love for the rest of my life, if I weren't so fucked up. Amazingly, she liked me. She liked the shell of the man the darkness had left behind. But it didn't matter because I couldn't be alone with her. It was never just the two of us, it was always the three of us: her, me and the darkness. The closer we got, the more intensely I'd feel the darkness, like some evil mirror of my emotions. All the closeness we had and I loved was complemented by agony that I couldn't stand, from him. I realized that I would never be able to give her, or anyone, all of me or only me. She could never have me without the darkness and evil inside me. I could never have just her, without the darkness being a part of all of our interactions. I will never be able to be at peace or content or in a healthy relationship. I realized the futility of the romantic part of my life. If I had never met her, I would have realized this as soon as I met someone else who I meshed similarly well with. It's likely that things wouldn't have worked out with her and we would have broken up (with our relationship ending, like the majority of relationships do) even if I didn't have this problem, since we only dated for a short time. But I will face exactly the same problems with the darkness with anyone else. Despite my hopes, love and compatability is not enough. Nothing is enough. There's no way I can fix this or even push the darkness down far enough to make a relationship or any type of intimacy feasible.

So I watched as things fell apart between us. I had put an explicit time limit on our relationship, since I knew it couldn't last because of the darkness and didn't want to hold her back, and this caused a variety of problems. She was put in an unnatural situation that she never should have been a part of. It must have been very hard for her, not knowing what was actually going on with me, but this is not something I've ever been able to talk about with anyone. Losing her was very hard for me as well. Not because of her (I got over our relationship relatively quickly), but because of the realization that I would never have another relationship and because it signified the last true, exclusive personal connection I could ever have. This wasn't apparent to other people, because I could never talk about the real reasons for my sadness. I was very sad in the summer and fall, but it was not because of her, it was because I will never escape the darkness with anyone. She was so loving and kind to me and gave me everything I could have asked for under the circumstances. I'll never forget how much happiness she brought me in those briefs moments when I could ignore the darkness. I had originally planned to kill myself last winter but never got around to it. (Parts of this letter were written over a year ago, other parts days before doing this.) It was wrong of me to involve myself in her life if this were a possibility and I should have just left her alone, even though we only dated for a few months and things ended a long time ago. She's just one more person in a long list of people I've hurt.

I could spend pages talking about the other relationships I've had that were ruined because of my problems and my confusion related to the darkness. I've hurt so many great people because of who I am and my inability to experience what needs to be experienced. All I can say is that I tried to be honest with people about what I thought was true.

I've spent my life hurting people. Today will be the last time.

I've told different people a lot of things, but I've never told anyone about what happened to me, ever, for obvious reasons. It took me a while to realize that no matter how close you are to someone or how much they claim to love you, people simply cannot keep secrets. I learned this a few years ago when I thought I was gay and told people. The more harmful the secret, the juicier the gossip and the more likely you are to be betrayed. People don't care about their word or what they've promised, they just do whatever the fuck they want and justify it later. It feels incredibly lonely to realize you can never share something with someone and have it be between just the two of you. I don't blame anyone in particular, I guess it's just how people are. Even if I felt like this is something I could have shared, I have no interest in being part of a friendship or relationship where the other person views me as the damaged and contaminated person that I am. So even if I were able to trust someone, I probably would not have told them about what happened to me. At this point I simply don't care who knows.

I feel an evil inside me. An evil that makes me want to end life. I need to stop this. I need to make sure I don't kill someone, which is not something that can be easily undone. I don't know if this is related to what happened to me or something different. I recognize the irony of killing myself to prevent myself from killing someone else, but this decision should indicate what I'm capable of.

So I've realized I will never escape the darkness or misery associated with it and I have a responsibility to stop myself from physically harming others.

I'm just a broken, miserable shell of a human being. Being molested has defined me as a person and shaped me as a human being and it has made me the monster I am and there's nothing I can do to escape it. I don't know any other existence. I don't know what life feels like where I'm apart from any of this. I actively despise the person I am. I just feel fundamentally broken, almost non-human. I feel like an animal that woke up one day in a human body, trying to make sense of a foreign world, living among creatures it doesn't understand and can't connect with.

I have accepted that the darkness will never allow me to be in a relationship. I will never go to sleep with someone in my arms, feeling the comfort of their hands around me. I will never know what uncontimated intimacy is like. I will never have an exclusive bond with someone, someone who can be the recipient of all the love I have to give. I will never have children, and I wanted to be a father so badly. I think I would have made a good dad. And even if I had fought through the darkness and married and had children all while being unable to feel intimacy, I could have never done that if suicide were a possibility. I did try to minimize pain, although I know that this decision will hurt many of you. If this hurts you, I hope that you can at least forget about me quickly.

There's no point in identifying who molested me, so I'm just going to leave it at that. I doubt the word of a dead guy with no evidence about something that happened over twenty years ago would have much sway.

You may wonder why I didn't just talk to a professional about this. I've seen a number of doctors since I was a teenager to talk about other issues and I'm positive that another doctor would not have helped. I was never given one piece of actionable advice, ever. More than a few spent a large part of the session reading their notes to remember who I was. And I have no interest in talking about being raped as a child, both because I know it wouldn't help and because I have no confidence it would remain secret. I know the legal and practical limits of doctor/patient confidentiality, growing up in a house where we'd hear stories about the various mental illnesses of famous people, stories that were passed down through generations. All it takes is one doctor who thinks my story is interesting enough to share or a doctor who thinks it's her right or responsibility to contact the authorities and have me identify the molestor (justifying her decision by telling herself that someone else might be in danger). All it takes is a single doctor who violates my trust, just like the "friends" who I told I was gay did, and everything would be made public and I'd be forced to live in a world where people would know how fucked up I am. And yes, I realize this indicates that I have severe trust issues, but they're based on a large number of experiences with people who have shown a profound disrepect for their word and the privacy of others.

People say suicide is selfish. I think it's selfish to ask people to continue living painful and miserable lives, just so you possibly won't feel sad for a week or two. Suicide may be a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but it's also a permanent solution to a ~23 year-old problem that grows more intense and overwhelming every day.

Some people are just dealt bad hands in this life. I know many people have it worse than I do, and maybe I'm just not a strong person, but I really did try to deal with this. I've tried to deal with this every day for the last 23 years and I just can't fucking take it anymore.

I often wonder what life must be like for other people. People who can feel the love from others and give it back unadulterated, people who can experience sex as an intimate and joyous experience, people who can experience the colors and happenings of this world without constant misery. I wonder who I'd be if things had been different or if I were a stronger person. It sounds pretty great.

I'm prepared for death. I'm prepared for the pain and I am ready to no longer exist. Thanks to the strictness of New Jersey gun laws this will probably be much more painful than it needs to be, but what can you do. My only fear at this point is messing something up and surviving.


I'd also like to address my family, if you can call them that. I despise everything they stand for and I truly hate them, in a non-emotional, dispassionate and what I believe is a healthy way. The world will be a better place when they're dead--one with less hatred and intolerance.

If you're unfamiliar with the situation, my parents are fundamentalist Christians who kicked me out of their house and cut me off financially when I was 19 because I refused to attend seven hours of church a week.

They live in a black and white reality they've constructed for themselves. They partition the world into good and evil and survive by hating everything they fear or misunderstand and calling it love. They don't understand that good and decent people exist all around us, "saved" or not, and that evil and cruel people occupy a large percentage of their church. They take advantage of people looking for hope by teaching them to practice the same hatred they practice.

A random example:

"I am personally convinced that if a Muslim truly believes and obeys the Koran, he will be a terrorist." - George Zeller, August 24, 2010.

If you choose to follow a religion where, for example, devout Catholics who are trying to be good people are all going to Hell but child molestors go to Heaven (as long as they were "saved" at some point), that's your choice, but it's fucked up. Maybe a God who operates by those rules does exist. If so, fuck Him.

Their church was always more important than the members of their family and they happily sacrificed whatever necessary in order to satisfy their contrived beliefs about who they should be.

I grew up in a house where love was proxied through a God I could never believe in. A house where the love of music with any sort of a beat was literally beaten out of me. A house full of hatred and intolerance, run by two people who were experts at appearing kind and warm when others were around. Parents who tell an eight year old that his grandmother is going to Hell because she's Catholic. Parents who claim not to be racist but then talk about the horrors of miscegenation. I could list hundreds of other examples, but it's tiring.

Since being kicked out, I've interacted with them in relatively normal ways. I talk to them on the phone like nothing happened. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I like pretending I have a family. Maybe I like having people I can talk to about what's been going on in my life. Whatever the reason, it's not real and it feels like a sham. I should have never allowed this reconnection to happen.

I wrote the above a while ago, and I do feel like that much of the time. At other times, though, I feel less hateful. I know my parents honestly believe the crap they believe in. I know that my mom, at least, loved me very much and tried her best. One reason I put this off for so long is because I know how much pain it will cause her. She has been sad since she found out I wasn't "saved", since she believes I'm going to Hell, which is not a sadness for which I am responsible. That was never going to change, and presumably she believes the state of my physical body is much less important than the state of my soul. Still, I cannot intellectually justify this decision, knowing how much it will hurt her. Maybe my ability to take my own life, knowing how much pain it will cause, shows that I am a monster who doesn't deserve to live. All I know is that I can't deal with this pain any longer and I'm am truly sorry I couldn't wait until my family and everyone I knew died so this could be done without hurting anyone. For years I've wished that I'd be hit by a bus or die while saving a baby from drowning so my death might be more acceptable, but I was never so lucky.


To those of you who have shown me love, thank you for putting up with all my shittiness and moodiness and arbitrariness. I was never the person I wanted to be. Maybe without the darkness I would have been a better person, maybe not. I did try to be a good person, but I realize I never got very far.

I'm sorry for the pain this causes. I really do wish I had another option. I hope this letter explains why I needed to do this. If you can't understand this decision, I hope you can at least forgive me.

Bill Zeller


Please save this letter and repost it if gets deleted. I don't want people to wonder why I did this. I disseminated it more widely than I might have otherwise because I'm worried that my family might try to restrict access to it. I don't mind if this letter is made public. In fact, I'd prefer it be made public to people being unable to read it and drawing their own conclusions.

Feel free to republish this letter, but only if it is reproduced in its entirety.