Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Breaking up IS hard to do. I’ve never been very good at it. In my younger years, I would just stop calling a guy if I’d found that our interests diverged, that we weren’t compatible past a certain point.

Then, when I found men I actually cared about, I approached the break up differently. One I forced the break up with because I was going to lose him under other circumstances anyway, why not channel my inner bitch and make the break now? Another stopped talking to me at one point over a plate of food (long story), but we managed to begin dating again. When he revealed that he’d omitted some things about who he was, I ended it. The last one also had some complaints about me, becoming unsure if he was prepared to be in a relationship. I didn’t wait around for him to mull it over and ended it.

In each case though, I held on too long. I got huge claret red flags that he wasn’t it and I wasn’t it for him, and God woman let go. I’m faced with another kind of break up now, between me and the career I envisioned having since I was in college. Some days it’s hard to let go. Just like some of those break ups, after the decision has been made I start to wonder if I’ve made the right choice. Were those guys right, was it me and I should have done or said something different? In this job, I wonder the same thing. I should have left this company before now. I should have been making more contacts all along. I should have done more, been better, been a little less me I suppose.

It took me some time to realize it, but with those men and in this job I am not who I want to be. I don’t want to wear my hair straight all the time as one boyfriend requested. I don’t want to argue all the time as one boyfriend was prone to do. And I don’t want to keep climbing a ladder that leads to something I’m not passionate about and if I’m honest with myself never have been. Those men were stand ins for the real thing, for all my hopes and dreams of what love would look like. Our lives are filled with rest stops on the way to our true destination. There’s nothing wrong with making a pit stop, but in love and in career, it’s best to know when the time is right to get back in the car and get on with the journey.

Commitment

I've found myself in a dating slump again, but spring is here and summer's coming. I expect to strike up conversations at barbecues and to spot good looking men at New York street fairs. I used to loathe dating, find myself disinterested in the pursuit nearly as soon as it began. No longer, not for the last year or so. I've been the girl up for a date with the guy who seems nice enough, who engages me in interesting conversation, throws in a good joke. Why not? I've encouraged myself when I can feel the request for the number approach. I don't regret any of them, but I am looking for something I haven't found in any of them. Come to think of it, not sure I've ever found. I know blanket statements will get us nowhere.

They could all keep their nice dinners and the seemingly sincere, if otherwise motivated, compliments. Or if you're incapable of commitment, don't even bother. Not the commitment of a Tiffany's ring or even necessarily the commitment of a relationship. I'd just like some follow through. You like me you say? Call when you're supposed to. You want to go out on Saturday? Follow up on that email invite. We have a special bond that you don't share with any other woman? For God's sake, don't let me get away.

When I got my first job 7 years ago, I walked in and thought I'd be out of there in two years tops. It didn't happen, but I never thought it was a conscious choice I made. The years passed, but they passed day by day. I wouldn't have gotten to the years if I didn't commit to the day. When these 30 something men avow their desire to get married, how will they commit to years when they can't commit to the day?

The Danger of What If

I've been so neglectful of this blog, probably because I've been slightly neglectful of my love life of late too. Mr. Potential has zero right now and Mr. (hell I don't even think I gave him a nickname) Other Guy I Was Dating has been nixed as well.

Turns out Mr. Other Guy was dating someone else at the same time and met her through the same friend as he met me. I'm not upset that he was dating someone else, there was certainly no exclusivity and no mention of not dating other people. Always assume they are dating someone else until the fact is made explicit that he (and you) aren't. Other Guy had already become extremely spotty in his communication (perhaps a result of having to date two or more people?), but I tend to keep a bit of what if... in my back pocket until it becomes finally, irrevocably true to me that it's done. Or more accurately that I'm done. Holding on too long is one of my great flaws.

From men to my career, it's hard for me to let go. Fear is of course that looming culprit. If I give up this guy who I do sort of like and who has maybe 7 out of the 10 things I want, what if the next guy has only 5? The wondering can drive you crazy and drive you to never get out. I have to tell myself that better may not always be the very next thing, because sometimes it isn't. In the long run, if you make your mistake, learn from it, and actually use that knowledge, better is bound to come down the road bearing ... oh maybe Mr. 8 out of 10 with it.

Potentially Awful

NIKKI

Mr. Potential and I went out for our third date Friday night. We met a few weeks ago at a party and dates one and two were great. The conversation flowed seamlessly from music to religion to food. He had a good sense of humor, though slightly corny but I've always had a soft spot for that. He isn't my typical type of guy, but then the trifecta of great phone calls, emails, and dates aren't typical either.

All week, I looked forward to Friday night, to seeing him in person and seeing if there was potential for more. We agreed to meet at 9:30 on Friday, after he would finally be finished with work at his high powered job. I found the outfit that was casual, yet sexy and applied my favorite perfume accordingly. The night before I'd gone on a hunt to find the right hair product and carefully attacked any pimples that might attempt to erupt. Friday night came and after drinks with my girlfriends, 9:30 began to approach. He sent me a text asking if we could meet a little later maybe 10? No problem, my girlfriends are still willing to hang out. We wend our way through 3 different neighborhoods, closer to where Mr. Potential and I had agreed to meet. Well, 10 came and went as did 10:30 and 11. My girlfriends have been troopers all night, but have to leave me. Still not a problem because he's sent me a text that he'll be there in 5 minutes. I make my way to the restaurant (it's about 11:30 now) to find the place closed. Diners already inside can get out, but I can't get in. NO problem because he'll be here in 5 minutes, hmm actually should have been here 10 minutes ago at this point...

Two and a half hours after we'd agreed to meet (that'd be midnight), he finally shows and I am pissed. I'm ravenous (I'd turned down food at every place I'd gone with my girlfriends, cold (sexy is not generally warm), and did I mention pissed? He was full of apologies and then jokes to try to remedy the situation, but sometimes you've gotten to a point where none of that is enough.

At one point, the prospect of a 4th date of even talking to this guy again was dying a slow and torturous death. I asked about his ex (brilliant move on my part), the waiter spilled water on him, and the conversation stalled at every turn. In a particularly evil move, I ordered a tuna nicoise salad, and when asked by the waiter if I was okay with the ancovies told him I was indeed. In my mind, there was zero prospect for a kiss so why not put an exclamation on the point.

But, somewhere in the last half an hour, things got drastically better. I made a joke and then he made one. We traded a few jabs about the night and suddenly even with anchovy on the breath (I did manage to find a piece of gum), I wanted nothing more than to kiss him. You never can tell how the night will end up and I'm looking forward to finding out how the 4th date goes.

Kings of the Forest?

NIKKI

Men. Cowardly lions, the lot of them. They roar and make a big show, but really they're scared of most everything. They are especially scared of open, honest conversations. Flashback to Sex and the City, if you would, and the Berger episode arc. This is the guy who broke up with Carrie on a Post-it, and the explanation of his friends pointed to women becoming hysterical and overly emotional. I have known men who had untreated scars from street fights and permanently disfigured fingers from aggressive basketball games. Physical is no problem, but emotional looms too large.

I know I told Nikki I would call her two weeks ago, but I'm afraid of what we might talk about. Instead, I'll forward her jokes and Youtube links. Or maybe I'll chat with her and act as if I don't remember I was supposed to call unless she brings it up.

I know that I have shown only a limited interest in Nikki. However, when she points this out, I will protest that it is only because she's shown a limited interest in me. I will become offended and cut off all communication in protest.

This may come as a shock to men, but I don't love those "serious" conversations. Dissection is often a favorite pasttime of women, but I'd rather talk about an outfit or the great meal I had the night before. I don't particularly want to interrogate you about why you haven't called when you said you would or where this is "going." I do it because as interesting as angst can be, I prefer clarity. I appreciate a "You are here" in my life's journey. Dorothy and the boys would have too, even the cowardly lion. So, boys: feel the fear but do it anyway.

Tomorrow Is Another Day

NIKKI


I have a sad confession: I really like the movie Gone with the Wind. I manage to put aside the cringe filled racial moments and the sweeping excess of the Southern whites. Even more, I have a soft spot for Scarlett O'Hara: the spoiled, childlike heroine. By the time Rhett tells Scarlett that he doesn't give a damn, he has more than enough reason. She has been in love with someone else for virtually their entire marriage, barred him from her bedroom because she no longer wants to sleep with him, and when in one night of drunken passion she does get pregnant tells him in a speech that includes the words "I wish [the father] were anyone but you." Scarlett leads me to a simple and anti-feminist conclusion: women are stupid. For years, without regard to the situation or any firm grasp of reality, Scarlett pines for Ashley Wilkes, a sad sap of a man who couldn't hold a candle to Rhett. Scarlett slowly comes to her senses about Rhett, but never says what she truly feels and even more pushes away every overture he makes to repair their relationship. Scarlett seems as dense as they come, the rest of us aren't always so far behind.



Who hasn't kept dating the guy who has given you indications that he isn't best for you? Who hasn't called the guy who didn't call when he said he would because you thought of a plausible enough reason as to why? Those would definitely be me. Who hasn't alienated the one man who truly loved you and doted on your daughter, spoiling her with trips to London and a pony? Well, that's only Scarlett.


But if I might channel Scarlett a bit, as God is my witness I vow to not be stupid anymore! At least until I fall hard for someone else.


After all, tomorrow is another day.

For a True Gentleman

NIKKI

Well, if the original mission was to have someone on Valentine's Day then I have something akin to a C. I spent a portion of the day with a man and there was some nice affection given as well as a sweet if slightly half hearted "Happy Valentine's Day" greeting.

There was also a reminder that my dad really knows how to treat a lady. Late afternoon yesterday (you'll understand if you live in NYC why it wasn't morning), I received a dozen roses in a candy striped vase. Tucked amongst the red and white blooms was this note: "From Your Very First Admirer, Love Dad." My closest friends have loved my father for years. They are women who either don't know their dads or aren't very close to him. They love the long winded stories at which I secretly roll my eyes. They don't know about his tendency to hear without listening or that he's not the neatest guy or the most patient, but the man certainly has his shining moments.

If every girl is secretly or overtly (Gina I mean you) looking for her father, then I think when I find the right guy for me (or if the right guy should ever act right) he'll be great. He'll have a way with words that reveal an amazing heart.

So to my very first admirer, the feeling is mutual Daddy.

Formal Sex

NIKKI

Valentine's Day is creeping up and I've got a Valentine all lined up who goes by the name of Ketel One. Or maybe I'll class it up and cozy up to a bottle of cheap champagne.

No pity, it's my own fault. A guy friend once asked me why I was single. I paused and rifled through the remnants of my past relationships. Was it my moodiness? My short temper? My overlarge feet? No, it's because I want to be. Most single women could have somebody if they wanted, if they really wanted. It's not that I'm so great, it's that generally I'm no worse than anyone else and there are lots of men looking just as hard as women are to find someone they actually like.

Right now, I could probably fashion someone I'm dating into a Valentine if I tried. He's attractive, funny, smart, and treats me well. Except, I made a fatal mistake and let it get too physical too fast. I'm a proponent of doing what you feel when it feels right (Lemontangos knows of what I speak), except there are times when it isn't so much what you feel as it is the unholy progression of things you find yourself unable to stop. Sex creates a sense of intimacy where there once was none. Sometimes you create the real intimacy before the sex and other times you fill in the gaps later during meandering conversations about what cartoons you loved as a kid and why you secretly think Soul Plane is the height of comic cinema. But what if you feel like you missed that window of opportunity or it's rapidly closing and you're not sure how to pry it open? Do you even bother or do you accept the awkwardness of false intimacy and admit that it is nothing more than a physical relationship?

When it comes to sex, I can pretend that I'm completely liberated and see it solely as the expression of a physical need. Only, I think I'd be underplaying my hand. Casual sex is a misnomer for me. In the midst of it and afterwards, nothing much about it feels casual. Sex requires more than just your body. It can be good without real intimacy, but sex with it is always better. A session between the sheets is nice and sometimes necessary, but nothing compares with waking up and seeing a face that you want nothing more than to cover in kisses. I'll drink a whole bottle of champagne (even the good stuff) to finding that again.

Attraction and Attracted

NIKKI

I don't like to think of myself as a shallow person. I want to believe that I am more concerned with who people are than what they look like or what their occupation is. New York is built for tell me what you do and who you know. This city can sometimes feel like its made up of worlds you only gain entrance to when you know just the way to knock and the right password to give. I never wanted and never thought I gave into the idea of VIP.

At dinner a couple of months ago, one of my guy friends declared himself--declared himself not interested in only being my friend. When someone mentions his name, I can easily talk about how great he is, how much I love him. He is a creative encouragement and at his best a true confidante. But, he has never inspired romantic thoughts in me. Sure, the combination of liquor and a man drought may have caused my vision to get a little hazy, but clarity always came before any real mistakes were made. In the last few weeks, he has insisted that there is something between us. He is sure that I'm afraid it would be great, so I shy away from actually pursuing it. I dismiss him when he says this, and yet there is something there I can't name. The only word I can come up with is attraction and I usually preface that word with "strange" or "weird."

So why if there is an attraction and we are such good friends, do I deny him even the chance of being taken seriously as a romantic option? Apparently, I'm shallow. I might be attracted, but I don't find him attractive. I always believed that I liked what I liked. I did not look for the approval of my friends and not even my family. Some never passed the test of either. Who cared about that when he made me laugh and smile and exuded whatever sexiness I had found in him? Only, I've never really been put to the test about looks. Some may have been more attractive than others, but no one would have found any of them UNattractive.


It's more than just attractiveness that keeps me from this friend. We would never work out for a lot of reasons, but could there be men I pass by who, if not always from the outside, could be great for me? The shameful truth is I want someone who makes me look good. I lust after beautiful bags, not for their beauty alone and not for their price tag, but because I want that to have that beauty for myself, to make me feel beautiful. We work to form lives that fit our vision for ourselves and who we would like to be, from handbags to whom we choose to date. If a woman comments on my purse or on my man, I get a little ego boost. I beam with pride to say that's mine. Meanwhile, my male friend now has a girlfriend and I think I see in her unadulterated pride to call him her man. On the other hand, I can comfort myself with all those very attractive men who didn't work out.

We all make our choices.

The Body of a Woman/The Heart of a Man

NIKKI

Lexi and I have recently discovered a good place to meet men: the neighborhood sports bar. I've always enjoyed beer and even the occasional football game, but I've come to love the latter surrounded by pigskin fueled, trash talking men. I'm not there scoping for dates (not much anyway), but sometimes just hanging out with a group of guys can give you that touch of testosterone you need in your life. They might buy you some drinks or offer you a seat, but they will also without mercy or regret ridicule you, your team, and your mother if necessary.

Over the last few weeks, my ex (I know, I know but he's also a genuine friend) and I have kept up a pretty steady email correspondence of your mother's so ... jokes and hits on each other's lazy eyes and roach ridden apartments. When one joke actually stung and I emailed back my hurt feelings rather than a cut about the ugliness of his sister, he was disappointed and maligned my "guilt trip." So, I let it go and went back to talking about his mother, much to his relief.

The men in the sports bar would no doubt have understood his argument. Men prize thick skin. If someone talks about how badly your team sucks, take the hit and then hit back even harder. There is no place for wussies in a sports bar, and even less place in a relationship. Love is after all a full contact sport (or a battlefield as Pat Benatar would surely remind me). Those insults thrown at us and rapidly around us were men being men. They are also good preparation for our next relationships, so that, unlike my past ones, I won't take cracks about back fat and crooked toes to heart.

But is this really what my ex (or any man) wants: a woman who is one of the boys? Women should wear high heels and pretty underwear, but also be able to belch the alphabet. I have to take the crass jokes and cutting remarks, but still be soft enough to hug, kiss, and comfort him when he wants to talk about his feelings or something else too embarrassing to share with his boys. How can I possibly be everything in one? Then again, isn't this what we usually want of them only flipped inside out? He can share his feelings but not weep when Bette Midler sings The Wind Beneath My Wings in Beaches. Fantastic if he kills the roach, but please don't mourn its passing. I want the body of a man but the heart of a woman who will understand that even jokes that combine the words fat and my name are never okay and that sadness doesn't equal weakness.

Maybe we're never satisfied, but while I search for the guy who has the right balance I'll keep going to the sports bar wearing armor and cute steel toed boots.

The Ex-Factor

NIKKI

Sometimes, I love my exes. They remember my birthday and send me articles they think I might like. One who lives in a different city is good for drinks and dinner when I'm in his town. All of them to different degrees are also pretty good for an ego boost. I, of course, try to do my part by looking my very best: hair in place, skin as clear as nature will allow, clothes, shoes, and handbags chosen by my scarce but occasionally accessible inner fashion magazine editor. They do their part by proclaiming how good I look and with a well placed (slightly) inappropriate memory whispered between my cheek and my ear. Sometimes, an ex can do a good impersonation of what he is no longer: my man.

I have in the last year or so tapped a power I never knew I had: the ability to be friends with these men. They know things about me others couldn't and, at least at some point, cared about me in a way my girlfriends can't. Over the last few months, I've had an avalanche of exes or those who were almost but not quite. Each I've been genuinely happy to see or talk to, but no matter how good a friend I may think he is "we" will always be different. It's a friendship unlike others one that can veer into nostalgia (he's so funny or so smart) with tinges of bitterness (why does he always bring that up?). No matter the distance from the relationship, I can't imagine not feeling a twinge of jealousy when he talks to another woman and he may always ask if I'm dating anyone.

But, an ex is an ex for a reason. Familiar is nice and easy, but nice and easy doesn't mean right, doesn't mean best. These exes are reminders of my singleness, an aspect of myself that is both frightening and damned liberating. So, I'll take the compliments and the birthday wishes, but then I need to take their hand, give a warm smile, tell them it was nice to see them, and walk. away.

Where is He?

LEXI

Sometimes I feel like Charlotte on Sex and the City, lamenting, in vain it feels, about my long wait for Mr. Right. Like Charlotte I am in my thirties, and though I was never like Charlotte strategizing about getting married, I do wonder why I've been dating for almost 20 years without finding my Mr. Right.

I get asked many times, and as I age the questions increased, Why isn't a smart, beautiful woman like you married? Hmm, yeah, why am I still single?

I've definitely enjoyed my single life, but it's been like eating ice cream; sometimes too much of a good thing can start to make you sick. A few weeks ago, I got sick of being single. I was going on a number of dates and not connecting to anyone. All the rapid turnover started to make me feel dizzy. Hey God, I want off this merry-go-round!

Of course I've started asking myself the hard questions, Is it me? Am I too picky? Well, yes and no. Okay, alright, I can be picky. I admit I'm prejudiced against short men, i.e., men that are shorter than me. There I said it.

I didn't realize the full extent of my prejudice until I moved to New York where it seems the cold air makes men shrink. Hey it's possible cold water has a shrinking effect too. ;-)

Am I too romantic? Is my vision of meeting the perfect guy getting in the way of meeting the guy who could be great for me? One of my girlfriends always seems to have a boyfriend. She'd meet a guy and say to herself, I can work with this. Maybe I'm not good at working with men.

Or maybe I just haven't met him yet? Looking over the men I've dated, I've wondered if I missed the boat with any of them. But I don't think so. I could've been happy, but I couldn't have been me with them. Hmm, when I look at it that way, the wait doesn't feel like its in vain. I'd rather wait for the right one then have to divorce the wrong one.

Baggage

NIKKI

I have a habit of carrying too much stuff with me when I go to work. Whenever I take the time to actually go through my bag, I discover receipts for candy bars from CVS, expired Metrocards, and usually 20 different pieces of paper that I no longer need. I'll keep hauling it day in and day out, wondering why my bag is so heavy and why my shoulder is starting to ache. Some days it's easier to carry all my old junk around, than to go through and figure out what's actually worth keeping. I do this with my purses and I do this about men.

I'm not bitter about men or about relationships, but sometimes I do carry around too much stuff. My current crush--the karaoke singing, smart, sexy one--got me to unload some of my stuff the other night. Well, not him on his own, but one of my girlfriends. Karaoke and I have been missing each other still, leaving messages and missed calls in our wake. I had started to give up on ever talking to him, wondering whether he was even worth my time or as interested as I thought. He's just not that into me I would say. I deleted his number, told myself who cares, he's missing out! The backlash had begun despite momentary lapses into "but we had such a good time." My girlfriend, who knows him, stopped that in its tracks the other night with a simple suggestion: give him another chance, he really is a good guy.

Was I hauling extra stuff into this situation? Was I cluttering up one circumstance with others from my own experience and those of my friends? The iPod must have heard my cry because it picked just the right song for me: Bag Lady by Erykah Badu.

Bag Lady you go'n hurt your back/ Dragging all them bags like that

So, I decided to pack light, put away some of the what ifs and worries of what he might think to pursue something that could be worth it. And if it doesn't work? If I pack light only to find that I'm left with the same baggage? Well, I always end up needing to clean my purse out again anyway.

Do All Men Cheat?

LEXI

A few weeks ago I met this guy; he was smart, funny, considerate, and FINE. The first day we met, I ended up spending the whole afternoon with him. Then later that night we talked on the phone for a few hours. We went out every day for almost a week. By our third date, I was hooked, and I'm not one to get hooked easily.

It seemed like every time I saw him, he got better and better to me. My routine was changed, lunch hours were forsaken to see him, and when one of my dates cancelled on me, I barely hesitated to call this guy to see if he wanted to get together.

The thing about it, it felt so natural being so involved so early. We enjoyed lots of "time stands still" kind of kisses. It was the stuff of romance novels. Well, for any of you romance novels fans, you know there's got to be some drama.

The drama didn't present itself immediately, actually, it wasn't until after our fifth date, that's five consecutive days of seeing one another, that my hopes for any relationship with him, and to some degree, my hope in relationships, in general, were dashed.

I was talking to him and we were asking each other about our past relationships. He mentioned that he had dated 8 women, for about a month each, this year. I thought that was interesting that he had these mini-relationships with these different women. His take on it was that some had no potential, but they each served a purpose. Some were for physical attention, and that there was one woman that he dated for a month that he didn't even like, but that he was bored so decided to hang out with her. I was a little shocked by this and asked did he really like any of the women that he had gone out with. He said that there was one in particular that he really liked but that she lived with her boyfriend so their relationship never went that far. I asked whether it bothered him that she was in a relationship. He said that it was her problem, not his.

It got me thinking about whether he was faithful in his own relationhips. I asked if he had been faithful, and he replied no. No..to all the relationships he had ever been in. Wow, that's pretty deep. I got quiet, and he justified his actions by saying that all men cheat. I said that I couldn't beleive that all men cheat. He insisted in so many words that due to biology, society's conditioning, and opportunity, that it was almost guaranteed that men were going to cheat. I was not convinced, but he asked me what incentive men had not to cheat. I said that morals, the prospect of losing their girlfriend/wife/other, and for some a faith in God. He insisted that some of the most revered people in the Bible cheated or had multiple wives. He said that women always confuse cheating with love. He said his cheating didn't mean that he loved his girlfriend or fiancee any less. It was just sex.

I asked if he had been unhappy in the relationships he had, he said no. He told me that it wasn't about being unhappy, it was about having a different experience.

This wasn't the first time I encountered a guy who had never been faithful; one of my ex-boyfriends also told me the same thing. He said that there wasn't anything wrong about his girlfriends or his past relationships; he just wanted what he wanted.

This completely freaks me out, how does a woman fight against infidelity if men tell you that in the end, there isn't anything you can do to prevent it? In some ways it makes sense, cheating is not about the person who is cheated on, it's about the cheater.

The straw that broke the camel's back for this guy was before we hung up he repeated that all men cheat, and then said, your father has probably cheated on your mom. A little background, my parents have been married for over 35 years. I have no reason to believe that my dad has cheated on my mom, but using this guy's criteria, the mere fact that my dad is a man is enough of an indication. Honestly, if I ever found out that my dad cheated on my mom, I might never get married. I know that sounds dramatic, and maybe it is, but my parents are one of the very few happily married couples I know. I don't kid myself, I know that cheating exists in many relationships, but I've got to believe that my parents aren't an anomaly. I've got to believe that the odds of being in a faithful relationship aren't unsurmontable. Otherwise, what's the point?

What do you think, do all men cheat?

The Waiting Game

NIKKI

I hate dating someone I actually like. Backwards perhaps, but true. Nothing is better and nothing is worse than those butterflies of anticipation, except I seem to have not just butterflies, but the entire animal kingdom running wild in my stomach. How am I supposed to be my fun, flirty, cute self when I feel like I had bad fish for lunch? Even worse is dating someone you like and the date actually going well, going better than you even expected. Case in point, my date this week. I got a night of karaoke and sake from a guy I wouldn't have suspected had it in him. We sang some Motown duets and he sang me a love song. In between, there was great conversation and just enough sexual tension to make it interesting. He's smart and sexy, intellectual and ambitious and .. we haven't had a conversation since. No, no don't worry he called and I called, we've just managed to only engage in a lackadaisical game of phone tag.

So, here's the other part I hate: waiting. Waiting for the next phone call, the next "So are you busy on Friday....," and waiting to go out again and see if the first date was a fluke. You check your voicemail incessantly, pore over every detail of the date in your head and with your girlfriends to the point where you even disgust yourself. Sometimes I wish for a guy who is just okay, one who can hold a decent conversation, is fairly attractive, and says one or two things that let you know this isn't going to work. Your girlfriends ask you how the date went and you say something about how nice a guy he is and how you could definitely be friends with him. No butterflies and no sparkling conversation, but also no stress. Uh I'll be back, gotta check my voicemail...

LEXI

I’ve always liked to date; I enjoy the excitement of meeting someone new, getting ready for the date, anticipating what is to come, I like the whole process of dating. Dating, for me, is kind of like traveling. You get a taste for a new culture, you may want to visit again, but unless a place feels really comfortable, generally you don’t feel the need to settle down there. I've enjoyed learning about and experiencing different men, but rarely have I felt the need for an extended stay with any one man.

In high school, I wasn’t much of a dater, but I hit my stride in college. My first year in college, my girlfriends would tease me about how much I dated, and said that I had a flavor of the month. I’d flit from guy to guy, a few dates here, maybe even several dates over the course of years, but I never had a boyfriend. For me, it was the chase that was exciting, not necessarily the prospect of catching anyone.

About six years ago, I moved to New York and the dating merry-go-round started again. There was a time that I could almost guarantee that I would see at least one guy I dated at any party or social function I attended. In New York, the dating pool began to feel like a baby pool. I like dating, but I realize I kept it casual because I didn’t want to get hurt and I also wasn’t meeting anyone who made me want to change my routine. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met a lot of great guys, but I’ve infrequently felt that chemistry with a man, that elusive feeling that made me want to go further. Sometimes I think I rely too much on feeling that chemistry, but I know myself; I’m a passionate person and I can’t be in a lukewarm relationship.

NIKKI

I’ve been told I’m relationship prone, and two of my girlfriends seem convinced that I always have someone or am never too far from it. Two other girlfriends pegged me as the marrying kind a couple of years ago. I deny every one of those characterizations, even though I prefer relationships to dating and I was that little girl who imagined the details of her wedding. I will admit that finding people I like hasn't really been a problem. Of course, I like some more than others, but in my post-college adulthood I have found good boyfriend material. Some of my girlfriends complain that never meet anyone in whom they have a real interest, and have gone years without meeting one. So lately, I've started to wonder, am I imagining chemistry with these guys? Is my loneliness overcompensating for character flaws that should have otherwise ruled them out? At the end of it, of course, I see it all clearly. I'll know that he was a good guy, but not the guy for me. I'll look back and know that I could have never been happy with someone who didn't find Vince Vaughn f-ing hilarious.

Maybe I'm slower than other women, and some people spot on the first date what it takes me months to accept. But if I had written them all off at the first sign of less than perfection, I would know less about what is actually perfect for me. I would have never known that the guy who is right for me doesn't need to love foreign food like I do, because I had that and it didn't matter. The guy for me also doesn't need to be as fiery as I am about politics or social change, because I had that and it got on my damn nerves. I don't regret any of my experiences, but maybe it is time for a different tactic.

So, this is a different tactic. Only recently have I found the ability to like dating just for the sake of dating. If you find someone you like and who likes you, what’s wrong with getting into a relationship? Except I know I have to watch where I step because sometimes the two of you together just aren’t made for that, and sometimes you still have an ex you need to get over, and sometimes you’re getting into a relationshp only because you want someone to cuddle with and be your reliable Friday night date. But maybe, that’s just relationship prone me.

Two years ago on February 14th, two of these dating divas sat at home without flowers or candy or stuffed bears and certainly without men. We didn’t care, though, Valentine’s Day is a holiday engineered by florists to move more product (Sigh) … except well we did care, a lot. That night, we vowed to have a date by the 15th of the next month, and every 15th after that. It’s not that we didn’t date, but we’d never had a goal like this. It became a reason to smile a little more at a party and be a little bolder about flirting with the guy we had our eye on. The 15th is almost here we might think, so maybe I'll save the Netflix for next weekend. We got in and out of relationships, and then rounded out to a trio. Now, we’re back to our original goal: a man on Valentine’s Day.

We've stepped up our game so that we go on a date a week. We'll share our dates with you and along the way think, write, and occasionally gush and bitch about our dating life and the seemingly unending search for love in the Big City. It will be funny, thought provoking, and (we hope) hardly ever depressing, but dating in New York will never be boring.