It's a coveted thing to have a door man when scoping out real estate in New York City. They do so much more then just open the door, they hail cabs, and accept packages, dry cleaning, and guests. I believe that they are the holder of all New York secrets, as I know they hold some of mine.
When hanging out with a guy who lives in a door man building, I believe that it brings a level of insecurity for me. First comes the need for acceptance, the question the door man asks as you enter the building, "excuse me, who are you seeing?" Then comes the waiting in the foyer for the guy to approve your arrival. Lastly, the late night/early morning exit. Never a good look. There is the walk of shame, which has its own level of humiliation, but its a whole other thing when it starts with the door man watching you skulk out.
It may be coveted, but for me, my walk up studio, with nothing more than a buzzer, makes me far happier! Who needs that extra level of shame masked as "security" anyway?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
The Boy Who Followed Me Home
It's a fantasy of mine, to have the perfect story, about the perfect guy, and how you met. I feel that these stories are one and million, and for those who say they have met in such a "perfect" way, I believe they are lying. However, for a brief moment, I believed that I was in the middle of what could be, a tremendous and totally romantic story.
I was on the 4 train, heading back to the Upper East Side. Well dressed with aviator sunglasses on, plugged into his ipod, there he was, sitting across from me on the subway. It was a Friday night and I was heading home from work to a big night of nothing. I see him sitting there, smile, glancing over at him every so often, while grooving along to my own play list. I get off at my stop and he follows. I shake it a little extra, feeling confident as I stride home. Looking behind me, I notice he is still there. Getting a little high off the attention and excitement, we continue to walk, this time side by side, with 87th street between us. We keep glancing over to each other, with no moves made, resigning to let him make the first move.
As we cross over second avenue, the construction blocks him and I believe he is gone, but am thankful to have a bit of excitement for the evening. As I head up the stairs and into my building, I turn around and there he is - waving me back to the stoop. Amazed, I step outside and start a conversation with this man, thanking him for walking me home.
He's from Venezuela and asked me to his apartment for "good music and great wine". I appreciate his boldness, recognizing that American men are missing this bravado. After politely declining (I'm not stupid!), I offer my number and the option for drinks later in the week.
Instead of a fairy tale, I end up with a nightmare - which I have turned into nothing more than another story. We met later that week for drinks. I do believe he was high on cocaine and definitely not able to sit still, stop talking, or stop touching me. After two beers I leave, with him trailing behind, telling me that he can't wait to see me again. This turns into numerous text messages and phone calls, at all hours, without leaving a message. After three weeks without responding, he has finally stopped.
So here ends the story of the boy who followed me home. Like so many other stories, it started with such potential. Just goes to show that fairy tales aren't reality in this city, but it still won't stop me from believing.
I was on the 4 train, heading back to the Upper East Side. Well dressed with aviator sunglasses on, plugged into his ipod, there he was, sitting across from me on the subway. It was a Friday night and I was heading home from work to a big night of nothing. I see him sitting there, smile, glancing over at him every so often, while grooving along to my own play list. I get off at my stop and he follows. I shake it a little extra, feeling confident as I stride home. Looking behind me, I notice he is still there. Getting a little high off the attention and excitement, we continue to walk, this time side by side, with 87th street between us. We keep glancing over to each other, with no moves made, resigning to let him make the first move.
As we cross over second avenue, the construction blocks him and I believe he is gone, but am thankful to have a bit of excitement for the evening. As I head up the stairs and into my building, I turn around and there he is - waving me back to the stoop. Amazed, I step outside and start a conversation with this man, thanking him for walking me home.
He's from Venezuela and asked me to his apartment for "good music and great wine". I appreciate his boldness, recognizing that American men are missing this bravado. After politely declining (I'm not stupid!), I offer my number and the option for drinks later in the week.
Instead of a fairy tale, I end up with a nightmare - which I have turned into nothing more than another story. We met later that week for drinks. I do believe he was high on cocaine and definitely not able to sit still, stop talking, or stop touching me. After two beers I leave, with him trailing behind, telling me that he can't wait to see me again. This turns into numerous text messages and phone calls, at all hours, without leaving a message. After three weeks without responding, he has finally stopped.
So here ends the story of the boy who followed me home. Like so many other stories, it started with such potential. Just goes to show that fairy tales aren't reality in this city, but it still won't stop me from believing.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Insanity?
Another Monday night, getting home late from work and eating tacos while watching old Sex in the City episodes (so glamorous right?) Carrie asks herself, while brunching with the girls, whether or no they continue to date the same guy over and over again, expecting different results...
With taco in hand, I scream to Carrie - YES!!! A revelation between bites, I realize that I am dating the same man, over and over again, expecting different results. Embarrassed that I am talking to my television, I think about this. Why do I keep spending time with the same loser guys, knowing that things aren't going anywhere, but believing that maybe, it might just be different.
I see my pattern. Nice guy, good looking - but not too good looking, good job, and well educated. Sounds pretty reasonable right? What I end up getting (or settling for) is a guy with limited personality, immaturity, mediocre skills, mommy/family issues, unbalanced work ethic, and a path leading to no where.
Looks like I'm in need of short circuiting this hard wired behavior. After all, the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again, expecting different results...
With taco in hand, I scream to Carrie - YES!!! A revelation between bites, I realize that I am dating the same man, over and over again, expecting different results. Embarrassed that I am talking to my television, I think about this. Why do I keep spending time with the same loser guys, knowing that things aren't going anywhere, but believing that maybe, it might just be different.
I see my pattern. Nice guy, good looking - but not too good looking, good job, and well educated. Sounds pretty reasonable right? What I end up getting (or settling for) is a guy with limited personality, immaturity, mediocre skills, mommy/family issues, unbalanced work ethic, and a path leading to no where.
Looks like I'm in need of short circuiting this hard wired behavior. After all, the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again, expecting different results...
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Banana that Mocked Me...
As I stop by my local fruit stand, buying what may be the most delicious berries, I got quite the surprise. The nice man bags my berries and informs that he put a "nice banana" in there for me.
He let me know that he thought I would like this nice banana, that it looked like "I needed it."
First of all, I HATE bananas! I was trying to not feel as though I was being mocked by both the banana and the fruit man. So I politely declined, taking the banana out of the bag, letting him know I had all the bananas I needed!
He let me know that he thought I would like this nice banana, that it looked like "I needed it."
First of all, I HATE bananas! I was trying to not feel as though I was being mocked by both the banana and the fruit man. So I politely declined, taking the banana out of the bag, letting him know I had all the bananas I needed!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Vodka = The Enemy
You know, I'm not 20 years old anymore. Back in the day, it was all vodka, all the time. I was taking shots like it was nothing, without any after effect! That is not the case ten years later.
My girls and I decide for a Saturday night in the city. I go over to a friend's apartment to pre-game. My first bad decision on the evening. The vodka continues to flow. My recollection fades. There were shots involved. This is what I remember or have been able to put together...
* Random phone calls to guys I should not be contacting
* Digestion challenges (to put it nicely) while in the cab ride home
* A late night visitor that I have no recollection of summoning
* An interesting stain on my dress and bedspread (resulting from too many
cocktails) that I didn't even realize until 4:00pm the next day
Needless to say, I'm sticking to beer and wine from this point on. I was hungover for two days, made some poor decisions with an ex, AND had a huge dry cleaning bill!
My girls and I decide for a Saturday night in the city. I go over to a friend's apartment to pre-game. My first bad decision on the evening. The vodka continues to flow. My recollection fades. There were shots involved. This is what I remember or have been able to put together...
* Random phone calls to guys I should not be contacting
* Digestion challenges (to put it nicely) while in the cab ride home
* A late night visitor that I have no recollection of summoning
* An interesting stain on my dress and bedspread (resulting from too many
cocktails) that I didn't even realize until 4:00pm the next day
Needless to say, I'm sticking to beer and wine from this point on. I was hungover for two days, made some poor decisions with an ex, AND had a huge dry cleaning bill!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Is this a set-up?
As I was leaving Miami and deciding where to live next (as if it was such a choice), my parents recommended that I move to Atlanta. I knew NO ONE in Atlanta! My parents reminded me that a friend of theirs has two sons who live there and they could "show me around." Clearly this did not entice me and time moved on.
Over the 4th of July holiday, I was sitting at the beach with family and friends and the two boys from Atlanta show up. I get the hard sell prior to their arrival. "You should talk to our son" "Do you know that you and our son have so much in common?" I even got an invite to a barbecue. "You should come, our son will be there..."
We are talking quite the fairy tale here. Two sets of Jewish parents, trying to set up their over 30 year old children - who live hundreds of miles from each other. My last relationship was the result of a set up. At first, I thought it was so cute. I mean, what a great story! I was sorely mistaken and have been cautious of efforts to be set up since.
Over the 4th of July holiday, I was sitting at the beach with family and friends and the two boys from Atlanta show up. I get the hard sell prior to their arrival. "You should talk to our son" "Do you know that you and our son have so much in common?" I even got an invite to a barbecue. "You should come, our son will be there..."
We are talking quite the fairy tale here. Two sets of Jewish parents, trying to set up their over 30 year old children - who live hundreds of miles from each other. My last relationship was the result of a set up. At first, I thought it was so cute. I mean, what a great story! I was sorely mistaken and have been cautious of efforts to be set up since.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Boot Camp
Like many New York City girls, I'm trying real hard to stay in shape this summer. I decided to try out boot camp. I went with a co-worker thinking to myself, if she can do this, so can I, right? Not so much.
I did well for the first five minutes, surprising myself that my old running skills came back. Then came the steps. We must have run at least 100 flights of steps. After the steps were done, it was push up time. Now I can do a push up (you know, like a girl, knees down), which didn't work out so well on the hard floor.
An hour later, I'm not feeling so confident or strong. I am feeling winded and worst of all, I have bruised knees! Definitely not the look to have in the summer with the short skirts and all...
I did well for the first five minutes, surprising myself that my old running skills came back. Then came the steps. We must have run at least 100 flights of steps. After the steps were done, it was push up time. Now I can do a push up (you know, like a girl, knees down), which didn't work out so well on the hard floor.
An hour later, I'm not feeling so confident or strong. I am feeling winded and worst of all, I have bruised knees! Definitely not the look to have in the summer with the short skirts and all...
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