Once upon a time, a single drifter lived, worked, and dated in Los Angeles. It was full of Palm trees and Peter Pans. She chronicled her experiences in a dating blog named LAMatchbook. Over the course of her late 20s, she dated a plethora of douchebags, losers, boring guys, and some nice ones in there too. Then, she lost her job in LA on the eve of 30.
Bored, lost, and uninspired, she set her sights to go somewhere grander, costlier, and inevitably colder. Direction-less and man-less, she decided to go test her resolve in the place where all dreams go to die: New York City. Job offer in hand, she arrived in the Big Apple and immediately started working 10+ hour days. She dated when she had time, which was pretty much never. She joined the ranks of the other sleep-deprived New Yorkers and complained about her insane upstairs neighbors. She broke a lease, worked more hours, learned how to navigate Penn Station, yelled at ConEd when they jackhammered at midnight, and started seeing a therapist (Xanax prescription not included).
This is not a story of a princess who moved to a big city and found Prince Charming. This is the real story of a girl who took a chance, got robbed by Uber, stepped in vomit and on a rat, lost some hair and parts of her memory, and somehow keeps persevering through Manhattan. They say you’re not a New Yorker until you’ve cried on the subway in front of everyone and don’t care. I accomplished that by Month #3. Then the technology industry betrayed me again and I lost the job that drove me 3,000 miles across the country. And so less than 2 years after I left America’s 2nd most expensive city, I found myself unemployed in America’s #1 most expensive city.
I know that this used to be a blog about dating, but perhaps in my 30s I’ve learned the karmic lesson about not airing your dating dirty laundry. Or I’ve run out of material because it has become noticeable that men swipe left for women who are over 31. So we’re going to start a new conversation. Here’s a blog for the wanderers, for the clueless, for the childless those of us in our 30s who are wondering why we’re at our desks again at 9 PM on a Wednesday.
I don’t have much time to write; I have to keep the bonuses coming in to afford my 470 square foot downtown studio after all. But I invite you to read about my New York adventures and for those of you with the time and means to date, please share your stories! It’s a big, bad, hard world and we’re all just trying to navigate our ways through it.