In the summer of 2017, I went on a few dates and slept with a French Guy who lived in the East Village. Unwittingly and stupidly, I caught feelings.
After date #3, I started to suspect that the French Guy wasn’t into it anymore. While we texted for a few days after, he did not ask me on another date. On a Friday night, I suggested meeting up and his response was that he was out with a coworker who liked to party and he would have a late night. Having finally gotten the hint, I deleted his number from my phone, wrote him off as another New York slash French idiot, and went on my merry way.
That Saturday night, I went out drinking with friends in Battery Park and was enjoying the New Jersey sunset across the Hudson when my iPhone chirped with an unknown number text. The French Guy sent a rambling text about how he is looking for a long term relationship, does not want to see me anymore, and he should have never let things get this far. Way to take the knife and just twist it, French Guy.
So I am just the girl that no one sees a long term relationship future with. Cool.
Tonight with the pouring rain outside after a 10 hour work day, I stood in line at Cava Grill and watched as girls in Hunter boots holding Kate Spade wallets paid for their low calorie Mediterranean food with AmEx credit cards and simultaneously summoned for Uber Pool pick up to avoid the rain outside.
Then I looked down and saw my own gray Hunter boots and Coach wallet and realized…We’re all a bunch of New York basic bitches.
Ladies, I don’t have much dating advice. But when I do, I swear by it.
Whenever you meet a guy in a bar/social event/party and hit it off, immediately excuse yourself to the bathroom and find him on Facebook. Allow me to explain…
I met Mr. Cubs Fan at a Cubs bar in the Lower East Side during the 2016 World Series. Like all hopeless Cubs fans, I did not assume this handsome blonde had any interest besides Cubs bar chit chat. However, we spent half of the game chatting about Chicago, our jobs in the technology industry, and he complimented my glasses (because when my job is killing me softly, I wear glasses to bars). To my surprise, he asked for my number and I happily handed it out. He even texted me the next morning saying we should hang out that night.
Thanks to said job, I didn’t get around to checking Mr. Cubs Fan’s Facebook page until later the next day. I noticed 2 blonde boys in his feed and figured those were his nephews. Until I got to his “About” page where his status said “Married”. I immediately found his wife on Facebook and verified he was indeed married to a blonde girl in suburban Chicago with 2 blonde twin boys.
I fumed and decided to wait to call him out if I ever heard from Mr. Cubs Fan again. Sure enough, he did text that evening, leading to this exchange:
Mic drop. I’m done.
After a particularly long and rough week at work, I got to jump in a boob bounce house and learn about the history of pornography. All and all, a fantastic New York Saturday.
Dating in New York is better than dating in Los Angeles.
A bold statement but one I stand by.
The men in New York are more ambitious, communicative, honest, and generous. They know what they want in life, including a career path and what sort of relationship they want with a girl. You just can’t be a slacker in New York. It’s financially impossible.
One such go-getter was Mr. I Have a Walk-In Closet. He also works in ad technology so we had a lot in common when we met for our first Bumble date. He humbly bragged about the new Upper West Side condo he had just bought and renovated. He whipped out his phone and gave me the virtual tour of the 2BR complete with crown moldings. He ended the tour with an Instagram of the large and empty walk-in closet which he proudly announced could fit a baby.
We didn’t work out.