50 First Dates Ive come to realize that the best things in life make you sweat. Heart beating. Sweat dripping. Deep breathing. Food. Sex. (and love). Fitness. Whatever it is that makes your heart skip a beat --To remind you that yes, in fact you are alive - and human, mistakes included. For me, much of this reminder has come thru love lessons - to remind me of life lessons … no mistakes, just lessons, thru the men ive sweat with - in food, fitness + otherwise. Some made me laugh. Some made me cry. Below is a manifesto of sorts. All in good fun, in the end - each has taught me more about myself. Unpeeling my layers, as i learn about others. But a leopard never changes its spots. We are who we are. Short stories below. Names have been changed. And Grudges have been dropped. And i am more than conscious that there are 3 sides to every story - mine, his + the truth. Take a peek.
a much needed lighter approach than the depth of diary IV.
A month after a breakup and tired of filling my sundays swiping couch side, i was ready to take my talents into real life. Erin invited me to a party. i said yes + swooped up street side wearing stripes, skinny jeans, stilettos, a structured bag and scarlett lips, finally feeling healed from my fresh wound. I waited for Erin to show up street side when a dark eyed stranger caught my side eye. i smelled his ego from a block away, exactly the smell that draws me in. smokin’ hot, flocking back + forth, talking to strangers, entertaining onlookers, and me no doubt. I knew him or of him, mutual friends, previously matched on a dating app but declined because he only dates models. Made sense: A boy who likes toys, i always like those. Erin arrived as the flocker approached, and told us of the new pizza project he was recipe testing for in real time. He grabbed a slice + offered us a bite, and while my burger no buns rule remains consistent, i obliged. Erin jumped in + i went for a nibble, crunchy crust over soggy tip. i could tell he liked my moves. I respectfully offered him pointers in perfecting his recipe, should he wish to follow up, gave him my business card, and went on with my night. A friend request arrived the next morning, a quick chat + silence thereafter. No matter, I buried it into the bucket of failed connections. You cant force a deal, and i dont eat pizza.
Fast forward months later, typical sunday swiping couch side while simultaneously instastory-ing my JG Melon no bun burger, to which paulie pizza replied. ‘Me too!’ Funny how relevant timing is, as i delicately ate said burger with hands + anxiously wondered how to land a date for my mentor’s charity event less than a week away. Really though, i had been ruminating for weeks, digging into dating apps and old flames, considering she invited me with my recent ex-boyfriend and my current relationship status was only intimately with Mr. Melon.
So, i replied back re: burger, and invited paulie pizza to be my plus 1. He agreed and as usual, i procrastinated. In other words, i waited until the night before, woke up 5am morning of, spent two hours online shopping, and successfully ordered 5 dresses online via net-a-porter same day delivery. I worked until 4pm, met glamsquad at home, hair + makeup’d en fleek before dresses arrived at 5pm, giving me just 60 minutes to pick a winner, and arrive uptown at 6pm. Amped up and with gusto, i plopped on the floor and tore into the boxes like a kid on christmas morning. Tissue paper + ribbons flying off the delicate designer pieces now flung all over my floor. My heart beating fast as i raced the clock to choose the perfect piece, slip on my ruby slippers and continue creating my fairy tale eve. Really though my heart was set on an off shoulder Herve Leger, form fitting to hug me in + bright yellow hued to turn heads. But, in typical “this is NOT a fairy tale” fashion, the form fitting dress was too big for my form + as i ripped it off my body, the shoulder strap ripped off with it. Fuck.
‘All ok, you have 4 other dresses to choose from + 45 minutes to get uptown.’ I wish i was that rational. But when i know what i want, there is little that stands in my way, rather i was hell bent on shining in my skin tight sleek yellow + emboldened red lip. So, i took matters into my hands, tore the dress off and pulled my sneakers on. My freshly makeup’d face dripped down my cheeks as i sprinted down hudson street in search of a seamstress to sew me back up. i spotted the dry cleaner delivery man on the corner + anxiously asked him where he hailed from. He pointed me south, and i sprinted on, arriving in full sweat + total despair and all but begged the man behind the sewing machine to do me a solid just before shutting the doors. I waited as he fixed my mess, paid him extra in cash and was back in business.
So you’re wondering how the date went? Well i definitely got an A+ for effort, if we’re measuring success by how we see ourselves, but the event was anticlimactic. Paulie pizza was lookin extra crispy- all the married women were drooling with me, but a finance entrepreneur, focused on him for the time being. We conversed just enough + he dropped me home.
Sunday arrived and i found myself once again sitting couch side solo, swiping right, so I sent him a text. We rendezvoused in the rain, practiced some heavy petting at broome street bar, and indulged in Raoul’s perfect au poivre burger. Sexual chemistry on point, particularly while eating meat and getting messy at a dark bar in the rain, but that is as handsy as it got.
No matter, because anything is better than being single, + solo, swiping couchside on sundays, even for just a few hours, with a dark eyed stranger on a rainy night in Soho.
I went to bed full, happy + feeling a little less alone.