Remember the Time: The Trailer Park Lounge (3/10/10)

The first time I saw B was in my Honor English class on my first day of high school. When she popped up again the next day in my Freshman health class, I started to feel like the fates were pushing us together. B was the type of friend your parents didn’t want you to have and exactly the kind friend I needed, which is probably why the universe brought her to me. Over our four years of high school trouble seemed to follow us around, from skipping classes, to stealing cars to South Comfort and strip poker. All of which only solidified our friendship.

Fifteen years, several relocations and two marriage later B and I found each other again. Sitting in the back of Trailer Park Lounge in New York, people start to stare because we giggle like we’re still fourteen. Everything and nothing has changed.

"You remember that one party, when you handcuffed yourself to Gretchen?"

"You remember when we picked up that hitch hiking lesbian?"

"What about the time we were playing strip poker and Wes put on your bra, then Gavin's dad came home and caught us and Wes started freaking out because he couldn't figure out how to get the bra off."

Some people know you in a very special way because they’ve watching you grow up, they’ve allowed it. No matter how you mature and what you accomplish, it's refreshing to have someone around who can remind you of the time you threw up on a dog. It’s a blessing; unless you decide to run for congress.

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Missed the Boat: The Ginger Man (6/25/2010)

The night I first met Robert was the day before a massive winter snow storm. The skies in New York were calm and blue; giving no hint of their intention. On our second night together, the day of the storm, Robert was clear on his intentions.

Robert was in town for a gathering of our mutual friends. We were all packed into a bar, drinking and talking until early in the morning. When we poured out of the bar before sunrise the city was blanketed in inches fresh white snow. Flakes were sticking to my face and eyelashes. Robert wrapped me in his scarf shielding me from the winter storm.

“I’m going to be back in the city next week” he told me “I’d like to see you again, to take you out”

The city was empty. Me, wrapped in his scarf looking back into his eyes, nothing around us but snow and silence. It was almost cinematic. Almost. If only I’d said yes.

Robert was a Midwestern and still living in “one of those flat states in the middle”. I was just coming out of a relationship that made me feel like I was a part-time job. With Robert being hundreds of miles away, anything with him could only be long distance and I didn’t need any more distant relationships. To avoid the end, I stopped the beginning.

Robert and I ended up getting to know each other more over his numerous trips to New York through the years. That irony of relationships developed and as I slowly allowed myself to open up, he slowly began to pull away. Then he disappeared.

It wasn’t until more than two years later that Robert reemerged in my life and in New York. Two friends from that first blustery day in New York were making a trip to the city. I met up with them at The Ginger Man after work. When I hugged and greeted my friends it was a moment before I recognized Robert standing with them.

Over the next two days, it became clear why I didn’t immediately recognize Robert. Something was different, we were different. After years with no interaction there was so much distance between us that I could feel my voice echo when I tried to talk to him. So I didn’t talk to him and the weekend passed in palpable discomfort.

I thought by swallowing my emotions all those years before I was protecting myself, but somehow I managed to get hurt anyway. There were a lot of years between Robert and I that haven’t been there before. And I wondered if I made a mistake; if I should have given him my heart four years ago and let him break it.

Maybe it is better to have loved and lost. Especially if you end up losing when you never got to play the game.

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We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off, to Have a Good Time: Lever House (1/20/09)

Food is a social event for my friend Victoria. So when I accepted her dinner invitation to Lever House I wasn’t surprised to see we were joined by a cast of characters she had gathered from failed match.com dates. Victoria’s success in turning past dates into current friends fueled her belief that everyone should be meeting people online.

There’s something to be said about my MTV generation’s desire to find mate with no more than a few mouse clicks. Luckily, a few more mouse clicks is all it takes to find out if your soon-to-be date is overly familiar with Megan’s law or, possibly worse, a twitter addict. When I finally gave into Victoria’s pressure and signed up for a dating site, I was pleased to find that my date was neither.

Oliver was my martini drinking Mad Man with tattoo twist. Our causal cocktail sipping first date went well enough for us to schedule a follow-up midweek dinner. The night of our dinner date I rushed home after work to squeeze in as many minutes of fluffing and buffing as possible while still appearing effortlessly adorable. As I pawed my way through the few clean outfits I had, I settled on simple black shirt dress. While buttoning the dress I quickly realized its last trip through the dryer had rendered it both shorter and tighter. With only minutes to spare and no desire to rethink my wardrobe, I decided to shimmy my way into a pair of spanx to camouflage the belly bulge.

Spanx are the sister garment of the support hose. They are bought folded up in package the size of a small bag of chips. Once unfolded, stretched, pulled, kneaded, yanked and pleaded with; they managed to fit an area from mid-thigh to lower breast. They are perhaps the most unflattering looking undergarment an individual can wear. However, they possess the benefit of hiding what my mother refers to as “a multitude of sin.”

Once I had wiggled myself into my spanx, I met Oliver for dinner in the East Village. My newly slimmed figure must have impressed my Internet date because he invited me to join him for post dinner drinks at B.O.B. I was starting to feel comfortable and ordered myself a vodka tonic. Several hours and vodka tonics later I was incredibly relaxed as drunkenly hopped out of the cab at my stop.

Oliver insisted on walking me to my door and I soon found myself pressed against the hallway of my apartment building returning his goodnight kiss. His hands skimmed the bottom of my too-short dress attempting to find their way under the thin cotton. I began drunkenly batting his hands away from my thighs for fear that he would discover my giant spanx. We kept kissing while I used both hands to hold down the sides of my dress, briefly leaving my breast unguarded. I decided that allowing him a quick stopover with the girls was a fair price to pay keep him away from the nude shape wear under my dress. But still, each time I thought I’d managed to deter him; I’d find myself engaged in another round of whack-a-mole.

Oliver had the advantage of being slightly more sober than I was; so after fifteen minutes of defending third base my response time lapsed enough for him to find his way under my dress and grab my spanx with both hands. With a handful of my chastity belt style undergarment in each hand Oliver began trying to yank them off, to no avail. The spanx were suctioning in five extra pounds of pudge that was anchoring them securely to my thighs. Embarrassed by my Bridget Jones moment, I officially decided it was time for Oliver to go home

I don’t know if it was my unwillingness to be felt up or my giant underwear, but I never heard from Oliver again. I did however continue my longstanding relationship with spanx, no Internet dating site required.

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Kissing Someone Else: Rodeo Bar (12/31/2006)

Rodeo Bar is one of those establishments teetering on the edge of being a dive. On New Year’s Eve 2006 I found myself crammed into a ratty table with Fay, Parker, Bobes and Fay’s younger sister. I sighed and kicked a peanut shell out of my shoe. My chances of a New Year’s kiss were non-existent. New Year’s has never been one of my favorite holidays. There’s always too much pressure to have a good time and to start the New Year off with the prefect kiss, but was this really a better option?

The previous year had been my first real New Year’s in the city since my move to New York. Doug and I had broken up at the beginning of October and I promptly spent the rest of the month wallowing. During my post-break up pity session my stomach was in such upheaval that for weeks I ending up vomiting up everything I attempted to consume. The upside of this illness was that by New Year’s I was looking particularly svelte and I was finally ready to kiss Doug goodbye; by kissing someone new.

On New Year’s night, Faye dragged me out of the house to attend a party with her friend Rae. Rae was a contributing editor for Heeb, a hip young Jewish magazine, with a hip young Jewish staff that often parties together and often welcomes the staff’s gentile friends to join in the fun. Perhaps Heeb isn’t the kind of hip publication that would grace Ms. Carrie Bradshaw’s coffee table, but considering I was wearing sample sale shoes and a knockoff purse, it seemed a better fit then a Vogue party.

Rae was aware of what she referred to as my “kissin’ mission’ and on the way to the party she pointed out that my Hebrew name was going to obscure me shikse appeal. I’d need another approach. The approach I choose was half a bottle of vodka. The adverse effect of the vodka was that somewhere close to midnight I lost track of the Jewish lawyer I’d been chatting up as we relocated to the roof. Instead I started polite conversation with the man closest to me and as we counted down the final seconds of the year I decided that our brief chat was enough of an ice breaker to start kissing him. So I did.

“Did you kiss Jews at the party?” Rae questioned me over breakfast the next morning.

“Yeah, I think his name was Adam”

“How was it?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. When I was in my younger pre-pubesant Judy Bloom years I thought the best thing about having a boyfriend would be being able to kiss him whenever you wanted. Now that I’m edging towards thirty, I still think that’s true. But when you’re in a relationship, it defines kissing for you. The taste, the tension, the feel; they become familiar. The first time you kiss someone new, it s strange. It takes a moment to remember that these new lips do not belong to your former lover. It holds no meaning, unless you give it meaning.

“He tasted like Kahula” I finally responded to Rae

“That’s odd” She frowned “Normally we just taste like Jew”

We laughed and clinked our glasses.

Maybe I wouldn’t be kissing anyone at Rodeo Bar, but who wants to kiss just anyone?

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(Hint this one might be easier for my Aussie fans)

Break the Ice: Bond St (7/5/2007)

“So do you like this guy?” Victoria asked, reaching for her martini.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gone out with him yet.” I shrugged in response

Victoria, Lil and I were enjoying a girl’s night out dinner at Bond St. After out meal I had convinced the girls to scoop out the nearby bar I would be meeting the Super Lawyer at for our first date later in the week.

“We’ll if you don’t like him; I have someone I want to fix you up with.”

Several weeks later the Super Lawyer made a closing argument on our relationship and I decided to take Victoria up on her offer. The friend she wanted to set me up with was a chef who had attended CIA (The Culinary Institute of America). The following week he was hosting a fundraising dinner and Victoria and I decided it was the perfect opportunity for me to meet him.

I purchased the $80 ticket and supplemented it with a $90 outfit, then poured myself into three inch heels and met Victoria for the dinner. I didn’t know much about Victoria’s friend; expect that he was gainfully employed. Luckily, my standards were pretty low after being dumped via text message by the Super Lawyer.

Before the first course was served we caught sight of Mr. CIA and he came over to talk to Victoria. I quickly reapplied lip gloss and prepared for the introduction.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. What’s new?” Victoria asked

“Oh, I’m good. I just moved In with my girlfriend…..”

The conversation lasted all of ten seconds and then I went hysterically deaf and stopped sucking in my stomach. I started having flashbacks to one party in college when I found out my date was a virgin during a game of “I never”. My response to both situations was the same; start drinking, because you aren’t getting any.

I waited for Mr.CIA to leave and excused myself to the bathroom with Victoria where I could strangle her in private. Apparently the concept of vetting my potential date never crossed Victoria's mind.

I may not always make the best choices when it comes dating, but still I never let Victoria attempt to set me up again. When the party ended, I shoved two full bottles of leftover wine into my purse and called it even. At least I wasn't going home alone.

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Some Day My Prince Will Come: The Spotted Pig (10/19/2007)

On occasion in my life, I've found myself dating men who seem to have been bippity boppity booed into existence by my Fairy Godmother. I'm mixing my Disney metaphors here, but the point is these men always have two things is common. 1) They are an embodiment of all the these I've always said I want in a man and 2) I have no interest in dating any of them.

Now, I'm not one of those girls who thrive on drama or finds some particular appeal in dating assholes, so there truly is no reason not to date these perfectly wonderful men. No matter how kind and thoughtful they are, something is missing. Weather you call it spark, chemistry or zsa zsa zu, it's simply not there.

This was the dilemma I found myself in when dating Moses. Moses was tall, attractive, smart, gainfully employed and Chinese; despite his unfortunate and extremely Jewish name. On our first date I knew within seconds I had no real interest in dating him. It's a testament to how completely out of sync we were that within those same first few seconds he had decided I was the best thing since sliced challah bread. He kept telling me how amazing I was and he was so enamored of me that he had to keep wiping the sweat beads off his brow for fear they would dislodge and explode on the table.

At the end of the evening I was still sure I felt no chemistry, partly because I had ended the date without a drop of perspiration plaguing my own body. When Moses asked me if I'd like to see him again, I offhandedly answered yes before ducking into a cab before he could attempt to kiss me. I managed to delay our second date for a week and then finally agreed to meet Moses for dinner at The Spotted Pig.

The Spotted Pig is notoriously crowded and we were unable to get a table because I had pushed the date back an extra hour via text message so that I could have drinks with Hector. I knew I didn't want to see Moses anymore but I was dreading telling him. I swipe a matchbox from The Spotted Pig and Moses asked me about it. When I told him that I collect matchboxes, he thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever heard. Telling him I didn't want to see him was going to be hard.

At dinner, Moses handed me two books. On our previous date Moses asked me where I planned to travel next and on hearing that I wanted to conquer Africa, he had swiped me travel books from the publishing company he worked for. If any women are reading, this is the part where you make the obligatory "awwww!" noise. He really was lovely.

After dinner he asked if I wanted to get dessert and I heard Lil's voice in my head telling me to give him a chance. The books were a thoughtful gesture. Over dessert, I stared across the table at his sweaty face and knew this wasn't going to happen. We had some much in common and he was wonderful, but I was stone.

After I finished my pie, I told Moses it was time for me to go home. He asked me to stay and have another drink. He reached out to hold my hand and I instinctively pulled away. I tried explaining that if there wasn't any chemistry at this point, there wasn't going to be. He disagreed, tried to change my mind. I knew I should want to date him, but when he leaned into kiss me, I recoiled. My head and my heart disagreed and as I ducked into the subway, my heart won.

With Moses, it was nice to fine someone who appreciated me, but I needed to appreciated him as well. Who know, maybe a few more bad dates and I will. My Fairy Godmother can't be all wrong.

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Our House: Sapa (4/2/07)

Sapa bar is, sadly, no longer in existence, but when it was, it featured one of the best happy hours in the city. With chic drinks and $1 oysters it was a favorite of Victoria. So, it didn't surprise me in the least when Lil and I met her there to discuss my unfortunate roommate situation while munching frog legs.

Real estate in Manhattan is akin to musical chairs; when you find a deal you stay put. You grow roots. You put up with busted hot water heaters, missing smoke detectors, shady landlords, loud neighbors and most of all; roommates.

When I first moved into Manhattan from the JC (Jersey City) I landed on the Upper East Side. Courteous of craigslist, I had managed a spot in a two bedroom fourth floor walk up. My new roommate, Cherise, attended nearby Hunter Collage and seemed like the quiet type. Soon after moving in I realize how wrong I had been in my assessment of her.

She drank my liquor, ate my food and had a general disrespect for the concept of living with some one else. Most of all, she wasn't the quiet type when in came to the stream of nameless men she'd bring home; serious disrupting my sleep patterns with her wall shaking sex... on my couch. After months of her shady sexual liaisons wander through my apartment, I went so far as to have Doug install a lock on my bedroom door to keep her and her "suitors" out.

As annoying as these traits were; I was willing to put up with them.

"We put up more from our roommate then our boyfriends" I sighed to Victoria and Lil.

The real sign of trouble came three months into living with Cherise, when I awoke one day to find the cable shut off because she hadn't paid the bill. Two months later, I found an eviction noticed tacked to the front door. Apparently, Cherise wasn't paying that bill either. While I was writing checks to Cherise every month for my half of the rent, I have no idea what she was doing with them.

One day I cornered her and tried asking about it; two days later I found my room posted on craigslist. I packed all of my belongings and started moving everything of value into my friend's home. No point in keeping my TV around anyway, since the cable had been shut off for the second time in a six month period. When the boxes were packed, I invited over Faye and her boyfriend to trash the place.

Cherise's new boyfriend (who according to him was living there as well) caught us in the middle of a wine fight and threatened to call the cops. I chase him down two flights of stairs to explain to him that the cops weren't able to kick me out of my own apartment. And for now, it was still my apartment.

I left the next morning, a trail of dried chardonnay in my wake.


"How much was it?" Victoria asked, the glint in her eye confirming for me that even if I was no longer willing to put up with Cherise, someone else surely was.

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