A Thin Red Line

When I went out with the Brit a number of weeks back, he told me something interesting.  There was a big difference, he said, in the assumptions people make surrounding relationships in America as compared to Britain.  The main factor that made navigating developing romantic relationships so precarious for him in the US was that, in Britain, if you went on five or six dates with a person, that was it -- there was an assumption that the two of you were now a couple.  If you didn't want to be a couple, you didn't say yes to five or six dates.  The line stands there, and if you don't want an exclusive relationship, you don't step over it.  Period. I found that somewhat efficient and decisive: the difference between the mature and austere British and their flailing children, the Americans.  He explained that in America you can go on an infinite number of dates with a person, spanning literally months, and still not know where the relationship stood.  Everything was so "bloody casual" that too much room was left for interpretation.  I couldn't agree more.  It all gets very messy.

My Cleveland friend, JK, is coming to visit this weekend.  Meanwhile she has a budding relationship back in Cleveland.  Her question to me:  Does she act single or taken?  Is she allowed to flirt at bars?  Make-out?  Hook up?  Does she want to?  She I have discussed this at length, which has done nothing to alleviate the issue that we both are facing -- when do you bite the bullet and have The Talk?  The Talk can take many forms.  It can be a formal discussion of the status of the relationship and each person's feelings going forward.  It can be an off-hand remark or question, the reaction to which will be the tell of what the other person's got in his hand.  One time, I even got a down-on-one knee "will you be my girlfriend?" speech.  However it is done, it occurs at some point whether we like it or not. 

It is not that clarity is a bad thing.  It can definitely alieviate anxiety over where exactly the two of you stand. However, it can also propel a relationship violently forward or destroy it all together.  I remember the moment of The Talk with my ex-husband, S.  In fact, I blame the entire trajectory of our ill-fated relationship on my reaction to The Talk.  We were in the car on our way to somewhere.  And we had been dating only a couple of months.  To be honest, I was still dating other men and only toying with the idea of any type of exclusive relationship with S.  Out of the blue (or what seemed like the blue to me), he asked me to come to his family's house for Easter dinner.  I knew this was a turning point.  You could not go to a person's family celebration if you were playing the field.  It just doesn't work that way.  I said to him, as gently as I could, "Do you think we're to that point yet? We've only been dating for a couple of months..."  "Of course!" he replied.   He went on to explain to me that he was not seeing anyone else and thought that it was time for me to meet his family.  It was clear that he just assumed I was on the same page as he was.  And that was it -- I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was still dating around.  I knew it would disappoint him, and I liked him enough not to want to hurt the guy.  So, I just agreed.  And went to Easter dinner.  And the rest is history.  I was in the relationship, whether I liked it or not. 

If only I had had the courage to tell him the truth -- maybe I wouldn't have gotten pulled into the cyclone of the relationship -- maybe I wouldn't have been sucked in so quickly and completely, until I felt that I had no other option than to be in the relationship.  Not only did that set the tone for the rest of our time together, but I believe it was a major factor in our divorce. As a result, I realized the danger The Talk could hold.  Having The Talk was treading on thin ice:  either you break up (because you aren't on the same page) or you commit (which can be dangerous and toxic if one party does so just because he or she was not ready to break up/make a decision, a la S and me).

No doubt, The Talk is a difficult hurdle to overcome in any relationship.  The only solution is to be ready and to know how you feel and what you want.  Rarely, is this the reality.  For this reason, The Talk will always be messy for one or both parties.  There is one thing that complicates the talk even further -- The Assumption.  S is a prime example of the assumption -- he assumed that I liked him as much as he liked me.  It never even occurred to him that I was still seeing other people.  I could tell from his attitude and the way he spoke to me about it, that he assumed I would want to meet his family, to get deeper and deeper into the relationship with him.   Now, it is hard enough to figure out how you feel and articulate it when you don't have that kind of pressure on you.  But, once it is clear the other person has made an assumption about the relationship, you add to that initial confusion and doubt a layer of guilt ("Oh no, what if he finds out I have been dating -- he'll think I was cheating!") and/or resentment ("Who does he think he is?  God's gift to women?  How dare he just assume that I will have gone goo goo over him already. And now I have to be the bad guy if I tell him otherwise.").  On the other hand, if you are the one with the assumption or initiating The Talk, you know that you run the risk of making the person you want to stick around run for the hills.

Instead, JK and I both take the road of "apparent apathy".  We don't assume anything; we act as if we are completely free and single whether we feel that way or not; we lie in wait of The Talk -- knowing that it is going to sneak up on us if we are not vigilant.  The danger here is that our conduct can be a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Either we act so indifferent, that eventually we feel that way.  Or, we act like we don't care when we really do and are heartbroken when we find out that our behavior made the guy think we didn't like him.  There is a part of you that wishes you knew what page you were on, and a part that doesn't really want to know.  It is the result of conflicting elements in your life both making you happy -- singledom and togetherness.  We put off the talk hoping that we will find a way to reconcile those two things.  But it still always seems to come down to a choice.  A choice that may mean relatively little in the grand scheme of things.  Or a choice that may be the difference between a marriage or a split, a child or a move, path A or path B, happiness or unhappiness.  With this dilemma facing us with each and every Talk we have in our lifetimes, how can we ever be expected to make a firm decision?

On a side note, meeting a person's friends or family can have a BIG impact on how you feel leading up to the talk.  Which presents the dilemma -- do you make some introductions before commitment or wait until the relationship is firmly established.  If you and the friends and family get along, no problem either way.  But, if you do not, meeting them after the commitment has been made can really throw a wrench in the works -- having had the best man and in-laws from Hell, I can speak from experience.  One you are in a relationship it seems like bad form to dump a person because you don't like their friends or family.  On the other hand, where you are waffling on your feelings for a person, meeting a truly wonderful set of friends and family can do a lot to push you in the "like" direction.  E, the current focus of my flip-flopping heart, introduced me to some of his friends at various venues this weekend (and he didn't even have a problem with me bringing my (guy) college friend).  And I can honestly say that I have never met friends that I liked more.  One more pebble on the side of "yes" for E...

Here are a few of the cool places that we hit this weekend on the friend-meeting expedition --

Stout

W. 33rd st. just east of 7th Ave.
This place was HUUUUGE.  They had a great selection of drinks, as well.  It was pretty packed after work on a Friday night -- but I imagine it gets a lot of traffic as a result of being so close to Penn Station and tourist spots.  It would be a great place to watch a game or just grab drinks. 

The Company Bar
E. 10th St. near the SW corner of 1st Ave.
A small bar in the East Village with a limited selection of liquors and beer.  But, the bartender was super friendly -- she even made us do a shot with her -- and chatty as well.  This place did not have the best air conditioning, so I would think twice before hitting it up on a steamy night like we did.  But, it is a nice basic neighborhood spot.  I have never seen it overly crowded, either.

Madame X
94 W. Houston between Thompson and LaGuardia Place
Touted as NYC's "sexiest bar and lounge", Madame X capitalizes on the use of red velvet and low lighting.  We were there for a birthday party with a group, for which the big long couches worked great (although a lot of shifting around was necessary in order to talk to everyone, and some people had to stand).  This bar had the most inattentive bartenders I have ever seen.  But if you could get through ordering drinks and closing out your tab, the vibe there was pretty sexy...

Shake Your Tailfeather?

So what do you do when you show up to the bar your first date told you to meet him at and it's a burlesque show?  Now, don't get me wrong -- I am no prude.  But a first date?  Burlesque shows have a sense of antique timelessness to them, but they are still based around disrobing to music.  I don't know about anyone else, but that seems dangerously close to stripping -- and who would bring their first date to a strip club?  (Don't answer that.) 

It only gets worse from there...  He makes me lug my work bag (came straight from the office) up to the bar (he kept wanting to move around), asks me if I want to get a drink, and when I say yes and order a gin and soda, he pauses a minute, looks at me, and says "Don't worry I'll get this one."  Yeah, buddy, you think?!?  You asked me to meet you out (apparently to watch women undress to old music), and you asked me if I'd like a drink.  You sure as hell are paying for it.  And if you think I am paying for anything after an hour of enjoying your discourse on boobie tassels and other aggressively premature costume-based sexual innuendos, then you have another thing coming!  Needless to say, there was no more drinking.  And I am not one to sit around with a perfect stranger admiring butt decorations reminiscent of a peacock being jiggled about.  What a weirdo.  Who would think that was a good choice for a first date?  Answer: someone who doesn't get a whole lot of second dates.  Just had to throw that out there.

On that note, some of the best (read: creative, fun, or interesting) NYC first dates I have been on include:
-- Watching the fireworks from a rooftop bar on July 4th in Manhattan
-- A walking tour of the East Village and Chelsea
-- Mid-day beers at the end of the pier at the Frying Pan
-- Window shopping in SoHo
-- A Whole Foods picnic in Union Square Park (and admiring the local artists)

Of course, there is something to be said for the usual, non-threatening drinks at a neighborhood bar -- especially if you know a particularly great spot. 

And with all of these options at his fingertips, he chooses the burlesque show....

Oh well. 

R Bar
218 Bowery near Prince
The bar that hosted the show is apparently normally more of a rocker bar that hosts a bunch of live musicians (which would have been a MUCH better choice), plus it had a cool, sexy, dancing-type atmosphere. So, if you're down the Nolita/LES way, I'd say go ahead and pop in. I know I'll be checking it out...when I am not on a first date...and there aren't naked chicks with feather boas running around.

(Un)Common Courtesy

So here's a question for the ages:  Say you go on a first date with someone.  (Or if you are an especially forgiving or thorough person, a second or third date.)  And, after some time, be it minutes, hours, or days, you are pretty darn sure this is not "the one" or you aren't ready for a relationship or you just plain don't like the guy.  As grownups do, you end the date politely and ambiguously.  But, knowing that the expectation of another date is hovering somewhere out there, do you make a formal rejection?  By that, I mean -- do you send a text/email/phone message wherein you gently explain that you don't see things progressing beyond that one (or two or three) date(s).  Such emails can be awkward to write, and a moderately humble person might also have difficulty with the necessary feeling of unrighteous smugness that comes from the notion that you have the power to reject someone who likes you.  Plus, reactions to these emails can range from pleasant to downright nasty.

For instance, I recently went out with a man who followed the date up with just such an email, the gist of which was "you're great, but I am not into having a relationship."  Lucky for him, neither am I.  So, sent him a reply along the lines of  "no worries; we're on the same page...see you around."  Neutral.  Calm.  And even when the (lack of) feeling is not mutual, civility may still be maintained.  I recently sent a nice gentleman a rejection email along the lines of "you're great, but I don't see this becoming romantic."  And received a nice reply:  "Can't say I am not disappointed, but let's be friends."  Adult.  Humane.  Even pleasant.  If all exchanges were this civilized, sending the rejection emails would not even be a point of debate.  They'd be like "thank you" cards, which no one takes personally in either direction.

Unfortunately, some people have no instinct but to be personally affronted by the rejection.  I once got a response along the lines of "Suit yourself, but good luck finding someone better than me, B*!@h."  And even if there is not overt indignance or swearing involved, if the reaction is just one of genuine disppointment or deeply felt rejection, the feelings of guilt can be overwhelming. 

It is a delicate balance.  And a risky business.  This whole rejection thing.  Which is why I can see why some people adhere to the "vanishing act" school of thought.  Just never contact the person again.  Keep them guessing as to the reason.  Either they will believe you were in love with them but were cruelly imprisoned by an evil stepmother (or hit by a bus) or they will believe that you are an arrogant prick who didn't deserve them anyway ("How ruuuude!").  Either way, they believe what they want to believe, and you are free and clear of any of the aforementioned ramifications of the rejection email.  You are however, as most of them will guess, rude.  Which might cause most generally courteous people some consternation.

So, we come back full-circle to the issue at hand -- what to do, what to do?  My answer: what I have always done -- play it by ear, go with my gut, and sometimes forget to do anything at all.  There are times when apathy is the best medicine for guilt.  I just wouldn't go overindulging, though.

The scene of my date with the man who was kind enough to reject me by email will forever live in infamy in my subconscious memory.  (Not because I cared all that much for him (although, he was hot), but because rejection stings even when you didn't want the person rejecting you anyway -- fact of life.)  But, that shouldn't stop anyone else from enjoying it:

Ace Bar
East 5th St. between Ave. A and B
I'll be honest, I don't remember a lot about this place aside from that it was moderately crowded on a summer Friday night, it drew a varied crew -- from early 20s students to medical residents in their 30s -- and had big comfy booths for groups to lounge.  I think there were games -- pool, darts, skee-ball.  I have to remember not to drink so much wine on a first date...

To Be or Not To Be (Single)

I flew to Florida and back for work yesterday.  It was a long day, to say the least.  By the time I got back to my small yet cozy apartment, I was 100% beat.  So, it must have been the fatigue that got me to thinking on the plane...

Let's establish one thing right off the bat, here.  I love being single.  I love having my entire bed to myself.  I love watching TV in my underwear and a t-shirt at night.  I love eating whatever I want without being self conscious.  I love turning the news and the lights on in the morning without worrying about waking anyone up.  I love being able to burst into song if I feel like it without bothering anyone.  I love being able to decide what to watch at all times.  I love the solitude, the quiet, the peace.  I love that I have two worlds -- the busy full one of work and friends and fun, and the one I have alone in my apartment, where time slows down and empties out.  99% of the time, I love my life. 

But, after a long work day, a series of delays, no sleep, and too much caffeine, I found myself in the air an hour from NYC thinking about how much I wished that I had someone to come home to.  I don't know what it is about the thought of someone anticipating my return that made me feel all warm and fuzzy.  All I knew was that I wished that someone cared that I was back.  Besides my cat.

Like I said, a moment of weakness after a grueling day.  This morning I am back to being strong, independent, and content with my single life in the big city.  Free and untethered.  After 14 years of being in one relationship (or marriage, as the case may be) after another, I have finally discovered singledom.  Like a long hike up a rocky mountain side -- I feel almost victorious at times that I have gotten to this point of satisfaction.  But, every so often, when I glance down into the valley of the cute and happy couples, I wonder what it would be like to visit.  To stay for a while in a relationship.  To sacrifice my space in bed for cuddling with a real person. 

I think that this issue is surfacing for me now because I think I might have to make just such a decision soon.  I have been seeing a man (we're on date number 7 or 8, I think?) who is giving out that vibe.  The one that screams, the "talk" is coming soon.  The one that causes him to plan more than a week in advance and call me "not [his] girlfriend yet."  By all accounts and purposes, I should be excited.  He is cute and tall, successful, kind, goofy, thoughtful...everything I want in another person.  But, I have that nugget of hesitation in my stomach.  The one that reminds me (based on ample personal experience) that, while a visit down to couple valley may seem like a good idea, it is always much more difficult to leave than one would expect even after the welcome has been overstayed.  And the trip back up the mountain to victorious solitude hurts the same amount as it did the first time.  There is no physical conditioning that can ease the burden of heartbreak (whether you are feeling it or causing it).  For someone who has a history of just jumping headlong into life decisions, I find myself curiously cautious and reluctant to decide anything at all.  Or maybe, by acknowledging those feelings, my choice has already been made?

By the way, not to digress, but my friend at work brought me to this amazing vegetarian, macrobiotic restaurant that I have neglected to mention.  If you want a little vacation from the usual, check it out...now this, I can commit to:

Souen Organic Ramen
E. 6th St. between 1st and 2nd Ave.

This tiny tiny place is tucked away without any real signage aside from its name on the door.  And because it is so small, reservations might be a good idea.  But, it is worth it.  From the seitan to the squash tofu stir fry (pictured), the food is both exotic and magical.  And you leave feeling like you did something good for yourself in this city full of delicious but calorific treats.  They've got other (larger) locations in Union Square (closed for renovation until September) and SoHo as well.

Surprise Surprise

A man that I went out with this weekend reminded me how much I like surprises.  Especially when the surprise is who or what a person is capable of being.  This guy was a commodities trader at a prop shop, so he went to work every day in gym shorts and a t-shirt.  We got to discussing how much fun it is for him to let the suits in the elevator treat him like a delivery boy only to receive a silent slap in the face when he gets off on his floor.  Surprise! A silly little thing...but got me to thinking.

I had drink on Friday evening with a dear old friend, R, and a brand new one, J.  The three of us had an absolutely fantastic time.  The point of note was a man who was attracted to J.  We entered the bar and made our way through the full-on after-work crowd to the counter.  This poor guy spent ten minutes standing aimlessly by while he thought of something to say. Finally, he came up with a comment about J's watch.  Something silly and trite and obvious.  We humored him for a few seconds and closed him out again.  He had what one might describe as a blue-collar face.  I am sorry to say, but it is true.  Very eastern European, with tattoos (on his arms not his face).  Not the kind of guy any of us would normally go for.  Turns out, he bought us a round of drinks -- all three of us.  And, while we looked around to thank him, he made himself scarce and didn't bother us.  Eventually, he did show back up again, but he made quick work of the conversation, told J she was beautiful and asked her to dinner.  He didn't want to interrupt our girls night out.  But he had to ask.  The surprising thing was not that he liked J, who is an exotic-looking Mexican beauty, or that he bought us drinks.  It was the level of his conversation, not only intelligent and capable, but politically aware, informed, and analytical.  Call us prematurely judgmental of stereotypes, but we were blown away.  When the awkward moment came during her hesitation to answer, R and I hardly knew what to say.  We held a private powwow during which we pondered what she was to do -- in the face of this completely unexpected and tasteful approach to asking a girl out.  He bought drinks for her friends.  He left us alone.  He surprised us with his political knowledge and insight.  He held down a good job.  He asked her to dinner and not just for her number.  Small things, all.  But somehow, they all added up into what can only be described as an indisputable conundrum.  The solution: she gave him her card.  But, the resolution is not as important as the point -- how much people can surprise you.  They can defy all stereotypes you have, even those based on actual experience, when you least expect it. 

And then suddenly, it seemed like my life was full of these little surprises -- the younger guy I went out with (I am almost philosophically opposed to dating younger men) who turned out to be confident, mature, and accomplished; the older guy that took me to a Dave Matthews Band concert and showed up in converses and ripped jeans (hot, but not what I expected from someone so stable); the douche in the BMW convertible who loved my fraise savage (frothy strawberry drink); the stranger who hit on my newly-divorced friend in a bar in Cleveland (where tribal tattoos and Affliction t-shirts abound) who turned out to be the perfect man for her (dynamic, gorgeous, ambitious, and witty).  But the surprises are not limited to just men -- the fact that my apartment has finally come together and is 10x better than I ever expected; the convenience store guys who cut my buddy a break when he found out his credit cards were stolen once he was standing at the cash register, lunch in hand; the guy at my corner bodega who knows that I want my water in a bag and my coke zero in hand; the Whole Foods checkout girl who makes me smile; the taxi driver who actually strikes up an intersting conversation; the rediscovery of an old favorite band, who ten years later are still amazing...small things that all add up to one big sense of wonder at how, while the big disappointments slap us around, the little surprises pop up in their midst, make us smile, and remind us that the world turns in our favor just as often as it turns out of it.

Some of the great little places my man-venture has taken me this weekend:

The Ten Bells
247 Broome between Orchard and Ludlow
This is a terrific wine and tapas bar in the Lower East Side.  It has two entrances, both of which are unmarked but easy enough to find if you are looking.  It was named after the bar in London at which Jack the Ripper found his female victims, and has a correspondingly European vibe.  Right down to having NO air conditioning.  But, the wines are good, the atmosphere is conducive to chatting, and the lighting is low.

Employees Only
510 Hudson between Christopher and W. 10th St.
This is a prohibition-era knock-off, with interesting cocktails and a decent wine selection.  They have a full range of the rarer ingredients, from fresh basil to egg whites.  I have had better "fancy" cocktails (a la Velvet Tango Room in Cleveland, Ohio), but these were still worth mention.  And the bar itself is a classic gathering spot, perfect for groups during the high times and a quiet date on an off hour.

This Way to the Meat Market

It is amazing to me: the sheer number of man hours we ladies put into putting ourselves in the right place at the right time.  I had the pleasure of a night out with my new NYC girlfriends, T and M, last night (to a grrreat little wine bar in Chelsea -- see below for details), and between the three of us, man hunting might as well be a full time job.  Not only do we spend hours dishing on where the hottest, most successful men hang out.  But, we spend all of the other hours replaying this date, that date, this conversation, that moment of eye-contact for each other in minute detail.  We narrate; we analyze; we discuss intently ways to manipulate the system so as to supply ourselves with the strongest possible flow of available men. 

And then, once we've got the supply chain running, we spend hours trying to figure out which to keep and which to pitch, and how in the world to fit them all in.  Today I made two lists.  The first was in my blackberry calendar -- all of the men I have a date scheduled with.  This endeavor in and of itself was exhausting.  I have a date literally every single day that I don't have plans with my real friends.  They are packed in so tight that I had to schedule two on Sunday.  And then I have a post-it note of the men to whom I have promised dates, but who have not yet set a date and time.  I feel like a freaking NYC realtor -- I'll tell them what's available, but by the time they get back to me, that date is already taken. 

This has got to stop.  But how?  I am having real issues here, people -- balancing the desire to have a more manageable schedule that allows time for things like laundry and grocery shopping with the fear that, if I limit myself, I might miss out on the next big thing.  This is an eternal struggle.  It's the reason that children never want to go to bed, the reason that men can't make a commitment, and the reason that I hardly even have time to call my mother on a Wednesday night.  I need a plan to stem the flow.  Or I need to get over my phobia and just pick one already.  New rule:  no more than two at a time.  If someone wants in, they have to knock another one out.  Otherwise, I don't answer the phone/email/text/doorbell.  And NO giving out my number until after a date is set.  I don't have time to pick up the phone, let alone call them back.  I feel bad for having to be so ruthless.  It sort of channels a bad reality show in a way.  Life imitates art.  Oy.

Veloce
7th Ave between W. 19th and W. 20th St.
This place was small but mighty.  A few narrow tables with high stools.  Bar service only.  An extensive wine list -- the Primitivo was fabulous.  The bar tender was classy (and British) and knew his stuff.  The place was packed at 9:30 and didn't show any signs of clearing up when we left at 11.  Great place for a date or small group.




Don Giovanni
W. 44th. St between 8th and 9th Ave.
Very cute Italian place in Midtown/Hell's Kitchen.  I had this broccoli dish with linguini, chicken, and olive oil with garlic -- very fresh and light.  The lasagne verde is to DIE for.  And the rigatoni "special" was also pleasant.  Nice place for a date or a friendly dinner.  Cheap, too!!

The Fake Goodnight Kiss

I would like to say that I came to this city with no expectations.  But would be an obvious lie.  Everyone comes here with expectations -- that they will find adventure, success, themselves, love.  But one must only ride on the subway once in a while, look into the stone faces and hardened expressions, to realize that, while we may come to the city open and willing, the city does not necessarily open its arms to us. 

I came to the city with myriad expectations about the progress of my career and my opportunities to develop as a person.  But, perhaps most secret (and most of all), I came with the expectation that somewhere is this mess of faces and feet, of steel and granite, there is someone out there who will make the world a softer place.  What a cliche -- coming to the big city to find love.  But, in some way, we all hang our hopes for our other half on this place.  And why not?  It harbors the single largest collection of young, good-looking, interesting people on this side of the Atlantic.  As investments go, the Big Apple is not a bad one.  It is the gold standard of civilization.  The melting pot of humanity.  And, for me, the single largest man store on the planet.  Let the retail therapy commence.

And, believe me, I have been shopping around.  One month in, and I have been on dates with the cavorting Brit who wasn't quite as charming as his accent, the baby-face doughboy who just wanted so desperately to be taken seriously, the ex-depressive television writer, the overly-sensitive religious academic, the Napoleon Dynamite-esque website owner who hadn't worked a day since he was 15, the 22-year-old college grad with the sweet little face, the designer-turned-businessman-turned-real estate developer who must have lost my number, the tortured artist, and the hottest man I have ever seen up close who definitely won't call me back simply because it's just not mathematically possible that someone that hot would date someone like me.  (Not that I am not attractive, but this guy would have put celebrities to shame.)  The collection is growing.  And yet, almost all of them have a common theme: the fake goodnight kiss.

We reach the foot of my stoop, or the street corner where we part ways, or the door of the taxi that will whisk me back to the East Village, and they all smile, lean in, plant one right on my lips (sometimes a little too enthusiastically) and say "Let's do this again next week" or something similar.  Now, I am no dummy.  I know very well that each of these dates was either awkward, or forced, or lack-luster, or bizarre, or slightly sad.  I know if I want to see that person again.  Sometimes I do.  Most of the time I don't.  But, either way, the practice of the fake goodnight kiss is deceptive.  Obviously, if I want to see the person again and they engage in the fake goodnight kiss, I am disappointed when they never call or, god forbid, stand me up the next time.  Worse than that, if I don't want to see them again (and of course receive the goodnight kiss out of sheer politeness), then I spend the next week worrying that they will actually follow through, and that I will subsequently have to play the bad guy and let them down.  (Or, more likely, just ignore their calls or texts.)  But, STILL -- each fake goodnight kiss leaves me with at least a week of angst either way.  This is very bad manners, boys! 

In all of my outings with each of these potential suitors, I have only experienced ONE goodnight kiss that was not fake on either side.  ONE first date that turned into a second and a third.  And to get to that, I had to wade through the crap -- the whining, the posturing, the lying, the boasting, the bull shit -- of over half a dozen fake goodnight kisses.  Please, only kiss goodnight if you actually liked the person and if you have the honest feeling that he or she actually liked you back.  We all know when it sparks or it sputters.  Or better yet, don't even kiss goodnight on the first date.  Then, if he does call (and she does answer), it is a pleasant surprise for them both.

As for the one that made it past, the goalie...we'll see how that turns out.  In the meantime, I'll leave you with a few of the hotspots I happened to hit on my way into the NYC dating pool:

WXOU Radio Bar
Hudson between W. 11th St. and Perry
A cozy neighborhood bar with neon radio signs and an old-fashioned jukebox where I met up with the television writer, who I dated for a while before he found someone more retro, more hip, more WXOU than me.

Niagara
Corner of E. 7th St. and Ave. A
The vintage rocker joint with arcade games and spinning vinyl where I ran into the 22-year-old and his friends.  They were not only convinced that I was from the South, but that I could be no more than 23 years old.  Oh, boys...

The Frying Pan
Pier 66 (W. 26th St. and Westside Hwy)
Who hasn't been to the frying pan.  Stopped for a beer here on a perfect day, during an imperfect date.  But, nothing could detract from the glory of the Hudson on a bright day with a breeze (not even the uncomfortably close way he positioned his chair, so that I occasionally had to touch his sweaty arm).  I can't imagine day drinking anywhere else.

The Smith
3rd Ave. between E. 11th and E. 12th St.
I met the baby-faced boy here for brunch and a stroll around town one sunny Sunday afternoon.  It was a very informative tour of NYC, but I just wanted to pinch his cheeks the whole time.  Great place for brunch, though.

Schiller's Liquor Bar
Corner of Rivington and Norfolk
Another great brunch location.  Of course, don't plan on going with a lovelorn painter who wears sweaters on the hottest day of the year.  He'll order eggs, bacon and toast, and some how manage to not eat a bite, while you feel like a heifer with your bagel with tomato.  Oh cruel world...

Nurse Betty
Norfolk between Rivington and Delancey
Sat outside of this tiny little place with the Brit a few weeks back.  We opted into Nurse Betty when we tried The Back Room (a hidden little gem of a 1920's speakeasy located next door) and found it empty on a Sunday night.  I'll admit, the bartender had a British accent, so the beer tasted better automatically.  But, the spot was quiet and cozy all the same.  (Although, it probably get packed at peak hours.)

Simone
Corner of 1st Ave and St. Mark's
I took the sensitive religious academic to this place -- my favorite neighborhood spot.  Only upon arriving and order a glass of wine, did I discover that he was serious when he said he doesn't drink.  At all.  He did, however, cop to smoking a lot of weed.  So, two strikes, you're out my friend.  But this place has a nice sidewalk seating area, wide open windows, good bartenders, and a great goat cheese salad.

Yaffa Cafe
E. 7th St. between 1st Ave and Ave. A
Eclectic to say the least.  Caught a quick dinner here with the baby-faced boy after he agreed to keep things platonic.  Our waiter was cute and nice, with this weird gay-Israeli accent.  And the veggie-goat cheese wrap was satisfying.  The guac was shit, though.

Dumpling Man
St. Mark's between 1st Ave. and Ave. A
Dumpling.  Just dumplings.  Hope you like dumplings.  Napoleon Dynamite took me here (and let me pay my own way, thanks for nothing) to eat possibly the yummiest dumplings ever.  This was after he ate tapas at some Spanish place and before the cupcakes and coffee in Brooklyn.  The boy liked to eat.  What a bizarre and random date with a bizarre and random dude.

Zanzibar
Corner of 9th Ave. and W. 45th St.
It might have been Hell's Kitchen, but it felt like the Meatpacking District.  Classy vibe, inconvenient seating, good spirits, and a bunch of apps that I didn't get to eat.  Tip for the gents:  if you ask a lady to drinks after work and keep her there for more than 2 hours, order some food, you fool! 

The Perfect Pint
E. 45th St. between 2nd and 3rd Ave. (closer to 3rd)
Two of my potential suitors actually brought me to this place.  Cute Irish pub, with four different floors to accommodate a dinner crowd, a corporate event, and a bunch of drunken idiots all on one place.  They have a rooftop space that they spritz with misting fans and decorate with beer paraphernalia (the garbage cans are reformed kegs and the door handles are tap handles).  It's got an authentic thatched roof and all of the bartenders are actually Irish.  Supposedly, the Guiness tastes better here than other places, because it flows so freely...

City Winery
Corner of Varick and Vandam

No one really needs to be told about this place.  The one who got the second date took me to this place to see some British guy sing this odd but pleasing mixture of swing and 1950's rock and roll.  Drunk 45 year-old women were twist-and-shouting all over the place.  The space here is huuuuge for NYC, the wine selection and food was good, and the benefit of live music takes the burden off the conversation. :)