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!!