Thursday, February 24, 2011


My decisive online persona gave way this afternoon when I stopped into my local Starbucks. 

Amazing---I’m able to handle Giant’s rejection so rationally; yet when forced to pick one caffeinated beverage [in an alternate yuppie language] I fall to pieces.  Tall, grande, vente?  Skim, soy, whole?  Oh and to whip or not to whip?  Too many questions! 

Why [when I could just go to Dunkin’] do I put myself through such an anxiety-ridden ritual?  Four words:  My. Cute.  Barista. Boy.

I know what you’re thinking---and you’re right.  It’s shameless.

The truth is most women have some version of this creature in their lives.  Whether he runs your office deli, tends bar at your local watering hole, or pumps gas at that station down the street---he works in service, flatters you needlessly and gives you outrageous discounts---just for being you. 

“One tall, white chocolate mocha?” he asks with an omnipotent smile.
“With whip” I reply, relieved that he knows enough to suggest my default drink.

We exchange pleasantries, he charges me $1.50 and I’m on my way. 

Well---that’s how it usually goes.  However, today My Cute Barista Boy had other plans.  Today my sugary goodness would only cost me...

“My number?”
“Yeah!  I’d love to take you out sometime.”

I couldn’t believe it!  Up until this moment, I figured My Cute Barista Boy was generous to every attractive coffee drinker who didn’t verbally abuse him.  It never occurred to me that he had a genuine interest in taking me out.

“Umm, well…”

I had to gather my thoughts.  I mean, what did I really know about My Cute Barista Boy?  He’s 25 and working at Starbucks.  No college degree.  He wears an earring.  He just broke up with someone.  Online this would be an open and shut case.  But in person…

“Sure, my number is…”

What am I doing?  This is insane!  Stop, Nice Alex, Stop!  You do not date your cute barista boy.  You blush modestly as he pretends to slide your credit card through the machine! 

But it was too late.  My Cute Barista Boy had my digits.  All ten of them.

“Aight!  I’ll text you this weekend.”

Curse you, Nice Alex.  Curse you.   

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


Sad but true.  Tonight, I join the 20% of 20-something-singles who have been stood up for a date. 

The guy:  An outrageously tall Jewish man from New Jersey.  According to his profile, he works in technology and [ironically] “values personal integrity in a mate.”    

The Jewish Giant seemed very smart and very nice.  We exchanged e-mails for about a week and spoke over the phone once before planning our date.  He was to call after he got out of work this evening at which point, we would meet up for a meal here in Westchester County.  The proposed time was eight o’clock.

Well imagine my shock and dismay when after a late shower, detailed make-up application, skilled blow-out and painfully thoughtful clothing selection, my Jewish Giant had still not phoned. 

Of course, being the lady I am, I certainly was not going to call him.  So here I am, left to sort out my feelings on this odd, odd event. 

This is what I’ve come up with so far:

Was this ideal?  Definitely not.  But I’d be lying if I said I was completely broken up over this. 

Lest you think I’m a callused, unfeeling bitch, allow me to clarify. 

Had this happened in the conventional dating arena, I would probably be a weepy, ice-cream devouring mess.  In my head, I’d likely be in frantic search of my tragic flaw:  “Did I sound too desperate when I agreed to our date?”  “Was he turned off by my last text?” “Did I smell bad when we had coffee last week?” 

As you can see, in the field of rejection analysis---some women are unparalleled in the discipline of self-torture.  But the reality is---whether the ‘stander-upper’ is an ass-hole or simply an absent minded professor…he is probably just not for you. 

It’s as simple and impersonal as that. 

Online, this is a concept more easily grasped.  Tonight I was able to change into my sweat pants, turn on some jazz and revisit the Jewish Giant’s profile.  Sure, we had some things in common, but we hadn’t yet developed any chemistry to latch onto.  Thus---I was able to rationally put this in its proper place.  And my freshly stocked inbox didn’t hurt either (ten new messages… five of them interesting).

As empowering as this might have been, it was simultaneously frightening.  Is this technology allowing us to trade intimacy for indifference?  OR is this just a better way to screen the ‘stander-uppers’ from the studs? 

It’s a question I should probably keep in mind as I continue on this cyber-search for love.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011



I survived the day, readers---date free and almost completely content. In spite of this illegitimate, commercially charged “holiday”, my spirits were bolstered by the lingering aftertaste of a wonderful weekend:

Friday-alumni night, Saturday-karaoke with my gays, and Sunday-an unusual outing with Piano Man.

Truth time: I may or may not have had a [brief] fling with my jazz piano teacher. And he may or may not have turned out to be an emotionally confused disaster. And you may or may not be able to guess how I feel about emotionally confused disasters.

But really---we’re just friends now. No romance here. No attraction either. Just one small girl, helping her disastrously confused piano teacher through his latest drama.

“This is for you” he said revealing a single red rose from behind his back.
And apparently---that’s exactly what my face said too.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Wrong? Oh no… of course n…”
“Because I thought I’d try to win you over, you know… Valentine’s Day and all.”
“Win me over?” I was confused. Last I heard Piano Man was trying to win back the affection of his ex-girlfriend.
“It just wasn’t working and we decided to separate.”

After an awkward pause, I finally took the rose.

I will say---Piano Man put together quite the day: Authentic Thai followed by Magnolia Bakery cupcakes and finally, ending with the MoMA.

Before long, we’d fallen into a familiar rhythm of strange tangents and quick jokes. We talked about how our lives were really going, not just the versions we tell the general public. And somewhere between the rose and the Rothko, I realized---I was enjoying myself.

At this point, the sane part of my brain told me I had to get out of there. So Piano Man walked me to Grand Central Station and bid me farewell.

Arriving home, exhausted, I put my single red rose in water and went to sleep.

When I arrived at work this morning---love was in the air. Or should I say sugar? Sugar was in the air. Goodie bags, chocolate kisses and our very own cookie decorating party at noon.

As I sat, icing my obnoxious pink cookie, the girls all chit-chatted about their exciting evening plans.

“What about you, Alex? Any dates?”
“Oh no… I sort of had one this weekend” I replied.
“Oh?! When?”
“Yesterday. We went to the…” but I had lost them. Everyone looked at each other in a moment of horrifying telepathy.
“What?” I wanted to know.
“Yesterday,” said one of my co-workers “was National Mistress Day.”

Well Hallmark, I think you've found your next big money maker… Have at it.

Thursday, February 10, 2011



Well, this evening I hit a rather important milestone.  I came out of my cyber-dating, shameless blogging closet to---my shrink!    

I’ve always believed in therapy as a place to gain perspective on some of my more impulsive behaviors.  This week, I half expected Dr. J to refer me to daters anonymous.  Instead (in the grand tradition of talk-therapy) she smiled with impartial support and delighted in the potential amusement this experiment will bring to her “couch”. 

Therapists always tell you to be mindful of patterns, which got me thinking about mine.

I’m a 23-year-old, employed, ‘living-on-her-own’ college graduate.  I have wonderful friends, a fabulous apartment and passions for days.  But beneath this seemingly stable exterior is a bona fide ‘lady fix-it.’ 

Based on earlier posts, it should come as no surprise that I’ve been known to swoop in to rescue the [clinically anti-social, pathologically lying, verbally abusive, substance dabbling, self-esteem lacking, completely inexperienced, narcissistic] guy.  Now don’t get me wrong, these men ALL had wonderful qualities; but sometimes, it’s the unrealistic allure of being this man’s medicine that truly hooks me in. 

I blame “Beauty and the Beast.”  “Barely even friends/then somebody bends/unexpectedly??”  Mrs. Pots, you fail to tell these young impressionable girls that the pliable individual will most likely NOT be the beast.   But I digress…

Online dating is a wonderful screening tool, but since my own bias can easily slip through the cracks… I’m going to take this one step further.  Whether you know me or not, please comment with a date suggestion, ie:  “Alex, I think this week you should date a [teacher, Taurus, scuba-diver].” 

With enough suggestions to spread across the coming weeks, I’ll be forced to leave my comfort zone and open up to people I may not have otherwise.

Please don’t let me down, Readers!  And please do not suggest a convicted felon…  Unless he’s cute.

Please view my profile below to get a sense for who I am and what I’m looking forJ.

My name's Alex and I'm a first time fisher :)

I currently work as an executive assistant at an insurance company. My passion is and always will be music. I started singing when I was six years old and it's been a love affair ever since. I also act, draw, write, and I'm currently learning jazz piano. I'm a little interior decorator at heart as well :).

My main goals include(in no particular order...):
1. Advancing in my career
2. Cutting an album of original songs and re-arranged covers
3. Finding a man I can share my passions with

Things that make me unique are:
1. My height
2. My eye-lashes 
3. I have no sense of smell (usually a good thing...)
4. My ambition and work ethic
5. My voice

Musically, I am an old soul. My favorite artists include Frank Sinatra, Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, Michael Buble, Louis Armstrong, Jamie Cullum and James Morrison. I do believe all music has it's place and I'm very open to listening to just about anything.

Looking forward to reading your ideas, loversJ.

Monday, February 7, 2011


After a lovely Larchmont dinner, my good friend Keith and I went to a local dive for the Super Bowl.  Keith begrudgingly supported the Steelers while I picked Green Bay as my top team.  Why?  Because of their green uniforms.

Let’s face it; we were both there for the booze and free microwavable appetizers. 

Agreeing to buy the first round, I made my way over to the bar.  Among the tall, sports-mad, screaming men, catching the tender’s attention proved to be difficult.  I was stretching and straining and leaning and signaling when a familiar “Hello” suddenly broke my concentration.  I turned to see none other than Pit-bull boy. 

Oh Pit-bull boy:  My hunky, muscular, dog-loving next door neighbor, with whom I had shared several dates, two drinks and a goodnight kiss.  Pit-bull boy, who stopped calling me abruptly; and who had soon after been seen parading some other woman around town.  Right, Pit-bull boy…
                “Oh, hi.”
                “What would you like?” he asked.
                “Oh, um… one vodka cranberry and a Jameson” I replied.  He smoothly relayed the order to the bartender and slid a $20 forward for the service.
                “Oh no,” I said “You don’t have to…”
                “I know I don’t have to” he said with a smile.

We hadn’t had any real communication in two months, and now he was purchasing my friend and me libations?  Maybe I was overreacting.  Maybe he was just being cordial.  But then without provocation, he had a steady stream of refills flowing to our table all night long. 

Was he trying to one-up the guy I came with?  Was he trying to get me drunk for a late-night rendezvous?  What kind of a game was this?!  All at once, I felt demeaned, and flattered, and confused and intrigued.   

And then, it occurred to me---men like this are exactly what make online dating so appealing.  These men [with their baggage and their game playing and their intoxicating brain twisters] all together scream “solve me, Alex!  Fix me!”  In person, I’m powerless to resist a hot, game-playing mess.  But online?  Online, I can read between the lines, click delete and move on to the next message.  For example:

“I studied writing and game-design in college and grad school, which is a very roundabout way of saying that I've been unemployed for the past three years.”

Well, I've tried like hell to put my best foot forward in all my past messages on this site, and that's never worked out. So right now I figure, why not put the worst foot forward, instead?”

“omg.. they got your pic right next to this amazing looking chocolate muffin and all l can think abot is how yummy you look! ur killing me, lets just go out!  Youre spending tonight with me.”
---Delete.  And Ew.

You see?  Online, I’m decisive, self-aware and brutally honest.  In person?  In person I’m nice Alex; sweet Alex; “everybody deserves a chance” Alex.

Well---not today, Pit-bull boy!  You can take your big game and feed it to that mutt-a-yours.  I’m taking my mental cursor, and simply clicking DELETE.

Sunday, February 6, 2011


I entered the crowded bar, my eyes anxiously darting from side to side.  I was hoping to see a certain someone; a certain very special someone.  Well actually…I was just hoping to see someone that resembled the picture I’d been flirting with all week.

Yes.  I had agreed to go on the dreaded BLIND DATE.

A first-timer, I wanted to make sure I did this correctly.  Ya know… avoid abduction, rape and/or murder...

We wrote for at least a week, exchanged pictures, and spoke over the phone.  When he seemed normal (and almost exciting) I agreed to a meeting.  I told my roommate where I was going and arranged for a fake emergency call.  I also insisted on going somewhere I’d been before---the kind of place that questions like “Have you seen this girl?” could be intelligently answered by the wait staff.  Finally, I resolved not to drink or discuss where I live.

My boundaries set; I took a deep, relaxing breath.  I could do this…all I had to do was find him.

“You looking for a table, miss?” asked a waiter.
“Oh, um… I don’t know, I’m… meeting someone” I said, still looking around.
“Are you meeting him?” He pointed to a man in a gray sweater, already seated at a window-side table.
“Um… I’m not sure…” I replied… squinting to see if this was in fact my guy.  The waiter just laughed and walked away.

With this awkward exchange behind me, I approached the gray-clad man.  He looked good.  Surprisingly, our date began with a wonderful volley of jokes and small talk.  He seemed very true to all the things in his profile.  I was relieved!  It appeared that not only would I live through this experience, but I might actually meet someone great!!  Why would this guy need online dating?

It was time to take it to the next level.  “Would you excuse me, I’m just going to run to the ladies room.”  AKA, I’m just going to let you see my graceful, confident strut to the ladies room. 

Big mistake…

This boy’s evil twin had obviously tagged in while I was gone.  Upon my return, he told me he could never date a girl who’s smarter than him.  (Thanks buddy.)  He began asking relentless questions about my past relationships and insisted on telling me about his.  He made jokes at my expense.  He argued that housewives don’t deserve alimony.  He admitted that he is actually unemployed and living with his parents.  OMG… Who was this person?!

It was time to end the date.  When we both stood to put our coats on… I towered over him.  PS:  I’m 4’11.  Talk about adding insult to injury. 

After train wrecks like this, I often think:  “Maybe I don’t need to do this anymore.  I could get some cats, take up knitting and live a perfectly content life without this nonsense.  And of course, there’s always lesbianism.” 

But then I take a deep, relaxing breath.  I can do this… all I have to do is find him. 

So here I am, fully out there and blogging about it.  Stay tuned!

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