THE EX-FILE

Rather than lament the misery of single life, there are times to appreciate the subtle joys of detachment.  With no man to cuddle with this past, rainy Saturday---I decided to fill it up with the people and activities I love. 

Braving the weather, I took in a musical at The Sandbox Theatre and later caught up with some former band mates at a Good N Plentie gig.  It was a great time; filled with laughter and singing; drinking and dancing.  By the end of their last set, I had truly made a night of it; but I still wanted more.  So as a last minute impulse, I trotted my social behind to the local dive for one more drink.  What I got instead was a triple shot of my past---straight up.

“One Vodka Cranberry, please” I ordered.

“It’s on me,” interjected the adjacent barfly.

As I turned to thank my new beverage benefactor, a trio of dart players caught my eye. 

"Oh No..." I gasped in horror.

I knew I knew them…and I knew where from.  I knew we’d all spent the better part of two years together.  I knew what kind of beer they liked and what video games they played.  Most of all, I knew that they knew me---as their friend’s fiancé---so many years ago.       

Yup, that’s right!  Once upon a time; your little Alex was engaged.  He wasn’t a handsome prince and it wasn’t a happy ending, but it did set the stage for so many other adventures.

At this point, the only thing I didn’t know was how to act.  Luckily, one gulp of liquid courage eliminated that problem post-haste...

“HEEEYYYYYYYY!!!”  I cheered [a little too] enthusiastically.

“ALEX, HEEEEYYYYYYYYY!!!” They greeted back.

Ah, relief!  My ex had onced crushed me with the news that his friends were thrilled to see me go.  It particularly saddened me to think that his best friend thought less of me.  He always seemed so funny and kind; and I thought we got along really well!  Well, now [in the midst of their warm, drunken hospitality] I learned that I was right.  In fact his friends distanced themselves from him shortly after our break-up and they haven't spoken since.

Before you know it, they were buying me drinks and inviting me to play darts.  But after three more Vodka Crans [and some truly unsafe dart launching] I was drunk off my petite patoot!  Somehow suddenly, our party dwindled down to two:  Me and the Ex’s Ex-Best Friend.  We caught up on work, life---everything.  Soon he even walked me home…  Even got my number…  Even kissed me… 

...

 But even in my condition, I knew it was wise to send him home.  So I did.

We texted yesterday and while I admittedly have NO idea what to make of any of this---I find myself oddly intrigued.

So readers, the question is… should I be?

THE MEET-CUTE

Welcome back to the rollercoaster my friends.  Thanks to your encouragement, I’ve decided to strap back in and resume the ride.  I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?

At the risk of sending you into a shock-induced episode, I must confess that I [the Siren of Misfit Boys] once possessed even LESS savvy with the opposite sex.  However, one of the most important breakthroughs occurred when I realized that life is not a movie. 

Yes, this seems like a rather obvious fact.  But ladies, admit it:  We all want to live in a chick flick.  We want the love montages; the witty banter; the grand gestures.  Well, after life debunks these staples of sappy cinema, one begins to reject statements like “OH MY GOD, this is totally like [insert fictional couple here]!”

Just about every unrealistic romantic comedy begins with what is referred to as the “meet-cute.”  According to Wikipedia, this is when “two potential romantic partners meet” in a humorously awkward way.  As embarrassing as this is---I actually had a meet-cute; one that nearly sent me into a full-fledged romantic relapse.

Rewind to last Tuesday evening.  Mr. Marriage had just depleted my faith in humanity and I, broken-hearted, walked hungrily to the Tavern for a take-out dinner.  Still in my flowy performance attire, I noticed a man checking me out.  Tall, broad-shouldered and all-American, he embodied every attribute of the contemporary romantic hero.  But before I could work myself into a proper lash-batting, hair-twirling frenzy, he was gone!  

Dejected once more, I snatched my burger and went home.

A few days later, between work and about three thousand errands, I ran frantically to the Tavern for another quick bite.  Much to my surprise, the man who passed me up was there again!  I tried not to look over at him as I waited for my food…but I couldn’t help it.  After a few exchanged glances, the man approached me. 

“Hi” he said with a smile.

“Oh, hi” I replied trying to combat my rapidly blushing cheeks.

“Didn’t I see you in here the other night?”

“The other night… hmm… Oh yes, I came in after my gig” I said, trying to play it all off. 

Long story short, we got to talking.  He learned that I’m in finance by day and music by night.  I learned that he is in the Marine Corps.

Talk about chick flicks!  We were now one debilitating disease away from being a Nicholas Sparks novel.   I was about to transfer to the “When You Least Expect It” school, when he shook my hand and said:

“Well, it was very nice to meet you Alex.”

My lips formed a cordial goodbye but my mind spouted confused curse words.  WTF, no digits, no future meeting, NOTHING?   I simply couldn’t believe it.  But as you know, the “law of three” dictates that I would have to meet him again.  And in real life [with no creepy stalking required], I actually did!  Same place, same reason…

“So what, you live here?” I asked, giggling.

“You must think I’m such a degenerate” he replied.

“No, no… just a barfly… it’s okay” I said laughing.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”   

“Not at all!” A loyal wing-man, his friend suddenly leapt up. 

“Please, sit down” My Marine said “I’ll buy you a drink.”

An hour later, we were still talking when he FINALLY popped the question.

“Can I have your number?”

“Sure,” I smiled. 

“Great!  I’d love to call you tonight if you’re free!” 

“I might be!”

“I mean… I can’t make any promises, but if I’m out locally, I’ll definitely call you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I go back to Japan in two days, so my family might want me to stay in with them tonight.”

…

Well, there’s the universe I know and love!

“Oh wow… Japan eh?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in there for six months and then Afghanistan for another six months after that.  It’s really exciting!”

...Dejected once more, I snatched my burger and went home. 

After devouring what was left of my pity-dinner, I agreed to meet next week for a coffee date with a college football coach on POF...  Because who needs a meet-cute anyway?

STUDENT

I believe I’m experiencing the first signs of dating fatigue, readers.  You’re sure to sympathize with my exhaustion.  After all, you’ve been with me throughout this cringe-worthy rollercoaster all along.  I’ve recently come across a few people who think I’m trumping up these de-blog-cles for the entertainment value.  All I can say is… I WISH that were true! 

Taking some time away from the dating site got me thinking about strategy and whether or not I’ve subscribed to the correct one.

There are generally two schools of thought when it comes to finding someone:  The passive “When You Least Expect It” crew, versus the more active “Out There” group.

Have you thrown up your hands, tossed in the towel, and/or purchased feline companionship?  GOOD!  Disciples of the “unexpected” and “come what may” will tell you that you’ve finally reached the promise land.  They believe you cannot find what you’re supposed to have until you’ve completely given up.

 If those relationships found on the brink of hopelessness don’t work out however, one may turn to the latter approach.

Shrinks, obsessive beautification rituals, dating sites and yes---blogs, are all a part of being “Out There.”  “Out There” is a lifestyle, an attitude, a projection.  To be “Out There” you must send the right vibe.  You must look people in the eye.  You must smile and giggle at jokes.  You must strive to be a better person.  You must eat delicately, and force yourself out even when you’d prefer to be in.  In short, you must be on at all times.

Besides the weariness, there is another negative side-effect of this method:  You inadvertently intrigue the wrong men!

 Recall if you will, Mr. Marriage.  Unfortunately, I must report a similar sorry saga. 

This past Tuesday, I was to perform at a charity event for which my boss volunteered me.  It was a wonderful evening, complete with cocktails, hor dourves, and 500 of Westchester’s most successful business people.  Prior to show time, my employer invited me to converse with him and a few of our clients.  Of course, it would only be moments until the least attractive, most inappropriate man was able to hone in on my coordinates. 

“My goodness, who is this?” he broke in. 

“This is my assistant, Alex” bragged my boss.  “She’ll be singing for us later.  And don’t let the size fool you!” 

“Yeah with me either” said the inappropriate man.  Once I realized this was an anatomical size joke, I blushed with embarrassment.  “Do you think you can dedicate your most intimate love song to me?” he asked, his wedding ring glistening in the party light.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to hurt the other gentlemen’s feelings” I replied. 

Nervous laughter suddenly erupted from the people around us. 

“You are adorable!” the inappropriate man retorted. 

“Aw, thanks” I said politely but blatantly unimpressed.  “If you’ll excuse me.”

I retreated to the ladies room in an attempt to avoid saying something snippy in front of my boss.  Just when I thought I provided exactly the right hint, it was time to go on.  The inappropriate [ignorant as the day is long] man made his way to the front of the crowd, clapping, dancing and cheering along.  Wow, thought Nice Alex, How am I gonna handle this one?!

Once off stage, the inappropriate man asked for my information…  Ya know, to hire me for some private parties.  I told him that I was in a rush to make another engagement but that he was welcome to request a business card from my boss if he needed to get in touch.

Like clockwork, an e-mail awaited me when I arrived at work the next day; one that emphasized my talent and beauty.  He concluded with the hope that he’d see me at another event ---or---maybe even a bar downtown.

It’s moments like these that make me want to jump ship, readers.  Perhaps I should give up---because it seems that even if you find someone to marry, you’ll have to wonder if he's hitting on other people’s assistants at cocktail parties. 

But will giving up eventually lead me to the proverbial promise land as so many believe, or will it simply mean settling for a singular existence?

What do you believe?