I really (really) liked David.
I was a 19-year-old, wide-eyed, excited kid that immensely enjoyed the attention from an older (by um, two years?) guy who wanted to wine-and-dine me. (Mostly from his apartment, since I couldn’t, you know, order a glass without being carded in my quiet, sleepy college town.) He was an engineering major with a big passion to design skyscrapers (and I wanted to live in NYC, it was fate!), and though his room was messy and his shirts smelled like mildew, after two dates, I was pretty much smitten.
This was originally published on eHarmony’s blog.
If you’ve been single for a while, you’re probably used to the first date dance by now: he asks where you’re from originally, you ask about his job. He asks if you prefer red or white wine, you ask about his hobbies. It usually feels like the same ole’ conversation just with a different person, unless you stumble across a truly magical (and rare!) amazing date.
Over cocktails and appetizers with a friend of mine recently, she caught me up on her current dating life. She’s been seeing a dude for about six months, they go on dates (and sleep over) a few times a week, he’s introduced her to all of his friends, they’ve discussed going on vacation together early next year and she feels like she’s (maybe, kinda, definitely) falling in love with him
So, he’s your boyfriend then?! I asked, excitedly. That’s great!! You’ve been single for a while now!
Oh, no, we’re not like, official, official, she said, taking a quite large sip of wine. We’re seeing each other. And I think we’re only sleeping with one another.
At 2 a.m. on a Saturday night last summer, The Canadian walked into my life. He waited for the creepy guy hovering over me to head to the bar, and then he slipped right in as he said, “You’re the prettiest girl here, why are you talking to him?”
This time last year, I was having a minor panic attack in the bathroom of a lounge in Flat Iron.
I was a little tipsy and my friend J was trying to calm me down, but there was no getting around my anxiety.
Do you see what I have to put up with out there? Dating SUCKS. It’s seriously the WORST. I tell you J, if I’m single this time next year, I will leave New York. I will go somewhere where it’s better and the guys are better. Seriously, it can’t be THIS bad everywhere.
A month after I started my blog in 2010, I took the bus from JFK into the city. As I got on the bus in my Jessica Simpson slingbacks (ridiculous, I know), the driver took zero pity on me and took off. I went crashing with my bag and my floppy hat right into the aisle. I looked up and locked eyes with a blue-eyed hunk who simply asked, “You alright?” before helping me to my feet.
I didn’t know it then, but that was the day I met my very first New York love, Scott.
Right before I started writing this column, I broke up with Patrick. Doesn’t seem like a big deal (and in the scheme of things, it’s not; it wasn’t) but Patrick was the first guy in almost three years that I really (really) liked.
Or at least, I thought I did. In fact, I thought he could be a significant someone in my life, especially after our nearly 24-hour first date seemed to be a sign that there were really good things to come with this tall, handsome, stock-trading Greek. But like most plot lines in my dating life, I had to wear my rose-colored glasses long enough to get blinded, and finally see the truth.