From my Facebook page looking in, I seem like I pretty much have it together.
I have a job that I really love, I signed with an agent this year to turn my blog into a book, I live in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in New York City, and I’m lucky that I’m a good enough saver that I make it overseas a couple times a year for a vacation.
I’ve been pretty d*mn successful (knock on wood) so far in my 20s, but the one thing I’ve yet to master is dating.
I’ve been online dating basically since I realized it was an option. For an article for the school newspaper my sophomore year in college, I tried to sign up for eHarmony, but I wasn’t old enough (ya gotta be 21), and so it called me “unmatchable.” After crying to my mom (and um, reading the fine print), I held off on signing up again until I moved to New York.
When I arrived in the city, I signed up for Plenty of Fish, and though I did have a little luck (met a millionaire for the first time!), I was still a little too young for the market; it was easier for me to hit up a bar in midtown to meet a dude over a romantic Bud Light than to fiddle with all those search filters. I ended up meeting my ex when I fell down in front of him on a bus (go figure), and after that relationship ended, I was determined to get over him stat, so I signed up for everything.
I’ve been thinking about London lately.
About how easy it was to get around the city, even with it’s hushed voices and last-calls at 1 a.m., instead of 4. I’ve been thinking about how the men were such gentleman, wishing me a good day and commenting on how ‘quite lovely, quite everything, quite was’ in their darling accents that stupidly remind me of Hugh Grant. I’ve been thinking about how even though I tried to have an afternoon delight in Kensington at lunchtime with a tall, handsome character I met in Shoreditch the night before – he refrained. I’ve been considering the echoes in my head from all the women who complained – over their cigarettes and their pimms – that the men are far too serious, that they want relationships too soon, that they just bore of them ‘quite quickly, I’m afraid.’ I’ve been thinking that maybe, a British man might be what I’ve been looking for, after all.
I’ve been thinking about Paris lately.
Like clockwork every single night, I get a text message from my dad. It’s usually a mix of “I love you” or “I miss you” coupled with a few sentences about being proud of me (awww). But a few weeks ago, his message read:
“Your mom had a busy day today, and she fell asleep on the couch. She’s so beautiful, Linds. She’s been so good to me. I’m a lucky man. You’ll find your lucky man one day, too. Goodnight, daughter.”
Now, before you get misty-eyed (it’s OK, I did, too), know this: my parents’ relationship and their marriage is not typical. It’s one of those stories that people write about—the kind of love that could be made into a movie (after being a best-selling Nicholas Sparks book). Theirs is a marriage that’s more of a goal rather than a standard.
I went on a date on Sunday… with my literary agent.
If you could see me right now, you would see a grin ear-to-ear, and if you could get inside my heart, you’d feel it beating frantically out of its chest. There are very few words to describe just how happy – and excited and thankful! – I feel to have someone actively trying to turn this little ‘ole blog of mine into a book. (When it happens, you will all be the first to know, I promise!)
Even so, I was nervous to meet him (and afraid he wouldn’t like me) – but my gut was right: it was two hours of constant rapport, brainstorming and storytelling. And then he said something that just about made me cry:
loveaddictnyc.com 