Soooo contrary to what one would think, it is INCREDIBLY difficult to date in NYC.  Even though there are millions of people crammed on this tiny island, meeting a possible love interest is as difficult as catching a NY bus that does NOT stop every single block for a wheelchair to be moved in and out on a hydraulic lift that takes at LEAST 20 minutes. (this happens EVERY SINGLE time I get on a bus….like it’s some cruel karmic joke)

    I mean, if you are say, a cute, spunky, theater girl surrounded by anti-vagina theater gays in her profession who also refuses to go online and date again…..what are your other options?  I mean….when someone who I don’t know approaches me on the street, I automatically think they are crazy and walk briskly away, or pelt them with my bag.  We are so conditioned to think that rapists are lurking around every corner just waiting to mug, rape, and pillage us. So our natural inclination is to flee that situation by walking/running/skipping away as fast as we can while ignoring the poor person who was only going to ask us directions to the Shubert theater.  Yes, this is probably a useful survival technique, but NOT a good dating one.  

I was on a train last week making very blatant eye contact with a cute man across the aisle just waiting for him to give me his number and tell me I am OBVIOUSLY the woman of his dreams. I naturally start making a list of my bridesmaids, and mentally trying on several wedding dresses with similar plunging necklines. So… the train stops and he gets up, walks directly towards me, puts his head next to mine (I turn my head ever so slightly and pout my lips in anticipation for the kiss that will end all other kisses) and says, “Excuse me maam, can you move your head a bit to the right so I can see the map behind you?”  MA’AM!!??  When did I graduate to Ma’am??!!!? First stop “ma’am”, second stop Adult diapers and metamucil.  So, ok, the train is out, the sidewalk approach is out, internet is out, and musical theater is certainly out (no pun intended).  Where does that leave us single girls??

I read in New York Magazine that the number 1 pick up joint in New York city Is……..wait for it………Chipotle.  Chipotle?????!  So, I am supposed to go sit at chipotle alone and wait for an attractive man to come sit next me and stuff his face with a burrito the size of a full grown pit bull?  As he is shoving copious amounts of bean cheese, sour cream, and guac in his mouth, I can only assume the conversation would be like this:

Me: Hi!!! My Name is Kimmy!  Nice to Meet you!!!

Mouth full cutie:  Shwah fgam huwads Davidh (tiny piece of sour cream glops into his lap)

Me: Um…k….good talk.

So, that seems highly unlikely too.  New York Magazine also suggests dining alone in a nice restaurant so men will approach you.  Ok First off, I probably can’t afford this restaurant.  Secondly, when I see people sitting alone at nice restaurants I just feel bad for them. Ya ya so maybe they like dining alone blah blah blah, but I can’t help it….I feel like they must not have one single person in the word to eat with, and if that is the case, they are clearly bat shit crazy homicidal maniacs who chop up little children and make them into soups.  And I never really liked soup,  sooooo….. that’s out.

So what are we left with? Bars? Christ.  So you walk into a loud bar dressed in your whore gear and battle 30 other girls in similar whore gear for the bar tender’s attention. After you elbow the blonde bitch next to you who CLEARLY got here AFTER you, and has wedged herself between your vagina and the bar, you finally get his attention by pushing her head to one side and talking before she has a chance to react.

Me (over bass so loud my body is thrashing up and down): Can I have a vodka soda?

Bartender: a WHAT?

Me: a vodka soda!!

Bartender: GIN AND TONIC???

Me: V O D K A   S O D A!!!!!! (my voice starts to get hoarse)

Bartender: THAT WILL BE $27 PLEASE!!!

Me: (cries on the inside as she forks over the money and is handed a thimble full of ice and a splash of vodka. )

So, then you and your friends take a lap around the room and see drunk men’s eyes go directly towards your breasts and stay there for the remainder of the night.  You finally stumble upon a group of young professional guys laughing and having a good time.  You start up a conversation with said men;

Me (Screaming to be heard over 50 foot subwoofers playing Kanye West): SO WHAT DO YOU DO??

Yuppie #1 (speaks to my breasts)1: OH I WORK IN BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH WALL STREET BAH BLAH SECURITIES BLAH 

Me: UM..YA! THAT SOUNDS….INTERESTING?

Yuppie(again…directed to my breasts): YES, IT IS…WE ARE WORKING ON A BLAH BLAH BLAH MERGER BLAH BLAH. I’M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT.  BLAH!!

Me: YA. THAT DOES SOUND REALLY UM, EXCITING.

Yuppie: WHAT DO YOU DO??

Me: MUSICAL THEATER

Yuppie (at breasts): (Blank look) OH. IS THAT LIKE A PLAY OR SOMETHING? AREN’T THERE A LOT OF GAY DUDES IN THAT?

Me: (gives the universal “save me from this douche” signal)

Yuppie#2 (subtly slips his ring finger into his pocket) Side Note: this really happened: HEY! WHAT’S YOUR NAME?

Me: HI…NICE TO MEET YOU, MY NAME IS “NEVERGONNAHAPPEN”. (I walk away)

So, the chances of meeting a guy at a bar who understands what we do for a livingare slim to none.

Sooo back to the online drawing board we go. I did Match.com once a few years back and met some…um….interesting people, to say the least. One guy and I had been shooting witty emails back and forth for weeks which, of course, was awesome because I dig funny guys.  The pictures he had up on the site were literally abercrombie modeling shots from an ad campaign a few years back. I was skeptical that this guy was a real abercrombie model (and didn’t like-a-the-penis), so I prepared for our meeting by telling myself  he would most likely not look anything like those pictures. I was just hoping he’d fall somewhere into the “Not totally deformed and hideous” category.  Well, I was wrong.  He looked BETTER than the pictures.  I was shocked. He sounded a little like Donald Duck, but I quickly looked past that into his dreamy green eyes and pretty, PRETTY face.  SO, the night went surprisingly well.  We went to a bar with a fireplace and got to know each other over many glasses of Shiraz. The witty banter was flowing with the wine and we were in Defcom Phase 3 flirtation mode. I was almost giddy…this guy was too good to be true! Model turned wall street broker from the midwest who is close with his family and FUNNY. So it’s getting late and he had to get up for work ,so he put me in a cab…..but not before he insisted on making our next date.  He PAID the cabbie and I drove home. I called my mom on the way;

Me: Mom! I just met my future husband!

Mom: Oh Great!! SO the date went well?

Me: SOO well, he’s from the midwest, loves his jo……hold on mom I think he just text me.  Aww I bet it was so say goodnight 

Me (looks at phone and reads text aloud)  ”Hey baby (aww!) I can’t wait to see you tonight and cum on your t^$#@ in the kitchen floor next to the refrigerator. And then we’ll ********** (content censored from this point)

Me: Um mom, gotta go.

I analyzed that text for a great while trying to rememer if I had gotten so drunk that I didn’t remember having a conversation about sex next to a refrigerator…or near any kitchen appliance for that matter.  Nope…..pretty sure that NEVER happened.  He was Sexting someone else!  30 seconds after our date he was sexting some other girl.  I decided to text him back and tell him he had accidentally written me instead.

me: Ummm just to let you know, you just text Kim.  I don’t know if that was on purpose or not.

He was never to be heard from again.

Moral of that story??? Move to one of those adorable polygamist compounds and have your marriage(s) arranged for you.  MUCH easier.