I'm Feelin' Lucky

First dates are weird. I never go on them thinking anything is going to happen. If I’m pleasantly surprised, then I consider myself lucky. “Lucky” is my new word I am consciously using to describe myself. This is in hopes that the “power of attraction” will rub off on my psyche, or aura or whatever the hell it rubs off on, or attaches itself to. As long as it’s not my thighs I’m ok.

I have had a lot of “first dates”. A lot. Not that I’d even say I date constantly, but I seem to go in spurts with long breaks in between. Few guys seem to get a second date, let alone a third. It’s been suggested (by my mother) that I’m too picky. Hey, I’ve waited this long to find a man I’m on the same page with and who’s company I enjoy( one who I’d ALSO like to sleep with often and FOREVAH), so why settle? I’m perfectly fine being alone unless it really fits. However, I do want to say “I Do” and I’d be beside myself, silly with happiness to share my life with someone. It’d be nice to have someone to bear witness, to participate, to “yes, and...” me. Someone to bump it up a notch, as it were.

 Recently I have removed myself from all dating websites. Which may seem counter productive to what I just said I wanted, but it’s like having another thankless, underpaying part time job. I started when I lived in LA and was writing an article about J Date. I went out with almost every nebbishy, Jewish sit-com writer in Hollywood and would always leave the date with one question, “How the hell do you have this high paying writing gig when I am infinitely funnier than you?” Lots of exciting things happened. I got stood up, rufied and a guy masturbated on my front porch while I was getting us a bottle of wine inside. That was just one date!

 I’m lying, but all those things did happen separately. There was never a dull moment and I got some great material, for sure. I left LA and J Date with the bad taste of crappy Chinese food in my mouth. Not pretty. LA sucks at Chinese food.

 Upon officially moving back to New York I’d decided I’d try again. This time on the “edgier” sites like Nerve and The Onion. I know, right? Someone hold me back from the ‘edge’ before I leap into a sea of posers and middle aged men saying they're 35. I went on three months of terribly boring ‘firsts’…and ‘lasts’. First drinks, first meals and first walks in the park. I got so good at being able to tell whether or not there was any chance of anything happening within the first 2 minutes, I kind of felt sorry for the guys. But who has the time to sit through an entire meal if you just know there will be no phone call or kiss?

Ever.

 Unless… you’re broke (hey, I’m an actor), in which case I view the whole date as a character study.  I’ll ask questions that I really have no interest in finding out the answers to just so I can order more food. Just keep ‘em talking through appetizers and then take the entree home where you can eat in peace. If you get good at this, three first dates can potentially provide you lunches for up to a week!

 My last and final online date was with this guy who told me he had just come from a male support group where they sit and drum. In a circle. In unison. Then they talk about what’s on their minds. Now, I’m all for therapy, even alternative forms. Whatever helps, I say. I am a part of a meditation group and some people could find that odd or too ‘new-agey’ for their taste. I really try not to judge being that I reside in a glass house. But when this guy said he broke off an engagement two months ago because his fiancée just didn’t have, and I quote, “Goddess energy”.

I ordered another yellowtail/scallion roll, ate one piece, then asked the waiter to wrap the rest up and headed for the hills of East 9^th st. As we left the restaurant he asked if I wanted to go back to his place and smoke ‘grass’. Gee thanks, but I’ll pass. By the way, 1973 called and it wants it’s vernacular back.

 Shortly after this experience I took myself off the sites but kept my Facebook account. I love Facebook. This is mostly because I am now in touch with family and friends who’ve dropped out of my immediate 'zone' and it’s nice to have the equivalent of a virtual cup of coffee with them. You can also see friends of friends and check them out. It’s fun and not like you’re on there for the sole purpose to nab a mate. It’s all under the umbrella of “networking”, which it’s a great tool for as well.

 I got asked out on the site twice. The first time was by this sort of famous NY actor who has garnered a few Tony Awards and I am actually a fan of his work. He’s quite talented and he sent me a message saying that he liked my face. Cute. Ok! I’m game. “Hey! Wanna see my Broadway show where I’m the lead?” is not a bad opening line. Um, do Mary Kate and Ashley want an I V instead of real food? Yes! Our first date started with me sitting fourth row, center.

 After the show he whisked me away to an Italian restaurant in midtown. I was dodging scaffolding in four-inch heels and almost fell over a few times. This did not seem to slow him down. He walked fast, talked faster and made elaborate declarations at lightening speed. Within ten minutes of our first glass of Chianti he asked if I wanted to go to Turks in Caicos with him.

I made the Scooby Doo noise out loud. I even used my hands as ‘ears’ and moved them as I said, “ Zoinks, Scoob! I’ve only known you for ten minutes!”

“Too soon?” he asks.

“I don’t even know the name of the band you had in High School yet. Yes, I think it’s too soon.”

 Now, I really, really need a vacation. He’s attractive, successful and funny; the triumvirate of qualities. Much like what herbs d’provance are to cooking, these three attributes make any single gal salivate. Would it be TERRIBLE if I went away with him? Our date was fun, lots to talk about, we have great repartee. He kisses me (fairly well) goodnight and puts me in a cab. He says he’s on his “best behavior” because he knew I wrote about my dating life and said he didn’t want to become an anecdote. I told him this was strictly up to him. It was. He lost.

Sorry.

 After he obsessively texted me for the next week, and I mean obsessive. Trust me, I know from obsessive and this guy was the poster child. I could time it like a summer storm. How many minutes elapse in between the lightening and the thunder lets you know how fast the storm is approaching. In this case I believe it was a barometer of his horniness.

 While sharing frozen yogurt with a girlfriend on a park bench a red painted tourist bus pulls up and his face takes up the entire side of the bus.

“There’s your new boyfriend”, she cajoled.

Beep Beep Beep. I have a text.

“No, I say”, “There’s my new boyfriend. Again”.

I received seven texts during my double vanilla, key lime swirl. As we all know, when it’s that crazy at first, there’s no where to go but down, fast and hard like an  ingénue who wants to sign with Endevor. (rim shot anyone?)

 When I just couldn’t possibly return a few texts the following day because I was in my shrink’s office talking about him, he texted me,” Abandoning me already?”

Oh my. Then there’s a bunch of stories friends I have in the Broadway community told me about him that confirmed my suspicions of his serial dating-ness and borderline personality.

No second date for you Mr. Actor Man.

 Then I was truly done. I mean stick a fork in me, turn me over, done.

Until last week.

 I had a really nice first date with this other guy. I won't nick name him yet. It's too soon for that kind of intimacy. We have plans for a second date this Friday.

I’m not holding my breath here or anything, but there’s always a chance he makes it to a third. Then… who knows? Maybe I’ll go to Turks in Caicos with this new guy and send Mr. Actor Man a postcard?

“Thanks for letting me know about this place! It’s beautiful!”

After all, I’m lucky.