New York City

Last Wednesday I went to my first audition. You heard me . . . AUDITION. Am I an aspiring actress? Nope. Have I ever done this before? Not really, unless you want to count the church auditorium before my freshman year when I auditioned with my then boyfriend. (We nailed it, by the way, and went on to wow multiple church audiences all around Orange County.) Am I currently funemployed with occasional open afternoons on my hands? You got it!

I just want to make sure we're on the same page.
Or: It's becoming obvious we're not on the same page. Would you mind flipping to mine?
Or: I want this to appear like a mutual decision, and I hope you fall for it.
Or: I thought we'd discussed this already, but it appears you need to be schooled again.
Or: So, listen, open up and expose what you are feeling (I will take it in), then sit back and accept how I want things to be.
Or: Do you like me? Then nod and agree, “Totally, we're totally on the same page”.

There were four of us in matching puffy coats, waiting for the light to change. And I was the only one on a girl's bike (lovingly categorized as “vintage”), even though there were two other girls in the group. Clouds of heat puffed out of our chapped lips, and I regretted leaving my gloves at home. The girl to my right intrigued me. She had on dark green riding pants and a black velvet riding helmet perched on her short, blonde hair. Like you wouldn't be surprised to hear her say, “No, no Mummy. No time for tea.

The unkempt man behind me could not wait his turn. Maybe in his fifties, casually dressed, his demeanor was one of barely controlled panic. “Miss? Nurse? I need to take a sh*t. Please. Check me in for a colonic. Did you hear me? I need to take a sh*t. Let's do this, can you hurry, please?” Apparently the blood on my cheek did not warrant respect in his book, like he deserved to go first for his obvious emergency.

I resisted Facebook for a long time. I remember using words like “lame” and “trendy” and “not gonna last” when my friends first started peer pressuring me to join. But then, I caved. And now, I post photos on Fbook on a regular basis, and I love looking at friends' photos, and I certainly am entertained by the ridiculous comments that my hilarious friends post on my photos. But. But! Facebook is of a certain strain of evil that is weaved into our world so deftly it is disguised as fun. One obvious element is the fact that it can be (and is for most) a total time suck.

Ok, and so you were here, in my city, in my new home (although you never did end up seeing my home and yes I told you I was disappointed because I was but that doesn't mean I should have told you so loudly with that look in my eyes) and I saw you walking my streets. Did it feel large and overwhelming or large and magnetizing or was it just plain big? And on one hand it was amazing having you here, my brother with me in this new place, my brother hugging me and crushing my broken bones with the embrace I have missed. And yet.

Alas, I have no fun stories to relay. This is good news, folks, because it means I have only been going on good dates. Lovely dinners, delicious brunches, good company, blah blah blah. No gun-toting punks with poor grammar and horrific spelling. No recent vomiting (thank God) to report, and no strange experiences to share. I know I should be happy that the dating gods have smiled on me these past couple of weeks, but I can't help but feel a little despondent that my fodder jar is so empty.

I am curious about ladies who date multiple people at once. Jugglers. I mean, this is a city replete with multi-taskers, so I suppose it only makes sense that it would overlap into the dating scene. And I feel like the stereotype is that men casually balance a few gals at once, so it seems only fair that women should be able to do the same. And me? I am the queen at multi-tasking. According to my friends, sometimes it's to a fault (reading while driving). I make my lists, sometimes scrawling on tiny scraps of paper, or using my handy “notes” section on my iPhone.

Listen. If we just say what we mean, what we want, who we are, what we are looking for, this whole dating thing would be a lot easier. I mean, let's be clear from the get go, you know what I'm saying? If you like me, tell me! (Ok, ok, ok . . .no need to go overboard here. A simple “You're a cool gal” will suffice. I don't want to feel claustrophobic.) And for some reason, this city starts blurring lines when trying to define a date. Sometimes I think I am on a date, but really we are just friends hanging out.

To Jersey101Summatime, Thank you for the email telling me how hot you think I am. I have to admit that I did not even read your profile before deleting your message. Why would I need to after seeing your two profile photos that highlighted you and your guns? I am not complimenting your massive biceps, though they were impressive in your tight t-shirt, I am referring to the literal gun you are brandishing in your photo. That is a first, and hopefully it will be the last. I am dying to know if you score any chicks with that ploy. Oh, and the other photos that showed your artistic side?