New York City

I want to start off by saying that Bob is not a bad guy. He is not a creepster douche bag that deserves a little mockery in exchange for disrespect. Instead, Bob is a guy that walked into my salon last Thursday morning, with a flimsy excuse to “scope out the digs”, who chatted me up for twenty minutes. He had a bejeweled band on his wedding finger, so I assumed he was married and just wanted to flirt. Then his inquiries got a little personal, and he asked me my age and whether or not I was “spoken for”.

Dear John. I've never written a “Dear John” before, and I feel very old fashioned, or romantic, or nostalgic, or really just like my normal self, only different. Who was the original John? I envision him in army fatigues, or something a little smarter, like a lieutenant's uniform. Handsome and young. Freshly shaved and scrubbed clean. Dear John, or Unwelcome lover who I no longer want in my life, And here I thought I'd rid myself of you for good. I patched the weak spots and filled the open spots, making myself impenetrable, stronger, a wall.

Opposites attract. Of course. We've heard that idiom countless times, Paula Abdul sang about it with a cartoon cat that liked to smoke (I write this with a straight face, I swear) and you have probably even experienced this phenomenon firsthand. But what happens when you are attracted to someone that is your synonym? Surely this must happen a lot, and yet there is no catchy phrase to toss around like “opposites attract”.

I have this theory about dinner dates. First of all, you can never go wrong when offering to pay for a girl. I mean, I like women's lib just as much as the next girl, but I am also living in a super expensive city and I am not one to look down on free food. Also, if you are the one offering to take me out to dinner, if you pick the restaurant, it seems only appropriate for you to treat. I know this is not a novel idea by any means, but I am hoping some dudes read this and take it to heart. But here's the deal, when you treat a girl, you should do just that.

Some people have inquired about the authenticity of my dating blogs. Here is the truth: My stories and anecdotes and experiences are true; they did happen in real life and in 2011 and in New York City. Fortunately, not all of these things have happened to me. Unfortunately, they have happened to my closest friends. And, let's get serious, most of these stories are mine.

How about I suggest we go grab pizza, and then you concur, and then follow that up with an email telling me that times are tough and would I mind treating you?
How about we go on two dates, have very little physical interaction, as in no goodnight kiss, even, and then you send me a text that says, “Text me if you like nice guys with big [expletive]”.

Sometimes I think that if there is not photographic evidence of it occurring, it did not happen. Or if I do not write about it, I will forget about it, which is kind of like it did not happen. But really, I base it on whether or not I have relayed the story to my little sister. That is the test, the proof that something occurred and was real and has been stored away in my library of memories and tales. Today I rode my bike down FDR Drive along the East River and then I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

The hunt continues. Tonight I joined a couple of my friends for the evening service of Trinity Grace Church in Chelsea. The pastor was an amazing speaker, with polish and humor and a personable smile and pull, and the music was loud and proud and powerful, but the service was two hours long. Two hours. So what am I left to think about as I drift to sleep? The message? Nope, even though it was a good message. I am sitting here wondering why the service was so long, even longer for those who opted to pray some more at the very end, and then I chastise myself for complaining.

So it turns out that as we get older, and by “we” I mean “I”, the men that we attract get older, as well. Logic tells me that as I venture into an older dating pool, I will inevitably encounter men with extensive, sometimes more colorful, pasts. A rainbow of divorces and kids and ex-girlfriends that made off with all of the furniture. Joint custodies. Kids. Children. Babies? Probably less likely, but a toddler is basically a baby that can walk so maybe not that uncommon. And then maybe you say, “Nah, I can't date a guy with kids.

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