La première rencontre (idéale).

The Perfect First Date.

1. Meet for breakfast at Philip Marie in the West Village. Share stories about Paris and Shang-hei. Drink mimosas until you are asked to leave.

2. Demand that the taxi driver stop at 9th Ave and 13th Street. Race to Agent Provocateur. Browse their Spring Collection.

3. Stumble upon a parade. Make fun of the traditional music. Tease the policemen.

4. Stroll through Central Park. Make out beneath cherry blossoms.

5. Draw opinions from the nude Matisse paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

6. Take a taxi to a bar to meet a friend. Order a Manhattan. Make your friend feel uncomfortable.

7. Ditch your friend and hit up a sleezy pub. Take pickle back shots. Forget that you are dancing.

8. Suddenly awake in your bed (alone) at one AM, unsure of how you got there.

How to pick up guys at a club in Manhattan.

I suddenly realized that most girls don’t approach most guys.

But I tell you, it is a necessity if you are a twenty-something single girl living it up (or. busting your balls) in Manhattan. You don’t have time to sit around, wait, bat your pretty lashes, and play footsie:

Your twenties last only a decade!!!

Here are a few tips:

1. Wear heals. Not only do men love the way heals accentuate your pretty legs, but it gives you a heavy dose of confidence. And honestly, men love Steve Madden as much as Manolo Blahnik (any man who says otherwise is checking out more than just you and your shoes).

2. Hit the dance-bar or club with one or two best friends. Don’t go with too many girls. Too many ladies in a single group is fun, but creates a dynamic where no one wants to feel left out.

3. Exude that sexy confidence. Stand up straight, play with your hair, laugh, and have fun. (A Manhattan or two doesn’t hurt either…whiskey yum yum.)

4. Speaking of Manhattans, buy your own drink. If you’re waiting for a dude to buy you a drink, you emit an air of neediness and set yourself up for disappointment.

5. Seek a decent man within your immediate surroundings and strike up a convo about anything. He doesn’t have to be hot, in fact, start off with someone who’s decently average. Not only will his attention will make you feel confident, other dudes will see you talking to him and want your attention. (Plus, he may actually be a pretty nice guy despite his average looks, which is just as awesome).

6. Do shots at the bar to get the ball rolling. It’s fun and gets other people’s attention.

7. Leave the bar and go dance with your bestie, no guys allowed. (Generates lots of attention).

8. Keep an eye out for the tall foreign guys: the Swedes, the Frenchies, the Spaniards. They are the easiest to meet because they want to meet new people. These guys may not have table and tend to be around the bar with their buddies.

9. Somewhere, there is likely to be a promoter or some rich dude in real estate with a lot of girls and a lot of champagne. It’s easy to slip through over to their table and pretend your one of the crowd!

10. In Paris, my best friend and I had a thing we called la dance d’amour. When a hot guy was on the dance floor, we’d go over and dance wildly with each other. After a few minutes, flash a quick smile at him, and I promise he will approach.

Alas, with my crazy work and school schedule, I have no more time to go clubbing. So, please share your adventures and I will live vicariously through you.

Portrait d’une Negresse

There is a satisfaction to be gained from dating the black man or woman,

the negro you once heard your great aunt sneer about under her breath,

yet upon our introduction, you realize that there isn’t much difference between the two of us, except perhaps the amazingness of our lips, the pleasing complexion of our skin, which does not impair the eye with its pale vulnerability, and how love making comes more easy to us than music.

If one more Republican motherfucker chases after me, I’m going to scream.

I think they are the worst. I would say it’s the repressed guilt,

but then why would they want to cheat on their perfect girlfriends?

History  cannot help  but repeat itself.

Me prendre si je tombe.

I think this one is getting to me…

And it’s different from what I’d ever imagine for myself.

Since I moved to New York, I feel like I’ve been thrust into a real life that twists, turns, and suddenly those sorts of inordinate things that I normally count on for stability don’t matter so much.

“I fall sometimes,” was one of the first things that I told him about myself. “Not very often, but sometimes,” I twisted my face into a wince that only drunkeness can educe. He looked back at me with penetrating scrutiny, but his expression remained still. “That’s fine. I can catch you.”

And that’s how it started.

It’s funny, those other inordinate things that I used to talk about so much –education, height, family, bank account — none of those things replace presence. Those inordinate things are illusions for security; they mean very little if a man is not there in his head or in his heart.

 

Mon mérite.

God Damn.

This week I worked like a dog.

Really, it’s been 56 hours of none stop work Sunday through Friday. Two jobs + school. I’m exhausted. I thought I was playing well ahead of the game.

Turns out I’m right on schedule.

There is one thing I won’t deal with — bullshit. Literally, I just don’t have time to concern myself with it. I don’t have time to be blown off, to feel hurt, or to be second in line to some other bitch. Wanting simple things – a spontaneous text message, a response to my e-mail, and a few hours together in central park on a Saturday afternoon – those things aren’t very much. So please, please don’t waste my time by denying those basic treasures.

I just work way too fucking hard to feel like crap at the end of the day.

Sympa.

“So what do you like about him?” My girlfriend asked me.

“He’s um….we’ll he’s…”

“Please don’t tell me he’s nice,” she interrupted.

There was a pause.

“Well…. he’s very sweet…. and …..he……makes me feel comfortable in my own skin.”

There was another long pause.

“He’s an actor…” I ventured, as if it were a redeeming quality.

“….Oh okay so he must be hot?”

There was another long silence. I could not confirm that he was hot.

“Okay so he’s nice,” my friend had read my mind, “do you know what else is ‘nice’?”

“What?” what I asked — being tugged along in my friend’s game.

“A friendship.” 

I laughed. But deep down I felt conflicted. In some cases, life is black and white. It seems like nowadays men come in two sizes: either they are tall, attractive, intelligent, ambitious, thoughtless, selfish and hurtful…………

….or simply ‘nice’

I don’t have the time or energy to wait for what comes in between.

La vie belle.

Hey you, I’ve been working like a dog these past couple of weeks. Work 9-5, then class until 8, and on the weekends I work at the restaurant, so I have no time to play. I’ll call you when I have a chance. Soft kisses. 

 

That’s a lie, I have plenty of time to play.

Play is as simple as smiling coquettishly at a gentleman who wears a nice suit, going to dinner with a handsome stranger, or reading a dirty novella in French on the metro. You can splurge on a brand new pair of Tory Burch leather boots, drink three Hairy Navels before bedtime, and then wake up, put on a fresh face, and head out the door.

What would all this be for if it weren’t for play? 

Yes, I work like a dog, but everyone in Manhattan works, so really that’s just an excuse.

I cannot decide if it’s because I’m strong or if it’s because I’m weak.

Which is more tenacious?

To be in control of your own life and hold your destiny by the reins,

or to fall into the arms of something greater than you can even begin to imagine…. 

Right now, I’m going to say the former.

I cannot handle anything that I cannot handle.

 

Le mec sur le train.

Settling down in Manhattan is like trying to jump onto a train that’s moving at 80 MPH.

You steady yourself, aim, and JUMP….

…Then BOOOM you fall headfirst back into the dirt. 

It sucks having to pick yourself up and try again. So far I’ve been on about eight job interviews — some went well, some went no where, some blew up in my face.

But the beauty about Manhattan is that trains don’t stop. They’re always coming around…so there’s always a chance to try again.

Dating here works like that too. Luckily, I’m fairly skilled at jumping on moving dating trains. I’m smart enough to avoid oncoming train wrecks. I’ve figured out which part of the tracks to stay on (Midtown, Village, FiDi if you like “suits”). Hell, I’ve graffitied my name on a car or two and kissed the conductor goodbye.

But sooner or later the train your riding disappears because all people in Manhattan work like hell… Schedules clash, texts go unanswered, people get busy. It sucks.

But lo and behold, another train. This one is coming from Washington Heights and headed down Broadway. I wonder where it will take me?….

Oh, by the way that last train that I was on is taking a detour to New Hampshire. It’ll be back around this weekend.

….Steady, Aim, JUMP

His terms. Her terms.

I’ve been told several times that women have all the power.

Each time I almost choke up my drink from laughing so hard.

“Really? You think that we have the power?” 

Men usually stare back at me blankly, unsure if I’m being sarcastic.

So I explain, “Do you know how many relationships I’ve been in that were on his terms?”

Sure, when it comes to sex with a respectful man it is usually does begin on my terms. But the golden rule philosophy that I advocated so fervently two years ago is long, longover. Who wants to wait three weeks, three months, (heck even three days) for something that is so mutually wonderful?

What does it mean to be on his terms? You see each other when he is available. You have an exclusive relationship if he wants to. You stay mainly at his place. Yes, he may be kind enough to take you out to dinner or buy your movie tickets, but it’s still on his terms.

You’re here because he wants you here, when he’s ready for you to go, you go.

It’s pathetic. I don’t blame it on culture, it’s purely my own damn fault. But I have no interest in manipulation, I enjoy intimacy, I give in too easily. My best friend knows how to catch ‘em and keep ‘em with her sharp tongue and quick temper. She uses sex as punishment and reward. She likes to play games.

And so, my young mind inquires how does a woman have a relationship on equal terms without playing stupid love games. Is it a matter of whom you choose? How you choose? Where you choose? Does it depend on where you are in your life?

I’m going to ponder this question, experiment a bit, and get back to you about it later. Surely, there is a smart answer. I’m so tired of feeling like I have no control because I took control of what I really wanted.

Dating Guide

Here is an impressively accurate dating guide about dating culture in Los Angeles. It even schooled me on a few things… Check it out.