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.

La coquette milieu des hommes.

I went out dancing with a bunch of guy friends the other day.

As the token lady, I took it up on myself to make sure everyone had fun.

The tallest one, a med student, needed the most attention, so I gave him a prep speech, told him he was worth it, spotted a hot lonely brunette, and we went in for the kill.

From our faces, she could tell that we were up to something suspicious, and so she gestured to her friend – a tall, dark-haired mec.

“I’ll distract him, you distract her!”

I shouted above the music, and we each made our moves.

It was easy to slide over to the handsome homme and introduce myself….“salut”

…My buddy, on the other hand, lurked two feet behind the brunette, giving off a creepy vibe that freaked us all out.

-Take Two-

We tried a different chick, another thin brunette standing with her friend. I could tell they wanted attention because they kept eye flirting with guys.

(They probably don’t know about la dance d’amour)

This time we took a team approach: me casually at the front, him gradually from behind.

And of course, with his lurking creepiness, he freaked her out and she gravitated toward me.

“I think I may have a girl crush on you,” she yelled to me drunkly.

I stopped.

Noted her tiny hips tucked snugly into black pants,

her peep toe platform Jimmy Chou pumps,

the gold chain of her Chanel purse wrapped slender shoulder…

And I thought…Damn, I may have a girl crush too.

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.

 

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.

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.

La sincérité.

Allow me to share some important advice about dating…

…a rule that a lot of women don’t realize until it’s too late.

A man will tell you who he is from the very beginning.

-If you’re on a first date and he jokingly admits that he spends too much money, than you should make a mental note that he has trouble balancing his finances.

-If you’ve already started dating and he says that he’s not really into sex (some men just aren’t because they’re insecure, take medication or just secretly gay), then sooner or later you’re going to have some trouble in the bedroom.

-If you are friends and he admits that he’s cheated a lot on his past girlfriends, THAN YOU DAMN WELL SHOULD KNOW HE’S A CHEATER!

Listen to what a man says. There is no excuse. A woman knows exactly what she is heading into if she’s smart enough to pay attention.

I was once on a date with a man I’d just met. Though he was entertaining, charismatic, chivalrous and charming there was something strange about his eyes. They were too pale blue, too magnetic. We chatted and laughed and enjoyed what was otherwise a great time, and as we pulled up to the restaurant, he ended his comical story with:

“….afterall I’m kind of crazy.”

“What?” I said, flabbergasted and suddenly uncomfortable.

“I can just be kind of crazy sometimes…” He repeated laughing.

Despite a great first date, I never called him again.

La beauté

The December issue of Psychology Today pays their tribute to the Frenchwoman…

The issue encourages readers to ask questions about the truth behind beauty, forcing us to accept the “not-so-pretty” facts about our looks.

In her article Can You be Too Beautiful? Heidi Grant Halvorson makes reference to the French woman.

French women, too, buy into the idea that there’s some fountain of youth at the Clarins counter. But, perhaps because feminism never seeped into mainstream culture in France like it did here, they generally have a healthier and more realistic relationship with beauty, accepting it as the conduit to love, sex, relationships, and increased opportunities. They take pleasure in cultivating their appearance, and in accentuating their physical differences from men. They don’t give up on looking after their looks as they age, nor do they tart themselves up like sexy schoolgirls at 50. They simply take pride in their appearance and try to look like sensual, older women.

Halvorson writes that being beautiful is being sexually attractive to men. Having an hourglass figure, for instance, attracts men of all cultures. So, like the French woman, we need to develop a health relationship with our beauty and learn to embrace it. She writes…

Read lots of books, develop your mind and your character, exercise the rights the heroes of the women’s movement fought for us to have, and strive to become somebody who makes a difference in the world. And, pssst…while you’re doing all of that, don’t forget to wear lipgloss.

La femme de sa vie.

There are some guys who just don’t date?

For years they stride through life without commitments, flippantly enjoying romantic affairs from beautiful woman to beautiful woman. Often these men are rich, attractive, or extremely charismatic. And they’re usually nice guys, just not that interested in being tied down in a steady relationship like the rest of us.

And then after years you hear through the grape vine that he’s with some chick.

I found out that an old bachelor friend of mine had finally settled down with a cute girl. She was indeed quite lovely — though somewhat naive and demure — an oddly suited choice for this classic bachelor quite frankly.

“Is it the right girl or just the right time in his life” I asked myself.

So, I asked my mom’s boyfriend (a former none serious relationship dude back in the day)…

“So usually it’s a bit of both,” he explained. “He’s tired of the game and just wants to settle down. Guys like that are usually very critical so he must think she’s nearly flawless. It’s not always a bad thing though, usually a girlfriend makes a man like that a better person.“

Ce que j’ai toujours su.

I believe I have discovered who I was in my last life.

“Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman’s womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to BE. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her”

— Anaïs Nin (The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1)