Hickeys and Roaches

After a brief glance at my neck, my roommate exclaimed, “Hey, looks like you got yourself a hickey! I knew you’d eventually get on board. Who’s the lucky girl?” hick

“Oh, that?” I replied aridly. “That is not a hickey. I wanted to talk to you about this. In fact, I have a few of those and after doing some research, I realized that they’re actually bites.”

The exhorted expression on his face dwindled. My unfortunate vicissitudes have a way of straining my conversations, so I finished my thought.

“Don’t worry, we don’t have bedbugs. They’re actually cockroach bites. Since they can’t always find food in the kitchen, I guess they crawl on me in my sleep looking for something to eat and when I move, they bite me out of fear and draw blood.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Pausing for a moment, I thought to elevate our spirits. “But hey, that doesn’t mean I can’t find someone and get a real hickey, right?”

Wishful thinking? Maybe.

New York City, you strike again at the single man. Why must you be so caustically callous?

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Neighborhood Sex

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My upstairs neighbors have sex all the time. The pesky creaks from their bed frame seeps through into my room at night with ease as I try to fall asleep. I’m sure I’d be less annoyed if they were good people but that’s simply not the case. My only sense of payback has been reduced to watching porn through my high fidelity sound system when my roommate’s not there. Sadly, I haven’t reached my low point yet.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Friends of Friends (Girl Fail #1)

I still can’t believe I’m starting a blog about my failures but here goes nothing.

After turning my brain into mush on a distant Friday evening last year, I went out with friends the next day to exercise my savoir-faire and curb my mirthless demeanor; a result of cabin fever. The treatment: craft beers and bocce ball at a local bar. Through my friend Bill, I met Wendy and Katie. Katie immediately caught my eye so I made sure to stick around and make an impression. Wendy’s a fun girl. The type of person with a glass of wine in her hand at all times, entertaining groups of people, and occasionally batting her hand down to the floor exclaiming “love ya” or “darling!” The four of us were inseparable the entire night and Wendy eventually invited us, and a few others, to her apartment in Brooklyn for some wine. There I was on a Saturday, surrounded mainly by strangers with merry faces, warm white wine, and jazz music in the background coming from the sound system in the kitchen of an apartment I’ve never been to. Katie and I continued to flirt and learn more about one another even after everyone else had left. Out of context, I’m sure this makes me appear like a creeper guy who won’t leave but I swear the conversation had merit. Wendy offered me the couch and after seeing how late it was, I accepted. Katie stayed in Wendy’s room.

I was the first to rise the next morning and quickly realized that I never asked for Katie’s number. “Blast! I blew it,” I thought. It might seem  strange if I just left my number on a sheet of paper on the couch, so I decided to write a little note inviting Wendy and Katie to an event. “Morning, thanks again for letting me crash here. My roommates and I are having a Super Bowl party next weekend. You should all come.  – SingleGuyNYC (my phone #)” Katie texted me that day letting me know she had fun and to send her information about the party when I can. All seemed well so far. The only problem was that I actually had no party planned, I don’t watch sports, and I don’t have a TV. Minor details really. I spent the next day running around, pulling strings, and convincing my only friend with a TV to host a Super Bowl party at his apartment. After sending her the details, she texted:

Katie: Hey SingleGuyNYC. Thanks for thinking of us. I’m actually on a bus headed home for the weekend. But keep me in mind for the next time!

Me: Will do. Enjoy your weekend

Katie: Thanks. Just had to surround myself with Pats fans

Me: Least your team placed. Plus it’s terribly hard to find any Browns fans outside of Cleveland

Katie: haha. Good point

The party was organized for nothing but it could have been worse. At least she specified “…keep me in mind for next time!” Not to mention that when you’ve been single for some time, you start to aggrandize and romanticize exclamation marks. Now it was time for plan B (no Pharmacist needed) – bonfire at my place. Why bonfire? As you can probably imagine, it’s uncommon in NYC to have one, it’s universally exciting, easy to invite people to, and it goes great with alcoholic provisions. A few days after the game, we texted about the Super Bowl and I asked her if she and Wendy would like to go to my bonfire party. I never heard back from her. A couple days before the event, I sent a reminder but she remained unresponsive.

As silly as it may seem, I thought about her for the next month. Where did I go wrong? What if there was this time frame – a window of ‘dating opportunity’ if you will – that I miscalculated? Hard to say I didn’t try. Perhaps she was looking for a simple date like a Sunday morning brunch? Can you blame a guy for trying to woo a pretty brunette? Or perhaps bonfires are too woo-tastic?

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC