Is It Okay To Act Desperate?

Depending on sample size, location, and attractiveness, the average match ratio for men on Tinder is typically under 10%. In densely populated areas, it generally drops to less than half of that. With all things considered, it’s easy to get desperate like Pepé Le Pew if these are your odds at just landing a match; let alone a reply; let alone a conversation; let alone a date; let alone a relationship. It’s helpful to set your expectations way down low and not respond like this dude:

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However, knowing what it’s like, I don’t blame this guy one bit – maybe go easy on the CAPS lock next time though. Just a thought.

Here’s to all the Pepé Le Pew’s out there. I feel for ya!

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I’m right there with you – sort of. Dammit, you know what I bloody well mean.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

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12 Days Of New York Christmas: Dating Edition

On the 1st day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: AN UNFORGETTABLE GIRL FAIL

On the 2nd day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me:  TWO WOMEN WITH TAYLOR SWIFT LYRIC TATTOOS

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On the 3rd day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: THREE NIGHTS CAMPING WITH MY EX

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On the 4th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: FOUR OVERZEALOUS DRACONIAN FEMINISTS

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On the 5th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me:  FIVE SANCTIMONIOUS #BLESSED HASHTAGGERS

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On the 6th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: SIX WHORES IN THE DRAWERS

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On the 7th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me:  SEVEN WET BLANKETS WHO HAVE MET THEIR FRIEND THRESHOLD

On the 8th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me:  EIGHT ENTERTAINING IDENTITY CRISES

On the 9th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: NINE DUCK-FACE SELFIES

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On the 10th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: UPTALKING OR VOCAL FRYING DEBUTANTES

On the 11th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: ELEVEN BATHROOM MIRROR SELFIES  (I get it, you use the toilet, you’re potty trained and we’re all super duper proud of you but I don’t need photo evidence of this. Seriously.)

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On the 12th day of Christmas, New York dating gave to me: TWELVE REPLY-LESS MESSAGES

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This is in response to New York Cliche’s Christmas post. If you’re not familiar, check out her site and follow her on all the social media business. She’s cool, quirky, urban, and – wait for it, wait for it – cliche (ba dum tsh; facepalm). But in a good way.

Spread the love.

Happy Holidays/Christmas/Anti-Christmas/Kwanzaa/Hanukkah!

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Girl Fail #22 (Ladybug)

A wise poet once defined love as two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other. Although I don’t expect this to be a revealing statement, notice how “solitude” is the subject – the polar opposite of partnership.

This is my story of such a love.

Our first date was simple; Sunday lunch and a walk on the High Line (a public park built on an elevated freight rail line). There wasn’t a stream of silence lasting more than 30 seconds the entire time we were together. Her voice was gentle and silvery but words will always – as expected – fall short of the ineffable. Something about her timbre was soothing. Her face was also gentle, a little glossy and perfectly aged to 29. No makeup. A little fat to her cheeks with a light skinned mole on her right side. Her smokey brown eyes were comforting. Her wavy hair, stretching down a few inches past her bony shoulders, reflected a similar shade of brown. It was slightly frizzy but compellingly natural. No bangs. She made few attempts to conceal her age. Her hands were perfection; nails weren’t chewed but grown out a few millimeters past her digits, the sort of hands that give the impression of prescient dexterity despite knowing nothing of their history.

She was older, which probably meant she was taking a chance on me, a writer and a Yale graduate. I anticipated her intelligence but her wittiness and sense of humor was bewitching. (Not to sound sexist but from my experience, most women excel in replenishing flirtatious banter but not in the instigation. She was assertive and could craft a great joke.)  Her analytical mind and serene temperament matched my own but luckily we were able to break that wall from time to time with an invigorating story, like the one about the Muffin Man.

No, not the one who lives on Mulberry Lane but of Samuel Bath Thomas; creator of Thomas English Muffins.

“He actually moved to the city, right around here, about a century ago,” I explained.

“There was a serial killer in Alaska named the Muffin Man. Is it bad that I thought you were talking about that?”

“Are you serious? Now I’m imagining him outlining bodies with blueberry muffins – you know, instead of a chalk outline.”

“Think of all the wasted muffins. And who wanders around with a box of muffin mix and a cleaver?” she added with a smirk. “What if Thomas English Muffins is just a cover up?!? You better call Alaskan police.”

“Holy shit, we just cracked this case wide open!”

This repartee actually continued for several minutes and became hysterically detailed but you get the drift. The first date was a success, so we made plans for a second.

Plan:    An evening of bowling

Problem:    She was busy every evening

Solution:     Bowl at 10am on a weekday after a couple of waffles from a local diner

Unable to tell her I, too, was busy, and afraid of losing a second date, I called my boss and took off work in order to bowl on a brisk November Monday morning. Despite not having many vacation days, this made me look adventurous and a tad bit silly (hopefully).

“When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one’s self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.”  – Oscar Wilde

Breakfast was first. Conversation came easy and topics ranged from Lethal Weapon to Lady Gaga to Zen Buddhism to friendships to philosophy to roommates to writing to meditation to cooking and on and on. One topic would branch into a dozen separate tangents that we both had countless thoughts on. Never in my life have I been able to engage with someone on some many levels. She wasn’t an acquaintance I’m seeing for the second time, she was an old companion. Least, that’s what it felt like.

Do you know those self-adhering paper napkin bands that are wrapped around silverware?

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Well, a playful thing I like to do is to make paper airplanes out of them to throw at my frog.jpgdates. What I didn’t expect was that she retaliated with a paper stealth bomber. In actuality, she made a paper frog that you could bounce but it looked more like a aircraft to me. She had an equal or greater response to everything, as if she was returning the favor in an attempt to woo me as well. Boredom was not in the cards that morning, or any morning as long as it was with her.

Bowling was second and we had the entire alley to ourselves for our first game.

Where have the women like this been all my life? You see, I’m analytical and skeptical. Which means I inexorably scrutinize the world around me. On top of this, I obsess over philosophy and the nature of the mind, which none of my friends do, or if they do, I lead the conversation. This was the first time where I was well matched, so to speak, and could freely express my ideas without being misunderstood. I was a prisoner of solitude finally being let out. It tickled my brain and electrified my body to connect in this way, if only I could contain that ecstasy in a jar for future use.

After my fifth gutter, it became clear how many ersatz relationships I’ve had; that is, cheap imitations of this. Humility in intelligence is sexy. So, if she had something to say, I wanted to listen. My tenpins game is amateurish at best but it grew worse because I kept my attention on what my next joke or thought would be. Pulling it together, I managed a spare.

“Woah!” she cheered. “These graphics are ridiculous.”

She was referring to the cheap animation on the TVs overhead. One such graphic was a silhouette of a woman (like in the opening credits of James Bond).

“Some Asian lady wearing jeans comes up when you bowl a spare!” she observed.

“It’s a silhouette. How can you TELL she’s Asian? Let along an Asian wearing jeans?”

“She’s got chopsticks in her hair!”

“Oh yeah? And what brand jeans? Levi’s?”

“Sounds about right.”

This went on for a while until we were both laughing with exhaustion. There may have been tears.

After dominating the first game, she suggested that for the next round, whoever wins the frame gets to ask the other person a question. Challenge accepted! And challenge lost.

She won all but a couple of frames and consequently, asked me quite a lot of questions. What were you like with girls in High School? What do you do for Thanksgiving? How does your brain work? How do you form thoughts? What are your guilty pleasures? How private of a person are you?

Be honest, dear reader, how many dates have you been on where someone asks how your brain works? This was by far my favorite query and I knew exactly how to answer. I connected my response to a few heroes of mine, one of them being Bertrand Russell.

“I wish I could write about philosophy the way Russell did,” she commented.

At that moment, I wanted to throw my arms around her and kiss her. Not because good ol’ Russell turns me on but because I finally met someone who feels the same way about his writing and how pragmatically beautiful it is. But alas, I had to keep my composure and not melt at her feet.

“Make your ego porous. Will is of little importance, complaining is nothing, fame is nothing. Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.”  – Rainer Maria Rilke

Prior to leaving the alley, we discussed what to do for our third date. Needless to say, we felt satisfied while making our way to an uptown R train.

After feeling the jolt of the train car at her stop, we kissed and she got off. Staying put, I watched her take a right out the doors and begin walking away. Just before escaping my line of vision, she turned around smiling, and waved to me. In that moment, I was the king of the world. I was so content that afternoon that I missed my stop.

That was the last time I saw her. A few hours later, we had the following conversation:

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Scanning that first text, I was crassly catapulted from my “date high” and slammed into my seat. Without any gain, I felt 100 pounds heavier. Good grief. And while I will never know if she was telling her entire side of the story, I was slighted by her insinuation that I don’t fall into the “touchy-feely/artsy-fartsy” category. The irony in that sentence may very well spark an identity crisis within me.

And yet, I’m not here to object her underpinnings. All pithy rhetoric aside, everyone uses the first couple dates to suss out how romantic they are willing to get with someone. You’re unknowingly asking yourself: Is this the guy I want to give birthday blowjobs to? Is this the woman I want to thrust into on the kitchen floor or in the shower, when the roommies are gone? 

“Among men, sex sometimes results in intimacy; among women, intimacy sometimes results in sex.”    – Barbara Cartland

To me, she was providential. To her, I was a decent guy to play tenpins with.

Here’s the best part, even her rejection text is FAR superior compared to the countless I’ve received. Most people would have remorselessly ignored my follow ups.

Any silver lining? Sure. A few months ago, I wrote a post entitled She Makes Me Wanna Die (Girl Fail #21) about an ex that – up until now – I considered to be the love of my life. For years, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find a connection truly worth keeping until now. Just knowing that I can feel this way again is a victory.

But the truth is unsettling all the while. I keep telling myself you will forget her silvery voice; her gentle face; her smokey brown eyes; her wavy hair; her perfect hands. After all, much of her body will remain undisclosed and a complete mystery to me.

If I bumped into her on the street, I’d want to tell her that she’d been on my mind every single day since we met. How every idle moment seems to effortlessly, albeit not painlessly, default to an affectionate thought of her. Of course, I could never confess this. Ironically, that’s no way to treat a lady.

{If by some astronomical chance YOU (the subject of my post; you who dreams of being James Bond) ever read this, I hope it finds you in good spirits. You never need doubt your ability to create a spark in someone else. P.S. I hope I made you smile at least once here.}

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Dating Tip: Apple Pie and Romance

If you’re concerned about building romantic chemistry with someone, here’s a tip: FIGHT. A more poetic phrasing would be to say that light only comes from heat. (Perhaps you’re familiar with Heracleitus’ criticism of Homer’s pacifism.) Every conversation is performance art; think of it like composing music. Most memorable pieces underscore the fine line between tension and release; pain and pleasure; suspense and idyll. Harmless disputation charges adrenaline glands and endorphin levels, augmenting your appeal. To be sure, I’m not advising you to go all Donald Trump 2016 on them but if your conversation has been nothing but agreeable and innocent, you’ve only proven one thing and one measly thing only; that you’re safe. No one wants “safe” on the first few dates. “Safe” pays the bills and picks up the kids from soccer practice, sure, but are you there yet? Hopefully not. Instead, everyone wants to ride the bull before they let it graze their pasture. So, how do you instigate a little dissonance?

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Say you’re at a diner and they order apple pie to go with their afternoon coffee. Now, sweet apple pie may be your favorite dessert in all existence. In fact, your Aunt Edna (bless her heart) may have expounded to you the delicacies of picking the freshest apples from the lush orchards of upstate New York, constructing the perfect crust, and sharing with you her secret weapon that sets her recipe apart (lemon zest?). You may, at first, want to unleash, as if in dissertation form, all these warm memories of loving apple pie as a kid. Or how your Aunt Edna (bless her heart, again) was the best pie maker in all the world and how your date would have savored every bite of her pie and how you would love to show her the recipe yourself one day so that Aunt Edna’s memory could live on through her perfected palate.

But no, not today.

apple2.gifToday, you fucking hate that vile shit. In fact, how could they even order such a ghastly dish to ruin their coffee on such a sunny day? You were actually having a pleasant date until THEY had to invidiously bankrupt it. Can you believe their insolvency? This is their response to your comportment? Jesus! Have they no common decency to themselves or – at the very least – human courtesy to YOU?!?!?

No, today you will disgrace that apple pie in front of the very makers whom labored tirelessly over it, hoping to serve it to an abject customer until your dying breath. Then, and only then, will your date engulf their overpriced pie. But even in that seemingly “safe” moment, they will think of your mortified self. Oh yes, yes they will.

And that is why they’ll text you back the next day. And that is why you’ll get another date.

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-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

13 Reasons Why Men Suck (Part 3)

Here are the top deplorable reasons why men suck. (Part 1 and Part 2)

4) We can be emotionally unavailable. Not to say we’re autistic or sociopathic but some men believe themselves to be (or pride themselves in being) impervious to the emotional. Tacit Psycho.jpgnorms label the full gamut of emotions as taboo and in order to heed your duties of manhood, we shelter tears lest we be held accountable for them and written off as a girl or homosexual. Stemming from older generations where this was more rife, we are our father’s sons. (A close friend of mine still prides himself in having never cried. His wife attests to it too.) Stoicism, rather than perfunctory introspection, is widely understood as a masculine trait and until we divorce these characteristics from one another, men will continue to displace their sentience erratically, using women as punching bags, even if just verbally. To be sure, empathy is a muscle that MUST be exercised, so I encourage you to question yourself and challenge this archetype.

3) Beauty’s pedestal: This goes for both sexes but I believe men are more culpable. The point being, we award too much to appearances and allow it to influence our perception of others. “Have you met Karen? She works in Marketing. She’s so hot.” “Damn, I’ll definitely have to meet her then!” And when you do, her jokes are funnier; thoughts are perfectly insightful; ideas are intrinsically novel; touch is more enchanting; requests are registered as tests of affection. However, maybe there’s more to Karen than her tight ass. (Or, maybe not – I don’t know, I just made her up.) Will I ever grow up out of this insatiable, often times incorrigible, POV? While I’m unable to dissociate myself from my neurological makeup, and my sensitivity to visual stimuli, I try not to remain spellbound by beauty and break free from this Mortal Kombat “FINNISH HIM” daze whenever I can. After all, we are not identical to our thoughts, emotions or desires.

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2) Catcalling or street harassment is unwanted comments – most often, sexual or objectifying – made by strangers in public spaces. While this is commonly tied to urban harrass.jpgareas, make no mistake; this is a global issue with contemptuous consequences. According to a Washington Post article published in June of 2014, the nonprofit organization Stop Street Harassment released their findings in the first national study on catcalling. This bar graph notates the percentages of public harassment in America by gender. Compared to similar polls conducted (for instance, from another anti-harassment organization, Hollaback!), this graph’s estimates may be conservative. You may remember the #NoWomanEver campaign on Twitter, followed by the less meaningful #NoManEver trend, or the Hollaback! video 10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Woman, or Jessica Williams’ version of it from the Daily Show. The purpose of these pieces is to raise awareness to incredulous men by providing proof of what so many don’t experience or see. It’s worth noting that shameless men that catcall women are also jerkoffs to other men but in less of a lecherous manner.

1) According to a 2010 CDC report, approximately 1 in 6 women are victims of abuse (compared to 1 in 71 men). It’s no secret that unconscionable men embodying much of these 13 Reasons Why Men Suck are the initial perpetrators but it doesn’t end there. How those in the media, criminal justice system, and state legislature deal with victims, and the alleged, is just as relevant. How many spotlight cases from this year alone can you think of? Brock Turner and all the victims of Bill Clinton and Donald Trump probably come to mind. Whether every story is true, I don’t know. What is imperative here is that we don’t shun those who do speak out. (Most instances of abuse aren’t officially reported.) Ironically, we can do this while remaining slightly skeptical in cases mired in political leverage, as seen with this past election. Only with a safe space in which these victims can tell their stories can they finally have a chance at proper justice and vindication.

Agree with my list? Was there something I missed? Let me know!

And remember, we don’t all suck.  :p

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

13 Reasons Why Men Suck (Part 2)

(Part 1 or Part 3)

Let’s get right to it, shall we? Here’s the next batch of self-sexist flaws:

S2.gif8) Sexual development. Statistically speaking, this can be understood as one of the causes of #9 (misunderstanding women). According to a study published by the Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality on gender differences, males are not only more prone to masturbation – which remains consistent throughout their lifetimes – but their first sexual experience generally comes from themselves, whereas most females, initially feel sexual pleasure with another person. Consequently, sexual gratification for men – not to mention a plethora of orgasms – precedes any relationship, which renders a diminished cash value in partnership for some young adult men. To be sure, this is a physiological force to be reckoned with. On average, men’s sex drive peaks before 20 years of age, while a women’s will peak between the ages of 30 and 40. The silver lining for my lascivious gender is not having to deal with unwanted and completely unwarranted erections every 15 minutes anymore. How many erections must a teenage boy deal with at a bloody funeral? This is madness!

7) “Be a man!” Ah, the classic fear of being emasculated. Due to our own personal socialization and rigid societal norms, droves of men from countless generations have suppressed childhood trauma or adulthood shortcomings with substances and/or physical activity. Since when did boxing, as opposed to therapy, become the appropriate outlet for emotional distress 5.jpgstemming from an unloving parent? For one thing, the gratification from boxing is – by comparison – immediately felt. There’s quite a lot one can learn from the sport and from themselves but we have a grand tendency to square our vices in indirect ways. This categorical pressure is put on from everyone, which makes it all the more ironic when heterosexual males are emasculated by their female counterparts for not falling into their stereotyped gender roles. We as a society engineered these gender roles and the circumstances of their failure to satisfy our basic human integrity. (This, too, is madness.) Ask yourself, who was more of a manly figure in Fight Club; Pitt or Norton? Quod erat demonstrandum.

6) Having game. How skilled are you at repartee and picking up women? How many partners have you had? Do you fully satisfy her yet leave her begging for more? The desire 6for flattering reputations that precedes you when it comes to attracting partners is undeniable in countless social circles. Consider this, my entire blog is based on my failure to get a single date. I’m not talking about trouble finding “the one” or a “good” girl or attending bad Tinder dates  – on the contrary, this makes up for 90% of all single/dating blogs authored by women (just an observation here). Therefore, it should come as no surprise that any man known for “having game” is revered and exhorted. Otherwise, Jack Nicholson wouldn’t be so infamous for his off-screen self-indulgences.

5) Sports. This kindling is ubiquitously favored for male-to-male relations. It appears as profitable water cooler banter. It’s the fast food lettuce; the degree-lacking weatherman; the cheap champagne in your mimosa; the holiday regift. It’s a instant IN for most men, by far the easiest way to make friends, and if you’re not familiar, prepare for bite-sized abandonment and cold stares from your male acquaintances. If they can’t talk to you about Tom Brady, what can they talk to you about? Literally anything else? That might be too much to handle.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Halloween On The Scene

‘Tis that festive time of the year in America where everyone dresses up, feasts on cheap milk chocolate, downs several cocktails, stumbles back to their homes, empties out their cornucopias, followed by their stomachs. Just me? Well, I’m sure Merman didn’t make it to the bathroom in time too.

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For all you part-time office dwellers, today was the perfect opportunity to affront your smug boss by covering them with a thousand post-it notes. If you didn’t, it’s still Halloween week, you can still get away with it if done with enough conviction. Awkwardly get the closet key from Sharlene the hoarder, grab ten dozen packages of post-its, half the HR team, and ambush your boss in his/her corner office. Do it. Do it while you still can dammit! This week is about showing your true self.

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Several years ago, I went to a college Halloween party where an old acquaintance had the gall to dress up as a six-foot penis. He was the ex-boyfriend of a good friend and after a few drinks she vehemently vented to me about how he cheated and appeared emotionally devoid during most of their relationship. While consolation would have been appropriate, I took the more impertinent route. After returning my gaze back to her, my only response was, “Of course he did Vicky. He is literally a giant dick.” Buyer beware.

Happy Halloween all!

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC