I love my gumpion too.

Where to begin? I'm writing this blog from my old LES apartment. My dog and I lasted one full week before receiving a certified letter from the coop referring to the dog forthwith heretofore albeit referred to as "The Dog" making it clear that The Dog would need to vacate the building. As if! I can only compare this to our beloved old block in PDX where neighborhood children would frolic, skipping down teh block holding hands and calling out "Hello A" to my furry baby who was manning the window, growling at old ladies zooming by on Jazzies.

So, whether I stay or return to Portland here I am subletting my old place again. 8 people are scheduled to check it out, which means half will show, I predicted. But so far, everyone has been here. Some prospective tenants reveal a little too much, as in one guy who I thought was a touch hyper and said he was in recovery. Fine. Just don't tell me.

But, onto other realms: dates. Met N. for drinks at Sycamore. She always picks great places, and soon this will be her neighborhood. 2 glasses of Prosecco and shared some hard pretzels with people at the bar. Apparently, pretzels are a commodity at bars. I liked the little flower shop in front and I like this strip in Ditmas Park. N. and I discussed a rather pervasive problem in NYC: Whiney Little Bitches. That's you, people! Men! So, as a good friend in Portland asked me recently: how are the men in NY compared to Portland? Can't say I'm impressed, seems like a bunch of hot messes here. I can't say I've really experienced the WLB syndrome yet myself, but I agree it is out there.

Examples:
1) Date with T. Day date, fine. Met at The Strand and walked his dog to dog run at Union Square. He looked maybe 5-10 yrs older than his photo. But nice, nonetheless. At one point he flung the leash in the air, t o play with his dog, and the metal part HIT MY HEAD. I tried not to scream, OW! But he saw the look on my face and I was rubbing my head.

Injury Number One (more to come)

2) New Year's Day. Wake up feeling semi-awful. Two text messages from T. One, indecipherable, done at like at 2am. Next one, "J. love your gumpion." I texted my brother: hey, what's gumpion? He explained that with iphones it's easy to make a mistake like that and he prob meant gumption.

I love my gumpion too.

3) After drinks with N. we went to visit my husband (he just doesn't know it yet) at Castello Plan. Ben Neeejrigurjoepweoieuthjqgfosda - some Danish type of name. Who wouldn't want to marry a man who brings you pumpkin gnooci, some crazy ass mushroom cheese plate and a wine I now forget but from Washington state of course. It's so small and well lit in there.

4) My brother's girlfriend told me over dinner that she had to tell me something and she would tell me after she finished her glass of wine. She finishes one. She finishes two. Finally, I remind her, thinking naively hey maybe it'll be some good news. Why? Why do I have this pollyanna take on life. Is it ever good news? Ever? Nope and not this time either. In a city with over how many singletons? Turns out that years ago she went on a date with Israeli guy. Not the end of the world. But when you start think that she went out with him and now goes out with my brother and i went out with him...well, it's just a small, incestuous circle.

5) Had two dates with a hipster who owns two bars in Brooklyn. I'm looking to meet someone and bring him back to Portland. He - ridiculously - wants to meet a woman and bring her to Colorado. Whatever, buddy. Get a clue!

6) Coffee date today with a psychologist. He is probably totally screwed up.

7) Going back to my night out with N. last night. After leaving her I walked back to the subway stop, and on my my slipped on some ice. My wallet and cell flew up and out of my purse. I got myself together, looked both ways - good nobody laughing, acknowledging, helping, fine, let's all pretend that didn't happen. But then I walked right past the subway (3 glasses of wine), luckily a guy with an MTA jacket pointed me in the proper direction and it was only like 9:30.

Injury Number 2.

8) When i first arrived to NY, a man followed me out of the subway. At first I was totally annoyed and stopped walking. I hate it when someone has to be on my heels like that. Get away! But he stopped me and said excuse me and said I just think you're beautiful and I know this is a long shot but I wrote my number down if oyu ever want to go on a date.

I had just returned to NY and when I told Y. this story she was like: yeah, it's that just arrived thing, you've not been beaten down by NY. Not, gee you're lovely and that's flattering. But you know what, I think she's right. This city is hard and I'm left wondering...

What did I do with that guy's number?