Have you ever moved back to your old apartment? It's strange thing. I lived here (on the LES) for four years before moving to Portland. I didn't yet have my dog. I was in a relationship (it was torturous, but that's not to say I don't miss the torture). I had not yet lived in Pacific Northwest. I had been in NYC ten years, since I was 21, really much of my adult life.
Let's just say I wasn't thrilled about returning. I wanted to be in Brooklyn, near my friends and near Prospect Park. But after shopping around, I couldn't find much out there and without a job I was hesitant to sign a new lease.
No dogs are allowed in this building. So each time A. lets out a chickeny little bark - baH! - I try to quiet her down. She receives a glob of peanut butter each time she perks her ears and does not bark. And all the same noises are here: the old bag in the apartment above, who may be 200 years old and doesn't ever leave. I hear her every foot step. But I'm listening to music to drown it out and so A. will sleep. Her little beady eyes are finally closed. Someone sent me music by Hello Saferide & it's good, while my computer was opening it as an attachment, out popped itunes where 365 albums live. Hadn't realized that had been transferred from my old laptop. Nice!
Onto the skinny. Dates:
The Israeli guy is in the mix. A morose fellow. Had a nice dinner, talked about love. He's not been in a long relationship. He was honest and direct and I like this. But the cultural impasse may be too great. He spoke of not wanting to come to the LES because it was out of the way from where he was and I was headed west anyway. Shouldn't you WANT to go out of your way for a date? Dude, get a clue. It told him so and he did.
French man. Two dates. Between date one and date two there were at least a dozen texts and a couple of phone calls, all initiated by him. But I drank two IPAs with him after a movie and felt downright drunk for five minutes and then ill all the next day. The worst of all worlds. We had an odd conversation about romantic relationships whereby I found myself asking: have you ever cheated on someone? Of course he had. Why would I ask such a question?
Since there was no text the next day, I assume he was not interested, so I sent him an email suggesting friendship and he was on the same page. But I am left with the question of what are men expecting a date to be like? I feel like I fall short of whatever those expectations are and especially if the guy is looking to settle down, they have impossible standards. And if when we talk about other people, we're really talking about ourselves...maybe I'm the one with impossible standards?
No, scratch that. I think the dilemma for me is that it takes a long time yo get to know the layers people have, and in the dating game it seems there needs to be an immediate fix.
So, The International House of Dating is closing its doors. That was brief.
Took A. for a big run in East River Park this morning, where she found an empty baseball field. She rolled all over the snow, snout first, barked at passing ship, met furry friends, and got lots of compliments from strangers and even treats from a construction worker. I had been so worried about how she'd react to the city. But she loves it: she chases pigeons and the streets are lined with trash and pizza.
Maybe Aggy's my soul-mate?
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