In Her Hazel Eyes

So, my cab driver this afternoon was quite the talker. Initially, I was annoyed as I was on my way to an interview and trying to concentrate on reviewing my resume in the back while he drove. Hearing your driver ask, “can I ask you a question?” is not always what you want to hear when you get in the back of car. Before I had the opportunity to launch myself from the moving vehicle or to shout, “PLEASE GOD, NOOO!” he stated he wanted to ‘get a girl’s opinion’ who was not involved in the situation… hmm… interesting… tell me more….

He immediately began spilling out details about the female he met several weeks before at Pacha… since cab drivers apparently frequent Pacha, obviously. He filled me in on the fact that they met at the bar and she currently has a boyfriend who she doesn’t seem to have any intention of breaking up with any time soon. Despite this, the girl has been texting my cab driver every morning asking how he is, what he’s up to and when they can hang out as friends. My cabbie seemed to find this odd as why would a girl continue to text a man she wants to be friends with when she has a boyfriend? His questions to me were, “What do you think? What would you do?”

I found this scenario pretty simple to answer. If a girl (or a guy) is dating someone and pursuing you, whether it be more than friends or some other undefined grey area, they’re not a great person. Simple as that. Odds are if you give in and allow this person into your life, they’ll do the same thing to you.  Any girl with a boyfriend shouldn’t be texting a random guy she met at a bar on a daily basis. Any normal girl that is. 

With that advice my driver seemed pleased and said he felt the same way. He felt like there was no need to be friends with a girl over text whom he probably wouldn’t spend time with. He then proceeded to launch into a monologue beginning with his upbringing and ending on his college years in Albany, New York. Thank you random man for your life story in 30 seconds or less. The only fitting statement for this interaction is… only in New York, kids. Only in New York. 

This weekend, I spent Friday night playing trivia games at Dave & Buster’s with a few good friends. You cannot imagine how cut throat I can become once realizing children’s prizes are involved in said games. I left Times Square with a new pink stuffed monster (don’t be jealous) and the phone number of a slightly creepy actor working at the facility… yes, I admit it. I panicked again. I accepted the number of another male whom I had no intention of calling. Per usual, I didn’t think to say I had a boyfriend and just took his number… luckily one of my best guy friends was on hand to delete it immediately there after and to scold me for agreeing to call him in the first place. Oops.

On Saturday afternoon, a friend of mine and I decided to go check out Electric Daisy Carnival at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey. If you know what that is you get one free imaginary cookie from me. If not, it’s a music festival based in Las Vegas that features some of the world’s best DJs all together over a three day period. It’s basically an electronic Coachella and Avicii was playing on Saturday night, who I have formed an unhealthy obsession with over the past few weeks.

If you saw me in person, I don’t think you’d suspect I was into any type of DJ scene - mostly because I just recently became interested in it - and because I don’t do drugs nor wear a pile of overly bright neon clothes much as many fans do. Based on this criteria, my friend and I didn’t exactly fit in among thousands of fans wearing rainbow tutus, waving lolly pops around and throwing yellow and green glow sticks in the air. For this reason, I prefer to enjoy these types of concerts from areas where the masses are not. Luckily, my friend had set all this up so we didn’t have to watch from the main sea of drug ingesting hipsters.

After climbing up the stairs of a restricted area along the side of the stage, we located a good spot with some steps to stand on (we’re two short girls) and looked around us. We quickly realized that the neon had bled into this area also and we were pretty much on our own as far as normalcy was concerned. My friend remarked that if she was tasked with locating someone to date in this crowd of 10,000 - she’d be screwed. As Avicii started his set, we zoned in on a group of four or five men about 15 feet away from us. They were nothing but absolute, pure entertainment. I’ve never seen anything like it. All of them stood facing each other in a circle and one after the other began to dance like no one was watching. I mean - arms flailing, legs kicking, Elaine from Seinfeld - dancing. It was almost as if their body parts were not attached to one another and each had set out on it’s own search for rhythm. I, being one who is easily amused, began laughing immediately while my friend reached into her purse to get her iPhone and begin recording this glorious display.

After recording for about three minutes, we were spotted by the group and promptly yelled at - it’s a joke guys, chill out. Apparently the arm flailing was a serious matter and not to be taken lightly. As we turned our attention back to the stage, a man stepped up to me from the crowd before us. A normal looking man. A tall, blonde, shaggy haired… could he be cute? looking man.

Hi, I’m Phil… where are you from?

After replying, “Manhattan” and getting back an imitation of how I apparently said “Man-Hat-Tan,” I was intrigued. Two lines in and I had determined Phil seemed to have a sense of humor. He had apparently noticed mine as well by pointing to the group of male Rockettes kicking around next to us and stating that he’d been laughing at them too. This was followed by my dare to go dance with them and by his own backward jump roping mockery of the group. Any man who is confident enough to mock jump rope in front of a girl he’s just met gets a free point from me.

We chatted for a few more minutes, during which Phil asked me if I was still in college and seemed surprised to learn that I was not 22 years old. I seem to get this rather often as I guess I look much younger than my actual age. Phil was originally from Pittsburgh but hadn’t lived in the U.S. for several years since he works in some type of international media with several clients in Asia - not sure what that entails exactly. Given that he doesn’t live or spend too much time in the U.S. it was fairly obvious this wasn’t going anywhere. That coupled with the fact that it was extremely loud and it was difficult to hear led Phil to smile at me after a few minutes, tell me I was cute and it was nice to meet me before he ducked back into the crowd.

I had no real intention of furthering our conversation even though he was both sweet and quite funny but it was nice to have one of those ‘oh yes, THIS is what it’s like to think someone is cute again’ moments. Every girl has these now and then and it reminds us there are men out there we don’t know who are intriguing and worth a second look. Even in a crowd of tank top wearing, fist pumping boys - there are always some normal ones who can pop up out of nowhere. So thank you, International Phil, for reminding me there are plenty of charming boys out there that I have yet to meet….

A few afternoons ago, I sat with an old co-worker over coffee reminiscing about some of our best dating stories. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time living and working in New York City definitely has a few gems up their sleeve. I, shockingly, have a couple that still make me shake my head in disbelief. It struck me this morning that I somehow have never mentioned any here. 

Having grown up in Connecticut, I mostly went to high school and college with thousands of the same boy.  The Abercrombie & Fitch wearing, soccer and hockey playing, Jeep Cherokee driving average boy.  This is definitely the type of guy I longed for when I was 16 but hey, I didn’t know any better. Moving to New York City presented an entirely different range of men who one doesn’t often come across in Connecticut. The banker. The obscenely rich kid.  The model.  The actor.  The writer.  

It was definitely a nice change to have the opportunity to be introduced to people from different walks of life. People with different views and different ideals than you. This also opens the door to a lot of unique if not strange encounters with men you would never have thought you’d be interacting with at all. And trust me, as a girl, you learn a lot about yourself and what you do and do not want. For me? The first thing I learned? When you meet a guy who either grew up in this city or who went to George Washington University - run. Do not ask questions, just run.

It has been my experience that most, if not all, men who grew up here are slightly off. Most who lived with their parents and were carried by their nannies to school, oddly enough, tend to act like overgrown children in their every day lives. It seems that having everything handed to you creates what I will call a glass ceiling of maturity. This glass ceiling stops further mental growth at about 12 years old. These are the men who will whine that they haven’t gotten the table they wanted at the restaurant or insist you leave a club because they wanted to sit in the back (yes, this has happened to me). Please note this same man asked his mother for a red velvet blazer for his birthday…. red flag much?

Next comes the encounters with men who you’d never have met had you continued living where you grew up. For me this came in the form of a man I will call ‘Brent’. Brent is, by far, the most attractive man I have ever dated. He is the type of man girls do a double take over. And I absolutely did.

A few years ago, on the 4th of July, a few girl friends and I stopped into a random Upper East Side bar on the way home from a party. As we stepped into the entrance, I glanced to my right to see Brent and his friend sitting at a nearby table. I thought to myself immediately, ‘my god, look at him’. Not being one who typically chases after men, we all walked over to the bar and began chatting over drinks. A few moments later, I turned around to realize that Brent was now standing directly behind me. Facing me. 

He must have asked me some sort of question because we began talking and continued talking for the next hour or so. Brent was a former model now handling new business for a company linked closely to the agency I was working for at the time. Oddly enough, we had several friends in common and happened to know a lot of the same people. I realized pretty early on that Brent had a tendency to take himself and life quite seriously. Not something I would consider a wonderful trait in a man. 

Despite my knowing this was most likely going nowhere, we continued to text and meet up for drinks. Brent was good looking and entertaining enough so I figured I’d just enjoy it for the moment. On one particular evening, I met up with him for a drink on the Upper West Side and was persuaded into going with him to take a look at his new nearby apartment. 

We walked a few blocks up and stopped in front of a nice glass apartment building which he stated he had moved into several days earlier. As we walked past the doorman, Brent noted that he had not finished unpacking so not to be alarmed that not everything was in place. I shrugged as things like that don’t particularly matter to me. Unlocking the door to his apartment, Brent stepped back to let me go in first. As I stepped into the living room, I locked eyes on the back wall. There it was.

While Brent had not unpacked all of the boxes stacked about the apartment he had surely taken the time to unpack this and hang it above his couch. Above the couch  hung a (LIFE SIZE) modeling photo of HIMSELF which he must have carried straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch store. As I began to process the situation in front of me, I also began to laugh. “WHAT is THAT?!,” I asked. Quite obviously amused. Brent turned to me and with a dead-pan expression said, “What? That was my favorite shoot.” It was at this exact moment I knew Brent and I were not cut from the same mold. Anyone who failed to see the hilarity in this situation would surely never understand me. I found an excuse to leave his apartment shortly there after.

We continued to text here and there after that evening but didn’t hang out again and over time the texts slowly fizzled. I still cannot imagine my father’s reaction had I ever brought home a man like that. The entire experience still cracks me up. I swear these things only happen in this city. Or maybe only to me. 

While encounters like this will never lead anywhere, I wouldn’t take them back for the world. Brent, like several other men currently roaming around this city, have left me with memories I will probably laugh about for years. And when I do find the one I’m looking for, I will appreciate him all the more… mostly because he won’t be hanging framed photos of himself around our apartment. And he won’t be wearing a velvet blazer while doing it. 

Last night, a good friend of mine and I decided to stop by an industry event a friend was throwing at a little restaurant on the west side of Manhattan.  These events are fairly common in the entertainment industry - easy ways to get to know new contacts, trade business cards, look for jobs, etc.  Personally, I really have to be in the mood to go to these things and make sometimes inane conversation with strangers. I’ve been told many times that I tend to come off as somewhat unapproachable in group situations. I’m not quite sure what this means but apparently I should be grinning like a clown at anyone who looks at me. 

After arriving and surveying the room, my friend and I grab two glasses of champagne (my favorite) and stop to say hello to the host and a few of her friends. As they begin chatting with other guests, we find ourselves in a conversation about the happenings in our group of friends over the past few weeks - who broke up, who is having surgery, who’s out of a job, etc. As we chat, I note two men by the bar who are beginning to show signs of making their way over to us.  Glancing at us and then looking at each other, one begins to get out of his chair as the other follows.  Not particularly overjoyed at this notion, I give my friend a ‘here it comes’ look but there is no escaping it at this point.  

I have always had a slight aversion to new men. I guess I strangely assume I will dislike a person before even speaking to them. This may have something to do with my apparent unapproachable demeanor.  My college roommate can attest to this, having had to literally push me out the door of our apartment on several occasions towards waiting dates I did not want to go on. I did however meet a college boyfriend I was pretty in love with on one of said dates so I will tell myself before you do that I need to be more open to people. 

At this time the two men from the bar have come strolling over and introduce themselves to each of us. We give our names and shake hands politely trying to gauge whether this will be an acceptable conversation or play out to be highly awkward. Since they seem to be fairly harmless, I decide I will play along and engage in the conversation.  It turns out the man I am speaking to is actually a very nice guy.  We chat about work (he is an accountant), traveling, his upbringing and a variety of other topics.  The interaction doesn’t feel forced and I don’t feel like I want to jump out of my skin.  I don’t feel a particular spark with this man but as a friendly guy? He’s nice to chat with.  

I find myself wondering if I should be giving the average nice guy who puts himself out there more of a chance.  It is usually my initial reaction to entertain a conversation then excuse myself if I do not feel any sort of attraction or interest for this person.  Odds are I have walked away from some pretty nice guys in my day only to be attracted to more charming types who more than not have turned out to be less than fantastic. The question I pose to you is, do you follow pure chemistry or wait it out and hope you start to feel something for the nice ones?

After two drinks and more pleasant conversation, my friend and I realize we have missed the first hour of the Rangers game (I immediately become internally manic) and we decide to go watch the rest at a friend’s apartment close by.  This, in turn, creates the ‘Is he going to ask for my number’ or ‘Are we going to simply walk away’ moment. The man I am speaking with doesn’t waste much time and says he’d love to go out for a drink sometime.  While I can definitely be an ice queen in certain situations, I always feel guilty making up an excuse or giving a fake number to someone who asks me for it.  I find it’s easier to just give my number and then avoid it later on if I feel the need to. 

As my friend and I walk towards Bleecker, I remark that the two men were much more nice and normal than I had initially anticipated. It wasn’t a terrible experience to entertain the conversation whether or not I felt a strong connection to them.  Will I go out for drinks with the boy who asked for my number? I still remain undecided on that… but I will certainly continue to try to be more open to the nice guys that are out there. 

Ironically, since I wrote the below post yesterday morning quite a few of my perceptions have drastically changed… to start with, the man I speak of? I will call him “Harry”. Harry was engaged when we met (my own mistake), seriously unhappy and planning to call off his impending wedding… so he claimed. It was only until yesterday afternoon that I believed he had called it off months before and only when I came across a wedding registry online did I realize not only is Harry still getting married, but he never moved out of this country at all. I have been heart broken for a month over a situation that didn’t even really exist. 

I am still pretty much in a state of shock at the fact that sick people like him even exist in this world. I cannot even grasp how someone could create so many lies over a period of months and months. Or for that matter, why they would want to. How someone could pursue you so much, tell you how much they love you and talk so much about possibilities in the future I will never understand. Harry had so many opportunities to just walk away from me and he kept going and going and going. It is almost impressive how twisted a human being he actually is when light was finally shed on the situation. I’ve never met a more soulless, gutless coward in my life. Perhaps I was naive to be so trusting of a person but I really never thought anyone could be so mentally fucked up. Even when Harry “went back to London” he continued to say he wanted to work things out somehow. He actually cried on several occasions. And I bought all his massive lies, hook, line and sinker.

At first I was upset to think about what was really going on over the past months that I hadn’t realized. The fact that he probably never moved back to the U.K. at all. The fact that he had obviously lied so many times to my face. The fact that I could fall for a man who is apparently a complete and total sociopath.  But then I started to think, I really didn’t do anything wrong. I was conned from the beginning and he is the guilty party in this. After some thinking, I have to say the way in which I met Harry is a blessing in disguise. 

Thank god I got to see that he is a cheating, lying, heartless loser and that I am not his poor fiance who will inevitably have her heart broken by him just like every other girl he’s come in contact with. From some of my friends’ former weddings, I can say without question, if you go into a marriage doubting things or yourself - it will fail - every single time. I am a strong believer in karma and he will get what he deserves over time. When he is 35 or 40 and divorced with a lonely pathetic life in Manchester, it will be the life that he deserves.  I, on the other hand, am a good girl. I do not treat people like shit and I deserve someone who is so much better than he could ever even hope to be. I still believe there are good guys out there, he just isn’t one of them.

I lowered my own standards for such a pathetic creep and it makes me smile to know I am finally rid of him forever. No more wondering what if and no more maybes. Thank god I was able to walk away from this situation knowing who he truly is. Nothing but a lost, childish, sad little man who will never be content with anything in his life. This is the last time I will mention him on this blog as I have so many better things to focus on - first and foremost, my future life which, thank god, he will never be a part of. 

To all you readers who have been cheated on or lied to, you are so much better off without that person. Years from now you will look back and laugh. Laugh because it is a distant memory. And laugh because you know you are so much better off without them. Knowing they have to look at themselves in the mirror every day and see the sad person staring back at them. 

It really is funny how a small reminder of something can instantly produce feelings you’ve been trying to push away and hide under a rock. And I’d have to say by funny, I mean the way getting slapped in the face can be funny.  This morning, while running around my apartment getting ready for work, I sat down on my bed gathering my things to put in my purse and head out towards the subway.  At the very last moment I realized I had forgotten one last something and pulled open the drawer of my nightstand next to my bed. As I reached in to locate the something I was looking for, my mind riffled through the internal shoe catalog it contains trying to decide on which pair of heels to toss into my bag on the way out the door. 

As my hand made contact with the checkbook I needed, I glanced down to pull off a blank check in order to begin signing over the exorbitant rent charged for my mediocre apartment. As I separated the check from it’s book, I noticed writing beneath it. Had I incorrectly filled out a check and left it in the back? No. This check wasn’t filled out by me.

As I realized what the check was, I sat on my bed a little stunned. My stomach immediately twisted into a knot and my throat became dry. His writing. His name. Middle name and all. Dated March 29th.  A week before he left.  Ironically, a check filled out for seven million dollars as a joke is now staring me in the face like a horribly mean-spirited trick. I think to myself, “You have to be kidding me. I don’t need this.” 

As if completely out of my control, tears begin streaming down my face as the sadness hits me like a brick wall.  There it is again. Not gone. Not even close. Staring at this check makes me feel like he just walked out of my room yesterday all over again. 

As I choke back more tears, I decide this check is not going to ruin yet another of my days. I tear it from the book and rip it to shreds with a mix of sorrow and anger. Sorrow because while I wish I was, I am still not even near to being ok with this situation. Anger because I can’t will my mind to move on and I can’t control being sad sometimes. Anyone who knows me knows I prefer to be in control of things and these emotions, they get the best of me every time.

While I am in a place now where I can get through most days at work without sobbing in the bathroom,  I am still not healed. Still not who I was before. This frustrates me the most as I don’t want to feel a knot in my stomach, I don’t want to miss someone who isn’t there. Facing these emotions and knowing I can’t get rid of them any faster than they want to leave, makes me feel like a victim.

After composing myself and managing to push the feelings back where they came from, into a box in the back of my mind, I take a deep breath and walk out of my apartment. My life these past few weeks has been the more difficult than it’s ever been, but there’s nothing else I can do other than try to move forward.