Dating in New York

Dating in New York is like..

While there are just shy of a million similes I could use to finish that lead, there’s one analogy I’m feeling best describes my current situation as the single girl NY has only-too-happily taken to. 

Dating in New York is like the 5-10 seconds before you sneeze… It feels good, and you know something awesome is going to happen in a short time, but it’s kind of uncomfortable to be in such a vulnerable state of waiting. 

Is he going to ever text me again? Do I even have a tissue? 

The feelings are one in the same. At least in my distracted and smoke-filled mind. 

It’s fun, embracing the unknown. Not being sure of exactly what the future, or even this Friday night, will hold, is an awesome feeling, especially riding the coattails of knowing exactly what my nights would be comprised of for so long. (Three minutes of this, six minutes of that and then some Ben and Jerrys before we both pass out). 

me looking out at all of my potential suitors. LOLZ
me looking out at all of my potential suitors. LOLZ

It’s just that it’s such a game. Inevitably we’re all pit to be players. 

The guy I went home with the other night was cool, good looking, etc. Actually, he was one of the only check-all-boxes guy I’ve met here. Which is probably why I naturally had to scare him away immediately. Anyway, so back at his apartment he looked at me at one point and said “why do you think I’m some player, I really don’t do this often”. 

Why did I think that? I positioned myself, and hopefully playfully enough, as “what am I, the third one this week?” Wince.. 

Is it my pace that’s totally off? 

Reading this now, this sounds like the most Carrie Bradshaw styled post I’ve churned out yet, but maybe that’s because I’ve finally hit the status of “dating” in New York. I’ve finally had enough terrible dinners, awkward conversations, cuddly morning afters and inevitable “why isn’t he texting me” moments to become someone whose actively dating in New York. 

Hm.. 

Dating in New York is definitely a game, and while I’ve got the uniform down, I’m not sure how my strategy will play out. 

Trust me, they all call me after. Double text, triple Snap. There will always be exceptions, but that’s just the same the white-kids-in-the-NBA rule. But is that the preferred end goal? 

If dating in New York is a game, then how do we win? 

Is marriage the check-mate? Or is a fifth dinner out considered hitting the jackpot?

I guess I’ll keep applying three coats of mascara and playing until I figure it out. 

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