#dogdaysofdating

Abbie and I were both reflecting recently on everything in our lives and we found it odd that we seem to only share our stories when we’re sad or lonely. We started this journey two years ago, and we’ve both come a long way personally and professionally. First off, we each have new careers. Abbie is now the Digital Producer for Mad Money with Jim Cramer. Remember when she quit her VP banking job for a career in television? Well, like I said, Oprah keep your eye on this one. She’s “it.” Start following her on Twitter @abbiesouloflove.

I also have a new job working in real estate as a Marketing Manager, overseeing an entire portfolio of luxury apartments. It’s the best job I’ve ever had. We’re happy in business, and we’re happy in our personal lives. Why am I not writing and sharing this?

I met a guy.

He’s a really awesome guy, and it’s really complicated.

I met this really awesome guy during a random Sunday Funday (which are few and far between these days) in an Upper East Side pub right around the corner from my house. I was with a friend when this tall gentleman walked in and sat next to me. “Cheers” he said as I slid the beer menu his way. “Ah, another Aussie,” I mentally noted and continued chatting with my friend. But after a while, I could pick up bits of the conversation between him and the bartender and it became clearer that he was certainly not Aussie. “Where is that from?” I thought to myself.

I then turned and verbalized my mental thought, “Wow! Where are YOU from? That accent is fresh!” (Because...Hell it was!) He laughed, a bit shocked and said, “I’m from Birmingham.” And that’s where we started. After a couple of drinks, I invited him to meet my friends at another bar since he didn’t have any other plans. “Are you sure? You don’t know me,” he insisted. “Yes, of course! You’re coming.” I affirmed.

Our whirlwind week...

We hung out all that night, even after all my friends went home. We also hung out the next night, and the next night and even the next night. We took a break that Thursday when I had a business trip and then suddenly it was his last night before an early Saturday departure. And while a final winter storm rolled in, pounding us with snow and cold conditions, we defied the weather Gods and ventured to Brooklyn to try the Brooklyn Brewery, a New York staple.

There we sat like two people nervous to make a move as we straddled the picnic benches and grabbed more rounds of beer. When we were finally kicked out at closing time, full from delicious beer, we continued hopping from Brooklyn bar to Brooklyn bar. We even ended up dancing at the bowling alley. I was dancing like a fool, coming alive and peeling away my walls.

After a while, I suggested we head back into Manhattan so he could experience Grand Central. “It never closes,” I assured him. Lo and behold, it was closed and heavily guarded by a few of New York’s finest. I begged one of them to let him see it, since he was flying back the next day. What a wonderful man he was, because he acquiesced and then gave us a private tour of Grand Central Terminal. So there we were, alone in Grand Central. Can you even imagine that? There wasn’t a soul there but us. It was ridiculously romantic. The photos, I’m sure, are amazing. Although I never took any. Looking back now, it feels like New York just stopped and paused for us that week.

As we left, it was already too late to fall asleep, so we agreed to stay on this all-nighter and hit up a nearby pub. As we were crossing the street, he reached for my hand. As his fingers interlaced with mine, I felt my stomach drop, and I surrendered my hand to his. It was so exciting -- me, getting out of my comfort zone and ignoring all my fears.

In the pub I finally asked the dreaded question I had been waiting to ask. You see, on our first “non-date” (aka Monday, after Sunday Funday), I added him on Instagram. The next morning I did what any girl does after an amazing “non-date,” and I searched his feed. The first few were foodie pics and a showcase of his American trip, but then I saw young children and no wife. It broke my heart a little, just knowing there was this great man out there in the world going through something very real, and traveling alone during it, who felt he couldn’t share this with me. I didn’t know the story, and it wasn’t my business to know, but the moment he held my hand, our space had changed. And then I felt I had a right to know.

“So...I’ve been meaning to ask: I see kids in your feed. Can you explain that?” And then he told me about them; they’re very real and they’re very loved, and he’s not married (whew!). Then he kissed me. It was the best kiss, ever. And then he left.

I never thought I’d be smitten with someone who has already started his own family. But here I am, crazy about a guy who happens to already be a dad. I couldn’t think straight...who kisses like that? I’ve never been KISSED like that! Is this real?

At first I didn’t think the feelings would persist. I figured distance would play its role and calm my nerves over time. But the incessant knots in my stomach didn’t fade. I guess it had been so long since I last felt something for someone that my friends were even taking notice, “I’ve never seen you like this, Claire! Giddy for a guy!!”

We continued to text daily and one Friday evening we decided to have a “Skype date.” It was so fun; we were like little kids flirting, all playful and goofy. I tried on my many hats for him and vice versa. He showed me photos of his life and I showed off my tiny shoebox apartment. He made me laugh until I cried. It was an awesome “virtual” date, and I started to feel like my world was coming alive.

That was over two months ago. And every day since then we talk or text and we share our lives, one color at a time. He’s “virtually” met my friends and I’m going to meet his when I visit him next week. In England. I am traveling there with no expectation, just the simple, exciting idea of “what the heck? Why not? This is my life!!!”

Abbie's Perspective (in her writing): 

It is official; Claire and I have embarked on a mission to find love.

According to this article, our perception that NYC women have a ratio disadvantage to men is embellished (it’s 1.07:1 women to men). Apparently, we’ve just been looking in all the wrong places!

To put this article to the test, we have decided to visit each zip code where all of the decent men allegedly reside and see if we can find a good one (or two). We will blog about each adventure, and report back any successes or failures.

To begin, we chose the swanky area of Tribeca. Admittedly we NEVER hang out in Tribeca. We Googled the best bars to hang out in, and quickly took a cab downtown. A very impromptu event.

First we started with an Irish pub. We had clearly reached “adultville” as it was packed with classy couples. There were two cute men by the door that looked us up and down as we entered, and then continued talking as if we didn’t exist. (Duh, they must have been gay…clearly.) After ordering an Irish coffee (it was so strong it nearly put hair on my chest), we decided to go to the next location.

We entered the Brandy Library, which felt like I was in Hugh Heffner’s man-cave. Clearly masculine décor, but it was about 900 degrees in there and filled with classy couples having dinner. We were the only two women in the underworld hell cave, and felt COMPLETELY out of our comfort zone. #Fail.

We then entered the Tribeca Tavern, and I immediately felt comforted by the smell of vomit and the extensive beer list. I noticed we were just about the only women in the joint. After sitting there for over an hour, no one approached us so we decided to leave.

Lesson Learned: It is time for me to step out of my comfort zone. I always wait for the men to approach me, I NEVER approach men. And I think I am getting in my own way! I also learned I do not want to sip on brandy with a man in his Armani suit. Ever.

The Adventure Continued: As Claire and I left feeling defeated and in mutual decision that we needed to step out of our comfort zone, we were just about to head home when we ran into a girl named Leona. She was on her first Tinder date with Paul from London. After what seemed like a great “feeler” intro, she decided to take him to her friend’s birthday party. Her only worry was the explanation of who he was to her friends. So, naturally, she invited us to the birthday party to act as a buffer to her Tinder date.

Well, here we go. Time to step out of our comfort zone!

Claire and I took on the alternate personalities of British women, myself acting as Paul’s sister and Claire as my London friend visiting me. I found myself concocting stories of my childhood with Paul in “secondary school” when the “bloke” fought for “mum’s” attention.

One guy at the party caught on and began to grill me, and grill me, and grill me like an interrogator from Guantanamo Bay. Before I knew it, I was being circled by vulturous men asking details of my life in the United Kingdom.

This lasted for THREE HOURS! It was like a bad improv scene that just wouldn’t end, and I think I actually reduced the amount of brain cells in my head to remember to keep the accent at all times. Though I do secretly admit I found satisfaction that my acting skills acquired in acting school truly paid off for a moment.

Claire and I eventually left. No one asked for our phone number and we did not meet any considerable men to date. The coolest guy of the night was Mr. Tinder from England, who was already on a date and we would likely never see again. #GoLeona

Article: 1. Claire and Abbie: 0.

Lesson Learned: I want to be myself. It is important to showcase the loving and quirky personalities we have when we are out, and that is exactly what we should do. I think people can tell when you are being authentic with them, and those men could smell a rat. Though it certainly made for a funny story, I won’t do that again. And I will not drink so much next time, just in case I do need to whip out an accent and need to be on my game.

Until the next adventure!

Claire's Perspective (in her writing): 

Quick recap: In our last post, Abbie and I learned that our previous assumed female to male NYC ratio is exaggerated (it’s 1.07:1, not 2:1). In that same article, we learned where to find these single men. Cue in new objective: explore these locations and share our individual perspectives.  

It begins…

Our first night was formed rather randomly. Following a Saturday brunch with friends, we decided that in lieu of seeing an afternoon movie, as was originally discussed, we would instead venture over to one of the “male dominated” neighborhoods we identified from the article. An unofficial pre-kickoff night out, so to speak. We started with Tribeca, a neighborhood we don’t often visit.

Bar One: A random Irish pub to wake-the-eff-up.

We left my Upper East Side apartment with tired eyes and frequent yawns…it was only 8:30pm. 30-something’s can’t hang as long as they used to, especially after a brunch. Abbie suggested we grab what an “Irish Coffee” before heading into our anticipated destination (stop two). The Irish Coffee was awful, and I felt like I was sipping hot Drano, but it woke me up nevertheless. (Note to self: Irish Coffee is not to be mistaken for Bailey’s Irish Cream and coffee)

The male ratio seemed no different than any other venue I’d visited in Manhattan. It wasn’t a proper assessment though, since my entire focus was to finish the drink. I even asked for whipped cream and milk hoping it would dilute the concoction, but nothing helped. After I cleared my throat with Drano Coffee, and Abbie held her breath through each sip, we paid out and walked across the street to Bar Two.

Bar Two: The Brandy Library, which was true to form.

This place reminded me of Will Ferrell’s character in Anchorman when he says, “I’m very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.” This place is Ron Burgundy’s heaven. The entire bar is furnished with leather couches and chairs, and the color scheme is comprised of black, blood red and chocolate brown. A massive fireplace is immediately to the right when you walk through the entryway, which is surrounded by dark velvet curtains, and soft jazz music is playing overhead. I believe I saw antlers decorating the walls, too. A host greeted us, noted that we didn’t have a reservation, and directed us to two lonely stools at the long, intimidating bar. The bartender even had those old-fashioned cuffs pinning this white, newly starched sleeves.

We were the only single women there in the dim-lit “man cave,” but the brandy list was remarkable and they had a blazing fire nicely roasting the room. I could have slept right there in the Brandy Library, but there was more to discover in Tribeca.

Bar Three: Hole in the wall.

My kind of bar. I needed to remember what beer tasted like after having a hot Irish punch-in-the-face and an $18 pinot at a brandy bar. The vibe was certainly manly, but not the high-class sort, this was more like the head-to-toe-tattoo-type of masculine. I recall a faint musky scent of old, rotting wood and sweat. The beer selection was significant and I swallowed down two from the menu. I have no idea what the name of this place was, but it provided a nice respite from the swanky, decadent and expensive evening we were having. It was time to head home.

Bar Four: But wait, the night is not yet over.

While walking to find a busy street to hail a cab home, we came across another place that appeared to have men inside. Least that’s what we could see through the steamy, wintered windows. As we walked up the steps, there was a man and a woman standing in the entrance, hesitant to go inside. Basically they were on a Tinder date and she had already made post-date plans with friends. Since their date was going so well, she thought to bring him along, and then chickened out once they got there. He happened to be from London, so Abbie and I decided to play the role of his English friends visiting in town and we all met her at some study abroad experience years ago. (Note, this was NOT Abbie’s understanding, so the entire time we were telling different stories to the same people.)

So while I “retold” stories of our uni days, Abbie told the group about our days in secondary school and how she was the sister of the London guy (oops). I tried to stay true to myself as best I could, given the fact that I was lying through my teeth. I advised I was in real estate marketing (which is true) and I’ve traveled to many places like Rome and Australia (also true). But that I was born in Taunton (totally not true) and I lived in south London during uni (wth? #liar).

I did meet a few men, some of whom were married and didn’t divulge that information themselves, but one guy was quite nice, and single. The only problem was he didn’t have the courage to ask for my number (bummer). I didn’t have the gull myself to get his either (coward). But it was really fun playing a role like that to total strangers and being someone else for a night.

One of my best friends and I have long been contemplating the game of dating in New York versus anywhere else. I tend to believe New York men are unlike anywhere else, having lived the majority of my life elsewhere, while she tends to think geography is not as much a factor and rather men in general are the way they are. Lately we both shared our own insights into a situation that provoked much thought and reflection. We coined this our “dog days of dating” (which will make sense in her post).

We’re hopeful readers will enjoy our newest journey we’ve now embarked upon. In a recent article we found, we learned of a map showcasing NYC neighborhoods known to have more single men and those known to have more single women. Our assumption of "2 to 1" women to men in NYC is not so true it turns out, somewhat trumping my hot-headed belief that New York men were highly favored due to their dramatic ratio advantage. So we’re going to explore these single male territories and take you on this journey with us. But first, our beginning:

Abbie’s Perspective (and her writing):

If I were to describe the behavior of dogs, I’d sum it up as uncomplicated and loving. Dogs truly devote themselves as loyal creatures to whoever is providing the meals. I admire their genuine ability to completely be in the present, forgetting all that’s in the past and not be consumed with the concept of the future. Perhaps we have something to learn from dogs.

I would be much happier if I had that ability to forget all about the past, and just love the person in front of me. All of my pain from the past, and worries about the future would melt away. But these days I find it hard to do so, and it seems that the men I encounter have figured out the trick to behaving more like dogs.

Case in point—after ending a ten year relationship with a much older, emotionally immature (yet not so much wiser) and unfaithful man—I decided to embark on a mission as a newly single gal in New York City to find the true love that I deserved. But like is the story with many women I have met, this journey has resulted in heartbreak after heartbreak.

First there was the friend (i.e. he wasn’t even on my love radar), who turned out to be a big wakeup call in my life. He was from the Midwest and always envisioned himself with someone also from the Midwest who would quit their job and become the mother of his children. I was a career driven New Englander. I went from envisioning myself a banker who never wanted kids, to the family oriented woman pursuing a dream in television who couldn’t wait to have kids. He wasn’t the true love I ever imagined myself being with, and I wasn’t his. But somehow, someway, we fell deeply and madly in love. It was so perfect while it lasted, and just like a woman would, I miss it so very much.

The crux of it all was that I was willing to adapt my perspective, to truly embrace this surprise love, but he just wasn’t. Fade in the heartbreak. But just like a dog would gravitate to its new owner, I learned that a mere month after our breakup, he was already in love with another woman. She was a simple Midwestern girl, the type who would never challenge him or push him to be a better man. They’re due to be married this year. Like a good puppy he gravitated to the path of least resistance; the person who would give him what he wanted at any cost.

I picked up the pieces and moved on, and eventually fell in love again. But this time I fell for a man who fulfilled everything I ever wanted. We shared the same political and moral views and values, and had the same picture of our future. We imagined driving our kids in our Volvo to go camping, he would cook me lavish dinners with my favorite wine, and would fall asleep holding my hand. He would wake up in the middle of the night just to check on me and make sure I was still there. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

But on the one hand, while he could talk about our hypothetical future family, he couldn’t bear the thought of being labeled someone’s “boyfriend.” He refused to meet my friends or introduce me to his, and never wanted to go out. His hesitance on that fear drove me to finally end that relationship. That was three months ago. Now I see pictures of his new girl on Facebook (who looks a lot like me). He openly calls himself her boyfriend; they are at parties with mutual friends. Parties. Friends. Boyfriend. Everything I wanted that he told me he could never give to a girl has been given to the next uncomplicated girl that he met. Just like a good puppy would.

We’ll skim the rest, but in summary there was the Brazilian who asked for exclusivity after date one, who ended up also having a wife. The ex-coworker who claimed his girlfriend would be okay if he impregnated another woman. The man who offered to cook for me on Valentine’s Day, then bailed that very evening claiming he was sick and later checked into a Pakistani nightclub on Facebook. The Polish man, who ranted about saving the Earth, drank a bottle of vodka in an hour and vomited all over my bathroom. Do I even need to mention the lawyer who has a thing for licking butts? You get the point. I hope you get the point.

I have truly reached the dog days of dating.

"Just cheer up, your love is waiting for you around the corner!” my sweet friends say. But is it? Maybe women need to adjust their perspective and be more in the moment creatures. After all, that is what my past loves have done and they are pretty darn happy.

It seems like embracing the NOW is the secret that allows men to move on mere seconds after a breakup and then give themselves to the next woman they meet (likely an uncomplicated woman). Perhaps it’s just the path of least resistance for men, just like dogs.

As for women, I feel our biggest hurdle resides in the classic nature versus nurture debate. Nature: we have a biological clock to compete with in this whole dating spectrum. It fuels the worry of knowing there is a limited timeframe to procreate if we do in fact want to settle down. Men do not have this added stress, especially not in New York City, where it seems to be one giant all-you-can-screw buffet of women.

I don’t know what the answer is. And I don’t know if everyone does eventually find love.

But this much I know—we could all learn something from dogs. Those beautiful creatures seem to have it all figured out. You never see a dog crying over her ex-boyfriend after he finally gave his new dog the title of girlfriend, do you?

That approach is something we can all learn from and use in our daily lives: appreciate the love in front of us, and recognize an opportunity when it presents itself. Maybe we would all be happier that way.

The final question is—are you going to be an angry pit bull about it, or a happy golden retriever?

Claire’s Perspective (and her writing):

I moved to New York City nearly four years ago on the heels of an overdue breakup, with a doubled salary, a new apartment and a fresh, clean slate. My dating life had only just begun since my 20’s seemed to be over by boyfriends. I was finally a “free bird” trying to catch up on lost years, and I didn’t want to be tamed.

Then I met a New Yorker. And as the story always seems to go, he broke my heart.

But this wasn’t just the usual sting to the heart; this one was a “wakeup call.” I was reawakened to the world of love and I wanted more of it, from any place I could get it. But boy, that is where I found trouble with dating, or men, or maybe it’s just New York men.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are some great men in New York (including a few good friends of mine). It’s just that lately it seems New York men are winning the jackpot. With an average ratio of 1.07 women to every 1 man, New York can feel like the adult version of Candyland…advantage men. Some neighborhoods are even more shameful with odds closer to 2:1 (like my Upper East Side).

In my experience and with these odds, albeit a focus group of one, men move on quickly and take the easy road simply because they can. So in turn I feel there’s a fundamental gap in the fight for love from the male perspective. I have never had a man truly fight for me, come back for me and say “Dammit, you’re worth fighting for!” And it seems that many of my girlfriends haven’t either, seeing as this has never happened to us. Silly RomComs, tricks are for teenage girls who dream of that heartthrob professing his love in front of everyone she’s ever met.

Meanwhile my past heartbreaks tear at me, ripping me apart while those men seem to forget our love and move on immediately. Maybe I’m not worth it to the men I thought I was? Or maybe they’re creatures who are easily pleased and find happiness in the now? How nice that would be to never painfully reflect on the past, replaying all the moments you will no longer have together.

This can feel like the never-ending uphill battle.

I go on a date, and it seems to be going okay. I mean…generally I’m 5” taller than him (without heels), despite what was listed his profile (the minimum in my search parameters). Plus he sounds like a hyena (no really, he does) and somehow withheld showing that huge scar across his face in all 15 photos (he’s clever), but that last comment he said about his being judgmental was honest (and honesty is great!).

Odds are you’re not the only date he’s been on, even though you think should be given the circumstances. But let’s face it: you’re both just chasing a game that’s favored toward him, not you. Yet you repeat this process, over and over, and soon enough you don’t want to go on dates anymore because it’s a chore. It’s just another interview with drinks. Is he a good applicant? Are you? Does it even matter?

With all humor aside, I have learned a few things my friends and I have found helpful as we each chip away at this dating game:

Stop treating your dates like they’re an interview. Have fun! Be spontaneous. And get to the point of what you want. Maybe try out these 36 steps if you’re really feeling open and optimistic.

Be in the “now” and forget the many, many, oh so many, heartbreaks. They happened, but they’re not happening anymore.

There is an opportunity in everyone, but don’t force it when it’s truly not there. Trust yourself.

Avoid daydreaming about your perfect wedding day before, during or immediately after date one. Be patient, love is coming.

Always listen to your heart. As cheesy as that reads, true love is worth all the fight you have to give. It is worth pain and embarrassment, and sometimes even hurting someone else. Don’t just take the easy way out. Love is work.