Point First… Click Later

You’re bored at work. You’re sitting in front of the computer and you have a first date in the next few days. Should you Google? Heck, it’ll only take a minute. It’s really easy. So you do it. You google your would-be sweetheart. Then comes the hard part. You have to pretend you didn’t.

Here’s the thing. It used to be that blind dates were blind. You wouldn’t know what the person looked like before you met. If you were lucky, the so-called matchmaker would have a polaroid picture.  But you’d have to remind them to bring it next time you got together. And if you actually asked more than once for the photo, they’d probably rescind the initial offer anyway.

These days, things are a bit different. We have to be careful on dates not to accidentally say, “oh we shouldn’t go to the Standard Beer Garden after dinner — you were just there last weekend for Adam’s birthday.” This is because we’ve probably spent numerous hours stalking them on facebook. We spend more time trying to get the password of a friend that’s friends with him on the book then we do actually getting ready for the date itself. And if you’re not on facebook? Well, we may not go out with you anyway because that just seems fishy and sketchy.

Bottom line? The blind date as we (or our parents) knew it is dead. One will never again have to stand at the bar and pray that every 5’2″ guy with adult acne and white-wash jeans isn’t he’s-a-little-odd-but-he-might-be-a-nice-guy Joe.

It’s just a given. The amount of information available to us is insane. Heck, even if you have a common last name like Cohen, a few google searches and we can usually find the RIGHT Cohen. That being said, just because it’s out there, to what extent should we actually indulge? Well, there really are solid arguments on the “how much stalking can you do until it’s creepy” debate. On one hand, the less “blind” the date, the more your expectations will ruin it. You risk building it up in your mind and it falling short of what you’re expecting. On the other hand, many of us would rather know the person is a weirdo or is balding before we get our hopes up too much.

To be completely honest, I’ve been involved in both approaches. Prior to some “blind” dates, I’ve gone all Richard Ramirez on his ass and consequently probably have the FBI on my tail. Here’s the problem with that though. Sometimes, we spot something on the Web about our date that makes us cringe. When that happens, we can either wait it out for an explanation or cancel.  But sometimes, it’s Bachelor No. 2, please. Yeah, you know you’ve been in that dilemma before. Other times. I’ve purposefully avoided all (ok, fine, most) stalking opportunities in an effort to keep an open mind.

Here’s the thing. I often wonder if perhaps we’re missing out. Because maybe there’s supposed to be some right-of-passage about the experience of going on a blind date. Maybe we’re meant to grow from those experiences and become more knowledgeable about what we’re looking for. But then again, no one really wants to go through that anxiety and stress. And at the end of the day, it’s your choice. You get to decide just how blind you want it to be.

My recommendation? Stalk with a bit of caution. And just make sure not to mention that your best friend goes to Yale with his younger sister before he discloses that information to you on his own.

Dating and Communication Part II: The Double Edged Sword

If you read On Dating and Communication, then you know how I feel about technology’s role in dating. What I didn’t really get into is that having all these modes of communication available to us can be a double edged sword. Because sometimes, communication can be creepy – specifically when it is conducted over multiple avenues at the same time.

Some examples from my life as of recent (note – Good and Bad are NOT the same person):

Good: BBM

Bad: Simultaneously calling and sending a Gchat saying “Pick up.”

*Bad Bonus – I don’t remember ever giving him my phone number

Good: IMing with me using a made up language I invented with my brother

Bad: After ignoring his (1) phone call and (2) instant messages (which were sent through [dating site] – which is NOT even how we know each other – when we are already Gchat friends), TEXTING me to say “Hey where’d you go?”

Good: “Liking” my updates and photos on Facebook

Bad: Literally two seconds after I post pictures of me running a race on Facebook, rather than comment/Like there or Gchat (which would have been acceptable since he was obviously at his computer), he TEXTS me and says “Didn’t know you were a runner … very cool”

*Bad Bonus – My dating profile on the site we did not meet on but where he instant messaged me says I am a runner, as does my Facebook page/photos where we were also friends. You say you love social media? You want to date me? Do your f*cking research.

Good: dfilm.com

Bad: Facebook messaging our mutual friend (the real way we know each other) and asking, “What’s the deal with your friend d? She seems kinda flaky. :)

More Bad: Facebook messaging same mutual friend two minutes after that, saying “I just defriended her on Facebook. Can you ask her what’s up? She’s cute, she’s into social media and she’s a runner. Hook a brother up.”

Most Bad: A Jewish guy saying “hook a brother up.”

Um, what did he want my friend to do? Send me a note:

Do you like my friend? Check one: yes__ no__ ambivalent__?

Not only that, but he humiliated my friend. She did a really nice thing for telling me about him and vouching that he is a great guy. She had no idea he was like this. She hopes I don’t judge her for being so wrong about him. And I don’t – there is no way she could have known that he just doesn’t get it.

Either you get it or you don’t. Having an interest in social media and communication does not necessarily mean you have a knack for it. Those who get it have an innate understanding on how to do it right. And hey, I’m all for using multiple communication methods – just not all at once. Especially not when I am ignoring one or more.

Why not message ME first instead of my friend? What grade are we in now? If he really wanted to know what was up, he could act like a grown up and ask me. I might not answer your phone call, but I’d be more inclined to gently tell you I am not interested over email. Also? If he didn’t creep me out, maybe I would have given him a chance. I can’t say for sure, but what I can say is that being bombarded by all modes of communication at the same time really freaked me out and told me this was not a guy I ever wanted to know.

A hilarious blogger lives by the following motto and it is one we can all stand to benefit from:

Don’t be ridiculous.

This guy called me while Gchatting me to tell me to pick up his phone call. He saw my Facebook pics the very moment I posted them and instead of commenting/Liking via Facebook or Gchatting, he texted me! I felt suffocated by this relationship before I even met him! He was, to put it simply, ridiculous.

You made your own bed. Now have fun lying in it – alone.

Ever been overwhelmed by too much communication? We want to hear your stories!

nycandlove blog on the radio

Monday, June 7 is an exciting night for us here at nycandlove blog.

Please join us at 9 PM EST as we answer questions about love, dating and nycandlove on the radio!

There are two ways to listen:

  • New York City – tune in at WKCR 89.9 FM
  • Outside New York City or not near a radio – listen online:
    http://www.wkcr.org/

Our interview will be broadcast on WKCR-FM, Columbia University’s non-commercial student-run radio station.

The radio station does not currently keep recordings of their shows for playback, but we will try to make it available for you here. We really hope you will tune in!

On Dating and Communication

Welcome to 2010. Yes, I know we’ve been in this year for a few months now, but over the past month I’ve gotten a taste of what it is like to date in the year 2010. Up until now, the last time I was single was in 2008. And here’s what’s different:

Dating in 2010 is all about constant communication.

We have Gchat, BBM, SMS, MMS, BlackBerrys, iPhones, Droids, AIM, iPads, the list goes on and on. Not that we didn’t have most of these technologies in 2008, but they were far less in-your-face then they are now.

To me, this is a great thing. I love constant communication. I have a few friends I email all day throughout my work day with anything funny or interesting I come across on the internet. I get so excited when their replies show up in my inbox. When I want to communicate, I want it now. Immediate validation.

So what happens when you bring this attitude to dating?

Let’s talk about Mike.
Mike and I started talking on [dating site] instant message and the conversation went so well, we moved it over to Gchat, where we proceeded to talk for a very long time. I stayed up far past my bedtime. The next morning, I was on my way to the airport for a long weekend away with my family when my BlackBerry buzzes with a Gchat. From Mike!

Eeeek! Swoon!

Of course I am thrilled. I smile and I write back. We end up Gchatting all the way to the airport and through security. I get on the airplane and spring the $10 for plane internet (I really did have some work to do), and we talk on there too. We Gchat throughout my whole trip. We also exchange phone numbers for SMS/MMS purposes. I texted him photos of my margaritas. He called me and we spoke on the phone. While I was on vacation.

It was intense. We even joked (over Gchat, obv) that this was better than dating because we can’t get annoyed with each other. I was landing back home in NYC on a Monday night, and we had plans to meet that Wednesday.

When I got home, we both couldn’t wait until Wednesday and instead we met that same night. He was adorable and he clearly really liked me. He touched my knee under the table a couple of times until he reached for my hand under the table and held that. We kissed on the corner and as soon as I got in the taxi to go home he texted to tell me what a great time he had.

Long story short, the communication continued to be constant. It all felt so natural, so easy, SO fun.

Until one Saturday I woke up and I knew. I just knew. Mike was done. Call it d’s intuition. I felt a different vibe in the air. No, not that kind of vibe.

The following work week the Gchats, when they did happen (and they did — I would wait it out and eventually Mike would always message me) felt forced, difficult. Mike was done with me and I knew it. The following Saturday, after a full week of dealing with the stress of just knowing, Mike finally decided to finally inform me that we were, in fact, done. His main reason? We communicated too much and too fast.

This is the way I see it: If it’s right, it’s right, and there’s not much either of us could have done to change that.

It was a great couple of weeks with Mike. We were both having fun and I just didn’t want to STOP having the fun. Are our frequent talks via electronic signals the reason for our demise? Honestly, I don’t think so. I think that if he felt we were right, he would have wanted to continue on with the fun too.

What do you think? Too much too soon, or it wouldn’t have worked anyway?

And that leads me to my next question.

What happens when I find myself in another constant communication situation?

Because, um, I’m kind of in it again. I promise I’m not an idiot! The circumstances are very different. But that is not even the point. The thing that I realized from this heartbreaking (I am dramatic, yes) ordeal is that I AM communication. I love the immediacy of the internet. I love Twitter. I love GChat and BBM and emailing my favorite friends during the day.

Constant communication is a part of who I am.

So as I begin to find myself in the same situation regarding communication — and keep in mind it is in no way ALL me, it wasn’t all on me with Mike and it isn’t now — here is what I am struggling with:

Part of me doesn’t want to make the same mistakes again. But the other part thinks being myself isn’t a mistake.

What are YOUR thoughts?

Biting the Bullet

I did it. I bit the bullet and casually strolled back into the world of internet dating. I say casually strolled as it took me about three weeks to take my profile off the “hidden” setting so people could actually find me. And once I got the guts to do that, I rarely logged on anyway. Making the most of my membership? Not a chance. Getting the most bang (literally) for the buck? Nope. Feeling much less pressure than the last time I joined the online dating world? HELL TO THE YES.

There are a few differences between my internet dating experience now versus the last time I was a part of that world, two years ago during the summer of 2008. The biggest difference: This time my mother not only did not pay for my membership, but she does not even know I have one. Let us all breathe a sigh of relief.

But it’s more than just mom not paying and feeling invested. It is simply her not knowing that is allowing me to take this experience at my own pace. I’m not feeling pressure; I’m not feeling rushed. The site I am using is actually extremely annoying and not user friendly and very glitchy and just frustrating (nothing like NYC and Love will be when it officially launches!). As a result, I don’t want to deal with it much. Also, I have not been impressed for the most part with the guys I’ve seen or the guys who’ve seen me. At all. And so I care even less.

Yet. I am still on it. And I am so happy with my decision. Because even by doing minimal effort, I’m doing more than I had been toward finding someone to be happy with. For every 100 bad emails I get, there is one good one. For every 200 ugly pictures, one cute one. And sometimes the one good email, the one cute picture, is enough to make it worth it. You really do never know who you will find and it is worth it to give it your best, or even your worst, effort. Better than doing nothing.

And when you don’t feel the pressure, as I don’t, it’s easy to let the good emails happen when they happen. But I’m not worried about myself at all. It will happen for me, I know it. Whether it is through the website or not, I know I will be fine. My mom is worried about me being alone and miserable, yes. Only this time, she doesn’t have to know. And without the stress, and taking it at my own pace, online dating isn’t quite so bad!

Relapse

I had a relapse.

Remember the Hamburglar? I was so strong and ended it. Ummm not so much.

After I told you all about the Hamburglar here and here, I erased his number from my phone and began moving on with my life. And then I was in a bind one day and needed some help picking up heavy things and bringing them to my apartment. It needed to be done right away and I reached out to someone whose phone number I might have erased but whose screen name remained on my buddy list. Yes. The Hamburglar.

He said he could help me. I assure you all, this was important and I really didn’t have any other options. So he helped me with what I needed (after a quick, ahem, shower on my part) and then back at my apartment I closed off my room and waited for the Hamburglar to leave. Except he did not leave. Instead he pushed open my bedroom door and parked his cute tush in the middle of my messy, clutter-filled, clothes-strewn bed.

“Wouldn’t you rather . . . go back to your apartment so we can talk?”

Apparently, he would not.

We did it on my bed. I say on and not in, as my apartment is so small that my bed truly is a storage place. I sleep in a corner all curled up. The sex was not comfortable. In my defense, we talked and cuddled for a long time before doing anything, having the most honest discussion we’d ever had — aside from the day I told him how I felt. Of course, honest discussion is not what I need from the Hamburglar. When we talk and connect like that, it makes me want him more. Because now I think he cares about me. Also, he said he cares about me.

“I’m so sorry if I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you.”

I told the Hamburglar that he did nothing wrong. But really, helping me in a bind is one thing. But isn’t f*cking me after, knowing how I feel about him when he does not feel the same way, hurting me by definition?

We went out for pizza after that, where he was sweet and considerate and we joked and laughed and . . . ugh. Just, ugh. I know how unhealthy this is. I know. I know.  And of course it didn’t end there. Because he always offers to help when I need him. And the other day I needed a big favor and he was once again there for me. And once again it involved sex and LOTS of laughing. So much laughing, so much fun, such great sex, and a big favor from the Hamburglar to myself.

It is no wonder I can’t escape. And part of me doesn’t want to. But I will. Very soon. Promise.

Have you ever been in a situation like this? How did you get yourself out of it?

Don’t Pretendo: You’re Not Into Him, So Can You Set Him Up With Your Friend?

I’m not exactly sure how many dedicated hours I’ve devoted to playing the ultimate puzzle game Tetris. Whether it was on the original Nintendo version or one of the original Game Boys, it was a significant and memorable amount of time. And if you’re anything like me, you probably played enough to start seeing the different pieces falling in your head when you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep at night. Yeah, dating, when you really think about it, is really no different.

Dating, often, can feel like a game of Tetris. It’s just like you remember it, only slightly different. It’s a puzzle, with various elements and random sequences of events. And we constantly try to solve it. We search, tirelessly, for the missing piece to fill our oddly shaped holes. We don’t exactly know who will fill the gaps.  We don’t even know what will make us feel complete. And we certainly don’t know what’s coming next. But we continue to reset. We keep starting over. And sometimes, unexpectedly, we get what we need and it knocks out everything all at once. And when we close our eyes at night, we see all the pieces start to fit together. And when that happens, it almost always takes us by surprise. It clears everything we once knew. It completes the row. And it ultimately, completes us.

Other times, the game plays out differently. Things just don’t seem to fit. But just because it’s not a good fit, doesn’t mean it’s not a good fit for someone else. And sometimes, we actually know someone fitting. But we don’t always know what our next move should be.

Have you ever gone on a date, realized he wasn’t for you, but might be great for your friend? How do you handle this situation? What should you do?

Here’s the deal. If there’s a former guy you once shared a sushi combo roll with and he might be great for your sashimi-loving friend… set them up.  If you have an inkling of suspicion that they could be a match made in sloppy seconds heaven…. you should act. Heck, this isn’t exactly a rule. It’s just a very real and strong suggestion. Because when it comes to dating, rules tend to go out the window. Love is a battlefield (thanks, Pat Benatar). It’s a torrid tornado of tears and laughter. A stampede of cart-wheeling, hand-standing, somersaulting unpredictable movements. You can’t control, tame, or confine it. You can’t prepare, predict or streamline it. You never know what will be the piece to complete the row.  So you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and you make your move. Yeah, here’s how you do it.

You Must Reset

You need to reset his expectations. Before you even attempt to set this former-fling up, you need to make sure the guy isn’t seriously into you. Maybe wait a few weeks after your last date with him, and start up a friendship of sorts. Tell him you think he’s great but obviously not great for you. Only after you clarify your intentions can you then suggest that he might really like your friend. And even then, you need to feel it out and make sure he’s interested in meeting someone else.

Offer Different Combos

You can invite them both out to a group activity and see if there are any sparks. If so, make a comment about how cool it is that they have so much in common and bow out. You can offer him her number and suggest he take her out on his own. Give them both choices. But either way, the choice should be theirs.  Caution. Don’t push it. If one or both parties aren’t interesting, leave it be.

Play It Smart

You must act super chill. Think bunny rabbit on Xanex. Don’t launch a nation-wide campaign with the tagline “I have the perfect person for you.” Because that won’t be a selling point. Scale back your approach and say you have someone your friend might find interesting. Take it slow and remain cool and collected. If they are “perfect” for each other, they will hit it off whether you tell them you think they are perfect for each other or not.

Don’t Share Your Moves

Sure, you’ve been out with him before. And you might know the “diarrhea on the roller-coaster story.” But keep it to yourself. Don’t succumb to the disease otherwise known as diarrhea of the mouth. Unless, that is, you want to embarrass the heck out of him…which I suppose has an entertainment value all its own. Basically, let them find things out on their own.

Be A Good Sport

When you set up two people on a date, you kind of feel like Patty Stanger (the brutally honest Jewish honcho from Millionaire Matchmaker). Except that there’s no private jets or payments in full. Regardless, you feel like you are creating something. And you have visions of being showered with thanks at their wedding. But avoid getting too excited. Mind your own business and know that it might not work out. Do your part then bow out gracefully.

Here’s the thing. We’ve all been set up on disastrous dates. So there’s a real chance that your friends aren’t half as excited about this meeting as you are. And there’s also a real chance that one or both parties won’t want to be set up. It can also be an awkward, uncomfortable and difficult conversation to have. But you can certainly try. After all, you can never predict what will happen. We all, at times, surrender to the anarchy of attraction. Chemistry is a funny thing. As a matchmaker-in-training, you have to let it play out. You can’t just play cupid and will two people together. It’s up to them, not you.

At the end of the day, dating, finding a connection, is a roll of the dice. It’s a chance at love, or a chance at rejection and hurt. It’s giggles and burping butterflies. Or it’s not. But the storm and stress, the risk and reward, is almost always worth it.  I mean, we’re talking about the meaning of life here. And how do we know whom you can happily grow fat, old and ugly with. So what? You once sucked face for two hours at that cute Italian bistro on the corner. Who cares if you once might have giggled on the kitchen floor with him because you couldn’t make it to the bedroom. That’s in the past. Let’s cut to the chase. Just because he wasn’t right for you, doesn’t mean he’s not right for your friend. Don’t be afraid to find out. It’s a crazy world out there. People connect for all different reasons. Bottom line is that we never know.  And at the end of the day, finding someone great is unexpected, unpredictable and truly game changing.  It’s both a rarity and a blessing.

Much like when you get that long skinny Tetris piece that clears three rows at once.

Has this every happened to you? Have you ever met someone, realized they weren’t for you, and wanted to set them up with your friend? What did you do?

Sleepaway

Jewish adolescents from Long Island and their adjacent Queens neighborhoods experience their first foray into that which is sexual at Jewish sleepaway camp. It is a practically universal experience which involves leaving home for eight weeks to make out with – and touch the private parts of – other likeminded (read: horny) preteens in upstate New York, the Berkshires or Massachusetts.

I never went to Jewish sleepaway camp.

Instead, I chose to stay at home with my mom (What? Who WAS I?!) and go to the same Jewish day camp that I’d gone to since kindergarten. Apparently, I thought I loved it and had no desire to go to sleepaway when offered the opportunity, despite the fact that all my friends went away. And despite the fact that I wasn’t accepted by the group of girls I was with and don’t think I actually had that much fun from age 11-13.

As a result, I was always a bit behind when it came to my encounters with the opposite sex. At sleepaway camp, they start making out young and get to third base long before I ever got to first. I didn’t have my first kiss until I was a freshman in high school at 14 years old. I know that sounds pretty average now, but at the time, compared to all my friends who went away to camp, I was really, really old for this.

And this trend seemed to continue in my life far past the age my friends stopped going to Jewish sleepaway camp. I had a boyfriend when I was a junior in high school. We spent a LOT of time alone together. He would sneak into my apartment in the middle of the night and leave early in the morning via fire escape. We even took a day off school (I was great at signing my mom’s name on absence notes) and showered together. Why did we do that! I remember telling some girls in my theatre class about it (theatre class, or class that took place in the theatre due to lack of classroom space? I’m pretty sure it was the latter) and they couldn’t believe my boyfriend and I stood naked in the shower together and neglected to have sex.

But really — it just wasn’t a consideration. The idea of the two of us having sex never even crossed my mind. His either. And he’d done it before.

I wonder if my attitude toward sex was shaped by my distinct separation from my peers at that sleepaway/no sleepaway stage in our lives. Although I’m more inclined to think my mom did a really great job at making sure I understood that sex was a big deal with a lot of risks — with a stress on the emotional ones. And my closest girlfriend was pretty much in the same boat as me, and we were so inseparable that our normal was the normal. Well, almost.

And of course once I finally realized what I was missing at the ripe old age of 20, I made sure I got all caught up at lightning speed. But I always think about my camp decision; I wonder if I would have fit in better with girls at sleepaway (doubtful, with no access to a blow dryer and a Jewfro that rivals Diana Ross). I wonder if I would have attracted the attention of a boy. Or maybe I would have been on the sidelines as I watched all the prettier girls (read: naturally straight hair) “go out” with guys. I wonder if I would have been making out when I was 11 and giving blowjobs by 14 and if that would have shaped my attitude toward sex in a different way.

Of course, that doesn’t matter much now since there is no looking back and I am proud of (most of) the decisions I have made. I just can’t help but think about the alternate life I might have lived if I admitted to my mom I was unhappy at Jewish day camp; if I wasn’t self-conscious about my fro; if I experienced a common and bonding part of Jewish adolescence in the tri-state area.

Did you ever go to sleepaway camp? What kinds of experiences did you have there?

Beware the TROJAN HORSE

No no, this is not a dreaded lecture on that Trojan man and his almighty horse. I am actually talking Greek Mythology here. Remember the phrase, Beware of [fill in man's name] Bearing Gifts? Well, listen up:

Red Flag (n): A clue or sign that indicates your man is bad news. Can be difficult to detect if hot sex or low self-esteem are involved. Ex (primary source: me):  “T called me this morning and said he had woken up in some other girl’s bed after doing enough coke to sustain the Mexican economy…but like, at least he was honest about it right?”

Trojan Horse (n): A type of Red Flag, packaged in the guise of an eye-brow raising gift. Antonym: bouquet; bling; brunch with his mother.

Now, I have received quite a few Trojan Horses in my day: a creepy voodoo doll; an unsettling abstract nude painting of me in a sexually compromised position (but from a very hot painter); a beautiful book of poetry—which I had to overnight-fed-ex back after the dude harassed me, post-rejection. But luckily, all of the gift-bearers mentioned above—who may or may not have been trying to tell me something in the subtext of their selection—were ultimately innocuous.

But then, there is the anomaly. Like there always is. And if there is one thing you need to know about dating in New York, its this: there are a lot of crazy muthafuckahs out there. Consider the following a cautionary tale…

A wedding at the Pierre. An introduction (Jewish code: set-up) to a family friend’s son. Lets call him Crazy H. Now, I immediately sensed there was something off about Crazy H—the way his Burberry suit was too snugly tailored?— but he was handsome, late 20s, a real-estate mogul. So, I shelved my suspicion and proceeded to go on a few dates (who can turn down a movie premiere? a museum opening?). Then, his mother just happened to ‘show up’ at dinner one night… Then, Crazy H just happened to ‘show up’ when I was out on a date with another man—and sat down at our table. I thanked the lord I hadn’t slept with him yet—by some subconscious better judgment I didn’t know I possessed?—and politely declined to see him again.

Red Flag Lesson #1: Never doubt your instinct. Even if this instinct is clouded by a Ralph Lauren Ad body, a European accent, a Soho House pool invite in the dead of August. If you think there’s something off about him, there probably is.

A week later, a strange package was messengered over to my office. The note read: “You are in need of healing. I hope this will help.” It was a jar of Islamic “healing” oil, which came in a box with Arabic script and a photo that could have been mistaken for Sadaam Hussein. AKA: THE TROJAN HORSE. I hoped Anthrax didn’t come in oil form, stored the bottle in my boss’ fridge, and told my mother I would never go to another family event where this freak would be in attendance.

But a few months later, at the funeral of a close relative, there he was again. Crazy H said he “forgave” me (um, was he referring to the fact that I defriended him?), and invited me to be his date to an induction ceremony Gala for an exclusive all-male private social club in NY. So, I rationalized: perhaps his gift had been in jest after all!

Red Flag Lesson #2: Learn the limits of your own curiosity. And I don’t just mean sexual curiosity. Even if you really had no idea there were still social clubs in existence that excluded women and you are dying to know what goes on in a grown-up version of skull and bones… Still: no.

At the gala, Crazy H introduced me as his “beshert”; he said if I continued to play my cards right, we could announce our engagement at the next society event. Hmm. Then, as he was returning from the bathroom, he caught me flirting with a circle of men. Busted.

Crazy H dragged me out of the gala by the wrist, raging at my “inappropriate behavior.” I tried to run for a cab, but my brand new heels got caught in the Tribeca cobblestone and broke off. He then violently shoved me into the cab and dove in after. Though I wildly protested and considered rolling out of a moving vehicle James Bond style, Crazy H explained that he felt horrible about the whole evening, and wanted to make it up to me: he would take my broken shoe to his special Greek cobbler, give me an extra pair, and then we would go to dinner. Well…he had me at special Greek cobbler. My disbelief: temporarily suspended. Our destination: his apartment. Duh.

Red Flag Lesson #3: Learn your own hamartia, or tragic flaw. If a guy invites you up to his apartment, and you really have no intention of hooking up/ sleeping with him—even if he says he just wants to “cuddle,” or introduce you to his “dog,” or show you photos of his “vacation with his parents”— JUST SAY NO. Because, chances are, you will do something you’ll regret later. And by later, I mean the next morning.

Red Flag Lesson #4: If a guy says he has an extra pair of women’s shoes in his apartment…you can fill in the rest.

The second I got upstairs, Crazy H pounced. Like, full-blown bestial Stanley Kowalski “we had this date from the beginning” attack. My resistance only incited/excited him. Lets just say, for censorship sake, I barely managed to escape his apartment with my dignity intact (I was drunk and shoeless! and drunk!), when I realized I had lost my recently deceased grandmother’s pearl earring circa 1944 amidst the struggle.

I immediately received a text: “I am taking your earring hostage, until you pay for your deplorable actions. And you know what I mean by pay.” How I got that earring back, even David Blaine would have been impressed by. It involved: the use of the very hot painter who gave me that abstract nude; a doorman bribe; a break-in; a violent chase in the middle of the Chelsea gallery district. But I’ll save this story for another installment.

The moral of this tale is: in every relationship, be attuned to unsettling internal and physical clues. Build an awareness of your own feminine intuition, and learn to look out for red flags, especially in the form of Trojan Horses. Even if you never took Psych 101, set aside your penchant for over-over-analysis, and trust your instinct: If a guy seems too good to be true, he probably is; if he’s middle aged and not married, there’s probably a reason; if he gives you a gift that airport security would stop you for carrying,  RUN. And when in doubt, ask your gay boyfriend—at least he will tell you like it is. But if the red flags are a flyin, you should know your best bet is to raise your white flag, move on along, and hope the next one gives you a freaking bouquet of roses.

I Only Have Eyes For You. And You.

Sometimes the person you’re seeing is the only one you’re seeing. Sometimes that person is one of two, three or even more. And hey, as long as no relationship talks or discussions of exclusivity took place, you can do whatever you want. But what happens when you’re having fun with a few different people and later find out one of them thought you were loyal to him?

This has happened to me twice.

One

The first time was on a summer night in 2006, Adam asked me if I wanted to do something with him that night. But I was busy. Alexander, someone I’d been seeing on and off while he was away at law school, was back in the city to study for the bar exam and I had plans to go to his apartment. I was really excited to see him, since the attraction was strong and we always had a lot of fun together. And I hadn’t seen him in over a month.

I told Adam I had plans. “Okay, well maybe we can hang out after,” he said.

“I can’t tonight,” I said. “I have plans with my friend Alexander.”

“Right,” Adam said. “You have plans in the city tonight. So when that’s over do you want to do something?”

“I can’t see you tonight,” I said more firmly. “I already have plans and won’t be around tonight.”

Finally, it clicked.

“Are you . . . hooking up with this guy?” Well, yes. It was then that Adam revealed he thought we were officially together. Uhh I had no idea. I didn’t do anything that would make him think we were boyfriend/girlfriend. In fact, I was blatantly mean to him. Constantly verbally abusive.

I brought that little fact up and he said he thought my nasty remarks were all in good fun, part of what makes us “us.” I always thought he was stupid (hence why I was so mean to him) but now I realized he had no idea I was beyond awful to him for months. Maybe he wasn’t stupid so much as just a really nice guy who saw the world in a very different way that I did.

Regardless, that was the night we ended.

Two

The other time this happened was months later, coincidentally with Alexander, the guy I “left Adam for.” We had just ended our year long fling and were attempting the age old “let’s have platonic sleepovers” situation. What? Just me? Oh.

So one morning we were platonically cuddling in bed when he brought up how invested I was with him when we were dating. (Note – Until he said that, I had no idea we were ever “dating”). I laughed and said, “Well I was hooking up with other people during that time, so it wasn’t such a big deal actually.” He didn’t believe me. Alex was certain that I was practically in love with him; loyal and devoted. No matter how much I tried to tell him I really wasn’t, he stood firm in his disbelief. Alexander was being so condescending to me, trying to make me feel so small for being some deluded girl who spent a year giving her all to a guy who wasn’t interested in anything serious. He laughed and told me he did not believe me when I told him he wasn’t the only guy during this time.

So I dropped a bombshell.

“Remember the night you went down on me for the first time?” Of course he did; he’s not deaf. “Well, I came right to your apartment from having sex with another guy.”

Boom.

Needless to say Alexander was both disgusted and offended, in addition to shocked. I didn’t feel so bad for my confession, since he was being cocky and I needed him to understand where I was coming from – and that the world did not, in fact, revolve around him as he was led to believe. Inevitably, the “how many people have you slept with” discussion began and he was even more shocked by this, as he had assumed many lovely things about my innocence which turned out not to be true at all. Of course, he never asked me, and he was so sure that anything he believed to be true simply was that he couldn’t imagine anything different.

Now that I’m older and looking for the real thing, I don’t plan to hook up with more than one person at a time anymore. But I always smile when I think about both of those conversations with Adam and Alexander. It represents a really fun time in my life; a much more carefree time. And it makes me feel pretty hardcore. And really, both stories are really funny. To me, at least. I’m sure Alexander would tell you otherwise.

Have you ever had to reveal to your hookup that he or she is not the only one? Or, were you ever shocked to find out YOU weren’t the only one?