The fountain of youth…

Where to begin…. I’m still single, so the long-distance thing never worked out…as it never really does, does it? Now, after sharing so much of yourself with someone and dreams, hopes, and experiences… then, it just disappears…evaporates and you’re strangers again. I ended up giving up dating for a while…I believe that I went almost 2 years without intimacy or any kind of romance in my life, other than some random dates that were less satisfying than a hot bath and glass of wine.

 

I have tried to build out a career, where I thought that I had one, but in the end…that didn’t work out as planned either, yet then I will become one of those people quoting cliché’s… “Everything happens for a reason”, “Another fish in the Sea or Plenty of fish in the sea”, “Just when you stop looking…love finds you”… it’s like finding a fucking apartment in New York City.. That shit doesn’t happen easily, and it doesn’t happen without investment… like 3 months’ rent or approximately $15-20K USD. Lol. Don’t get too excited…that doesn’t include the broker fee or moving costs.

I literally had so many bad dates that I will highlight in time, I met an old colleague out for drinks and she enlightened me on her success with online dating and Tinder. So, I begin….

After several glasses of wine and tapas… the conversation moved to the new adventures of dating… We had both had bad experiences with men our own age and older, but after our storytelling… I explained… how I was literally made to feel guilty for being from one man our age because he had erectile dysfunction… he turned it around to acting like I was some sex hungry slut and if you know anything about me, well… I don’t put up with this shit…I hit back and below the belt and managed to pull out a PowerPoint quickly in my head on his inadequacies, yet explained that I dated him anyway…by this point, I knew there was no coming back. He had treated me with such ugliness to have me come back that I was beyond consoling… Then, I’d met another man my age that decided to lie about his being married, another who completely was lying about living locally and managed to tell me later it took him 4 hours to get home to Boston, as he thought that I was going to let him stay over??!?! WTF.

After these stories, she recommended that I get over the whole issue that I had with dating younger men and open my search criteria to 10 years younger and 10 years older. Me, dating younger men? Jesus, did these men really want to meet an older woman?

So, after a bottle or three of wine, I changed my Tinder settings and on the Uber ride home…. I had a series of matches with very attractive, educated men… all 10 years younger… all flirting with me….

 

Could this be the solution to my dating dilemmas? Forget the crotchety older men with families, issues and that were resentful for the uninhibited younger men that are still enjoying their lives?  J

Let the fun begin… My journey to dating younger men…..does this mean that I’m a Cougar? Meow… :

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Swiped Right

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It may have started with a swipe left or a swipe right, then a charming bio about his love of travel, dining and life and a few goofy photos while traveling posted on a profile, yet now I find myself waiting for each exchange from this man, who was once just a swipe right.

I’m grateful for his kind words, his romantic gestures and ache for all that he could become. All that I know is that I love the way that he makes me smile, the way his words touch my soul and how I imagine our days and nights together.

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Free Drinks…What’s not to like?!?

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So, Friday comes around, and I invite a friend to join us at the party in Chelsea. The night seems simple enough, catch taxi, pick up friend, and get to Art Studio in Chelsea to a magazine party. Typical Friday night in New York City, right?

Whilst we were on our trek in the taxi, we get stuck in stand still traffic on 5th Avenue around Rockefeller Center and opt to get out and take a subway downtown. At some point, my phone rings while on the Subway and it’s my friends at the party telling me that “They’re leaving because there is a huge line and its bullshit!” Then, the call drops and I haven’t a clue where they are heading…so, we decide to go on to the party to meet them or wait to get above ground to call. As we’re walking in the freezing temperatures to the event, we get to the event and there is a massive line to get in.

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My friend sends me a text to come to the backstage and come to the seats (bypass the line).  At this point, I’m in no mood because I’m sober, starving and this place is a shit show full of a people standing in line for something.

After a long stretch of exhausting texts, my friend comes to the line to retrieve us to enter the party….we bypass the line, gate keeper, walk through a maze of hallways into a strange room, where there are half-naked men/some women changing (presume they are model’s). I spy one guy with his hands down his knickers playing with his balls and wondering, “What in the hell kind of party is this?”

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There are some people drinking, and then I realize that we are in the back stage area and it is separated by a sheet to the fashion stage (front).  We walk through the sheet and are seated to the right front row seats for the show that is about to start.

Imagine an extremely hot and overcrowded room and there are people all around standing; photographers to the left waiting for the fashion show to begin.  It’s hotter than hell in this tiny room…I’m pulling off my huge coat, and presume that I look like I’ve just worked out with the amount of sweat rolling down my back.

I am completely mesmerized by the people watching here tonight, there is a cross dresser in a strange dress, makeup melting with the high heat and the Adams apple and goatee are clear giveaways.

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Then, I’m caught staring across at a woman in a moo moo type dress with zebra’s stitched in the dress (What in the hell kind of outfit is this?) and she is wearing some strange shoe hybrid that is a blend of a high-top sneaker and wedge. Around this same time, I catch another woman giving me the stink eye or possibly, that is just the way she look’s normally, and she is wearing a huge necklace resembling medium sized bowling balls around her neck and I’m wondering how much it weighs…as it is awful.

I’m thinking to myself and by this time, and probably saying it out loud, “Why am I Sober? Where are the free drinks? ” At some point, I know that I was thinking that this is why flasks were invented. I was definitely complaining about the fact that I was too sober to be in the venue with this show and I was trying to hold back my laughter as there were serious fashion people taking photos and among us waiting to see this new line.

I’m sitting in a chair and the show begins with a brief show with clothed models…then, they announce that we are preparing for the second show to begin in 5 minutes. There were random men walking about in their underwear.

Then the lights are lowered and within minutes and low and behold, there is a cock in my face. I am staring at men modeling briefs as they walk by me…his junk is in my exact line of vision, approximately a few feet from my face, and I am asking myself, “How funny is this? Wait, is that a tattoo on this guy, or is he wearing a tiger tooth?”

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I’m trying to do anything that I can, not to laugh.

Yes, you are thinking Marky Mark (Mark Wahlberg) wearing boxer briefs in the Calvin Klein ad, aren’t you? Well, if that were the case, I would be smiling and content. However, imagine a dirty version of juveniles, covered with tattoos, and wearing sneakers and jungle themed jewelry. Hahaha… some of my friends would love that image, I imagine.

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Then, even in the hottest venue I realize, ”Hold On….I’m going to take photo’s as no one would believe this is how I spent my evening.”

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I know that you’re wondering… how did I end up here? Oh yeah…

 

The Email:

Hey guys,

Let’s go to this party on Friday! What’s not to like? Free drinks and all…All you need to do is send a confirmation message with your names.

See you Friday!

-X

(No mention of men in underwear)

Me:

Sounds Great!! I’ll touch base on Friday and see you there!

-H

In looking back at this invitation, there is no mention of underwear clad young men traipsing about showing off their manhood, but it was a great night with friends and every time I think about it, I laugh.

I finally got that drink after we finally left this place, but managed to be home and in bed by midnight with a great story; however, not before sending cock shots of my evening to my friends to share the love. 🙂

This event was a complete shotshow

Chinatown & The Happy Ending…

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I should have known this was going to be a strange day….any day in New York City can turn into an adventure quickly…New York City is a bitch, but I love it.

As I stand waiting on the platform, I notice the train schedule time is not changing frequently, it’s actually saying 2 minutes, but it’s now been 5 minutes and the time is now going up. There is a strange amount of traffic walking into the subway platform, which is a bit concerning to see it filling up so fast, with no relief of a train…meanwhile, we hear a muffled message about local trains being delayed downtown. This is when simultaneously, two older men, one to my left and one to my right start screaming obscenities about the costs of the subway and the “God Damned Delay’s!! We pay money for this shitty service!” one screamed, while the other screamed, “God Damn It! I got delayed 3 times yesterday on the fucking bus!! What the hell is wrong with the MTA!?!?” and he throws his paper into the subway tracks. Note to self, do not sit next to these men.

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Meanwhile, I am monitoring the platform fill up more and more and wait patiently for the train.  It finally arrives and to my surprise, it’s not a normal 6 train with the blue newer seats…it’s one of the older subways that runs on the west side with the brown panels and orange and yellow seating, no electronic messaging or notification of the times, delays, or next stops…which means that the speaker system is not the best either. I think, “Shit, what in the hell am I doing on this train!?”

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As we finally get moving, the conductor tells us that we are now running express from 42nd to Brooklyn Bridge due to an accident at 33rd. Then, we get another message as we are being held again that there is now “No Service below 42nd on the 4, 5, or 6 trains and the train is being re-routed for uptown when we get to Grand Central!” WTF! I think to myself, “Damn…it must be a jumper”…and exit at Grand Central. I call my friend that I am meeting for lunch and tell her I’m delayed and walking there…meet me in 30 minutes, as I have to walk there.

I walk west across Bryant Park to head south to Eataly to meet my friend for lunch, when I finally make it there, this place is so fucking crowded with tourists and she is nowhere in sight. I text her and she says that, “she cannot talk now, but will call/text soon?!” WTF?!  Today has been a complete shit show…I need a drink.

When she arrives, we have a bit of a wait for the table, then I order my food with a huge glass of wine, then another.

At this point, I’m being grilled by her on the trade secrets of dating in the United States, well specifically in New York City, as she is from the Philippines.

I’m like, “well… It’s difficult to meet people at our age, let alone date.” At this point in my life, I settle for a good book, a hot bath and a bottle of wine most weekends.  However, she knows that I have been actively dating and have been in relationships, as the 2 times that we have both met and gone out, I have been involved with men. Yes, the only 2 men that I have been with in over a year happened to be timed right around the same time that she has been visiting in the New York City area.

She asks way too many questions. At some point, I tell her this. As she asks me more questions, I am reminded of needing another glass of wine. Yes, if they could pour the entire damned bottle in my glass, I’d be happy at this point.

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The constant grilling of questions is reminding me of an interview and quite exhausting. Especially, when I cannot seem to figure out the “code to dating in NYC, let alone in America.”

I have been really good at being single most of my adult life. I could be voted off the island for this, I presume. One of my guy friends, recently told me that he needed to start lying to people about being “divorced” now, as people look at him funny because he’s in his 40’s and has never been married, let alone engaged. It’s sad because I can definitely relate to his dilemma, as I’m in the same category.

After lunch, we walk down the Highline, through the West Village, The Village, and Soho and to Chinatown, where she wants to buy me a Bubble tea and the plan is for us to get cheap massages. After walking 8-10 miles today…

I think to myself…”A massage does sound nice.” In my mind, I’m thinking spa…this is where that phrase, “Little did you know” comes into play. Let the fun begin.

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We walk down Canal Street, and then we wind through the back alleys of Chinatown that I have never explored before. Imagine a fucked up maze of tiny streets with bright neon signs for massage parlors that are lit up and you know, they don’t look very clean, nor do they look very legitimate. My inner American girl that grew up in a middle class, southern/midwest family is screaming, “What the hell are you doing here!?! GO HOME!” However, she’s leading us deeper into the evasive maze and says that she always goes here when she is in New York. So, I let her lead the way.

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As we wind through the streets, we pass many massage parlors, nail salons, hair salons and etc. all on the left side of the narrow street.

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Then, we go into the smallest, thinnest store front with some strange writing on the wall and a fake rose bush on a table to the left of the hallway with a bright massage menu that I glimpse at as my friend is barking commands to the man and ladies in waiting area, that are greeting us as we walk in. The people that work here do not speak much English; they speak some words, but nod a lot; they smile and bow.

My friend seems to raise her voice louder to them acting like it makes them understand her more, since her voice is raised…this reminds me of something my mother would do and I laugh to myself.

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The girls that work here are dressed in a strange “dirty” girl kind of looking way, maybe it’s to entertain the big, older gentleman that I just saw dive into one of the stalls with a younger girl for a “massage”.

The area that you walk in has some strange pleather sofa’s to the right, then you walk through a doorway with beads, yeah beads like the 70’s draping down to a darker area with red lighting and there are strange curtains hanging up on both sides of the room separating the massage tables, I guess.

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They point me to one on the right. Mind you, it’s fucking freezing outside, so I have got a huge puffy coat, pants, sweaters, boots and etc. on and have a huge bubble tea in my hand. I walk beyond the curtain to undress and the space is obviously where they store crap, as the massage table is pushed up at the end against a small sofa with big bags all over it and shit everywhere. The massage table is so close to the curtain, that my legs hang out of it into the middle of the walkway and hands keep coming through the curtain as I undress. I place my belongings at the end of the massage table on the sofa with the other junk. The area around the table is about 6-12 inches from the wall/curtains on all sides. I finally get down to my panties and think, “Damn, whoever is massaging me must be in the Circus, as they’re going to have to trapeze into this tiny area and hang on strings to get around me to massage me! What in the hell did I agree to?!?”

Then, as I lay there practically naked, someone comes into the area around the sheet and for all that I know, my arse is possibly able to be viewed by anyone in the walk way. I’m trying to relax enough to enjoy a $40 hour full body massage.  Someone starts rubbing my back and maneuvering around the table…I’m a ball of pins & needles and I cannot relax.

In my mind, I’m thinking…”What the fuck am I doing here!? Only $40? Am I still in New York? This place is scaring the crap out of me…are these people legal? Are they slave labor? Is that grunting that I’m hearing in the other stall? For fucks sake, what have I agreed to?!”

Then, my concentration is broken by my friend yelling in the opposite stall that she needs someone new. Well, that meant that the person that she didn’t want was then exchanged with the person that I had at present, so they swapped.

Then, I get a woman…the only reason that I knew this is because she has her hair down and keeps draping it over my back as she rubs my shoulders and at some point, she directs me in a movement.Wait a minute, is there a monkey in here, someone just hoisted themselves on the table with me! What in the hell just happened?

Meanwhile, a man interrupts the massage through the curtains to ask me, “HOW LONG YOU NEED ONE HOUR?”  I reply, “Sure, whatever my friend has agreed to!” This was a strange reply that they did not understand, so they keep sending people over to ask in different ways, so I finally reply, “Yes. One Hour!” What am I doing here?

I’m being rubbed, groped, pushed and pulled all over my body and she is pulling down my panties and accidentally touching me in areas that she should not be that close to, so I keep shifting by body around the table and moving my head. Let’s just be clear, I am not here for any happy ending folks, nor do I care to get massaged in my nether region by a chick for cash. What in the hell is going on here?

After my massage is finally finished, I am shuffled out to the seating area on the pleather sofas with the strange Chinese woman that gave me the massage.She keeps showing me her hand and making a face. Apparently, she has been doing so many massages that she has injured her hand and She tells me, “You pay my boss! You pay my boss!” and then goes, “You tip me?!”

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So, I hand her a $20, and she hides it after looking around in both directions, then I sit and check my phone, foursquare, face book and wait for my friend to return and finish while listening to strange music on the sofa with this woman, while she puts on makeup and primps for the next person to enter the parlor.

As I sit there, I wonder about the big man that I saw going behind the curtain with the other young girl when we walked in, what in the hell kind of service is he getting? As, I started after and had an hour massage and I’ve been sitting here over 30 minutes now… Is this place a brothel too? Is he getting a happy ending? Gross.

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Once my friend finally comes out, she doesn’t stop there with the body massage, she has the owner giving her a 10 minute foot massage and her feet are on an ottoman, as he gets on his knees in front of her rubbing. She tells him that I need one and tells me that it’s included, I opt out, as it seems completely demeaning at this point, plus I’m ready to get the hell out of this place in fear that some authority will come in and bust it up at any moment.  I make an excuse, “that I don’t want to take off my boots again.”

After her massage, we walk through the streets and wind back to the main streets and get back to Mott Street to modern day civilization. This is when we determine that we should get some food for dinner.

We see people standing in line for dumplings and dim sum and opt for another szechuan restaurant that looks pretty popular. Again, I need to explain that I am American, now this means that I’m somewhat adventurous, but only to an extent and fish is a touchy food item for me. I love sushi, love sashimi and I love meat, but mine comes in pretty pieces, in packages in the store and etc. I think you understand.

My friend keeps asking about sharing food and I tell her that I’ll just order something, as I’m funny about eating fish. I look at the menu and it’s huge…opt for spring roll’s, something similar to Kung Pao Chicken and she orders some fish dish and other dishes.  She refers to me as such an “American”, and I think to myself, “Why yes, I am.” And I tell her about the time that someone tried slipping me some catfish to eat 20 years earlier and how upset that I was.

The spring rolls come, Dumplings come, I eat them too, then the Kung Pao dish, and I’m eating some green beans that she has ordered to share and it’s a huge plate. At this time, I have no idea what is about to happen. This little waiter comes with a HUGE platter with a WHOLE FISH ON IT and puts it in front of me, in between the two of us. Then, she looks at me and says, “Dig In!”

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My face must have said it all…the waiter cut it in the middle exposing the bones everywhere and leaves it. She asked for Soy Sauce and rips into the fish like she’s never eaten before.

First thing she eats is the entire head, face, eyes and all with soy sauce, as I watch wondering about the bones, eyes and lips…then, eats the fins and explains that in Asia, this would be something that is fought over first in a meal.

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Meanwhile, she is asking me if I want some. I reiterate that I’m funny about certain foods…fish, being one of them and the fact that she just ate the entire face off the fish…it’s messing with my appetite. You see, I’ve realized that American’s, or at the least, this one, we do not like to eat things that look back at us on the plate. I explain this to her as well, then as she goes back into the banter of asking questions about dating American & men in New York City while devouring the remainder of the fish. I am thinking to myself, I wonder if any of the men that I know and have dated would react well to someone eating a whole fish in front of them, let alone the head first. After we are finished, she had the server package up the remaining food, both the fish and the food that I had not eaten to take home with her.

This evening was good, but a very strange adventure in New York City…. When I got home, I seriously scrubbed my entire body clean in the shower to ensure that I was clean before getting into my bed for the night.

As I’m dying for another massage, I’m still not tempted to return to this land of the happy ending.

I’m like the Psychic that will guide you on your life, but can’t read my own cards…

 

 

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So, it’s confession time. At present, I’m a closet writer that used to write for a release, but was apparently trapped under a refrigerator for the past few years…while working in a Consulting role in technology and selling myself out to the lifestyle of 50-60hour work weeks, depending on online dating sites to help remind me that I needed to be “available” to date, and trying to keep up with my friends and having a social life outside of the office, while commuting almost 3hours/day back and forth. Damn…I’m tired. I’m currently unemployed, as my contract ended with tragedy to the project, which is sad, but I’m surviving, and interviewing for new positions, which itself is literally just like online dating and at present, I’m stifled by the similarities. I am a Technology Recruiter… so, I get it, but people ask me to stop by just to “see me in person” to “make sure I’m presentable”. Now, not going to name any places, but I’ve been working with a large Cosmetic’s company for the past 2 years…within start up’s and management consulting, high level communications companies…all in HR and TA… (Talent Acquisition) not “Tit’s and Ass”, but if I wasn’t presentable…I wouldn’t have been placed on the front line to attract candidates in the first place. So, it is what it is….I do the “dog and pony show… do a few tricks, fake the laughter, smile’s and try to make a connection… otherwise, I’m a master of the game.. And I know how it’s supposed to be played.” Too bad that this doesn’t necessarily transfer over to my dating life…I’m like the psychic that will guide you on your future, cards, life, how many children that you will have; however, I live in a trailer, 3 kids, divorced and barely making ends meet. I cannot read my own cards… lol. It’s like that as a Recruiter… I guide people on hiring decisions, but the funniest part is, I need to apply these principles to my dating life… walk away when my gut instinct tells me to. However, like I was telling my therapist…. I seem to have great intuition, I just manage to second guess it, keep going and end up in a comedy of errors with my dating life… So, I’m unemployed now and while I’m interviewing for new positions, I have found myself with time to write and capture my stories that my friend’s and my therapist have been telling me for years to write and capture of my days of living in New York City, especially the dating one’s to share with all… as they’re that good and amusing… bear with me, as I’m reminiscing through and trying to go back and write them to publish. May the road go on forever and the party never end…

Haha

Yeah. Fucking crystal ball

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