Ring finger, occupied.

A year and a half ago I met a boy; tall, Latino, a bad boy grin and sultry eyes. He had smooth skills both on & off the softball field. He was my kind of man; the kind that leaves me with a wad of bunched up tissues and an empty bottle of wine.

When we first met, I ignored his flirts and excused them as typical behavior of a Latino male; they are flirty my nature, so no need to read into his behavior. It was harmless fun but something told me that he had a girlfriend (women's intuition never fails).  Over time, we became close, talked on and off the field and developed, what I thought, was a true friendship.

A friendship that, somehow, never discussed our dating status.

A few months later his flirting became more aggressive leading me to believe this "girlfriend" was out of the picture. He told me how beautiful I am, how I am just his type, I'm smart, funny, adorable... everything a girl wants to hear. Needless to say, I was beyond thrilled when he finally, after 4 months of flirting, asked me to "hang out" (or in his words, "come to your apt Friday night and cook you dinner.)

Dinner + Friday night + my apt...Was this, could this be, a kinda, sorta date? Finally! I was beyond excited and Friday couldn't get here fast enough.

But first, there was Wednesday, and Wednesday would be the first time he would put a big dent in my heart.

Having only ever seen each other at softball, he asked me to send him a photo of myself wearing regular clothes. Obviously, I requested the same.

Later that night, trying to figure out what to wear for this "date" (yes, I was definitely calling it a date at this point) I was hanging out with a male friend of mine when he asked to see the photos of my crush. We sat in front of his computer, me grinning from ear to ear, him pessimistic and anxious, as he flipped through one photo after another.  And then flipped through them a second, and third time.

He said, "Um, he's wearing a wedding band in this photo."

................

heart. stops.

................

You know how they say it's 'mind over matter'. Well, when you want something to come true so badly, sometimes you are blind to the obvious. No, I didn't see the ring in the photo. No, I didn't notice him wearing a ring during the dozens of times we played softball together. Maybe it was there, maybe he is just really good at disguising it, or maybe I am just too naive to think that men cheat on their wives to look for the tan line.

I asked my friend to drive me home immediately and as the tears welled up in my eyes I mentally told him off a dozen times for hurting me. No, he didn't cheat on his wife with me yet, but we had a dinner plans scheduled less than 48 hours away. I am not that kind of girl. I believe in love, marriage and commitment, I am not a cheater nor a home-wrecker in any way. Even more hurtful, was that I thought we were friends. We talked for 4 months before our "date" and yet the subject of wife, marriage, wedding never came up.

The next day I was determined to confront him. I wish I would of had a great opening line like Charlotte York in Sex & The City, but all I could come up with is, "Um, are you married?"


***

The rest of the story is filled with so many lies I wouldn't even know where to begin. I can tell you that he claimed he was in a tricky divorce. We stopped talking for awhile, and the rekindled when he was really getting divorced.

This time, I believed him.

No one else did, which kept me on my toes and always asking questions. I checked in every so often with, "So, you're still on track with that divorce? You're still separated and not living together?" and his reply while dishonest, was always consistent.  Like any true player, he had an answer for everything. He had his testimony down pat and never slipped up. I tend to believe that people are genuinely good and honest, it is a trait of mine that is both optimistic and naive.

After a year of "hanging out" with this "divorced" man, the truth was finally revealed.

He is, was, and always has been married. (Thanks for letting me know Facebook.)

I am most hurt with the fact that he lied to me, over and over and over.

If you want to cheat, well shame on you, but don't bring innocent people into it. My heart was already damaged enough without the added guilt and sadness that he attributed.

Lesson learned, always check for the ring finger tan line.

College Love

I was twenty-three, a senior in college, three months until graduation, pursuing a degree in photography with dreams taking me to New York City. This was no time to fall in love; but timing, was never my thing.

Off to the bar I go, hooched up with big hair, smoky eyes and killer dancing shoes. He was tall, blonde hair, great smile and eyes that make you weak in the knees.

We danced the night away, laughing and talking, and after last call, he asked for my number! But in all seriousness, this was a club: colored lights, blaring hip-hop tunes, jell-o shots and all. Not exactly the type of establishment with a track record of decent guys and relationship success stories. I had an amazing night. Period. If I never saw this guy again, I wouldn’t be surprised or upset. It is what it is. That’s what I told myself and my friends.

Please call. Please don’t be a douche. Please be a decent guy for once.... Is what I was really thinking.

To my surprise, he did call. (Thank God!) We had a date two days later and were attached at the hip from then on. He swept me off my feet, by simply being himself. It was more than just opening car doors and letting me pick the movie. When I talked, he listened. Really, listened. He laughed at my jokes even when my best material came from Laffy Taffy wrappers. He drove me to and from work so we could spend those extra few moments together each day. He didn’t mind when I consistently turned his Thunderbird into my personal karaoke booth. When I ordered the salad he shared his fries. He got along with my friends, and invited me out with his. He was patient and kind, generous and loving. He made me laugh, and kept me sane during my final months of college. He was there for me when I was at my worst and made better person. He was everything I wanted; within weeks we were head over heels in love.

But this was not the plan. I was supossed to move 500 miles away in a few months. I was going to "find myself," follow my dreams; become some version of Sarah Jessica Parker meets Jennifer Garner in 13 Going On 30. But I also wanted him, our marriage, our home, our kids. He was Ohio, born and bred. Loved trees and the yard and the space. Most importantly, he loved his mother who was never, no way, going to let him follow me to the big city.

I struggled all summer with this giant life choice. Do I stay in Ohio with the man of my dreams? Follow my heart to the Norman Rockwell life, white picket fence and all? Or pack my bags, say goodbye and leave everything in the hands of fate.

He made the decision easy for me, he told me to go.

So I went. And while it was the hardest decision of my life thus far, I know I made the right one. I now know what true love is. I’m fortunate enough to have had it, and it feels great. Now,  I'm on the quest of finding true love, again. He was The One for me when I was twenty-three, and now I need to find The One who is right for me, forever. They say it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved before. And I definitely agree. He is the man I measure everyone against, and now that I know what im looking for, it makes weeding out the wrong ones, so much easier.


xoxo

Worst Date E-V-E-R

To know where I'm going, you have to know where I've been. So here’s a dating story from the archives of my life.

It was a gorgeous sunny day in NYC as I walked down the sidewalk on 2nd Ave, ponytail bouncing, lip singing to girls rock/boys suck pop music when some jerk starts honking his horn at me. Obviously I ignored him. This is New York, if I stopped every time a horn honked I wouldn't get out of Astoria. I continue to walk, and the car continues to follow me onto 49th street finally pulling over to double park, blocking a city bus and angry drivers from traveling across town and got out of his car.

Seriously? What did I do? Cross in front of him jaywalking? What in the world could this ass want?

Apparently, to hit on me.

After a few minutes of, “You're so beautiful I just had to stop” yada yada yada “I would love to take you to dinner sometime,” I gave this guy my number. I mean, he stopped traffic to talk to me, I had to give him a chance.

I ignored the fact that his name was DJ Scrillz. Yes, I know.

DJ and I talked everyday for 3 weeks, and he seemed like a nice, romantic, considerate man. I got past his occupation and tried to have an open mind because clearly I was meant go out with him. If I hadn't been walking down the street at that exact moment, if I had stopped at the bodega, or missed the train, if, if, if.... I guess I’m a sucker for thinking everything is fate.

DJ and I made plans to go out on a Saturday night for drinks in Astoria. What started off as a 9pm meet-up quickly turned to 11pm after a string of excuses for being late. He finally shows up and as I walk to meet him on the corner I see that he was cleaning out his car. And by cleaning out his car, I actually mean taking the dozen or so Gatorade bottles out of his backseat and throwing them on the sidewalk. Onto MY sidewalk. Not in the trashcan that is a mere 50 ft away, but right there next to the steps of someone’s front door. I couldn't believe what I was seeing so I tried to pretend it didn't actually happen. We walked around the bar lined streets checking out pub after pub, none of which met up to DJ’s standards. He was hungry and even though I didn't want to get food, he insisted.

The next thing I know we are in his car driving to Chinatown, because, according to DJ, there are no good restaurants in Queens. Oh boy.

DJ orders a smorgasbord of food, and not wanting to be that girl who doesn't eat I order rice. Rice cost approximately $4, please note.

DJ spends the next 30 minutes shoveling food into his mouth like he is never going to eat again. Chewing with his mouth open, slurping his soda, no utensils necessary. He clearly has manners worse than an ogre. I was horrified. I really thought I was being punked, but Aston Kutcher was no where to be found.

Finally the check comes, total is around $50 and DJ reaches for his wallet only to pull out a 20. My rice was $4 and somehow I owe $30 on a first date with world’s biggest asshole. At this point it was only money and I just wanted to go home. I pay the check telling the waiter to keep the change. The waiter brings the changes anyways, lays it on the table, I grab my bag and start to leave when DJ turns around and takes the waiters tip off of the table slipping my money into his jeans.

“Excuse me,” I said, “that is his tip.”
“Oh, I left the change.” And by this he means the coins, a whole fifty-five cents worth.

Appalled.

“Take me home. Now.”

As DJ drives us over the BQE he is suddenly dehydrated and must stop for a water. We pull over at the bodega and as he gets out, I say that I am really thirsty too. DJ comes out of the bodega with a water and a Gatorade, surly one is for me.

Then, he stands outside of the car, chugs the water, tosses the empty bottle onto the sidewalk and gets in the car where he opens the Gatorade and starts drinking that too. Guess I was wrong, again.

As we drive towards my apartment, I tell DJ he can drop me off on the corner.

DJ: “No, I”ll find a parking spot so I can come in.”

Me: “I’m sorry but no, you cant come home with me.”

DJ: “Well, how long are you gonna make me wait? Are ya really gonna be a bitch and not put out.... tomorrow’s my birthday?”

Me: “Yep, guess I’m a bitch then. Bye.”

I got out of the car, shut the door and never looked back. The sun was coming up but it was time for me to curl up in bed and sleep this one off. DJ started calling a few hours later, but after a few days of being sent to voicemail and texts left unanswered, I guess he got the hint. This was by far my worst date ever. Fortunately, it can only get better from here!

Lesson learned form Matt... Initials before their name (i.e DJ) bad. Initials after their name (i.e M.D.) good.

My Real Life Rom-Com

Me: “Are you married?”
Boy: "Um, it's complicated."
Me: “What do you mean, ‘it’s complicated’? It’s a yes or no question.”


Boy: “You can call me DJ Scrillz.”
Me: “That’s... your name?”


Boy: “I know we’re broken up right now, and things have been rough, but will you marry me?”


Me: “I’m sorry but no, you cant come home with me.”
Boy: “Well, how long are you gonna make me wait? Are ya really gonna be a bitch and not put out.... tomorrow’s my birthday?”
side note: this was our first, and last date


Boy: “Are you sure you’re not ready? I have cancer. Who knows how much longer I have.”
side note: boy did not have cancer. lies.


Boy: “I like you, like a lot, and I don’t want you to go out with other guys. It really makes me upset that you do.”
Me: “Are you saying you want to be exclusive?”
Boy: Well, no. I’m not ready to commit yet. I just don't want you to see anyone other than me.”

and my all-time favorite…

Boy: “I don’t date, I hang out”

No, these are not lines from a Nora Ephron chick flick, these are quotes from my life. My very real, non-fiction life. I’ve been dating now for about 10 years {anything pre-college, can not be considered actually dating, sorry high school sweethearts} and to quote Charlotte York, “I’m exhausted, where is he?”

I have spent many years keeping my coupled friends entertained with my hellacious, often hilarious, dating stories. Usually my tales are followed by a “Shut Up!” or a “No he DID NOT."  but really, I couldn’t make this stuff up!

So here we go, as I document my always adventurous, sometimes tragic, never boring life of a single girl living in the concrete jungle.

xoxo