Introducing…Single in the City

Call me Flow Eeezy, an eternal hopeful, a perpetual believer that maybe, just maybe, I could meet that guy: Smart, funny, articulate and principled.  I wonder if I am a member of a dying breed, in this age of the booty call. As we meander through these post-recessionary times, one thing is clear; dating in New York is hard. And harder when you have values, never mind morals. But I am holding out! I’m not perfect, far from it. 

Case in point, my late night cruise to K’s apartment. K is a liquid chocolate dude I met last summer while vacationing in Mexico. After much cajoling on a frostingly cold Wednesday night, I arrived at his digs on the Upper West Side, close to midnight. Granted, I was rather curious to know where he lived and what he was up to. I believe one visit to a man’s home is worth more than a thousand phone calls of sweet nothings. Even before I got settled on the couch, he began to make suggestive advances that made it pretty clear he had other “activities” in mind. While he certainly made no headway on that note, he did treat me to what I would describe as the most amazing bench-press I have ever experienced or ridden? Let me explain…

Fit as a butcher’s dog, K lay flat on the floor and instructed me to lie on his back, face down. Next, he raised both our bodies from the ground up, gingerly oscillating and modulating to the tune of a still quiet night. By far my most exhilarating bench-press, we continued this synchronized solo for what seemed like a glorious eternity. He then went on all fours, and I gently slipped off, like a jockey getting off a saddle, after a well run race. On my way home, I smiled with great satisfaction, knowing that I had dodged another bullet of the almighty booty call.

So I dodged the bullet – hoopty doo, I should be happy right, wrong? I’m frustrated. Once the dust settled, as it always does, I realized that dating is one big game of switcheroo. What else could it be? We switch in and out of roles, we bark, we bite, we make song, we make dance and somehow, the cat with the most seductive growl or the dog that lets out the loudest bark wins. Therein lies the conflict and my personal frustration for us “in-betweeners.” We purr, we do not growl, we are genteel ladies holding out in the shark infested, Christian Louboutin wearing, fully weaved up scene called New York City. Let’s be clear, a fabulous pair of Loubou’s is a very good thing. But I wonder, is there still space for us inbetweeners in the elbow crowded streets of the greatest city in the world?

Welcome to my blog. Over the coming weeks, months, years or however long serendipity sees fit, I hope to share with you my stories of living a vibrant single life in New York City. These stories will not just be mine, but will be those of many amazing, dynamic and incredibly interesting women in the City.

Read about our weekly escapades on Munaluchibridal.com. Some will be funny, others will be sad, and some will leave you “scratching your head” and wondering why? I invite you to read out loud, to share with your girlfriends, and “manfriends” if you dare, and to stir up debate. I invite you to flow with me, as we take subway rides, late night taxi runs, and grumpy MTA buses uptown, downtown, and cross-town New York. And of course, I won’t forget to let you in on the juice when he rolls up in premium wheels or the old faithful hoopty. While I do not know where these adventures will take us, one thing I promise you is this: “I promise to dish it as it was served to me.”