lonely lovely city

lonely lovely city

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Love is the drug...


     Above, is the link to a related article why love can impact the entire body: heart, mind and other nameless body parts.  It can move beyond the physical and into actual physiology.  Evidently, love, is beyond our control.  Can I debunk this claim or choose to accept it?

     "Love is an oxymoron.  It isn't supposed to make sense." quipped Tony, a sixty-something West Villager and loyal patron I frequently wait on at my restaurant. "Forget all of the superficial bullshit with having to look a certain way or having material possessions.  Its about being real, not giving a flying fuck what anyone else thinks." Offering the dessert menu, we discussed how dating in NYC is so difficult. And, here on Valentines Day 2010, I was alone and working.  I am embarrassed to admit it has been a year since my last date.
     Andrew, a NYU Psychology professor was twenty-one years my senior who lived in Carol Gardens.  We met online through Manhunt- the go to site for gay hook-ups.  Our pairing was brief, lasting less than a month.  His wisdom mitigated my insecurities.  His broad rugby player stature protected me while cuddling.  I was getting used to the idea of seeing an older, intelligent man when he began to act aloof over French Toast and Bacon at a local diner.
      Andrew barely uttered a sentence beyond "pass the maple syrup." As we hugged another near the F train stop on Smith Street, he seemed disengaged, kissing me on the cheek.  He never replied to my two embarrassing, rather desperate voicemail messages, demanding an explanation.  Since then, an inner hermit has taken my confidence hostage, acclimating to the sour taste of rejection.  Not anymore.
      During my birthday lunch last week at Gotham Bar and Grill, I promised my good friend, Lory, that I would resume dating by spring.  In order to access this potency with finding a partner, I am signing up for a legitimate online site where men(hopefully within my own age group) will respond, looking for the same addictive comfort: reciprocal love.

Monday, February 8, 2010


">     Tomorrow, I am grabbing 35 by the balls. I am grateful for making it this far, in spite of being hospitalized during the majority of a painful childhood. I am honored to finally feel like a grown up. I am also scared shitless, unable to control the aging process and uncertain of what lurks around the corner. For a long time, I have yearned for a real love-the type you witness with your good friends, fortifing hope. Until Mr. Whomever appears, I am going to locate a style of being fine just the way I am: single and fabulous.
     A Union Square restaurant I wait tables at, ties in beautifully. Frequently, I see confident single men and women walk through the door, looking for a cozy table. Often, in the middle of busy service, he or she will sit and just be. A few play with the stems of their wine glass while strolling on their blackberries. Some remain without any distractions, alone in a crowded room. What I admire most is their sense of self, appearing not to care what others think and unafraid to been viewed as a solo player.
     Letting my guard down and trusting instincts towards meeting new people is the first step to accessing inner confidence.  Does having yet another birthday imply that we are more rigid and unreceptive of change?   How can I love myself enough not to care what others see and just be in the moment?