The Height of My Problems

So I currently find myself in a pickle, and I'm short an idea... literally.

Rewind to the beginning of the summer... I met this guy Adam when I was out with an old friend if mine from college. I must have given him my number, but I don't recall (and no, it's not because I was intoxicated, thank you very much).

Fast forward to about a month ago... Adam sends me a random text and thus begins a funny convo over text that lasts a couple of weeks. Then Adam suggests we get a drink sometimes. I said sure, why not.

(Side note: here's the 411 on Adam: lives in Southie, nice Jewish guy, in sales, went to UMass, my age.)

On a rainy Friday night (I believe it was Hurricane Earl?), I meet up with Adam at Bond, the hotel bar in Boston. Great place. We get a few drinks, have a great time, and I decide that I think I'd like to see him again.

So a week or so later, I'm back in Boston and we get dinner at Eastern Standard. Another fantastic place with delicious food (very impressive place to take a date), and NO, we did not split a glass of wine. And after dinner we go to the Mandarin Hotel bar - meh. Wouldn't recommend it unless you're staying there already.

Of course, something weird happens to me. (Always a story!) Adam and I are sitting at the bar, and this woman about 32 years old comes up to us, questionably drunk, and asks whether we are together. The question baffles both my date and me, and I blurt out "Yes." The woman says to me, "Oh too bad, my friend thinks your cute. But I'm married! And I'm pregnant!" Ummmmm, ok that doesn't make this situation any less awkward. (And NO, her friend was NOT cute, if you're wondering.)

But that's not where this story is going...

I decided, after this date, that I'd like to see him again. Things are going very well, I've had a great time with him so far, we get along, all in all, great guy.

There's just ONE. SMALL. CATCH. And I mean small... and that would be his height. (There's always a catch.) With heels, I may be his height or taller - and I'm only 5'1".

This is when I ask: is his height something I can get over? Every girl has certain criteria when it comes to her men, and we must determine which of those are deal-breakers. I wasn't sure yet whether the height issue was a deal-breaker, so I thought about how much fun I have with him, and decided to give it a shot, and see him again.

So a couple of weeks ago, I planned a great day in Newport - we saw the mansions, had lunch, walked around, got dinner - pretty much the perfect Newport day. And we even smooched. I had a FANTASTIC day! But I just couldn't shake this weird complex I had that he was so short.

And I had this weird complex feeling going into our last date last week when we saw The Town. (Great flick, highly recommend it, especially if you're from Boston.) Before I left for the movie, I had this unsettled feeling like I reeeeeallyyyy did not want to go, but it was too late at that point to cancel.

Since then, I have been thinking about it long and hard, and I've come to the conclusion that every girl has a deal-breaker, and mine was his height. One of my top rules for dating is that you should at least be attracted to your man. If you're not, things just won't go well for the relationship. And I'm just not attracted to his height. And NOW is the time to cut this thing short.

So now I'm in this pickle... I need to end it, need to tell him it's over, but HOW?! Oh man, breaking up IS hard to do! I obviously can't say "You're really nice, but just a little short for me." Besides his height he's great. So basically anything I say will be a lie.

This is where you all come in. I open this post for suggestions in dealing with my little problem. Any ideas?? (Keep in mind that when I talked to him yesterday, he said he already has "a great idea planned for our next date." Greeeeatttt, could he make this any harder??)

Phew! This post has left me shortness... of breath!

A Peak into the other brain

Ladies,

I was recently exposed to this advice column. I actually know the person who wrote it. It's his first advice, but it's actually pretty good.

It's nice to look at how the other brain thinks...

http://weeklyworldnews.com/opinion/22203/dude-dating-with-j-train/#more-22203

ENJOY!

If you don't like it, then you shouldn't put a ring on it

First of all, welcome back ladies.

Back by popular demand, I have decided to reinstate this blog. But perhaps it's time to venture out of the dating scene and into other topics. (Don't fret, I will also be posting dating adventures.) My friend Diana even suggested I make sub-categories, like cooking or home and gardens. First I laughed, then I responded that if I ever gave advice on home and gardens I would have disheveled homes and dead gardens on my hands. No thanks. But I do find myself in predicaments and lost in thoughts, so why not give the readers what they want: MORE BLOGS!

Before I get into the last few dates I've had upon returning to Boston/ Rhode Island, I wanted to comment on this little article I recently read in my Marie Claire. (And by "my" I mean the extra one Alisa gets in the mail - for some reason they send her 2. I'm OK with it because it gives me something to read.)

As I quickly opened the cover because I find the picture of Katie Holmes on the front atrocious and the outfit she's wearing insulting, I stumbled upon an article titled "Faking My Engagement." (page 115 if you're curious) This woman who deals with lots of nerds and dorks in her job got fed up with these men asking her out and wanting to marry her. So what did she do? She ordered a fake engagement ring from Ms. Taken. This company is actually in the business of selling cubic zirconia-and-stainless steel rings for $30 for "party girls, waitresses, divorcees, jetsetters, not sad cases who buy fake rings because they're dying for pure deception."

Ummmm... isn't wearing a fake engagement ring EXACTLY that - pure deception??

And that's just the tip of the iceberg on all the things wrong with this.

As we chip away at this fake ice, my next problem is: why not just buy one at Claire's Accessories or even Arden B.? Both have some fantastic fake bling, it's probably cheaper or the same price as Ms. Taken's faux carat, and you're def not paying for shipping and handling. Sure, it might be slightly embarrassing going into a store and buying yourself a fake ring, but when you've come to the decision to buy a fake ring, I think you've gone past the point of embarrassment.

My other problem with wearing a fake engagement ring - and call me old fashioned - is that it's just bad luck. The purpose of it is to be a man-repellant, but if you're looking to get married one day, isn't repelling men (or women, depending on which way you swing) the LAST thing you want to do? In my youth, I used to wear a cute little amber ring my parents got me in Sweden when I was 16. I wore it on my engagement finger for years. As I started getting older and hitting the bars, I can't tell you how many MEN asked me if I was engaged. Shocked that it even appeared as an engagement ring, I started to think guys actually believed I was engaged. Now I make it a point to NOT wear anything resembling an engagement ring on my finger. (Gaudy rings obviously don't count.)

So, to the Claire Tragesers (the author of the article) of the world, I leave you with this one piece of advice: if you don't like guys constantly hitting on you, don't put a ring on it. Who knows who you will repel? Perhaps your future husband...

That's All She Wrote

Well, ladies, this is my last post. It has certainly been an interesting and fun summer and I was all too happy to share with you all. I hope y'all got some laughs, some shocks, and at least some dating tips.

I gave my number out to about 7 or so guys - a girl never reveals her true number ;) and only a handfull of those turned out to be dates. And only one of those guys turned into a second date.

So what have I learned after a summer of New York City style dating? Guys in NYC expect you to come to them. It's a whole different ballgame in the Big Apple. It's not like Boston where you can stand at the bar and within 20 minutes at least one guy will hit on you, and whether he is cute or your type, he will at least say how pretty you look, sweet-haht, and make you laugh. NYC boys will wait till you approach them, ask for your number, maybe ask you out, and if they do, will probably just expect you to sleep with them - that night. I guess I can see where the premise of "Sex and the City" came from - it's no urban myth.

I wasn't expecting to find my Prince Charming or even my Big, but it was one heck of a ride.

My favorite date? The yoga and Japanese food afterwards. Creative date AND he had a lot of courage to ask a random girl out on a date. I commend him.

My least favorite date? That's a no brainer - for the future, if any guy asks you where you see this date going, it is probably a trap. Get out while you can (unless of course you're into that whole thing).

But now I'm back in Bristol, Rhode Island and law school where the pool of applicants is fewer than tall men in China. If I happen to go on any dates or my love life should take a sudden turn for the exciting, I will be sure to post about it.

Thank you all for reading up on my New York City love life. Until then, maybe I will take some advice and "Ask for Directions."

xox Es

In the 11th Hour

For the past couple of weeks I was thinking that it's so sad that I haven't posted - and it's even sadder that I had nothing to post about. Until Josh...

As it always goes, a friend of a friend knows someone who would be PERFECT for you, so in my case, I always say "Why not?". This time it was no different.

My friend from law school told me about this friend of his - nice, successful Jewish guy - who lives in the city. He had told me awhile ago about Josh, but I just forgot to email him. But now it was Tuesday of my last week in NYC - I had to have ONE LAST DATE, so I emailed Josh. And we struck up a conversation. (Is it me, or has dating completely become electronic? Before we know it, I'll be dating via skype!)

Let me give you the 411 on Josh (do people still say 411, or is that sooooo 1995?): He's tall and cute, works in finance, tells dirty jokes, and his friend from college just died so he was leaving early Saturday morning for his funeral.

We scheduled a date for Thursday night - but late, around 11 pm because we both had plans before that. Before heading to this date (late, per usual), I went out with a few girlfriends and had some drinks. The date ended up being SO fun! Now, I don't know if the key ingredient to this fun was the booze, but if it was, I might have to add this ingredient in all my date-stews.

I met Josh at a bar called Banc in Midtown/Murray Hill and just had a few laughs and a few drinks. At one point he said we should take a shot - why not. I told him I needed to use the restroom so he said he'd buy the shots while I went to the bathroom. I had a sudden change of heart and told him I'd use the bathroom after the shot. Not that I didn't trust him, but c'mon ladies, we've all seen our fair share of Lifetime movies starring Swoozy Kurtz - I wasn't sure what would go into that drink. (Believe me - he was a completely normal guy, nothing to be worried about, but I am really proud of myself for remembering Lifetime movie lessons, so I wanted to share this tidbit with you all.)

After awhile, he invited me back to his apartment for some rooftop drinks (his apartment was literally across the street). It was nice out and night the was still young, so I agreed. So we hung out for awhile on his roofdeck shooting the breeze. The minutes flew by and I suddenly realized it was 2:00 am on a school night and I had work the next morning. I may be out of the loop, but I'm pretty sure 2:00 am is the pivotal time to let the guy know if you are interested in staying or not. I was not. After a sweet kiss on a roofdeck overlooking New York City, I got into a cab and went home.

The next day we talked a bit on gchat and he made it very clear that while he may be interested in me, I didn't live in NYC so all he was interested in was the physical. It did occur to me that Josh, in his mourning state, had wanted me to stay, but I am not Samantha Jones. It felt like we were breaking up - it wasn't him, it was me, but maybe one day when the stars align we might be together.

And in the 11th hour or my New York City summer, I managed to go out on one last date...

Another Date? No Sweat

I had quite a few people bug me yesterday inquiring where the heck was my yoga date blog post. Sorry - believe it or not, I actually do work at my cushy internship, and between writing yesterday's long blog and then a 1.5 hour lunch break to get a hair cut (it's pretty short - yikes!), I just didn't have the time to post yet another blog.

But hold your breath no more, my friends, here is the yoga date.

In case you forgot, or just didn't read yesterday's blog, let me give you a little reminder:

I met David while I was enjoying my historical fiction novel over some pasta. Is he good looking? Nope. Is he tall? Nope. Would I have ever said yes but for the entertainment I provide y'all? Nope. While we were chatting there at this Italian restaurant, we started talking about yoga (don't ask me why), when he suggested we should do yoga and dinner. After one reschedule, we set the date for this past Monday evening.

What kind of yoga you ask? Bikram - i.e. sit in a 100 degree room sweating your eyes out. If you have never done or heard of Bikram yoga - it is intense. 90 minutes of sweat and poses - no part of you comes out dry. Typically, at least in Boston, all the guys that do Bikram yoga are like 60 years old and bearded. Fortunately, NYC is not like that. There were some hotties in the class with their shirts off - I may or may not have sneaked a peak in the mirror.

Unfortunately, David was not one of these hotties - much to my chagrin. (Although come to think of it, most of the hotties in my Bikram yoga class were gay...) In fact, I was kinda grossed out but all the sweatiness - ew.

After 90 minutes of feeling like death and overheat, we decided to go for dinner. I told him I like pretty much anything - but I was sick of pizza. David suggested we get Japanese food - we walked for like 35 minutes and I thought my legs were going to fall off. The last thing you want to do after Bikram yoga is walk, let alone for more than 5 minutes. I was uncomfortable, my muscles ached, and I was hungry. Where the heck was this place?? I probably could have walked home to Brooklyn by now. And the whole time he was yapping my ear off, which strangely enough I was rather grateful because I was too annoyed to talk. (What? I couldn't talk? I know. Stranger things have happened, believe me.)

We finally get to this Japanese place in St. Marks - great little neighborhood by the way if you're ever in NYC. And this place was actually great. Lots of kudos to David for picking a cool, off the beaten path, authentic place. We had random Japanese food - and not like your typical California roll either. (If I could remember how to pronounce the food we had, obviously I would include it in this post. However, I haven't brushed up on my Japanese in awhile, so I can't remember the names).

Two eel dishes and several cups of cold Sake later, I was actually relieved to go home. It was getting late, I wanted a proper shower after yoga, and David had committed a cardinal sin.

What is this sin you ask? He actually told me he didn't know the Star Spangled Banner - in fact, he didn't even know that our National Anthem was CALLED the Star Spangled Banner. I almost choked on my chicken liver skewer - even if he was cute, tall, funny, sweet, and all the other stuff we women look for in a man - it could never work out between us. As you know, the Star Spangled Banner is my favorite song. I love America. I live in a town where the streets are painted red, white and blue, for pete's sake!

As we parted ways, Fate, and a whole lot of frequent flyer miles, saved me. He was leaving for Peru on Saturday and will be back after I have already left NYC.

Dear David, if you do not know our great nation's National Anthem, don't sweat it - but just don't call me either.

It Could Happen to You

I know it's been awhile - my apologies...

Last week was a pretty eventful week for me.

Let's rehash:

On Monday night, I decided to enjoy a quiet dinner at a local Italian restaurant with me, myself, and my new book. Now I know what you're thinking, I won't go grocery shopping by myself but I'll eat dinner by myself? What can I say - I'm crazy.

So while I was sitting there, a guy walks by several times and on his 3rd go-around, he comes over to my table (I was sitting outside) and says "I don't normally do this but I just saw you sitting there and wanted to say hi."

We end up talking for about 20 minutes - a seemingly nice lad by the name of David. After random chit-chat, we set up a date to do yoga and dinner. I thought, oh boy, this should be interesting!

My week was off to a good start...

Tuesday evening rolls around and I have a dinner date with an old fling of mine who was in town from California. Nothing to report there - just that if you ever get a chance to have drinks in the Bowery Hotel lounge, I would highly recommend it.

Thursday night I have another date with Fred - the friend of a friend I told y'all about several blogs ago. This is when my week went from Best Week Ever to Weakest Week Ever...

In a nut shell - it happened to me. I never thought it would actually happen - I thought it was an urban legend. I had seen it in shows, in movies, but never in real life. That's right - I GOT STOOD UP.

I was supposed to meet Fred at an event where my boss was showcasing new musicians at a lounge in the East Village, and after we were going to check out this DJ party that a DJ who records in our studio at work was throwing. Fred told me to text him when I got to the lounge.

True to Esther-form, I was running late, and then the trains were running on molasses. When I'm late, I get flustered. I get off the train and prepare for my quick 7-minute walk to the lounge, but true to Esther-form - I get lost. And when I get lost, I get even more flustered. So I text Fred: "I am SO lost!" To which he responds: "Ask directions."

I almost tripped over my own feet at this. Ask directions? ASK DIRECTIONS!? The correct response SHOULD have been: Ok where are you? Let me help you. Any decent person would have replied something like that - to tell a girl, lost in NYC, by herself, at night to ask for directions? Correction, to tell ME to ask directions? BIG MISTAKE.

So already I'm pissed off. I get to the bar at about 9:30 pm and text Fred that I'm here, to which he responds, "I'll be there in a little bit." 10 pm rolls around... 10:15 rolls around... and he texts me "Are you still there?" Yepppp, I am... 10:30 rolls around... how long does a girl wait for a guy to show up?

Finally, I had had enough. I tell him I'm leaving - going home because I got sick of waiting for him. He responds something along the lines of "I'm so sorry - I didn't realize you were waiting, blah blah." I tell him that he shouldn't say he's going to do something if he's not going to do it. That's when the apologies start rolling in... and can we get drinks tomorrow? No, we can't. I have a concert to go to.

I was fuming - it wasn't that I was there by myself, and it wasn't that other guys kept coming up to me but I had to tell them I was waiting for someone. No, it was that when you say you'll be there in "a little bit," but you're not actually going to be there in "a little bit," just tell me. No big deal. I'll be annoyed, sure, but jeez louise, I'm late to everything! I can't blame others for being late.

So Friday morning I come into work and I get a stream of gchats from Fred - I am so sorry, I thought it was one of those things you come whenever, what are you doing tonight, can we please meet up after the concert, etc. etc. etc. I figured that clearly he's trying here, so I might as well give him another chance. I said that I was going out with my cousin after the concert and Fred can meet us at the club.

After an excellent Dave Matthews Band concert, Diana and I head to Nikki Beach in Midtown (great place if you like good club music and a runway to dance on). It's also the type of place where the cover charge is $20, unless you're on a list and a girl - then it's only $10. By the time we got there, Fred was already there. My cousin specifically told me I can't invite guys to this because they won't be allowed into the VIP where all of his friends were celebrating a birthday. Whoops. But my cousin gets us all in anyways.

The rest of the night was, as I like to say, meh. Fred and I danced, had a good time (but a better time with just Diana and my cousin), he told me I looked nice. He also said, "Wow, I can't believe I came here for you! $20 cover charge - yikes." Sure, it was in a joking tone of voice, but let's be honest - you're either trying to impress me that you ACTUALLY came to Nikki Beach and paid $20 for a girl, or you're trying to imply that you don't like paying $20 cover charge at a bar, even for a girl. Either way, I thought that comment was weird.

Towards the end of the night, my cousin and his friends were starting to leave, and Fred asks me if I'd like to go back to his apartment. No, I would not thank you very much. And then he left.

And to be honest, ladies? I wasn't sad to see him go. I was relieved. Now I didn't have to babysit him and could have fun with my cousin and his friends.

So, that's it ladies. That was my week. Got asked out by a random guy. Got stood up. Realized that Fred isn't all that and a bag of potato chips. And waited till Tuesday to blog about it...