Saturday, July 17, 2010
Dating Man hattan...Part I (What you see is not always what you get)
I know I promised to track my Bikram studio experience, but I’m going to have to follow up with you guys on that one since I’ve had the most outrageous, spontaneous, non-zen, non-yoga, toxin filled last few day. Let me assure you, by no means do I take back or regret my missed days in the sweaty studio (well? Maybe just a little bit) but I must share with you the craziness of being single in this fantastic city and all the $hit that comes along with it.
Last Thursday night, what was supposed to be a mellow evening of dinner and cocktails in SOHO, turned out to be a 3am night ending at The Box. It started off when I bailed on my long overdue manicure appointment and instead met up with a family friend for some champagne and Tuna Tartar @ Delicatessen (http://nymag.com/listings/restaurant/delicatassen/). While discussing our weeks and sharing our days, we simultaneously receive a text that read, “I’m at Apotheke, are you ladies going to join us?” (www.apothekebar.com).
6 degree connection (literally)...My friend’s sister’s husband’s friend from Morocco who moved to LA after years in Barcelona and finally made his way to the big city (thank GD), was having drinks with his team and extended an invite. While talking about relevant things, and contemplating whether we should go or not considering it was a Thursday night and it was a beautiful night and it was only 9pm and…hmmm…well? I felt bad as it was that I missed Bikram that night and I knew that if I was to go downtown and meet up with more friends who love to date NYC as much as I do, there would be no way in hell that I would hit the mat the next morning!
“OK! See you soon…we’re on our way” (txt sent from my phone @ 9:27pm)
“C'est parfait! Take Mott all the way down, make a right walk one block make another right” (txt sent from friend’s phone @ 9:32)
Apotheke [ah-poh-tek], (which literally means a pharmacy or drugstore, a place for the art, practice, or profession of preparing, preserving, compounding, and dispensing medical herbs, elixirs and potions), is the site of what once was home to an opium den, and later a Chinese opera house, before hosting a number of different chop suey restaurants (http://www.apothekebar.com/index2abar.html).
After walking in circles for 10 minutes (literally), we finally found the speakeasy tucked away on a small street in Chinatown, 9 Doyer St. to be exact. If I wasn’t a total idiot trusting the French Moroccan who had just moved to New York, I would have just Google mapped it and realized it’s basically one of the last small streets off the Bowery at its end…we made it (to what I thought was my final destination of the evening).
The scene? An after work downtown hipster crowd 20-something pretending to be 30-something and 30-something pretending to be 20-something, cozied up in corners on vintage leather couches.
The Statge? An old chemistry lab turned super cool hang out (I could find better words here but I need to get on with this blog). I watched the model/actor dressed in a white doctor coat mix up my cocktail with such vigor, and top it off with a mint leaf and some clear liquid drops of (I don’t know what). Our international crowd flirted in many languages; the French Moroccan from LA/Barcelona, and his coworker from Slovakia, another handsome cousin of a friend who’s also French Moroccan yet born in Switzerland but also speaks Spanish for some reason I later learned why (but can’t remember)… I leaned over to my girlfriend and whispered to her in Hebrew that I thought he was kinda cute but could have sworn I was told he had a girlfriend from the other friend’s husband who went to high school with the same French Moroccan from LA/Barcelona...OK who could keep track?!?!
What felt like a teenage hormonal filled social triangle on steroids, was merely 30-something available (& not available) New Yorkers nursing their love potion mixed by the too hot for his own good model behind the bar in the white coat while discussing politics, dating, economics, and food.
At one point in the evening the French Moroccan Swiss Jew that spoke my language in every way challenged me, “oh really? Then what is the formula to elasticity of supply & demand?” ($hit!!) My MBA was put to the test and I needed to prove this handsome (sort of but not really & who really knows if he’s single) Meatpacking residing, 5 o’clock shadow shaven, Swiss business man…where was I? Ahh, yes, I needed to prove this man wrong...and before I had a chance to tell him exactly what I knew, he beat me to it…he raised his potent, mystery drink, takes a sip, licks his lips and through a conceited little smirk says, “the change in supply divided by the change in demand...darling”
The conversation continued into a sequence of “what are we doing here? How did we get here? Palestinians or Israeli’s? Republican or Democrat? Diamonds vs. Pearls, flying private vs. flying commercial (as if), Bonds, and Stocks, and, and, finally, the million dollar question…Why are you single and what are you looking for?
I felt like a carrier monkey that needed to be locked up before spreading a terminal disease! The single folk vs. the committed folk. “I just haven’t really found what I’m looking for I guess,” I needed to confirm the unknown, “Well, since you seem to have your PhD in everything professor and have it all figured out and happily committed, why don’t you give me some advise…enlighten me,” I sipped my mystery drink hoping the magic potion inside would take hold.
(to be continued)…be back in a few…