Dating Man Hattan Part II; D is for Douch?!

THE BOX (WWW.THEBOXNYC.COM)

We walked from Rockwood Music Hall on Allen St. (rockwoodmusichall.com‎) to The Box on Chrystie St. (www.theboxnyc.com). I know, I know, I skipped a few details…rewind…for the blog’s sake, we’ll refer to my Thursday night crush (a passionate fixation on a particular attractive individual of the same or opposite sex) who’s name will be Neil.

(11PM- Leaving Apotheke)...since it was a Thursday night and we all had REALLY important things to do the following morning, we collectively decided to call it a night as early as 11pm. Since I (literally) stumbled upon Rockwood Music Hall the week before after leaving my bff's 29th birthday party @ Thompson Hotel Allen St. She's one of those hot mama's I recently mentioned in my SWF vs. MILFS we discussed in my earlier blogs...I decided to check out who was jamming on the piano and perhaps hear some good tunes before I retired to my Avenue A adorable studio apartment.

“Lele, you wanna come? John Mayer’s predecessor will sing us a lullaby!” I asked my family friend, “yaeli what world do you live in??…I need to wake up for the gym tomorrow…I have a charity in two weeks and going to Tel Aviv in a few weeks…ladies must maintain”…Lele smirked and I gave her a nasty look of envy for being the more responsible one and for having a better body…but whatever...I’m a romantic and my mixed potion from Apotheke was telling me I needed to go to Rockwood!
Neil chimed in…”You’re going out? I wanna go out! Let’s go!”
I smile & say OK!

(11:38pm-Arrive to Rockwood Music Hall)
We arrived @ the little music joint serving fancy wine and international beer on tap, I squeeze my way through the crowd to the lady’s room, leaving Neil @ the bar…

When I made my way back to the bar where Neil was patiently waiting with a glass of…”You said you liked spicy red wine, so that’s what I ordered you…is that ok?” I wanted to die! What 30-something (barely 30 in fact) American BOY would ever be that attentive? NONE! Precisely my point!

I really tried to pretend I wasn’t even slightly interested... I swear, there were conversations that night with no verbal dialogue...i KNOW it wasn’t bull sh—t…or maybe I was just hoping it wouldn’t be.

(12:55pm-Why did I ever say yes to get us into The Box?!)
“Isn’t the box around here?” Neil…
“yes, it’s right up the street, on the next block, why?” I asked (as if I didn’t know what was coming next).
“well…do you think we should go? Do you know anyone that could get us in no hassle?”
(OBVIOUSLY!!! DOES HE KNOW WHO HE’S DEALING WITH???) “umm?? Sure! My girlfriend runs the parties and manages the shows…I go whenever I want since it’s in my hood,” (oh my GD! Did I just say that out loud??!! What is wrong with me??!!! Who am i??!!)
“Let’s go Yaeli...”
….and we’re off….

Right…he said that they BROKE up. I don’t know if I really cared at the moment, I can’t even tell if I was truly listening to his reason…SINGLE! HE’S SINGLE!!!! That’s all I heard 

We roll up to the Box at little before 1am. I approached the super attractive eastern European doorman with his skullcap and military jacket. He smiled at me…I flirt back...before I had a chance to spit another word out; I heard a voice coming up from behind me “OMG!! YAEL??” (hug, hug, kiss, kiss) “Gance, they’re with me!”
Neil and I cut the line and strolled in to the dark Moulin Rough(esque) old brownstone where, “ANYTHING GOES” on our imaginary red carpet with my girl D, who runs the joint. (I felt cool)

Super cool.

She was on her night off and was kick’n it bar side instead. Neil bought the four of us a round of drinks.

D stares me down and complements my “oh so Chanel attire Yael! Only you!” (I felt super super cool). Who knew you could pull off a Burkin bag, vintage channel jumbo pearls, and shoulder pads in a chiffon camisole with cigarette pants and ballet flats @ the Box??!! Last time I was here I was in gold Nike air force ones, wayfarers and short denim shorts! The only thing missing was my tattoo (I’m too scared to get one but really want one)…back on track.

I wanted to show off a lil’bit more and told Neil (who’s never been there before) I would give him a tour of the Box before the sex shows would start in 30 minutes.
I took him upstairs where there was a more intimate setting with a smaller bar and love seats lined up all along the edges of the 2nd floor overlooking the stage and the first floor. Glasses were klinking, girls were giggling, boys were flirting, and the champagne kept on pouring.

(1:23am-The point of no return)
D hooked us up with a small table overlooking the stage.

Neil sat next to me and asked me why I was so tough, why I wouldn't accept anything from him. I didn’t know what to answer him. He asked me about my past relationships and we spoke about what it’s like dating in New York.

I mean, seriously, it’s not a trick question and my answers were straight forward…I truly believe it’s (love/romance/life) black or white. We (human beings) mess it all up by making life one big grey area (too lazy, not enough love, can’t commit, etc)…you’re either into it or you’re not. Simple! Some people can’t deal with rejection, which is why they make excuses…grey…but to me, it’s black or white.
Neil and I got into this a little deeper.

He looked at me like I was crazy…hiding behind my chrome hearts oversized seeing eye glasses that basically engulf half my face…shouting over the music at him, telling him my outlook of life and all…
My cheeks were red and warm from all the wine and my stomach was nice and toasty (one martini w/magic sauce @ Apotheke, one glass of red @ Rockwood & now I’m nursing my 3rd drink).

…From our table to the dance floor to the sex show on stage, and back to our little love seat, we must have done SOMETHING right, because when I got back from the lady’s room to fix my hair and touch up my makeup, I realized I wasn’t wearing my glasses!!! WHAT????!!!! When did that happen?

We searched for them in our booth but we quickly managed to forget about my glasses all together when the master of serimony appeared on stage with her fishnet thigh highs, garter belt, high heeled boots (probably Giussepi if you’d ask me), cristal Madonna like Brah or more like Heidi’s at the Victoria Secret fashion show…side tracked all together…glasses were now an afterthought...

Neil and I decided to call it a night somewhere between 2 and 3. I can’t remember exactly (I know I was in bed sleeping by 3:30ish)…we approached my building and the most unexpected thing happened…”Can I come upstairs?” Neil, asked me…

I couldn’t believe the uber sophisticated French Moroccan from Switzerland who speaks Sapanish as well for reasons I can’t remember even dared to ask me that question!

I WAS INSULTED...

Let me get one thing straight here. THIS WAS NOT A DATE! Had this been a first date, I would have called it a night after ONE glass of wine and the conclusion of dinner.
This was a random, spontaneous fun night out with a handsome individual that turned out to NOT have a girlfriend (or so I thought).

We have mutual friends and have hung out prior to that evening. From our conversations of supply & demand, and politics, and economics, and work and love and family and life in general…I really didn’t think Neil was going to be like the rest of them…


I told him not to be tacky even though he had asked if he could see my place, “I know they didn’t teach you that in boarding school Neil…”

He watched me as I disappeared into the elevator bank and I floated the rest of the way into my studio apartment on avenue A.

I woke up the next morning and realized he never took my number.
I found out from Lele’s friends that he was NOT in fact single
His girlfriend lives in Spain and her name is….

YAEL!!
(what?)

true story

To be continued….

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…