The Adventures of Single Chick

Is anyone still out there? I'm so sorry I've abandoned you all. I've heard from many of you--congratulating me or yelling at me for quitting on you. I have to say, I miss the writing desperately, but I don't miss being single. Well maybe a...nope, not at all. Things are progressing beautifully with exex. He's taken such good care of me over the past months. Honestly, I always thought he was the taking care of me kind of guy, but he really was just in a funk. And all my talk of marriage and questioning, "Am I the one?" blah, blah, blah. It only made things worse.

But now, things are comfy, cozy and yet still wild in that funky freaky way I like. We went to a strip club together and another Cake party about a month ago. Of course we saw Cute Jewish Guy there looking well...yes, he's still cute. Still no major girlie action, but I'm open (as usual). And exex is open too. I always liked that about him.

So enough about me and couple-life. Let's talk about you. How you made me feel amazing and funny and supported, and yeah, loved too. You all helped me embrace myself the way I was: a little jaded, a little wounded, a little old-fashioned, but really just plain old single. It's damn hard to be single, but you made if fun. Thanks for reading and following my silly little life. I'll keep you posted on new blogs, events, and Not-So-Single Chick goings on. Goodbye, goodbye. May you find Cute Jewish Guys, Landmark Forum Guys, Drummer Boys, or even ExExs in your own adventures.

XOXO
Single Chick

My beloved, devoted Single Chick fans, I have some news. I'm still the boy crazy, girl curious, smartass chick you know and (I hope) love, but I am no longer single. For many of you, this may come as a shock. You know I wasn't feeling Israeli Pug boy in the last entry, so let me assure you--he's not the one taking me off the market. It's the ex.

After two Landmark Forums, three apologetic phone calls, and an infinite amount of e-mail and IM contact in the past week--we decided to get together for drinks on Thursday. I didn't write about it in the blog because I was plagued by superstition and fear. I did not want to indulge my reconciling fantasies by pouring my heart out to all of you. It all sounded somewhat pathetic. Even for me, a gal's who's befriended pathetic on several occasions.

We met Thursday evening at Shalel Lounge, a tucked-away spot on West 70th. Candles flickering and couches inviting, Shalel was dark and exotic, romantic and mystical. I walked in from the rain feeling sexy and confident in dark capri jeans and an Asian-inspired wrap-around T--a killer outfit I put together two nights prior. I spotted him in the corner of the room with his old-school three foot umbrella at his side. I took a breath. I hoped my straight hair hadn't curled in the rain. I walked over and we hugged. Instantly, I felt comfortable. Like everything was going to be ok.

He bought me a drink and we talked--small talk at first, but then we moved into my Landmark Forum experience. I shared my revelations and transformations, the new possibilities I'd created for my life. I was pretty general. I didn't take a risk in talking about us. But he did. He jumped in and layed it all out there for me to absorb. He wants us to explore each other again. He wants me in his life. He misses me. He loves me.

I cried. I was so shocked to hear those words come out of his mouth. I've fantasized about words like those, but I always thought I was in girly la la land. I didn't think these things happened outside of Julia Roberts movies. I wiped the tears away from my face and he kissed me. His full-lipped kisses were dreamy. There was no sign of the porno-tongue I've dealt with for the past five months. Once we started, we couldn't stop. When I got the urge to straddle him in the bar, I knew it was time to grab the umbrellas and hail the nearest cab.

We were all hands in the cab. I sat on top of him, my hair strewn around my face, I looked him in the eyes, and was out of my mind excited. "Look at you. You're radiant." he said and we kissed and moaned at the expense of the Asian cabbie. We arrived at my building. After a knowing smirk from the doorman, and a quick romp in the elevator, we made it up to my apartment. We skipped the couch and went straight for the bed--you dont mess around with makeup sex. We stayed up all night, brought back some old favorites for #1, #2, and #3. But #4 consisted of full-on unchartered territory--a preview of what's to come.

In between all the doing it, there were hours of talking and catching up. We decided to cancel our upcoming dates so that we would only see each other. Wrapped in each other, I told him about some of the boys and I told him about the blog. He was guilt-ridden over making Single Chick, not so single. So much so, that he asked me if he could make a guest post. So here it is.

An Open Letter to the Fans of Single Chick from The Ex

One of my very favorite FOSC’s told me several months ago, after Single Chick (SC) and I broke up, that I was simply “so stupid… so, so stupid.” I never once disagreed with her. Well, I hope I now am proving her wrong, or I hope she doesn’t mind hanging out with very stupid people in the near future. As for the rest of you, I know I have some explaining to do, especially since I am told this audience consists of friends, relatives, co-workers, and even a few gentlemen callers. Well, here it goes.

The last several days have been magical for me. I have spent them with your dazzling heroine (live, by phone, email, and IM), sharing respective experiences and epiphanies since we broke up, ideas on our futures, and each other. SC and I have reinvented our relationship, and it’s amazing…

She’s amazing. I knew the moment I met her – as she told tales of strewn cat poop to perfect strangers – that she is an extraordinary woman. She’s got sass, wit, charm, elegance, intelligence, and intoxicating sex appeal. None of this is lost on me. After five months on my own (with my own Adventures, but no blog to show for it), I just couldn’t be apart from her any longer. If her blog is one-tenth as inspiring and loving as she is, than I know that you understand what I mean.

I haven’t read the blog yet – call it a combination of “I don’t want to show you mine if you show me yours” and dramatic effect. Either way, I want to apologize to you, loyal and enthusiastic readers of The Adventures, for taking SC out of my dreams and (back) into my car… and altering the plots, but probably not the themes, of the blog.

Friday morning, at about 3:30am (I think between #2 and #3) we made a pledge to be always edgy. I hope that this continued drive for adventure holds your interest – I certainly know it will hold mine – for blog entries to come.

With great affection,

The Ex-Ex

PS: SC and I are planning to throw a party for Single Chick and her badass readers in the fall. Stay tuned for details… For questions, congratulations, fan mail, and hate mail, shoot me an email at exex@singlechick.com.

I met the Pug puppy on Saturday. She's tiny, shiny, and jealous of her Israeli owner when he kisses Single Chick. Z and I took a walk down by the Hudson. Every time I power walk down that strip, I see tons of couples looking sporty and content. Last time I took a mental note, "must find guy to smooch by river." And so I did. We walked and kissed and tripped over the puppy weaving through our legs. I wanted to be turned on by each kiss, each moment. I wanted to forget his accent, his height, his incessant calling. But they were all there, like a tick list on his forehead. 1)Not as cute as the ex, 2)Not as funny as the ex, 3)Not as articulate, and 4)too much garlic (yuk).

I hate that I keep comparing these harmless (and yet unappealing) characters to the ex. I think if I liked these guys I wouldn't have to do that. The fact is, the ex is lingering in my brain in part because I've been talking to him a lot lately. We still love each other. It's out there in the open now. And we've scheduled a "let's figure this out" conversation for this evening. I have no idea what's going to happen, but I'm planning the rest of my weekend as if nothing's going to happen. Going to a party in Williamsburg with Z Friday night. A bunch of my friends will be there, which definitely puts me in the "I don't know why I'm with this guy either" danger zone. But they're avid blog readers, so they know the scoop.

Speaking of blog readers, I may be going out with a fancy Jewish lawyer guy who's already read the blog in it's entirety. Enjoy your shout out FJLG, because it's the last one you're going to get. I can't write about guys who know this URL. That would be like The Real World cast seeing dailies. It just doesn't happen. They wait 'til the start of the season like the rest of us.

I've been holding out on you. So much has happened since Monday night. Wednesday was my birthday so I met friends at the 79th Street Boat Basin Cafe. With a sparkling tiara on my head, we sat on the veranda, watched the sunset over the Hudson, and enjoyed the aroma of poop sewage wafting to our table with every breeze. It's still New York City.

Thursday evening I met up with my adorable 32 year old Israeli boy. We'll call him Zohar--my best friend had a mental block with his very Israeli name and she kept calling him that! I thought it was hillarious. Zohar met me at La Souk, a Morrocan restaurant in the East Village. I read on his profile earlier that he was 5'9". I'm only 5'4" so I thought I was safe in wearing 3 inch heals. No such luck. With the heals I was at least an inch taller than him which was a slight dissappointment, but I got over it really fast. So, I'll have to invest in some flats. No biggie.

La Souk was a perfect date place--from the dimly lit cozy room with candles on the tables to the belly dancer who shook her stuff all over our table (and our food). We ordered a bottle of wine and a few dishes to share. We drank our first glass of wine and I studied his face as he talked about the Israeli army and his Pug dog named Tiki. He has a deliciously cute face. A dimple on each cheek (which I love!). And his small silver-rimmed circular glasses gave him a distinguished Richard Gere look.

He's been here for ten years so his English is great. We don't have the cross-cultural humor barriers that I've had with the European guys I've dated. I think the Jewish thing is working in our favor. Eh, Israel, New York--what's the difference?

We finished the bottle of wine and talked for 3 hours over dinner and chocolate pyramid dessert. He loves chocolate too (Yay!). I suffered through many lemon and apple second choices with the ex. He didn't worship chocolate the way I did and still do. It could have been a real problem, down the line. After dinner he hailed me a cab. "Can I see you tomorrow night?", he asked. And I agreed to two dates in a row. Not usually my style, but so much better than waiting 5 days for someone to call! Holy-when I thought about it a minute, I felt such relief.

Zohar picked me up in his car last night (Yay 2X). It felt so civilized to be picked up in a car, instead of arriving at a restaurant after 2 subways and a walk, all sweaty and in need of a touch-up. I sometimes forget how the rest of the world lives. He brought me pictures of Tiki. So sweet. We went downtown to Sevilla on Charles Street. We were laughing and chatting, sharing stories about the things we stole as teenagers and then I saw an adorable Asian girl smiling and waving to me from a booth across the room. She did look familiar, but I couldn't place her. She noticed the confusion on my face and mouthed, "Landmark." Ah, so these people have lives outside of their fucked-up relationships. Good for them.

We finished up dinner and walked back to the car. Put on our seatbelts and I gave him "kiss me eyes" (still a nice Jewish girl). "I'm going to keese you." he said which made me smile before I could prepare myself. I appreciated the warning, but I thought it came from a nervous place. I realized later that he just likes to talk. He would cut into kissing with details about my online dating profile or my soft skin or what he likes and he asked me questions about what I like. I'm usually of the mind to keep my kissing (or more) and chatting separate. It's sometimes tough to switch gears (especially when there's an ex popping up in your brain every so often) but it was a fun change. Can't remember the last time I made out in a car! It felt like I was back in high school. I put the brakes on at around 1 in the morning and he drove me home. Such an age old process. Guys will go as far as we'll let them and we feel like it's our obligation to stop them at some pre-slut point. It's always a tough inner battle. So much better when you just get to the point where the sex is out in the open and you don't have to worry about going to far and keeping mystery alive and all that other bullshit we've been fed in magazines our whole lives. I don't really believe it all. It's a mixture of superstition, habit, and my Aunt's nightly conversations that keeps me in slow put-out mode.

He dropped me off at my place and asked to see me the next day. Over the top, I thought. "Maybe Sunday." I said. I'm afraid I'm going to get sick of him. I don't want to do that. But he's called me already today and he's "going to be in my neighborhood with Tiki." So I may meet the dog for a little bit. It's a big step, I know.

Went to Lalo with the 26 year old. So sweet, smart, even kinda funny. I really wanted to like him, but there was this gay quality that was too much to get over. I dated someone for three months with this quality once. I had images of him leaving me for another man in a convertable. I would be holding my young child's hand and she would look up at me and say, "Mommy, why is daddy kissing that man?"

No matter how artistic, emotional, and comfortable with shopping and hair talk he is--gay is gay is gay. And I like straight (when it comes to men). But he was so nice and he lives in my neighborhood. I just wanted to play scrabble with him and go to movies at the Angelika. Mid-date he got up to go to the bathroom and the couple next to me complimented me on my form. That's the thing--I'm too much of a pro at this. I felt it coming on, I told all my best stories, just the right balance of self-deprication and fabulousness. I'm too good at it. It gets boring and I just miss my ex. Wish I didn't have to do this anymore. Forget why I broke up with him. You do remember that I broke up with him, right?

Anyhow, I took a couple of steps backwards with that. I added him back to the buddy list. Then I took him off. But I added him back on again. I even found his profile on one of my many dating sites. Ok, that's a little stalkerish, I know. And just when I wanted to hate him for being on there he says something totally nice in his profile about how incredibly funny, intelligent, and self-aware his past girlfriends have been. I mean, that is all true, but how nice is that to say on your fucking dating profile! Aw, man. I really need a good date. Someone who's nice, but someone who I'm also attracted too. Is that so much to ask?

I'm off to a good start this week with dates planned for both Monday and Thursday evenings. Two more Jews! Lucky for me, there's a seemingly endless supply of sarcastic, witty, Jew boys in my age bracket. Tomorrow's boy is young--26. Seeing as I'm turning 29 on Wednesday, it would be tough to say he's truly in my age bracket (29 x biological clock factor - 26/quarterlife crisis = really big age difference). Thursday's guy is a little more my speed, 32.

But even with the two imminent dates, I'm still wondering whether the ex is going to remember my birthday on Wednesday. I truly think he has no clue. I'm trying not to expect anything. He'll forget and then he can repent when he takes The Landmark Forum next weekend. Oh, they'll get him good for that one!

I finally met the Jewish Drummer Boy yesterday over lunch in Carroll Gardens. He was 10 minutes late which (since Landmark) has become an unforgivable offense, but I didn't let it sour me too much. He was quite adorable in person. Shaved head, sharp glasses, nice physique, and a small sexy space between his two front teeth. I tried not to be distracted by the incredibly cheesy charm hanging from his neck. Jewelry is a tough beast for men to master. We really can't hold mistakes in this area against them. At least not until we're seeing them on a regular basis.

Drummer boy im'd me earlier in the day and told me that he was embarrassed to say it, but he was cash poor and he wasn't going to be able to pay for the whole bill. I told him not to worry, that I'm a modern woman. I lied--but props to him for saying something beforehand. Really, I would not let the broke factor drive my decision about someone, but it surely doesn't add anything positive. I like to go out, eat well, and experience the art and culture of the city. That's just a fact and it's hard to be with someone who can't afford to do those things too. I've done it and it just involves resentment and self-hate, two dynamics for which I have no room in my busy life.

Drummer boy meticulously cleaned his glasses for the first 5 minutes of lunch. I tried to suppress the OCD red flag above his head, but when he opened his bag to get a tissue, the red blared back in my face. There were four items stacked next to each other like soldiers. "I wonder where he keeps all of his receipts and scraps of paper with phone numbers." I pondered. Not one candy wrapper, hmmm.

I ordered a nicoise salad and he got the cheeseburger medium well (no doubt to kill germs and parasites lurking about). He talked. I listened or at least pretended to listen. I mentioned the Cake party which I thought would spark some interesting conversation, but it didn't. It was all rather blah. No flirting. No laughing. No spark. When he got started talking about his cat, I thought it would never end. I began channeling the flavor of the homemade chocolate chip cookies from the gourmet store down the block. I didn't know if I would make it through one more story about fuzzy before putting one of those in my mouth. I told him I needed to get back to the office and he seemed dissappointed. He wiped off his glasses one more time before he took off, told me it was a pleasure to meet me, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. He read it all over my face. Promised to another--he didn't know it was the best cookie in Brooklyn.