aBANDon Ship

Dennis came into my life as a result of drunk Tinder swiping after a happy hour that went on for far longer than it should have.

Dennis was a slightly reserved yet intriguingly confident Google engineer with a pair of lustrously shiny black boots that were obviously more expensive than mine.

The red tape was severed rather quickly, and soon after chatting via text I found myself making my way to an upscale Irish pub to meet Dennis in the flesh.

Subsequent to our remarks of disbelief about the unseasonably cold spring we had been experiencing, we engaged in the ubiquitous conversation of what we do for a living.

After twenty minutes of illustrating his tedious day-to-day routine of crunching cloud-based algorithms…..or whatever the fuck he does, I briefly summarized the the riveting work I do as an internet marketer.

“I can tell you all about it when you have trouble sleeping one night,” I said facetiously,  not being one to talk too much about myself.

I then found myself being interrogated by Dennis as to why on Earth I would continue working in an industry that I lacked true passion for.

“I like my job a lot. I get to talk to people, I have a lot of freedom and it provides me a nice living in New York City, so I can’t complain one bit,” I explained.

“Yes but if you don’t absolutely LOVE something, why would you do it?” He asked, bewildered by the fact that someone would be so responsible to work in a respectably stable state of employment instead of running off to join the circus.

“I am also a professional singer, and I’m extremely passionate about that. I am in a wedding reception band as well as a 90s cover band. I get to do that most of my weekends. I feel very proud when a bride and a groom approaches me to tell me that my band made the most important night of their lives a great success. I also love 90s music and I love to see people singing along and having fun with me during our concerts.”

Dennis stared at me as if I were on methamphetamines.

“How old are you again? Thirty, right? So at what point are you too old to do silly stuff like this?” He asked dubiously.

“Oh, I don’t know. How about when I’m dead?” I replied.

“Full disclosure, I am looking for someone who is a bit more serious about starting a life and a family. Are you going to be caught up in this band stuff for a while then?”

Yes, Dennis. Yes.



See Ya Later, Litigator

I have OK Cupid to thank for gracing my presence with the specimen that is Jesse.

Jesse was exceptionally intellectual, equipped with a PhD in philosophy, and was an accomplished corporate litigator. Being slightly intimidated by his achievements I was quite relieved when he suggested we meet at a divey hole-in-the-wall in Brooklyn where we both just so happened to reside.

Scholarly, gainfully employed AND not too pretentious? We are off to a promising start.

I ordered my typical Jack and Coke while Jesse opted for a Patron Silver with lime.

We sipped on our beverages while discussing the peculiar personalities we both encounter at our places of employment and our rapidly approaching milestone birthdays, mine being my 30th and his the dreaded 40th.

As the remainder of ours drinks went down the hatch I was fully expecting Jesse to suggest we order another round as the conversation seemed to be flowing quite effortlessly.

He slammed his glass onto the timber countertop with an obvious sense of finality.

“So, where are we doing this? My place or yours?” He asked rather aggressively.

“Come again?” I said, thinking that I must have misunderstood the words that were being spewed from his supposedly intelligent mouth.

“Sorry, I haven’t been single for very long and I’m not sure how these apps work and what not.”

“I mean…they work just like this. We get drinks, we decide if we want to see each other again and we see where it goes. There really isn’t a checklist of things to do,” I said, doing my best to educate him on the pervasive phenomenon that is dating from the Internet.

“Ah OK. Perhaps I should have been more clear. I just got out of a long relationship and I am actually just looking to have some fun, so if you want to grab a bottle of red and go back to my place we can do that, but if you’re actually looking for a relationship I don’t think I’m your guy.”

HAH. Peace.


Check Yourself, Not My Watch

I met Andrew on Bumble, and after chatting for a brief period of time I opted to meet him for drinks at a craft cocktail lounge in Soho after work one evening.

Andrew claimed to be a ‘real estate investor’ when in reality, he was a real estate broker. Now, there is absolutely nothing negative whatsoever about one who works in such a profession, but it did give me a sense of dishonesty on his part.

We sipped on our cocktails while I mostly listened to him talk about his sister’s dog and…I don’t even remember, but not one question was asked about me and my life.

I attempted to give him the benefit of the doubt and stick with him for at least another round. After all, I didn’t wash my hair that day to only have one drink.

As the liquor started to sink in and my body temperature increased I decided to remove my sweater. It was at this time that my watch that I am fortunate enough to call my own was exposed to Andrew, and he eerily would not take his eyes off of it.

We engaged in a conversation about how both of our grandfathers were vastly approaching their birthdays in which they would officially be one century old. We exchanged knee-slapping stories about how economically  frugal one can be when being raised in the Great Depression era.

“So you are telling me your grandpa would never be one to buy a Rolex?” He asked presumptuously.

“No. Absolutely not. He won’t even buy a coffee at the 7/11.”

“You know why I said that, right?” He muttered suspiciously.


“Because you’re wearing a Rolex.”

“…..OK?” I said, confused as to where exactly he was going with this information.

At this point Andrew thankfully changed the subject to how utterly famished he was. He summoned the waiter and ordered a skirt steak with a side of Brussel sprouts and red-skinned mashed potatoes.

Though I had already eaten prior to the date I elected to order a side salad in order the avoid the awkward situation that is eating alone.

When the check arrived Andrew took a glance and placed it on the table.

“Judging by what you are wearing on your wrist, I think we can split this.”

I surrendered my Visa, but insisted he leave the tip seeing that his portion was significantly greater than mine.

We exited the establishment and I told him that I was headed south to the nearest 6 train entrance. Not that I wanted to spend another second of my time speaking to this boy, but I was raised to expect that a certain level of chivalry was meant to be common sense.

“Cool. I’m heading this way,” he said. “Get home safe!”

I assumed his lack of courtesy was due to his disinterest in me, but clearly I was wrong.



Stand Down, Soldier

After getting somewhat acquainted with Andy via Match.com, we decided it would be slightly more conducive to our busy schedules to meet for a lunch date on a Wednesday afternoon.

Andy was a recently single ex-military officer with a crisply pressed Oxford collar protruding from underneath his baby blue argyle pullover. Though he had quite handsomely chiseled features, I found myself wishing he had retired the quintessential ‘high and tight’ hairstyle when he retired from the marine corps.

Now working in finance (much like myself), we had plenty of things in common to chat about on our lunch date while dining on our lobster bisque and chicken Caesar salads.

When one thirty rolled around I decided it was about to time return to my office to prepare notes for my three o’clock meeting with an important client and my boss.

We exited the eatery, but Andy clearly had another plan in mind.

“So you have to go back already? You said your meeting was at three, no?”

“Yes, but I should get back as I have some loose ends to tie up before,” I said confused as to what else there would be to do to occupy our time in the middle of a work day.

“I live 5 blocks from here actually. We could run up to my place for a bit,” he muttered suggestively.

I couldn’t help guffaw in amusement.

“Honey, if you honestly think I am going to go back to your apartment and bang you on my lunch break, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Ehh. Figured it was worth a shot at least,” He winked at me gregariously. “Your loss.”

Sure, Andy. My loss.


Gettin’ Jimmy With It

Twenty minutes into my first date with Tyler, an unostentatious Harvard business school gentleman with defectless oral hygiene and     particularly athletic stature, I thought I had hit the jackpot.

Subsequent to chatting on Bumble for the better part of the week we met for drinks at an upscale lounge in the Gramercy neighborhood of Manhattan.

After two hours of conversing about our favorite cuisines, summer bucket lists and our mutual distaste for the New England Patriots, we moved on to discussing our plans for vacation being that we both work in the education field and are blessed with the gift of summer recession.

“I am planning on taking my kids down to Disney World. I am just afraid my youngest one will be too small to get on the rides though,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Kids? Oh…You have kids?” I asked,  secretly praying that he was referring to his nieces and/or nephews.

“Yeah! I have three. Sorry, did I not mention that?”

“No, no you did not,” I said, attempting to hide my despondency.

“Yes. I got divorced about 3 months ago. We are still living in the same house though. We are really trying the be ‘the new normal’ and live under one roof with the kids at least until they are a bit older. Hasn’t been the smoothest transition but we are making it work.”

After the revelation of his strangely progressive domestic situation it was clear that this fledgling ‘relationship’ would never amount to anything meaningful. However, I still had 3/4 of a California Pinot Noir to finish, so I decided to satisfy my curiosity but inquiring as to how this peculiar arrangement all came to fruition.

To spare you the details, he was caught ‘getting intimate’ with someone.

That someone was his wife’s cousin.

Her cousin’s name is Jimmy.