Think Forward Cack

Yeah yeah yeah, unlike other bloggers who have legitimate excuses for not blogging, like, say, they were on some spectacular expensive vacation or they've been so extremely unbelievably busy-busy, I have no excuse. Although, a lot of shit has happened to me over the past two weeks. Although I would like to encapsulate you with sordid, succulent, vibrant, juicy details, I'm going to recap the basics. I could write a novel:

1. I continued to exchange e-mails with Mr. CEO for lack of better judgement. We were this close to meeting about two times, and then I stopped responding 4 days ago. He e-mails me every day asking me to meet for a drink. Now, I've just become creeped out. Like I was this close to meeting a serial killer.

2. I met a gorgeous GQ modelish British 22 year old tourist boy. I despise 22 year olds, but he ended up coming over, and staying over at my house for like three days. We discussed the meaning of life over steaming hot chinese food and bitter wine holed up during the NY monsoon. He took lots of candid photos of me with his new camera. I was sure we were twin souls, meant to be together, separated by thousands of miles and I told him he should move to New York and become a model. Then, I realized I was a bit relieved when he finally left my house.

3. My new favorite word is cack. I like to add it to the end of everything I say.

4. I met a 30 year old blonde hair blue-eyed boy from Kosovo who is a manager of some restaurant on the Upper East Side. He buys me expensive lunches and drinks and I met him at some club and we ended up sucking face all night and he lives near my work and I've spent the night with him twice and... he aims to please. It's nice to walk to work in the morning. I think he might be a member of the Russian mafia. He has lots of cousins.

5. I met some guy named Omar who is a civil rights attorney. He keeps calling me. I think I accidentally gave him my number. The name Omar makes me laugh.

6. I've become a binge drinker. I like to get to the point now where I have the same conversation over and over with the same people just because I can't remember that I had the same conversation two minutes before. Sort of like self-induced amnesia.

7. I've become a quick change artist. I store all of my "going out" clothes in a closet at work and when the clock hits 5:30 I hit the handicapped bathroom and brush my teeth, smear my deoderant, spray lots of cheap perfume and put on a revealing top. I'm learning how to get free drinks. All I have to do is walk in a bar and stand there.

8. The founder of HotEnough.org who lives in Nutley, New Jersey (Nutley? Parsippany? Hoboken? The names kill me every time) has been asking me out. I think I might meet him next week. That'll definitely make a good post.

9. I found a good yet-what-seems-like-shady accountant who manipulated a good tax return for moi. I'm hoping to go shopping soon.

10. I'm exhausted. All of the going and coming and taking action and visualizing has worn me out. Like I could sleep for days.

Have I created a monster? Or, am I finally just being a fun, frivolous 27-year-old living in the city instead of my usual 80-year-old grandma self?

I don't know...but I do have a new motto:

Think forward. Always.

CEO Liberation Day = Long Ass Post

For the past two weeks, I've been in sort of a flux, a sort of standing still yet moving forward? But, today is an important day. I will mark this day on my calendar for years to come as CEO Liberation Day. The day everything came to me at once. The day the meaning of it all came flashing before my eyes in dazzling bright lights.

Today, at exactly 5:05 p.m, I chose to end this CEO-am-I-going-to-meet-him-or-am-I-not-going-to-meet-him thing. I say chose, because well, I was kind of forced to. It doesn't sound so profound, but let me explain...

Ever since I got back into this online dating thing a month or so ago, the thought of actually meeting a guy for a drink, or the thought of a man's hand slightly touching my leg, or the thought of his faint breath tingling down my neck has sent my hormones spiraling and my semi-anorexia and semi-obsessive compulsive "Am I Good Enough?" disorder into full force.

I haven't had an appetite (trust me, it's a good thing because my McDonald's Double Quarter Pounder With Cheese ass handles are slowly beginning to melt away) and I've been exercising like one of those coked-up exercise guru infomercial presenters.

I also stopped biting my nails so my hands would look more "feminine" in front of a man, and I've started to put some effort into what I look like.

I bought some under-eye concealer. I started to deep condition my hair. The years of coloring, flat-ironing and violently, furiously blow drying my hair had really begun to take its toll.

I thought the heaviness of winter was starting to dissipate... Well, kind of.

Since this online flirtation with this CEO man, who seems like he's somewhat important, has begun, I've never known what to expect.

I've convinced myself in my tiny little head over the past few weeks in my vivid, colorful imaginings that this guy, who has done nothing but send me one-line e-mails, could be "the one".

It reminds me of that commercial where the woman and man get into the elevator and they glance at each other. In a period of 30 seconds, she has imagined their entire life together and then...the elevator chimes in and they both go their separate ways. I'm exactly like that woman in the elevator.

Yet, I don't even see "the man"

I get an e-mail from "the man" and I think about having his children and living in a mansion with walk-in closets the size of my apartment:

"Oh sweetie, don't touch Mommy's diamond necklace. She needs that for the Charity Ball tonight. Your Daddy and I will bring you home a surprise. Would you like a new pony?..."

First, this CEO had a "business trip". It was in this period of his one week "business trip" that I decided I could like this guy. Maybe he's so discrete because he's important? I thought.

He looked rather attractive in his photo, if it even was his photo. He had sandy blonde hair, glowing skin and a fresh linen Polo shirt. (He sent the photo to my private e-mail address. He didn't even have a photo posted on my dating website. Hello, Hello, I know).

Then, there was "no response" when I told him I could meet this past Saturday. It was after this "no response" this past Saturday that I got mad...fighting mad. But, it was the good fighting mad.

I felt like the song I Will Survive was subconsciously pumping through my veins and I knew I was better than that, better than him, better than this I'm-just-so-fucking-tired-of-being-alone-that-I-will-meet-some-strange-Internet-guy-who-looks-like-he-could-be-promising syndrome.

It was in my blinding rage on Saturday that I decided to take action. I RSVP'd to an Italian Meet-Up group here in the city for Monday night.

I found the phone number to my long lost best friend in high school. I had heard SIX MONTHS AGO that she was living here in the city.

At 15 years old, she and I would lie upside down on my bed in my room side by side, high as a kite on marijuana, staring up at the glow stars we had meticulously placed on my ceiling...giggling at each other...talking about how weird some of the boys were at our school...dancing to the song Are You Strong Enough to Be My Man by Sheryl Crowe...innocent...free...happy...full of hope...freedom...promise...

Her voice on her answering machine sounded exactly the same as it was in high school, yet, more grown-up, more serious.

Is this what adulthood has done to us? I thought. Are we no longer the happy, young optimistic girls who allowed ourselves to dream?

I left a long, awkward and flustered voicemail on her answering machine. I thought, here we are, me and my precious best friend, who I adored more than 10 years ago, both from a small, obscure town in Texas, trying to make it in the Big City.

Then, on Sunday morning at exactly 9:35 a.m., Easter Sunday morning I might add, a day that could be, should be, filled with profound epiphany, I awoke to an e-mail from Mr. CEO asking me if I could meet Tuesday or Wednesday. I had just woken up with a funny feeling in my stomach, a sort of heaviness, uneasiness, still perplexed as to why this Mr. CEO guy never responded to my Saturday availability. And, I also had a deep uneasiness as to what the hell was I thinking RSVPing to some Italian thing I didn't have the time and energy for? And, really, what the hell was I doing calling my old best friend who probably is still mad at me for stopping talking to her because I felt we had just grown apart? What was I thinking? What was I thinking?

I felt a bit relieved that Mr. CEO sent me the one-line e-mail to meet on Tuesday or Wednesday. I felt like I had momentarily lost my mind on Saturday because I was so mad at the "no response" from him.

I don't handle rejection well.

I told him I could meet Wednesday and I began to fantasize about him even more. I imagined what his soft, manicured hand would feel like as it brushed up on my shoulder. I imagined laughing hysterically at his not-so-funny jokes. I imagined what it would be like lounging on a beach chair at his house in the Hamptons this summer, my body looking painfully perfect from the months of starvation and sheer "love".

On Monday night, I forced myself, literally dragged myself, to attend the Italian Meet-Up thing only because I RSVP'd, and, my spiritual guru Mom kept telling me:

"Go. You have to go. The Universe supports action."

I was wearing my pants that desperately needed to be dry-cleaned and my hair was a mess.

Of course, all of this, in between my fantasies of Mr.CEO and I.

The chill in the air was biting as I lost my way in Times Square on my way to the Italian Meet-Up. I paused for a moment and looked up at the hundreds of flashy fluorescent billboards, the frozen wind stinging my face in April.

I'm here. I thought. I'm at the center of it all, the center of the Universe, and I don't know where I'm going...and I don't know where I've been.

The thoughts were so overwhelming at that moment in the piercing bitter cold, smack dab in the middle of Times Square, that I had to shake them off and focus my attention back on Mr. CEO.

I started to think about what I could wear to our little rendezvous on Wednesday. I needed a new pair of jeans. I needed some more lip gloss. And, did I feel a zit developing on the side of my cheek? That's all I needed was a big whitehead pulsating from my face as I met my future sugar-daddy husband.

I arrived at the Meet-Up and started chatting in Italian with an older, tall, balding-yet-tanned Italian man from Florence. Our conversation flowed, and it was natural and unforced. He got my jokes. I was 100% positive he was gay. That's why I felt so free with him.

I was myself.

He bought me too many Pinot Grigios as the night progressed...

Then, in walked a spectacularly beautiful woman, a kindred spirit, and she and I started to talk. I felt like I had known this woman before, a profoundly familiar feeling. I had so much in common with her...

I had so much in common with this man and with this woman.

At this party.

That I didn't want to attend.

Because I had to prepare for the Mr. CEO date on Wednesday.

I felt so uncensored, unprepared with messy hair, dirty clothes and all.

I walked out of the event a bit drunk, anxious to delve back into my fantasy world of Mr. CEO: My black stilettos with jeans on Wednesday would look sexy. But what about the top? Pay day was another week away, but I needed to buy a new top. The other tops I have aren't good enough. Must buy new top. Must buy new top. And how about those Crest White Strips? I need to do those so my teeth will be extra white.

I paused to check my phone messages before I got on the subway. My best friend from high school had called me back. She left a long, awkward message too. She sounded so relieved:

"I can't even begin to tell you how glad I am to hear from you. I can't wait to catch up..."

At that moment, listening to this message in the whipping cold, the noise blaring in Times Square, as hoards of people zoomed around me...time stood still.

All of the hurts, regrets and frustrations of my completely normal, troubled youth...went away.

I was relieved to hear back from her.

I came to work on Tuesday to find two beautiful e-mail messages from my two new friends at the Meet-Up:

"It was so great meeting you...it would be great to see you again..."

No games. No drama. No are-we-or-aren't-we-going-to-meet-and-am-I pretty-enough, sexy-enough-for-you?

I could have sworn that Italian guy was gay...maybe he wasn't? Like my Italian friend once told me, all Italians are just a little bit "gay."

Then, Tuesday night I put myself through the ringer. Not only did I beat myself to the pulp with exercising, but I also skipped dinner just so I would look extra gaunt for Mr. CEO on Wednesday.

It occurred to me that Mr. CEO and I had confirmed a date and a place...but not a time? I thought we would figure out the time on Wednesday afternoon. I did say after work didn't I?

All the whilst these thoughts racing, hoping I was one day away from finding my true love, I still had that heavy, foreboding sour feeling in my gut, like something wasn't right.

Then, today, I frantically bought a top I couldn't afford on my lunch hour, thinking I'm just a few hours away from meeting Mr. CEO. I thought about what his lips would feel like pressed against mine. I started thinking about what should I drink tonight? I can't drink anything too strong because I might faint or get sick from no eating and hard liquor. I'll have wine. That should be good.

But, we still hadn't confirmed a time?

Then, I sat the rest of this afternoon debating whether or not I should e-mail Mr. CEO and ask him what time we're meeting. Would that seem too anxious? Didn't I need to know WHAT FUCKING TIME WE'RE MEETING?

Finally, the acid in my stomach swelling from no food and nerves, I e-mailed Mr. CEO.

I told him I could make it at 6:30.

Then, half an hour later, I got this:

"Can we meet tomorrow night? It would work so much better with my schedule..."

I had to do a double-take.

I felt dizzy, not believing the words I read screaming at me from my computer screen.

HIS schedule? What about MY fucking schedule? What about the weeks I had been preparing and fantasizing for this meeting to take place? What about all of the "nonsense" I'd been through the past few days trying to use anything as a distraction to not think about this?

THIS.

THIS...THIS...THING. This over-grandeurized meeting THING with some shady guy from the Internet.

At that moment, at exactly 5:05 p.m. this afternoon, I chose not to respond to his quite revealing e-mail.

I knew I was finished with this CEO illusion. It was a powerful, exhilarating, freeing, yet scary moment.

I chose to get off of the merry-go-round. The merry-go-round of insecurities.

On the ride home on the subway, I was so exhausted from my pre-date beauty routine the night before that I just wanted to sleep. A homeless man on the subway started to mumble to me with a sparkle in his eye:

"Your eyes are so beautiful. There's something in them. There's something about you.
You have a good heart...Better than the rest of 'em."

When I got home, I found that I had received my first message on HotEnough.org.

The founder of the site, who lives in New Jersey, winked at me.

Why, could this mean...a new project? A new man to look forward to? Another CEO?

I think not.

For today, I declare CEO Liberation Day, meaning, well... everything happens for a reason.

If I had not been so blindingly mad about this phantom CEO man online, I wouldn't have RSVP'd to some party I didn't care about, wouldn't have met two amazing new friends, wouldn't have let go of my past hurts and took a risk and reconnected with my "old" best friend, wouldn't have tapped into that young teenage girl part of me that I know is still there, dying to come out...innocent...free... happy...full of hope...freedom...and promise.

Hedge Funds and Dive Bars

So I got an e-mail this morning from Mr. CEO asking me to meet him Tuesday or Wednesday of this week. Interesting. Maybe that's when the wife and kids will be busy? I still don't know this guy, yet, I'm strangely attracted to this dark side, the mysteriousness of this person who is so discrete online. I've convinced myself to go and meet him strictly for journalistic purposes. It seems like a fun experiment. Of course, I will bring my mace just in case.

When I do research on his name, a lot of hedge fund stuff shows up. Before I moved to New York, I didn't even know what a hedge fund was. Basically, a hedge fund is a way for the rich and corrupt to get more rich and corrupt. Since there is such a disparity between the rich and poor here in Manhattan, guys who are deep into hedge fund operations are usually pretty weird, yet insanely rich. But, not "good" rich because they are usually pretty reclusive and snobbish. Like they think you are crazy if you're not in the Hamptons all summer. Or, the word "dive bar" doesn't exist in their vocabulary.

There are tons of these hedge fund cronies trolling around for pretty arm candy dates online. They are lonely, overworked, and a bit desperate, if not socially stunted.

The last hedge fund guy I dated used to zoom up (uninvited I might add) to my apartment in his new Porsche (not his BMW because it was too slow) at 5 in the morning after long nights of clubbing. He was hyper, obviously on something, and he seemed so alone, so scared, and he would grab onto me tightly. It was my first NY experience that money doesn't equal happiness and it scared the shit out of me. The emptiness I felt when I was with him was overwhelming.

How can these men, who obviously could have anything at their beck and call, be so unhappy, so empty, so devoid of life? Money is just paper that we, ourselves, have invented. It's not real. We can't take it with us when we die.

I found myself spending more time with this lonely hedge fund crazy because he always took me to the best restaurants, the best clubs and he knew New York inside and out. It was exciting to speed down the West Side Highway in his Porsche, the wind blowing in my hair, frivolity and drunkenness taking over my rigidity and innocence. He knew the owner of the best gourmet Indian food restaurant here in the city, and it was there that we would chat over wine, the Samosas melting in my mouth in the seductive candlelight. It was in his expensive Gramercy apartment that we would stay up all night, him showing me photos of his past loves tucked into his nightstand drawers. He confessed he went to therapy and his mom recently had a nervous breakdown. They found her wandering the streets in her nightgown.

The bitter taste that this man left in my mouth has still to go away, because I have realized that having money brings whole other sets of problems, and, money alone will not attract me to a man.

I can take myself to the best restaurants. I can take myself to the best clubs. It might break my budget, but if I really wanted to, I could. And someday, maybe if I want it, I will have a Porsche.

My grandfather used to say to me: "Honey, we're all the same. Everyone still has to eat and shit. Don't ever forget that. Ever."

Maybe Mr. CEO's wife and I can go shopping together.