I never had much luck on the NYC dating scene. Although I grew up in the city, I lived out of the country for many years, and by the time I got back in my 20 s, I felt out of the dating loop. Oh, I looked for dates, don t get me wrong. I did the usual, spending hours getting ready, squeezing myself into some way-too-small outfit, plastering my face in makeup, studying and analyzing myself in front of the mirror before leaving my tiny apartment to hit some quirky bars in the East Village.
I remember my first New York blind date, from a personal ad. Those were the days just at the start of the internet, and the more common route of meeting a stranger in NYC was putting an ad in the Village Voice weekly newspaper. My gay best friend wrote it for me, lathering on the complements about his beautiful friend , who would kill him if she knew he had put an ad in the Voice for her. The ad was a success, and I had a huge selection of voicemail messages to choose from. It was a tough choice, but I narrowed it down to a couple of guys, and the next thing I knew, I was walking into a bar to meet Fred. Apart from awkward body language, one thing Fred had concealed during our brief phone call was his frequent tendency to use foul language. And I mean frequent. I had worked myself up so much, so full of hope that Fred would be the guy for me but no, that feeling of disappointment, like the air deflating out of a balloon.
