Sex And The City

I had a slightly surreal experience today. I was working late and bumped into my boss’ boss (our Senior VP) on my way out of the office. She lives around the corner from me so we took the subway home together.

After some chitchatting, she mentioned that she had signed up to match.com a couple of days earlier. I admitted to her that I did the same thing too!
Now, one does not expect to discuss the upheavals of dating in the city with one’s big boss … but that’s exactly what we did, exchanging horror stories during our 30 minutes ride. She’s forty-something, obviously very successful, intelligent, attractive with a wide circle of friends and interests – in summary, she’s a catch!
But finding Mr Right (or even Mr Right Now) is an elusive quest, especially in New York it seems.

I have yet to meet any of the guys who have got in touch with me through match.com. I’m not sure I actually really want to. I signed up on a whim rather than with a purpose – so much of my life is facilitated by the Internet that I thought I could at least try to meet people that way too!

But it has been an interesting experience already. I find reading people’s profiles fascinating and hilarious at the same time … from the 30 years old cute widower, who didn’t bother writing about himself and instead stated that he was looking for older women with big breasts (I guess that’s one way to cope with grief)… to the guy who emailed me saying “It must be nice to be the kind of woman who enters a room and turns every heads” (nice try, not like you’ve emailed that same line to every women on this site!) … to the 5’4 “lovingly cuddly” geek who thought it was a good idea to admit to a love of computer games & sci-fi books …Oh, and of course, there was the freak who posted an intense, very long love letter to his future wife, littered with complicated and poetical words he clearly didn’t know the meaning of!

Anyway, I’ll stay on match.com for the entertainment value if anything. I’ve realised that dating in your thirties is harder because we have more expectations and more baggage than in our twenties. We know what we want and what we don’t want. We have mostly achieved our ambitions, built a great network of friends and traveled all over the world … We don't need someone to define us anymore but we start looking at everyone we meet and think “is he/she the one?” and “can he/she fit into my busy life and add to it?”. We tend to forget about just having fun and taking things slowly.
In New York, it's like a race with too many contenders - apparently, there are 185,000 more single women than single men in the city so the grass always seems greener on the other side ... for men!

I have to say, the more I watch “Sex & the City”, the more I realise how realistic it really is and how we all have a bit of Carrie/Samantha/Charlotte/Miranda inside of us … only wish we had the same wardrobe too …

Spirits ...

It seems that there are 2 types of people in Manhattan: the ones worshiping at the alter of alcohol & parties and the ones worshiping at the alter of "spirituality" ... be it God, Buddha, or some unknown mystical figures.

A lot of people I have met either go to Church on a regular basis or consider themselves "spiritual" in some way. Is it the product of living in a city that's so fast-moving, so overwhelming and so centered on the material things? Is it the transient nature of the city that makes people here feel more lonely and compels them to believe in a greater force?

You probably know, of course, which camp I fall under ... As my friend Larry hysterically puts it "I do believe in spirits (vodka & tequila mainly), just not in the spiritual".

It is striking how differently people try to fill the emotional void in their lives. While I would never judge anyone based on their beliefs (I wish I had some sometimes!), I do find it hard to take someone who practices nude yoga as a form of spiritual enlightenment seriously ... And I have met a couple of people who do!

Each to their own I guess. Amen.

I learnt a new skill ...

What is a girl to do when borrowing her gay best friend's mobile phone for 48 hours?
Generally organise his life, pretend to be him (as no one knows I have his phone) ... and partake in a bit of gay text messaging!
I'm getting very good at it but he's scared that I'm going to be sending random exes to his house without his knowledge (I have so far resisted the extremely strong temptation!) so I'm just going to have to give the phone back :-(

Dada, dadadam ...

I went on a yatch sailing around Manhattan today. The sun was shining, I managed not to be sick when the Hudson got choppy and really enjoyed it.
I'd never seen Manhattan from that perspective before and it made me realise what a small island it really it. When you're in the city, it feels so large and the distances much greater. That's how I am justifying spending half of my salary on taxis anyway ... But from the water, it really just looks like a tiny piece of land, crammed full of skyscrapers ... concentrated craziness. I also realised how different the areas around Manhattan are - very middle America - and that I would never live outside of the city.

I generally got up to no good with my friend on the boat, drinking Chardonnay out of plastic cups and making inappropriate comments. They played Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" and we thought it would be a good idea to change the lyrics so it would reflect our "Sex & the City" lifestyle a little better ... I hope to god that not many people heard us although singing it all afternoon may have ruined the odds ...

Sweltering New York

I met up with my friend Isabelle tonight for our ritual bi-weekly girlie chats at the Bookmarks rooftop bar, at the top of the Library Hotel.

We stumbled across this place for the first time back in early April. We had originally planned to go to the Campbell Apartment in Grand Central but found it closed for a private party. We asked for a recommendation and they suggested Bookmarks on Madison & 43rd.

It was a cold evening and I remember how we justified drinking copious amounts of wine as the only way to keep warm. We haven’t looked back since and always meet there. The service may be painfully slow and the drinks expensive, but it is more than made up by the fantastic views of the city (the Empire State Building in particular), the cool music and intimate size of the actual deck.

Unfortunately, tonight, our hang out was hosting a private party and we had to go to plan B – the outdoor Bryant Park Café, just in front of the majestic New York public library.
They asked for ID before letting us in. I’m getting pretty used to it here as I constantly get checked (hey, I’m not going to complain if they really think I’m under 21!) but this time, they actually stamped our hands! Having to go to the bar and discretely showing the stamp to get a drink was hilarious, if a little embarrassing.

It was probably the hottest & most humid night of the year – imagine a cross between being in a sauna and a steam room. It’s pretty hard trying to look glamorous when you’re "glowing" a little too much and your hair is starting to look like it could rival Foxxy Cleopatra’s afro! But this time, we justified our consumption of chilled white wine because we were desperately trying to cool down.

Eventually, the inevitable happened - the skies opened dramatically and torrential rain forced us to run out of the bar in search of a taxi.
New Yorkers will tell you that there are no taxis in Manhattan when it rains. A fact that I can most unfortunately confirm. We got drenched, huddling under the same small umbrella, almost jumping under any taxis that were going past us in an attempt to make them stop.

A man on a bike taxi asked me where I was going and when I answered the Upper West Side (a good 50 blocks from where we were), he said he would take me but that it would be $30. I have never paid more than $20 for a taxi ride, not even from Battery Park at the bottom of Manhattan to the UWS, but desperate times require desperate measures so I hopped on.

I spent most of the (rather bumpy) ride texting my friends explaining that I was being cycled around by this poor guy – at least I was protected from the rain but he wasn’t!
In the end, I felt so bad that I gave him $40. Most expensive, but most unusual & fun taxi ride so far!

Random observations & encounters

• In the ladies at work, there is a sign offering detailed instructions as to what one should do – it includes pearls of wisdom such as the importance of washing your hands of course, but my favourite advice is the one about “avoiding contact with people showing influenza-like symptoms” at all cost. Nanny state?
• I have never witnessed so many public arguments and general upfront behaviour since I have moved here. Either between complete strangers on the subway (“Could you stand any closer to me dude?!”) or between lovers.
• At the same time, I’ve never had so many strangers talking to be on the subway – makes a change from the tube in London where everyone buries their head in their newspaper or book. The last time was a few days ago, when an older man stopped me on the platform and told me to “never, ever cut my hair” … apparently it’s just too nice!
• On the Food Network channel (a strange obsession of mine), I once watched a show where cooks from different parts of the world competed for some kind of title – the only cook who was given subtitles was the French one! He didn’t even have such a strong accent!
• Talking of accent, I have yet to meet an American who realises straight away (or at least in the first 15 minutes) that I’m French and not British. They seem to have no perception for accents.
• I have not cooked a single thing since I have moved here and have no intention of doing so. My nice shiny oven and stove will stay that way (much to my parents’ horror – I am supposed to be French after all). The closest I have come to "cook" was reheating pre-prepared meals (they’re very good here) in my microwave. I eat out most of the time and when I don’t, I either get take out (all the restaurants, even the posh ones, offer this service) or go down to the Deli downstairs and have them make me a nice salad with any ingredients I want.
• Continuing with the convenience culture that is so prevalent here, I haven’t looked back since the day I found out that I could get my laundry picked up, washed/dry cleaned, folded and delivered back for a mere $8. Why would anyone want to do their own at that price?!
• I was excited one day when I saw that a movie I like, “8 Miles”, was being shown on one of the cable channels. The problem is that I could barely follow the movie as every single swear word was bleeped out, making it impossible to watch.
• I love all the TV adverts about medical products here – because of the suing culture, they have to reel out the list of secondary effects one might experience as a result of taking the medicine. My favourites are impotence and death. Enough said (especially if you get both in that order).
• Food portions here are really very big (except maybe in very posh restaurants). I learned very quickly to order everything in appetizer size. However, the quality of food is overwhelmingly good and also very good value, especially when compared to London.
• One of the most surreal thing I’ve seen so far is this very old, hunched over man who often plays in the subway in Times Square. His act consists of him singing Edith Piaf songs (he’s not French though), while playing on an electronic organ, on top of which sit a series of bizarre dancing dolls. I just had to give him a few dollars for originality and for reminding me that I love the song “La vie en rose”.
• This is closely followed by the weird experience of seeing a man, coming out of the World Financial Centre, wearing an all over white knitted jumpsuit, complete with matching balaclava and proceeding to walk very calmly towards the promenade. Maybe it was an art project or maybe an investment banker gone mad. I will never know.
• Favourite TV show title so far: “Paralized and pregnant”. I wish I was kidding, but I’m really not.
• I love New York cab drivers. They are, for the most part, completely insane, but then who wouldn’t be driving around this congested city all day/night? The majority of them are constantly on their mobile phone, through headset, so you never know if they’re talking to you or to their friend/partner/child/lawyer/dispatcher/psychologist.
• I had the enviable experience of going to the Social Security Office to get my social security card and wait patiently for 3 hours to put in my application. The experience was made a lot more interesting by a strange, but very much in love, couple. The lady was tall and rather on the large side. Her partner was a much smaller, skinny guy. There were not enough seats for both of them to sit on, so she made him sit on her lap, talked to him like he was a child and called him “puppy” the entire time.
• In the same Social Security Office, they also had a very handy sign reminding us what not to do – “No drinking, no smoking, no eating, no sitting on window sills, no writing on walls, no radio playing”. I can *almost* understand the reasoning behind all of them but the “no writing on walls” really threw me.
  

But all of the above is why I love New York so much and wouldn’t change it for the world. I’m looking forward to a lot more random experiences.

You know you’re a New Yorker when …

You do something like this …

Marion & I went to meet Joe and a couple of his friends at a beach in Rye, a 40 minutes train ride from Grand Central. It felt like a mini-adventure but the fun ended when we arrived at the train station in this picturesque and quiet town.

There was an empty taxi stand and not much else. We sat down on the curb, patiently waiting for some kind of yellow car to arrive.

After about 15 minutes, Joe called us wondering what was taking us so long. He couldn’t believe that we couldn’t conceive that, unlike in Manhattan, the chances of a taxi showing up were extremely remote and that they would certainly not be yellow! He advised us to go into a shop and call a car from there ... amused but slightly exasperated that we had both become such New Yorkers!